“It’s no good,” Shirral panted. “All I have left are some healing spells and a couple of other things not useful in battle. Nothing I can do to them.”
“Then be ready with healing,” Elmo instructed. “Shanhaevel, whatever spells you still have, use them wisely.”
Everyone nodded and prepared for the final assault. Even though the snow had ceased falling, the smoke from the fire made the battleground just as hazy and difficult to see through as before. There was a guttural shout from in the distance, but it was not the order to attack. It was an angry sound, full of despair, hatred, and fury.
“Boccob! What was that?” Shanhaevel breathed, steeling himself for what was about to come, expecting some huge beast or thing summoned from the lower planes.
The first figure to appear through the thick, drifting smoke was not a terrible creature, however. It was a man upon a horse.
It was Lareth.
Shanhaevel stared at the priest. The once-handsome man was now horrible to look upon. His face bore scars inflicted by fire and sharp blades. Shanhaevel took an involuntary step back when he saw the feverish hatred in the man’s eyes. The other members of the Alliance saw it, too, for the elf heard several of his companions gasp, and no one made a move for several moments.
“Yes,” Lareth said, his once-honey voice now rough as gravel. Shanhaevel wondered what foul substances might have been poured down the man’s gullet to ruin the dulcet tones he remembered from before. “See what you have wrought upon me, what maiming you inflicted through your interference! Now you will suffer, as I suffered at your hands.”
Govin stepped forward, sword held high. “Nay, Lareth! These things you suffered were not our doing. You cannot blame us.”
“Wrong!” Lareth screamed, his eyes burning fiercely. “The pain! All the pain! And it was your faces I saw! Yours! You were there!”
“Think carefully.” Govin shook his head, apparently hoping he could still reason with the crazed cleric. “We did not defeat you, nor did we follow you from the moathouse. You fled, and someone else did these terrible things to you. We would not do those things. Only a cruel and hurtful master would visit such punishment, and a master like that does not deserve your loyalty. Cease this war, surrender to us, and we will help you. We will not mistreat you like the ones who scarred your face.”
Lareth seemed to listen to the knight for a moment, but when Govin reminded the priest of how his once-beautiful face was now ruined with scars, Lareth’s eyes blazed in crazed fury once more.
“Lies! I will not listen to them. You will die in the nodes of fire, water, earth, and air!”
Lareth’s horse reared on its hind legs, and the priest had to grab hold of the pommel of the saddle with both hands to keep from falling. Shanhaevel peered around, awaiting the inevitable approach of more of the enemy, but they never came. Aside from the roar of the flames and the stamping of the priest’s horse, it was strangely quiet.
A strong breeze wafted over the battleground, clearing the smoke and mist and giving the companions a better view of the carnage they had wrought. The land around the ruined farmhouse was literally piled with the bodies of the crazed priest’s army. The few left alive were fleeing into the woods. Only Lareth still stood fast, trying to regain control of his panicked and bucking mount. He was alone, facing all six of the companions.
The hatred still burned in the priest’s eyes, though it was now joined by something else, the elf saw. Lareth was afraid. He had witnessed six individuals defeat his army. Still, Lareth’s insane desire to destroy those whom he believed had maimed him drove him to hold his ground. His horse still seemed skittish, but Lareth maintained his position, glaring at the six of them.
“I will see you dead,” he spat, twirling his mace once. “I will destroy you and see your corpses delivered into the nodes!”
“Your lust for our blood will be your undoing, priest!” Govin roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Lareth. “We have defeated your army and bloodied your master. Do you think you, all by yourself, can hope to conquer us? We have the might of Saint Cuthbert to deliver victory into our hands! If you do not surrender, you will die!”
Snarling, Lareth stood in the stirrups and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Aid me, my mistress Lolth!”
Swinging his mace wildly over his head, Lareth spurred his horse forward. The six companions fanned out, weapons at the ready, as the crazed priest rushed them. Shanhaevel readied himself for the attack, but Lareth took his charge straight to Govin, who stood his ground, his body held low in a defensive crouch, sword ready to strike.
