Pool of Radiance (9 page)

The woman looked at the rack of clothing behind her and shook her head slowly. There wasn’t a stitch of women’s clothing in her shop that would fit the woman standing in front of her. But then she had a sudden thought and went quickly to the back room. In a few moments she returned with a full set of leathers and leather armor. “I can’t fit you up very pretty, miss, but I do have this.” she said, holding out the outfit at arm’s length. “It was made for a man—a good-sized man. He was going to pay me for it when he finished a mission to Sokol Keep. I should’ve suspected he’d never come back. He was too adventurous for his own good….” Her voice trailed off, and Shal sensed that the woman must have cared for the man.

“Are—are you sure you want me to have these?” asked Shal.

“Sure I’m sure,” she said softly. “Besides, customers your size are few and far between.” The woman saw Shal bite her lip and quickly blurted, “No offense intended, miss. I’ll need to alter this some before you wear it. I mean, you’re tall and all, but you’ve got a trim waistline, and there’ll be … other adjustments to make. Isn’t that right, young man?” she said, turning to Tarl.

Tarl hadn’t taken his eyes off Shal since she had removed the blanket. Now his face burned red, and he grinned sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you’ll need to make some adjustments.”

“Fine lotta help you are!” scolded the woman, and she shooed Tarl out into the street, with an admonishment not to come back until she pulled the curtains open again.

The leather tunic and leggings were the softest things Shal had ever felt against her skin. She brushed one sleeve admiringly, and the seamstress cooed proudly, “Genuine chimera leather. It don’t come cheap, but it’ll last you a lifetime if you treat it right. Now, you stand still, and I’ll mark the places that need altering. I’ll be able to send you home with these tonight, if you’ve got eight silvers and a couple of hours.”

“I guess I have both and not much choice, regardless.” Shal watched the woman as she whisked about her. She was as slender as a praying mantis, and not a muscle marred her silky skin. Just hours ago, my figure was like that, Shal thought. Now I’m nothing but a giant, some kind of freak. I even tower over Tarl, and he must be over six feet tall….

“So, is that cleric your beau?” asked the seamstress nonchalantly, interrupting Shal’s thoughts.

“No. Uh … he’s a friend … an acquaintance, really.”

“His eyes weren’t sayin’ acquaintance, miss, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

“We just met. He … he healed me. I’d injured my hands, and my clothes were ruined….”

“You aren’t exaggerating there. They look as though you burst out of ‘em. I’ll never understand how they coulda fit in the first place.”

Shal didn’t know what to say, or indeed whether it was worth explaining to this stranger or not, but she wanted to justify herself, to explain to somebody that she hadn’t always looked like this. She told the woman part of her story, leaving out the part about how foolish she had been but explaining how she was magically changed to her current size.

The seamstress looked at her with genuine pity. It’s sad enough a woman has to worry about her looks from the day she’s born, she thought. This one’s prettier than most, but she still feels she has to tell stories to explain her appearance. The seamstress tried to be reassuring. “I haven’t seen many women your size in this part of the Realms, miss, but you don’t need to apologize about your appearance to anyone. You look healthy as a horse, and you’ve got a nice face and beautiful hair. Why, you should’ve seen the look that young cleric was givin’ you. There’s many a woman who goes through a lifetime without being at the receivin’ end of a look like that!”

Shal only felt worse, sensing that the woman’s words were prompted by pity. She was certain Tarl’s look was either that of a young, rather inexperienced man who’d never seen nearly so much of a woman exposed, or perhaps that of a warrior cleric admiring a person of equal brawn. At any rate, she really didn’t want to think about it, so she stood quietly through most of the remainder of the fitting. It wasn’t until the seamstress began sewing that she decided to find out if the woman knew anything about Denlor’s tower. The seamstress knew of it. She said she’d heard that the old mage had managed to hold on to new territory gained in the northeast corner of Civilized Phlan for several months before finally succumbing to the onslaughts of the creatures attacking from the outside. Shal shivered at the way the local woman said “outside,” as if she were pronouncing a curse or speaking of the Abyss itself.

The seamstress finished taking in the last tuck and handed her the tunic and pants to try on. When she had slipped the incredibly soft leather on, the woman helped her lace the leggings and girdle. “Very impressive, if I do say so myself, miss. The black looks good on you. Do you want to comb those tresses of yours and then take a look in the mirror in back?”

