The Temple of Elemental Evil

20

“Come on!” Elmo urged as he turned and headed down the passage they hadn’t yet explored.

As Shanhaevel swung around to follow, Ahleage skidded to a stop and stared after them. “Are you crazy?” he growled. “We can’t go deeper into the temple. That’s suicide!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Shirral hissed, trying to grab Ahleage’s arm and pull him along. “We can’t stand and face that thing right now. We’re tired and our magic is all but exhausted.”

“No!” Ahleage insisted through clenched teeth, yanking his arm free from the druid’s grasp. “We could hide! Maybe the wizard has a spell that will turn us all invisible. Anything is better than going deeper into this hell hole!”

“Ahleage,” Shanhaevel said, taking his friend by the arms and forcing the man to look him in the eye. “If we don’t get out of here, right now, we are going to die! Don’t let the temple beat you down. It’s evil, and it preys upon your mind, making you feel defeated before you’ve even fought. Whatever’s down that corridor, it can’t be any worse than what’s coming this way. Now, come on!”

With that, Shanhaevel released Ahleage and turned to follow Elmo into the gloom of the passage. It seemed to be some sort of a dead end, but then the elf spotted a steep set of steps at the very end, leading up. Elmo was perched near the top, pushing open a trapdoor set into the ceiling. The huge man poked his head up through the opening and paused to look around, then motioned for everyone to follow. He ascended out of sight.

As Shanhaevel reached the bottom of the steep steps and waited for Draga, Govin, and Shirral to make their way up, an unnerving howl rose up from the opposite direction. The sound made the wizard’s spine crawl, and he shuddered. Ahleage ran up beside him.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he growled as the elf started up the steps.

“It’s that or face that horror that was Lareth,” Shanhaevel replied, reaching the top and beginning to climb through the trapdoor.

“Not this,” Ahleage whispered as he crowded up behind the elf. “I mean two nights ago, around the campfire. I can’t believe I let you all talk me into coming to the temple in the first place.”

As soon as Ahleage was through the trapdoor, Elmo settled the lid back into place. Shanhaevel made a quick inspection of the new space in which they found themselves. It was a small, circular room, very dusty and with many cobwebs. Only one passage led out. The only light was the group’s own lanterns, but at the far end of the passage, the elf saw the faint glow of torchlight emanating from around a corner.

“Come on,” Govin said, drawing his sword and proceeding cautiously down the passage out of the room. “That thing’ll figure out where we went soon enough.”

“Wait,” Ahleage called softly. “Let me take the lead. Istus knows I’m a fool, but I can keep a sharp eye out for”—he shrugged—“whatever.”

Acquiescing, Govin let Ahleage move a little ahead of him, and the group proceeded down the hall.

Shanhaevel, padding along beside Shirral, was trying very hard to keep from scuffing his feet along the floor. Despite his efforts, it seemed to him that every footfall was a thunderclap in his ears. This isn’t like walking on the floor of the forest, he reminded himself. Shaking his head, he redoubled his efforts at stealth.

The gloom of the place weighed down upon him. The mass of earth and stone overhead seemed somehow to be slowly sinking, pressing down, threatening to crush them all, to trap them them in the darkness. Even the lanterns Elmo and Shirral carried seemed to do little to banish the menacing shadows, and Shanhaevel found that he was hearing faint noises just beyond the range of the light. He shuddered and pressed on, staying close to Draga, who was right in front of him.

The passage ran straight for a ways, then turned to the right. There was a door to the left, currently shut, and the tunnel continued on into the gloom. It was here that the torches were lit, and the cobwebs and dust of before were absent.

“Which way?” Shirral asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No doors!” Ahleage replied just as softly, turning to head the other direction. “As long as we don’t open them, we’re not surprised by anything on the other side.”

Shirral looked at Shanhaevel, who only shrugged and nodded. They continued to pad along, and more than once Shanhaevel realized he was holding his breath. After a short while, this next passage opened into another circular room, although this one was larger than the first, and far from being empty, its rounded walls were lined with statues. Ahleage pulled up short of entering and peered around.

