Shanhaevel hadn’t taken four steps out the door before he noticed Shirral standing off by herself, bundled in a woolen cape of deep brown over leather armor. She leaned on a walking staff, facing away from him and down the road. Her golden blonde hair cascaded in gentle waves past her shoulders. She wore a curved scimitar at her belt, but she was twirling a sling in one hand.
Maybe it’s time to make more proper introductions, Shanhaevel thought. See if maybe the morning sun has done a little something for her disposition.
When he altered his course to introduce himself, the druid heard his approach and turned to face him. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. Her narrow face bore the unmistakable swept-back look of the elves, and her partially pointed ears confirmed her heritage. But she was not full blooded, he realized. She had been born to mixed parentage, a half-breed of elf and human, which explained why he hadn’t this noticed last night.
And she was absolutely beautiful.
Shanhaevel realized he was staring at her, and she looked right back at him, her icy blue eyes flashing in anger, her arms now folded across her chest. He shook his head, realizing his rudeness, and crossed the rest of the distance between them, preparing to introduce himself.
“We met last night,” he said with a slight chuckle, “but we didn’t get introduced. I’m Shan—”
“I know who you are. Jaroo told me.”
Shanhaevel stood frozen, one eyebrow raised, taken aback by the druid’s abrupt manner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting—”
“A half-breed? Well, there’s a surprise. No one ever does. But there you go. The world is just full of the unexpected, isn’t it?”
With that, Shirral turned and walked several steps away, ignoring him as she tightened the straps on her horse’s saddle.
Shanhaevel stood with his mouth hanging open for several moments before a shadow crossing in front of him brought him out of his stunned surprise. It was Ahleage astride a chestnut gelding, trying to reign in the frisky mount. Shanhaevel looked up at the young man and almost laughed out loud, forgetting his confrontation with the druid for the moment.
Ahleage’s eyes were bleary and his face was puffy, as though he had slept with it buried between two pillows all night. Well, pillows of a sort, at any rate, Shanhaevel thought.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?” Shanhaevel asked, smiling.
Ahleage blinked a couple of times, as though trying to absorb the elf’s words, then he cracked a sleepy but smug smile and turned his horse away again, muttering something about needing eggs for a proper breakfast.
Shanhaevel shook his head in amusement and turned to find himself face to face with two more horses. A scowling Melias and a very large smiling man were astride them. Shanhaevel stepped back and caught himself staring again.
“Uh, hello there,” he said, looking from Melias to the newcomer and back again.
“Hiyah!” The huge man said, smiling even more broadly. He leaned down and stuck out one big, meaty hand. His breath smelled of ale, and strongly at that.
Shanhaevel shot one puzzled glance at Melias, whose scowl deepened, and took the large hand offered to him, shaking it vigorously.
The captain’s son, Shanhaevel realized with a start, remembering now the stifled groans during the meeting the night before. So, he’s a drinker, is he? Shanhaevel mused. What’s his name, again?
“I’m Elmo,” the fellow said, as though reading Shanhaevel’s mind. “You’re an elf!”
“Yes.” Shanhaevel smiled at the big oaf’s forward manner, nodding. “I’m Shanhaevel. Good to meet you.”
The man’s smile was replaced by a deep, contemplative frown. “Those other two said your name was Shadowspawn,” Elmo said, pointing over the elf’s shoulder.
Shanhaevel didn’t even have to turn around to know the big man was pointing to Ahleage and Draga. He rolled his eyes and tried to laugh. “Oh, they’re just having some fun with you. Really, my name’s Shanhaevel. They just like to call me that other name.”
Elmo puzzled over this for a moment longer, then smiled and nodded again. “All right, Shanhaevel.”
Shanhaevel took a moment to study Elmo’s outfit. The man wore a shirt of chain mail, and he had an unstrung bow tied across his saddle. Shanhaevel’s eyes widened considerably at the huge two-bladed battle-axe on Elmo’s back.
“Are you any good with those?” he asked, gesturing to the weapons.
