Ren, Shal, Tarl, and their two horses left Phlan from the docks, choosing to travel by a small single-masted ferry around the mouth of the Barren River, rather than risk trying to cross its foul waters where the river doubled back on itself north of Phlan. More than two hours after they debarked, they could see the high walls of Valhingen Graveyard off to the west.
"That's the place where my brothers died," said Tarl, pointing at the high timber fence. "In Vaasa, there is no city as large as Phlan. We believed at first that those wooden walls were the fortress around the city. We were already within the gates before we knew…"
Shal and Ren said nothing. The pain of Tarl's recollection was palpable.
"I will return here and, with Tyr's help, fight the vile creature that tricked me into parting with the Hammer of Tyr."
"You lost the hammer?" asked Shal, aware that Tarl had previously made oblique references only to the fact that the hammer was lost in the graveyard.
Tarl made no response at first, then began haltingly to describe the full horrors of his first day in Phlan. The time since that day had weighed heavily on Tarl, and he felt a rush of cleansing energy just from speaking truthfully about his encounter in Valhingen Graveyard. He described each moment he had omitted from his earlier descriptions-his terror when the skeleton hands had reached up and gutted the horses, how he had forgotten the words to clerical spells he had known for a year or longer, the fight-enchanted word cast against cursed word-between Anton and the vampire, and finally how he had foolishly given up the hammer in exchange for freedom instead of using it to fight the vampire.
By the time he finished, he realized they had ridden past miles of countryside, and he had seen none of it. The others had remained silent throughout his tale. It was only after they stopped for the night, when Tarl told them his plan for retrieving the hammer, that Ren spoke.
"You'll never get through that place alone," Ren said as he unpacked the mare. "As soon as we get this river cleaned up, I'll go with you."
Tarl turned from where he stood unpacking Cerulean and faced Ren. "No, friend. This is my fight. The ruler of Valhingen Graveyard holds in his hands my heritage and my pride. I must seek vengeance for my lost brothers, and I must take back that which belongs in the most holy place in the Temple of Tyr."
"I'm not saying you don't have an appointment to meet up with that vampire," said Ren. "I'm saying you won't make it to his lair without help. How many of your brothers-men strong in their faith-died before you even saw the vampire? What do you think-you're going to say, 'Take me to your leader,' and the skeletons and wraiths are going to bow and let you walk by?"
"With Tyr's strength-"
"With Tyr's strength, you'll face the vampire after you've let me help you get past the riffraff."
"And me," said Shal. "I'll help, too."
Tarl simply shook his head. He would not endanger the others. He would challenge the vampire on his own, but there was no point in arguing the fact. He would make his move when they returned.
For now, he sat down across from Shal and thanked Tyr once again for sparing her. His assignment from his god was too much of a pleasure to be a burden: Shal's mission would lead to his own. In her, he would find strength. He watched for a time as she diligently studied her spellbooks. Then he looked to his own books and began to think about what he must do in the days ahead.
Shal, too, was thinking-about facing Yarash. She didn't think she had mistaken the combination of awe and animosity Cadorna felt toward the wizard. She felt this challenge would possibly be for her what facing the vampire would be for Tarl-surely not a personal challenge such as his, but a test of newfound strengths and skills against an experienced sorcerer. Shal had grown much in her magic in the short time since Ranthor's death, but Yarash was, from Cadorna's accounts, a wizard with talents that perhaps rivaled even Ranthor's. Cadorna insisted the wizard was not evil but crazy, and that he would attack on a whim, in keeping with his own chaotic nature. Spell against spell, Shal knew she could not hold up against so formidable a wizard. She could only hope that with the help of her friends, the Staff of Power, and her sheer physical strength, she would stand at least a chance.
By the time Shal woke up the next morning, nightmare dreams of violent lightning bolt feuds still fresh in her memory, Ren had already taken care of the horses and packed up everything except her bedroll and Tarl's, which she noticed was teasingly close to her own. Ren held up his finger to his lips to shush Shal so she wouldn't bother Tarl, then he reached out his hand to help her up. He continued to hold her hand even after she was standing and led her toward a clear brook that fed its pristine waters into the black bile of the Barren River.