There were nine statues in total—strange and fantastic creatures, only some of which Shanhaevel recognized. Nearest was a great spherical beast with but a single giant eye in its middle, gaping jaws below that, and ten tentacles, also containing eyes, on its top side. It had been carved so that it appeared to float. Next to that was a rearing dragon, much smaller than Shanhaevel imagined a real one would be. The other forms were hidden by the gloom, although four odd, glowing bronze spheres set into the walls lighted the place. Two other passages led out of the room.

“Now what?” Ahleage asked over his shoulder, not turning his back to the chamber. “How much farther are we willing to go?”

“We need a place to rest,” Elmo said, “some place where we can hide and wait for a chance to go back and get out of here.”

“That way,” Govin said, pointing across the round room to the passage on the left.

“How do you know?” Ahleage insisted, scowling. “What makes that one better than the other?”

“I don’t know, but it is,” the knight answered. “I can feel it.”

Ahleage raised one eyebrow at Govin as if the knight were crazy, but finally he shook his head and crept across the open floor of the round chamber, heading for the passage Govin had indicated.

As Shanhaevel followed, he noticed that the glowing spheres had detached themselves from the walls and were floating, hovering. He looked more closely and realized the lights were closing in on the group.

“Uh, let’s hurry,” he said softly. “I don’t think this room is safe.”

When Shirral looked in the direction he was staring, she gasped, “Will o’ wisps!” She shoved Govin, who was in front of her, so he would move faster. “Don’t let them touch you!”

Ahleage looked over his shoulder, and when he saw the advancing balls of light, his eyes widened. He turned and jogged out the far side, the rest of the group close behind.

The Alliance hurried down this new corridor, which was once again kept in darkness, although it lacked the dust that might indicate disuse. It ran for much longer than the more recent tunnels had, and after a few moments, Shanhaevel heard running water ahead. Ahleage slowed, cautious once more, and the elf stole a glance behind them. The will o’ wisps, as the druid had named them, were not following, although they still bobbed and weaved in the now-distant chamber.

The water flowed from a horrid fountain set back in a slight alcove. Leering demonic faces spewed nasty smelling water from mouths, eyes, and open sores on their faces. The rancid water fell into several basins blackened by some sort of aquatic growth.

Ahleage shuddered and gave the fountain a wide berth, skirting along on the opposite side of the passage. “Still think this is a great idea?” he asked Govin over his shoulder as they continued. “How much longer does our luck hold out?”

“Ahleage is right,” Elmo said, slowing. “This is getting us nowhere but lost. We should stop and rethink this.”

“No,” Govin insisted. He pointed again. “I can’t explain why, but this is the way we must go.”

“Look, knight,” Ahleage said, turning on Govin with a fierce look, “we’re mad to be doing this. We found the key, and we should be trying to leave, not go deeper. And where is everyone? Why aren’t we running into temple forces? It scares me that it’s so empty in here.”

“I understand your reluctance,” the knight said. “I feel so many bad sensations from this accursed place that I want to retch. But for some reason, I can sense something else ahead.”

“What?” Ahleage insisted. “What do you sense?”

“I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it feels… holy, somehow.”

Ahleage rolled his eyes and whistled. “I think your brain has been poisoned by this place,” he said in disgust.

A sensation of frigid blackness suddenly ran up and down Shanhaevel’s spine. Shuddering from the unnerving feeling, he turned to peer back down the hall, half-expecting to see one of the will o’ wisps nearby. Instead, a shadowed thing reared up not two paces away and turned his blood to ice.

“Boccob!” the wizard yelped, jerking back instinctively and slamming into Draga.

Lareth’s face stared balefully at him and hissed, malevolence radiating from its spectral, spidery body. It shambled forward, its two front legs curled upward, reaching for the elf.

Shirral screamed, and Shanhaevel felt someone grab his collar and jerk him back as one of the tendrils swiped at his face, barely missing. They were running, Govin leading the way, all of them scrambling madly, desperately away from the shade that had crept up on them.

Shanhaevel paid little attention to the twists and turns of their progress, concentrating only on staying close to the rest of them and making sure Shirral was still beside him. He did not dare turn around to see if the animate shadow was still there. From farther back, the creature let out its keening wail, which both terrified the elf and relieved him. As horrifying as it was, it meant they were putting distance between themselves and the monster.

