The Temple of Elemental Evil

17

Govin was around the corner of the passage instantly, his sword in hand. The rest of the companions followed without hesitation. Beyond Ahleage and around the corner of that intersection, a wide passage glowed with flame, while the passage they currently traversed continued past into darkness. When Shanhaevel saw the unmoving silhouette of Ahleage standing near another intersection a bit farther down, one arm raised before him as though to ward off some attack, the elf’s heart skipped a beat. The man’s form was stiff. In fact, it was absolutely unmoving.

“Hold, Govin!” the wizard called out, slowing and throwing himself against the wall of the passage. The knight paused and turned to look back at Shanhaevel, who motioned frantically for him to get away from Ahleage.

“Come here!” the elf hissed.

“By Cuthbert! What’s wrong with him?” Govin asked, his teeth clenched as he stepped back beside the wizard. He took a half-step forward again, barely able to restrain himself from charging around the corner. From this vantage point, Shanhaevel saw that his worst fears were confirmed: Ahleage had been transformed into a statue.

“Easy, knight,” Elmo said, moving up beside Shanhaevel. “Whatever happened to Ahleage could happen to you, too. We must be cautious.”

“It looks like he’s been petrified,” Shanhaevel whispered.

Govin’s eyes bulged. “What?” he growled. “We must do something!”

“Shh!” Shanhaevel said, motioning for the knight to keep his voice down. “We will! But if you don’t be quiet, everyone in the entire temple’s going to know we’re here.”

“What should we do?” Draga asked from behind the three of them.

“Let me think,” the wizard replied. “Whatever you do, do not look at anything that comes around that corner.”

Shanhaevel studied Ahleage for a moment, even as the flames around the corner flickered and cast the shadow of his form on the wall.

“All right,” the elf said at last, handing his staff to Elmo. “Give me your shield, Govin.”

The knight looked at him askance but handed the shield over. Shanhaevel gasped as he took hold of the thing, for it was heavier than he had expected. Hoisting it up with both hands, he moved down the hallway, holding the shield in front of him and keeping his back pressed against the wall.

“What in the hells are you doing?” Govin called out.

Shanhaevel ignored the knight and walked all the way to the corner, so that he was right behind Ahleage. Keeping the shield high in front of him so that it blocked his line of sight ahead, he moved around the corner, navigating by staring at the floor before him.

“Wizard! Stop!” Govin called again.

Shanhaevel continued to ignore the knight, instead concentrating on what he was looking at—or rather, what he was not looking at. Slowly, moving the shield around, he studied the passage in small sections.

The glow of fire came from several places, the brightest of which were two braziers set in the floor, one at each corner of a T-shaped intersection. The closer of the pair was mere inches away from Ahleage. A runnel of flame lit each brazier, igniting oil that flowed through shallow channels in the floor alongside each wall. The channels came from the far end of the passage, which hit a deadend after perhaps thirty feet. At that far end, there was a great fountain. It, too, was filled with oil burning brightly. Flanking the fountain, set into the side walls of the short hallway, were a pair of doors. Between Shanhaevel and the fountain of burning oil stood a creature he’d only heard described in legend.

The beast, a dull brown in color, was vaguely lizardlike in appearance, although it sported eight legs instead of four. Shanhaevel was careful to avoid looking at the creature’s face. It snorted and hissed, bobbing its head back and forth, as though it was trying to move into a position past the side of the shield and catch the wizard’s attention. Shanhaevel kept his eyes averted, though, refusing to meet the thing’s gaze.

Hurriedly, Shanhaevel shuffled backward, keeping the shield raised and cutting off his sight from the beast. He turned around and took a few steps toward the rest of the group, lowering the shield as he did so in order to speak.

“It’s a basilisk,” the wizard said quietly. “Its gaze can turn a man to stone. I read about one once, long ago. If it comes around the corner, don’t look at its face!”

The group tensed and waited for a few moments, but the basilisk did not appear. Puzzled, Shanhaevel tried to recall everything he knew about the fabled basilisk. Finally, he said, “Just stay here and wait.”

