The Temple of Elemental Evil

by Thomas M. Reid

  “Feel better?” Shanhaevel asked.

  Shirral nodded and smiled, her icy blue eyes twinkling. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The tone of her voice made Shanhaevel glow, for it resonated with heartfelt affection.

  “Come on,” Shanhaevel said, rising and helping Shirral to stand, as well. “We have a mess on our hands.”

  Together, they got to their feet and observed the battles taking place around them. Elmo had managed to press the elf woman down the length of the hallway, while Draga and Govin were desperately trying to attack the wizard whom the assassin had called Falrinth. Unfortunately, the elven woman had just managed to disappear again, and Draga and Govin were having little luck determining which image of the wizard was the real one, although they had succeeded in reducing the number from five down to three. Shanhaevel could tell, also, that Falrinth was casting another spell.

  “Listen,” Shanhaevel said, turning to Shirral. “We can defeat that wizard if we can get rid of Miss Invisible beforehand.”

  “Besides a few healing spells, I only have a couple of tricks left that might be useful,” Shirral answered, “but I have to know where she is first.”

  “I have a spell that just might work,” Shanhaevel replied. “Get ready.”

  He called up the magical energies easily, gesturing and waiting for the spell to take effect. When he was done, the view before his eyes changed substantially. He now saw manifestations of magic all about him, auras radiating from different places throughout the T-shaped intersection where the company fought.

  The three images of Falrinth glowed brightly, as did the shimmering globe of energy, which was no surprise to Shanhaevel. The illusionary spell of the basilisk also glowed, which the elven wizard had almost forgotten. He had expected to see all of those emanations of magic. However, flanking the flaming fountain were two forms that also radiated magic, though they were unmoving. Shanhaevel, taken aback at their presence, studied them for a moment. They were vague in shape, not exactly human in form, and they stood motionless, as though waiting for some instructions of some sort. Puzzled but sensing that they were not immediate threats, Shanhaevel continued his sweep of the area.

  Ahleage in statue form glowed, as did a handful of weapons and items in the possession of the various companions. That left only two more sources, one that he expected to find and one he did not. The first, of course, was the elven assassin. She was moving up the hall toward them, having managed to get past Elmo. She seemed to be coming toward the two of them, which suited Shanhaevel just fine. The final magical radiance came from a small creature sitting high on one wall of the wide passageway, near the door where the wizard had entered.

  It appeared to be a centipede, about a foot long, and it rested in a crack in the wall, watching everything taking place below. This puzzled Shanhaevel, but he did not have time to dwell on it, for the woman was almost upon them.

  “Keep your voice low, and pretend we’re watching the wizard,” Shanhaevel told Shirral. “She’s close. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” the druid whispered. “Tell me where.”

  When the assassin had closed so that she was slightly to the side and behind Shirral, Shanhaevel tensed. When he saw the woman draw her weapon back, ready to stab at the druid, he swung around, blocking the blow with his staff as the woman became visible. Surprised at Shanhaevel’s quick reaction, the woman blinked. Shanhaevel took advantage of the situation to hit her hard, right in the midsection, with the other end of his staff.

  Shirral turned and pointed to the woman, shouting a single word and summoning magic of the earth. Immediately, a faint purplish glow sprang up around the woman, who had stepped away from Shanhaevel’s attack and was straightening up once more. Shirral had her scimitar out and was advancing on the elven assassin, who smiled and deftly stepped to one side. When Shirral turned to face her, the other woman’s smile turned to a frown, and she backed away, confusion plain on her face.

  Elmo, having seen the commotion by the two spell-casters, hurried to join them, and he closed with the woman, who now had a panicked look on her face, realizing she was no longer invisible.

  Shanhaevel turned to see what was happening with the others. What he saw shocked and dismayed him. Draga had taken a stand between Govin and the wizard, who was now down to one image. Draga was defending against the knight’s attacks. Govin, refusing to strike his own companion, repeatedly tried to move around the hairy bowman, but Draga would not allow it.

  He’s been charmed in some way, Shanhaevel realized. The bastard is using Draga against us.

