Pool of Radiance hop-1

by James M. Ward

  Cadorna blenched at the sight of the man's face. Gensor's skin was shriveled and ashen, an unnatural gray that gave him an almost corpselike appearance. His eyes were the color of a steel blade, and they seemed to bore straight into Cadorna as he spoke, his voice like ice. "I have no need of your reimbursements, Councilman. I work for you because, like you, I desire to know certain things."

  Cadorna said nothing. There were ways of taking care of ingrates, even magic-users, when they got out of line. He returned Gensor's stare with a cold look of his own.

  "They went to the tower of the red wizard-Denlor, to those of us who know him."

  "Yes, I knew Denlor," said Cadorna.

  "Knew him? I've no doubt," said Gensor. "The woman's mentor died there, as I gather did Denlor. I listened in on the party's conversations until they reached the tower itself, but I did not follow them in. My cloak of invisibility would not have functioned within those magicked walls."

  "Spare me the details of your ineptitude, mage! What else did you learn?"

  Gensor glowered at Cadorna until the councilman took a step backward, and then he proceeded. "Her master was murdered-by a beast, she believes."

  "Her master? Who-"

  "A wizard named Ranthor. She knew something of Denlor's death and of the siege on his tower by creatures from the outside." Gensor paused for a moment, looking inquisitively at Cadorna. "And her steed is magical, a familiar inherited from her dead master."

  Cadorna stepped closer at this news. "A familiar? What are its powers? Can anyone control it?"

  "A familiar is a mage's helpmate. A good one offers advice, warning, sometimes even protection from attack. Some are practically useless, but she insisted on taking the horse with her into the tower, so I expect the animal has some power to dispel magic."

  "Are those powers someone else could harness?"

  "A good familiar is loyal to the death and will serve another only at its master's bidding. Even I couldn't control the horse unless its master wished me to do so. You'd never be able to control it. Familiars communicate telepathically, by virtue of their spiritual tuning with their masters."

  "Cursed magic-users! You intentionally exclude yourselves from the rest of us!"

  "Yes, Councilman, that we do. And even though I don't have any use for the Cormyrian woman's naivete or her righteous friends, I still recognize her as a growing force within my profession, a force to be worked with… or reckoned with."

  "Or taken advantage of," said Cadorna, twisting his face into a smile.

  At this, Gensor smiled, too-an equally corrupt smile- and then chuckled, a muted, synthetic sound. "What did you have in mind, Councilman?"

  "You, of course, know my interest in those three, my belief that they may be able to help me recover the legacy due me from my family."

  "Yes…"

  "She seeks her mentor's murderer, does she not?" Cadorna asked, his narrowed eyes glinting.

  "Yes. So?"

  "It just seems to me that one of the gnolls that have overrun the Cadorna textile house may have had something to do with his murder. I mean, I'm sure I could make her think that was the case and get her to go there… don't you?" Cadorna was obviously calculating as he spoke. "My idea, of course, needs some refining, Gensor, but I'll certainly let you know when I can use your services again. In the meantime, since you don't need my monetary reimbursements, perhaps you'll take this for your efforts." Cadorna held out the magical dagger from Sokol Keep. It gleamed even in the daylight.

  "How strange, Gensor. By its glow, this knife tells me that you are dangerous."

  "Or that you are, Councilman." Gensor accepted the knife, turned, and left the study, closing the double doors firmly behind him.

  "You remember how Cerulean used to have a bluish tint to his coat?" Shal asked, setting down her mug of ale.

  "Yeah," answered Ren. "He does have a little bit of a blue tinge to him, even when he isn't collecting sparks from the floor."

  "Well, since he returned this morning from putting Ranthor to rest, his coat has just the slightest hint of purple to it." Shal looked up with a grin of pure delight, obviously expecting Ren to comprehend her excitement. But he simply returned a puzzled stare.

  "Don't you see?" asked Tarl, plunking down his own mug for emphasis. "Purple is Shal's color, not Ranthor's. The wizard has truly been put to rest, and the familiar is wholly Shal's."

  "Purple is Shal's color? How would you know?" Ren appeared puzzled and looked to Tarl for some kind of explanation.

