The Temple of Elemental Evil

by Thomas M. Reid

  Magic, Shanhaevel thought admiringly. Magnificent!

  The druid and the wizard faced an advancing cadre of gnolls who were grinning and barking as they closed the distance. Every one of them held a large axe, and a few even had a shield. Shanhaevel began to cast again, hoping Shirral could keep the nasty humanoids at bay long enough for him to summon the magic. With the utterance of another simple enchantment, he gestured at the wall of menacing gnolls, and three of them slumped to the ground in a deep sleep, leaving the fourth still up, now dropping into a defensive crouch and eyeing the flaming blade in the druid’s hand.

  Get him, Shirral, the elf silently urged the druid, then turned to see how the others were faring. He nearly had his head taken off by Kobort, who had come up behind him, sword held high. Shanhaevel dived away, scrambling to stay clear of the furious Kobort, who had swung at the elf full force and was just now regaining his balance.

  The man glared at Shanhaevel, nostrils flaring. “You’re dead, tree-boy!” he growled, advancing again and swinging his blade back to strike.

  Shanhaevel shoved one of the chairs toward Kobort and jumped away, desperately hoping the move would catch the thug off guard and buy him a second or two for a spell. He shouted a word of enchantment, aiming a finger at Kobort as the man kicked the chair away and came at the elf again. A bright flash of light, followed almost instantly by a second, darted forth from the tip of the elf’s finger and streaked across the distance, slamming into the thug’s chest.

  Kobort gasped and fell back, dropping his sword and clutching his chest, which was smoking slightly. He stumbled and tripped over a crate, pitching down behind it.

  Shanhaevel spied Elmo’s axe lying on the floor and seized it. The heavy weapon felt awkward in his hands. He had often chopped wood for himself and Lanithaine, but this was a far different weapon—a much shorter haft and a wicked double head easily as large as his chest—and it was abominably heavy to the elf.

  Steeling his courage, Shanhaevel closed the distance between himself and Kobort, the weapon in hand. The man was trying to rise to his knees. Shanhaevel lifted the axe as high as he could then brought the huge blade down hard on the back of the man’s head. There was a sickening crunch and a spray of blood, and Kobort collapsed to the floor. He did not rise again. Shanhaevel gave a shuddering sigh and surveyed the rest of the battle.

  Elmo was about to be cornered by Zert and another bandit, each of them holding him at bay with spears. The huge axeman had a crossbow bolt protruding from his thigh, and he staggered as he backed away, dodging the spear thrusts. Cursing, Shanhaevel ran forward, shouting. The two men turned to see what the ruckus was, and when they saw the elf running at them, axe in hand, they turned to receive his charge.

  Perfect, Shanhaevel thought. He stopped dead in his tracks, dropped to one knee, and sent the axe sliding across the floor between the two bandits toward Elmo. In a single smooth motion, Elmo scooped the weapon up, even as Zert and his companion watched the axe slide by them. By the time they realized their opponent was now armed, it was too late.

  Elmo slammed one blade of the axe into the chest of the bandit in a swift swing, knocking him off his feet and back two full paces, then turned to face Zert, who retreated a step, horrified. Before the thug could flee, Elmo caught him squarely in the hip. Zert screamed as he fell, and Elmo wasted no time closing in to finish him off. Shanhaevel stepped away from that fight and took stock of the rest of the company.

  Amazingly, most of the ambush force was down. Shirral—her shoulder soaked in blood—Ahleage, and Draga were fighting with Lareth now. Without hesitating, Shanhaevel cast again, summoning two more of the magical missiles he had used against Kobort. Unerringly, the glowing green streaks of light shot across the room and hit Lareth squarely in the chest. The priest grunted and stumbled back a step, and Draga took advantage of the magical distraction to cut the man hard across the shoulder.

  Lareth growled in pain and fury and knocked Draga away with his staff. Shirral darted forward, swinging her blade of flame at the priest’s head. Lareth ignored the blow as it connected and rammed his staff into the druid’s midsection. Shirral collapsed with a groan, but before Lareth could step forward to finish her, Ahleage was behind him, ramming his dagger into the small of the man’s back.

  Howling in agony, Lareth spun away, swinging his mace to fend off further blows. Ahleage had to roll away from the attack to avoid getting his skull bashed in.

