The messenger went on. “Rumor has already spread that one of the three made use of an ioun stone in public. The Lord of the Ruins wants that ioun stone. He offers any item in his immense treasury in exchange for it.”
“Why so much fuss over a gemstone?” Cadorna asked coyly.
“The Pool of Radiance, of course,” said the messenger. “He needs two more stones to complete the figure of power.” The wizard hesitated a moment when he saw Cadorna’s twisted expression, but not knowing what to make of it, he continued. “At any rate, Councilman, he knows you have worked with these three before, and he would pay dearly for their heads, particularly if they were accompanied by an ioun stone. Have I made myself clear?”
“Quite clear. My thanks for the message.”
The wizard exited in the same manner as he had come, and Cadorna bit his lip in a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with his calculations. After a moment, he let his eyes meet Gensor’s and began to speak quietly and deliberately. “Gensor … I’m sure, quite sure, I know the answer to this, but I still need to ask. What … motivates you? You’ve made no secret of riding my coattails to some private end of your own. Just what is it that you’re after?”
Gensor didn’t pause for even a moment before responding. “I know you know the answer, Councilman. The nature of your rewards for my services demonstrates your understanding. To practice magic to its fullest requires a great deal of money, not to mention incredible resources of other kinds. Who has time to go running off to the desert every time he needs the juice from a euphorbia or a special cactus needle? There are also, of course, many people who have a certain distaste for the byproducts of magical experimentation. To create, a person must also be allowed to make occasional mistakes.”
“Yes? So what are you saying?” Cadorna thrust his head a little closer to Gensor as he waited for him to continue.
“The ideal I seek is to practice my art—completely unfettered by monetary constraints, limits of materials, or government interference. In lieu of that, I take the increasing freedom you provide as you make your rise to power.”
“Exactly! It’s perfect!” Cadorna could barely contain himself, so impressed was he with his own brilliance. “Only a few more hours and a Black Watch mercenary’s well-aimed arrow stand between me and the First Councilman’s seat. But with your news of the ioun stones, you may just have provided me with the exact knowledge I need to go even beyond that position.”
Gensor’s scheming was way ahead of Cadorna’s, but he contained his impatience and let the councilman think he was presenting ideas that were completely new.
“If that big oaf has the two ioun stones as you suggest, I can use them to complete the figure of power and control the Pool of Radiance and all that goes with it. As the legitimate First Councilman of Phlan and controller of the pool, I’ll have authority and power over the living and the dead, humanoid and human alike! … And I’ll be able to provide you with the precise environment you require to practice your art!
“Think of it!” Cadorna put on his best sales pitch. “You’ll have first crack at any and all magical finds. That dagger I gave you and those spellbooks—they’ll be only the beginning!” Cadorna drew up his hands like a young child seeing a present for the first time. “And … I’ll be able to provide you with an unlimited supply of subjects for your experiments.”
This last idea hadn’t occurred to Gensor, and he beamed with genuine pleasure when Cadorna brought it up. “Yes! Truly outstanding. You do understand my needs, Councilman. But how do you expect to get the ioun stones, and how do you expect to defeat the Lord of the Ruins?” This was the part Gensor hadn’t figured out yet, and he was looking for some of Cadorna’s usual ingenuity to pull the whole thing off.
“The first part is simple … perfect, in fact.” Cadorna strolled back to his desk, sat down, and motioned for Gensor to sit as well. “You haven’t forgotten our old friend Yarash the sorcerer—the one whose magic pollutes the river?”
Gensor immediately knew the tack Cadorna’s thoughts were taking. “What about him?” he asked eagerly.
“Well, there he is, an eccentric, obstinate wizard whose power and independence have been a thorn in the side of the Lord of the Ruins practically forever … I simply send word to the Lord of the Ruins that I’ve sent those three off on a death mission to deal with Yarash. Win or lose, the Lord of the Ruins is happy because he doesn’t want Yarash alive any more than he wants the cleric, thief, and mage alive. You contact the sorcerer. Yarash, old fool that he is, won’t care one whit about the ioun stones beyond their immediate monetary or exchange value. You can flatter him—tell him a partial truth—how we could think of no one else strong enough to defeat the mage woman….”
There was truth to that, Gensor thought, and he nodded and gestured for Cadorna to go on.
“Promise him a virtually unlimited supply of guinea pigs for his ‘experiments.’ ”
“Same thing you promised me, eh?”
Cadorna flushed. “No! I didn’t mean—”
Gensor waved a hand to silence him. “Merely a joke, Councilman. I understand the difference.” While Gensor didn’t trust Cadorna to tell the truth about the time of day, he knew the councilman was serious about providing an unfettered environment for his magic—at least, as long as it was convenient to do so. And once Gensor was powerful enough, he really wouldn’t need Cadorna anymore….
