The Temple of Elemental Evil

by Thomas M. Reid

  The water itself subtly changed, too. It no longer undulated with life. Instead, it turned into a torrent of water, a cascade that spilled to the floor as Shanhaevel passed through it, tumbling unharmed to the other side and sliding across the floor, soaking wet. Shaking his head to clear the streams of water that poured down his face and wiping the damp, bedraggled hair from his eyes, the wizard tried to sit up, but the floor beneath his feet rumbled and shifted. With only one good arm, he lost his balance.

  Behind the elf, Hedrack screamed, a plaintive, terrified shriek. Shanhaevel heard a sickening sound of stone clattering upon the floor, a wet smacking sound, and the high priest was quiet. He turned to see what had happened.

  The creature of stone, its magic undone by the destruction of the golden skull, had fallen lifeless—right atop Hedrack. The high priest’s body was pinned beneath a great slab of marble. A twisted and mangled leg stuck out at an unnatural angle. He was still alive, though his face was white with shock and terror. He gazed up at the ceiling, muttering softly.

  Shanhaevel approached the high priest, even as another rumbling shockwave shook the chamber.

  “Kill me.” Hedrack pleaded softly. “Kill me, p-please kill me. D-d-do-don’t let him g-get me—”

  “Who?” Shanhaevel asked, shifting unsteadily on his feet as the chamber crumbled around him.

  “My lord and m-m-master.” Hedrack’s tone was fevered and crazed. “He w-will torment m-me. He … w-will punish me. Please kill me. Don’t leave me to h-him, I beg you.”

  Shanhaevel considered for a moment, then reached for the knife that was just beyond Hedrack’s grasp. He stood for a moment, looking down at the high priest.

  “Yes, please,” Hedrack said. “Kill me … quickly. D-do it, I beg you.”

  Shanhaevel raised the knife, preparing to plunge it through Hedrack’s eye, wondering why, after all of this, he would grant the high priest’s request, would help to spare the man his fate. He raised the dagger, but a cry stopped him short.

  “Shanhaevel!” Shirral cried. “Help me!”

  The elf turned to see the druid, still chained to the floor, although the symbol beneath her had vanished. Pieces of stonework were falling now—bits of the ceiling and walls tumbling down around her. Shirral was helpless to dodge the shards, imprisoned as she was.

  Dropping the knife and leaving Hedrack, Shanhaevel scurried across the floor. He dropped to his knees beside Shirral and began frantically working with only one hand to unlock the manacles that bound her. In the throne nearby, Shanhaevel could see the image of Zuggtmoy, still trapped in the chair. She was in her true form now, but she was insubstantial, fading in and out of view. Occasionally, she would materialize so solidly that the elf could hear her howls of pain and agony, as she was being ripped from this plane and dragged back to her own.

  Finally, Shanhaevel managed to unbind Shirral’s hand, and he worked to free one of her ankles. The druid leaned forward, working on the binding that encircled her leg. Around the two of them, the chamber shook and heaved, dropping huge chunks of masonry and stonework around them. One particularly large piece shattered near the two, spraying them both with shards of stone that stung their skin.

  We’re not going to make it out of here, Shanhaevel silently fumed as he struggled to release the catch on the manacle.

  “Release, damn you!” he commanded the shackle, frustrated that one arm still hung useless at his side.

  As if responding to the elf’s demand, the manacles clicked open, and Shirral was finally free. Shanhaevel tried to help her stand, but the floor beneath him shifted suddenly, rocking and cracking so that it buckled in the middle of the chamber. Both of them went sliding toward a crevasse that had opened in the middle. Foul fumes belched up from the rip in the stone, spewing up and filling the air with smoke, gasses, and heat.

  “No!” Shirral yelled, clinging to Shanhaevel as they both edged closer to the chasm.

  With one arm wounded, the elf had a difficult time controlling his inexorable slide, but the druid managed to take hold of his shirt in one hand and grab an outcropping of buckled floor stone with her other. Slowly, straining, she pulled them both away from the shifting, widening gap in the rock.

