Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [63]
Shal nodded. Her every instinct was to press up the stairs fearlessly and find the murderous beast still lurking near her master's body, as it would happen in some stilted morality play of the type traveling thespians used to perform in the streets when she was a child. But she knew that somewhere upstairs she would find Ranthor's days-old body and, only if she was lucky, some sign of the creature that killed him. "That doorway off to the left." She pointed. "We can look in there first."
Shal continued speaking but in a hushed tone, her words no longer addressed to Tarl or Ren. "What do you mean, you'd rather not go in there?… So what if they occasionally served horsemeat? It wasn't yours. Go on, scoot! We don't want to fry on these high-energy floors."
The horse stepped forward, somewhat indignantly, Tarl thought, if horses can be indignant, but the floor of the kitchen he entered was normal, and the horse's brilliant blue light started to fade almost as soon as it had passed through the doorway.
Tarl didn't notice, however. He was lost in a muttering conversation with himself over Shal's behavior with Cerulean. "Right. Familiars do talk to their masters, I suppose. And their masters must talk to their familiars and not to their friends." He followed almost aimlessly behind Ren, who was following Shal. It wasn't until he felt the gentlest hint of a chill brush his back that he realized that the red robe was fluttering along behind him like some misplaced shadow. "By my oath, I wish I didn't feel so powerless when I'm with this woman," Tarl muttered, then shook his fist at the ghostly cloth. "Get back a few feet, will you? You give me the creeps. I'd gladly try some clerical magic beyond my means if I thought it would make you flap away."
The phantom obediently backed off a few steps, and Tarl felt a little better when he turned to resume following the others. Ren was already scouting the huge mess-style kitchen, examining the implements and foodstuffs left out on the cutting block and beside the great baking oven, silently opening doors to a pantry, a storage room, and a root cellar.
"I think I've found the cook," called Ren from the root cellar. "I need some light."
Cerulean's glow was fading fast, and he wouldn't have fit down the tight staircase anyhow, so Shal pulled out her light rod, which immediately began to glow with a constant blue-amethyst light. She held it high at the top of the stairs, then started down herself. "Here… can you see?"
"I can see fine now," answered Ren. "She was murdered, all right, about three days ago, I'd say. That's a burn mark from a cord that was pulled taut around her neck. It's the work of someone proficient, if not a pro."
Ren came up the stairs carrying the dead woman, a small figure with the dark coloring found in the far southwest reaches of the Realms. He laid her already stiff body on a long counter in the kitchen. "From what I can see, she was pushed down the stairs after she was killed. There's still a ladle in her hand. My guess is she never even saw her murderer. We're talking about a really brave assassin here." Ren felt like spitting to clear the bile that rose in his mouth at the thought of the kind of vermin that would kill with so little cause.
"From the way things are laid out there," Ren went on, pointing to an assortment of dishes, cooking utensils, and foodstuffs, "I'd say she had already finished preparing a meal for her master and guests and was working on food for the servants, if that matters any."
Tarl spoke a prayer for the woman, soliciting Tyr's aid in helping "… another victim of the darkness that rules the outskirts of this city" to find her peace.
"The way those rope marks pull up on her neck doesn't look to me like the work of a kobold or anything else that short," Ren mused.
"Whoever or whatever killed her, may Tyr