The Temple of Elemental Evil

6

Shanhaevel rested comfortably in a steaming bath, feeling the ache of three days of travel slowly seeping out of his body. More than once, Latt and Phip, the stablehands, returned with buckets of nearly scalding water to add to the tub, until the elf could barely stand the heat and told them that was plenty. A short time after that, Leah brought him towels and bade him goodnight. Listening to the sounds of the inn settling in for the night, he soaked a while longer and contemplated everything that had happened to him over the course of the long day.

He avoided dwelling on Lanithaine, instead trying to concentrate on what lay ahead of him. Joining an expedition to ferret out marauding bugbears seemed straightforward enough, and he was eager to exact some sort of revenge on Lanithaine’s murderers, but there was something more to this, he knew. The snow had unnerved him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and contemplated what he would need to do to prepare for the journey tomorrow.

Finally, when the water had simmered to comfortable warmth but before it could grow cool, Shanhaevel finished the bath. Comfortably drowsy, he readied himself for bed. He stoked the fire, adding fresh wood, then doused the lamp and made his way to bed by firelight.

After crawling beneath the sheets and settling into the pillows, he let out a long, slow sigh, trying to relax his body completely. He lay there in the darkness for a moment or two, unable to avoid thinking about Lanithaine. He found himself imagining the body of his teacher, lying wrapped in his cloak beneath the pile of stones back in the woods along the road. How cold and hard that bed was, compared to the one the elf found himself in. How damp and lonely and disappearing beneath a covering of snow….

Shanhaevel shook his head and shuddered as he tried to rid his mind of the morbid vision.

He heard a noise, a low thump from the room next door where Ahleage was staying. Before he could throw back the covers and climb out of bed, however, he picked up the low murmur of conversation. He could not make out the words, but then he heard a soft, feminine giggle, followed by a muffled squeal of delight.

Leah.

Shanhaevel rolled his eyes as a string of moans and giggles emanated through the wall.

“Boccob, please don’t let them do that all night,” he groaned, half smiling. Rolling over, he pulled the covers high then wrapped one of the pillows around his head, pressing it against his ear to block out the noise. It helped some but didn’t shut out the sounds completely. For the moment, Shanhaevel forgot his grim musings about Lanithaine’s grave. Soon enough, despite the tryst next door, or perhaps because of it, Shanhaevel was soundly sleeping.

In the small room off the main taproom of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, by the light of a single, dim lantern, Burne and Melias conversed softly, planning the foray to the moathouse. A curling scroll of parchment rested on the table between them.

“You may prevail, yet, my friend,” Burne said, laying a comforting hand on Melias’ shoulder. “If what we believe is true, if the scattered priests are nearby, trying to raise the temple again, you may get the opportunity to discover the whereabouts of Prince Thrommel.”

Melias nodded “That must be the least of my worries, right now. If they somehow find her, manage to free her…”

The soldier left his thought unfinished, and for several heartbeats, the room sat in silence.

“That will be harder than you might imagine,” Burne replied. “The old seals we placed on those portals are strong, still. They will hold. But we must find the key that is mentioned in the seer’s poem,” he said, tapping the parchment before him. “We must find it before they do, and finish this, finish it like we should have ten years ago.”

“Aye,” Melias nodded. “This time, there won’t be anyone telling us to turn back. If only we hadn’t lost Falrinth that day. We could have destroyed the demon, instead of trapping her inside.”

“Yes,” Burne agreed, “but what’s done is done. He fell in battle, and we survived. We cannot go back and change history. We can, however, insure that the bindings we placed on the temple’s portals will hold the demon inside forever. I will continue to try to learn what the key is. When I know, I will send word to you. Find the key and return here. I will know by then how to destroy it.”

Shanhaevel awoke the next morning to find cheery light slipping around the edges of the curtains covering the window in his room. He stretched, feeling completely refreshed even after such a short night, for it had been spent in such a comfortable bed. He threw the covers back and dressed quickly, then parted the curtains to let in more light. He looked out. The day had dawned clear and sunny, and the eerie snow from the night before had almost melted away. From all appearances, it looked as if it would be a fine spring day.

The elf sat down at the table. Unbuckling one of his saddlebags, he slipped out a thick package wrapped in oilskin. Unfolding the protective cloth, he noted with satisfaction that his spellbook was still dry. Uttering a few syllables of magic softly over the cover of the book, he carefully opened the tome and turned the pages, thinking. It was the first time he had gone through this exercise without consultation with his teacher, and it felt strange. After a few moments of careful deliberation, he settled on the spells he wanted for the day and began to memorize them.

