The Temple of Elemental Evil

by Thomas M. Reid

  As the group reached the landing, the front door to the inn banged open, and a young man stormed in.

  “Hommlet’s under attack!” he shouted. “Lord Burne’s tower’s afire!”

  “Damnation!” Ostler shouted as chaos erupted in the room.

  Melias, Ahleage, and Draga moved toward the door, and before Shanhaevel realized it, he had fallen into step with them. He reached for his staff and gripped it in both hands as he followed them.

  Out in the night, snow had begun to fall—huge, heavy flakes that fluttered to the ground, settling with a muted whisper, like fingers tapping softly against an overstuffed pillow. Other than that, the world was eerily quiet. The ground had already gained a thin covering of the stuff, a blanket of white that was quickly hiding the damp, muddy yard.

  Shanhaevel faltered a step, surprised at this turn of weather. Snow? It’s not that cold. Certainly, the ground’s not cold enough for it to stick. He shuddered once, but there was no time to consider it further. A handful of villagers went rushing past, and just beyond a line of trees to the east, the orange illumination of flame hung in the night sky, diffused to a hazy glow.

  Melias ran toward the main crossroads, with Ahleage, Draga, and Shanhaevel right behind him. He drew to a halt, his sword drawn, looking around as though he sensed something. Shanhaevel scanned the area, searching for signs of attack and listening for telltale screams or the sounds of fighting. At first, all he detected was a series of muffled shouts coming from down the road where the fire burned. Melias turned and started that way, and the others followed.

  Shanhaevel spotted them first—forms drifting silently through the trees to the south. “Wait,” he called softly, pointing. His stomach churned at what he saw.

  The other three men stopped and turned back to the elf expectantly, not reacting.

  “What is it?” Melias asked, his voice oddly disembodied in the curtains of snow.

  “Over there,” Shanhaevel replied, jabbing his finger in the direction of the figures, which were obviously creeping stealthily toward the middle of town.

  “Elf, we’re as blind as bats out here,” Draga grumbled. “We don’t have your sight. What in the nine hells do you see?”

  “Shield your eyes,” Shanhaevel warned.

  Muttering a magical phrase, the wizard gestured toward the area of the woods where the figures were creeping. He closed his own eyes, but through his lids he still saw the sudden brightness. A number of throaty, guttural bellows issued forth from the woods, and Shanhaevel opened his eyes, blinking because the forest was filled with a blaze of fuzzy light, as though a lit lantern were hanging from a branch.

  “There!” Shanhaevel said, pointing again.

  This time, Melias and the others saw what he had spotted. A half-dozen creatures, large, furred beasts with ursine heads, were stumbling about with arms thrown across their faces to ward off the blinding light. Weapons hung loosely in their hands.

  “Bugbears,” Melias growled, grinning as he ran forward. Ahleage joined him, his short sword in one hand and his dagger in the other.

  Draga knelt in the damp snow. He dropped the quiver by his side as he pressed his knee against his bow and flexed it in order to string it, then grabbed an arrow from the quiver. In one smooth motion, he had the fletching against his cheek, the bow forced out before him, and had sighted his first target. There was a solid twang as the bowman loosed, and Shanhaevel saw—and heard—a bugbear take the arrow in one leg. It fell to the ground, howling. Draga was already sighting along another arrow.

  Melias and Ahleage, meanwhile, had closed with the creatures, who were recovering some of their sight and turning to face their attackers. Shanhaevel watched the battle begin. Melias was steady and true with his large blade, swinging it in a wide arc before him, clanging his weapon hard against the parries of the first bugbear he encountered. Ahleage was a whirlwind of feints and jabs, constantly spinning out of the way of a killing blow at the last instant and slicing at a hamstring or gut. Both men appeared capable, yet they were outnumbered, even though Draga had dropped two by this time.

  Shanhaevel hesitated. He had no more useful offensive magic at hand, having prepared only a handful of practical spells earlier in the day. He had not expected to be engaged in a running battle. The light had helped, but now all he had was his staff. Useful enough for cracking an arm or rib, he thought, but how good against a bugbear? Despite his own misgivings, he started forward to help. Just seeing the hulking humanoids made his blood burn in anger.