“Uh-huh,” Elmo replied, then pulled out a fine dagger from a sheath at his belt. “This is my favorite. My brother Otis gave it to me!” he said, beaming with pride. He held the dagger out, hilt first, for Shanhaevel to examine. “Go on, you can hold it. It’s beautiful, huh?”
Shanhaevel reached out and gripped the dagger. The blade felt amazingly well balanced in his hand, and just holding it gave him a small, unusual shiver, one he had felt only a few times before. He took a closer look at the weapon. Even in the brightness of the early morning sun, the elf’s keen eyes noted the perfect edge to it. He spotted what he suspected was there—a tiny sigil etched into the blade near the hilt.
Magical, Shanhaevel thought in amazement. I wonder if he even knows? The elf looked up into the smiling face of the simple man, made a show of feeling the balance of the blade in his hand, then flipped the weapon around and passed it back, hilt first, to Elmo.
“Very nice,” he said. “You should hang on to that.”
“Oh, I will,” Elmo replied. “My brother Otis gave it to me!”
Shanhaevel nodded, and Elmo smiled again. The man spurred his horse and trotted off to show Ahleage and Draga the dagger, leaving Shanhaevel and Melias to themselves.
“Goodness,” Shanhaevel remarked. “He doesn’t seem to be the brightest fellow in the village. But he looks like he can handle that axe well enough—if we can keep him away from the drink.”
“Aye,” nodded Melias, still scowling. “I would rather not have to watch him to make sure he stays out of trouble, but Shirral vouches for him, so …” The man shrugged. “I can’t very well tell him to go home. We’d get run out of town, I suspect.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Come. We must be on our way. Where’s your mount?”
Shanhaevel pointed as he saw Latt leading the pair of horses, one already saddled, out of the adjoining barn.
“Right here,” Shanhaevel said, reaching for a silver to toss to the boy. “One to ride, and one for gear.”
Melias raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Come on! Let’s get going.”
The entourage gathered together and set out. Shanhaevel found himself riding next to Shirral. He wasn’t sure what to say to her as they started up the road, but he certainly didn’t want her scowling at him for the entire day, so he started by apologizing.
“I’m sorry for staring before,” he began. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Forget it,” the druid said, not looking at him.
When Shirral seemed unwilling to say more, Shanhaevel continued, “No, really. I was surprised, but only because I’ve been getting so many looks, myself.”
Shirral did look at him, then, and her visage softened somewhat. After a moment, she said, “It’s all right. I’m just a little angry with Jaroo for sending me off with the rest of you. I’ve got better things to do than traipse around the woods with a bunch of men.”
Shanhaevel chuckled, drawing another scowl from the druid. “I’m not really here by choice, either,” he said, trying to explain. “My late master and Burne were old friends, so I get to go on this expedition without being consulted. Believe me, I’d rather be back home.”
Shirral looked at Shanhaevel, but she only grunted in response.
“Anyway,” Shanhaevel continued, “last night. You and your friend really took us by surprise.”
“Who, Mobley? He’s harmless, most of the time.”
“Except when there are bugbears about,” Shanhaevel added.
“Yes, an
d idiots with swords smashing their way through the forest.”
“Well, I don’t own a sword.”
Shirral looked at him, her blue eyes blazing. “And other idiots who sling magic around in the woods, lighting the place up like a Needfest tree. Neither Mobley nor I could see what was going on, you know,” she said, rather indignantly. “Jaroo would have had my hide—and all of yours—if anything had happened to Mobley.”
“I’m sorry,” Shanhaevel replied. “I was trying to blind the bugbears, not you. We didn’t even know you were there.”
“Yes, well …” Shirral said, not finishing.
At that point, the entourage was approaching Burne and Rufus’s tower, and they all got a better look at the damage from the fire the previous evening. Some of the blackened wood still smoked, and several sections of scaffolding were damaged beyond repair, but it didn’t appear as bad as Burne had made it sound the night before.
“The turn-off to the old high road is just ahead,” Shirral said as the group left the edge of town.
