The Temple of Elemental Evil

by Thomas M. Reid

  Hedrack? Shanhaevel thought the name was familiar. The name from the papers in Lareth’s lair! Was this the man in the armor I saw today?

  “Very good,” another voice replied, one that was rich and deep and carried the weight of authority—Hedrack’s, Shanhaevel knew. The power that radiated from that voice left no doubt in the elf’s mind. The footsteps had stopped. “You may proceed. I shall be in the main temple, preparing for her arrival. Notify me when the last doors are sundered.”

  “As you wish,” the first voice answered, then there was a commotion, as though several others were scurrying somewhere.

  “Hedrack!” Govin hissed. “We take them now, before they can destroy the door!” With that, the knight dashed around the corner.

  “No!” Shanhaevel called after Govin, cringing at the thought of charging recklessly into battle unprepared, but it was too late. Shaking his head, the wizard followed as the rest of the Alliance charged after the knight.

  The bend in the passageway deposited them in a wide corridor that ran at an angle and ended in another wide staircase leading down. A second passage, as wide as the first, branched off in the other direction, so that the whole of the intersection was in the shape of a Y with the staircase as the vertical line at the bottom. Falrinth and a small host of men and bugbears stood near the top of the stairwell, looking down into its depths. They were turned away from the onrushing knight and other members of the Alliance, and there was no sign of anyone else.

  Upon hearing Govin’s heavy footfalls, Falrinth spun, bringing his hands up instantly, and cast a spell. The wizard stepped back as the bugbears brandished weapons and stepped forward, blocking Govin’s advance. Grunting from exertion, Govin charged into the fray, raising his sword high and swiping at the mangy humanoids. Ahleage and Draga hit the wall of bugbears a moment later, and quickly, the wide corridor was a broiling sea of weapons and blood.

  Falrinth was on the verge of casting a spell that Shanhaevel recognized—the flaming ball of fire the elf had used several times before. Shanhaevel opened his mouth to shout a warning, but before he could utter a word, Ahleage threw a dagger, and the blade blossomed in the other wizard’s shoulder. Crying and stumbling backward in pain, Falrinth lost his concentration, and the spell he had been about to unleash failed. Snarling in anger, Falrinth reached inside his robes and removed a small length of wood, polished dark with age, and ducked to avoid further injury.

  Shanhaevel frowned when he saw the wand in the other wizard’s hand. He quickly cast a spell of his own, summoning three of the glowing green missiles and directing them unerringly toward Falrinth. As the other wizard raised his arm to use the wand, the missiles struck him in rapid succession, causing him to howl in renewed pain.

  Shanhaevel followed with a new spell, launching the acidic arrow that he had used to slay Falrinth’s imp, but Falrinth had taken enough. He turned away and scampered into the darkness of the opposite corrider. The magical arrow of acid fell harmlessly to the floor where he had been only moments before.

  Her flaming blade in hand, Shirral was battling a pair of grim-looking men, each of them wielding a short spear. Govin and Ahleage, meanwhile, had waded through the thickest clump of the enemy and found themselves pressing the attack against the force of temple followers from both sides, trapping them.

  With practiced ease, Shanhaevel summoned his spell of sleeping and put the few remaining combatants down. As the handful of men-at-arms and bugbears slumped to the ground, Ahleage moved in to finish them with his dagger. Shanhaevel gaped at him.

  “No, Ahleage!” the elf cried out, causing the man to pause.

  “They would release a demon on the world!” Ahleage said. “We can’t leave them here to destroy the door after we’re gone. If there was another way, I’d take it, but there isn’t. Blood for blood, wizard.”

  Shanhaevel shook his head. “They cannot get near the door to ignite the powder. Only Falrinth can do that, with his magic. Leave them to their fates.”

  “I won’t risk it,” Ahleage replied. “A flaming arrow, a hurled lantern or torch … You convinced me to come here, to save the world from this festering evil. Well, I’m here, now, and I’m going to make sure it gets done. Turn away if you cannot watch.”

  Resigned, Shanhaevel turned away, trying hard not to listen. He concentrated instead on Shirral, who was looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

  “Does the evil of the temple wash over us?” he asked her softly. “Does it win in the end, then?”