“What are you going to do?” Govin asked.

“I’m going to try to destroy it,” the wizard replied, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. “I still have some magic left, even after the fight above.”

“Be careful,” Shirral growled, flashing her icy blue eyes at him in warning.

Shanhaevel nodded, swallowed, and turned to cautiously advance toward the corner once more. None of this made any sense to him, though. Why would the creature be down here? How did it get here? He remembered that a basilisk’s gaze reflected back at the monster could turn the creature to stone, but he was pretty certain none of the companions had anything even faintly resembling a mirror. Shaking his head, he reached the corner and, using Ahleage’s frozen form as cover, began a spell.

Staying behind Ahleage’s petrified form and keeping Govin’s shield between himself and the beast, Shanhaevel leveled his free arm in the direction of the basilisk and uttered the final phrases of the spell. Instantly, he felt the magic forces slide through his arm, erupting as a stroke of lightning. Shanhaevel watched as his magic bolt flashed, spanning the length of the hallway between him and the far wall, where the flaming fountain still burned. The lightning fully engulfed the body of the beast as it crouched in front of the elf—and passed right through it.

Shanhaevel barely heard the surprised shouts of his companions behind him. The basilisk, apparently unscathed by the attack, continued to stand, hissing and shifting almost exactly as it had before.

“What in the hells are you doing?” Shirral cried.

Shanhaevel didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Even though the magic he had mustered into the lightning bolt wasn’t on the same level as Lanithaine’s, he was certain the beast should have been affected somewhat.

Perhaps the basilisk is immune to electrical magic, the wizard thought. Then let’s try a little fire.

Setting the shield down—but still careful not to look at the monster’s face—Shanhaevel mustered the magic of one of his familiar, reliable spells. From his spread fingertips, he sent a sheet of flame cascading across the body of the basilisk.

Nothing happened. The basilisk didn’t react in the slightest and seemed completely unharmed by the wizard’s attack. Shanhaevel, shaking his head, stepped back out of the way and thought. Behind him, Govin took a few steps forward.

“What in the hells is going on?” the knight asked insistently. “Is it dead?”

“No,” Shanhaevel replied, his tone revealing his frustration. “It isn’t even singed, so far. I have one more idea. Wait.”

With that, Shanhaevel drew upon another reserve of magical energy, channeling the mystical forces and shaping them into the spell he desired. He stepped from around the corner and pointed his finger at the basilisk’s flank, firing off two green missiles that he knew would fly unerringly at the beast and strike true. Only they didn’t. The first shot straight ahead, but rather than striking the beast, it seemed to pass right through and hit the far wall, and the second missile sputtered and fizzled, flying haphazardly off to one side.

“Damn,” Shanhaevel said in disbelief. “It’s like it’s just not there!” Then realization hit him. “Of course!” he said, snapping his fingers. “It’s not! It’s an illusion!”

With that, the creature faded from view.

“What are you muttering?” Govin asked, still standing behind the wizard.

Shanhaevel laughed. It all made sense! The creature was an illusion, which explained why it was down here in the first place, why it didn’t come around the corner to attack the group in hiding, and why none of the wizards spells had had any effect on it.

“It’s all right,” Shanhaevel said, picking up Govin’s shield and then turning to face his companions. “It’s not really there. It’s illusory magic. As long as you are really convinced it isn’t real, it will just disappear. But you have to—”

“Shanhaevel, look out!” Elmo shouted, bringing his bow up and drawing an arrow to his cheek in one smooth motion.

Shanhaevel spun around, acting before he realized that perhaps he had been wrong and that the basilisk had merely disappeared, reappearing directly behind him. But what he gazed on as he turned was not the magical beast, but an elf, a woman, smiling at him as she thrust a sword directly at his midsection.

Gasping in surprise, Shanhaevel swung the knight’s shield up, not enough to block the blow, but enough to force the killing stab aside so that it sliced into his side, grazing his ribs rather than plunging into his heart. He felt liquid warmth on his side and a sharp, stinging pain as he stumbled away from his attacker.

