After checking his other basic supplies, Ren pulled out the small amber-inlaid chest he had carried with him from Waterdeep. He brushed a layer of dust from its surface and chided himself for not taking better care of the container that held the most important tool of his trade. After disarming the three traps designed to keep intruders from the box, Ren lifted the cover.
A sensation akin to an electrical charge coursed up Ren’s spine as he touched the enchanted gauntlets. “It’s been far too long since we were together,” Ren whispered. Carefully he pulled on the jet-black gloves. As they warmed to the temperature of his skin, their color and texture changed to match his tanned skin perfectly. He held his hands up admiringly. No one would ever know he was wearing gloves. He fitted his favorite lock-pick into the palm of his right glove, and it disappeared into the perfectly camouflaged surface. Then he tucked a pouch of sneezing powder under the right glove. Where there should have been a bulge, there was only his wrist. The magical gloves not only protected his hands, but more than that, they also added a measure of speed and dexterity to his movements.
Ren joined his hands together, cracked his knuckles, and then reached for his black leather armor. He smiled wistfully as he lifted the durable featherweight vest. He could remember the day Tempest had stolen it for him—and how she’d taken it off him that same night. After checking the fastenings, Ren slipped into the armor. He caught sight of his reflection on the polished surface of a copper planter, and he let out a low whistle. It had been a long time since he looked that good. “This one’s for you, Tempest,” he said softly. “And when this is done, I’ll get that bastard who killed you….”
With everything in place, he was ready for the final step in his ritual. He stood with his feet wide apart and began the first moves in a slow and complicated set of exercises. Shal Bal would have recognized them as a wizard’s trance relaxation routine. Tarl would have called it a Dan muscle stimulation. Ren simply called it the last thing he had to do.
Like Tarl, Shal had been up since before dawn, memorizing spells she thought she might need. The last she struggled with was one Ranthor had taught her in recent months, which was called Web of Entrapment. Dipping into the Cloth of Many Pockets, Shal easily found the necessary components for the spell. She smiled, aware once again of how well her master had provided for her. “I hope to make you proud, Ranthor,” she whispered softly.
She donned the fine leathers she had bought yesterday and her cloak, as well. “This mission isn’t what I had in mind, but it will be an adventure,” Shal said aloud, talking half to herself, half to the spirit of her mentor. “My first adventure into the ‘real’ world. I don’t suppose you packed ‘adventure equipment’ into this cloth, did you, Ranthor?” She repeated the words and then reached inside the cloth. Amazing! she thought as she pulled out item after item—a pair of daggers, a rod with a perpetual light at the tip, an odd belt with a seemingly unending array of sheaths and pouches, a leather purse filled with an assortment of common spell components, and a small bag of flour.
“Flour? I can guess what everything else is for, but why the flour?”
Shal reached into the final pocket and found a tiny scroll. She unfurled it and discovered a note written in Ranthor’s fluid script: The flour is there to reveal what is invisible. You should have known that, Apprentice.
“My teacher, you truly knew me too well. I wish you could meet my two new friends,” she sighed.
Shal took a deep breath and paused for a last moment to prepare mentally for the test she must pass before making her way to Denlor’s tower. She wondered if perhaps Tarl and Ren might help her when—if—they returned from Sokol Keep.
She found perfect stowing places for her spell components, rods, daggers, and magical cloth on the oddly designed belt. Shal held the belt up wistfully before buckling it, aware that it might have gone around her former self twice. Now, she needed to use the last buckle hole. When she’d pulled it snug, she marveled at the fact that it was virtually weightless once it was secured. Finally she practiced drawing the Staff of Power from the magical cloth. The six-foot-tall staff looked more than a little odd coming out of the small square of indigo cloth, but it came easily to her hand every time she asked for it. She almost laughed at the thought of employing the staff or any of her magical items on real enemies. “Yes, Ranthor, this is me, Shal—the same Shal who was afraid of a Burning Hands spell.”
Ren was already in the common room, talking with Sot, when Shal came downstairs. He bit his lip when he saw the way she’d pulled her hair back. A large copper clip lifted her auburn hair off her face, accenting her high, flushed cheekbones, without even beginning to tame the wild red tresses that raged down her back. It was not a style Tempest had ever used, but it was stunning, and it made Ren see Shal for the first time as having a beauty unique to her and not tied up in his memories. “Good morning, Shal. You look wonderful!”
Shal blushed and smiled. “Good morning!” Shal stopped and stood stock still at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Ren. The self-described ranger-thief, whose body had been hidden yesterday in a mangy, baggy tunic and pants held up by a drawstring, was now dressed from head to foot in body-fitting black, oiled leather. His physique was impressive, not at all that of the dumpy barkeep Shal had conversed with the day before. Whereas yesterday Ren’s blond hair had been matted to his head, today it shone a honey gold, cascading smoothly to his shoulders. His blue eyes glimmered, their deep color intensified by the brilliant blue of the gemstones set in the shoulder pads of his black armor. Shal noticed, too, that concealed cleverly on his person was a veritable armory. Strategically stowed for quick access were knives, daggers, two short swords, and several devices Shal couldn’t attempt to name. “I—I hardly recognize you,” she managed to say.
“Me neither,” echoed Sot, eyeing the big man. “Ain’t he a sight, though. I guess I’ll have to be puttin’ up a sign for some new help around here.” His expression changed suddenly as he realized how his words might be interpreted. “Not because you won’t be coming back from the island, of course. I just mean that I … I can see you’ve got more important things to do with yourself than waiting on tables.”
Ren smiled and pulled out a stool for Shal from behind the bar.
Shal smiled, too, touched by Sot’s obvious concern for Ren. Then she shivered suddenly. It was possible, perhaps even likely, that they would be killed. She hadn’t realized that she had been avoiding the thought. She let out a slow breath and turned her mind to more immediate concerns. “Is Tarl here yet?” she asked as she started to sit down.
“Yeah. He just went out for a minute to check on your horse,” Sot replied.
Shal slapped one hand up to her mouth. “Cerulean! Excuse me … I should be seeing to my own horse. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Before Shal even reached the stable, the familiar was bombarding her with snide remarks. Oh, sure, off on an adventure, and you’re going to leave me cooling my heels in this pig sty. No, worse—you’d forgotten you even had a familiar, a faithful magical steed prepared to serve you regardless of the risk….
“Cerulean, I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in things that I didn’t even think to tell you about the trip I must make. I promise to have the innkeeper tend to you while I’m gone,” Shal said as she approached the huge horse’s stall.
Unnoticed by Shal, Tarl had entered the stable with a sack of corn fodder to spread in the horse’s trough. “Good morning, Shal,” he said, looking at her rather strangely. “Apologizing to your horse now, eh? I gathered yesterday that you were pretty chummy with him, but—”