“Uh, well, anyhow, as I was saying, I want you to enlist Yarash’s aid. Meanwhile, I’ll see that the three parties under discussion are arrested for something … maybe even the brawl last night.” Cadorna sped ahead. “The council won’t care about the details once I tell them that I propose to send the party upriver to find the source of its pollution and put a stop to it. Not even the First Councilman himself knows about Yarash. Can you believe it? But that won’t stop me from telling the party something about the old wizard to pique their interest. Those three will bound off on this mission like lambs to slaughter when I tell them about the chance to stop the horrible devastation being done to the river … and when I mention that Yarash knew Denlor well….”
Gensor nodded in deference to Cadorna’s insight, and Cadorna continued.
“If Yarash defeats them, I get the ioun stones. By the time they return—if they return, and I can’t imagine how they’d manage it—I’ll be First Councilman. I’ll simply have the Black Watch arrest them at the city gates.”
“On what grounds?”
“I don’t know—treason, perhaps. It won’t matter. No one will question my authority. Under completely legal auspices, the Black Watch guards will strip them of their weapons and magical items, including the ioun stones! And the beauty of it is that that’s merely my contingency plan. I fully expect Yarash to turn all three of those bunglers into sea slime.”
“You have a great mind, Councilman.”
“Thank you, Gensor.” Cadorna wagged a finger in the air. “And now for the second part of the question—the Lord of the Ruins. I know that he’s a dragon—oddly enough, a bronze dragon. I can’t imagine what would possess a good dragon to go quite so far afield, but I guess it must simply have sensed greater room for power in the control of humanoids….”
Gensor had heard other rumors, but he wasn’t about to spoil Cadorna’s fun. “Yes?”
“Well, any decently armed troop of warriors with a magic-user or two can defeat a dragon, and for whatever reason, the pool doesn’t seem to give it control over humans. I’ll lead a party there myself, confront the wyrm, kill it, and complete the figure of power for myself.”
The mage literally clapped, his admiration genuine. How Cadorna managed to gather so much information eluded him. Perhaps one day he would make Cadorna tell him….
“You’ve been before this council before,” said Cadorna sternly, condescendingly, as he peered down at Shal, Ren, and Tarl from his dais. “And for the same offense, no less. I have no choice but to send you on an even more dangerous mission.” Cadorna went on to tell t
he three what he wanted them to know about Yarash.
“How do you know this sorcerer is responsible for the pollution of the Barren River?” Ren demanded belligerently. “And if you know, why haven’t you done anything about it before now?”
Cadorna sighed. “The council sent seven groups upriver before an orc spy told me of Yarash. None of the groups returned.” Cadorna looked up at the big man, his gray eyes pleading for sympathy. “I allowed the tragedy to continue because I was afraid for the lives of any who might try to stop the sorcerer. You must understand, I am sending the three of you only because your reputation precedes you.” Cadorna waved his hand to the south with a flourish. “Look at Sokol Keep! Untold numbers died there before you succeeded. And the gnoll encampment … I expected you to return with my treasure. Imagine my surprise when others came back with news that the gnolls had been vanquished completely. The three of you have a formidable reputation. You are perhaps the only ones capable of defeating the sorcerer.”
Tarl spoke next. “We all have personal obligations that go wanting as you send us on these tasks, Second Councilman. Do we have a choice in this matter?”
“You most certainly do. You were arrested for brawling. Naturally you may wait in our holding cells until midnight, at which time the Black Watch will toss you over the north wall, and you will be banished from Civilized Phlan … permanently.”
The glint in Cadorna’s eyes was noticeable even to Tarl. He spoke no more.
“Defeat the wizard,” Cadorna went on, “and you will be hailed as heroes. I personally will see to it that the town council bothers you no more. The young mage”—Cadorna pointed toward Shal but addressed Ren and Tarl, as if she could not comprehend his words—“may be interested in speaking with Yarash. He was known to have consorted with the wizard Denlor.”
Tarl turned his gaze from Cadorna to Shal, watching for her reactions. The town guards had arrived before he could tell her about his meeting with Tyr in the inner sanctuary of the temple. Tarl had learned three things there: that an ioun stone would greatly enhance his powers so he could heal Shal; that Anton would not recover until the one who spat the word into his forehead was defeated; and that his own immediate calling was to follow Shal. The message from his god was clear—Shal’s mission would lead Tarl to his own. “As Tyr has directed me, I will follow Shal,” he declared.
Shal didn’t understand the full implication of Tarl’s words. She thought only that her friend was assuring her of his loyalty to her cause of avenging Ranthor’s death. Tarl had already done a great deal. Without his healing, she knew, she would be dead. Shal now felt a total rejuvenation of spirit and physical health, and she was forced to recognize a very special feeling for Tarl that she had not acknowledged before. “I’ve made my decision,” she announced. “For me, there is no choice but to go.”
“I personally find bashing it out with sorcerers—especially very powerful ones—a real treat,” said Ren sarcastically, and then he turned serious. “If you’re right about what that wizard’s doing to the river, he’s dead meat.”
“Good! Then it’s settled,” said Cadorna. “Be on your way by the tenth hour tomorrow morning. Godspeed and good luck.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the three from the council chambers.
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.”
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