The road was flanked on both sides by woods now. At the junction, Melias headed off the main road to the right, with the rest following him. The old high road was little more than a game trail, overgrown and half hidden. Shanhaevel and Shirral were riding beside Elmo, and the three of them formed the rear of the procession. Farther up the line, Draga broke into a song, his voice high and smooth as the morning sun as he sang some ditty with a lot of nonsensical words Shanhaevel had never heard before.
“Jaroo tells me you have a friend,” Shirral said. “A hawk?”
Shanhaevel turned and looked at Shirral.
“They got acquainted last night,” Shirral said, realizing Shanhaevel was confused. “Jaroo told me he met your familiar after the bugbear raid.”
Shanhaevel nodded and reached out with his mind. Ormiel, are you there?
Yes, came the hawk’s reply. Hunting mice.
Come to me, the elf commanded, then smiled at Shirral and Elmo. “He’s a steady friend and a good lookout. I’ve called him, so you can meet him.”
Shirral smiled, and it was the first time Shanhaevel had seen her do it, he realized. It dazzled him, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he turned and looked at the road in front of him.
Ormiel appeared, swooping in from the trees behind the company. Shanhaevel smiled as the hawk circled the group and settled on his shoulder.
When the bird landed, Shirral gasped in delight, smiling as brightly as Shanhaevel thought imaginable. “Hello there, you magnificent beauty,” she said, reaching up to stroke the top of Ormiel’s head, smoothing the feathers softly.
Shanhaevel watched the druid, entranced and dazzled by her beauty. “Here,” he said, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a strip of dried meat, which he handed to her. “He loves these.”
Carefully, Shirral held her hand up and extended the piece of meat toward Ormiel’s beak. The bird eyed the meat without blinking. Then, in an instant, the hawk darted its head forward, snatched the meat from the druid’s grasp, and began to consume it.
“What a gorgeous creature,” Shirral said.
“Yes,” Shanhaevel agreed, turning to see Elmo’s reaction. The huge man was simply watching, an intent look on his face. “Ormiel is fine specimen,” the elf added, then mentally spoke to his companion. Watch the trail ahead today.
Your mate with sky eyes speaks to me, Ormiel responded. The big man speaks to me.
Shanhaevel nearly choked at the bird’s reference to Shirral, then he caught himself as the other half of Ormiel’s claim registered. Big man?
“Ormiel says you’re talking to him,” Shanhaevel said, looking back and forth between Shirral and Elmo.
“He could hear me? Oh, that’s delightful!” The druid said. She continued to stroke the bird’s feathers and speak to it aloud in soothing tones. Elmo, however, said nothing, turning once again in the saddle to watch the path before him.
Not a mate. Only a friend. Shanhaevel projected. What big man speaks to you?
Big man with shiny feathers and bad air.
Shiny feathers means armor, but bad air? Oh! Shanhaevel realized. Elmo’s breath.
“Ormiel says you speak to him, too,” Shanhaevel said.
Elmo only smiled, not turning around. “Shirral talks to the animals. I just watch. Ormiel is a very nice bird, though, Shanhaevel.”
Shanhaevel shook his head, wondering if Elmo had some sort of ability to speak with animals that he didn’t know about. He watched the axeman for a long moment, but Elmo offered no clues. Dismissing this thought, Shanhaevel repeated to Ormiel, Watch the road today for bad things.
Yes. I watch. Watch and hunt. Sky eyes is very nice.
Shanhaevel looked again at Shirral, who was still enraptured with the hawk, seemingly very happy. Yes. Thank you, Ormiel. She is very nice.
Hedrack walked to one of the braziers that warmed his chambers. He pulled a burning taper from it, then crossed to the center of the room and dropped cross-legged atop a series of thick, plush carpets and cushions. Closing his eyes and uttering a few words of prayer to Iuz, he lit a single black candle in front of him and cast a spell. A moment later, the ghostly, vaporous image of Lareth appeared before him. As Hedrack made eye contact with his field commander, the apparition of the other man smiled and bowed.
“Most humble greetings, Mouth of Iuz,” Lareth intoned, maintaining his bow.
