Pool of Radiance (33 page)

Tarl withdrew his hands from Shal’s shoulder for a moment as he called for special power from Tyr. Then he placed his hands on her shoulder once more and held tight. Tingling energy surged between him and her as he focused on the deeper, older wound. He could feel the energy purging, expunging the decay, and then he could sense the mending, that wonderful warmth of regenerating tissue. As always, he felt a very special exchange of spirit with Shal. When he was done, the only sign of either the old wound or the new one was the rent leather of her tunic. He said a silent thank-you to Tyr for granting him the ability to heal Shal.

Because of the swelling and bruises, Shal’s hand and wrist looked bad, but the cuts appeared to be shallow, abrasions really. It was not until Tarl squatted beside Shal and clasped her wrist in his hands to heal it that he realized that the tails of the whip had buried grime and dirt beneath the skin for the length of the cuts. He said nothing to Shal. She smiled up at him as he worked. Tarl felt the exhilaration of healing one more time, but he also felt a slight drain from using his clerical powers twice in rapid succession.

What about me? Cerulean’s question jogged Shal’s awareness.

“Tarl, look!” Aghast, Shal pointed at the horse’s leg. A pool of blood had formed beside one hoof, and blood was matted the length of Cerulean’s foreleg. “Can you help him?” She stood up and put one arm around the big stallion’s neck, marveling at the speed and totality of her own recovery.

Without hesitation, Tarl cleansed the gash in the horse’s leg. Blood that had started to clot freed up, and fresh blood pulsed down the foreleg, adding to the puddle by Cerulean’s foot. Tarl pressed his hands over as much of the wound as he could. As healing energy left him for the third time, Tarl started to sway, and as the wound began to close over, he had to catch his balance with one hand to keep himself from slumping down onto the deck in a faint.

“Tarl!” Shal scrambled to his side. “What’s—what’s wrong?” she asked, anxiously steadying him with her strong arms before he swooned.

“Just… tired” he said in a puff of breath. “Need rest … no time …”

“Shhhh.” Shal pulled Tarl close and whispered the words of a cantrip that would double the intensity of Tarl’s rest. Then she turned back to the horse. Are you okay? she probed.

It still hurts. He didn’t quite finish, but it’s stopped bleeding—

“The schooner’s getting closer!” Ren’s shout carried from the other end of the boat. “Tarl! Shal! Can you help with that sail?”

“In a minute!” Shal shouted back. She laid Tarl down gently on the deck and removed her own healing potion from the Cloth of Many Pockets. Quickly she applied a drop to each of his temples in hopes that its powers extended to rejuvenation as well as physical healing.

In the meantime, Cerulean had made his way to the flapping sail Ren had pointed to and was trying to get hold of it by grasping the untied end with his teeth. He had probably pulled the stay loose when he tried to trample the mercenary, and now he was doing his best to make up for his clumsiness.

Not waiting for Tarl to respond to her treatment, Shal went to Cerulean’s aid. She was no whiz at knot-tying, but she did her best to secure the sail. Just as soon as she got it pulled taut into place, the whole sail filled with a gust of wind, and the small ship shot forward. Looking back, Shal could see that the Black Watch’s schooner had indeed gotten closer. In fact, it was rapidly approaching arrow range despite the ferry’s increased pace.

Shal glanced quickly at Tarl. He hadn’t moved. By the gods, she hoped he’d be all right—and soon. For the moment, she did her best to focus her thoughts on the approaching vessel and the magic she would need to stop it. The Weather spells were still the freshest in her mind. She let her body sway gently with the slight rocking motion of the boat. Then she let herself feel the uneven surging and gusting of the southern crosswind. Finally, with a gesture and the mouthing of a spell, she caught the unexpelled force within the gentle wind in the space between her two hands, expanding the force and channeling it away from herself. She directed it to push at the waters surrounding the approaching schooner. Restless waves rolled up from the calm surface of the water, and the entire expanse of sea between the schooner and the ferry began to roil and churn.

Shal pushed with her left hand and pulled with her right, pushed with her left hand and pulled back with her right, over and over again. She watched as the schooner began to spin involuntarily, in the beginnings of a whirlpool. A feeling not unlike electricity tingled up and down Shal’s spine, and she relished the sensation of power. Magical power, her magical power, was controlling the very wind and the waves, causing a whole boat to turn round and round. She continued to push with one hand and pull back with the other, push and pull back, faster and faster. She started to repeat the words of the spell, saying them even louder so she could hear herself over the whining wind and the distant screams of the men on the schooner.

