Pool of Radiance

10 Yarash

“This is the rest of your treasure,” said Gensor. He watched Cadorna’s face darken as he laid out the dwarven armor and then the jewelry. He knew the councilman had killed for far less than the handful of expensive baubles before him, and Gensor had every intention of redirecting Cadorna’s attention so he wouldn’t take that route. “Not bad for a night’s work, eh? But mark my words, there are far bigger prizes to be had.”

“Oh?” Cadorna cocked his head and waited for the mage to go on.

“The woman … the mage. She took an assassin’s poison dagger in the shoulder last night. I made my exit from the inn unseen just as the brouhaha started.”

“She’s dead? It serves her r—”

“No. She lives. The Tyrian cleric—” Gensor paused for emphasis—“he used an ioun stone to heal the woman.”

“An ioun stone?” Cadorna stood up from his chair and came around in front of his desk. He had to check himself to keep from grabbing Gensor by his robes. “The cleric has an ioun stone?”

“Not his, I suspect, or I’m sure he would have left it with the temple. But, yes, he used an ioun stone. All the clerics and even some of the peasants who were worshiping in the temple early this morning saw it.”

Cadorna stood mere inches from Gensor, his eyes blazing with avarice, his thoughts turning to the first reports he had heard from the trio after their venture to Sokol Keep—about ioun stones, the Lord of the Ruins, and “power to the pool.”

Gensor went on. “This is only conjecture on my part, but as I said, I don’t think the gem could belong to the cleric.”

“Yes? So?” Cadorna actually began to tap his foot in his impatience.

“Do you remember the strong magic I detected in the big man’s boots? An ioun stone could explain that.”

“You think the stone belongs to him?”

It was Gensor’s impatience that showed now. He leaned almost nose to nose with Cadorna. “Yes … and he has two boots!”

Cadorna’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

A cloud of ocher-colored smoke puffed into the room right alongside Cadorna and Gensor. Both moved away from it, but Cadorna moved twice as far and twice as fast as Gensor. A sulfurous smell burned the nostrils of both men, and then a faint hum sounded as a short, spry, almost elflike wizard appeared in the room, his yellow-gold cape billowing with the last puffs of smoke.

“A messenger from the Lord of the Ruins,” said Gensor.

“Yes …” Cadorna acknowledged. “We’ve met.”

The messenger wasted no time. “I am here concerning a certain party of three, Councilman. You warned the Lord of the Ruins before they went to Sokol Keep, and he’s tried since to have them killed. In fact, only last night an assassin assigned to either gain their services or kill them was smashed to a pulp by the mage woman’s horse. The Lord of the Ruins wants those three dead.”

Gensor licked his thin, dry lips and swallowed. He’d had his own run-in with the horse shortly after he’d taken the jewelry and armor from the woman’s room at the inn. He had been startled at the time to find the horse loose in the streets. He figured the familiar must have bolted from the building after trampling the assassin.

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 the 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.”

“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 earsplitting 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 ores’ 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 biproducts 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.

“Halt!” shouted Shal, but the water near the shoreline churned and the fish heads appeared again, much closer. This time, though, they rose straight up from the water. Mage, ranger-thief, and cleric took a frightened step backward as the fish heads’ bodies came into view. The creatures were neither fish, amphibian, nor humanoid, but a sick crossing of the biological classes. Awkward, overly long fins beat the air where arms should have been, and thick, scaly torsos ended in stunted, barely separated legs. As the creatures lifted themselves from the water, their breathing became a labored sucking through the gills, but Yarash kept up his conjuring, and the misfit fish-men slogged closer. The wind changed directions, and the stench from the creatures was staggering, like the stink from the Stojanow multiplied and remultiplied.