Halfway through his studies, there was a light knock on the door. Shanhaevel crossed over and opened it. Melias stood in the hallway, a large leather backpack slung on his back and a coil of rope draped over one shoulder.

“Aren’t you ready to go? The sun’s been up an hour, now. I’ve already been to the traders for supplies.” The man made a sour smirk that suggested the experience had been none too pleasant.

Shanhaevel gestured back at the table. “I’m studying. I shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Ah, good. Well, have you eaten, at least?” When Shanhaevel shook his head, the warrior frowned and said, “I’ll have Glora send up some breakfast so you can eat while you work.”

With that, Melias turned on his heel and headed down the hall toward the stairs.

“Fair enough,” Shanhaevel called after him, then shut the door and returned to his spellbook.

A short time later, there was another knock, and Leah opened the door, bearing a tray with steaming porridge, more fresh bread, and cold milk.

“Just set it here.” Shanhaevel pointed to a clear place on the table beside where he was working.

The girl’s footsteps were heavy across the floor, and she practically slammed the breakfast tray on the spot where Shanhaevel had indicated. He glanced up at her.

“What is it?” he asked.

Leah blushed. “N-nothing, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just that Paida is off somewhere, hiding or something, and I have to do all the work. Please forgive me, and don’t tell Mistress Gundigoot of my rudeness.” She curtsied and hurried from the room.

Shanhaevel looked up from his work long enough to watch her disappear, then shrugged and started in on breakfast while he finished his studying.

By the time Shanhaevel made his way downstairs and out the front door, walking staff in one hand, the rest of the company had already gathered. It was, indeed, a clear, bright morning, although snow still clung in the shade. The elf’s breath was visible, whisked away by a mild morning breeze.

Shanhaevel hadn’t taken four steps out the door before he noticed Shirral standing off by herself, bundled in a woolen cape of deep brown over leather armor. She leaned on a walking staff, facing away from him and down the road. Her golden blonde hair cascaded in gentle waves past her shoulders. She wore a curved scimitar at her belt, but she was twirling a sling in one hand.

Maybe it’s time to make more proper introductions, Shanhaevel thought. See if maybe the morning sun has done a little something for her disposition.

When he altered his course to introduce himself, the druid heard his approach and turned to face him. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. Her narrow face bore the unmistakable swept-back look of the elves, and her partially pointed ears confirmed her heritage. But she was not full blooded, he realized. She had been born to mixed parentage, a half-breed of elf and human, which explained why he hadn’t this noticed last night.

And she was absolutely beautiful.

Shanhaevel realized he was staring at her, and she looked right back at him, her icy blue eyes flashing in anger, her arms now folded across her chest. He shook his head, realizing his rudeness, and crossed the rest of the distance between them, preparing to introduce himself.

“We met last night,” he said with a slight chuckle, “but we didn’t get introduced. I’m Shan—”

“I know who you are. Jaroo told me.”

Shanhaevel stood frozen, one eyebrow raised, taken aback by the druid’s abrupt manner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting—”

“A half-breed? Well, there’s a surprise. No one ever does. But there you go. The world is just full of the unexpected, isn’t it?”

With that, Shirral turned and walked several steps away, ignoring him as she tightened the straps on her horse’s saddle.

Shanhaevel stood with his mouth hanging open for several moments before a shadow crossing in front of him brought him out of his stunned surprise. It was Ahleage astride a chestnut gelding, trying to reign in the frisky mount. Shanhaevel looked up at the young man and almost laughed out loud, forgetting his confrontation with the druid for the moment.

Ahleage’s eyes were bleary and his face was puffy, as though he had slept with it buried between two pillows all night Well, pillows of a sort, at any rate, Shanhaevel thought.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?” Shanhaevel asked, smiling.

Ahleage blinked a couple of times, as though trying to absorb the elf’s words, then he cracked a sleepy but smug smile and turned his horse away again, muttering something about needing eggs for a proper breakfast.

Shanhaevel shook his head in amusement and turned to find himself face to face with two more horses. A scowling Melias and a very large smiling man were astride them. Shanhaevel stepped back and caught himself staring again.

“Uh, hello there,” he said, looking from Melias to the newcomer and back again.

“Hiyah!” The huge man said, smiling even more broadly. He leaned down and stuck out one big, meaty hand. His breath smelled of ale, and strongly at that.