  The two companions rolled to the side, panting, but the collapse of the room was growing in intensity. Scrambling to his feet, Shanhaevel helped Shirral to stand, yanked his tattered cloak free, and gave it to her to cover herself.

  “This way!” the wizard said, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the bottom of the shaft. As they passed the point where Hedrack still lay, pinned beneath the stones of the dead elemental, the high priest reached his free hand out, desperately straining for them.

  “Please!” he called, turning his head as he saw them pass just beyond his grasp. “Don’t leave! Don’t let him take me!”

  Shanhaevel ignored the high priest as he reached the point where the shaft was directly overhead. The shifting collapse of the temple had fractured the earth, however, and the hole leading to freedom was now sealed. There was no way to escape. Shanhaevel whirled around in frustration, knowing their time was running out. As the walls of the chamber sagged inward, his gaze settled on the broad stairs leading up into the darkness. It was the only way out of the room.

  “Come on!” Shanhaevel growled, taking Shirral’s hand once more and dragging her up the stairs.

  “Nooo!” Hedrack howled, and Shanhaevel paused for the briefest of moments, turning to look back at the high priest. As their eyes locked, as the elf saw the desperation in Hedrack’s own visage, he knew his own face was a cold mask of contempt. He felt no compassion for the man. Without remorse, he turned away just as a great mass of one wall tumbled downward, burying the high priest beneath it. Hurrying with Shirral up the stairs and out of the chamber, Shanhaevel never looked back.

  The area at the top of the broad steps was another wide throne room. It, too, was on the verge of collapse, and there was but one way out—a large pair of bronzewood doors, sealed tightly with both silver and magic, that faced the throne. When Shanhaevel saw the portal, his despair was complete. As the earth shook and the stonework of the temple continued to fall all around him, he sank to his knees, shaking his head.

  Shirral settled beside him and pressed her face against his chest. Tears and blood streaked her cheeks. “We did it, though,” she sobbed, struggling to smile. “We stopped them.” She took his face in her trembling hands and kissed him. “We kept them from freeing her.”

  Shanhaevel nodded at her numbly, thankful that they would have that to cling to, to give them some measure of solace in these final moments. He drew the druid to him with his good arm and held her tightly as the thick columns of the throne room collapsed, sending deadly shards of stone scattering in all directions. As the ground bucked and quaked, Shanhaevel watched death close in on them.

  Suddenly, there was bright blaze of blue light that emanated from the sealed doors. With a loud crack that reverberated above the noise of grinding stone and trembling earth, the doors flew apart, each half of the portal slamming hard against the stone wall in which it was set.

  Shanhaevel gaped in open amazement for a heartbeat before lurching up to his feet, pulling Shirral, whose face was still buried in his chest, along with him. Pointing, he staggered forward, dragging her along behind him. When the druid saw where he was headed, she gasped then scrambled to catch up with him. A column smashed hard into the floor where they had been crouched, stinging them with slivers of shattered rock as it hit. Turning, they both fled through the open doorway and up the stairs they found beyond.

  Running as fast as he had ever thought possible, Shanhaevel scrambled up the stairs, into a wide hallway, then turned and found the next portal, also gaping open. Without hesitating, he charged through and clambered up the next set of steps, still holding Shirral’s hand. At the top, though, he found the way blocked by collapse. Groaning, he turned back, thinking desperately.

  “The shaft!” he said, praying the
pit would still be open and the ledge intact. “Come on!”

  He pulled Shirral along behind him. His broken arm ached horribly, but he tried to put it out of his mind as they sprinted together, struggling to maintain their balance as the whole place rumbled and shifted violently. Dust filled the air, and passages were crumbling, sealed off.

  Desperately, Shanhaevel ran down the long hall of bones, scattering the remains of long-dead warriors as he charged through. When he reached the spot where the secret door had been, he began the desperate search to find the release and open it.

  “Help me!” he cried to Shirral.