  "I asked," Tarl said simply, and he locked eyes with Shal for just a moment before adding, "because I wanted to know."

  "Well, thanks, Tarl. What a pal!" Ren said sarcastically. " Why don't you just come out and accuse me of being unobservant?"

  "I wasn't suggesting-"

  Tarl didn't have a chance to finish. The doors to the inn were flung open wide, and two trumpeters entered. They took position on either side of the double doors and began blasting their horns so loud that Sot's collection of rare glass liquor bottles rattled in their rack behind the bar. Sot grabbed his cudgel and seemed likely to throttle the two, but at that moment a herald entered the inn, stepped between them, unfurled a long scroll, and began reading:

  "The Honorable Porphyrys Cadorna, Fourth Councilman of the City of Phlan, requires the presence of Tarl Desanea of Vaasa, Ren o' the Blade of Waterdeep, and Shal Bal of Cormyr directly in front of these premises immediately."

  "Fourth Councilman now, eh?" Tarl noted. "I guess we'd better see what he wants."

  "I don't get the impression we have much choice," said Ren, rising from the bench.

  The herald exited, and the trumpeters stood holding the doors open until the three followed. Outside the inn, a gleaming white carriage, drawn by two white horses with braided tails and manes and feather plumes, pulled up in front of the inn just as the three came out. After calming the spirited horses, the herald opened the carriage door and dropped to his hands and knees before it. Cadorna stepped from the high carriage onto the man's back, then down to the street.

  "Ah, I see you're all looking well." Cadorna waved his hand toward the three with a flourish. "Recovered from your mission to Thorn Island?"

  "Recovered, and all ready to tend to our own unfinished business," said Ren, a slight edge in his voice.

  "Not before assisting me with a small project, I hope," said Cadorna, his tone mirroring Ren's. "I believe my request will be of particular interest to the cleric, if not to the two of you. I assume that, in your concern for the cleric's best interests, you would consider accompanying him."

  Shal wasn't anxious to enter into a discussion with any man who stepped on the flesh of others, but she did want Tarl to know he had her support. "Please state your request, Fourth Councilman," she said.

  "I will… in the privacy of the inn," said Cadorna.

  "The privacy of the inn?" Shal repeated. She and the others looked at him curiously until he instructed his herald and trumpeters to enter and clear the tavern.

  Within a matter of minutes, the customers were emerging through the doorway. Sot's angry complaints coming from within could no doubt be heard for blocks.

  Chuckling quietly, Ren suggested that Cadorna allow the feisty innkeeper to stay, noting that he was a friend and, after all, the owner of the inn. To his surprise, Cadorna agreed.

  In fact, as the newly appointed Fourth Councilman began to describe his family's demise at the time of the Dragon Run, he pointed out Sot as an example of the type of businessperson his parents and grandparents were- hardworking, indefatigable, and possessing a kind of street sense that kept their business alive when others failed. "That's why I'm sure the family fortune, or at least a portion of it, must still be intact," he said.

  "As you can see," Cadorna continued with uncharacteristic humbleness, "I'm no fighter. I've recently received word from a half-orc spy I employ that the Cadorna textile house is now the dwelling place of a particularly disagreeable band of gnolls. Twice I hav
e dispatched parties in the hope of recovering what is rightfully mine, but both times they failed to return." Cadorna paused for a moment, shaking his head. "Imagine being defeated by anything as lazy and unobservant as a gnoll!"

  "Lazy and unobservant, perhaps, but big," Ren noted. "Not to mention completely amoral."

  "Yes… well, be that as it may, they certainly don't compare to the likes of the beasts you defeated at Sokol Keep, though I have heard some rather ugly rumors about the gnoll leader…" Cadorna paused a moment, watching them closely. "What I've heard is that he's a half-breed, the product of some poor woman's misfortune at the hands of a raiding band of gnolls…" He gave the others time to express their revulsion, then took out a piece of yellowed parchment.

  The map Cadorna produced was tattered from age and repeated folding. It showed the entire city, before it ever became separated into the civilized and uncivilized segments. Businesses were identified with notes about their ownership and their relative success. Cadorna didn't need to point out the location of his family's textile house; it dominated a large corner section of the city, and expansion plans had been sketched in on the map. When Cadorna was certain they knew the location of his family's business, he turned the map over. A crude sketch, obviously not the work of the cartographer who had drafted the city map, filled the other side.