Ren gulped for air and charged forward, lunging at the first of the grotesque beasts to emerge from the water. He stabbed deep into its gut with one of his short swords and pulled straight up through the torso. By rights, the thing should have died, but no blood poured from the body. Instead, a dark, tarry ooze seeped from the wound like dirty pus. Worse, the creature showed no sign whatsoever of pain, and before Ren could distance himself for another attack, it began flailing his head and shoulders with its fins and ramming him with its putrid, scaly body. Ren swung for all he was worth, even as he fell backward, and his sword sliced a deep gash across the fish-man’s pelvis.

By this time, more fish-men were closing in. Tarl charged with his shield and slammed with his hammer, but the creatures were impervious to his attacks. Not wanting to waste the Staff of Power’s charges on such mundane beasts, Shal put all of her strength behind her staff and jabbed and stabbed at the hideous creatures with its sharpened point, but it didn’t slow them, and now their gaping mouths were spewing a dark green fluid that seared and burned wherever it spattered against flesh. When she felt the scalding, searing acid eating through the skin of her neck and hand, Shal changed her mind about the degree of danger presented by the fish-men. She scrambled to gain enough distance from her foes to wield the staff.

Ren did his best, meanwhile, to recover his balance and continue his attack against the first of the fish-men, but others started circling. He wielded both short swords as furiously as he was able. He chopped a wedge out of the torso of one, and it bent on top of itself, but the creature still lived, still fought on. Chop and hack as he might, Ren could not stop the creatures from flailing and spewing forth their deadly poison.

“Get back!” Shal shouted to her companions, afraid that using the staff would threaten Ren or Tarl, who were nearly surrounded by the fish-men. But they could not retreat, and it was all Shal could do to keep the fish-men away from herself.

Tarl discovered he was able to push the fish-men off balance, and he was doing his best to do that in hope that either Ren or Shal would somehow be able to finish off the creatures. Push, swing. Push, swing. Again and again, Tarl slammed into their rubbery, scaly bodies with blows that would have pulverized a humanoid. Finally Tarl released his hammer with the smooth spring action Brother Anton had taught him. It caught one of the fish-men square in the eye. For the first time, fishy flesh and bone splattered and shattered. The carplike head caved in, and the fish-man flopped to the ground, twitching and jerking in the throes of death. “Aim for their heads, their eyes!” yelled Tarl. “That’s where they’re vulnerable!” Even as he shouted, he wheeled to face another of the ghastly beasts.

Shal and Ren heard Tarl’s cry and acted immediately. Ren swung high and viciously with his swords. With the efficiency born of her impressive strength, Shal used the staff to skewer eyeballs. Fish heads rolled, and within a few moments, an unnatural calm reigned where chaos had been supreme just moments before.

From his vantage point high atop the giant sea monster, Yarash let out an anguished moan, a soul-piercing, pitiful cry, and began another incantation. At his command, more vaguely humanoid amphibians, frog-men gone awry, slogged through the water toward the three. Each creature seemed more horrible than the last, and all struggled under the burden of cruel deformities—distorted body parts, missing eyes and limbs, hideous appendages that appeared to have been added as an afterthought.

Shal commanded her own most powerful conjuring voice to speak to Yarash. “What manner of abominations do you send our way? If these tortured creatures are your creations, how dare you call yourself a wizard?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a tone, apprentice!” Yarash raised his hands skyward, and lightning crackled in the air. He spoke a sharp word of command and pointed at the three companions. With the movements of defective zombies, the river creatures closed in to attack.

“Don’t do it!” shouted Shal to the wizard.

Ren and Tarl raised their weapons, prepared to fight the approaching monsters, but Shal motioned them back, at the same time uttering four arcane syllables to the Staff of Power. Balls of flame rolled from the end of the staff, and Yarash’s creations ignited like so many giant torches. Their miserable existences ended in even more miserable screams, but it was Yarash’s scream that would stay forever etched in Shal’s memory. Every hair on her body bristled as he shrieked in a combination of rage, horror, and devastation that would have been no more terrible had it come from a mother watching her firstborn put to a slow and painful death.