  Draga was beside him now, having tossed aside the bow when the fighting had gotten tight. Together, they threaded their way through the trees and headed off a bugbear that was trying to circle around Melias.

  The beast snarled at them and turned to jab at Draga with its sword. Shanhaevel shifted around, flanking the creature. The trees made using the staff tricky, but when the bugbear lunged in again at Draga, the elf brought the iron-shod end of his staff up from the ground and caught the creature on the back of the elbow with a satisfying crunch.

  Howling in pain, the bugbear whirled on Shanhaevel, hatred gleaming in its narrowed red eyes. Its wounded arm hung limply. Shanhaevel took a step back, but his blow had given Draga all the opening necessary. The bowman drove in with his own sword, running the blade deep into the bugbear’s gut and up under the ribs, finding the heart. With a horrible, gurgling howl, the bugbear dropped to the ground, unmoving.

  Shanhaevel looked up just in time to see another beast stagger away from Ahleage, who had just embedded a dagger in its throat. The wounded bugbear stumbled through the snow for several paces, its paws clasped around its ruined neck, then dropped to one knee and fell over on its side, shaking and gurgling. Melias stood over the body of another.

  Behind the elf, the sound of battle still raged. Before he could turn around, he saw the surprise in Draga’s eyes. Spinning, Shanhaevel discovered the last two remaining bugbears seemingly facing off with one another. He blinked, realizing the far creature was not a bugbear but a huge brown bear, reared up on its hind legs. The bugbear had dropped its weapon and was now warily watching the bear’s huge paws, trying to anticipate an attack.

  Draga stepped past the stunned elf to engage the bugbear when the humanoid suddenly stiffened and spasmed, a dagger hilt protruding from the base of its skull. With a shudder, the bugbear crumpled to the snowy ground and lay still. Shanhaevel caught Ahleage out of the corner of his eye and turned to see him rising from a post-throwing crouch. Draga did not lower his guard, however. He turned to engage the bear. The bear, still rearing on its hind feet, lumbered forward, and Draga raised his sword to strike.

  In a blur, a figure emerged from the veil of falling snow and intercepted the bowman’s blow. It was a human, Shanhaevel realized, who brought a scimitar up, parried Draga’s strike, and shouted, “No!”

  Draga stepped back, as surprised as Shanhaevel, and stared at the figure. It was a woman, though her features were masked in shadow.

  “Easy, Mobley!” the woman said to the bear.

  The bear settled down to all fours, rumbled one deep-throated whine at her, then sat down on its haunches as she scratched it behind one ear.

  She turned, staring at Draga, and said, “There are more to the east, you big oaf. Go fight them and leave Mobley alone. And you”—she turned to Shanhaevel—“douse that stupid light. Go fling your magic somewhere else.”

  With that, she turned her back on them and padded back into the forest, with the bear ambling after her. The two of them were quickly obscured by the huge, feathery flakes that continued to descend from the sky and coat the ground.

  Draga just stood there, stunned, then turned and looked at Shanhaevel, blinking. “Did you see that?”

  Shanhaevel nodded.

  “Who do you suppose she was?”

  “I guess that would be Shirral, Jaroo the druid’s apprentice.”

  “Oh, no,” Draga breathed.

  “Oh, yes,” Shanhaevel replied. “She said there
were more bugbears to the east.”

  Melias had joined the two of them, and he stared with the rest of them. “Let’s go,” he said. “Good work with the light magic, Shanhaevel. Well-timed.”

  Melias turned and moved back to the road, and Draga and Ahleage followed him. Shanhaevel hesitated for only a moment, looking back again to where Shirral had disappeared before he muttered a phrase and felt the connection with magical energies inside him loosen and dissolve, leaving the woods once more in darkness.

