What Tyranthraxus could never hope to achieve in his own plane, where he was merely a minor entity among giants, was finally within his grasp here on this plane of weak mortal minds. He already controlled the actions of a legion of creatures within his telepathic reach. By corrupting the Pool of Radiance, a magical body of water that had been created by the goddess Selune to purify her followers before arcane rites, and expanding its powers with the enhancing forces of a perfect hexagon of ioun stones, Tyranthraxus had found the means of becoming the supreme ruling being of an entire plane.
Each drop of blood added to the pool gave Tyranthraxus new life energy. Each ioun stone added a measure of power to his own. For years he had researched the magical gemstones' power, and he knew that the hexagon was the ultimate figure of control. With six stones, lined up perfectly, and his tremendous mental capacity, he would control the actions of every creature on this plane, and with the power of the pool, he would do it forever…
" 'By proclamation of the Honorable First Councilman of the City of Phlan, Porphorys Cadorna is hereby declared Second Councilman.' "
Cadorna bowed graciously before the First Councilman, members of the council, and the audience of onlookers assembled in the public chambers. An encampment of gnolls had been ousted from the uncivilized portion of the city, freeing up the old Cadorna property. Cadorna had immediately acted in the council's name to employ the Black Watch, a band of exceptionally efficient mercenaries, to storm the adjacent library and slums and reclaim those properties for Civilized Phlan. At the same time, an unprecedented donation had been made to the Tyrian Temple in Cadorna's name. Finally, a large number of coins had changed hands to ensure Cadorna's ascension to the second most powerful position on the council. "Your honors, people of Phlan…" he began. "I thank you for entrusting me with this tremendous responsibility. I will, as before, work unrelentingly for the betterment and expansion of our fair city."
Cadorna descended from the dais, shook all the proper hands, smiled all the right smiles, spoke all the proper words-then slipped away to his private chambers, where Gensor was waiting.
The councilman whisked past the mage and turned around to face him as he spoke. "You believe the three have kept something from me?"
"Whether or not it is some part of your treasure they hide, I cannot say." The mage lowered his hood as he approached Cadorna and looked straight into the councilman's eyes. "But the bigger man, the one called Ren, no longer radiated the magic he once did, and I saw him make contact with the woman when they were unloading their goods on the table. I saw nothing pass between them, but he is very smooth, and her magic is strong. They may well have made an exchange, or he may have passed something to her for safekeeping."
"Scoundrels! Lying thieves! I'll-What are you laughing at?"
The mage snorted and then laughed again, a wheezing, hissing snicker. "Surely, Councilman, you've heard of the turtle calling the tortoise hard-shelled?"
"Ingrate! There'll be a day when you wish-"
"Wish what? That I'd treated you better? Councilman, you and I both know this relationship will end the day it doesn't serve one of us. In the meantime, let me remind you that I did contract the Black Watch as you requested, and they have completed their first assignment."
"Yes… the mercenaries did well with the recovery of the gnoll embattlement. But what of the second task?" Cadorna clenched and unclenched his hands, eager for the news that would confirm his ascension to the position of First Councilman.
Gensor grinned, his ashen lips pulling so thin they almost disappeared. "Everything is in place for them to take over as guards of the city. Per your instructions-" Gensor stopped when he saw a mix of fury and terror rise in Cadorna's eyes. "Per my instructions," Gensor corrected, "they have prepared an orcish arrow for the First Councilman. I saw it myself. Everyone will assume the murderer is an assassin from outside the walls. Your plan is a good one."
Cadorna nodded his acknowledgment. "I thought so…" For a moment, his eyes gleamed in anticipation, and then they darkened. "But what of the treasure taken by those three? Can you recover it for me? Are you mage enough to acquire the stolen items from that hulking woman?"
"Brawn is not common to magic-users, I'll admit, but don't assume that our skill grows in proportion to our frailty. I wouldn't choose to go one-on-one against her…"
"You mean you won't do it?" Cadorna fairly snarled the words.
