“Could you have slept with that stinking poultice on? I laid there till the stars came out, and then I got up and scrubbed myself with salts and lye and anything I could think of until I finally got rid of that stench. I couldn’t go anywhere undetected smelling like that. And I sure couldn’t hope to get very close to you.”
Shal blushed and turned to continue currying the horse. “Your girl friend … Tempest … must have been very special.”
Ren cocked his head, surprised that Shal would bring up the subject of Tempest.
Shal answered his unspoken question. “I know you’re only attracted to me because I remind you of her.”
Ren swallowed hard and was about to say something when Tarl entered the stable. He quickly took a step away from Shal.
“You’re moving easier than you were last night,” Tarl said to Ren.
“Yeah. That poultice helped, but I think the workout I got washing it off probably did almost as much good.”
“Now, that’s a fine thank-you,” Tarl said with a smile. He turned to say good morning to Shal, but she spoke first.
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’d really like to get going.” Shal related the events of her dream the previous night and her sense that Ranthor’s soul was not at rest. “Are you sure you still want to come?” she asked when she was finished.
Ren’s acknowledgement was simple. He led out a roan mare from three stalls down and began to prepare her tack.
Tarl just looked up at Shal and said, “Can I ride with you?”
The streets of Phlan were mostly straight, and Ren led the way. In the heart of town, where the Laughing Goblin Inn was located, the streets bustled with activity. At every corner, peddlers touted their wares. As was his custom, Ren took in everything, watching for anything out of the ordinary. The closer they came to the outer walls of the civilized portion of the city, the sparser the crowds grew and the more wary Ren became.
Tarl wasn’t nearly so watchful, at least at the start. He gladly wrapped his arms around Shal’s waist and leaned his head gently against hers as they cantered to the farthest end of Civilized Phlan. What made a woman smell so good? he wondered, able for the first time that day to focus on something besides Anton and his own failings. Tarl had spent every ounce of healing that remained in him yesterday on Anton, and he knew his brothers continued to do the same daily, but if Anton had made any progress, it was measured in mustard grains.
Denlor’s tower and the high walls surrounding it were built of red brick, which stood out in bright contrast to the gray-black fortress at the edge of the city. From a distance, the tower appeared friendly and inviting, a testimony to the wizard’s benevolent character. But as they came closer, they could see that whole sections had been hammered away or blackened from repeated fires.
Ren reined his horse into the midst of a small grove of annonwood trees that paralleled one dilapidated wall of the keep, motioning for Shal to follow. More bushes than trees, the orange-leafed annonwoods made up the thick border of a small park at the farthest corner of the city. “I found this place last night when I scouted the tower,” Ren said in a hushed voice. “It has a sort of natural peace about it. It’s the peace of living things, not death like so much of Phlan. We can leave the horses here in safety and move under cover to the outer gates—”
“You may leave your horse if you want,” said Shal, interrupting, “but Cerulean is coming along with us. He was my master’s magical familiar, and now he’s mine. He can be of help to us while we’re trying to get through the magical barriers that guard this place.”
Ren’s first inclination was to argue the difficulties of trying to move inconspicuously with a huge war-horse tagging along, but Shal’s tone left no room for argument. Shrugging, Ren dismounted and led the way to the tower, working slowly and silently through the border of annonwoods until they reached the stretch of wall that marked the edge of Civilized Phlan. Again and again, he glanced behind him and off to both sides, as he had when they were riding, sure but not sure that they were being followed. He noticed nothing, not even a whisper or a misplaced scent. There was just an occasional shimmer of ocher light vanishing from the corner of his eye each time he turned. It could be the sun, it could be his own lack of sleep, it could be nothing at all. Ren glanced behind himself one final time before they dashed under the vine-covered arch that led to the grounds of the tower. Still he saw nothing.
Nothing alive, at any rate. All around the tower lay the charred and rotting bodies of dozens of kinds of monsters and other marauders. Shal sucked in her breath at the sight and smell of the carnage, remembering the panic Denlor had shown in the vision through the crystal as hordes upon hordes of creatures converged on his tower, many of them gaining entrance by the force of their sheer numbers. In a fashion atypical among such creatures, those that lay at the walls had sacrificed themselves by diminishing the tower’s magical energies so that others could enter and invade it.
Tarl dropped to one knee and waved his hammer in the air to form the sign of the balances. He, too, wondered what manner of evil force could convince so many humanoids and monsters to go willingly to their deaths.
Shal wasted no time in contemplation. She picked her way around the corpses that lay on the faint path. To either side of the door, bodies were heaped like cordwood, many of them decapitated, some otherwise mutilated from battle. Most showed signs of burning. Some were rotting with age, while others may have died within the last few days.
An icy spur of fear pulsed through Shal as she approached the door to the tower. It was a great brass door, its surface marred by numerous scratches, exactly as she remembered it from the images Denlor had projected through the crystal. She shuddered involuntarily, knowing that Ranthor’s death, too, must have been just as she had seen it in the large clear globe. She reached out a tremoring hand toward the gate.
“No!” Ren hissed, grabbing her arm. “That door has a charge that will knock a person flat.” He reached in front of her and touched the metal lock with a piece of deadwood. Instantly the stick shot from his hand. Were it not for his gauntlets, his hand would have been badly cut by the sheer force of it. “This whole place is buzzing with magical energy. The side doors are also magically guarded, but I’ve brought my thieving tools along. I think that with time and care, I can get us in.”
“Ren, your tools aren’t needed here.” Shal explained how in his message, Denlor, the red mage, had left her with the “keys” to passage into and within his tower. Shal held her hand out toward the door as she had started to a moment ago and uttered two magical words. The lock began to glow a cherry red, and the door swung open. Ren and Tarl exchanged surprised glances and were about to enter cautiously, but it was Shal’s turn to hold up a hand in warning. She repeated Ren’s earlier safety measure, picking up a twig that lay on the path and tossing it into the open doorway. A crimson arc of energy illuminated the area immediately in front of the door. It wasn’t clear whether the twig ever reached the floor. There was a loud crackling noise, and flame erupted where the small stick had struck the arc, incinerating it in an instant.
Shal stood silent, obviously concentrating, and in a few moments Cerulean stepped forward, past Tarl and past Ren, and entered the tower. Brilliant red sparks erupted all around the horse’s hooves as each touched the floor. The others peered in as the big horse paraded in a circle before the doorway. In his movements, Cerulean showed no sign whatsoever of pain or discomfort, but his hide began to glow an iridescent blue, the deep, almost purple blue of a grackle’s head, and the glow intensified with each step.
Shal spoke softly. “He’s absorbing the power of Denlor’s red lightning with each step he takes. It should be safe for us to walk across the magically charged floor in a minute.”