Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [2]
"Watch, and I'll show you how this is done," said Ranthor, his voice still sounding with a hint of laughter. "Not that you should be playing with crystal balls on your own any time soon, you understand…"
He waved his hands over the globe with practiced deliberation, then stepped back with a pleased look on his face as the ball floated to a secure position just a hand's height above the casting stand. "Concentration is the key here, young lady. Concentration, and not letting the crystal ball touch anything before you're completely finished with it.
"Look into the crystal with me. Concentrate. Picture a wizard… much like myself, but shorter, stockier, and dressed in red."
Shal closed her eyes to concentrate.
"No! You must look into the crystal. The crystal will project the image, but it needs your help."
Opening her eyes until they were mere slits, Shal stared into the swirling, iridescent red blaze of the globe. Wizard, she thought. Like Ranthor but shorter. She leaned closer. Yes! There was something there-the outline of a robe, the image of a man… Finally it came into clear focus. The man in the globe was obviously a wizard, but he looked nothing like Ranthor. Even with his crippling rheumatism, Ranthor had a commanding presence. His gestures, his meticulously pressed blue robes-everything about him bespoke style. The man in the globe, however, was rumpled, disheveled-looking. He obviously cared little about his appearance. Nonetheless, his smile was warm, and Shal could feel an unusual bond of loyalty flowing between this mage, Denlor, and her master.
"Ranthor, my trusted friend! You must know how glad I am to have reached you."
Shal stared, wide-eyed. Denlor wasn't speaking. Instead, she was somehow experiencing his thoughts-the words, as if spoken aloud, and much more than that. She could feel his exhaustion… and his panic.
"I would not have called on you, Ranthor, if my need were not great. Every vile beast ever belched up from the Pit is clamoring at the gate to my keep in Phlan. The protective magicks emanating from my tower are steadily weakening. I need your help, old friend. I can't hold out much longer, and there is much more at stake than just my aging bones."
Denlor's desperation washed over Shal. She could hear the sound that had echoed in the mage's brain day after day for untold nights-the din of a thousand unspeakable beasts growling, snarling, slavering, clawing at the walls that kept him and his tower from destruction. Denlor thought of his waning defenses, magical and otherwise, and as he did, his thoughts were Shal's thoughts. She gasped as she realized that she now knew the location of every trap in Denlor's keep, the arcane words that would open or seal every door in his tower, and she sensed the vulnerability of what had once been an impenetrable magical fortress.
"Ranthor, please… please help me!" Denlor pleaded imploringly.
Suddenly the image within the globe faded into a swirl of red, and then the sphere returned to its original icy crystal white and nestled gently back into the crux of the ebony tripod.
Shal let out her breath and turned to her master.
"My dear Shal, I'm so sorry," Ranthor began sincerely. "That wasn't any way to introduce you to crystal balls. Please understand that they can bear good news as well as bad. But this time, I'm afraid, the news is bad indeed. I must go immediately to the aid of my friend. I charge you to keep up with your magical studies and watch after this place until I return."
Shal never even had a chance to respond as Ranthor flew from one room to the next with a flurry of gestures, words, and instructions