  Breathing heavily and with blood flowing from several wounds, Lareth backed away from Draga and surveyed his failed ambush.

  “Finish them!” the priest growled, then gestured, and was engulfed in a cloud of palpable darkness.

  “Bastard!” Ahleage shouted as he leaped into the magical blackness.

  Shanhaevel hesitated, knowing it would be dangerous to join Ahleage in a blind fight. He’d likely plant a dagger in my ribs, thinking I was Lareth, the wizard thought, and he turned back to survey the room once more.

  The only foe still standing was Turuko, who was now facing Elmo. The huge man was charging the Bakluni, bloody axe held high. Elmo brought his weapon down, but Turuko was faster. As Elmo swung, the Bakluni leaped into the air, topknot streaming out behind him as he dodged the swipe of the blade and kicked out with his foot, catching Elmo in the shoulder. The kick was hard enough to send the huge man sprawling to the floor.

  Shanhaevel sucked air in through his teeth, amazed and dismayed, for he realized that Turuko must be a member of the Scarlet Brotherhood, a fabled order of fighting monks.

  Here? the elf wondered even as he and his companions fanned out, ready to do battle. The Scarlet Brotherhood in league with the temple? Their battle prowess was legendary. Turuko would be deadly, even without weapons. Dismissing the thought for now, the wizard waited for an opportunity to attack.

  Draga closed with the monk first, his sword in his hand. Shanhaevel grimaced and relaxed his grip on his staff, moving in to aid Draga. Elmo stood again, growling in fury, and brought his axe up once more, advancing.

  Turuko moved as a whirlwind, surrounded by the three of them, his hands and feet moving like snakes. Shanhaevel tried to follow the Bakluni’s movements, but Turuko was too fast.

  The monk paused in his motions and smiled. “Yes, worthy adversaries, indeed. I had not expected—” he cut himself off, laughing in a placating manner. “But that is the first rule of combat, is it not? Never underestimate your adversary. Well, I shall not make that mistake again. Come, let’s finish this.”

  He whirled around, leaping through martial forms, one after another—kicks and punches, graceful and lithe—demonstrating conservation of energy and motion. With each successive form, he landed facing a different opponent, ready to strike anyone and everyone who faced him.

  Elmo was the first to lunge in, swinging his axe in a wide arc before him. Turuko dodged the attack and spun around, kicking Draga in his midsection before the bowman knew what had hit him. Draga grunted, stumbling back a step, but then he darted in again, jabbing his sword at Turuko while the monk was turned to face Shanhaevel. The monk dodged both attacks and sent a kick in Elmo’s direction that barely missed the huge man’s head. Elmo swung his axe again, but Shanhaevel saw that the big man was having a difficult time using the large weapon with his wounded leg and so many of his companions about.

  “Bring your best!” crowed Turuko, smiling as he moved and dodged, gliding easily from opponent to opponent. “I welcome it.”

  “If you surrender,” Elmo said, “I promise you will live.”

  “Ha!” Turuko laughed, spinning to kick Draga’s sword from his hands and following through with a punch that caught the man on his jaw. It was a glancing blow, but Draga staggered back, breathing hard.

  “If you attack, I promise you will die!” Turuko said as he dodged a swipe from Shanhaevel and a lunge from Elmo simultaneously.

  There was a lull in the fight as the three men facing the monk stepped back, breathing hard.

  Damn, thoug
ht Shanhaevel, wishing he had some appropriate magic left to aid in his attacks. Anything he tried to use now would endanger his companions, too. He adjusted his grip on his staff and found his center of balance again.

  The three men circled Turuko, closing in to take the fight to him once more. Draga struck first this time, jumping in and feinting, then darting back out. While Turuko was still in the midst of repelling that, Shanhaevel stepped forward and tried to sweep the monk’s legs, but he stepped back again before Turuko could land a retaliatory strike. They were working the monk more effectively now, feinting, jabbing, and making him spin and defend more strenuously than before.

