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loud crackling noise, and flame erupted where the small stick had struck the
arc, incinerating it in an instant.
Shal stood silent, obviously concentrating, and in a few moments Cerulean
stepped forward, past Tarl and past Ren, and entered the tower. Brilliant red
sparks erupted all around the horse's hooves as each touched the floor. The
others peered in as the big horse paraded in a circle before the doorway. In
his movements, Cerulean showed no sign whatsoever of pain or discomfort, but
his hide began to glow an iridescent blue, the deep, al-most purple blue of a
grackle's head, and the glow inten-sified with each step.
Shal spoke softly. "He's absorbing the power of Denlor's red lightning with
each step he takes. It should be safe for us to walk across the magically
charged floor in a minute."
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Ren and Tarl looked on in awe as the floor, continued to crackle with sparks
at Cerulean's footsteps.
Ren looked to Shal, wondering if it was safe to enter yet, and when she
nodded, he eased gingerly, silently into the room. By the time Tarl and Shal
entered, Cerulean was glowing like a fiery beacon, but there were no more
sparks.
So bright was the light from the horse's body that they didn't need to bother
with a lantern. The door shut si-lently behind them before Tarl could reach
back to close it. They stood inside a great rhombus-shaped room, obvi-ously a
meeting hall, with solid, heavy benches set three rows deep in a horseshoe
shape. A
broad, low, ornately carved rosewood lectern stood at the opening of the U.
Bizarre trophies, heads of beasts not even Ren had ever seen alive, were
mounted along the room's walls.
"I didn't know that Denlor was a teacher," said Shal. "Ranthor always spoke of
him as "
Suddenly, from all around the room, came whispers of the name "Denlor," as
though each bench were occupied by a row of students, whispering their
teacher's name. As the whispers began to die, a red robe whisked into the room
from the doorway opposite the lectern. It, too, seemed to be whispering, but
in an exaggerated, breathy whisper that made it distinct from and more
chilling than the others. "Denlor ... I am
Denlor," it breathed. The tattered robe was draped over nothing but
black-ness, a blackness that defied the brilliant blue light from Cerulean
that bathed the room. The robe fluttered men-acingly toward them. Tarl's
hammer shone like Cerulean, as did Ren's dagger.
"Don't touch it!" said Shal, her tone icy. "Denlor's spirit does not rest; he
guards his tower even in death.
As long as we do no damage here, he will do us no harm, but touch that robe
and you're dead."
Tarl and Ren lowered their weapons so they were at the ready but not
threatening. Both were already con-vinced that Shal possessed a mastery of the
magicks of this place that was beyond their understanding.
"I think Ranthor was killed in a spell-casting chamber, upstairs somewhere.
It's strange and frustrating from Denlor's vision, I know where everything in
this building is, but my only image from
Ranthor is of his death."
"I don't mean to be gruesome, Shal, but we'll find the place of his death soon
enough," Ren said. "For our own safety, we need to check out every room. There
are signs of struggling and scuffling all over this place. Look at the way
those benches are misaligned there, the broken door frame over there." Ren
went on, pointing as he spoke. "See the bloodstains on the floor ... there and
there? We don't know who or what's been here, or when, for that matter."
Shal nodded. Her every instinct was to press up the stairs fearlessly and find
the murderous beast still lurk-ing near her master's body, as it would happen
in some stilted morality play of the type traveling thespians used to perform
in the streets when she was a child. But she knew that somewhere upstairs she
would find Ranthor's days-old body and, only if she was lucky, some sign of
the creature that killed him.
"That doorway off to the left." She pointed. "We can look in there first."
Shal continued speaking but in a hushed tone, her words no longer addressed to
Tarl or Ren. "What do you mean, you'd rather not go in there? ... So what if
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