"I've tried before to tell you…" Ren began awkwardly. "That is, before, I wanted…" Ren stopped again, groping for words. "You remind me so much…"
"Of Tempest. I know." Shal looked down into the clear water. Every stone was visible, even in the deepest parts of the stream. The morning sunlight sparkled off the clear water and shone off the submerged leaves of the silverweed that lined the stream's banks.
"I've wanted so many times to tell you how much I… But the other night, I finally put Tempest to rest, Shal. I said good-bye to her once and for all. I know that a part of what I've felt for you has been tied up with my feelings for her…"
Shal reached for Ren's other hand and searched his sapphire-blue eyes with her own. "And now we can be friends and see where that takes us? Is that what you want to say?" Shal smiled and held Ren's hands tightly in her own.
Ren had noticed Shal watching him a dozen times or more. He knew she was attracted to him. How could she so easily understand and accept that he was asking only to be friends? He had not wanted her to be hurt, but he had expected her to show at least a glimmer of regret. Yet here she was, smiling, her green eyes twinkling as though she were delighted with the news.
"I'm no fool, Ren. You should realize that by now. I know your stares and attention were really directed at a memory."
Ren let his hands drop to his sides as Shal relaxed her grip on them.
"I'm happy to have the chance to be a friend to you on my own, without the help of your love for Tempest. I've appreciated your attention, really, but I always knew it wasn't directed at me. Now, if there's still some attraction between us, it should be genuine… Besides, Sot introduced me to Jensena and tried to warn me I had some competition. I tried to tell him she's more your type, but-"
"You… you sure have a way of putting a fellow in his place."
"Ren, how do you expect me to react?" Shal tossed her red hair back over her shoulders and extended her hand toward the big man. "Friends… again?"
Ren clasped her hand firmly. "Friends… still… always."
"A good enough friend to help against a crazy old wizard whose actions are no concern of yours?" Shal asked.
Ren didn't answer right away. He waited till they were back at the camp near Tarl, who was just waking. "I don't know just how Yarash is polluting the Stojanow River, but his actions are my concern, too. I can't stand to see that river like that. There's no reason why the Stojanow shouldn't be as pure as that brook over there. Instead, it's as black as night and reeks like some festering wound. It's bothered me since the day I first saw it. My first thought was of a black snake surrounded by dead and dying plants and animals…
"As a thief, I could say it isn't my affair, but I'm beginning to discover that rangering is a deeper part of me than I realized. I can't ignore the state of this river any more than I could ignore that ruined garden back at the gnoll camp. I'm more committed to this mission than I have been to anything we've done so far." Ren offered Tarl some water from his pouch and several strips of jerky, and then he helped Shal roll up her bedding.
Finally he mounted his horse and waited for Shal and Tarl to mount Cerulean. "I've decided to return to rangering," Ren said softly.
Both Tarl and Shal turned in the saddle to face him.
"It's a more difficult lifestyle
, but it puts me closer to nature… and to myself. If I had followed my instincts, I probably would have made this trip weeks ago, when I first arrived in Phlan. Just look at that river! It doesn't only look and smell dirty; it's actually toxic. Somewhere upstream, it has to be pure, because dead fish float ashore, and you know nothing can possibly live in that water. It even permeates the land. Look at those gray tree trunks lining the riverbanks-a fire would do less damage."
"Rangering is an honorable profession," said Tarl. "I know not everyone chooses to be like a cleric in their spirituality, but I'd think you'd find comfort in the added fulfillment of being a ranger."
"Yeah. It's kind of a calling, I guess. I mean, I have a natural knack with animals, and once I learned how to trail, I never forgot it. Besides, there's something that drives me to see nature set right."
Ren patted his horse as they rode. "This mare was abused, and her owner said she was worthless. I won her in a dagger toss. I never did anything special-just talked to her and treated her right-and she's been the finest horse I've ever had."
She sleeps around, interjected Cerulean. The mare whinnied, and Shal chuckled.
"How would you know?" Shal asked aloud.