  After both Draga and Shanhaevel occupied Turuko together, Elmo came in high, his axe raised. Turuko sneered as he prepared to bend away from the attack, but at the last moment, Elmo released the axe, sending it spinning, and Turuko’s sneer turned to surprise as the weapon went rotating toward his head. The monk ducked it easily enough, but Elmo had gone into a roll at the monk’s feet and was now inside the Bakluni’s reach. Turuko spun back to face the huge man, preparing to strike with a kick, but Elmo was too fast—amazingly fast, Shanhaevel later remembered thinking. Elmo snapped up and at Turuko from a crouch.

  There was a glint of bluish silver in Elmo’s hand as he embraced Turuko, and the monk went suddenly still, his eyes glazed over in surprise. He looked into Elmo’s eyes, his own betraying the pain he felt. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound issued forth, and then he sagged. Elmo let him slide to the flagstones, the huge man’s dagger protruding from his chest.

  Turning back to the one remaining foe, Shanhaevel saw that the magical darkness Lareth had used to escape had dissipated. Ahleage slumped against a wall, alive but holding his head, where a trickle of blood ran into his face. Of the dark priest himself, there was no sign. Shirral huddled over Melias. The warrior was sprawled on his back, his one good eye staring at the ceiling. He was still breathing shallowly.

  Shanhaevel knelt beside Shirral and looked at Melias, trying not to let his horror show on his face. The druid had the soldier’s hand in her own, but she was only crying. The others knelt down beside Melias, speaking soothing words to the warrior, but it was obvious to all of them that he was nearly gone.

  “That bastard Kobort and his two companions had better be very dead,” Ahleage said, struggling to his feet and joining the rest of them.

  “They are,” Elmo said, cradling Melias’s head in his lap. “Lareth will join them soon, I promise you.”

  “I can’t save him,” Shirral growled through clenched teeth. She hung her head and sobbed. “My healing isn’t strong enough.”

  Melias tried to speak, but his words were little more than a gurgle. Shanhaevel and the others leaned in, listening closely.

  “K-key,” Melias whispered, laboring to breathe. “Find … key. Pl-please.”

  His head slumped back into Elmo’s lap, then, and his hand slipped from Shirral’s grasp. His eye still stared at the ceiling, but it was unseeing now. With a final wet sigh, his last breath left his body.

  Ahleage, the muscles in his jaw clenched and flexing, rose to his feet and turned away from Melias’s body. He stomped to the other side of the room and paced. Draga stood off to the side, a respectful look on his face, but he said nothing. Elmo reached down and carefully pulled the warrior’s cloak over his face. Shirral cried quietly.

  What the hells do we do, now? Shanhaevel wondered, feeling the all-too-familiar and fresh ache in his chest. It’s Lanithaine all over again. Only this time, everyone feels it. Is this all there is? Pain and death? If that’s all we have to look forward to on this expedition, then I should just go home. There’s no more reason to stay, anyway.

  Except there was, the elf realized. There was Shirral. He sighed, unsure if he wanted to leave, and that surprised him more than anything. I didn’t think I would hear myself saying that, he reflected. But there it was. The thought of leaving Shirral made the pit of his stomach roil. Still, the thought of telling her how he felt made it roil even more.

  Instead of trying, the wizard laid a soft hand on Shirral’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “You did what you could,” he said softly. “Without your other magic, your blade of flame, we would have all died at their hands.”

  Shirral nodded but did not look up. “Jaroo has tried to get me to study more,” she said at last, “to work on tuning my energy so I can cast more powerful spells. I never wanted to take the time, though.” She sniffed and turned to look at Shanhaevel. “If I had, I would have had something to aid him.” Her eyes did not sparkle now. They were clouded and red-rimmed with sadness.

  He could only nod and say, “I wanted something last night, too—on the road, when Lanithaine died … something, anything, to keep him alive. I didn’t have it. Sooner or later, we all discover that power isn’t enough. Lanithaine often told me that power is not what defines us. It’s what you do with what you have that makes you who you are. Right now, everyone else needs your skills. You still have the ability to help them. You need someone to tend to your wound.” He gestured to the druid’s blood-soaked shoulder.

  Shirral looked at him for a moment, then nodded and replied, “I don’t ever want to feel this … inadequate again.” With that, she stood. Before she moved to aid the wounded, she looked back over her shoulder at him and said, “I led us here. I was the one who said we couldn’t let Zert die. Melias wanted to be cautious, and I wouldn’t let him. It’s my fault.”