Shanhaevel shot one puzzled glance at Melias, whose scowl deepened, and took the large hand offered to him, shaking it vigorously.

The captain’s son, Shanhaevel realized with a start, remembering now the stifled groans during the meeting the night before. So, he’s a drinker, is he? Shanhaevel mused. What’s his name, again?

“I’m Elmo,” the fellow said, as though reading Shanhaevel’s mind. “You’re an elf!”

“Yes.” Shanhaevel smiled at the big oaf’s forward manner, nodding. “I’m Shanhaevel. Good to meet you.”

The man’s smile was replaced by a deep, contemplative frown. “Those other two said your name was Shadowspawn,” Elmo said, pointing over the elf’s shoulder.

Shanhaevel didn’t even have to turn around to know the big man was pointing to Ahleage and Draga. He rolled his eyes and tried to laugh. “Oh, they’re just having some fun with you. Really, my name’s Shanhaevel. They just like to call me that other name.”

Elmo puzzled over this for a moment longer, then smiled and nodded again. “All right, Shanhaevel.”

Shanhaevel took a moment to study Elmo’s outfit. The man wore a shirt of chain mail, and he had an unstrung bow tied across his saddle. Shanhaevel’s eyes widened considerably at the huge two-bladed battle-axe on Elmo’s back.

“Are you any good with those?” he asked, gesturing to the weapons.

“Uh-huh,” Elmo replied, then pulled out a fine dagger from a sheath at his belt. “This is my favorite. My brother Otis gave it to me!” he said, beaming with pride. He held the dagger out, hilt first, for Shanhaevel to examine. “Go on, you can hold it. It’s beautiful, huh?”

Shanhaevel reached out and gripped the dagger. The blade felt amazingly well balanced in his hand and just holding it gave him a small, unusual shiver, one he had felt only a few times before. He took a closer look at the weapon. Even in the brightness of the early morning sun, the elf’s keen eyes noted the perfect edge to it. He spotted what he suspected was there—a tiny sigil etched into the blade near the hilt.

Magical, Shanhaevel thought in amazement. I wonder if he even knows? The elf looked up into the smiling face of the simple man, made a show of feeling the balance of the blade in his hand, then flipped the weapon around and passed it back, hilt first, to Elmo.

“Very nice,” he said. “You should hang on to that.”

“Oh, I will,” Elmo replied. “My brother Otis gave it to me!”

Shanhaevel nodded, and Elmo smiled again. The man spurred his horse and trotted off to show Ahleage and Draga the dagger, leaving Shanhaevel and Melias to themselves.

“Goodness,” Shanhaevel remarked. “He doesn’t seem to be the brightest fellow in the village. But he looks like he can handle that axe well enough—if we can keep him away from the drink.”

“Aye,” nodded Melias, still scowling. “I would rather not have to watch him to make sure he stays out of trouble, but Shirral vouches for him, so…” The man shrugged. “I can’t very well tell him to go home. We’d get run out of town, I suspect.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Come. We must be on our way. Where’s your mount?”

Shanhaevel pointed as he saw Latt leading the pair of horses, one already saddled, out of the adjoining barn.

“Right here,” Shanhaevel said, reaching for a silver to toss to the boy. “One to ride, and one for gear.”

Melias raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Come on! Let’s get going.”

The entourage gathered together and set out. Shanhaevel found himself riding next to Shirral. He wasn’t sure what to say to her as they started up the road, but he certainly didn’t want her scowling at him for the entire day, so he started by apologizing.

“I’m sorry for staring before,” he began. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Forget it,” the druid said, not looking at him.

When Shirral seemed unwilling to say more, Shanhaevel continued, “No, really. I was surprised, but only because I’ve been getting so many looks, myself.”

Shirral did look at him, then, and her visage softened somewhat. After a moment, she said, “It’s all right. I’m just a little angry with Jaroo for sending me off with the rest of you. I’ve got better things to do than traipse around the woods with a bunch of men.”

Shanhaevel chuckled, drawing another scowl from the druid. “I’m not really here by choice, either,” he said, trying to explain. “My late master and Burne were old friends, so I get to go on this expedition without being consulted. Believe me, I’d rather be back home.”

Shirral looked at Shanhaevel, but she only grunted in response.

“Anyway,” Shanhaevel continued, “last night. You and your friend really took us by surprise.”

“Who, Mobley? He’s harmless, most of the time.”

“Except when there are bugbears about,” Shanhaevel added.