  The rest of the battle had already been fought by the time Melias and his company arrived at the tower, which sat on a low hill on the east side of the village, guarding the road to Dyvers. It was the same structure Shanhaevel had seen when he had first arrived in Hommlet. It was actually intact, unscathed by the fire. What was severely damaged, however, was the scaffolding and forms beyond it, where Burne and Rufus were in the formative stages of erecting a good-sized keep adjoining the tower. The workers hired to erect the keep had managed to bring the fire under control, although several of them had been killed or had vanished in the attack.

  Although the damage to the scaffolding and such was not total, the fire set the project back several weeks, Burne surmised. No one was sure if the fire had been lit to serve as a diversion for an attack in the village itself, or if the opposite had been intended. Members of the militia and some of the men-at-arms serving Rufus began to gather the bodies of the attacking bugbears. They wore the same flaming eye insignia that Shanhaevel had seen before. Something was definitely organizing the beasts and making them uncommonly bold, everyone agreed.

  Shanhaevel summoned Ormiel, who had been awakened by the commotion and was none too happy at having his sleep disturbed. Bad things were in the woods, Shanhaevel projected to the hawk. Are any of them still near where the people live?

  Ormiel flew around the village several times, swooping through the trees and soaring across the pastureland, but the only sign of the bugbears was their retreating footprints, which were slowly disappearing beneath the thickening blanket of snow. Shanhaevel reported as much to Melias, who looked at him askance.

  “How do you know?” the warrior asked.

  “Because my hawk told me. I mentioned him before. Ormiel.”

  “A hawk?” Melias said, obviously a little surprised.

  “Yes,” Shanhaevel replied. “Ormiel and I have a very special bond. I can talk to him and he to me, after a fashion. He patrolled the perimeter of Hommlet just now and says there’s nothing in the woods anymore.”

  “Hmm.” Melias grunted. “I’ve seen enough strange things tonight. If you say a hawk told you there’s nothing out there, then I believe you. Let’s get back to the inn.”

  Shanhaevel rested comfortably in a steaming bath, feeling the ache of three days of travel slowly seeping out of his body. More than once, Latt and Phip, the stablehands, returned with buckets of nearly scalding water to add to the tub, until the elf could barely stand the heat and told them that was plenty. A short time after that, Leah brought him towels and bade him goodnight. Listening to the sounds of the inn settling in for the night, he soaked a while longer and contemplated everything that had happened to him over the course of the long day.

  He avoided dwelling on Lanithaine, instead trying to concentrate on what lay ahead of him. Joining an expedition to ferret out marauding bugbears seemed straightforward enough, and he was eager to exact some sort of revenge on Lanithaine’s murderers, but there was something more to this, he knew. The snow had unnerved him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes and contemplated what he would need to do to prepare for the journey tomorrow.

  Finally, when the water had simmered to comfortable warmth but before it could grow cool, Shanhaevel finished the bath. Comfortably drowsy, he readied himself for bed. He stoked the fire, adding fresh wood, then doused the lamp and made his way to bed by firelight.

  After crawling beneath the sheets and settling into the pillows, he let out a long, slow sigh, trying to relax his body completely. He lay there in the darkness for a moment or two, unable to avoid thinking about Lanithaine. He found himself imagining the body of his teacher, lying wrapped in his cloak beneath the pile of stones back in the woods along the road. How cold and hard that bed was, compared to the one the elf found himself in. How damp and lonely and disappearing beneath a covering of snow.…

  Shanhaevel shook his head and shuddered as he tried to rid his mind of the morbid vision.

  He heard a noise, a low thump from the room next door where Ahleage was staying. Before he could throw back the covers and climb out of bed, however, he picked up the low murmur of conversation. He could not make out the words, but then he heard a soft, feminine giggle, followed by a muffled squeal of delight.

  Leah.

  Shanhaevel rolled his eyes as a string of moans and giggles emanated through the wall.

  “Boccob, please don’t let them do that all night,” he groaned, half smiling. Rolling over, he pulled the covers high then wrapped one of the pillows around his head, pressing it against his ear to block out the noise. It helped some but didn’t shut out the sounds completely. For the moment, Shanhaevel forgot his grim musings about Lanithaine’s grave. Soon enough, despite the tryst next door, or perhaps because of it, Shanhaevel was soundly sleeping.