  Shanhaevel moved forward, ready to strike the man down, when Govin stopped pressing his attack and giggled. Shanhaevel faltered in midstep, wondering what the knight could possibly find funny in the midst of a desperate battle. Govin was rooted to the spot though, and his giggle turned to a full laugh. Dropping his sword and shield, the knight grabbed his sides, doubling over and guffawing, hardly able to breathe.

  More magic, Shanhaevel realized. I’m going to get my hands on this bastard’s spellbooks for certain. But first …

  Shanhaevel closed with the other wizard again, then stopped, realizing that the spell he had cast to detect magic emanations had reached its limit and winked out, leaving his sight normal again. However, the giant centipede in its niche was still quite visible, though well camouflaged. Shanhaevel suddenly had a very good idea what the horrid insect was.

  Quickly, the elf cast. He had only a couple of spells left, but the one he was about to invoke might still prove useful. Summoning the supernatural energies once more, he flung his hand out in the direction of the centipede, which, upon seeing the elf’s gestures, had turned and was trying to retreat into the wall. But it was not fast enough.

  In a flash, a long glowing arrow streaked forward, trailing a stream of liquid as it went. The magic arrow struck true, embedding itself in the giant insect and spraying the liquid over it. The centipede writhed in agony and fell free of the niche, dropping to the stone floor below and transforming as it did so. Distantly, Shanhaevel heard the other wizard shriek, and he knew his assumption had been correct.

  When the creature hit the floor, it lay still, but it was no longer a centipede. Shanhaevel did not recognize it precisely, but he had no doubt that it was an imp of some type, summoned from the lower planes. Its flesh smoked and sizzled as the liquid, which was a potent acid, soaked and burned it.

  “Thank you, Melf,” Shanhaevel muttered, acknowledging the creator of the magic arrow of acid he had just used to slay the imp.

  By this time, Govin had ceased his laughing, and Draga was his own self again. Both of them were advancing on Falrinth, whose face looked slightly burned, as if from acid, and who was desperately trying to cast one more spell.

  “Get him!” Shanhaevel yelled. “Don’t let him cast again!”

  The two warriors were not quick enough. Behind Falrinth, a glowing portal appeared, a doorway framed in strange light, and the mage backed through it, avoiding the oncoming warriors. As soon as he was through, the doorway winked out of existence.

  “Damn!” Govin growled, flinging his sword through the space where the doorway had been a moment before. “Damn that wizard to the hells!”

  The knight spun around, looking for something, anything, to attack. When he saw that there were no enemies, he sighed loudly, and his shoulder sagged.

  “If I ever track that wizard down …” he swore, leaving the vow unfinished. “Shanhaevel, I don’t know if you know the spell he used on me, but don’t you ever make me cackle like that. Ever.”

  Shanhaevel suppressed a smile. He could only imagine the indignation the knight must feel at having to endure such an ignoble thing. “I would never do that to you,” the elf said, his smile leaking through. “I promise.”

  Govin glared at the wizard for a moment, then nodded curtly and pointed behind Shanhaevel. “What in the hells is that?”

  Shanhaevel turned and saw that the knight was pointing to the
dead imp.

  “Exactly,” he answered. “It’s a thing from the hells themselves—an imp of some sort, perhaps a quasit. It was the wizard’s familiar, as Ormiel is mine. I discovered it watching us, and when I killed it, the wizard suffered accordingly. There is a strong bond between mage and familiar. When one suffers, the other suffers also.”

  “That’s why he seemed suddenly in agony?” Govin asked. “Why his face seemed burned?”

  Shanhaevel nodded. “I would suffer great injury, too, should anything happen to Ormiel.”

  “Hmm, well, I guess I know how to get even then, should you ever cast that infernal laughing spell upon me.”

  Shanhaevel raised one eyebrow, but the twinkle in Govin’s eye made it clear the knight was merely teasing.

  “Let’s see how the others fared,” the knight said.

  Shanhaevel turned to see Shirral and Elmo examining the body of the elf woman. Shirral pulled something off the woman’s face and suddenly straightened and stepped back, flinging the item away in disgust.

  Govin stepped closer, and Shanhaevel and Draga followed. “What is it?” the bowman asked.

  “She’s no elf,” Shirral replied, glaring at the body.