At the same instant, an arrow buried itself in the elf woman’s shoulder. She growled in anger and vanished. Shirral cried out, and Shanhaevel heard bowfire from behind him as two more arrows streaked across his field of vision and vanished in mid-air. The wizard heard a pained grunt from in front him as his own back hit the wall and he slid down, his entire side slick with blood now.

Govin raised his sword high and swung at the spot where the wizard’s attacker had been. His blade passed through air. Reaching down and taking hold of the shield in Shanhaevel’s hands, Govin lifted it from the elf’s grasp and stepped forward in a defensive crouch. Deftly he swung his blade from side to side.

“Careful!” Shanhaevel croaked, trying to warn Govin. “If you don’t believe the beast is false, it will still turn you to stone!”

Then Shirral was beside Shanhaevel as Elmo and Draga ran past, weapons in hand, to join Govin. The druid took the wizard by the shoulders and dragged him backward, away from the fight. Pain shot through Shanhaevel’s side.

Shirral released Shanhaevel and let him sink to the ground as she dug through one of her satchels. “Here,” she said, removing one of the vials the group had recovered from the chest in the tower, “drink this.” She held the small bottle toward his mouth. He opened his mouth and swallowed the thick liquid as Shirral poured it down his throat. It tasted of cinnamon and ash.

As the potion settled in his stomach, Shanhaevel felt a tingling throughout his body. It seemed to start everywhere, but as it grew stronger, it coalesced near his injury, until he could feel the rent flesh knitting together, being made whole again. In a moment, Shanhaevel felt free of pain. He gazed down at his side, seeing pink scar tissue peeking through the cut in his black shirt. He stood, feeling clear-headed once more.

Shirral was already on her feet, moving close to Ahleage.

“Careful!” Shanhaevel called as he moved beside her. “It’s not real, but you really have to believe it.”

Shirral nodded but kept her focus on the hunt. Beyond the druid, Govin, Elmo, and Draga were all moving slowly, cautiously, trying to find Shanhaevel’s invisible attacker.

As Shanhaevel picked up his staff, he realized he was almost spent. A substantial portion of his energy had been exhausted in the battle at the farmhouse, and now, after using even more spells dealing with the basilisk that wasn’t there, he wondered if that hadn’t been the intention all along. The basilisk was placed there to drain our resources, he thought. She—and anyone else down here—wanted to wear us down before attacking.

At that moment, movement caught Shanhaevel’s eye, and he jerked his head around in time to see the elf woman dropping down from high up on one wall, her sword raised and ready to plunge between Shirral’s shoulders. Shanhaevel opened his mouth to shout, but it happened too fast, and he watched the blade ram into the druid’s back.

“No!” Shanhaevel cried out as Shirral crumpled to the ground. He was running in the direction of the attacker before he even realized it, his staff raised. The elf woman, standing over Shirral, turned and smiled malevolently at Shanhaevel before winking out of sight once more.

Forgetting the woman, Shanhaevel dropped to his knees next to Shirral, who lay facedown. He gently rolled her over, even though his heart was pounding.

Shirral was still breathing, but her whole body was limp. Her eyes were glazed and stared dully at nothing in particular. Shanhaevel cradled her head in his arms, fighting back the tears. There is still time, his mind screamed at him. Don’t let her die!

“Govin!” The wizard cried out. “Shirral needs you!”

The other three men had moved in and surrounded the fallen druid. Their backs to her, they stood guard in case the invisible assassin attempted to strike again. Upon hearing his name, Govin stepped back into the circle of protection and knelt, opposite Shanhaevel.

“It’s bad,” Shanhaevel said, still holding Shirral. “We’re losing her.”

“Let me see,” the knight said, pulling Shirral in his direction and rolling her over on her stomach.

The wound between her shoulders was jagged, long, and deep. Shanhaevel shuddered as he peered down, sickened by the sight of the exposed bone visible in the gash. It looked as if the druid’s spine had been severed in the blow.

“I’ll do what I can,” Govin said, and he closed his eyes. He placed his hands upon the wound, heedless of the blood, and uttered a prayer to Saint Cuthbert.