As he rounded another corner, still making certain he was keeping up with Draga, Shanhaevel nearly collided with the bowman, who had stopped to stare at Govin. The knight was standing in the middle of a hallway, once again a dust- and cobweb-covered passage, staring around uncertainly.

“Here,” the knight said. His voice was filled with doubt. “Somewhere right here…” His words trailed off as he peered at the floor, then moved to the wall and pressed it experimentally with his hand. A frown pursed his lips as he looked, then, shaking his head, stepped back and pointed, saying, “A door. It is here somewhere. Find it!”

Shrugging, Shanhaevel stepped up to where Govin had indicated. He looked, feeling his spine crawl from increasing panic at the thought of the shadowy creature catching up to them again. Suddenly, he spotted the seam Govin had somehow known would be there—the outline of a door!

“Here!” the elf cried softly, pointing. “It’s right here. Push!”

As one, the companions found places and pushed. Slowly—far too slowly for Shanhaevel—a section of the wall pivoted inward.

Nodding his head in satisfaction, Govin was the first one through, gesturing for the others to follow him. When the last person was safely beyond the portal, Draga pushed it shut again.

When it finally closed with a slight click, the bowman sank down with a weary sigh. “That was close,” he said, looking at his companions. “Too close.”

Everyone nodded as Shanhaevel peered around. It was an odd-shaped room, all uneven angles and corners, and it had the appearance of not having been used since the temple fell ten years ago. The place had the look and feel of a chapel, and it even had an altar covered with a snowy white cloth that had been inscribed with red runes:

A statue of Pholtus, god of the blinding light, had been placed in a niche in the wall. A large silver staff topped by a large disk—known as the Staff of the Silvery Sun, the symbol of Pholtus—hung upon the western surface. Other wall hangings gave the room a peaceful feel that seemed out of place after the oppressive dread of the temple.

“How did you know?” Ahleage gasped, sinking down to the floor and stretching his legs out before him. Perspiration beaded on his forehead.

Govin shook his head. “I don’t know. I just felt it.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Saint Cuthbert, for your guiding hand.”

“It might be Pholtus you should be thanking,” Elmo replied dryly, pointing to the symbols.

Govin nodded. “The energies of many holy beings may lend a hand during times of true need. My thanks extend to all of them.”

“So,” Shirral said, slumping down in her own spot, “what now?”

“We wait, rest,” Elmo answered, finding a spot of his own and setting his lantern down before laying his axe gently on the floor. “Are we safe here?”

“Yes,” Govin replied. “That thing will not enter, I think. This place feels consecrated, and Lareth’s spirit may not pass into it.”

“That won’t stop something else,” Shanhaevel pointed out. “Something… alive.” He shuddered.

“That something has to find us, first,” Ahleage muttered, closing his eyes. “But damned if I know how to get back out again.”

The group fell silent, and eventually, everyone caught their breath. They broke out a meager meal to share, and when they were done, they settled in to wait.

Draga pulled out the small wooden instrument he had been working on. He played a few notes, but somehow, the tones sounded hollow and weak, and he put the thing away again, looking forlorn.

Shanhaevel, in an effort to pass the time, paced through the room, examining the various trappings of the chapel, wondering how anyone might have managed to transport all of this into the bowels of the temple without notice. As he was studying the silver symbol, he caught sight of a tiny ring of metal that had been partially hidden behind the intersection of the staff and disk. Reaching up, he took hold of the ring and tried to pull it free. As he drew the ring out from its hiding place, he discovered that it was connected to a length of steel thread that went back into the wall. Upon pulling on it, there was an audible click, and a section of the wall swung open next to the elf.

“What did you do?” Ahleage exclaimed, jumping to his feet, his sword in his hand. “Another one! You found another one!”

“Careful,” Govin said, rising to his feet as well. “I have a great sense of unease about whatever’s beyond there.”

Collecting themselves, the six friends moved cautiously toward the secret door and peered inside.