  Together, they fumbled for the catch, and when Shirral found it, the two of them slammed the hidden panel down and peered through. Fortunately, the ledge was still there, and the two of them slipped through the small opening and into the shaft beyond. The tremors of the collapsing temple continued, and the companions had to brace themselves against the wall of the shaft to maintain their balance.

  Hold together just a little longer, Shanhaevel prayed. Taking Shirral’s hand, he began the ascent to the top, to blessed escape. He knew of a spell that would aid him, a bit of magic he could use to levitate upward, but he refused to think about it. I won’t leave her, he insisted.

  “Shanhaevel!” Shirral cried as the world pitched and rocked. “It’s not going to hold!”

  As if in response to the druid’s words, the stairs cracked and crumbled beneath their feet.

  “Do you have any magic?” Shirral asked, desperation in her eyes. “Anything that could—?”

  “I won’t leave you!” he cut her off, shaking his head. “We can shout for help!”

  “Use it!” Shirral said. “Cast something and get yourself out!”

  “No! I can’t take you, and I won’t go without you!” The steps they were on suddenly shifted, and Shanhaevel was forced to leap back and away as the section dropped away into the darkness. He and Shirral were now separated by a large gap. Shanhaevel choked back a sob.

  “No!” he screamed, reaching across to Shirral. Not when we’re so close!

  Shirral looked at him, and in her eyes he saw the love she felt for him. She smiled, even as the section of stone beneath her gave way, and she fell.

  “Noo!” Shanhaevel screamed, wanting to lunge after her, but he leaned wrong and was unable to get his legs under him. As he watched her slip away, he thought his chest would burst, but then, an amazing thing happened. As he watched, horrified, he saw the woman he loved transform, taking the shape of a small bird. In the blink of an eye, she was a sparrow, her wings beating furiously as she swooped up the shaft to the surface.

  Laughing in delight and relief, Shanhaevel watched her go, gladness filling his heart. The earth shook, and before more of the stonework could break away, he began his spell. As he finished weaving the magic of the levitation spell, the stairs he was standing on gave way, and he found himself hovering in space. Trembling in relief, the wizard rose steadily as the walls of the shaft cracked and tumbled into the darkness below.

  At the top, Shanhaevel found Shirral waiting for him, once again in human form.

  “Why didn’t you just go?” he asked as they both ran toward the front of the temple, to the gaping hole where the front doors once stood. “Why didn’t you just fly out of here?”

  “Because you were still down there,” she said simply.

  When they were but thirty paces from the exit and freedom, a good portion of the ceiling crashed down around them, narrowly missing Shirral and grazing Shanhaevel’s leg. He tumbled forward, losing his balance, and felt his breath leave his body as he landed hard on his back. Sharp pain coursed through his wounded arm, and he fought to remain conscious.

  “Come on!” Shirral urged, grabbing the wizard by the shoulders and helping him to his feet. Together, they stumbled the last few feet toward the exit, leaping through it and out onto the ground just as the remaining structure fell to ruin behind them.

  Multiple rumbles shook the ground—aftershocks from the total destruction of the temple. Dust hung thick in the air, and the earth groaned. Shanhaevel lay panting in the snow, feeling it soaking into him as it melted rapidly, heated by the warmth of the spring sun. With a final exhausted sigh, the wizard rose to a sitting position.

  A few feet away, Govin, Ahleage, and Paida stood, grinning at him. Between the knight and Ahleage, Draga reclined on a makeshift litter. His face, chest, and arms were a weave of bloody scratches. Though almost as pale as the surrounding snow, Draga was also grinning. Shanhaevel blinked in surprise, then laughed, smiling widely at Draga.

  “I did not think we would see you again,” Govin said, genuine pleasure in his voice. “You have the blessing of Cuthbert himself, it seems.”

  “So it would seem,” Shanhaevel agreed, finally feeling his breathing returning to normal.

  “I thought we’d lost you,” Draga said, beaming at Shirral. “I was already imagining what I’d have to say to Jaroo when we returned to Hommlet.”