  “The lesser of two …” the druid whispered, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. “Our sorrow at committing even the lesser evil is what separates us from evil.”

  Shanhaevel nodded, feeling great sadness in his heart, because he realized Shirral was right. “I understand, now, why Lanithaine never talked about his experiences during the war,” the elf said quietly. “In war, the line that separates the two sides of conflict grows perilously narrow.”

  Govin looked back at his companions, and his gaze fell finally on Ahleage, whose bloody dagger was still grasped in his hand. The knight frowned. “There will be too much killing before this day is over,” he said. “May Cuthbert have mercy on us all.”

  “Come on,” Ahleage said, wiping the dagger on a dead bugbear’s cloak. “We still have a wizard to catch.”

  Shanhaevel and the rest of the Alliance crept through a wide corridor decorated with gruesome murals. The elf’s stomach roiled as he passed images of demons frolicking upon some great battlefield, dancing and playing among their vanquished foes—suffering humans, elves, gnomes, and dwarves. The defeated lay in agony, battered and broken. Claiming the bodies of the victims were horrid growths—great pools of vile substances, fungal sprouts of every conceivable shape and color, molds, and other things the wizard could not identify. Shanhaevel forced himself to stare at the floor, avoiding the hideous imagery.

  The passage led gently downward, bisected occasionally by sets of broad stairs and smaller side passages. Falrinth had escaped, fleeing through several winding passages and stairwells, deeper into the temple. His wounds had left a discernable trail of blood, and the chase led the group to this vile passageway. Now Shanhaevel could see the faint glow of light where the hallway opened into a much larger space ahead.

  Elmo, who was now in the lead with Govin, held up a hand, signaling the group to halt. Shanhaevel paused in midstride, listening intently. After a long, breathless moment, the word was passed back: A great chamber lies ahead. Be ready for an attack.

  Sorting through the magic he had prepared, Shanhaevel selected a couple of useful spells and steeled himself for the coming conflict.

  Quietly, Elmo started forward again, treading softly upon the great black flagstones of the corridor and into the vast chamber beyond. One by one, the rest of the Alliance followed him in, fanning out. The warriors took the lead. Shanhaevel and Shirral remained near the back, out of harm’s way but ready to cast spells when needed. The place was obviously a temple, and Shanhaevel scanned the great room, taking in the details and looking for hidden threats.

  The vast chamber was a rough U shape, with the hallway through which the group had entered connecting to the bottom of the curve. Several smaller passages led off, four to a side, along the outer perimeter. A great altar atop a raised dais, with steps leading up to it, dominated the center of the chamber. A great red cloth, embroidered with the elemental symbol for fire, covered the altar. Behind the altar was a great purple curtain that writhed and undulated in some unfelt breeze. To either side of the altar and set back a little were two great statues, each twenty feet tall. To the left, the statue was of an old man, except that the head was that of a horned and grinning skull. The right-hand statue was the great bulbous fungal thing Shanhaevel had seen in his vision. He cringed, realizing that the two statues depicted Iuz and his demoness consort, Zuggtmoy.

  Flanking the altar were a pair of golden columns that rose to the ceiling, well over fifty feet above the floor. The ceiling its
elf had been decorated to appear as a night sky full of bright, twinkling stars. All along the walls, near the ceiling, were a series of flying buttresses, atop which sat hideous gargoyles that leered down at everything below. The walls, as well as the floor, were of the deepest onyx, unblemished with any further decoration. Torches flickered along the walls at even intervals, casting weak light throughout.

  At that moment, a lone figure, dressed in the blackest armor with the stylized symbol of Iuz painted in bright gold upon the breastplate, stepped into the room, passing through the shimmering curtain and walking past the altar. It was the same man Shanhaevel had seen through his spell, out in the snow, when the second door had been demolished.

  Upon seeing the six intruders, the figure stopped, contemplating the group for a moment. Slowly, almost casually, the figure removed its helmet.

  The man behind the helmet wore his hair short and his face was clean-shaven. He smirked slightly, though his fingers drummed frantically upon the helmet under his arm.