As the knight prayed, Shanhaevel heard a door open. Looking up, he saw a man, dressed similarly to himself, step through one of the portals and into the room. The man began to gesticulate, his fingers weaving a complicated pattern in the air. Another wizard!

“Don’t stop,” Shanhaevel whispered to the knight, then he stood up, still watching the man’s motions, trying to discern the nature of the spell he was casting.

Upon seeing the man enter the hallway, Elmo and Draga took a halting step or two away from their companions, but they both seemed reluctant to leave their posts. Shanhaevel realized the wizard opposite him was taking advantage of that, standing seemingly unprotected out in the open while casting.

“Hold fast,” Shanhaevel muttered under his breath, resisting his own urge to dive out of the way of whatever magic was about to erupt in their direction. “Let Govin finish his healing, and then we can deal with the mage.”

Whatever magic the wizard was conjuring, Shanhaevel did not recognize it. When the spell was finished, a faintly shimmering globe of energy appeared around the wizard, slightly distorting his image. Immediately, the wizard began a second spell.

“What’s he doing?” Draga asked. His wide eyes darted back and forth, watching for the invisible attacker but not wanting to turn away from the wizard. He sheathed his sword, slid his bow free from his shoulder, and nocked an arrow. Drawing it back, he took aim at the wizard. “Shanhaevel? Should I?”

Shanhaevel nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “Disrupt the spell.”

He spoke a moment too late, for the other wizard completed his second casting, and suddenly there were five of him, all standing in the midst of the shimmering globe of magic. At the very same instant, the elf woman appeared next to Draga, swinging her sword at the bowman’s weapon. The sudden arrival startled Draga, who loosed his arrow a moment before the assassin’s strike snapped his bow in two. The arrow clattered harmlessly off the wall.

Elmo leaped across the distance, attacking the woman with his axe. This time, the elf woman had no chance to invoke her invisibility. All of her energy was consumed in defending herself from the blows of the huge axeman. Struggling to deflect the powerful swings aimed at her, the woman slowly fell back, desperately using her own blade to ward off the blows.

“Falrinth!” she shrieked, backpedaling. “Do something!”

Draga had tossed aside his ruined bow, drawn his sword, and was now advancing on the multiple images of the wizard. The wizard hastily cast again.

At that moment, Shirral cried out, and Shanhaevel spun around to look at the druid. Govin still knelt over her, his hands bloody, but it appeared that he had finished his prayer of healing. Shirral, still facedown, was writhing in pain, her fingers clawing at the coarse stone floor.

“By the Mother!” she howled as she rolled to her side, rocking back and forth. “It hurts so much! Oh, it hurts!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Shanhaevel demanded as he dropped down beside Govin.

“I mended her as much as I could, but all I really managed to do was keep her from dying. She’s still badly wounded.”

“I can take care of her,” Shanhaevel said. “Go help Draga and Elmo.”

Govin hesitated, looking at the wizard, then nodded and rose to his feet. He took an instant to survey both situations and then moved to join Draga.

Let’s just hope we don’t have any more invisible friends about, Shanhaevel thought as he fished through Shirral’s pack.

When he found another of the vials they had recovered, he carefully uncorked it. At his knees, Shirral was groaning softly, still sprawled on her side. Her eyes were shut, and a sheen of perspiration coated her face. Shanhaevel inhaled a whiff of the elixir and caught the scent of cinnamon and ash. He reached down and coaxed Shirral into a sitting position.

“Come on, drink this,” he said, helping the druid to rise. “I know it hurts. Easy, just drink this and you’ll feel better.”

Shirral grunted and clenched her teeth. Slowly, awkwardly, she sat up. The druid opened her mouth and, as Shanhaevel poured the contents, she drank down the entire potion. When the bottle was empty, Shanhaevel watched for the effect of the magic.

A soft blue glow began to emanate from Shirral’s body. She closed her eyes again, but this time, there seemed to be a look of peace rather than of pain on her face. When the glow subsided, Shirral opened her eyes again and looked at her companion.

“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 spellcasters, 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 frill 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.