As Lareth reached the knight, Govin shifted to his right, darting directly in front of the charging horse. The mount whinnied and reared up, and Govin came in low, swinging his blade at Lareth. The knight caught the priest squarely in the chest with his blow, which shattered the man’s armor and threw a spray of blood into the air. The force of the blow sent Lareth flying backward into the snow. As the frightened mount skittered away, Govin closed on Lareth, who was struggling to rise to one knee, blood pulsing from his chest and staining the snow the color of wine.
“Aid me, my mistress Lolth!” Lareth repeated, his voice cracking with the strain of his mad bloodlust. He began muttering—casting a spell, Shanhaevel realized as he heard the sinister words. Lareth raised one hand at Govin even as his lifeblood spilled away into the frozen ground.
Before Lareth could complete his diabolical conjuring, though, Govin brought his sword back and swung it forward, grunting from the exertion. The blade cut cleanly, slicing through Lareth’s neck. The priest’s head tumbled away, as his body hovered, kneeling for a moment longer, and then finally toppled over into the crimson-tinged drifts of snow.
Hedrack paced in his chambers as he watched Falrinth, impatient for news. In the middle of the floor, the wizard knelt upon several thick cushions, his hands clasped before him. He seemed to be in a trance, his eyes unblinking, focused on nothing.
The high priest felt a sudden tingling, a magical connection that made the hair on the back of his neck stand. Lareth was dead, Hedrack knew, and he smiled, wondering if the spider bitch knew what he had done to her servant. But first, Hedrack needed to know the outcome of the battle above. With an anxious growl, he spun on his heel and faced the wizard.
“What do you see up there?” he asked Falrinth. “How does the battle fare? Do we have victory?”
The wizard jerked as though he’d been awakened from dozing. “No. They stand, and the army has broken and fled. Lareth is dead.”
“Yes, I know,” Hedrack replied, pacing again. “How bad were our losses?”
“Perhaps half, but the company exhausted a lot of magic defending themselves. The remaining forces could be regrouped.” Falrinth left the suggestion hanging.
Hedrack considered this, then shook his head. “No, let them flee. I anticipated this outcome, and I have already set into motion a contingency plan. I will have Barkinar round up the remaining troops and prepare them for the possibility, however slight, that the meddlers survive my little surprise and make their way inside.”
Falrinth nodded, although the look on his face made it clear he did not understand what Hedrack meant.
“As you wish,” the wizard said at last.
“Leave me,” Hedrack instructed. “Keep an eye on the troublemakers. I want a report of their next moves the moment you know something.”
Falrinth rose and moved toward the door. “They may very well find a way inside, you know,” the wizard said as he opened the door. “They are proving more resourceful than we anticipated.”
The high priest nodded, a half frown on his lips. “Perhaps,” he said, “and that is why Barkinar will be ready.”
Falrinth nodded and left, pulling the door shut softly behind him. Hedrack continued to stare at the closed portal a moment after the wizard’s departure, pondering the possibilities. Let them come, he mused. Dangerous though it was, the idea of the meddlers roaming in his halls made him lick
his lips in anticipation. If they get inside, it will be all the easier to snare them and present them to Iuz.
The morning was quiet except for the sounds of labored breathing. For a moment, the Alliance stood, unmoving, staring at the headless body of Lareth lying in the thigh-deep snow. The dead priest’s fingers still twitched, perhaps struggling even in death to finish the casting that could not be completed in life.
Sword still in hand, Govin stood, feet slightly apart, and stared down at what he had done. He bowed his head, eyes closed, and softly muttered a few words of thanks to Saint Cuthbert for granting him the strength to achieve victory. When he opened them again, there was no regret in his visage—nor was there malice or glee, Shanhaevel noted—only the look of a man who did what he had to and would think on it no further.
Shanhaevel closed his own eyes for a moment, thankful that the battle was over.
