The Temple of Elemental Evil

4

“This is outrageous!”

“Tonight, you say? This is not good.”

“That’s the third sighting this week!”

It all came at once, a whirlwind of conversation, everyone speaking and asking questions. Finally, the man who had first spoken to Shanhaevel banged his mug on the table.

“Please, gentlemen! Enough!” When the room returned to order, the man sighed, his face grave. “Now, we all know that this does not bode well, and certainly, we will take steps to find out what is going on, but first things first, if you please.” The man turned back to Shanhaevel. “My friend, I am Lord Burne. Lanithaine was a friend and a good man. I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

Shanhaevel nodded his thanks, once again unwilling to trust his voice.

“I know of you,” Burne continued. “Lanithaine mentioned you often. I was led to believe that you are capable. We need someone of your skill to ride with the company.”

Shanhaevel swallowed in surprise. “The company? I don’t understand.”

Burne pursed his lips and explained. “We’re forming a small expedition by order of his grace, the Viscount of Verbobonc. We need a wizard with some skill to be a part of it. Lanithaine did not mention this to you?”

Shanhaevel cocked his head to one side, considering. An expedition? Now that was something he never would have considered.

“No.” His heart felt as if someone were squeezing it, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and held the other man’s gaze. “I only know that the two of you served together in a war a decade ago. He said you were friends.”

“Please, sit down,” the wizard said, gesturing to one of the empty chairs surrounding the table. Shanhaevel nodded gratefully and slid into the seat, dropping his suddenly heavy saddlebags to floor beside him. Burne turned to make introductions.

“This,” Burne began, gesturing to the man immediately on his right, “is Melias, sent to us by his grace, the king of Furyondy. He also rode with your mentor, and he is to be in charge of the company.”

The hilt of a sword protruded above the man’s shoulder. He nodded once at Shanhaevel and smiled. The expression held surprising warmth in it.

Shanhaevel returned the nod respectfully, still trying to sort this out in his head.

“I’ll let Melias introduce his own companions,” Burne said, indicating the two other fellows flanking Melias at the table, “for they arrived with him only today, and they are in his service, not mine.”

Melias nodded again and pointed to the young man with the twinkle in his eye who had spoken earlier, teasing Shanhaevel about his botched introduction.

“This is Ahleage, our, um, scout, and this is Draga, who is a fair shot with that bow.”

Shanhaevel nodded to each in turn, getting a better look at both as he did so.

Ahleage was dressed in a shirt of black leather, and as he rose and bowed, his movements were fluid and graceful. Shanhaevel noticed both a short sword and dagger on his belt. When he sat again, he kept his chair away from the table, and Shanhaevel sensed that he was tightly coiled, a cat ready to spring up and away in a heartbeat.

Draga was slightly older than Ahleage, though not by much, Shanhaevel suspected. Also dressed in armor, the bowman was a rather hairy fellow, with tight curls of light brown hair on his head, several days’ growth of beard on his face, big, bushy eyebrows, and forearms that were generously covered, as well. A bow stood in the corner behind him, unstrung at the moment, but Shanhaevel could tell that it was a weapon of some quality. A quiver of arrows rested beside it.

“The rest of these gentlemen are the village council,” Burne said. “This is Lord Rufus of the Tower”—a graying, full-bearded man, one of the two who wore armor and weaponry and who had a reserved look to him—“and that’s Canon Terjon”—a thin, middle-aged blond man, clean-shaven, his lips pursed in a no-nonsense frown. His robes were of the church of Saint Cuthbert. Burne gestured next to a man with a graying beard, a long braid, and a playful, warm smile. “This is Jaroo Ashstaff, a druid of the old faith.”

Burne continued on his other side, indicating a powerfully built, completely bald man with grand, sweeping moustaches. “To my left, here, is Mytch, who runs the mill in Hommlet. Beside him is Hroth, the captain of Hommlet’s militia”—a fellow with closely cropped white hair, one scarred, cloudy eye, and a large, hawkish nose—“Ostler Gundigoot, the owner of the Welcome Wench”—a bespectacled fellow with nearly white hair and beard, who was smoking a long-stemmed pipe similar to Burne’s—“and finally, the lord mayor of Hommlet, Kenter Nevets.”—a slight man with little of his dark hair left and somewhat watery blue eyes, who held an unlit pipe.

“Good evening and good health to you all,” Shanhaevel said as he tried to gather his wits and mask his confusion. “As I said before, I am Shanhaevel, companion and student of the wizard Lan—”

“That’s not what you said,” Ahleage interrupted, chuckling, and Draga stifled a cackle of his own. “You said your name was Shadowspawn.”