The six-sided chamber beyond was inky black, and it appeared to be empty except for a lone skeleton stretched out near the door. Shanhaevel shuddered. The place had an eerie feel to it, something he could not quite put his finger on. As the group moved farther into the chamber, the elf spotted a coffin resting against the far wall, its lid closed and buckled. The rest of the companions spotted this, too, and the whole group approached the sarcophagus cautiously. The lid had a silver cross inlaid into its surface, and there was a scroll case lying atop it.

“How strange,” Shirral breathed, reaching out to gently poke at the scroll case with her blade. “Why would there be a tomb here, hidden behind that chapel?”

“And who was the poor fellow by the door?” Ahleage asked.

“I don’t like this,” Govin said. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Should we open it?” Ahleage asked, flicking daggers in and out of his sleeves in nervousness.

“Yes.” Govin nodded. “I think we should. But let’s be prepared. Draga and Ahleage, be ready with your bows. Elmo, Shirral, and Shanhaevel, you open it on the count of three.”

Surrounding the sarcophagus, they took a collective deep breath, unfastened the locks, and prepared to remove the lid.

“On the count of three,” Govin whispered, “we flip it open. Ready?”

Everyone nodded and took hold of an edge. Shanhaevel half-expected something to rise out of the coffin and lunge at him. Tightening his grip, he waited for the knight’s countdown.

“One,” Govin said.

Shanhaevel took a deep breath.

“Two.”

“Three!”

The lid went tumbling to the side, and three companions scattered while the other three prepared to attack. Govin tensed, then paused and stared curiously down at the inside of the coffin.

Shanhaevel peered inside from several feet away, rising up on tiptoe to get a better look. It was a man—a very handsome man, in fact. Far from being dead, the fellow looked healthy and strong, if unconscious. He was clad in fine mail with a white surcoat, and it took the elf a moment to register the crest upon the breast. The arms of Furyondy and Veluna, as well as the Knights of the Hart were there.

Two royal houses and a knightly order, the wizard realized.

“My god!” Elmo said, stumbling to one knee and getting a closer look.

“What is it, Elmo?” Shanhaevel moved beside him. “Who is this?”

“I don’t believe it,” the big man said, reaching out to nudge the comatose form. “It’s him.”

“Him, who?” Ahleage demanded as he and the others crowded around.

Elmo took a deep breath before replying, “Prince Thrommel. It’s the missing prince!”

Shanhaevel fell back, stunned. Thrommel? In here? In the bowels of the temple? Boccob!

Govin shook his head in disbelief, and Draga grinned from ear to ear. Shirral checked the man, feeling to see if he was injured or ensorcelled in some way.

The prince stirred. His chest rose ever so slightly, then fell, and Shanhaevel thought he saw the eyelids flicker. For the first time, the elf noticed the finely tooled gold belt around the man’s waist and the gold medallion around his neck with the emblem of a crown and a crescent moon inscribed upon it.

The prince’s eyelids fluttered open, blinking in the light of the lanterns. He reached out, grasped the edges of his coffin, and tried to rise. Govin’s strong hand was there to aid him. The knight lifted the man into a sitting position, from where the prince blinked repeatedly and peered about, studying the faces of the six companions surrounding him.

“Where—? Where am I? Who are you?”

“My lord,” Govin began, “I am Sir Govin Dahna, servant of Cuthbert. These are my companions and friends. Are you injured in any way?”

The prince blinked several more times as he focused on the knight’s face. “I—I don’t think so,” he said, moving his arms and legs experimentally. “Who are you, again? And where in the hells am I?”

“We are the Alliance, my lord,” the knight responded, “and you are in the bowels of the ruined Elemental Temple.”

“The temple! What am I doing here? What alliance? What are you talking about?”

“We are—” Govin began, but Elmo interrupted him.

“My lord, I am a Knight of the Hart, like yourself. These companions and I have banded together in the service of the viscount of Verbobonc and your father, at the behest of Burne of the tower. We were exploring the ruins of the temple and discovered you sealed away—magically preserved it seems. We apparently broke the spell.”

“I see,” Thrommel replied, rubbing his eyes. “Burne, you say? What dire circumstances would cause him to send you all into the ruins of the temple?” Then, shaking his head in dismissal, he continued, “I must get to Mitrik so I can let everyone know I am alive and well. Jolene must be beside herself with worry. The wedding! Tell me they haven’t cancelled the wedding!”

