'Ranthor, you said this horse served you well. You didn't say it had rather firm opinions about being left in the dark, or that it stood around outside waiting for someone to run into it. Where's my 'magic steed' instruction booklet, Ranthor? Aren't you the one who thought of everything?'
'Cerulean, come back here!' Shal called out to the thin air, feeling rather foolish. 'I just haven't got the hang of this yet.'
'Yes, I'll eat. I'll meet you in the kitchen.' Shal walked down the corridor, fully expecting at any moment to bump into an invisible horse, but when she reached the kitchen, Cerulean was already there. He was quite visible again.
Shal cut herself two pieces of goat's cheese and bread and poured herself half a flagon of mineral water. She took a bite of the sandwich and then raised the flagon in her right hand and held it up toward Cerulean. 'To Ranthor, to magical horses, and to magical journeys! May the gods be with us, Cerulean!'
Cerulean nodded his head and whinnied softly.
Shal finished her simple dinner with an apple, which she shared with Cerulean. After tidying up, she packed, putting everything she thought she could use in the Cloth of Many Pockets and adding a few more things in Cerulean's saddlebags. Then she went through the entire keep, magically sealing doorways, rooms, and passages with the command words Ranthor had taught her. Spells of protection had been one of Ranthor's specialties, and Shal knew as she stood at the outer gate of the keep that nothing short of a god could enter before she returned. 'Not bad for an apprentice-right, Cerulean?' The big stallion laid its head on her shoulder and looked back at the keep. After a last brief moment of remembering, Shal turned, mounted Cerulean, and resolved to make Ranthor proud of her on this, her first true adventure. 'To Phlan, big fellow. Let's go!'
Cerulean galloped like no horse Shal had ever ridden. The movements of the stallion's huge body were so fluid that Shal almost felt as if she were flying. She rode for miles at an incredible pace, and Cerulean never tired.
Shal took advantage of the smooth ride to study her new magical tools and learn the command words written on the Staff of Power. Before she knew it, the sun was setting. 'Well done, Cerulean! Let's stop and rest.'
Shal started to go about the motions of setting up camp as she'd seen her brothers do when she was younger. She kept her riding gloves on to protect her hands as she gathered wood and kindling. There was no need to struggle with flint and steel to start the fire, either. Instead, she used a simple cantrip Ranthor had taught her. As the fire began to blaze, Shal stood back and proudly admired her handiwork. She unrolled her bedding and was about to heat a piece of jerky for dinner when Cerulean began to snort and stamp. 'Is something wrong?' Shal whispered, wondering if she was about to encounter intruders.
'Oh, I'm sorry!' Immediately Shal began to remove the offending tack. Unstrapping Cerulean's bridle and removing his bit was easy. Undoing the stiff saddle harness wasn't even too taxing. But when Shal started to lift the saddle and packs off Cerulean's back, she almost buckled under the weight.
'Oof! This is heavy! I wish I were stronger!' And with her last words, she let out a gasp.
The magic of the Ring of Three Wishes worked instantly. Shal could feel herself growing larger, stronger. The saddle became like a feather in her hands. Her once perfectly fitted riding gear bound her flesh so tightly that the seams split. She flung the saddle to the ground with a force her petite body had never been capable of and watched in horror as her delicate hands and slender arms grew into what she perceived as huge, brawny appendages. She watched her feet, calves, and thighs expand in a similar fashion, and she could feel a sheath of muscled flesh building on her once trim stomach.
'No!' she screamed. 'No!' She knew enough about wishing lore to know that she had made the cardinal mistake of wishers. She had wished carelessly. 'Look at me! I'm a monster! I'm huge!' she cried. Shal fell to her knees, terrified and disgusted by what she had done. She knew the change was permanent unless she used another wish.
Cerulean tried desperately to break into her thoughts. Her terror and revulsion registered on his brain like a stabbing knife. The image projected by Shal was of a grotesque parody of a human female, distorted almost beyond recognition by musculature and sinews. The reality was quite different. Cerulean could perceive human beauty. He certainly had a sense of what Ranthor found attractive in women. Shal had indeed changed as a result of the wish; she was considerably larger than she had been. But the basic beauty of her features and the proportion of her figure had not changed. If she was unattractive, it was only to someone who could not find beauty in a large woman. Her appearance was marred only by the ripped, ill-fitting clothing that still managed to hold a few parts of her expanded figure captive.
But Shal was oblivious to Cerulean's mental shouts. She stared at the big calves that protruded from where her ankles had been, and at her forearms, where they tested the limits of the wrist cuffs. She could only imagine what her face must look like.
Her immediate thought was to wish herself back to her former size. But as much as she wanted to make that wish, she shook her head resolutely. No, Ranthor had entrusted his entire magical legacy to her. It was not to be wasted. Shal's one goal was to make him proud. She had made a gross mistake, and she must live with it. The ring's magic must be preserved for her quest to avenge her master's murder.
'What a fool I am! I can't even trust myself with a simple ring!' she chastised herself. Shal reached for the ring to pull it off, but her hands had grown much larger than before and the ring wouldn't budge. 'Damn! Instead of wishing to be strong, I could at least have wished that me and my belongings were in Phlan-'
'No!' Shal screamed as she felt the ring's magic working once more. Before she could even blink, she found herself kneeling on the planks of a long wooden dock, facing the twilight silhouette of a city she had never seen but knew without a doubt was Phlan. Her bedroll, her saddle, and Cerulean were beside her. The horror of her stupidity bludgeoned her like a battle-axe, and she fell prostrate on the dock and wept, beating her fists against the planks with each rage-filled sob.
Passersby gawked at the huge but comely woman and her seemingly shrunken leather clothing, but none moved closer or offered assistance. They could see a great war-horse standing protectively by the woman's side, and if that wasn't enough, the big woman was rattling the two-inch-thick boards of the dock with every blow of her massive fists. If the woman wanted to cry in public, there were few if any who would question her or try to stop her.
2
Two wagons bumped and jolted their way along the deeply rutted road. 'Yo! Tarl!' Brother Donal called down from the head wagon. 'Can you interrupt your hammer-throwing long enough to lead the horses up out of these ruts?'
'No problem, Brother Donal,' answered Tarl. The young cleric hurried ahead of the first wagon to retrieve the war hammer he had just launched at an unfortunate sapling, and then he jogged back to the lead draft horse. Tarl pulled gently but firmly on the horse's bridle, guiding the animal to the side of the narrow roadway where the path was a little smoother. The horses pulling the second wagon followed suit, stepping into line behind the first. Tarl continued to walk just ahead of the front wagon, knowing that they would soon reach the point where they must leave the pass through the foothills of the Dragonspine Mountains and follow the legendary Stojanow River south into Phlan.
Brother Anton, who had been riding beside Brother Donal, jumped down to join Tarl. 'Your practice is comin' along well. Unless my eyes deceive me, you haven't missed your mark in a dozen throws.'