Ren bridled at her words, thinking they were meant for him. "What's wrong with my horse?"
"No, it's… nothing," Shal said quickly. "It's Cerulean. He said…" Shal grinned weakly and then pointed at the mare. "He said your horse sleeps around."
Ren pulled the mare around eyeball to eyeball with Cerulean and said in a loud falsetto, as if he were speaking for the mare. "Oh, yeah? How would you know, big fella? You got-" Ren stopped suddenly in midsentence and motioned for the others to keep quiet. In the stillness that followed, Shal and Tarl could make out what Ren had heard. From not far off came the sounds of something crashing and thrashing through the brush-and the unmistakable snorts and grunts of a party of orcs!
Shal didn't wait for any word from Ren or Tarl. She spurred Cerulean around and headed for a nearby thicket. As the big horse charged, Shal let out an ear-splitting war whoop, Tarl added a bloodcurdling cry of his own and leaned back away from Shal to swing his hammer through the air with a vengeance that made it hum. Five orcs burst from the thicket near where Ren waited. He caught the first of the orcs in his huge, bare hands, stuffed its head under one huge arm, and held tight. "Move and he dies!" Ren hissed to the other four.
Ignoring their companion's plight, the orcs charged forward. Ren slit the creature's thick, meaty neck with Left. As its body slumped to the ground, Ren drew one of his short swords with his free right hand and hacked straight down between the neck and shoulderblade of the nearest orc. Blood from the creature's severed jugular spouted high into the air, and the beast danced crazily in its death spasms. By this time, Cerulean had come full around, and the remaining three orcs were hemmed in between the horses and the thicket.
"I know, Tarl. I know," said Ren, spotting the cleric's staying hand. "You want to talk to them, to parley, to find out what a couple of nice orcs like these would be doing in a place like this. Go right ahead. Ask 'em anything you want." To the orcs, he grunted a threat.
"Thanks. I will." Tarl did not miss the fact that the orc's eyes were glazed yellow, like those of the gnoll priests. "Ask them about Yarash. See if they know anything. Then ask them about the pool-where it is, what they know about the Lord of the Ruins."
Ren snuffled, snorted, and clicked his tongue in the crude language of the pig-men, and they sniffed and snorted their responses. Ren interpreted. "They claim they don't know anything about the river-they say it's always been this way. Said they like the smell-what's the problem, anyway?… They're building some kind of tower-a templelike thing that will stretch the domain of the Lord of the Ruins from…
"From where, you big slug?" Ren slammed Left to the ground less than two inches from the nearest orc's foot, then immediately called for the knife to return. The orc's eyes widened as the knife floated through the air, and it blurted out its words in barely coherent clusters. Ren translated, trying to fill in the holes where the creature spoke nonsense. "The castle-the big one at the edge of old Phlan. Castle Valjevo, I think they call it. The oinker says the Lord of the Ruins lives there."
"Tell them to tear down the tower," said Tarl. "Threaten them with Shal's magic… and the wrath of Tyr. And then let's get out of here."
As if on cue, the three orcs suddenly charged Cerulean with their pikes extended. Shal uttered the words of a spell so fast that she hardly had time to extend her arms. Bolts of energy shot from her fingertips, and orc screams filled the air. To the one that lived, Ren repeated Tarl's demand that they tear down the tower. "And don't even think about following us!" he added menacingly.
It was nearly noon on their fourth day of travel when they dismounted at a spot where the poisonous river widened into what looked almost like a broad, boggy lake. Equidistant from both shores stood an island, featureless except for a huge silver pyramid that protruded abruptly from the blackened sand. The three looked on in awe at one of the largest and most unusual structures any of them had ever seen.
To Shal, there was something oddly familiar about the silver pyramid. She scanned it once, twice, then a third time, trying to take in the total image. And then she knew. "The frogs!" she said. "Remember the frogs at Sokol Keep?"
"How could I forget?" Ren asked, shuddering at the thought of the slimy encounter. "But what-"
It was Tarl who answered Ren's unfinished question. "The medallion. The medallion the frog wore-it was a picture of this very structure."