  "This is my father's drawing of the property, including the family living quarters," Cadorna explained. "I believe the treasure is here," he continued, pointing to a wall of an area labeled as a bedroom. "I don't know if the bulk of the family holdings will be in coins or bullion, but I do have notes from my mother describing several family heirlooms that I expect will be there… if the treasure is still intact."

  "I don't understand, Councilman Cadorna," Tarl interrupted. "You implied earlier that I would have some special interest in this…"

  "It is my plan, should you recover the treasure, to give a generous portion-let's say fifteen percent-to the Tyrian temple."

  Tarl leaned forward, his interest obviously piqued. "Why haven't you made this offer to the warrior clerics from the temple?"

  "Simple. I consider the recovery of this treasure a personal matter. I'm not anxious to make this news public until such time as the treasure is actually in my hands," explained Cadorna.

  "You'll forgive my straightforwardness here, Councilman," said Ren, "but if I understand you correctly, you aren't asking us to reclaim the textile house for human habitation."

  "That's correct."

  "Then if the venture were made in daytime, when most of the creatures outside the walls sleep, what's the difficulty? Is there something you aren't telling us?"

  Cadorna cleared his throat, and his eyes darted from side to side. "Yes, well… the, uh, the gnoll leader I mentioned… They say he's as much a hyena in appearance-the mangy mane and yellowed teeth, you know-as any gnoll, but that he behaves like a man. Sometimes strangles his prey… even uses poisoned daggers. Highly ungnoll-like." Cadorna didn't wait for that to sink in, but instead plunged ahead. "A creature such as that might explain the, uh, difficulties experienced by the other two parties. With a superior intelligence leading them, the gnolls would indeed be formidable-even in daylight."

  At Cadorna's words, Shal squeezed her mug of ale so hard that the pewter dented in her hands. Ale flowed over the top of the mug and onto the table. Almost in unison, Ren and Tarl reached over to calm her.

  Cadorna pulled back, genuinely startled by her raw strength. When he was sure Ren and Tarl had calmed her down, he spoke to them as though she weren't there. "What ails the poor woman?"

  Tarl answered. "A friend of hers was killed recently… by a poisoned dagger."

  "And two people who were near him were killed by strangling," said Shal, regaining her composure.

  "Really?" Cadorna widened his eyes and reached forward in his best effort at a consoling gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was only relating rumors that I'd heard." He stopped speaking long enough to look Shal square in the eyes. "You don't think…?"

  Shal didn't respond. Instead, she turned to Ren, as if expecting him to offer some reason why Ranthor could or couldn't have been killed by the creature Cadorna had described.

  "A half-gnoll…" Ren shivered visibly. "I've never seen one. Half-orcs are disgusting enough, but I suppose anything's possible."

  Ren rose to his feet and moved behind Tarl and Shal to face Cadorna with them. He placed a hand on one shoulder of each of his companions. "There seems to be good reason for each of you to do this. You can count me in if you're of a mind to go."

  "My purpose in coming to Phlan hasn't changed," said Shal. "I'll go."

  Tarl stood and held his hand out to Cadorna. "We'll all go together, and if there's treasure within those walls, we'll bring it back to you."

  Cadorna extended his clammy palm to Tarl, and then in turn to Ren and Shal. That done, he left the inn with as much pomp as when he had entered. As he stepped onto the herald's back and into the waiting carriage, he reminded himself to make arrangements that would guarantee receipt of the complete treasure upon their return.

  It was nearly noon by the time the three of them were ready to leave Civilized Phlan. Ren was mounted atop the roan mare and Shal and Tarl on Cerulean.

  " 'Tis advisable to leave the city by boat if you're inclined to be returnin'!" shouted one of the four guards from the wall as they approached.

  "We have business in the uncivilized parts of the city," shouted Ren in return. "We'd be obliged if you'd open the gates."

  The guard and one of his companions trudged down the stairway. "A mission for the council mayhaps?" asked the guard, eyeing the two well-armed men and the large young woman.