"I will. I'll use my full resources to try to recover your treasure. I meant only that I wouldn't go looking for it while she was in her room. And, remember, there may not be any more treasure. I didn't actually see anything."
Cadorna scowled, then snapped at the mage: "You'll bring back anything that may be of use to me!"
"Of course." Gensor pulled up his hood and turned toward the door.
"Go, then, but bring back word this evening. Understand?"
"I think so. Oh, before I forget… what of the Lord of the Ruins?" asked Gensor.
"What do you mean?"
"What have you done to satisfy his inquiries about the gnoll encampment? He must be furious."
"As soon as I meet with his next messenger, I'll explain that I was forced to take action but that I'll see that those parts quickly fall back into his hands."
"Interesting." Gensor scrutinized Cadorna with a look. "Is that really your intent?"
"Is that really your affair, mage?"
"I suppose not. But I'll know soon enough, in any event." Gensor turned and slipped through the door. Cadorna just barely made out the mage's parting words: "See you too soon."
Slate-colored thunderheads billowed and churned in a circle directly over Shal's head. Lightning bolts raged out in every direction above her. Shal extended her well-muscled arms skyward and flexed her taut fingers at precisely the right moment as she incanted yet another Weather Control spell. The bit of moistened earth she'd been holding vanished into the gray sky, and the bottom of the nearest thunderhead immediately became like so many bowls of gray dust, swirling first in one direction and then another.
The largest of the bowls swelled and bulged as if the cloud's mists were fighting against themselves and the confines of the bowl. Moments later, a snake of curling, writhing vapor broke free from the thunderhead and spiraled down, bringing with it the dragon winds of a fierce tornado. In a triumphant gesture, Shal dispatched the descending cyclone out to sea, where it became a waterspout filled with fury, vacuuming the Moonsea's waters into its hungry vortex and spewing them high into the air.
When the twister did not dissipate as she had intended but continued to rage across the bay, Shal beat the air with her fists and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Damn!" She watched in despair as the waterspout changed direction and surged back toward the docks of Phlan, which were lined with boats whose captains had chosen not to risk travel during such a violent storm. Shal spoke the words of a simple cantrip, one she had tried only on much smaller, less volatile subjects, and did her level best to push the tornado away. It held and came no closer, but she had to channel all her energies and repeat the cantrip three times to finally get it to turn back to sea. For several minutes, the twister darkened the waters of the bay. Finally it slowed, began to dissipate, and spewed its last. Shal slumped down on the rooftop of the inn, exhausted.
Her nose and mouth buried in her steepled hands, her windblown red hair spilling down her back and arms, she spoke quietly to Cerulean, who stood, shimmering a rich amethyst color, beside her. "I did it, Cerulean. I mastered the weather."
You took a foolhardy risk, the familiar corrected her.
Shal lifted her head and rested her chin on her knuckles. "Perhaps. But it was a necessary step, a step I needed to take in order to see Ranthor's death avenged and make myself worthy of his legacy.
"When Ranthor was alive," she went on, "I merely toyed with magic. I failed to take advantage of the opportunity right in front of me."
Agreed, but-
"You don't need to agree with me."
>
I was only trying to be, uh…
"Agreeable? Thanks, but I think I prefer you to be ornery." Shal reached up and patted Cerulean on his flank, then gently stroked his fetlock, admiring the beauty of his color even as it faded. "I do prefer the purple," she said absently, still flushed by her success with the difficult weather spells. She had taken a naturally overcast and blustery day and added rain, lightning, a little hail-and a tornado!
I don't distinguish colors, Mistress, so the color of my aura makes no difference to me. But you're changing the subject. What you did-casting spell after spell at the limits of your experience and expertise-was terribly dangerous. I simply don't understand why you've suddenly become so obsessed with improving your skills so rapidly. Cerulean pawed the rooftop and turned quietly to let Shal stroke his opposite leg.