The pyramid's perfectly matched, windowless sides shone as the medallion had, as though they were gilded in silver, though none could imagine how such a project could have been completed on an isolated island in the middle of a desolate wilderness. More striking than the building itself, though, was the fact that it was obviously the source of the black corruption that flooded the Stojanow River. From where they stood, Shal, Ren, and Tarl could see plainly that the water to the north of the island was clean and pure. Healthy, verdant trees towered up from the banks upriver from the structure, in jarring contrast to the gray and black stumps that littered the banks downstream to the Moonsea. Thick black sludge was spewing from a great pipe that ran from the southern base of the pyramid into the river. For days, they had ridden within smelling range of the river's abominable stench. Now they were at its source, and the odor was even worse.
They had barely had time to take in the full scene, when suddenly the water to the north of the conduit began to stir. Before their eyes, a column of water rose from the river's surface and began to spout high into the air like a fountain. As Shal, Ren, and Tarl watched, the tower of water took on almost solid form, gushing even higher and then collapsing in on itself to create the shape of a chair, the illusion of a glittering, translucent throne of water. Waves crested along the front, back, and sides of the water throne, gently pushing it, water atop water, toward the three. Though neither Shal, Tarl, nor Ren blinked, none could identify the moment when a grandiose figure, looking like a white wizard out of children's lore, appeared on the eerie magical throne. His pure-white robes flapped in the breeze. His face was warm, benevolent even, and he made a gesture and shifted the wind so that the stench was no longer carried to their nostrils. "Ho, travelers and friends! Few find their way to my keep. I am Yarash, and I bid you welcome!"
Shal wanted to believe the fairy tale, but the lie was too obvious, the contradictions too many. "Back!" shouted Shal, extending her staff and gesturing toward the conduit. "No wizard of good intentions would allow such corruption to continue!"
Yarash showed no sign of being either offended or flustered by Shal's words. Instead, he responded in the same cheery, lilting voice with which he had first greeted the three. "A product of simple experiments, my dear. My life's goal is to create the ultimate sea creature, an intelligent being to communicate man's messages to the myriad life forms of the ocean depths. Alas, surely you must realize that the bipro
ducts of magic are sometimes not pretty," said the wizard, shaking his head. His chair of water surged and receded, but continued to hover in one place.
"Experiments? Biproducts of magic? Are giant frogs perchance part of your experiments, or are they some of the 'not pretty' biproducts?" Shal challenged.
"Giant frogs?" With the suddenness of a flipped switch, the wizard's voice completely lost its warmth. "You mean, you're the ones? You're the ones who murdered my beautiful creations on Thorn Island?" The wizard's eyes blazed with crazed fury, and his face became contorted in anger. The watery throne splashed back to the surface of the river, and Yarash stood right on top of the now frothing and boiling water. He swept his arms high above his head and brought them down again. His robes instantly turned dark green, and in his hands he clutched an algae-covered rope. "You killed my frogs!" he shouted, and his voice thundered and reverberated across the river.
Suddenly the water began to rise, and the wizard along with it, as if some great tidal wave were about to swell from the depths. But the water parted to reveal the fishlike head, fins, and gaping maw of a huge, kelp-covered sea animal. Yarash was standing atop the flat of the creature's massive brown-speckled head, pulling up on the slick green rope.
The monster reared high, its flagellating tail holding its body suspended above the water like a dolphin. With a sweeping gesture that reminded Shal of a circus showman, Yarash dropped the rope and waved his hands with a flourish. Again he shouted, this time in arcane words, unfamiliar even to Shal, and again his voice boomed across the water and back. A deafening hum filled the air, and all around where the wizard stood mounted on the dancing sea monster, torrents and eddies appeared in the river water, a dozen or more highly exaggerated versions of the rippling a bystander would notice as a trout came to the surface to gulp a fly. Carplike heads the size of men's bobbed and poked out of the water, their wide brown lips gaping and closing. Yarash's words continued to reverberate in the river valley, and the giant fish plunged forward across the river toward Shal, Ren, and Tarl.
Pool of Radiance hop-1 Page 23