Hedrack studied the figure for a moment, reminded with a tiny pang of envy how handsome he was considered to be. A mane of sandy blond hair framed a rugged face with compelling blue eyes. Lareth’s broad shoulders and devilish smile always turned the ladies’ heads, and the field commander knew it all too well. In fact, Lareth’s assessment of his own beauty had made him slightly insolent of late.
Always with the handsome ones, the high priest thought, there are aspirations to rise above station. Durbas, the author of Conquest, Obedience, and Command, maintained that the occasional reprimand was absolutely necessary to remind a servant of his actual worth, to avoid instilling a false notion of favoritism and thus the mistaken belief that the servant might some day replace the master. Lareth was certainly one for whom this might be necessary.
“Greetings, Commander Lareth,” Hedrack responded. “Rise and report.”
Lareth straightened himself and began. “I will send raiding parties in three directions this evening, Hedrack.” Hedrack frowned at the cleric’s familiarity with him. “However, last night, our raid on Hommlet did not fare as well as expected.”
Ah, thought Hedrack, the small failure I will exploit to remind him of his place.
“Yes?” The high priest said, furrowing his brow in displeasure for emphasis.
“A number of capable travelers stopping for the night in that village came to the sorry peasants’ aid.” Lareth sighed. “I lost fully half a dozen bugbears in the raid.”
“You disappoint me,” Hedrack said, glowering.
Lareth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was clearly not used to being so openly rebuked.
“I have charged you with recruiting fresh troops and with filling our coffers through your raids. I don’t remember anything about having my army shrink through your mismanagement.”
“My lord, I beg pardon, but this was an unexpected and unavoidable situation. I withdrew the moment—”
“Unexpected and unavoidable? It is clear to me that you are not giving your duties the attention they deserve. A competent field commander always gains reliable intelligence before engaging the enemy, and he always has not one but two contingency plans for unexpected”—Hedrack emphasized Lareth’s own words back at him—“situations so that nothing becomes an ‘unavoidable’ mistake.”
“Of course, my lord,” Lareth answered. “I beg your forgiveness in this, and I assure you that I will redouble my precautions.”
Hedrack wasn’t sure if Lareth’s look of contrition was genuine or not, but he was convinced that the man had received the intended message loudly
and clearly: Do not presume too much. A thought occurred to Hedrack.
“I have received warnings from Iuz himself that enemies move against us. Even now, agents of Cuthbert come this way. Perhaps these meddlers you mentioned are the very same?”
“I have reason to believe they are,” Lareth replied, causing Hedrack to raise his eyebrow.
“Oh? And how is that?”
“My spies in Hommlet report that there is a company, led by an agent of the king himself, who is preparing to explore the outpost. I am setting up plans to deal with them.”
Hedrack leveled his gaze at the other man. “Good. See that you do. And report to me when you have.” He waved the issue away and changed the subject. “What of fresh sacrifices? When will I receive more?”
Lareth’s charming smile returned in an instant. “I managed to snare a few last night, despite the unexpected opposition. I have sent a fresh batch of them to you this very day. I think you will be very pleased.”
“Good, good,” Hedrack said, nodding. “I look forward to examining them. Anything else to report?”
Lareth nodded his head. “I shall have no less than fifty new troops for you by the end of the month. And, if my reports are correct, another two hundred and fifty by the end of next.”
“Excellent,” Hedrack said, genuinely pleased. “We are ahead of schedule, then. Keep it up. And no more mishaps.”
“I hear and obey, my lord.”
The remains of the ruined moathouse sat to the left of the path, surrounded by a fetid bog and connected to the main road by a narrow causeway that was banked high to stay clear of the wetland around it. Most of the walls were still standing, although in places the stonework was a tumbled ruin, and the whole thing seemed ready to fall over into the bog at any moment. Timbers from what must have once been a second story jutted up in places, but they were blackened from fire. The entire structure was overgrown with vines and creepers, yellowish and sickly looking. The front gates were smashed and hanging askew, but a sad excuse for a drawbridge still spanned the gap between the pathway and the gate’s threshold.
The Temple of Elemental Evil Page 6