“Bitch! Bitch, be prepared to die!” the wizard shouted in a voice tainted with panic and frenzy. Magic missiles, spheres of flame, acid-tipped arrows, and lightning bolts burst from Yarash’s fingers in rapid succession as he called on all his resources to destroy the intruders. The deformed brush all along the shoreline immediately burst into flames, and a bolt of lightning struck Ren’s mare in the chest, killing her on the spot. Cerulean blazed a vivid purple from the profusion of magical energies all around him, but as he remained vulnerable to attack. Shal and Tarl acted at once to dispel what magic they could, while Ren dodged for his life.

As soon as Shal found a spare moment, she leveled the Staff of Power at the huge fish-beast beneath Yarash, then at Yarash himself, and pronounced the arcane words to call forth its full power. Lightning ripped through the air, jagged and blinding. The bloated sea monster exploded as if it were under pressure. Green, acidlike goo sprayed everywhere, and Yarash was blasted into the air. He managed to halt his descent with a hastily summoned spell, but he was still vulnerable to Shal’s attack. A bolt of lightning slammed his body back against the pyramid. Electricity crackled all about him as his energies clashed with Shal’s, arcing off the metal sides of the pyramid in a violent display of green and purple.

The wizard bellowed in rage and pain and raised his hands skyward to draw new energy from the churning gray clouds above. Shal recognized the gesticulations of a Weather Control spell and fought with all her newfound skills to turn the ferocious winds Yarash was creating back in his direction. Daylight disappeared as tornado fought cyclone for space in the sky and wizard strove against wizard. Shal seemed to thrive on the raw power that surged through her body in the exchange. With Cerulean’s mental aid, she fought to maintain the precious concentration needed to hold back the magical winds. At the same time, Shal brandished the Staff of Power once again. Yarash released the winds and leveled his hands toward Shal. With one word, even as Shal spoke the command to activate the staff once more, he let loose a force of energy that ripped the Staff of Power from her hands. In the same instant that the staff’s second lightning bolt exploded against Yarash’s chest, silhouetting the wizard’s bones through his robes and skin in its brilliance, the staff burst like a piece of crystal, sending wood fragments flying in all directions.

“The staff!” Shal shouted, reaching out desperately toward where she had last seen it. Before she could think to try the Wand of Wonder or a magical spell, Yarash vanished, leaving what was left of his tornado to be devoured by Shal’s. Within moments, the unnatural winds collided, lost most of their magical force, and drifted off to the north. The quiet that ensued was uncanny. Ren and Tarl still stood nearby, their mouths agape with awe over the display of power they had just witnessed.

Shal remained tense and her muscles taut as spent energy dissipated through her body. Cerulean’s color faded rapidly, an inadvertent barometer of the forces dispelling through the air all around them. Time passed unreckoned before Shal finally broke the eerie peace. “He lives yet. He teleported himself to safety.”

Shal’s words jarred the two men from their stunned silence. Tarl rushed to Shal and wrapped his arms around her. The big woman’s muscular body went completely limp, and Tarl could only slow her collapse to the ground.

“I’ve—I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” Ren said simply. “Will she be okay?” Ren looked to Tarl, and in his eyes he could see the fear that blanketed his friend’s face. “Can you help her?”

“I—I don’t know.” Tarl responded numbly, and he shook his head. “My god, she’s powerful! … But even as strong as she is, her body wasn’t ready for that kind of expenditure of energy.”

He closed his hands around both of hers and uttered a prayer of restoration and rejuvenation. In moments, he could feel a pulse of warmth and renewed strength building in Shal’s exhausted body. As with the other times he had healed Shal, he was nearly overwhelmed by the bond that flowed between them. He felt as though he were only a whisper away from sensing all of her emotions, and for the first time, he was certain that she shared the bond. When she opened her eyes and stared directly at him, he knew she did.

“Are you okay?” asked Ren, stooping down beside Shal.