  "A mission for a council member," Ren answered. "We'll be returning toward evening by the same gate."

  "Ha! An optimist!" The guard slapped his thigh and chuckled for a moment. "Well, Tymora be with you," he said, reaching for the latch mechanism that barred the gate. "You just holler when ya come back, and we'll open the gate for ya. I won't be holdin' my breath a-waitin', though, if you don't mind."

  "Charming fellow," Tarl whispered to Shal. "Just the sort you want guarding the city."

  "My hearin's pretty good, cleric," said the guard, wagging a finger at Tarl. "If you're wantin' inside later, you'll show me some respect."

  "No offense intended, Captain."

  "None taken, cleric. Say an extra prayer to your god and be on your way. Daylight's a-wastin'. One word o' advice, though, before you go. If you don't go lookin' for trouble in the old city, you're less apt to find it."

  Immediately beyond the gates stood some of the worst slums in the Realms-lean-tos, propped haphazardly against the new city's tall stone walls, shacks waiting for the wind to disperse their pieces like dandelion seeds, long-abandoned buildings in an advanced state of decrepitude. The inhabitants were physical misfits and half-breeds, the only creatures despised enough by both humans and monsters to serve as go-betweens for the civilized and uncivilized parts of the city.

  Even the horses lifted their heads high in a hopeless attempt to avoid the stench, high-stepping to keep their feet clear of the refuse that littered the alleyways. Cerulean barraged Shal with comments about the smells picked up by his superior olfactory senses. Shal hushed him by reminding him that horsemeat was undoubtedly a delicacy in these parts.

  Unscathed except for the loss of a few copper pieces to insistent beggars, they soon passed into the square that surrounded Kuto's Well. There was no sign of movement as they entered the ramshackle gateway, and they proceeded quietly past the buildings that lined the large square.

  Shal mentally ran through the spells she had memorized that morning. She could feel the hairs on her neck bristle with the sense that they were being watched, and she could tell from Tarl's tightening grip on her waist that he felt it, too. Ren drew out one of his short swords, and Tarl pulled his hammer from his belt. Behind them rose a loud squeal, and Cerulean instinctively spun around to face the s
ound. From the other direction came the unmistakable snorts and squeals of orcs. Cerulean spun again, positioning himself and his riders halfway between the two sounds, then backed toward the center of the square. Ren jerked the mare's reins and followed.

  Six orcs, all at least six feet tall where their mangy, manlike shoulders met their piglike heads, emerged from two shabby buildings, wielding clubs and axes and closing in on the three riders.

  "Get 'em!" Ren hissed, shifting his weight in the saddle and extending his sword.

  "No! Talk to them!" said Tarl firmly. "They must know they're no match for the three of us. We'll be able to find out more by talking."

  The orcs pressed forward, shouting in their own crude language of grunts and snorts.

  Ren glanced at Tarl as though his head were on backward, but when the orcs came closer, he started to speak first in broken orcish and then in thieves' cant, which they appeared to understand. "Stop right there," Ren threatened, "or we'll bash your heads in!"

  The creatures stopped but continued to snort and snuffle and brandish their weapons.

  "We're passing through this way. We don't want trouble," Ren continued.

  "We kill! No trouble!" grunted the orc closest to Ren.

  Ren pointed his short sword at the big orc and said, "I kill you, even less trouble." Ren bared his teeth and clicked his tongue, readying the mare for a charge.

  "We no kill! We no kill!" the orc snorted in panic. "Others kill. You worth much gold."

  Ren rushed the orc and grabbed it by the neck from behind. Then he pulled his blade high and tight under its neck. "Come again?"

  "You same party open up Sokol Keep. Lord of the Ruins want you dead. Offer much gold for your heads. We not take. Others take!"

  Ren glanced at Shal and Tarl, who were staring uncomprehendingly at the strange exchange. Ren repeated an abridged version of the conversation to them, then pushed the orc away with the flat of his blade. "Leave us alone and we don't kill you. Touch us or send an alarm, and you die. All of you!" Ren bluffed a charge toward one group, and Shal and Tarl took the cue and charged a short distance toward the other. The orcs fled like kicked dogs into the surrounding buildings.