James Ward - Pool of Radiance

"How would you know?" Shal asked aloud.

Ren bridled at her words, thinking they were meant for him. "What's wrong with my horse?"

"No, it's… nothing," Shal said quickly. "It's Cerulean. He said…" Shal grinned weakly and then pointed at the mare. "He said your horse sleeps around."

Ren pulled the mare around eyeball to eyeball with Cerulean and said in a loud falsetto, as if he were speaking for the mare. "Oh, yeah? How would you know, big fella? You got-" Ren stopped suddenly in midsentence and motioned for the others to keep quiet. In the stillness that followed, Shal and Tarl could make out what Ren had heard. From not far off came the sounds of something crashing and thrashing through the brush-and the unmistakable snorts and grunts of a party of orcs!

Shal didn't wait for any word from Ren or Tarl. She spurred Cerulean around and headed for a nearby thicket. As the big horse charged, Shal let out an ear-splitting war whoop, Tarl added a bloodcurdling cry of his own and leaned back away from Shal to swing his hammer through the air with a vengeance that made it hum. Five orcs burst from the thicket near where Ren waited. He caught the first of the orcs in his huge, bare hands, stuffed its head under one huge arm, and held tight. "Move and he dies!" Ren hissed to the other four.

Ignoring their companion's plight, the orcs charged forward. Ren slit the creature's thick, meaty neck with Left. As its body slumped to the ground, Ren drew one of his short swords with his free right hand and hacked straight down between the neck and shoulderblade of the nearest orc. Blood from the creature's severed jugular spouted high into the air, and the beast danced crazily in its death spasms. By this time, Cerulean had come full around, and the remaining three orcs were hemmed in between the horses and the thicket.

"I know, Tarl. I know," said Ren, spotting the cleric's staying hand. "You want to talk to them, to parley, to find out what a couple of nice orcs like these would be doing in a place like this. Go right ahead. Ask 'em anything you want." To the orcs, he grunted a threat.

"Thanks. I will." Tarl did not miss the fact that the orc's eyes were glazed yellow, like those of the gnoll priests. "Ask them about Yarash. See if they know anything. Then ask them about the pool-where it is, what they know about the Lord of the Ruins."

Ren snuffled, snorted, and clicked his tongue in the crude language of the pig-men, and they sniffed and snorted their responses. Ren interpreted. "They claim they don't know anything about the river-they say it's always been this way. Said they like the smell-what's the problem, anyway?… They're building some kind of tower-a templelike thing that will stretch the domain of the Lord of the Ruins from…

"From where, you big slug?" Ren slammed Left to the ground less than two inches from the nearest orc's foot, then immediately called for the knife to return. The orc's eyes widened as the knife floated through the air, and it blurted out its words in barely coherent clusters. Ren translated, trying to fill in the holes where the creature spoke nonsense. "The castle-the big one at the edge of old Phlan. Castle Valjevo, I think they call it. The oinker says the Lord of the Ruins lives there."

"Tell them to tear down the tower," said Tarl. "Threaten them with Shal's magic… and the wrath of Tyr. And then let's get out of here."

As if on cue, the three orcs suddenly charged Cerulean with their pikes extended. Shal uttered the words of a spell so fast that she hardly had time to extend her arms. Bolts of energy shot from her fingertips, and orc screams filled the air. To the one that lived, Ren repeated Tarl's demand that they tear down the tower. "And don't even think about following us!" he added menacingly.

It was nearly noon on their fourth day of travel when they dismounted at a spot where the poisonous river widened into what looked almost like a broad, boggy lake. Equidistant from both shores stood an island, featureless except for a huge silver pyramid that protruded abruptly from the blackened sand. The three looked on in awe at one of the largest and most unusual structures any of them had ever seen.

To Shal, there was something oddly familiar about the silver pyramid. She scanned it once, twice, then a third time, trying to take in the total image. And then she knew. "The frogs!" she said. "Remember the frogs at Sokol Keep?"

"How could I forget?" Ren asked, shuddering at the thought of the slimy encounter. "But what-"

It was Tarl who answered Ren's unfinished question. "The medallion. The medallion the frog wore-it was a picture of this very structure."

The pyramid's perfectly matched, windowless sides shone as the medallion had, as though they were gilded in silver, though none could imagine how such a project could have been completed on an isolated island in the middle of a desolate wilderness. More striking than the building itself, though, was the fact that it was obviously the source of the black corruption that flooded the Stojanow River. From where they stood, Shal, Ren, and Tarl could see plainly that the water to the north of the island was clean and pure. Healthy, verdant trees towered up from the banks upriver from the structure, in jarring contrast to the gray and black stumps that littered the banks downstream to the Moonsea. Thick black sludge was spewing from a great pipe that ran from the southern base of the pyramid into the river. For days, they had ridden within smelling range of the river's abominable stench. Now they were at its source, and the odor was even worse.

They had barely had time to take in the full scene, when suddenly the water to the north of the conduit began to stir. Before their eyes, a column of water rose from the river's surface and began to spout high into the air like a fountain. As Shal, Ren, and Tarl watched, the tower of water took on almost solid form, gushing even higher and then collapsing in on itself to create the shape of a chair, the illusion of a glittering, translucent throne of water. Waves crested along the front, back, and sides of the water throne, gently pushing it, water atop water, toward the three. Though neither Shal, Tarl, nor Ren blinked, none could identify the moment when a grandiose figure, looking like a white wizard out of children's lore, appeared on the eerie magical throne. His pure-white robes flapped in the breeze. His face was warm, benevolent even, and he made a gesture and shifted the wind so that the stench was no longer carried to their nostrils. "Ho, travelers and friends! Few find their way to my keep. I am Yarash, and I bid you welcome!"

Shal wanted to believe the fairy tale, but the lie was too obvious, the contradictions too many. "Back!" shouted Shal, extending her staff and gesturing toward the conduit. "No wizard of good intentions would allow such corruption to continue!"

Yarash showed no sign of being either offended or flustered by Shal's words. Instead, he responded in the same cheery, lilting voice with which he had first greeted the three. "A product of simple experiments, my dear. My life's goal is to create the ultimate sea creature, an intelligent being to communicate man's messages to the myriad life forms of the ocean depths. Alas, surely you must realize that the biproducts of magic are sometimes not pretty," said the wizard, shaking his head. His chair of water surged and receded, but continued to hover in one place.

"Experiments? Biproducts of magic? Are giant frogs perchance part of your experiments, or are they some of the 'not pretty' biproducts?" Shal challenged.

"Giant frogs?" With the suddenness of a flipped switch, the wizard's voice completely lost its warmth. "You mean, you're the ones? You're the ones who murdered my beautiful creations on Thorn Island?" The wizard's eyes blazed with crazed fury, and his face became contorted in anger. The watery throne splashed back to the surface of the river, and Yarash stood right on top of the now frothing and boiling water. He swept his arms high above his head and brought them down again. His robes instantly turned dark green, and in his hands he clutched an algae-covered rope. "You killed my frogs!" he shouted, and his voice thundered and reverberated across the river.