Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [52]
All around them was wreckage. Shal's lightning bolts had blasted huge holes in the building's already damaged ceilings and walls, and the smoldering remains of dead humanoids lay everywhere. Shal slowly turned her head from side to side in disbelief, awed by the power she held within her grasp. She had never before killed, never been party to such wholesale destruction. She had also never been so consumed or driven by terror-fear for herself and fear for her companions-but she knew that she would react the same way again if confronted with the same situation. She looked at her friends, who were still staring at her in amazement.
When he could stir himself out of his shock, Tarl reached out and pressed his hands to Shal's bloodied shoulder. The power of Tyr flowed warm and strong, and he could feel the healing surge through his fingertips. Once again he experienced an overwhelming bond to the red-haired fighter-mage. As he healed her, he somehow felt the key to his own wholeness.
Shal reached up and pressed her hands over Tarl's. "Thank you. Please… please help Ren now."
Tarl snatched his hands away, ashamed that he could have forgotten his other companion for even a moment. He placed one hand on each of Ren's firm, muscular shoulders, Tarl could feel the pain of untold bruises, and he sensed internal damage where Ren had taken the blow to the stomach. Tarl waited for the healing warmth to flow through his hands. Once it did, he spoke. "You should feel better, but when we get back, you must rest. I can do little more."
"I can't think of a time when I've felt better," said Ren cheerily, shaking himself from his own stunned silence. "I mean, what more can a fellow ask? You carry on friendly conversations with orcs, she packs a weapon that even the gods must find frightening, and then you patch us up besides. We've even managed to fulfill our mission and collect some bonus information for the council."
"How's that?" Tarl asked.
"The old armory, the stuff about the shiny pool where the boss fellow, that 'Lord of the Ruins,' gets his power-that wasn't anything we agreed to dig up for Cadorna."
"That's true, but we still aren't done here," said Tarl.
"Not done!" exclaimed Shal. "I've had more than enough adventure for one day, thank you. Skeletons… oversized fly-slurpers… orcs and kobolds… You've got to understand, I used to get tired just dusting Ranthor's laboratory."
"But the skeletons… my brothers, the clerics of Tyr," Tarl insisted. "They still walk the keep."
"They seem pretty quiet, though," said Ren. "You calmed them down."
"Yes, but they're not at rest. I can feel it! They're still undead, tormented souls. I need to go to the temple and try to find out for myself what keeps them so agitated."
Ren stood and reached his hand down to help Shal to her feet. "I guess we can take a tour of the temple with him, don't you think? I mean, if it weren't for Tarl, you and I probably would have been killed by the skeletons- that is, if the cloud over this place hadn't killed us first."
Shal gave Ren's hand a squeeze, and then reached out and squeezed Tarl's. "Let's go, then," she said. "I really think we should get out of this place before dark."
Skeleton warriors were still milling in the entryway, but they did nothing to stop the three. Tarl lifted the latch on the ornately carved door to the temple and pushed. The altar inside was covered with dust, but it had not suffered from dragonfire. A lone specter flitted back and forth before the altar. Instead of moaning or screaming, it was shouting oath after oath, curse after curse.
Tarl felt his breathing speed at the sight of the ghostly visage. Its appearance reminded him of the vampire's minions. Tarl swallowed and struggled to get his breathing under control. With considerable effort, he spoke clearly and deliberately. "Who are you, brother, and what is troubling you?" Tarl asked.
The specter continued to flit up and down and back and forth among the tables and seats in the temple, but in between oaths, it spoke in