  “Well, at last we come face to face,” the man said, his rich and deep voice echoing strangely in the large chamber and confirming that this was, indeed, Hedrack. “Falrinth told me you were on your way. You do prove yourselves time and again as more than a mere annoyance, don’t you? I, Hedrack, Mouth of Iuz, high priest of the Elemental Temple, salute you.” Hedrack bowed low, sweeping his arms out to either side.

  Govin, who was standing the closest to the man, took a couple of steps forward and said, “I am Sir Govin Dahna, knight of Saint Cuthbert. I bring the light of truth and goodness into this unholy place. Surrender, Hedrack, and be spared my wrath.”

  “Surrender?” The high priest laughed. “To you? I think not. You have done nothing, proven nothing! This is the Elemental Temple’s finest hour! The elements will feast upon your souls before this day is through, Sir Govin Dahna.” He laughed again, turned, and disappeared through the curtain once more.

  Govin growled and took two more steps forward, intent on pursuing the man, when chaos erupted.

  From out of nowhere, a torrent of ice rained down upon the group. Thin, cutting shards sliced through the air, shredding clothing and skin alike. Govin dropped to one knee and held his shield over his head. Shanhaevel spun away from the center of the storm, shielding his face with his arm as the splinters of ice slammed against him. He could feel the stinging needles stabbing at him from everywhere, and the pain was fierce. Suddenly, he found himself free of the attack, and he spun around again, looking for evidence of where it had come from. He could spot nothing.

  Frowning, the elf drew upon the energies he was so used to shaping and molding now, hoping they would reveal to him where magic was being used. As he opened himself to the magic and spoke the words of the spell, he was struck as something dark and swift shot past him, raking him with horribly sharp claws. He felt the talons drag across his back, trenching deep gouges in his flesh.

  The wizard cried out and fell forward, losing control of the magic he had been gathering. He tumbled and rolled onto his back. He brought his arms up to ward off the next attack and saw something dart past, only inches away from his face. As the thing circled and turned to come at him again, he saw now that it was a gargoyle—a flying abomination, magically animated, from the buttresses overhead.

  Scrambling to his knees, Shanhaevel waited for the next attack, and when the gargoyle soared close, he swung his staff up hard, catching the thing across the front of the wing. There was a sickening crack, and the gargoyle swerved away, flying haphazardly to the floor and landing hard. Shanhaevel saw other gargoyles swarming about, but he ignored them for the moment as he rose to his feet, trying to see what was happening to his companions.

  Everyone was engaged in a fierce battle. A host of ogres and trolls had rushed in during the ice attack to swarm the companions. Shanhaevel turned to put his back against a wall, hoping to secure some bit of defense against the flying attacks of the gargoyles. Pressing himself firmly against the wall, he cast, praying to Boccob in the back of his mind to allow him time to make good use of the magic.

  He prepared a bolt of lightning to catch several ogres that had formed up in a rank opposite Govin, Draga, and Shirral. As he completed the final words of the spell, he took aim with his line of sight, but a troll suddenly loomed over him, seemingly appearing from thin air. Both of its huge, clawed hands drew back, ready to strike. In his surprise, Shanhaevel yelped and fell back, unable to set the lightning where he had intended. Instead, the bolt struck from above. The troll raked out, snapping Shanhaevel across the head with one claw an instant before the lightning engulfed it. The creature shrieked as the electrical energy coursed through its flesh, killing it.

  Shanhaevel was knocked sideways and tumbled to the floor, his vision blurred and hindered with streams of light. His ears rang from the thunder of the lightning, and his whole body felt numb. Even as he tried to rise, he was knocked sideways again as something plowed into him, scoring a direct hit on his ribs. With the air knocked from his lungs, Shanhaevel gasped and dropped to the floor once more, breathless and defenseless. As his vision was just beginning to clear, he saw yet another dark form hurtling toward him from overhead. He tried to roll away, but his muscles would not work.

  At the moment it seemed that the flying gargoyle would plow directly into him, a blade slashed out—a blade of flame that ignited Shanhaevel’s vision all over again, arcing through the air and slicing the gargoyle cleanly in two. The two parts of the flying beast tumbled apart and bounced like stone as they hit the ground and bounded away into some dark recess of the chamber.