The prince tried to rise, but he was unsteady on his feet, and several hands reached out to aid him as he slowly and carefully climbed out of the coffin.

“My lord,” Elmo said gravely. “You have been missing for seven years. It’s the spring of 579.”

Thrommel stared, swaying unsteadily on his feet. “Seven years?” he breathed. “They must all think I’m dead.”

“No,” Govin interjected. “Not all.”

“My lord,” Elmo said. “Somehow, through some means of scrying, members of your fathers court knew you still lived, but there appeared to be no way to determine your location. Jolene has refused to marry, although there have been a number of suitors.”

“Ah, Jolene,” Thrommel said, smiling gently. “Always the loyal one—fiercely so. I hope she is well.”

“And Melias,” Govin added, “who served with you at the fall of the temple ten years ago, held out hope that he would someday find you.”

“Hmm,” the prince mused, nodding his head absently as he listened to the unfolding tale. “His dedication honors me.”

Elmo looked at the rest of the Alliance, from face to face, his own visage grave as he spoke “Sadly, my lord, Melias was leading this expedition, but he fell in battle not three days ago. I am sorry.”

“No!” the prince said, his unsteady legs betraying him at last. He sat down hard. “Not Melias. I would have welcomed seeing him again.”

“And he, you, my lord,” Shanhaevel said. “As would have my master, Lanithaine. He was on his way here when he also fell.”

The prince looked at Shanhaevel and frowned. “Lanithaine, the wizard?”

Shanhaevel only nodded.

“Two of my company, fallen in battle, and I, missing for seven years? What is going on? Why are we in the depths of the temple? Tell me your tale, and quickly.”

Shanhaevel blinked once at the man’s commanding manner, but then the elf remembered that he was, after all, a prince, used to commanding and to getting what he wanted with but a word.

With little fanfare, Elmo explained the situation to Thrommel. When he was done, the prince sat thinking for several long moments. Finally, he spoke again.

“This key… you now have it?”

“Yes, Prince Thrommel,” Shanhaevel said, retrieving the box from his pack and opening the lid to display to the prince.

Both Thrommel and Govin recoiled from the thing, and the prince said, “Ugh! It is foul with evil. I can feel its corruption even from here.” He turned back to Elmo. “You say that you recovered it from a wizard named Falrinth? The very same who also rode with me at the Battle of Emridy Meadows? He fell in battle that day.”

“Perhaps he was taken prisoner instead, my lord,” Elmo replied. “He might have been broken in some way and made to serve the temple.”

“That is very grave news,” Thrommel said, “but it shall be addressed, just as soon as we return to the surface. You say that Burne is researching the means to destroy this key?”

“Yes,” Shanhaevel replied. “We must take it to Hommlet, at once. Once the key is destroyed, the demon will be forever imprisoned in this place.”

“Yes,” the prince said, “and I must ride to Mitrik, this very day. My sword! Where is Fragarach?” Thrommel looked about frantically, glancing into the coffin as well. “Was there a sword here, with me?”

“I see only your shield, prince,” Ahleage said, pointing to the crested shield that had lain beneath Thrommel’s feet in the coffin. “There is no sword.”

“Ah!” Thrommel cried, pointing to the lid of the coffin.

Shanhaevel turned his gaze to where the lid rested upon the floor, cast away when the Alliance had awakened the prince. Where the inlaid cross had been, there now rested a fine broadsword, its hilt wrapped in silver and gold wire, its pommel set with brilliant emeralds. The blade shone brightly even in the dim light of the lanterns, gleaming with an almost unnatural bluish hue.

“Fragarach!” Thrommel shouted, holding forth his hand. The sword leaped free of the lid of its own accord, crossing the distance to the prince’s outstretched grasp. Thrommel held the blade aloft, closing his eyes in contentment, as though some unseen power coursed from the blade into his body.

When Prince Thrommel opened his eyes again, they were clear with determination and purpose.

“We must leave this chapel and find our way out of the temple,” he said. “You must deliver the key to Burne, and I must ride to Mitrik.”