Suddenly, a keening wail, an unnatural sound of death and despair, cut through the silent morning air. In a heartbeat, the wizard knew that death had been awakened in the woods. He blanched as a dark, shadowlike thing rose from the body of the beheaded priest—a horrible shade that extended eight wispy legs tapering to nothing before coming to rest on the ground. The head of the creature—a demonic, insubstantial spider form—was Lareth’s.
“Boccob!” Shanhaevel cried, his blood turning as cold as the snow around him.
“To the well!” Elmo cried, already running.
In a terrified mad dash, the six companions darted across the yard, heading straight toward the well. Shanhaevel began a spell even as Elmo reached the lip of the well and scrambled over the side. Frantically, he worked to unblock the secret passage, clearing away Ahleage and Draga’s handiwork from the night before. Scrap wood and debris flew until Elmo had cleared a hole large enough for a man to pass through.
Elmo ushered Shirral through the makeshift passage. Ahleage was next. By the time Draga, Govin, and Elmo had disappeared inside the well, the haunt was just beginning to separate itself from the body from which it grew, but there was no mistaking the message in the sound it made as it howled, intimating its craving for life, for souls. The shadow hungered, and Shanhaevel knew what it would mean to be caught. Its song hinted at darkness, terror, and everlasting pain and cold. The elf prayed that his spell, coupled with the heavy snowfall, would veil the Alliance’s escape.
With a sharp gesture, the wizard finished his spell. Immediately, he felt the cold, whipping wind that he had summoned. It swirled through the clearing of the farmhouse, stirring up the smoke and snow in a blinding gray wash that masked all movement and whisked away any hint of footprints. Satisfied that their trail was covered, Shanhaevel ducked down into the well, pausing near the top of the ladder.
Ormiel, fly! Fly far away and wait for me to call you. I go to hide in the earth.
Bad thing in the woods. I fly away.
Yes, Shanhaevel responded. I may be gone a long time. Wait for me. Stay warm.
I wait.
With that, Shanhaevel dropped the rest of the way down and ducked into the tunnel. Govin shut the door, and Ahleage dropped the bar into place. The group stood panting and looking wide-eyed at one another in the light of one lantern, which Elmo kept partially hooded.
“What was that?” Draga whispered, his voice wavering.
“Death undying,” Govin replied, his face grim. “It will be on us soon. It can sense our life-force, and it will not stop hunting until it finds us.”
“I guess it’s time to explore the inside of the temple, then,” Ahleage said wryly, but there was no humor in his eyes.
“Lead the way,” Shirral told him, her face pale in the dimness.
The tunnel descended steadily through the clay, shored up by stout timbers at regular intervals. Once the companions were sufficiently below ground level, they discovered that the tunnel had been cut directly through the limestone bedrock. It was narrow and cool in the passage, and the Alliance moved steadily, if cautiously, through it. After four hundred paces and a couple of slight turns later, they found themselves standing on the north side of a cavern perhaps forty feet across. A second tunnel led away east. According to the map Ahleage had found in the lid of the chest, the six explorers were now near the northwest corner of the temple, but still well below the surface.
“This is it,” Ahleage said, holding a lantern up and peering at the sheet of parchment in his hand. “According to the map, the other passage heads out from right over there.” He pointed toward the southeast corner of the oval-shaped cavern. There was nothing visible in the natural limestone wall.
“Let me take a look,” Shanhaevel said. “I’ve got the eyes for it.” The wizard stepped to the area Ahleage had indicated and studied the rock.
Shirral moved up beside him. “You’re not the only one with keen eyes, you know,” she muttered.
Shanhaevel glanced sideways at her. He nodded and continued to look.
“I’m going to follow the other passageway and see where it ends,” Ahleage announced. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Draga said, “just to watch your back.”
With that, the two of them departed, taking one of the lanterns with them. Elmo held the other light high, trying to give everyone a clear view of the limestone walls.
“It always makes me nervous when he goes off like that,” Govin muttered, pacing in the middle of the room. “There’s going to come a time when he doesn’t come back, and …” The knight left the thought unfinished.