She nodded, and he cuffed her gently on the shoulder. “I don’t ever want to be on the other side of a fight with you, woman. I never felt so helpless in all my life. My swords and daggers could’ve been butter knives for all the good they would’ve done me against you or Yarash.”

Shal sat bolt upright. “We’ve got to find him! He won’t stop making those creatures, those abominations. He’s obsessed. It’s the generation of those perverse creatures that pollutes the river, and he thrives on their creation. I’m no mind reader, but during the battle, I could feel his presence, his essence. He’s crazy—completely chaotic. And his obsession doesn’t end with the Stojanow River.”

“Can you get us out to the island?” Ren asked. “I know you’ve probably already used your quota of magic for at least the next week, but—”

“For a month or more, I think,” interrupted Shal. “I don’t think I can do it.”

Tarl reached out and gently helped her to her feet. “Take your time,” he said.

Still shaky, Shal slowly walked over and patted Cerulean. “I don’t think I’d have come through that without you, big fella. Thanks.”

Cerulean stamped one hoof but kept his thoughts to himself until Shal held out the Cloth of Many Pockets.

I’ll stay right here, thank you! Cerulean sniffed.

“No, please. I have an idea. I know I don’t have the strength to teleport all of us to the island, but I believe I can teleport myself.”

“You can’t go out there alone!” Ren and Tarl spoke as one.

“Shush.” Shal waved her hand at the two. “Cerulean, you have to tell me something. Are you able to go in the cloth because you’re magical, or can anybody do it?”

It has nothing to do with me, Mistress, though it does take a certain amount of concentration.

“How’s that?”

I could walk right up to that cloth and bump into it. Unless I was planning to go inside, I wouldn’t. I have to kind of get myself prepared for it—mentally, I mean. I dislike going in there, so I always pretend I’m going to land so hard in there that I’ll rip the pocket, and then I won’t have to do it anymore. Do you follow me?

“Yes … and I think it’ll work,” Shal said aloud.

“What?” the two men exclaimed together.

“I don’t have the energy to transport all three of us across the river, but if the two of you can get inside the cloth with Cerulean, I think I can fly myself over.”

Cerulean folded his ears down against his head and pawed the ground thoughtfully. Since you put it that way … Tell the two gentlemen to observe me closely. Be sure to explain what I just told you about getting prepared mentally.

Without a sound, Cerulean leaped forward and poured into the cloth, where he immediately proceeded to expound on the virtues of a well-lit environment.

Tarl and Ren both looked at Shal skeptically as she repeated Cerulean’s advice. Ren paused to collect his thoughts, then jumped toward Shal, but he stopped short before crashing into her, unconvinced that he could really pour himself into such a tiny space. Even Tarl, with his clerical skills, could not keep doubt from hindering his attempts to enter the cloth.

“Enough!” said Shal. “I don’t know what I’ll have left when I face Yarash, but I’m going to cast a Shrink spell.”

Neither Ren nor Tarl had any opportunity to object. A moment later, they were mere fractions of their former size. A gigantic Shal stooped over, picked them up, and deposited them in the cloth. Another moment later, they were all on their way to the sorcerer’s island with the aid of a Fly spell.

On the shore of the island, Shal pulled Tarl out. The Shrink spell wore off moments later, and he was back to original size and standing beside her. “Boy, it sure is black in there!” he exclaimed.

“So I’ve heard.” Shal said Ren’s name and reached for him, but nothing came within her grasp.

“Ren? Can you hear me?” Shal said excitedly. “Cerulean, is he in there with you?”

Suddenly the big man popped out of the cloth as if he had been shot from a gun. “By the gods, I’ve been to the Abyss and back! It’s blacker than the Pit in there, and it’s not all that easy to get out.”

“Okay, okay! So it’s dark in there. Can we get on with this?” Shal vowed silently to get Cerulean a lantern to take with him for future stays in the dark folds of the cloth.