Then she felt strong hands grab her from behind, and Tarl’s shout broke her concentration. “No! Stop!” He pulled her around to face him. “Don’t kill my brothers! There’s no need to kill them!”

Shal stared at him, taken aback by his regained strength, but not comprehending his message at all.

Cerulean nosed in and blocked the cleric, pushing him back with his body. Shal took up the spell where she had left off. The waters hadn’t stopped swirling. A few movements of her hands and the water was churning with renewed ferocity. The schooner swirled crazily and within minutes disappeared nose-first into the growing spiral. The whirlpool swallowed the boat like a giant maw gulping down an insect. Then the swirling stopped, but the water continued to froth and boil.

Shal spun around and quickly ran to Tarl, who was sitting on the deck behind Cerulean. She squatted beside him and held his face in her hands and made him look at her. “Are—are you okay, Tarl? Do you know where you are?”

“I’m … sorry,” said Tarl, rubbing his head with both hands. “I was dreaming … about the graveyard. It was so real…. The vampire was standing right there.” Tarl pointed at the rail along the stern, where Shal had been standing only moments before. He killed them … my brothers, one after another. He wouldn’t stop killing! I’m … sorry.”

“Hey, it’s all right, Tarl. Are you sure you’re okay now? Really okay?”

“I… I guess I am.” Tarl held his hand out to Shal and started to stand. “I feel completely rested, as if I hadn’t used my clerical powers in days. I’m just jittery from the nightmare. Is your shoulder all right?”

Shal didn’t get a chance to answer because both she and Tarl turned as one when the captain shouted, “Sail’s loose again!” and they leaped like a team for the wayward piece of cloth. Unfortunately the winds were wilder than they had been, stirred even at this distance from the whirlwind force Shal had generated, and the sail flapped high, slapping loudly against itself. It slipped teasingly down and then flapped up again before they could catch it.

It took several tries before Shal caught hold of the sail. Tarl retied the knot, and they went to the bow of the boat, where Ren was securing another guy wire at the captain’s direction. As before, once the sail was secured, it filled gloriously, and the small ship scudded forward at a brisk pace.

The captain had steered wide to avoid the still-blackened waters at the mouth of the Stojanow River, and now the ferry was finally approaching the opposite shore.

“You’ll be wantin’ to debark in a hurry,” said the captain, addressing Ren. “You can be certain if a ship of the Black Watch goes down, there’ll be more followin’. There’s no way I can anchor. I’m afraid that horse is gonna break a leg tryin’ to make it down to the water. How’d it get on here, anyhow?”

“The same way he’ll get off,” answered Shal, pointing to the cloth at her belt.

I’ll try the gangplank, the horse argued.

And what? Dive off it? Shal pursed her lips, stared him down, and pointed once more. With no further complaints, Cerulean dove in.

“Well, I’ll be!” The captain looked in awe at Shal. “I thought that little storm ye whipped up was pretty fancy, but makin’ a horse disappear into your belt—well, that’s some magic!” He wagged a finger at the three of them and said, “Now, get offa my boat while the gettin’s good. The water here should be about ten foot deep, so its safe to dive.”

Shal quickly added some of their gear to the Cloth of Many Pockets, then she, Ren, and Tarl dived overboard and swam for shore.

The captain had already turned the ferry away and was well out in the water before the three even made it to the rocky beach.

“So what now?” Shal pulled off her soaked leather boots and stood in a sandy section of the boulder-strewn beach. “We got out of the city, but the captain was right. The Black Watch will be after us again. And you can be sure they’ll let Cadorna know we’re alive. We’re not accomplishing anything sitting on this beach.”

“You’re right. We need to get away from the beach,” said Ren. “We’ll go north and west, toward the graveyard. We’ll rest for the night, and then we’ll help Tarl get his hammer back.”

“No,” said Tarl softly.

“I understand,” said Ren. “If you aren’t ready, I have my own sights set on Valjevo Castle and that gutless monster that sends out assassins to murder women.” Ren wiped his salt-caked lips on his sleeve.

“No,” Tarl said again. “I’m ready. What I mean is that you won’t go with me. I’m the one who lost the hammer, and I’m the one who’s going to go get it.”

