"And it will," Ranthor had said simply. It was not until much later that Shal learned that most apprentice mages pay enormous sums for their educations, especially when they study under a wizard of Ranthor's stature. She also learned, as she came to know other young apprentices, that many youthful mages were veritable slaves to their masters, yet Ranthor never expected more of her than the performance of routine chores-and above all, diligence at her studies.
Shal stared down at the onyx table, her eyes taking in the many, things Ranthor had left her. Suddenly Cerulean nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. He pushed the sack of oats to the floor and quickly began to rifle the bag. "Poor thing. I suppose even magic steeds have to eat." She poured some oats into the feed bag and held it out to the horse. Instead of eating greedily as Shal thought he would, the horse pressed his head hard against her back and pushed her toward the doorway.
"Oats aren't good enough for you, or are you just being friendly in some odd way?" Shal asked, amused at the animal's gesture.
Naturally I like oats, but I don't really need them. After all, I am magical, you know.
The mental communication from the horse took Shal completely by surprise. The last thing she had expected was a response. She'd lived around magic for three years and had seen many unusual things. In the back of her mind, she even knew that familiars communicated somehow with their masters, but she had never experienced the mental barrage of telepathy-or taken part in a conversation, telepathic or otherwise-with a horse. She found it more than a little unnerving.
It's you who needs to eat. You're planning to go to Phlan, aren't you?
Shal looked at Cerulean quizzically. As if mental communication wasn't jarring enough, he "thought" with the pronounced accent of someone from the Eastern Realms. Shal responded aloud. "I've been thinking about it. Do you read minds, too?"
No, but I'm far from stupid, and I'm not afraid to express my ideas. The horse raised its head a little with that thought. I just assume that you will be wanting to dispatch whoever or whatever killed our master.
"Our master? I'd rather you didn't phrase it exactly that way. It makes me sound like I'm a horse."
My apologies. How about if I call you Mistress from now on?
"Fine. So, what do you do when I'm not riding you?"
Sometimes our mas-uh, Ranthor-would make me climb in one of the pockets of that cloth. Cerulean angled his head in the direction of the table, where the indigo cloth still lay spread out. I don't much care for that actually. It's dark in there-pitch black, in fact. As long as there's plenty of room, I prefer to just vanish and walk around.
"Really?" Shal asked. "And what if there's not plenty of room?"
Then I just wait outside-you know, invisible. As long as no one runs into me, it works out fine. But we can discuss all that en route to the kitchen. You really should eat, Mistress. And then we need to make travel plans for our trip to Phlan.
Shal shook her head. She didn't know what startled her more-the fact that the horse could communicate or that its communication was so decisive. She wondered for a moment how Ranthor had interacted with Cerulean. Whenever Shal had suggested that Ranthor had been working too hard and should eat, he would all but shoo her away. She couldn't imagine Ranthor taking instructions from a horse. She looked wistfully toward the last place from which she had heard Ranthor's voice. Although she expected no answer, she still asked the question: "Ranthor, you said this horse served you well. You didn't say it had rather firm opinions about being left in the dark, or that it stood around outside waiting for someone to run into it. Where's my 'magic steed' instruction booklet, Ranthor? Aren't you the one who thought of everything?"
Well, if you're going to be that way about it… Cerulean's eyes assumed a hurt look, and he stomped out of the room and vanished.
"Cerulean, come back here!" Shal called out to the thin air, feeling rather foolish. "I just haven't got the hang of this yet."
You mean you'll eat?
"Yes, I'll eat. I'll meet you in the kitchen." Shal walked down the corridor, fully expecting at any moment to bump into an invisible horse, but when she reached the kitchen, Cerulean was already there. He was quite visible again.
Shal cut herself two pieces of goat's cheese and bread and poured herself half a flagon of mineral water. She took a bite of the sandwich and then raised the flagon in her right hand and held it up toward Cerulean. "To Ranthor, to magical horses, and to magical journeys! May the gods be with us, Cerulean!"
Cerulean nodded his head and whinnied softly. To Ranthor and the past. To you, Mistress, and to the future.
Shal finished her simple dinner with an apple, which she shared with Cerulean. After tidying up, she packed, putting everything she thought she could use in the Cloth of Many Pockets and adding a few more things in Cerulean's saddlebags. Then she went through the entire keep, magically sealing doorways, rooms, and passages with the command words Ranthor had taught her. Spells of protection had been one of Ranthor's specialties, and Shal knew as she stood at the outer gate of the keep that nothing short of a god could enter before she returned. "Not bad for an apprentice-right, Cerulean?" The big stallion laid its head on her shoulder and looked back at the keep. After a last brief moment of remembering, Shal turned, mounted Cerulean, and resolved to make Ranthor proud of her on this, her first true adventure. "To Phlan, big fellow. Let's go!"
Cerulean galloped like no horse Shal had ever ridden. The movements of the stallion's huge body were so fluid that Shal almost felt as if she were flying. She rode for miles at an incredible pace, and Cerulean never tired.
Shal took advantage of the smooth ride to study her new magical tools and learn the command words written on the Staff of Power. Before she knew it, the sun was setting. "Well done, Cerulean! Let's stop and rest."
Shal started to go about the motions of setting up camp as she'd seen her brothers do when she was younger. She kept her riding gloves on to protect her hands as she gathered wood and kindling. There was no need to struggle with flint and steel to start the fire, either. Instead, she used a simple cantrip Ranthor had taught her. As the fire began to blaze, Shal stood back and proudly admired her handiwork. She unrolled her bedding and was about to heat a piece of jerky for dinner when Cerulean began to snort and stamp. "Is something wrong?" Shal whispered, wondering if she was about to encounter intruders.
Aren't you going to take care of the beast that brought you? Do you think I want to carry these saddlebags all night? Or chew on this hunk of metal in my dreams?
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Immediately Shal began to remove the offending tack. Unstrapping Cerulean's bridle and removing his bit was easy. Undoing the stiff saddle harness wasn't even too taxing. But when Shal started to lift the saddle and packs off Cerulean's back, she almost buckled under the weight.
"Oof! This is heavy! I wish I were stronger!" And with her last words, she let out a gasp.
The magic of the Ring of Three Wishes worked instantly. Shal could feel herself growing larger, stronger. The saddle became like a feather in her hands. Her once perfectly fitted riding gear bound her flesh so tightly that the seams split. She flung the saddle to the ground with a force her petite body had never been capable of and watched in horror as her delicate hands and slender arms grew into what she perceived as huge, brawny appendages. She watched her feet, calves, and thighs expand in a similar fashion, and she could feel a sheath of muscled flesh building on her once trim stomach.