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Together they made their way slowly to the Laughing Goblin, Ren supporting Jensena. After a quick word with Sot, the two of them helped the woman up to a room, where they eased her onto the bed. To break the tension in the room while he readied a basin of fresh hot water, a sponge, and several strips of clean gauze, Sot joked quietly about the ineptness of Ren's replacement. Ren appreciated the older man's thoughtfulness and the room he let him keep above the stable, but he said nothing just then. As soon as Sot left, Ren gently sponged Jensena's face and hair and helped her remove her chain mail and armor.

In spite of his own numbness, Ren found himself unabashedly admiring Jensena's impressive figure and musculature as he worked. Apart from wincing as the garments brushed her shoulders, the big blonde woman made no move to stop his efforts. The cloth of her blouse was matted against the bloody skin of her shoulders. When he used a dagger to tear the cloth around the wounds, he ripped the blouse almost down to her waist. Still she continued to watch him in silence. When he began cleaning the gashes in her shoulder, she finally spoke. "In the pouch, under my belt, you'll find a healing potion."

Ren let his gaze pass slowly from her shoulders to her beltline, and then he glanced up and met her eyes. Ren's pulse speeded, and he could feel his face flush. Jensena nodded lightly, and Ren reached for the potion, pausing just long enough to let his fingertips brush her warm, smooth skin. He closed his eyes for a single moment before his hand closed around the small glass bottle.

It was an excellent healing potion. He used it sparingly, but it did the work of a cleric. She reached for Ren's hands and squeezed them hard. "Thank you. When my pain is less…"

"I'd like that, Jensena… Good night."

"We've slowed the poison, but we haven't stopped it. I'm sorry. I know she's a friend of yours."

Tarl tried to sit up, but he sucked in his breath in pain when the newly mended flesh under his ribs pulled tight. "No! I can't… I can't lose her, too. Brother… Brother Tern, you've got to keep trying! Surely there's some antidote for the assassin's poison!"

"Tarl, we've done everything we know. Our clerical spells have done some good, or she'd be dead already. But the poison still burns through her. Her body still twitches like a fish on a hook,…" Brother Tern pointed across the chamber. Two clerics held Shal gently to keep her from harming herself further by involuntary movement. "I… I don't believe she can last much longer."

Tarl looked briefly at Shal and then turned away. "I'll call on Tyr myself to heal her!" Tarl fought the pain that throbbed through his whole body as he tried to stand. "I'll go to the meditation chamber, to the innermost sanctuary. There can be no reason for her to suffer, too!"

"Few so young dare to attempt to enter the inner sanctuary, but like any of us, Brother Tarl, you're free to try. Cleanse yourself thoroughly first, though, and mind your attitude and your motives."

"Thank you, Brother Tern. I shall."

Tarl gratefully accepted his brother's help as he bathed his healing body and changed into full battle garb. But when he stood at the door of the meditation chamber, he stood alone.

Tarl knew from his earliest catechisms the nature of the meditation chamber. He would enter the first of four concentric squares clean of body, the second clean of extraneous thoughts, the third with a focus of purpose, and the final one with a focus on his god. While technically open to any worshiper of Tyr, few who were not grounded in the faith through years of clerichood and service bothered to enter, since a spiritual barrier prevented most from passing beyond the first or second square.

Tarl raised his hammer to the entrance of the first square. It glowed blue, and he passed through the curtain into the chamber. The space between the outer square and the inner one was only four cubits, and the ceiling was low and confining.