  “What do you mean?” Govin asked.

  “She was only disguised as an elf,” Elmo explained, his face grave.

  “Well, then, at least we know one of our own wasn’t besmirching our good name,” Shanhaevel quipped, moving beside the druid to gaze down at the body. “So what’s bothering you?”

  Shirral grimaced. “Oh, nothing, except that she looks like she’s got some orcish blood in her.”

  “Oh, a half-breed, huh?” Govin said, nodding. “Figures.”

  “What does that mean?” Shirral said, turning to face the knight, her eyes smoldering.

  Shanhaevel winced, dreading what was to come.

  Govin blinked a couple of times, a look of puzzlement on his face, then his eyes widened. “No! That’s—” he sputtered. “I mean, I— That’s not what I meant!” He took a deep breath. “I was trying to point out that I was surprised an elf would be here at all. Many half-orcs are angry with their lot in life, shunned by both of their lineages. It made more sense to me that a half-breed would have fallen in with the temple than an elf. That’s all I meant.”

  Shirral’s glare didn’t lessen much. “It’s not just half-orcs that are shunned by both lineages. In most people’s eyes, a half-breed is a half-breed, regardless of the blood mixed together.”

  Govin’s face grew very serious. “Shirral of the wood, daughter of the earth and sky, you have my solemn word as a servant of Saint Cuthbert that your lineage is of no concern to me. You are a steady and true companion. I respect your friendship and would never disparage your heritage.”

  Shirral’s countenance softened. “All right, Govin. Thank you.”

  “Well, regardless of her bloodlines,” Elmo said, standing, “we have a bigger problem on our hands.”

  The huge axeman still looked shaken.

  “What’s wrong?” Shanaevel asked.

  “It could have just been coincidence,” Elmo replied, shaking his head, “but she”—he pointed at the dead half-orc—“called him Falrinth.”

  “So?” Shirral asked, removing a pair of earrings and a belt from the woman.

  “Falrinth was the name of a wizard who rode with Thrommel ten years ago,” Elmo answered. “Burne told me once that Falrinth was a key to their efforts to destroy the demon. When he fell during the battle and was carried off by temple forces, the rest of them were forced to revise their plan, sealing the demon inside the temple rather than confronting and destroying her. They all grieved for the loss of their friend. Burne has presumed all these years that Falrinth was killed.”

  “And now you think this might be him?” Shanhaevel asked. “The same Falrinth?”

  “It’s quite possible,” Elmo replied. “They might have broken him instead of killing him, turned him to their cause. He may be one of the main resources the temple leaders are using to hunt for the key. His knowledge of the demon’s power was extensive.”

  “Burne must know of this,” Shirral said. “We have to figure out a way to get him a message.”

  “If we can get to the surface,” Draga cut in, “one of us could ride for Hommlet.”

  “That’s a big if,” Elmo said. “First, we have to find a way past that army. Plus, we must see what can be done about Ahleage.”

  Everyone turned, suddenly remembering their petrified friend. A wave of despair passed through them as they beheld Ahleage’s frozen form. It seemed as though the palpable evil of the temple weighed even more heavily upon them.

  No, Shanhaevel insisted to himself. Don’t let it wear you down. Fight it!

  “I don’t understand,” Govin said. “You told us the image was false. Why, then, is he cursed so? Would not the effects also be fake?”

  Shanhaevel nodded. “Except that the image seemed real enough to him. He believed he was going to be petrified … and so he is—at least in his mind.” Shanhaevel considered. “If that’s true …”

  Shanhaevel hurried over to where Ahleage stood, frozen in place. He examined the man carefully, studying the skin and clothing. To his surprise—or rather lack of it, now—Ahleage was not made of stone at all. The wan light cast from their lanterns had only made him look like stone. He was only totally and completely rigid.

  “Of course!” Shanhaevel said. “He’s only petrified in his mind.”

  “Then he can be saved!” Draga said, the relief evident in his voice.

  “Well, maybe.” Shanhaevel frowned. “Actually, even had he truly been turned to stone, there are ways to reverse it, but it still requires special dispelling magic to do so. I know of such a spell, but I would have to spend some time studying before I cast it.”