  In the small room off the main taproom of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, by the light of a single, dim lantern, Burne and Melias conversed softly, planning the foray to the moathouse. A curling scroll of parchment rested on the table between them.

  “You may prevail, yet, my friend,” Burne said, laying a comforting hand on Melias’s shoulder. “If what we believe is true, if the scattered priests are nearby, trying to raise the temple again, you may get the opportunity to discover the whereabouts of Prince Thrommel.”

  Melias nodded. “That must be the least of my worries, right now. If they somehow find her, manage to free her …”

  The soldier left his thought unfinished, and for several heartbeats, the room sat in silence.

  “That will be harder than you might imagine,” Burne replied. “The old seals we placed on those portals are strong, still. They will hold. But we must find the key that is mentioned in the seer’s poem,” he said, tapping the parchment before him. “We must find it before they do, and finish this, finish it like we should have ten years ago.”

  “Aye,” Melias nodded. “This time, there won’t be anyone telling us to turn back. If only we hadn’t lost Falrinth that day. We could have destroyed the demon, instead of trapping her inside.”

  “Yes,” Burne agreed, “but what’s done is done. He fell in battle, and we survived. We cannot go back and change history. We can, however, insure that the bindings we placed on the temple’s portals will hold the demon inside forever. I will continue to try to learn what the key is. When I know, I will send word to you. Find the key and return here. I will know by then how to destroy it.”

  Shanhaevel awoke the next morning to find cheery light slipping around the edges of the curtains covering the window in his room. He stretched, feeling completely refreshed even after such a short night, for it had been spent in such a comfortable bed. He threw the covers back and dressed quickly, then parted the curtains to let in more light. He looked out. The day had dawned clear and sunny, and the eerie snow from the night before had almost melted away. From all appearances, it looked as if it would be a fine spring day.

  The elf sat down at the table. Unbuckling one of his saddlebags, he slipped out a thick package wrapped in oilskin. Unfolding the protective cloth, he noted with satisfaction that his spellbook was still dry. Uttering a few syllables of magic softly over the cover of the book, he carefully opened the tome and turned the pages, thinking. It was the first time he had gone through this exercise without consultation with his teacher, and it felt strange. After a few moments of careful deliberation, he settled on the spells he wanted for the day and began to memorize them.

  Ha
lfway through his studies, there was a light knock on the door. Shanhaevel crossed over and opened it. Melias stood in the hallway, a large leather backpack slung on his back and a coil of rope draped over one shoulder.

  “Aren’t you ready to go? The sun’s been up an hour, now. I’ve already been to the traders for supplies.” The man made a sour smirk that suggested the experience had been none too pleasant.

  Shanhaevel gestured back at the table. “I’m studying. I shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Ah, good. Well, have you eaten, at least?” When Shanhaevel shook his head, the warrior frowned and said, “I’ll have Glora send up some breakfast so you can eat while you work.”

  With that, Melias turned on his heel and headed down the hall toward the stairs.

  “Fair enough,” Shanhaevel called after him, then shut the door and returned to his spellbook.

  A short time later, there was another knock, and Leah opened the door, bearing a tray with steaming porridge, more fresh bread, and cold milk.

  “Just set it here.” Shanhaevel pointed to a clear place on the table beside where he was working.

  The girl’s footsteps were heavy across the floor, and she practically slammed the breakfast tray on the spot where Shanhaevel had indicated. He glanced up at her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Leah blushed. “N-nothing, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just that Paida is off somewhere, hiding or something, and I have to do all the work. Please forgive me, and don’t tell Mistress Gundigoot of my rudeness.” She curtsied and hurried from the room.

  Shanhaevel looked up from his work long enough to watch her disappear, then shrugged and started in on breakfast while he finished his studying.

  By the time Shanhaevel made his way downstairs and out the front door, walking staff in one hand, the rest of the company had already gathered. It was, indeed, a clear, bright morning, although snow still clung in the shade. The elf’s breath was visible, whisked away by a mild morning breeze.