“Be realistic, Tarl,” Shal protested. “Just because you’re a cleric doesn’t mean you have to be a martyr!”

Ren walked around in front of Tarl, put his big hands on his friend’s shoulders, and gently pushed him back until he could sit him down on one of the boulders on the beach. “Shal’s right. Anyhow, we’ve been through all this before.”

The three argued heatedly until finally Tarl agreed to let Ren and Shal go with him. Since none of them wanted to sit in wet clothes with dusk setting in, waiting for soldiers to follow, they hiked inland, wide of the river, until they were a short distance from the graveyard, in a place with sufficient brush and cover to set up camp. Shal made a smokeless, arcane fire, but unfortunately it was heatless, too.

Ren volunteered to collect some wood. As he saw it, nobody from Phlan would attempt to come this way before morning, if at all. The creatures they had to worry about would more likely be repelled by a fire than drawn to it.

Alone together as they laid out their bedding and prepared a meager meal of dried fruits and meat, Shal and Tarl shared a brief few minutes of awkward silence.

Tarl cleared his throat and spoke hesitantly. “Shal, I really don’t know how to say this. I—I know you care for Ren—”

“It’s not the same,” Shal said softly.

Tarl looked straight into Shal’s green eyes.”Meaning?”

Shal held out her hands for Tarl’s. She had been so unsure of herself when they first met on the docks of Phlan that she was aware only of his tremendous kindness. Ren’s attraction to her had seemed justified somehow by her resemblance to Tempest, but Tarl’s she had not fully accepted. Even after he healed her in the temple, she’d felt he might simply be caught in the overwhelming emotion of the moment. But right now, as he grasped her hands and pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, she knew that Tarl’s affection was both strong and genuine. “Meaning I love you, Tarl.”

As warm and wonderful as she had felt every time Tarl had healed her, she felt twice as good now. A special electricity, an uncanny awareness of his touch, coursed through her as she felt his fingertips ever so gentle on her neck and back, his soft kiss on her forehead, and then the warmth of his breath in her ear as he whispered, “I love you, too, Shal.”

There was a considerable thrashing in the brush nearby, and the two pulled apart instantly and drew their weapons just in time to see Ren returning to their makeshift campsite.

“You’re not very graceful for a ranger!” Shal jested, fighting her own embarrassment.

“Every bit as graceful as I want to be,” said Ren, smiling wistfully.

Tarl rushed over to help prepare the fire.

“There’s no sign that there’s been anything more fierce than skunks or snakes traveling through this stretch of woods any time recently,” said Ren. “I think we can sleep without worrying tod much.”

Tarl still kept a late-night vigil, watching and listening for signs of anything, living or undead, nearby. It was as Ren said, quiet and still except for the lively dancing of shadows from their flickering fire. Tarl sat beside Shal and watched her as she slept, the red cascades of her hair aglow in the firelight. When all remained quiet, he silently pulled his bedroll next to hers and lay down. While the stars rose and fell in the sky, he prayed and communed with his god until he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Ren feigned sleep the entire time Tarl kept watch. His mind was churning with thoughts of the morning. Tarl and Shal had both proved themselves as fighters, but Ren was convinced that neither would make it through the graveyard tomorrow. It was too easy to wake the undead, to make a move that would bring them springing up by the dozens as had happened at Sokol Keep. And the undead of Valhingen Graveyard weren’t former Tyrian clerics. His mind made up, he allowed himself a brief, restless sleep.

When Tarl and Shal awoke, Ren was gone. Stud’s first thought was that he somehow felt alienated because of what he had seen when he returned with the firewood, but Tarl shook his head firmly. “No. He’s told me more than once that I didn’t stand a chance of getting the hammer back. He believes that, with his rangering and thieving skills, he can get it. I think he went into the graveyard alone.”

Shal felt a chill was over her. She had heard Ren say as much yesterday—how the key to passing through a place filled with undead was stealth, and that Tarl’s presence, his aura, his medallion, everything about him offended the undead because he was a servant of a benevolent god.

They wasted no time and broke camp quickly. The sun wasn’t even completely over the horizon when they reached the gate to the cemetery. A huge lump caught in Tarl’s throat when Shal called for Cerulean, remembering the deaths of his brothers’ horses. Shal seemed to sense his thoughts and raised a hand to remind him that Cerulean was no ordinary horse.