Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [45]
Ren managed to maneuver the boat between the two rocks unscathed, and in a few minutes they had beached the ancient rowboat on a sandy segment of shoreline.
"So we're here. Now what?" asked Shal, looking anxiously toward the low, sheer cliffs that made the island a natural fortress.
"There's a stone stairway over there," said Tarl, pointing down the shoreline.
"Why don't we just knock and see if anybody's home?" Ren offered.
"Save the sarcasm," Shal scolded. "Do you have another idea?"
Ren reached into his pack and pulled out one of his favorite thieving tools. "Simple but effective," he said, holding up a three-clawed hook with a long, coiled rope to it. "I'd vote for following the shoreline a couple thousand feet and then making our way up somewhere where it's secluded."
"Agreed" said Tarl, realizing that Ren's suggestion made good sense. Why announce their presence to whoever-or whatever-waited up there?
The air was uncannily still as they made their way along the shoreline at the base of the cliff. As they went, they spotted wreckage from several small sailing craft. Rotting remains of bodies dead for weeks, perhaps months, lay in grotesque attitudes amidst the debris.
"They may have run aground in storms. I've heard the island is practically invisible at night." Ren paused and pointed up toward the cliff. "Looks like there's a break in the stone face up there. This looks like as good a place as any." He began to twirl the rope above his head in ever-lengthening circles. "One, two, three…" he counted softly, and then he released the grapnel into the air. It arched up over the lip of the cliff and landed with a muffled clink. Ren pulled the rope taut and then tested his full body weight against it. The rope held firmly in place.
"After you," he said, bowing quickly to Tarl and Shal.
"I-I'll never be able to climb that," Shal said, staring up at the cliff's face. "Maybe I could use a Jump spell or even a Spider Climb, but I don't have the arm strength to climb that rope."
"You don't have the arm strength?" Tarl reached out and circled his hands around Shal's muscular upper arm. "If you can't climb this rope, we'd better turn around and take our chances with Cadorna, because Ren and I will never make it either." Tarl regretted his words even before he finished speaking them.
Shal was looking down with distaste at the circumference of her arm where Tarl's hands had touched it. "Thanks, Tarl. Perhaps for my next stunt you could have me arm-wrestle a dragon!" she snapped. "The only trouble is, these tree trunks growing out of my body aren't mine!" Shal shook her arms in a violent shudder, as if by shaking them they might fall off and be replaced by the slender, petite arms that had once been hers.
Shal clenched her fists and faced the rope. She had seen her two companions looking on with what she was sure must be pity, and she berated herself for her own vanity. "There'll be no more pity on my account, you two. Yes, you're right. With these arms, I can climb this stupid rope!" She grabbed hold of it and began hoisting herself up, arm over arm. Her movements were smooth and effortless, and before she reached the top, she was actually marveling at the ease of her own movement.
Ren stood dumbfounded at the bottom of the cliff, anchoring the rope, his face a mask of confusion. Tarl's face bore the same expression of bafflement.
"D'you suppose we should follow that woman?" Ren asked, gazing up at Shal.
Tarl didn't answer. Instead, he started up the rope. Ren followed, and soon the three squatted together atop the cliff, facing the charred walls of the ancient fortress of Sokol Keep.
The blackened walls were encrusted with sea salts. Molds, weeds, tall grasses, and saplings were