“Yes, and idiots with swords smashing their way through the forest.”

“Well, I don’t own a sword.”

Shirral looked at him, her blue eyes blazing. “And other idiots who sling magic around in the woods, lighting the place up like a Needfest tree. Neither Mobley nor I could see what was going on, you know,” she said, rather indignantly. “Jaroo would have had my hide—and all of yours—if anything had happened to Mobley.”

“I’m sorry,” Shanhaevel replied. “I was trying to blind the bugbears, not you. We didn’t even know you were there.”

“Yes, well…” Shirral said, not finishing.

At that point, the entourage was approaching Burne and Rufus’ tower, and they all got a better look at the damage from the fire the previous evening. Some of the blackened wood still smoked, and several sections of scaffolding were damaged beyond repair, but it didn’t appear as bad as Burne had made it sound the night before.

“The turn-off to the old high road is just ahead,” Shirral said as the group left the edge of town.

The road was flanked on both sides by woods now. At the junction, Melias headed off the main road to the right, with the rest following him. The old high road was little more than a game trail, overgrown and half hidden. Shanhaevel and Shirral were riding beside Elmo, and the three of them formed the rear of the procession. Farther up the line, Draga broke into a song, his voice high and smooth as the morning sun as he sang some ditty with a lot of nonsensical words Shanhaevel had never heard before.

“Jaroo tells me you have a friend,” Shirral said. “A hawk?”

Shanhaevel turned and looked at Shirral.

“They got acquainted last night,” Shirral said, realizing Shanhaevel was confused. “Jaroo told me he met your familiar after the bugbear raid.”

Shanhaevel nodded and reached out with his mind. Ormiel, are you there?

Yes, came the hawk’s reply. Hunting mice.

Come to me, the elf commanded, then smiled at Shirral and Elmo. “He’s a steady friend and a good lookout. I’ve called him, so you can meet him.”

Shirral smiled, and it was the first time Shanhaevel had seen her do it, he realized. It dazzled him, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he turned and looked at the road in front of him.

Ormiel appeared, swooping in from the trees behind the company. Shanhaevel smiled as the hawk circled the group and settled on his shoulder.

When the bird landed, Shirral gasped in delight, smiling as brightly as Shanhaevel thought imaginable. “Hello there, you magnificent beauty,” she said, reaching up to stroke the top of Ormiel’s head, smoothing the feathers softly.

Shanhaevel watched the druid, entranced and dazzled by her beauty. “Here,” he said, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a strip of dried meat, which he handed to her. “He loves these.”

Carefully, Shirral held her hand up and extended the piece of meat toward Ormiel’s beak. The bird eyed the meat without blinking. Then, in an instant, the hawk darted its head forward, snatched the meat from the druid’s grasp, and began to consume it.

“What a gorgeous creature,” Shirral said.

“Yes,” Shanhaevel agreed, turning to see Elmo’s reaction. The huge man was simply watching, an intent look on his face. “Ormiel is fine specimen,” the elf added, then mentally spoke to his companion. Watch the trail ahead today.

Your mate with sky eyes speaks to me, Ormiel responded. The big man speaks to me.

Shanhaevel nearly choked at the bird’s reference to Shirral, then he caught himself as the other half of Ormiel’s claim registered. Big man?

“Ormiel says you’re talking to him,” Shanhaevel said, looking back and forth between Shirral and Elmo.

“He could hear me? Oh, that’s delightful!” The druid said. She continued to stroke the bird’s feathers and speak to it aloud in soothing tones. Elmo, however, said nothing, turning once again in the saddle to watch the path before him.

Not a mate. Only a friend. Shanhaevel projected. What big man speaks to you?

Big man with shiny feathers and bad air.

Shiny feathers means armor, but bad air? Oh! Shanhaevel realized. Elmo’s breath.

“Ormiel says you speak to him, too,” Shanhaevel said.

Elmo only smiled, not turning around. “Shirral talks to the animals. I just watch. Ormiel is a very nice bird, though, Shanhaevel.”

Shanhaevel shook his head, wondering if Elmo had some sort of ability to speak with animals that he didn’t know about. He watched the axeman for a long moment, but Elmo offered no clues. Dismissing this thought, Shanhaevel repeated to Ormiel, Watch the road today for had things.

Yes. I watch. Watch and hunt. Sky eyes is very nice.

Shanhaevel looked again at Shirral, who was still enraptured with the hawk, seemingly very happy. Yes. Thank you, Ormiel. She is very nice.