Pools of Darkness (10 page)

“What’s your name, trooper?”

“Shelly, noble ranger. I have been appointed by the council of New Phlan to operate this ferry service. We usually charge whatever one can pay for the ride, but we’ll cross you for free. It’s the least we can do for a hero of Phlan.” The trooper’s look was pleading. Deep down, he was hoping that Ren might help locate the city.

The ranger stared hard at the three. He tried to assess whether they were really who they said they were. Maybe they were thieves trying to rob honest citizens trying to get into Phlan. Then Ren realized he was glaring and softened his look. “Who did you say operates this ferry?”

“The council, sir. The profits go to feed the homeless—in case you were wondering.”

The ranger was convinced. He dismounted and led Stolen onto the huge raft. The craft was so enormous the logs didn’t even dip into the water when the huge war-horse stepped on. Shelly followed the pair onto the raft.

“Tell me, Shelly, how much would you have tried to charge me?”

The raft started to move as the other two troopers cranked the winch.

The sandy-haired warrior hesitated nervously, then drew himself up. “Why, I would have insisted on at least a gold piece for a fine-looking warrior like yourself, sir.”

Ren grinned and tossed two gold coins to the man. Slapping him on the back, Ren tried to sound friendly. “Thank you for the information, Shelly. See that the homeless get this.”

Shelly was obviously pleased by this gesture. He softened up a bit and no longer seemed as jumpy around the legendary ranger. “Many thanks, sir. And watch out for the first councilman. Lord Bartholomew is a rough one, Ren o’ the Blade!” the old guard offered.

During the rest of the short journey, Ren asked Shelly if he knew anything else about the city’s disappearance. The trooper knew little more than silly rumors, and the ranger realized that most of the sparse information was only idle chatter.

The tent city that sprawled before Ren was a huge, dismal thing. A large corral for horses stood to the north of the city. The wretched smell made it obvious that horse droppings were regularly tossed into the river. Greasy cooking fires sent plumes of smoke up over the village. Most of the tents along the river were little more than ceilings of canvas with open sides or blankets propped against ladders or wooden planks. Ren hoped there were some answers to be found, but his mood worsened as he looked about. He seriously doubted that anything useful would be found in New Phlan. His heart felt heavy in his chest. Even Stolen seemed somber.

As the raft approached the bank, ten troopers stood ready to meet it. They were led by a tall knight wearing plate mail armor. The knight’s crest proclaimed him to be of the Wainwright clan, but Ren had met other members of the Wainwright family and found them much more refined than this gruff-looking fellow. Before even a polite hello could be offered, the leader began bellowing orders at Ren.

“By the order of the great and noble Lord Bartholomew and the council of New Phlan, your horse must be stabled with the other mounts of the city.”

The ranger didn’t like the tone of this fool. Ren’s patience had worn thin. He wasn’t in the mood for delays, not when an entire city was missing.

Shelly came to his aid. “Lord Wainwright, you know not who you bark at. This fine gent is none other than Ren o’ the Blade. He’s come to help us get our city back.” Ren winced at the confidence in Shelly’s voice, but the man spoke well.

Shelly continued. “Back your men off, Lord, before Ren o’ the Blade has to prove his name once more in the new city of Phlan.” Ren opened his mouth, then closed it, waiting to see what would happen.

He couldn’t tell if it was his reputation or the bold proclamations of the old trooper or maybe the stomping of his nervous war-horse that elicited the desired effect, but the ten troopers backed up. The tall knight didn’t move an inch.

The leader obviously wasn’t going to be pushed around, but he wasn’t getting any support from his troopers. Turning to the raft, Lord Wainwright saw the ranger’s big grin.

“Lord Bartholomew discovered that animals were making New Phlan a diseased place. He has ordered them all penned. Your horse will be well cared for. But if it’s a fight you want, you can be well cared for, too.”

Ren laughed inwardly at the tall knight’s bravado. He was probably a real coward who ran from anything more than a bar brawl. But it wouldn’t be very polite to cut a fellow like him in half. New Phlan would likely need every healthy defender it had.