“I—I’ll comb my hair; it must look awful. But I think I’ll pass on the mirror. I trust your judgment.” Shal shuddered at the thought of seeing her reflection. She’d seen the size of the pieces the seamstress worked with, and tucks or no, they were huge. Regardless of how the clothing might look on her, though, it felt wonderful. As soon as Shal finished brushing and combing her thick, long hair, she paid the seamstress the eight silvers she had asked for, plus a generous tip.

The moment the woman pulled open the curtains to the shop, Tarl entered. He was frankly stunned by what he saw. Shal’s freshly combed red hair shone like highly polished rosewood against the deep black leather velour of the tunic. The green in her eyes blazed in the bright light of the seamstress’s lanterns. Most of all, Shal’s full figure was accented in devastating accuracy by the seamstress’s careful tailoring.

“Pull your jaw up, boy,” said the woman sternly. “You’d think you’d never seen a woman before.”

“You look … great, Shal,” Tarl said, faltering.

Great? Shal shook her head imperceptibly. She couldn’t possibly look great, but she did have to admit that she felt a little less awkward with the new clothes on. Certainly her legs and arms didn’t seem so conspicuously out of proportion now that she wore garments that were the right size. It helped, too, that the new leathers didn’t bind her so tightly that she felt like an overstuffed sausage. “Thank you,” Shal said absently, and she turned to leave.

Tarl followed her out like an adoring puppy. “Shal, I’d be honored if you’d allow me to help you find a place where you can stay tonight. Maybe we could have dinner together, if you feel up to it. I’d really like a chance to talk some more.”

“I’d like that, too,” said Shal. “But I could use a little time alone. I’ve lost something … some things … very dear to me recently, and I’m really not myself.”

Tarl helped Shal mount Cerulean. “I know what you mean, Shal. I’ve lost something important to me, too. I think that may be why I felt such a special bond with you right from the start.” Tarl mounted the horse behind her and wrapped his arms around her firm waist as they began to ride toward the center of town. He had yet to get a room for himself—he’d spent the previous night at the temple, and would probably do the same tonight—but he’d been told that the Laughing Goblin Inn offered safe, if a bit overpriced, lodging. He remembered the general direction but wasn’t familiar enough with the town yet to know the most direct route to the inn. When they finally arrived and left Cerulean in the stable, Tarl had the distinctly odd feeling that the horse was annoyed with him.

The common room of the inn was already crowded. It took some time to locate the innkeeper, but fortunately there were vacancies. The prices Sot charged kept the inn from getting too full. “I’ll show ya up to your room myself, miss,” said Sot to the big woman. “Your dinner’s included in the price,” he added.

“For what you’re charging the lady, you should throw in meals for a week, but we thank you nonetheless,” Tarl said wryly.

Looking to Tarl and without missing a beat, Sot said, “It’ll be another silver if you’re planning on staying with her.”

Tarl coughed. “I won’t be, thank you. I’ll see her to her room, though.”

As Sot left the two of them, Tarl remained in the doorway. “Shal, take as long as you need. I’ll be down in the common room waiting whenever you decide to come down.”

“Thanks for all your help, Tarl. I won’t be too long.”

Tarl closed the door, and Shal stared straight ahead. Hanging on the inside of the doorway was a full-length mirror. She clasped her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob. Standing before Shal was a creature that frightened her more than any of the monsters rumored to lurk outside the city. She knew she had changed. Every time she looked anywhere, she was aware that her perspective was that of a considerably taller person. She had been able to see hands and arms, feet and legs, that belonged to a different person. Now that she saw her full reflection, she fully comprehended the fact that every inch of her body had grown proportionally. Even the fine black leathers didn’t conceal the fact that she was bigger, considerably bigger, than she had ever imagined she could be.

Shal had always taken pride in her slim, supple arms and legs. She was proud, too, of her small feet, delicate fingers, and fine facial features. An almost completely changed woman returned her stare in the mirror. She was relieved to see that her body parts were not distorted, initially one of her big fears. The essence of her features, the intangible something that made her recognizable as herself, was still present, but she looked as if she’d gone through a major post-adolescent growth spurt and gotten incredibly serious about physical fitness. Shal tipped her head back and sighed. There were no more tears left in her. She had chided herself for her foolishness. She had mourned the loss of her petite body. She now faced the new Shal Bal. She didn’t like it, but this was the Shal who would avenge Ranthor’s death, and this was the Shal she would face until… until she died, for all she knew.