  “Yes, well,” Ahleage interjected, “now she can imagine telling him what happened to her clothes.”

  Ahleage squinted, watching the druid warily, but the grin on his face was broad and joyful. Beside him, Paida, who had Govin’s cloak wrapped around her, turned and furrowed her brow, glaring at the man.

  Shirral scowled at Ahleage for a moment, her icy blue eyes flashing, but then she cracked a smile and laughed. Her laughter faded, though, when she saw the wrapped form of Elmo lying on a second litter behind them all. A single tear rolled down the druid’s cheek as she moved toward the huge axeman. She knelt beside his body and lowered her head.

  Shanhaevel was tempted to move to her side, to try to comfort her, but something held him back. He sensed that she needed a moment alone, a chance to say good-bye by herself. Instead, he turned and looked at Draga, shaking his head.

  “I thought I was seeing the dead when I first spotted you there. How on earth did you survive?” the wizard asked.

  Draga merely shrugged, but Ahleage was quick to answer.

  “Somehow, this lucky son of a sailor managed to land on the ledge of the shaft when he went over. After Govin and I managed to kill those other things”—Ahleage shuddered at the memory of the fiends— “we heard him calling. We had just pulled him back to the surface when the whole place crumbled down around our ears.”

  “We waited for you as long as we could,” Govin added, “but when that last, strange flash of blue rippled through the place and everything began to come down, we could stay inside no longer.” The look in the knight’s eyes told Shanhaevel he wasn’t terribly proud of having left them behind.

  “It was the right decision,” Shanhaevel said, and he meant it. “It would have been senseless for you to die if we had never come out.”

  “I am thankful you did,” Govin said, “though I can’t imagine how you managed it.”

  “That, my friends, is a tale to be told on the way back to Hommlet.”

  The taproom at the Inn of the Welcome Wench was boisterous this evening. The five companions sat around a table piled with platters of food. Steaming meat pies, roasted chicken, huge hunks of cheese, cold milk, fresh bread, eggs prepared several different ways, potatoes, and assorted fruit covered the surface, and the members of the Alliance were heartily consuming the delicious food.

  It had been three days since the fall of the temple, and everyone was healed and refreshed after recuperating from their exploits. Shirral snuggled next to Shanhaevel as they ate, feeding him bites of cheese between the occasional kiss. Paida and Leah joined them, Leah sitting with Ahleage and Paida relaxing between Draga and Govin.

  Glora Gundigoot continued to bring fresh dishes of her wonderful cooking out to replace what was already consumed. Around them all, the local inhabitants of Hommlet, including the members of the council, drank, sang, and celebrated the Alliance’s victory.

  Only Hroth did not participate in the festivities, sitting off to one side, nursing a cold mug and staring int
o the large fireplace. When Shirral spotted the captain of the militia, she slipped from the table and moved to the man’s side. Shanhaevel watched as the druid sat next to the captain and whispered something to him. She reached out a hand and took the older man’s in her own. Hroth smiled at her, and she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly, then, a tear sliding down his cheek.

  Finally, Shirral pulled away and stood, saying one last thing to Hroth. The man smiled and nodded, patting her hand before letting her leave his side and return to the table. When she sat down next to Shanhaevel once more, the wizard looked at her questioningly, and she leaned close and kissed him on the cheek.

  “He’s a very sad man who will miss his son very much. I just told him Elmo had honored him with his bravery, and he should be proud.”

  Shanhaevel nodded and took her hand in his own. He turned his attention back to the table, where Govin now stood, preparing to speak.

  “By the grace of my god, Saint Cuthbert, we successfully saw our way to the end of this monumental victory. For the first time in a long while, I don’t really know what lies before me. I do know, however, that there are no finer people than the four of you I would rather be with when I follow that unknown path. I—”

  The banging of the front door cut the knight off in mid-sentence. A young man was standing there, dressed in the finery of court. He wore a tunic of blue and red, and the coat of arms of Furyondy was embroidered upon his right breast. He swept into the room, muddy boots and all, and bowed low to no one in particular.