"I think you do, Cerulean. It's more than wanting to do my best for Ranthor. As much as I admired him and want to do right by him, it's myself I have to please now. I always thought of magic as a way of making a living, a pastime, a way to get by. It was never a profession for me, just an easy route to security. In fact, I hated to think about what it might do to my appearance if I performed too much magic. Long ago, I decided I'd use my limited skills for commercial purposes-to help someone move a little equipment around, to frighten lowlifes who didn't pay their bills on time…"
I can see-
"No, wait, Cerulean. Let me finish. What I wanted to say is that I never took magic seriously. In Ranthor's absence, I've realized, first of all, that I have talent, and second of all, that I enjoy the power magic gives me. And-and-" Shal paused, groping for words-"I don't-I don't hate this new body anymore. There are some real advantages to being strong. And I don't feel so-so concerned about what magic may do to my looks. I know there is probably no reason to think this, but I feel… protected somehow from the effects of spell-casting. It's as if my body is no longer susceptible to damage."
"No longer susceptible to damage?" The voice came from behind Cerulean.
The big horse stamped and spun around to face the intruder.
Shal turned her head. Ren stood not more than ten feet from her, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He'd climbed the same creaky ladder Shal had climbed to reach the roof of the inn, and he had done it soundlessly. She shook her head, marveling. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"It gives me a chance to… see things," said Ren, and he came closer, holding a hand out toward Shal.
She tipped her head and laughed lightly as she let him pull her to her feet. "To see what? An exhausted, half-baked magic-user and a purple horse?"
Ren pulled Shal up close and reached for her other hand. "A beautiful woman who I-"
The ladder creaked behind Ren. In a single motion, he dropped Shal's hands, turned on his heels, and whisked Left from his boot.
Tarl's head poked out over the rooftop. "Sot said I might find you he-" On seeing Ren's stance and expression, Tarl glanced down at the ladder. "I'm sorry. I-"
"No. Tarl!" Shal pushed her way past Ren and extended her hand to Tarl. "Come up. Please."
"Sorry about the knife. I didn't mean to be so touchy." Ren spoke in a hushed voice. "Ever since we got arrested coming back into the city, I've been a little jumpy. Even at the temple, getting my hand healed… I've had this feeling as if I'm not safe anywhere. I mean, it's in my training to watch my back, and there's always seemed to be a person or two around who has it in for me, but now I feel shadows everywhere. I don't feel alone even after I've checked everything around me."
Tarl sensed that he had interrupted something between Ren and Shal, but he was not about to be the one to bring it up. He climbed up onto the rooftop and spoke of a concern of his own. "I don't share your eye or ear for movement, Ren, but I do know that I was followed here. The one who shadowed me didn't try very hard to be subtle. In fact, she's sitting downstairs in the common room right now."
Shal and Ren looked at Tarl with intense curiosity.
"Who?" they asked in unison.
"A half-orc. She'd pass for human except for her nose. It's as boarlike as they come. She carries an unusually small scimitar and several thief's daggers, and she cloaks herself in a dark gray cape. I don't know who she is or why she's following me, but I've got the feeling she's waiting for a chance to talk to me."
"Cadorna," said Shal firmly. "It's not enough that he has his thugs accost us like criminals at the city gates. Now he has us followed, too."
"You, too?" Ren asked.
"No, not that I'm aware of. But the two of you… and for what?"
Ren crouched down and spoke in a whisper. "The treasure? The part we kept?"
"Then let's return it," said Shal. "It's just sitting on the nightstand in my room. We've no need of it. I wasn't even sure why you wanted me to keep it in the first place."
"Two reasons," Ren responded. "I didn't figure there was any way you could yank that armor out of your cloth without somebody noticing…" Ren spoke even more softly. "And I needed to get those ioun stones where they wouldn't be found."
"But since the stones are safe now, shouldn't we do as Shal says and return the armor?"
Ren heaved a sigh and spoke resignedly. "If I thought Cadorna was to be trusted, I'd be the first to hand back the rest of his treasure. But he's a rat of the first order, and I don't want to meet the fellow he sends after me wearing that armor or wielding weapons that jewelry paid for."
