James M. Ward The Pool 01 Pool of Radiance

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goal, granted, but a goal nonetheless. And he would be among interesting
company besides.
Tarl awoke before dawn and spent time preparing his armor in quiet meditation,
as was the custom of his faith, contemplating the rightness of his
motivations, and foc-using on the need to display bravery and skill to the
honor of Tyr. The ritual of his meditation was broken more than once by the
memory of the screams of his brethren at the hands of the undead, the image of
the vampire mocking him, the humiliation of giving up the sacred Hammer of
Tyr, and the nightmare of Anton's flesh sizzling at the impact of the unholy
symbol from the Abyss.
Tarl shook his head to clear it of such thoughts and said a final prayer to
Tyr, thanking him for providing com-panionship as he sought to hone his skills
until he would be ready to make his return to the stronghold of the vam-pire
and demand the return of the hammer.
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As the sun cleared the rooftop of the temple and its light touched the back of
his neck, Tarl felt invigorated. Surely it was a sign that his god had renewed
his clerical powers. He stood and stretched, relishing the feel of his freshly
oiled chain mail adjusting itself to his form. Pick-ing up his backpack,
shield, and war hammer, he whis-pered the word "Ready" and set off to find his
friends and his destiny.
* * * * *
Ren, too, was observing a ritual that of a ranger-turned-thief. First he
checked the sharpness of the two jewel-handled daggers in his boots,
bittersweet re-minders of Tempest. She had given him the daggers as a gift
some years ago, and he had later had two ioun stones from the take for which
she was killed concealed inside their jeweled hilts. Ren thought of the
daggers as Right and Left, in keeping with his usual straightforward line of
thinking. As always, the blades were keen enough to split a baby's hair. Ren
went on to inspect his lockpicks, fire flask, hinge oil, climbing hooks, and
door wedges. All seemed to be in perfect order. His nine throwing daggers and
his two short swords, on the other hand, were dull and required sharpening. As
a ranger, roaming the woodlands, Ren had preferred the longbow and long sword
to short swords, but since he had turned to thiev-ing in the streets of
Waterdeep with Tempest, he preferred weapons that brought him up close and
personal.
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 sur-face 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 in-truders 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 whis-pered. 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...." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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