Shanhaevel’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to retort, but Melias spoke first.

“Enough. I don’t need—”

At that moment, the door opened and Glora Gundigoot entered, followed by the blonde barmaid, bearing a tray with platters of food, more mugs, and another heavy, moisture-coated pitcher. Shanhaevel noticed that the younger girl blushed as she caught Ahleage’s eye, and she nearly stumbled as she came through the door.

“Just set it down and scoot,” Glora scolded, “They have plenty to talk about without you lollygagging around.”

Leah placed the tray on the table and turned to go, stealing a quick glance back at Ahleage.

“Shoo! Shoo!” Glora admonished, swatting at the girl with her dishtowel until she scurried out, and then the goodwife pulled the door shut once again. The smile on Ahleage’s face remained for some time afterward.

Despite his unease, Shanhaevel wasted no time reaching for one of the platters of food. As he shoveled mouthfuls of hot meat pie in, using a crust of fresh bread to sop up the rich gravy, Burne reached for the pitcher and poured cold mead for Shanhaevel, then began refilling everyone else’s mugs. Shanhaevel nodded appreciatively to the wizard before going back to the food in front of him.

Melias, Ahleage, and Draga joined in eating, but the rest of the gathered crowd seemed to have already dined, for they were content to sip their mugs. Burne tipped his back and took a long draught, then set the mug down and wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

“Now that you know everyone,” Burned said, “perhaps Melias can explain why he is here and why the company has been formed.”

The warrior nodded at Burne and finished off his own mug before speaking.

“Yes. Well, as most of you know, ten years ago a blight of evil assailed these parts, a festering sore in the form of a foul temple dedicated to the worship of things dark and elemental.” An uncomfortable murmur rose up, and it was obvious to Shanhaevel that this discussion did not set well with some in the room. “The marshal of Furyondy, Prince Thrommel, raised an army to destroy this temple. Burne, Lanithaine, and I, among others, rode with the prince. At the Battle of Emridy Meadows, we scattered the forces of the temple. Most of their leadership was slain or captured, although a few managed to escape.” Melias paused at this point, obviously troubled by this fact. Clenching both his fists and his jaw, he took a deep breath and continued. “The temple itself was thrown down. The prince’s company, of which we were a part, was there to seal the place. However, recent activity in the area suggests that something may be stirring in or near the temple once again.”

The room erupted into chaos for the second time that night, and it took quite a bit of mug-banging on Burne’s part to restore the group to some semblance of order. Even after the men had quieted, many of the council members continued to mutter. Only the druid, Jaroo, and Rufus seemed unfazed by this revelation.

Hroth, the captain of the militia, spoke, and Shanhaevel leaned in, listening intently. “Are you telling me, sir, that the temple is growing again? Is that what this is about?”

Before Melias could answer, Burne explained. “Recently, there have been a rash of attacks along the trade routes near here, as everyone certainly knows.” There was more mumbling, along with several nods of assent. “These attacks have been far too well organized to be attributed to the normal depredations of the tribes. Someone or something is leading them. It is entirely possible that whoever—or whatever—is behind this would like to see the temple rise again. We won’t know for sure until we investigate.”

“If your suspicions are true,” Mytch, the miller, said, “we are no match for them. We’re farmers, not soldiers. Oh, sure, we stand in the field once a month and march around when Hroth tells us to, but we’re not up to fighting roving beasts on a regular basis. We need help.”

“Mytch is right,” agreed the mayor, whose soft voice seemed at odds with his position of authority. “This is how it started ten years ago, but we must not wait to act this time. The viscount must send an army immediately.”

As the clamor for aid arose, Burne raised his hands for silence. When the room was calm, he said, “That is why Melias is here. Of all the old companions who rode with the prince ten years ago, Melias stills serves King Belvor in Chendl, primarily as an advisor to the viscount here in Verbobonc. The king and the viscount have agreed that Melias can represent both of their interests in this matter, and he thus has instructions to assemble a company to search the area—specifically the remains of the old moathouse south and east of here. Once we can determine the extent of the threat, the king and the viscount will act jointly, sending whatever aid is required.”

Shanhaevel stopped eating and looked keenly at Burne. “That’s why you summoned Lanithaine? To join this company? Surely you realize he was too old to go gallivanting around the countryside any—”

The wizard waved the elf to silence. “It was never Lanithaine who was to go on this expedition. I needed him here for other reasons, to help me research something related to this trouble. It was you whom we both intended would join Melias.”

Shanhaevel’s jaw dropped at this revelation. Why didn’t Lanithaine tell me? What was he afraid of? This must have been what he was keeping to himself, but why?