  Shanhaevel blinked, trying to clear his vision. His head throbbed from the blow of the troll, and his breath was still shallow. He was pretty certain one of his ribs was cracked, and the wounds across his back were bleeding.

  In front of him, Shirral stood her ground, brandishing her blade of flame at anything that moved close. As Shanhaevel rose painfully to his feet, he caught sight of a new streak of light out of the corner of his eye. From behind the terrible statue of Iuz, three glowing green missiles shot into view, blazing across the distance and heading straight toward Shirral. The druid saw the attacks coming, but she was not fast enough to avoid them. All three of the missiles slammed into her chest, knocking her backward and making her cry out in pain.

  Growling in frustration and anger, Shanhaevel managed to get to his feet even as Shirral sank down to one knee. He moved beside her, even though he saw an ogre approaching them. Reaching down, the elf grabbed the druid’s shoulder and tried to help her stand. Shirral struggled to her feet, still wielding the blade of flame, and turned to face the ogre as it neared, a large axe in its hands.

  Working quickly, Shanhaevel cast, muttering the words to a spell and aiming his own missiles at the beast rearing up before Shirral. Guided by his sight and mind, all three of the green missiles shot from his finger and hammered into the ogre’s arm and shoulder. Shirral darted in and cut low, raking her blade of flame across its knees and sending it staggering back, howling in pain. The druid pressed the attack, cutting again and again as the beast reeled from the onslaught and finally fell.

  Shanhaevel turned to see who else needed his help and spotted Ahleage, surrounded by two ogres and a troll. Pursing his lips, the elf rushed between them and set off another spell, summoning magical black tentacles and positioning them behind the two ogres. Immediately, the tentacles sprang up and writhed outward, seeking anything to grab. They found the ogres’ legs. As the tentacles enveloped the beasts’ limbs, the ogres screamed and tried to beat them away, flailing at the magical constructs with their clubs. Ahleage darted away, free at last to engage the troll.

  As Shanhaevel turned, looking where his help was needed next, he spied a movement at the huge purple curtain. Narrowing his eyes, Shanhaevel saw an arm holding a thin wand that was stained dark with age. The wand was aimed at where Elmo, Draga, and Govin were engaged in a running battle with several large foes. A thin white beam sprang forth from t
he wand, and Shanhaevel saw his three companions engulfed in another of the magical storms of ice.

  Grimacing, Shanhaevel prepared a spell of his own, waiting and watching. When the arm appeared again, he let his spell fly. A tiny cinder shot forth from his fingertip and streaked across the room to the figure hiding behind the curtain. When the cinder reached its target, it detonated, blossoming into a mammoth ball of flame that expanded in a heartbeat and then vaporized almost as quickly.

  Falrinth staggered out from behind the curtain and fell forward, his burned and smoking form tumbling against the base of the altar. Nodding in satisfaction, Shanhaevel started forward to determine the wizard’s condition, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw another movement. Ahleage darted forward, daggers in his hands.

  “Ahleage, no!” Shanhaevel cried out, but the man was too fast and did not hesitate. Reaching the downed wizard, Ahleage raised his daggers high, but he never finished the killing blow. The curtain sprang to life, writhing violently and shooting forth several dark tendrils that struck his leg.

  Ahleage cried out and stumbled away even as Shanhaevel came to him. The man fell to the floor, trembling. To Shanhaevel’s horror, Ahleage’s leg atrophied before the elf’s eyes, shrinking and darkening almost to nothing in a matter of seconds. Ahleage, almost delirious from the pain, rolled about, clutching his rotting limb futilely and screaming for someone, anyone, to help him, to make the pain go away.

  Govin reached Ahleage and knelt down to tend to his tormented companion. The battle seemed to have come to a halt, and the rest of the companions gathered around their fallen friend.

  Shanhaevel turned his attention back to Falrinth. The wizard was alive, but he was burned almost beyond recognition and did not seem long for this world. The elf grabbed Falrinth and dragged him away from the curtain, then knelt close to his face.

  “My druid companion can heal you, but you must help me. Where are the gems?”