James Ward - Pool of Radiance

Before Cerulean could rear again, Tarl darted in once more. He slammed the knife from the man's hands with one swing of his hammer, then cracked the man's skull with his next swing.

Tarl glanced up to see six more soldiers storming the gangplank, headed straight for Shal, who had scrambled to her feet to face them. Tarl reached her side just as the first leaped toward her. The warrior-cleric released his hammer with a snap, and it slammed into the soldier's forehead with explosive force that drove his head and neck backward. At exactly the same moment, Shal completed a Phantasmal Force spell, and the soldier and his companions were driven back as if by a tremendous gale. Two landed in the water, while the other four fell to the dock. At the same time, the captain was finally able to bring the ship around hard to starboard to catch the wind he needed to pull the vessel away from the pier.

Ren was within handshaking distance of his adversary, with sword pressed against sword. Suddenly the soldier gained the advantage, forcing Ren back against the cargo hold. Now the mercenary's swords flashed with the speed of adders' heads-in and out, in and out-jab, thrust, parry. It was all Ren could do to fend them off. At that moment, Cerulean, head down, with all the fury of the pain he shared with his mistress, charged. The horse thudded into the soldier's side with enough force to send him staggering sideways, and Tarl hit him from the other side with his shield. Ren finished him off with a hard thrust through the ribs.

Tarl, Ren, and Cerulean stood still for a moment, and then they heard Shal, hissing the rapid breaths of a mantra for pain control. Sitting awkwardly, she was pressing a rag to the gashes on her shoulder, but blood was seeping through. Her wrist was already purpling where the tips of the whip had wrapped tight around it. Ren and Tarl rushed to her aid. Cerulean limped to her side, whinnying plaintively, blood welling the length of the slash on his lower leg.

"Look!" shouted Ren, pointing back at the pier. "More soldiers are coming!"

The captain had gotten the small ferry scudding along at a fair clip in the brisk breeze, but a small group of the Black Watch had commandeered a small schooner, and they were preparing to cast off the line.

"Can you outrun them?" Tarl hollered back to the captain. "I need time to heal these two!"

"I can try!" the captain shouted back. "How far are ye goin?"

"The other side of the river," Ren called back quickly.

Tarl looked to Ren for some sort of explanation.

"No matter where we go, they're going to come after us, but they'll think twice about following us into the graveyard." Ren paused. "That's where we were planning to go next, isn't it?"

For a moment, Tarl didn't say anything. Then he nodded quickly and said, "Go help the captain. I'll take care of Shal." Tarl felt trapped. He was fleeing a boatload of pursuing soldiers to return to a place where he knew he would have to face an army of undead. He did his best to quell thoughts of Valhingen Graveyard and focus on what he must do right this minute for Shal.

He started to work on her shoulder first, cleansing her wounds with a wet cloth. Shal sucked in air through clenched teeth each time he dabbed at the stinging wounds. When he had cleansed her wounds, Tarl put his hands on her shoulder. The lacerations were inflamed and painful-looking, but they weren't especially deep. The energy that flowed through Tarl's fingertips was strong, and he could feel the skin beginning to heal at his touch. Then suddenly the smooth tingle of the healing force was interrupted. Tarl realized that one of the whip's tips had bared an earlier wound of Shal's. Tarl remembered it well: Sokol Keep… the axe wound. Tarl's faith had not been so strong at that time, and neither were his skills. He had given his best effort, but he realized now that the wound had not healed completely.

Tarl withdrew his hands from Shal's shoulder for a moment as he called for special power from Tyr. Then he placed his hands on her shoulder once more and held tight. Tingling energy surged between him and her as he focused on the deeper, older wound. He could feel the energy purging, expunging the decay, and then he could sense the mending, that wonderful warmth of regenerating tissue. As always, he felt a very special exchange of spirit with Shal. When he was done, the only sign of either the old wound or the new one was the rent leather of her tunic. He said a silent thank-you to Tyr for granting him the ability to heal Shal.

Because of the swelling and bruises, Shal's hand and wrist looked bad, but the cuts appeared to be shallow, abrasions really. It was not until Tarl squatted beside Shal and clasped her wrist in his hands to heal it that he realized that the tails of the whip had buried grime and dirt beneath the skin for the length of the cuts. He said nothing to Shal. She smiled up at him as he worked. Tarl felt the exhilaration of healing one more time, but he also felt a slight drain from using his clerical powers twice in rapid succession.

What about me? Cerulean's question jogged Shal's awareness.

"Tarl, look!" Aghast, Shal pointed at the horse's leg. A pool of blood had formed beside one hoof, and blood was matted the length of Cerulean's foreleg. "Can you help him?" She stood up and put one arm around the big stallion's neck, marveling at the speed and totality of her own recovery.

Without hesitation, Tarl cleansed the gash in the horse's leg. Blood that had started to clot freed up, and fresh blood pulsed down the foreleg, adding to the puddle by Cerulean's foot. Tarl pressed his hands over as much of the wound as he could. As healing energy left him for the third time, Tarl started to sway, and as the wound began to close over, he had to catch his balance with one hand to keep himself from slumping down onto the deck in a faint.

"Tarl!" Shal scrambled to his side. "What's-what's wrong?" she asked, anxiously steadying him with her strong arms before he swooned.

"Just… tired" he said in a puff of breath. "Need rest… no time…"

"Shhhh." Shal pulled Tarl close and whispered the words of a cantrip that would double the intensity of Tarl's rest. Then she turned back to the horse. Are you okay? she probed.

It still hurts. He didn't quite finish, but it's stopped bleeding-

"The schooner's getting closer!" Ren's shout carried from the other end of the boat. "Tarl! Shal! Can you help with that sail?"

"In a minute!" Shal shouted back. She laid Tarl down gently on the deck and removed her own healing potion from the Cloth of Many Pockets. Quickly she applied a drop to each of his temples in hopes that its powers extended to rejuvenation as well as physical healing.

In the meantime, Cerulean had made his way to the flapping sail Ren had pointed to and was trying to get hold of it by grasping the untied end with his teeth. He had probably pulled the stay loose when he tried to trample the mercenary, and now he was doing his best to make up for his clumsiness.

Not waiting for Tarl to respond to her treatment, Shal went to Cerulean's aid. She was no whiz at knot-tying, but she did her best to secure the sail. Just as soon as she got it pulled taut into place, the whole sail filled with a gust of wind, and the small ship shot forward. Looking back, Shal could see that the Black Watch's schooner had indeed gotten closer. In fact, it was rapidly approaching arrow range despite the ferry's increased pace.

Shal glanced quickly at Tarl. He hadn't moved. By the gods, she hoped he'd be all right-and soon. For the moment, she did her best to focus her thoughts on the approaching vessel and the magic she would need to stop it. The Weather spells were still the freshest in her mind. She let her body sway gently with the slight rocking motion of the boat. Then she let herself feel the uneven surging and gusting of the southern crosswind. Finally, with a gesture and the mouthing of a spell, she caught the unexpelled force within the gentle wind in the space between her two hands, expanding the force and channeling it away from herself. She directed it to push at the waters surrounding the approaching schooner. Restless waves rolled up from the calm surface of the water, and the entire expanse of sea between the schooner and the ferry began to roil and churn.