  “I could do it,” Shirral said quietly. The druid stepped forward as Shanhaevel turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “I think I can reverse the condition.”

  “Your magic allows for dispellings?” the wizard asked.

  Shirral nodded, closed her eyes, and prayed. Shanhaevel took a deep breath, hoping this would be the right course. As Shirral muttered her prayers, the rest of the group gathered around, waiting expectantly. After several long moments, Shirral placed a hand upon Ahleage’s rigid arm and murmured the final words of her prayer.

  There was a faint blue flash that cascaded across Ahleage’s body, and in the next instant he was yelling and backing up, his shield still in front of him. He backed right into Draga, who caught hold of his companion and held him steady. Ahleage’s head whipped about when he realized his whole frame of reference had changed in what for him had been a mere instant.

  “Wha—? What happened?” Ahleage asked, regaining his balance. “Where’s the, the thing?” He gestured in the direction where the basilisk had been.

  Shanhaevel sighed in relief and joy—more joy than he thought he could feel in this accursed place. On impulse, he decided to tease Ahleage. “Thing? What thing? We heard you yell, we ran around the corner, and we found you like this.”

  “No! There was a thing, a beast! I saw it!”

  “Hmm,” Elmo said, playing along. “There’s nothing there. You must have been seeing things.”

  “I was not!” Ahleage growled indignantly. “It was right there!”

  “Easy, Ahleage,” Draga said, patting his friend on one shoulder. “It probably scurried under the door right before we got here.”

  The bowman snickered, and Shirral covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.

  “Oh, I get it,” Ahleage said, turning from companion to companion, seeing the smiles on all their faces. “Just having a little fun with me, huh?”

  At that, everyone grinned openly, born of both the humor and the relief that their companion was safe and recovered.

  “You were affected by powerful magic,” Shanhaevel explained, still grinning. “You were tricked by an illusion to believe you had been petrified. Shirral
returned you to normal.”

  Ahleage blinked, looking around at the group, and finally settling on the druid. “Th-thanks,” he muttered at last.

  “Oh, you’re more than welcome,” Shirral said sweetly. “It’s the least I could do for those friends of mine who pretend to be dying of poison.”

  Everyone chuckled, but the oppressiveness of the temple caused the mirth to subside quickly, and the group returned to the business at hand. Ahleage accepted a magical weapon and armor obtained from the dead assassin.

  As they were preparing to move on, Shanhaevel remembered the two vague forms standing near the flaming fountain. With a little study, the elf determined that they were magical constructs, invisible servants that wizards often summoned to perform menial labor. These two had worked together to light the oil in the fountain, which had lit the place upon Ahleage’s arrival.

  “I’ll wager that the half-orc woman was Falrinth’s bodyguard,” Shanhaevel commented as they prepared to check the doors leading off the wide passage.

  “Perhaps we’ll find out beyond these portals,” Govin said as he opened the first of the doors.

  “Just go slowly,” Shanhaevel warned. “Both Shirral and I have burned off a lot of our spells. If we run into trouble, we’d better be ready to turn back fast.”

  “Caution is the word,” Govin replied. “Falrinth may still be lurking around here.”

  “Or some more of his pets,” Elmo added from the back of the group.

  The first door they passed through led to what appeared to be the half-orc’s chamber. It was furnished with a simple cot, a table with a chair and bench, and a wardrobe. The walls, however, were decorated with various sorts of unusual weapons, mostly wicked-looking daggers—the tools of an assassin. The group spent some time poking around the place, turning up a few gems and small pieces of jewelry, as well as some vials of thick poison in the wardrobe.

  Once they were done, they moved across the hall to the door through which the wizard had arrived. The chamber beyond was obviously Falrinth’s lair. The walls were lined with shelves, each of which was laden with books, scrolls, stuffed and mummified animals, and so forth. In addition, there was a small bed, a writing table, some cabinets, and a second door leading out. A cloak with many strange runes hung upon a peg near that second door, and next to it was a piece of parchment with more odd symbols. Attached to the far wall was another sheet of parchment, this one larger. It seemed to be a map of some sort. Of the wizard himself, there was no sign.