Burne smiled at the elf as he said, “I know this must seem overwhelming to you. With Lanithaine’s death, there are new problems to solve.”

Nodding, Shanhaevel let all of this information settle, then looked up at Burne. “This moathouse? What is—or was—it?”

“An old stronghold in the swamps,” Burne replied. “It was an outpost for the temple, a mustering point for troops. It was besieged and defeated shortly after the Battle of Emridy Meadows, once the temple itself had been defeated…”

Melias cut in, looking somewhat pained “You mentioned before that you were attacked tonight by gnolls.” Shanhaevel inhaled sharply at the mention of the ambush that had slain his mentor. “How many of them attacked you?”

The elf grimaced. “Six of them. Lanithaine killed them before he died.”

“Did they have any markings, any insignias?” Melias asked, his hands on the table in front of him.

Shanhaevel nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “an eye, a flaming eye. Nothing I’ve ever seen before, but then, I’ve never been outside of—” He stopped suddenly, realizing he was about to admit that he had never left his home before.

“Those are the same markings mentioned by the other victims,” Melias said to Burne.

“Yes.” Burned nodded. “It seems as though they are spreading their activities farther afield.”

“If Ormiel had not been keeping a lookout for us,” Shanhaevel said, “I might have died, too.”

“Ormiel?” Ahleage asked. “Who’s that?”

Shanhaevel cringed, for he seldom liked mentioning his hawk companion to people.

“Ormiel is a friend of mine, a pet,” Shanhaevel replied. “You will meet him tomorrow.”

Shanhaevel realized he was clenching his jaw. The very thing Lanithaine was traveling to Hommlet to eradicate had instead brought about his own end. It should not have ended this way. If only he’d told me!

“Are you certain it was only gnolls?” Burne asked. “There was no one—or nothing—else with them?”

The elf shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on the conversation at hand. “Not that I could see, although I was in fairly deep woods—and it was night, so something could have been farther back, out of my line of sight—but they seemed to be acting on their own.”

“Hmm.” Burne mused, scratching behind one large ear. “We must not delay, then. Melias and his company will set out first thing tomorrow.”

“Aye,” muttered the mayor, and several others nodded in agreement. “How can we aid you?”

“The company will need supplies,” Melias said. “I have coin, of course, but the favor of the king and viscount will shine upon those who provide what we need at better than fair prices.”

There was another round of murmuring, but it faded away as Burne cut in, “Most of what you will need must come from the traders. Rannos and Gremag keep their own council, and few seem able to sway them from their profits. Whatever else we can provide, we will offer at no gain to ourselves.”

A few others muttered, but Burne’s stare quickly silenced these.

“I could use a couple more stout bodies to round out the group. I need a healer,” Melias said, looking toward Terjon, the priest of Saint Cuthbert, “and another strong arm, especially one who knows the land, would make me feel more at ease.”

Terjon frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I do not think Calmert, my assistant, is much of the soldiering type. I can, however, provide you with a potion or two of curative magic. With Saint Cuthbert’s blessing, of course.” The priest smiled, apparently feeling he had done his good deed for the day.

Jaroo, the druid, snorted. “I can do better than that. My apprentice, Shirral, will go with you. I will send her at dawn. She will provide the healing you need, and she knows the land well for several leagues in every direction.”

“My thanks, druid,” Melias said, nodding.

Terjon glowered at Jaroo but said nothing.

A healthy bit of competition between the two faiths, Shanhaevel noted with a silent chuckle.

“My lad Elmo can join you,” Hroth piped up.

A couple of other men grimaced, but they were careful to hide their expressions from the captain of the militia. “He’s a good lad, and he swings a mean axe.”

“I welcome him, then,” Melias replied. “I thank all of you for your help. At first light, we will pay a visit to the trading post, and then the company rides forth.”

There was general banter after that, and the meeting began to break up. Ahleage and Draga both excused themselves, Ahleage with a devilish grin on his face as he scurried through the door.

“So, how is that beef pie?” Ostler Gundigoot asked as the crowded room emptied, leaving only Burne and Melias still at the table. “I baked that myself,” he added proudly.

Shanhaevel glanced at the thick pottery dish where the pie had been. All that remained were a few smears from where he had mopped up the gravy with wads of bread. He chuckled and smiled at the innkeeper. “It was delicious, and I could eat another two.”

“I’ll tell Glora to fetch a couple more for you,” Ostler said. “I assume you’ll be taking a room with us tonight?”

Shanhaevel glanced at Melias for some sort of guidance, and the warrior nodded, saying, “We’ve all got rooms here. Ostler will take good care of you.”

“Then, yes,” Shanhaevel said, “I would like a room for the night, please.”