"You think he did it, don't you?" Shal looked at Ren.
The big man arched one eyebrow, puzzled. "Did what?"
Tarl answered. "You think he killed Shal's teacher-and that he'd kill us if he thought we knew."
"Yeah, I think so. But I don't know for sure. I do feel pretty certain that even if that half-gnoll was involved in it, it was work-for-hire. He at least had a sense of honor."
Shal hissed her words. "My flesh creeps every time I get near the councilman, and my gut feeling is that he did it. But I've no proof, and I don't know what his motive is. I'm prepared to test him by magic."
Cerulean stamped and snorted as though sharing Shal's anger and indignation.
"While coming from the temple, I heard that Cadorna has been made Second Councilman," Tarl pointed out. "That means we need physical proof before we do anything rash. Cadorna has tremendous resources at his disposal now. I heard he even hired a mercenary militia to guard the city."
"I've heard the same thing," agreed Ren. "We'll need to work together-carefully. When we know the why, we'll know if Cadorna is the murderer. For now, though, I'd settle for some supper."
"What about the woman in the gray cloak?" asked Tarl.
"If she's really following you, maybe we can learn why… or at least who sent her," Ren answered.
"I'll find out," said Shal, a strange fury in her eyes.
A sprinkling of guests sat at tables in the inn, one here, two or three there. There was someone at almost every table but not a full table in the house. Those who were with others were speaking self-consciously, the way people do when a room gets too quiet for comfortable conversation. Shal and Ren and Tarl made their way to a large oval table that had just emptied near the bar. Neither Ren nor Shal had to ask where the half-orc woman was. She was seated at the center of the common room, and while no one appeared to be looking directly at her, she seemed to be the focus of attention, her shining black hair and dark complexion contrasting boldly with the light walls of the inn.
She did not look over at the three, and made no move to approach them while they ate. It was not until they had finished eating and were talking quietly that she approached their table. She didn't wait for an invitation. As soon as she had made eye contact with all three, she sat down. She immediately leaned across the table and began speaking directly to Tarl in a treacherous, whiskey-hoarse voice. "I can make your brother well."
Tarl sat silent, compelled to look into her black eyes.
"I can make him whole again."
"How? What do you know about Anton? An
d who are you?" Tarl spoke coolly, showing no emotion.
"I am called Quarrel, and I've been sent as a messenger-" she hushed her voice to a whisper-"a messenger of the Lord of the Ruins."
"The Lord of the Ruins?" Like the others, Shal had not expected to encounter an emissary of the Lord of the Ruins inside Civilized Phlan.
Ren flashed a dagger in each hand. "Speak your piece and make it quick, orc-meat," he hissed.
The look Quarrel returned would have sent needles of ice through a lesser man. "Hold your peace, thief! No fewer than five warriors gathered in this room are also in service to the Lord of the Ruins, and there isn't a one who couldn't slam a knife into your jugular before you could ever lay a hand on me."
"You and two more would die before I fell."
"Perhaps, but that's not what I'm here for, nor is it what they're here for," she said gesturing around the room.
The woman spread her hands flat on the big table in a calming gesture, then spoke in a still-throaty but less biting voice. "I'm here to make a deal with you-a very good deal."
"Speak," said Shal, her staff now raised.
"I've already made one offer… I'll see that the cleric's friend is healed. I'll also name your teacher's murderer. I'll even kill him for you, if you wish…"
Shal started for a moment, wondering if the woman had heard any part of their conversation on the rooftop.
"And for you, thief, I'll get the name of the assassin who killed your red-haired lover. I'll let you kill him yourself, of course."
Ren fairly threw himself across the table and grabbed the orc-woman roughly by the collar. "Orc vermin! What do you know about my Tempest?"
"Unhand me, you bastard, or I'll have that assassin kill you instead!" Six armed warriors had leaped from their tables and moved in closer.
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