Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [67]
Tarl reached down to help his friend up, but Ren shook his head in stubborn refusal and stood on his own. "I'll lick this thing. Just give me a minute."
"Stay calm," Shal reminded him. "The key is to stay calm."
"Let me try it," said Tarl. "My clerical training might help me."
"Sure, be my guest." Ren replied, still rubbing his stinging shoulder.
Tarl began to speak the words of a traditional cleansing ritual intended to purify thoughts, "As Tyr controls the balances, may I measure the things that weigh upon my heart, and may they balance the sides of the scale equally that I may meet my god at peace." Tarl's words were correct, but he knew that the balances did not rest evenly within him. Thoughts of Anton, his dead brothers, and the missing hammer outweighed all else. When he tried to pass through the barrier, he was thrown to the ground with every bit as much force as Ren had been.
Tarl concentrated once more on the cleansing ritual, this time envisioning his successes at Sokol Keep and letting each small victory there offer balance against the horrors of the graveyard. When Tarl felt his inner being had reached a point of equilibrium, a point at which nothing could easily sway him off balance, he tried again… and passed easily through the shimmering curtain.
"If he can do it, I can do it," muttered Ren. The ranger-thief knew no cleansing ritual, no rite of concentration. But he did know how to steel his thoughts before trying to disarm a foe or to silently make his way down the length of a corridor unobserved. He imagined that the wall was a passage that he must slip through unnoticed. He thought of nothing but passing through, and that is what he did. The magical panel barely shimmered as he eased through the door.
"Well done!" exclaimed Shal.
Ren's first reaction was one of anger. Why should she praise him for finally doing something that she and Tarl had accomplished so easily? But when he looked into Shal's eyes, he saw that her words had been sincere. Shal dropped her gaze to where Cerulean stood beside her, picked up the miniature horse, and handed him to Ren once more. She caught the big man's attention again with her green eyes and smiled-a playful, teasing look that Ren had never seen before from Shal-and then she turned and started up the stairs.
Much steeper and narrower than the soapstone stairway, the staircase to the third floor was made of terrazzo, with sizable fragments of a deep burgundy-veined marble running through it. The stairwell was lit from above by some kind of arcane light. At the top of the stairway, they came to a bronze door, decorated with splendidly forged handiwork, obviously of dwarven design.
Shal touched the outer edges of the door with her fingertips, incanting a different syllable as she touched each of the door's four corners and the intricately embossed lion's head at the door's center. At her touch, each of the four corners shone a rich vermilion. When her fingers reached the lion's head, it blazed the color of molten metal, opened its mouth, and roared loudly. When the roaring ceased, the mouth remained open, forming an opening into the room. Shal reached through the lion's mouth and pulled on a latch, then removed her hand. Where no seam had shown before, the door parted vertically down the center, and the two halves disappeared into the pocket frame of the doorway.
"Neat trick," Ren commented, still nervous about watching Shal reach into the lion's mouth.
Shal felt relieved. She knew that if the words had been spoken incorrectly or if her concentration were broken, she could have lost her arm or worse. She knew from the cold knot wrenching ever tighter in her stomach that she was near the place of Ranthor's death. The room behind the bronze door was obviously an equipment chamber, not unlike the one she had been working in when Ranthor sent his message through the crystal. Shal didn't stop