Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [31]
Shal had always taken pride in her slim, supple arms and legs. She was proud, too, of her small feet, delicate fingers, and fine facial features. An almost completely changed woman returned her stare in the mirror. She was relieved to see that her body parts were not distorted, initially one of her big fears. The essence of her features, the intangible something that made her recognizable as herself, was still present, but she looked as if she'd gone through a major post-adolescent growth spurt and gotten incredibly serious about physical fitness. Shal tipped her head back and sighed. There were no more tears left in her. She had chided herself for her foolishness. She had mourned the loss of her petite body. She now faced the new Shal Bal. She didn't like it, but this was the Shal who would avenge Ranthor's death, and this was the Shal she would face until… until she died, for all she knew.
She backed away from the mirror till her legs brushed the bed. The big bed groaned as she lay down, mentally exhausted. She did her best to ignore it, lying still and breathing slow, easy breaths, the cleansing breaths Ranthor had taught her to quiet her mind and spirit. Each time she inhaled, she focused on pulling the loose ends of a particular fear from her extremities, and as she exhaled, she purged the fear from her body. By the time she went downstairs, her anxieties were gone. She was not happy to be living in her new body, but she was at peace. From the landing, she scanned the crowded common room until she spotted Tart's silver-white hair.
When Shal reached Tarl's table, his face lit up. It crossed her mind that she was fortunate to have found a companion like Tarl. Within moments after she sat down, the two were talking about recent events in their lives. Shal's conversation meandered from present to past and back again. She described the events leading up to Ranthor's death. She told Tarl stories of the special things her teacher had done for her, and talked about how it felt to be carrying on without him. Embarrassed, she related the story of her squandered wishes and the little she knew about Denlor's tower.
Tarl, in turn, described the horrors he had faced in the graveyard. For some reason, he disclosed to Shal even more than he had told to Brother Tern. He described in detail the horror of the horses' screams and the screams of his brothers. He told about the vampire, with its bloodless skin and bone-chilling deep voice. He omitted only the exact way in which the hammer was lost, since he considered its recovery his personal quest. Perhaps he would tell Shal about it in time, but for now he had said enough.
"I'm sorry to bore you with my story," Tarl concluded. "The deaths of my friends weigh heavily on me, but I still can't believe I'm telling all this to you."
At a loss for words, Shal sat quietly for several minutes, lost in thought. "What makes me feel so bad," she said finally, "is that I let you heal me and help me find clothes and a place to stay without ever even considering that you might have your own problems."
"Enough said, my friend. Let's eat." Tarl clapped his hands to get the attention of the big blond man who was working the tables.
"We'll take chowder and biscuits… oh, and wine for the two of us," said Tarl after consulting with Shal. "Is there anything else you'd recommend?"
The big tavern worker didn't respond. Instead, he stood staring, slack-jawed, at