“I have no desire for a fight,” Ren answered sincerely. “But I do have something more gentlemanly to ask of a member of clan Wainwright. I fought alongside your cousins on the old walls of Phlan and found them to be heroic and brave. May I suggest that if you wish to live as long as your cousins, you explain your orders to innocent people before you deliver them? I believe it will dispose them to obeying rather than challenging you.”

“My lord,” the now-smiling knight said, “from the look of your two-handed sword, your chain mail, and the daggers trying to hide in your boots, I judge you haven’t been innocent for quite some time.”

The tall knight’s men got a good laugh out of the joke. The ranger nodded in deference to Lord Wainwright’s clever observation. Waving acceptance, the warrior led his mount to the makeshift corral a hundred yards away.

Ren located an empty area and took a few moments to unload his gear. He fed and watered Stolen, patted the beast, and ordered the war-horse to be behave. Stolen was the biggest horse in the corral, and the ranger departed without concern for the animal.

Ren glanced around, hating what he saw. Walking aimlessly up and down the river, the ranger could see there was little method to the arrangement of New Phlan. Three wide dirt paths spread to the east and west, but the tents along these paths formed side alleys and dead ends. Everywhere he looked, he saw people looking poor, destitute, and dirty. Phlan had been a prosperous city of many merchants. New Phlan needed a lot of help if it was even going to survive.

The city watch was in force—a good sign. At least some attempts were being made at law and order. Each squad of men was led by a knight in plate mail. From the dents and scrapes on their armor and shields, they looked to be earning their pay the hard way.

Venturing into the middle of the city, Ren found one tent a little larger and cleaner than the rest. He instantly recognized the Scales of Balance, symbol of the god Tyr, on a crest at the flap of the tent. Although Ren wasn’t a worshiper of the god of justice, he knew Tarl was. The ranger entered and found three warrior priests trying to help the poor souls crowding into the tent seeking food and healing. Feeling sorry for the three overworked clerics, Ren put aside the scores of questions filling his mind and pitched in.

After several hours of distributing healing potions and food, there was a lull in the activity. One of the clerics addressed him for the first time.

“Thank you, stranger. Your help is appreciated. You aren’t of our faith, are you?”

The ranger extended a hand. “My name is Ren o’ the Blade. One of my friends was a priest in your service. His name was Tarl, and he lived in Phlan before the city disappeared. Do you know of him?”

“We all know Tarl,” the cleric answered. His voice reflected respect for Ren’s friend. “He was a tower of strength and courage in Phlan. I fought many a battle at his side. But you should speak with Brother Anton. He’ll return shortly. He might be able to tell you more about what has happened in the city. In the meantime, please dine with us and stay the night.”

Ren grinned. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Brother Anton was recovering from a wound during my first visit in Phlan ten years ago. I am happy to hear he is still alive. I’ll return after I check on my horse at the corral.”

The city was nearly dark. Ren hurried to the corral, and in no time, watered and curried Stolen, giving him an extra ration of oats. The big mount was nervous and chafing at the boredom of the corral.

“You big lout. You know you won’t be stuck here long. I’ll give you a good hard ride tomorrow. We’ve been busy the last few weeks, and there’ll soon be plenty more action for you. I don’t know where our friends have gone, but you and I will find them if our search takes us to the ends of Toril.”

Ren shook his head as he left the enclosure, trying hard to credit his own words. If the gods had actually taken Phlan, finding his friend would be a tall order.

A giant of a man was waiting for the ranger in front of the lighted tent of Tyr. Anton had been weak and barely walking the last time Ren had seen him, years ago. Now the man was strong and robust, reaching out to hug Ren.

“It’s good to see you, ranger,” the warrior-cleric said with a rib-crushing hug. “Tarl and Shal aren’t dead, my boy. I know that for sure, but I know little else. Come into the tent and share the evening meal with us.”

Ren was barely able to contain himself. Anton just nodded and smiled, talking about the events of the day. He had traveled from tent to tent, helping families to put their lives back together.

Two of the priests of Tyr were gone on a council mission to gather trees from the forest to begin rebuilding the city. Five more of the brothers were with a larger contingent sent to quarry stone from the Dragonspine Mountains. Phlan wouldn’t be Phlan without new walls to protect the city. Ren couldn’t help but marvel at their optimism. They all spoke of rebuilding the city; as far as Ren could see, there was nothing to rebuild from. They were entirely starting over.