  Shanhaevel started to shake his head, to tell her that it was his fault, not hers, that if he had realized Zert’s lie in time they would never have been ambushed, but she had already turned away again, and the words died in his throat. Sighing, he stood up and looked around, seeing what he could do to help.

  Ahleage and Draga went from body to body, making sure there were no survivors. Shanhaevel realized the three gnolls he had subjected to his magical sleep were gone. They must have awakened and slipped away during the fight. Or they could be hiding somewhere, waiting until our guard is down. He told this to the others, cautioning them all to be careful.

  Shirral administered to Elmo’s injury, first. The huge man took a deep breath, then yanked the bolt free, grimacing from obvious pain. Muttering under her breath, Shirral laid her hands softly upon the puncture wound, and a soft glow emanated from the spot. A moment later, Elmo was up and testing his leg, walking back and forth with noticeably less of a limp. The huge man smiled at Shirral, but she was swooning, and he had to catch her.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Elmo said, lowering her to the floor as Shanhaevel rushed to her side, his heart pounding.

  Not her, too! he thought in a panic as knelt down next to her.

  “Shanhaevel, look in Melias’s pack,” Elmo ordered. “He had magical healing elixirs in there somewhere.”

  Shanhaevel moved quickly to the dead soldier and removed the man’s backpack. Hurrying back to Shirral’s side, he rooted through the gear, pausing for only a moment to peer at a finely worked scroll case before shoving it aside and continuing to dig until he found a small stopped bottle. Holding it up, he asked Elmo, “This?” to which the huge axeman nodded.

  “Shirral, you have to drink this,” Shanhaevel said, holding the bottle to the druid’s lips. It smelled of cinnamon and ash, he noted as he carefully poured it into her mouth. As she sipped it, a soft, blue glow rose from Shirral, concentrating on her wounded shoulder. A few moments later, she was sitting up.

  “Don’t scare me like that,” Shanhaevel told her. She looked at him quizzically but assured the wizard she was all right.

  When Ahleage and Draga confirmed that there were no enemies still alive, Elmo moved over to Turuko’s body and ripped the dagger from the monk’s chest.

  “We should pitch these”—he gestured at the dead bandits—“into the marsh. Let the swamp eat them. And we must take Melias back to Hommlet. He deserves a hero’s funeral. But first, we have to find out what we can about this Lareth.”

&nb
sp; “Fine with me,” Ahleage said. He dropped down beside one of the bandit’s corpses and began to search through the man’s clothing. “First things, first. They won’t be needing any of this stuff, anymore,” he said, pulling a small pouch of coins free, “and it’s small payment for what they cost us.”

  “I’ll watch the entrance,” Draga said, moving down the passageway out, “to make sure no one else sneaks up on us.”

  Shanhaevel stared at Elmo’s back, somehow not surprised by the big man’s sudden take-charge attitude. I knew there was more to him than he’s been letting on, the elf thought as he followed him into the priest’s lair.

  Beyond the door was a lavishly decorated room filled with thick rugs, wall hangings, soft chairs, and a couch overflowing with overstuffed cushions. A brazier warmed the dimly lit room and gave off the odor of incense. As Elmo took more careful stock of the place, he and Shanhaevel discovered delicacies, fine wines, and an assortment of fine serving pieces, including a set of silver goblets that were exquisitely wrought. In a cabinet along one wall was an alabaster box filled with rare and valuable unguents, as well as an assortment of loose gems and jewelry.

  By far the most important discovery was a small writing desk that also served as a shrine. Shanhaevel blanched upon seeing it, shuddering.

  “Boccob!” he muttered. “That’s a shrine to Lolth.”

  “I know,” Elmo said. “We destroy that when we’re through in here.”

  Shanhaevel spun to face the huge axeman. “How exactly do you know that? You are far more than a drunken farmer’s son. Admit it.”

  Elmo didn’t look up from the sheaf of parchment he was beginning to go through. “Yes, far more, but it’s not a tale for right now. Later, I will explain to you. Look at this,” he said, changing the subject as he held up some of the papers. “Whatever we stumbled on to here today, it’s much bigger than just these troops.”

  Shanhaevel stared at the big man for a moment longer, shaking his head in amazement, then turned his attention to what Elmo was trying to show him.