The Temple of Elemental Evil

23

The horrid undead thing that had resulted from Lareth’s death was nowhere to be found. Shanhaevel watched every shadow as the group retraced its steps back along the path. The elf could only imagine what horrors prowled through these passages when the temple flourished ten years ago. He was surprised that so much of the place was empty now, and yet, he was grateful, too.

The companions managed to return to the tunnels between the well and the tower without incident, but as they reached the cavern, Govin hesitated.

“Which way should we go?” he asked as everyone else passed through the secret door. “I imagine either direction will be watched.”

Frowning, Shanhaevel nodded. “You’re right,” the elf said, considering. “But I have something that just might solve that problem. Come on.”

The companions moved toward the well, and just before they reached the door leading into the side of the shaft, the wizard gathered everyone together in a small group and gathered the magic forces within him. He summoned the arcane energies and cloaked the group in them, causing the Alliance to disappear from view.

“Hey!” Ahleage said. “That’s pretty damned handy.”

Slowly, so as not to bump or trip one another, the group made their way into the well. Ahleage moved up the shaft to the top and peered over the lip.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” he whispered, “although they could be hiding in the barn or the ruins of the house.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elmo called back up. “Let’s just get to the temple.”

“Wait!” Shanhaevel said, then called out to Ormiel.

Friend! the hawk greeted. You hide beneath the ground a long time.

Yes, the elf replied. Are you well?

Hungry, the hawk projected. Hunting food.

Do others prowl the woods? Any bad things?

No. Not for a while.

“Ormiel says nothing is around, but just to be safe, let’s go through the woods instead of taking the path.”

Holding onto one another so as not to lose track of each person’s position, the group moved up and out of the well into bright daylight. They avoided the barn and ruined farmhouse, choosing instead to cross the small open space between it and the woods. Leaving footprints in the half-melted snow, they picked their way through the woods, finding the going slow because of their invisibility. More than once, someone stepped on another’s heel or bumped into the back of a companion who halted without warning.

Eventually, however, they reached the temple. Stopping at the opening that had once been the main gate in the long-ruined wall, they stopped and peered around, checking for guards. There were none to be found, which surprised Shanhaevel.

“They’ve blown away the front door,” the wizard pondered aloud, “and yet they don’t set some sort of watch?”

When they were satisfied nothing was going to attack, they filed inside, passing through the gaping hole that had once been the sealed doors. Inside, they examined the place thoroughly. They stood within a vestibule, which opened to the nave of the temple. It still appeared that no one was about, so Shanhaevel dispelled their invisibility so that everyone could function normally again.

The whole place was garishly decorated with vile scenes. The floor of the vestibule was set with reddish brown slate squares, and the walls were plastered and painted with images of murder, destruction, enslavement, and even worse deeds that made Shanhaevel blanch and turn away. He realized this was the place from his vision, when he had held the skull key.

Beyond the vestibule, in the main part of the temple, the floor was set in greenish stones. The light streaming through the high, narrow stained-glass windows that flanked the main entryway fell upon that green, creating a ghastly mixture of hues that hurt the eyes.

“By Cuthbert, what vileness!” Govin breathed, clenching his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Why didn’t they raze this place and bury it beneath the ground? It should never have been allowed to stand in even this condition.”

“Agreed, knight,” said Elmo, shaking his head, “but they did what they could, and now we must do the same. Come on, let’s see where they went.”

With that, Elmo turned and headed into the nave, a huge room that might have been forty paces wide and easily three times as long. Strong pillars of pinkish stone, shot through with worm-colored veins, held up the high, vaulted ceiling. They were worked in bas-relief—more images of vile and damnable acts. The companions’ footfalls echoed sharply in the place as they walked, peering this way and that. Stained-glass windows were the only source of light, though Shanhaevel wouldn’t allow his gaze to linger on any of them long enough to discern the images portrayed there.

Ahead, Shanhaevel saw an altar cut from a large block of the pinkish marble with a depression on the top surface. As he drew nearer, he saw that the depression was in the shape of a man, legs splayed apart and arms held away from the body. The stone was stained a darker shade of red here. Shanhaevel shook his head and moved on, but Shirral, having also spotted the telltale depression, gasped and stood rooted to the spot, staring.

“No, don’t linger,” Shanhaevel said, moving to her side. “Look at me. Look at me!”

She finally pulled her gaze away from the altar and stared, wide-eyed, at the elf.

“You must block it out, Shirral. If you let it get to you, you will not survive.”

“I—” she said, at last, nodding. “All right.”

To either side of the altar were two wings of the chamber, projecting out at an angle back toward the front of the building. Both of the wings held an altar, and each was decorated in a different color scheme. The wing to the left was in greens, and the one to the right was all browns and blacks.

“The colors of the elements…” Shanhaevel remarked, peering more closely at the wing to his right. He spotted a door against the far wall. Curious about the symmetry of the place, he walked back across to his left and looked in that direction. There was an identical portal there. “Everyone, look! There are doors in these wings.”

“Let’s keep to this main area for now,” Govin said, having moved ahead of the central altar to a large circular pit in the floor. “We want to find that staircase the prince mentioned.” The knight stood on the edge of the pit and was peering down into its depths. “If that doesn’t work out, or if he isn’t remembering correctly, we can consider taking alternate routes down.”

Beyond the pit, the group came to a wide staircase leading down. It was perhaps twenty feet wide, and each step was both broad and tall, made of a gray stone flecked with white, blue, red, green, and black.

“This is what we’re looking for,” Shirral whispered, peering down into the darkness below.

Govin shuddered. “My senses are overwhelmed with the taint of the evil once wrought here. I can still feel the suffering of those who were sacrificed to these elements. It seeps from the very stones.”

“Easy, knight,” Elmo said. “We all feel it. Keep your wits about you.”

Beyond the staircase was a railing, and beyond the railing was what might have been the high altar of the temple. The entire area beyond the railing was decorated in reds, oranges, and golds, and scenes of fiery torture abounded. In the middle of the place was a large bronze pot, perhaps eight feet wide. Hanging down from the ceiling directly over the vessel was a long chain.

“The temple of fire,” Shanhaevel breathed, looking around as his companions stayed close together. “They revered the flames above all other elements, I presume.”

“I don’t care what they revered,” Govin said, shuddering again. “This place should be blasted from the face of the lands.”

“Look,” Ahleage said, crossing the distance from where the group stood to the farthest region of the temple. “Look at this throne.”

The rest of the group joined him, spying at last what he had seen. A great throne sat upon a high dais, which was made of four different colors of stone—the shades of the elements. The dais, in the shape of a semicircle, was actually set into the northernmost wall of the temple farthest from the blasted entrance at the other end. Inscribed in tall, bold letters across the back wall were words that made the hair on the back of Shanhaevel’s neck stand out:

“This is the throne from my vision,” Shanhaevel said, flinching in memory of the vile hallucination. “With the four gems in place, the key will take you directly down. To her.”

“The nameless one…” Draga gasped.

“I pray to Saint Cuthbert that no one ever manages to free her,” Govin said, “but should we meet her, we have the strength to prevail.” Spinning away from the throne and walking toward the back of the temple, he said, “The staircase down. It’s time.”