The Living Dead

6

The rain had just begun to let up when Mialee arrived at the Temple of the Protector.

The entire structure looked like the stump of a single, enormous tree, but the elf woman could spot the seams where wood had been expertly worked together while still alive to give the illusion of a solid surface. The wide doors swung outward as she walked up white stone steps. Torches adorning the carved walls beckoned invitingly, as did the blast of warmth.

"It seems we've come at a bad time, Mialee," Biksel said from above.

Mialee stepped between the doors into the cozy torchlight and saw what her familiar meant. The temple appeared empty.

Mialee moved on cat feet through the torchlit space. She opened her hands to let the injured bird take in the surroundings. If the raven was what she suspected….

The bird chirped weakly, but did not speak.

The doors swung shut behind them with a creak.

A crash and several thumps rang from above, falling steadily downward. She spied an archway cut into the wood that led up a spiral staircase. As she watched, a small figure in blue robes tumbled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Welcome, pilgrims!" a high-pitched voice squealed from the resulting pile of blue robes at the foot of the steps. The figure struggled to her feet, shifting a large leather bag on her hip that clanked with the sound of glass on glass. Mialee noted with surprise that she was looking at a grinning gnome woman who wore the full vestment of a cleric of Corellon Larethian, the Protector.

"With all due respect," Biksel said to the gnome, "the only true clerics of the Protector are elves."

"Biksel," Mialee snapped, then bowed slightly to the gnome. "I am Mialee. I need your help."

The cleric seemed taken aback by her bluntness, or perhaps by the fact that Mialee did not question why a gnome was the only denizen of an elven temple.

"Uh, all right," the gnome said. "You came to the right place! I am Zalyn, cleric of the Protector. I see you are bleeding." The gnome fumbled around in her oversized leather bag and produced a small vial.

Mialee blinked, then remembered that she was wet, bloody, and naked. "No, not me," she corrected, and shoved the wounded raven's tiny body under the cleric's nose. "This is…well, I'm not sure who she is."

"The poor thing." The cleric tucked the potion away and extended her cupped hands. Mialee gently slid the battered bird into Zalyn's palms.

The gnome spoke in Elvish and raised cupped hands toward the large silver crescent. A moment passed, and she lowered her hands. "It worked!" the cleric whispered.

In the gnome's palms sat a completely healthy raven, dozing peacefully. "She'll need a few minutes to wake up, I'd guess," Zalyn whispered as Mialee took the raven into her hands. The cleric examined the elf woman. "Sure I can't help you? That's a nasty wound on your forehead. And, well, isn't it cold out there? I'm sure I have a spare robe somewhere." The gnome dashed back up the spiral staircase.

The elf woman was staring at the sleeping bird. She made a mental promise to spend a week studying divine magic after she got to the bottom of Favrid's disappearance.

"Mialee," Biksel squawked, "our charge has recovered. However, you must attend to yourself. You're shivering."

Zalyn reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding up a golden robe that dragged on the wooden steps. "I believe this should fit you, friend Mialee," the cleric offered.

Even though the robe dragged on the floor as Zalyn held it up, Mialee could see it was still very small. The wizard was tall for an elf. Were there no spare elf-sized clothes in this elven temple? Still, it beat the nothing she was wearing at the moment.

The fabric felt strange, but immediately warmed her skin.

"And now for your forehead. Let's see…." Zalyn fumbled in her large bag and produced a scroll. Her mouth moved silently as she went over whatever incantation was written on the document.

Satisfied, Zalyn rolled up the scroll and stowed it in her shoulder bag. "Mialee, if you please," she beckoned. Mialee leaned down so the gnome could reach her injured forehead.

Zalyn whispered another prayer and pressed her palms on either side of the wizard's temple. Mialee waited for the familiar warm tingle of magical healing. And waited.

Nothing happened. The elf waited, and the gnome whispered another soft prayer.

After a full minute, Mialee pulled back. Zalyn shook her head and stared at her hands, then looked intently at Mialee's wound again. She muttered another prayer and thrust the silver crescent around her neck at the elf woman.

Mialee felt a single drop of blood run down between her eyes and onto the tip of her nose. "I don't think it's working," she said.

"I don't understand." The gnome's voice was tinged with frustration. She held the holy crescent in both hands and intoned loudly, "By the power of Corellon Larethian, this wound is healed!"

Mialee touched her forehead. Her fingers came away sticky and red. She sighed. "Zalyn, please. I'll be OK. Maybe a potion?"

"Yes, of course," Zalyn replied. Disappointment covered her face like a mask, but the gnome produced a tiny vial and handed it to Mialee. "Drink this. Normally, I'd recommend a topical salve, I guess, but…"

Mialee snatched the vial, popped the seal, and quaffed the potion before Zalyn could finish. The elf woman felt a tingle on her forehead and wiped her brow with the back of her arm. She gently touched the spot where the raven had collided with her. The skin felt solid.

"Thanks," Mialee said. She threw a glance at the tiny raven slumbering under the icon of the Protector. "How long will we have to wait?"

"I can't say for sure," Zalyn said. "I've never seen something that took such a beating and lived. And a good thing it did, too."

"What do you mean?" Biksel interrupted.

"I think she means that she hasn't yet learned to raise the dead," Mialee said. "Would that be correct, Zalyn?"

"Er, yes," the gnome said sheepishly.

"Why are you the only one in this temple?" Biksel asked.

"The others left. A week ago," Zalyn said. "They headed south."

"Why not you?" Mialee said.

"They didn't need me. 'We've got plenty of rations, and we'll be back by sundown,' the master said. 'You keep watch here. We've no need for a cook,' he said. Happens all the time, frankly."

"You're the cook?" Biksel and Mialee asked simultaneously.

"Not just a cook!" Zalyn objected defiantly. "I study, I learn, I follow the Protector!" The gnome turned her gaze to the floor. "Between meals. But you saw it; I can summon the healing magic."

As if in support, a faint but healthy squawk came from the raven on the pedestal.

"Mialee," the bird said. Its voice was surprisingly soothing. "You are Mialee?"

The elf woman nodded as the bird settled into a perch on the edge of the pedestal. The raven cocked an eye at Mialee's familiar. "And you must be Biksel. Favrid warned me about you. You're rather arrogant, he says."

"Typical," Biksel sniffed.

"Favrid?" Mialee interjected. "Are you his new familiar? Where is he? He was supposed to meet me days ago!"

"I am Favrid's fourth familiar. He summoned me into his service ten years ago, after the death of Ama, my predecessor. I am called Darji," the smaller raven said.

"Where is Favrid, Darji?" Biksel said impatiently.

Darji shuddered. "A bad place," she managed, "but he must be alive."

Mialee opened her mouth to ask another question when they all heard the crash of breaking glass from up the spiral staircase.

"What the-?" Mialee managed.

Darji leaped into the air from the pedestal and started circling the inside of the temple. "I'm sorry," she squawked as she spun overhead, "but I think they've found me."

Zalyn screamed as a dozen flapping shapes with hollow black eye sockets and white-tufted necks exploded from the archway and filled the room with acrid stench. Darkness enveloped Mialee as the torchlight guttered out.