“Here it is!” Shirral proclaimed, running her finger along a faint vertical crack. “Right here.”
The rest of the group crowded around her, looking at what she had discovered.
“Looks like a pivoting slab,” Govin said. “Elmo, shall we?”
Nodding, Elmo stepped up beside the knight, and together they pushed on the stone. It swung open easily, revealing a narrow passage beyond.
Shanhaevel picked up the lantern Elmo had set down and shone it into the tunnel. The passage stretched straight ahead as far as the light would illuminate.
“Well, it agrees with what’s on the map,” Shirral said. “Too bad the map doesn’t show what’s at the other end.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Govin said. “Just as soon as those two return.”
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Shirral asked. “I burned off a lot of magic up there in the fight. I need to rest and meditate.”
“I don’t think we can wait,” Elmo said. “That howling thing that rose up from Lareth will be tracking us, and we can’t let it catch up.”
Shirral nodded. “I suppose,” she said.
A moment later Ahleage and the bowman did return, carrying a chest between the two of them. Draga also carried a rolled up piece of cloth and an extra quiver in his free hand.
“Look what we found,” Ahleage said, setting the chest down and throwing the lid back. Inside were small containers, all ornate boxes and coffers trimmed in precious metals. “The tunnel goes for a long way, and at the end is a small room. All this was sitting at the base of a ladder. We didn’t bother going up to the tower again.”
Shanhaevel noticed the folded cloth in Draga’s hand and asked to have a closer look. When he unfurled it, the elf realized it was a cloak made of a rare weave. He had only seen such a fabric once before, back home in the Welkwood.
“Elven!” he breathed. “This is a rare find, indeed. Watch.”
He flung the cloak over his shoulders and moved beside the wall. The rest of the group murmured in surprise as he faded into the surrounding rock.
“Is it magic?” Ahleage asked as Shanhaevel removed the cloak.
“Partially,” the elf replied. “That, and the elves have a way of weaving their fibers to reflect the surrounding light.”
“What about these?” Draga asked, holding out the quiver he bore.
Shanhaevel walked over to the bowman and removed an arrow from the container. He examined it close
ly for a moment. His eyes caught what he was hoping to see: a faint sign engraved in the shaft.
“They bear the mark of magic,” he told Draga. “Hang on to them. Use them carefully.”
Draga nodded, a wry grin on his face, and stuffed the newfound arrows into his own quiver, then tossed the spare one aside.
“Leave the rest of that here,” Govin said, pointing to the chest. “We’ll take it with us when we come back this way.”
“Assuming we come back this way,” Ahleage said. “With an army overhead, it’s only a matter of time before they realize where we went.” He shut the lid and pushed the container over against the wall near the new tunnel the group was about to enter.
“Let’s go,” Elmo said.
One by one, the Alliance filed into the narrow opening and followed the tunnel, with Ahleage scouting ahead. It descended more sharply than the previous passage had, and it was so narrow that Govin, Elmo, and Draga had to turn sideways from time to time to squeeze through.
The going was slow, but eventually the tunnel widened and turned, becoming a better-constructed corridor. The ceiling was a rounded arch that ran the length of the passage, and torch sconces were set in the walls at regular intervals. Some of the sconces still held torches, though none were lit. The stonework itself was good, solid craftsmanship, and the walls and floors had been polished smooth.
After a while, Shanhaevel could sense slight air currents, deducing from such that the place was somehow ventilated.
“I think we’re here,” Shirral whispered, shivering and running her hand along one wall. The tunnel ahead turned once more.
“Oh, we’re here, all right,” Govin said. “I can feel the taint. The very walls ooze with evil.”
“Stay here,” Ahleage called softly over his shoulder, then he darted ahead into the darkness, stopping at the corner and peeking around. He waited a moment before disappearing around the bend.
Govin sighed, but everyone held their positions while they waited for Ahleage to return. Shanhaevel went through his remaining spells, considering which ones would be useful.
The Temple of Elemental Evil Page 15