Finally, Ren could stand the suspense no longer. “Anton, what of Tarl and Shal? How do you know they aren’t dead?”

“Oh, I imagine you can feel it, too. You and I hold them deep in our hearts. We would know if they died. Our hearts would know it.”

Anton’s tone was somber as he continued. “I have communed with Tyr about our friends and our city. Our god has graciously granted me the knowledge that Tarl is alive. Tarl was given the gift of summoning the Warhammer of Tyr. During the night the city disappeared, a small gathering of our order took the hammer on the Ceremony of Spring. We were far from the city when the storm broke and ripped Phlan from us. But the hammer was summoned right out of our midst, and Tarl was the only one among us with that power.”

Ren choked at this news. “I saw him do it! It was in a dream I had over a month ago. I saw Tarl and Shal fighting for their lives after something horrible had happened to the city. Until today, I’d hoped it was only a dream.” Ren was agitated, and Anton encouraged him to relate the details of his strange dream. When he had finished, Ren turned to the cleric in earnest. “I have to find them, Anton. Can you help?”

“I’ll do what I can, Ren, but I can’t leave Phlan. I have to help the refugees here. But I have a feeling that the answers to some of your questions lie here in the city. Keep looking, and with the aid of Tyr, you will learn the fate of your friends.”

Brother Anton grew more serious as he counseled the desperate Ren. “I must warn you, brother, that what you find may well be worse than anything you have lived through.” Then Anton’s fatherly nature took over. “Now get some rest, boy. You’ll do our friends no good if you aren’t at your best.”

If Ren hadn’t been so worried, he would have been amused at being called “boy” by this giant of a man. The ranger was almost forty years old, and rarely thought of himself as young. But he was comforted a little by Anton’s compassion. Ren eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Up at dawn, as was his habit, the ranger helped the clerics for part of the morning, but Anton soon pushed him out of the tent.

“Ren, my lad, get out and among the people of this troubled city. Steer clear of the town guards. They’re an honest lot, but they have a tough job and take their work seriously. Now out with you.”

The seven-foot-tall Anton was hard to refuse. Ren sighed and left with a smile before Anton could toss him out of the tent, setting out to explore the sad city.

New Phlan could hardly be called a city—it was less than a hamlet, even though hundreds of people filled the shores of the Moonsea. Merchants hawked their wares, but without enthusiasm. Children played in the muddy dirt paths, but without energy. It was as if something had sucked the life out of the place.

Ren had fetched Stolen to give him some exercise. As he started out, a contingent of four city watchmen approached. They were led by a knight with a hawk’s crest on his shield. Ren didn’t recognize the heraldic emblem.

“Are you Ren o’ the Blade?” the leader barked.

Ren wondered if all the town guards failed their lessons in etiquette and making friends.

“What’s a simple ranger done to attract the attention of the town watch?” he responded.

“Lord Bartholomew has ordered us to find Ren o’ the Blade and bring him to the council. If you are this man, come along with us.”

“I’m the man you’re looking for, but I have other things to do,” Ren replied. “I’ll try to visit the council this afternoon.”

The knight looked ready to fight, but there was no such enthusiasm among the other guards. The leader fairly seethed as he responded to Ren’s boldness. “I will tell lord Bartholomew all that has transpired here. You had better find yourself at the council tent this afternoon or you will be sorry this conversation ended the way it did. I will personally make sure you are sufficiently regretful.” The knight spun around and pushed his way through his men.

“Another friend gone, Stolen. Some days you just can’t please anyone.”

Seated high on Stolen’s back, the ranger waded into the river until he was far to the north of the encampment. This section had been the campgrounds for countless invading armies in the old wars. The land was a flat plane with all timber and obstructions long ago removed. The poorest of the poor now lived here, north of New Phlan. These were the people living under the sky. Only the gods knew what they would do when winter came. Frost and sickness would kill most of them.

Happy to be out of the stable, Stolen rode hard. Ren merely guided him. They traveled to the southwest, circling wide around Phlan. The ranger wanted to reach Stormy Bay before noon. The fresh air felt good after the squalor of the city.