She backed away from the mirror till her legs brushed the bed. The big bed groaned as she lay down, mentally exhausted. She did her best to ignore it, lying still and breathing slow, easy breaths, the cleansing breaths Ranthor had taught her to quiet her mind and spirit. Each time she inhaled, she focused on pulling the loose ends of a particular fear from her extremities, and as she exhaled, she purged the fear from her body. By the time she went downstairs, her anxieties were gone. She was not happy to be living in her new body, but she was at peace. From the landing, she scanned the crowded common room until she spotted Tart’s silver-white hair.

When Shal reached Tarl’s table, his face lit up. It crossed her mind that she was fortunate to have found a companion like Tarl. Within moments after she sat down, the two were talking about recent events in their lives. Shal’s conversation meandered from present to past and back again. She described the events leading up to Ranthor’s death. She told Tarl stories of the special things her teacher had done for her, and talked about how it felt to be carrying on without him. Embarrassed, she related the story of her squandered wishes and the little she knew about Denlor’s tower.

Tarl, in turn, described the horrors he had faced in the graveyard. For some reason, he disclosed to Shal even more than he had told to Brother Tern. He described in detail the horror of the horses’ screams and the screams of his brothers. He told about the vampire, with its bloodless skin and bone-chilling deep voice. He omitted only the exact way in which the hammer was lost, since he considered its recovery his personal quest. Perhaps he would tell Shal about it in time, but for now he had said enough.

“I’m sorry to bore you with my story,” Tarl concluded. “The deaths of my friends weigh heavily on me, but I still can’t believe I’m telling all this to you.”

At a loss for words, Shal sat quietly for several minutes, lost in thought. “What makes me feel so bad,” she said finally, “is that I let you heal me and help me find clothes and a place to stay without ever even considering that you might have your own problems.”

“Enough said, my friend. Let’s eat.” Tarl clapped his hands to get the attention of the big blond man who was working the tables.

“We’ll take chowder and biscuits … oh, and wine for the two of us,” said Tarl after consulting with Shal. “Is there anything else you’d recommend?”

The big tavern worker didn’t respond. Instead, he stood staring, slack-jawed, at Shal. Tarl cleared his throat to capture his attention again.

“Yes, sir … ma’am. Would you repeat that?”

Tarl repeated his order and his query.

“Well, we have some quail eggs that the cook does a terrific job on. They’d go well with your chowder.” The tavern worker’s intense blue eyes never left Shal as he spoke, and Tarl noticed that she was turning red under the big man’s scrutiny.

“Is there something going on here that I’m not aware of? Do you two know each other?” asked Tarl, irritated by the attention the man was paying to Shal, not to mention the obvious discomfort he was causing her.

“No, sir,” said the tavern worker, and he bowed hurriedly and left the table. Tarl noted that the man did not move like a typical tavern worker. Despite the fact that he stood a hand taller than Tarl and had brawn that rivaled Anton’s, the big man made his way through the crowd with the grace of a warrior, or perhaps even a thief.

In minutes, he returned with a tray full of food, which he spread out on the table one dish at a time. Again, his full attention was focused on Shal.

“Are you always in the habit of staring at the inn’s guests?” Tarl asked, catching the tavern worker’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Was I staring?” The waiter paused, and his face flushed a deep red. He realized that was exactly what he had been doing. “Please accept my apologies. It’s just that you … you remind me of someone. I really am sorry.”

“Hey, you!” came a shout from a nearby table. “What happened to our food?”

“Yeah, what does a guy have to do to get some service in this joint?” called another voice.

Ren was oblivious. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m called Ren … Ren o’ the Blade.” Ren shook Tarl’s hand and then Shal’s. He consciously looked down at the floor to avoid staring again. The woman could have passed for Tempest’s twin. Seeing her was eerie, like seeing a ghost, but overwhelming at the same time. The woman shared all the traits that had originally attracted him to Tempest—her firm figure, her captivating eyes, her flowing red hair. And if anything, she was even prettier. Her facial features were fine for a woman her size, and the green of her eyes was even more intense than Tempest’s had been.