To Ren’s keen senses, the smells of lightning and charred cloth were still recognizable. Set flush with the pyramid and barely discernible even up close was a teleport platform. A smudged footprint was the only telltale sign that made the surface of the platform visible. Ren pointed the teleport surface out to Shal and Tarl, then explained, “This should take us to him.”

They took position on the platform together, and immediately found themselves inside what they had to assume was the dark interior of the pyramid. An empty hallway stretched before them, but Yarash was nowhere in sight. “He’s been here,” said Ren, sniffing, his keen eyes darting from side to side. They walked the length of the long corridor, Ren as alert as a fox to any sight, smell, or sound. They passed doorway after doorway, but Ren didn’t even pause. “There!” He pointed suddenly. “Another teleport platform!”

Ren led the way, and three teleports and a walk upstairs later, they came upon Yarash, sitting against the corner of a room filled with books and ledgers, obviously his personal study. His robes were seared to his body, and his flesh was horribly burned, but he was still able to summon another contingent of fish-men. With no water, the strange creatures gasped for air, their malformed gills heaving and collapsing with such effort it seemed they would drop, but instead they crowded forward as their counterparts had, threatening the adventurers with their bulk and poison spittle. This time, there were no surprises. Shal, Tarl, and Ren went straight for the creatures’ oversized heads and gawking eyes. In moments, their flopping, twitching bodies and decapitated heads littered the floor. Shal knew the wizard’s paltry effort signaled his defeat, but she did not anticipate his next move.

As the last of the creatures flopped and twitched on the floor in death, Yarash began to rant. “Killing my creations! All my research, gone! You can’t carve my brain! You won’t get my secrets! You’ll never get my secrets!” And before they could reach him, he had disemboweled himself with his own dagger.

“Tyr and Tymora!” Tarl pressed his hands against the spasming body to stop its grotesque twitching. “What do you suppose the sick fellow was thinking of?”

“It looks to me like the answer might be in those ledgers,” said Ren. He wasted no time getting started on a search of the sorcerer’s belongings. “Bloody divination!” he shouted as he rifled through one of the larger ledgers. “Look at these maps! He was going to try to contaminate the entire Moonsea and use those freaks of his to control things! He was sicker than—”

“Cadorna,” said Shal, who had also started poring over the ledgers. “Yarash’s notes are thorough. Cadorna knew everything. Look at this! The councilman didn’t send us to check out a rumor or even to stop the pollution. He knew exactly where he was sending us. He did it to get the ioun stones.”

Ren moved behind Shal and started reading over her shoulder. “Would you look at that? Yarash wasn’t even going to give the stones to Cadorna. The Lord of the Ruins had offered a higher price!” Ren stopped cold and then began reading aloud. “ ‘… I can’t imagine what all the fuss is over a couple of rocks. The dragon has dispatched assassins to Waterdeep and beyond, looking for the stones, and now the councilman wants me to give them to him….’ ”

Ren’s eyes were wide. “The Lord of the Ruins—he sent the assassin to kill Tempest!”

Shal reached out and patted Ren’s arm soothingly. Then she pointed to an entry in another ledger and started reading it aloud. “ ‘Thank goodness Porphyrys has followed the instructions of the Lord of the Ruins this time and had those two interfering windbags killed. Between the red mage and that blue fellow, they were seriously depleting my supply of experimental stock….’ ” Shal could read no further.

“I’ve seen enough!” she said. “I wanted vengeance. Now I can get it. I want Cadorna to pay for this. Between these writings and what the three of us know already, I think we can convince the First Councilman of his guilt.”

“If we can’t,” said Tarl, helping Shal load the ledgers into the Cloth of Many Pockets, “there’s more than one bad apple on the council.”

Outside, the pyramid still looked like a giant bauble protruding from the landscape, but Yarash’s abominable creations had ceased forever. The conduit that had pumped the vile byproduct of his unnatural magical creations into the Stojanow was still, and the last of the black sludge had begun its slow journey downriver to the wide expanses of the Moonsea.