With that, the innkeeper turned and headed out, returning shortly with fresh platters of food.

As Shanhaevel began to put away his second helping, Burne smiled, a warm expression that reminded the elf of the way Lanithaine often looked. He glanced away, feeling sorrow washing over him once again.

Burne cleared his throat and spoke. “Lanithaine will be deeply missed, Shanhaevel. Melias and I both considered him a good friend and a staunch companion. He spoke fondly of you to me during the war.”

“I wish I had known,” Shanhaevel replied. “He never talked about any of this to me, and he never mentioned any of you. He merely rode off one day, telling me he had something to take care of and that he would be back soon.”

Burne nodded. “He thought you could have ridden with us back then, you know. He just couldn’t bear dragging you into a war. So he left you to take care of the folk in your village. He believed you more than able, even back then. If you are capable now of even half what he claimed you learned from him, I have no doubt you will serve our company well.”

“I’m very flattered. Thank you. I will do my best.” He suddenly felt a little embarrassed by both the praise and scrutiny. He hoped he would live up to everyone’s expectations on this expedition. He realized that he had already decided to become a part of it, never bothering to take time to mull it over. Of course, he told himself, because that’s what Lanithaine wanted you to do.

“Tell me,” Shanhaevel asked, changing the subject, “what was it like to serve with the prince? I never knew Lanithaine had met royalty, although I recall now that he seemed quite upset when the news came to our village of Thrommel’s disappearance.”

There was a long silence at the table as both Burne and Melias stared at their hands. Neither of them seemed eager to respond, and Shanhaevel grew uncomfortable, wondering if he had touched on a taboo subject.

“I’m sorry,” he began finally, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right,” Burne answered at last. “You didn’t know.”

Shanhaevel frowned, puzzled, but he was loath to pry.

“I continued to serve with Thrommel after the war,” Melias said, his voice low. “I rode with him as part of his royal bodyguard. I was a part of the hunting party that was with him the day he disappeared.”

Shanhaevel could see that the soldier’s knuckles were white where the man gripped the table. The elf swallowed hard, unnerved by the passion building in Melias.

Burne took up the tale when Melias seemed unable to continue. “There is evidence to suggest that the temple leaders who escaped us at the Battle of Emridy Meadows somehow orchestrated the prince’s kidnapping. There’s still more evidence that the prince is still alive, somewhere. Melias has continued to serve the throne, even with the prince missing.”

“I’ve spent the last seven years searching for him,” Melias said. “I swore to his father, King Belvor, that I would.” The soldier sighed and released the table. “But the trail grows colder. It’s been seven long years.”

Shanhaevel nodded, trying to grasp what frustration and disappointment Melias must be feeling. “I am sorry I brought up such a sensitive issue,” he said, “but your loyalty and perseverance honors you.” He bowed his head toward Melias, trying to show some sense of his respect for the man. Finally, he shoved back his plate. “But now, I am weary from three days in the saddle, and tomorrow comes early. I think I’m ready for bed.”

“Yes, of course,” Burne said. “Come. I’ll get Ostler to get you a room.”

As he arose from the table, gathered his belongings, and followed the other wizard and Melias out into the common room, Shanhaevel noticed the trio of men nearby, still sitting and watching. As Melias led the way across the floor toward the stairs, the stranger with the topknot stood up, his crimson robes swishing, and stepped to block the warrior’s path.

“My name is Turuko,” the main said with a deep bow and a smile. His Baklunish accent was thick. “These are my companions, Kobort and Zert. Word has spread that you seek wealth in the ruins nearby.”

One of his companions, the one with the scar across the back of his hand, added, “We’d like in. What say we band together?”

Melias sidestepped the man to pass him. “We are not on a treasure hunt. Thanks, anyway.”

The Baklunish man’s smile faded, and he looked genuinely sad. “That is unfortunate, for there is much greater safety in numbers. It would be better for all of us to work together. In any event, we’ve been planning a foray there since before you arrived. Perhaps we will see you there.” He smiled again and resumed his seat.

Without a word or a backward glance, Melias started walking again, leading the way to the foot of the stairs. Ahleage and Draga, who had been at another table enjoying a last mug before retiring, fell into step right behind him.

“You may have trouble with those three, I’m afraid,” Ostler whispered as he led them up to their rooms. “They may try to reach the ruins first.”

“They are of no concern to us,” Melias said. “We will explore the moathouse, and if they try to interfere, we will deal with them then.”

As the group reached the landing, the front door to the inn banged open, and a young man stormed in.

“Hommlet’s under attack!” he shouted. “Lord Burne’s tower’s afire!”