The day had been exhausting, both mentally and physically. Even Gamaliel, with his feline energy, was dragging himself from task to task. The group had ridden until darkness closed in, then struggled in the blackness to start a fire and make camp. Only Gamaliel's keen eyesight ensured them a safe place to camp and fresh meat for dinner. Now they lolled about the fire, discussing the day's events and planning their strategy for the mission that lay ahead.
The loss of Talenthia, the encounter with the succubus, and the hard ride all had taken their toll. Frustration reigned, but the companions tried to remain calm and rational. If they were going to finish this mission alive, they needed to keep their spirits up. Miltiades cleverly interjected stories of old battles that were won despite terrible odds. His motives were transparent, but his encouragement was appreciated.
Evaine estimated that if they rode hard and were lucky enough to avoid monsters and travelers, they would reach the red tower in three days.
"Will we be too late to save Phlan?" Ren asked. His concern had grown visibly over the past few days. More and more, he wondered whether he would find his friends alive.
"In one respect, the darkness around the tower is a good sign. It has grown slowly, which would indicate that efforts to defeat Phlan have not succeeded. I believe the mass of darkness would grow significantly faster as more souls are consumed by the pool. This coincides with what the succubus told me-if we believe she told the truth. And the truth of her statements will be tested if and when we discover the three abishai. I expect to see them flying on the horizon early tomorrow. They'll be our first challenge in infiltrating the red tower."
The weary group chatted a while longer as the fire died down to glowing coals. One by one, they drifted off into fitful sleep.
Miltiades, ever vigilant, kept watch, quietly sharpening his sword. He removed his plate mail armor and meticulously polished each piece, then carefully oiled the leather straps. Turning over his breast plate, the paladin sighed as he caught his reflection in the metal. An unfamiliar face, not his usual bony self, stared back at him.
The paladin didn't regret his appearance; rather, he considered it a privilege. After a millennium in the tomb, his god had chosen him for a holy quest and had given him a chance at redemption.
Buckling on his armor, Miltiades arose to pace the perimeter of the camp. He prayed silently to Tyr. "God of might and law, your servant is truly grateful for this chance at redemption. Grant that I may prove myself worthy. Grant that I may unselfishly complete your quest. Grant me strength that I may take no action except in your name and for your glory. Guide this humble servant into your light." The paladin slowly circled the camp, repeating his prayer in a whisper. Completing a sixth circuit, he bowed in reverence to his god, then seated himself on a boulder to resume his watch.
Morning dawned with a chill breeze and the ever-present stormclouds. Andoralson was the first to rise. Gamaliel, tucked behind his mistress on her bedroll, followed the druid's movements with his golden eyes. Seeing that the two of them were awake, Miltiades ducked into the trees for firewood. Andoralson busied himself at the edge of the clearing.
The druid picked away a patch of grass, weeds, and fungi, dug down a few inches, then planted several seeds. After humming a chant and adding blessed water and some sparkling dust, several tender sprouts pushed up from the ground.
Ren was now awake. His curiosity finally got the better of him. "Alright, druid. I watched you go through this ritual at least four times yesterday. Each time you planted some seeds, and, within minutes, a ring of seedlings started to grow. Why do you keep doing this?"
Andoralson looked up at Ren, smiling. He loved any opportunity to enlighten others about the wonders of the forest. The ranger could see he was in for a lecture.
"I'm helping to save the land. I'm not able to sense the mass of darkness Evaine tells us about. I can, however, see what the unknown evils are doing to the forests. The destruction must be stopped. I am following the good example of my cousin and doing my small part." The druid brushed off his hands and took a seat near the fire, helping Miltiades to stoke up a blaze.
"The trees I've just planted will grow magically. If they are not disturbed for a week, they will grow into huge oaks, unusually resistant to fire, disease, and blades of all kinds. Each ring of seven trees will form a grove-a haven of goodness, if you will. The trees will help counter the effects of evil."
Gamaliel jumped abruptly to his feet, sniffing the air.
Evaine announced the cat's message. "Riders coming."
The group readied their weapons, but left them concealed. They casually broke camp as they waited for the riders to approach. Long before the new group could be identified, Ren and the others heard their chanting. Evaine informed the group that Gamaliel smelled incense.
Andoralson cast a quick spell to mentally view the approaching horsemen.
"They're clerics," he observed. "There's a group of seven who follow Ilmater. You'll be able to tell by their gray tunics and tabards. One wears a red skullcap, indicating he is the leader. Take note if he has a gray teardrop tattooed under his left eye. Such a mark means he is a master of unusual power and dedication.
"There are ten other riders who are clerics of Torm. You can tell by the blinding shine on their plate armor, even under these gray skies. One has a blue tint to his plate armor, marking him as their leader. I'd guess him to be very powerful."
Both groups of clerics were loudly singing different chants, apparently oblivious to the clamor their conflicting tunes created. One priest of each sect carried a smoldering censor, filling the air with a trail of smoky incense. The singing didn't stop, even when the clerics discovered the travelers. The companions were on their feet, packing gear into saddlebags.
"Be ye friend or foe?" asked the cleric in the lead. The even tone of his voice and the scourge he hadn't drawn told everyone he didn't expect a fight. The other horsemen crowded into the clearing, arranging themselves so as not to alarm the strangers.
"Friends to those who would be our friends, foes to any who would slow our quest," Ren said, nodding to both groups.
"Well spoken, for a warrior," the cleric commented. The priest with the red skullcap gestured to the others, and his followers stopped their chanting and dismounted. The clerics of Torm held to their saddles but lowered their voices to a faint hum. The leaders of both groups stepped forward.
The cleric in blue plate mail shouted to his followers to cease their chanting. The smoke from the burning incense concentrated in the clearing, tainting the air with the smell of singed hair and stale, bitter herbs. The entire group grimaced as the odor washed over them. Gamaliel bared his teeth in a silent hiss.
"I am Bishop Painel," announced the man wearing the red skullcap. The gray teardrop tattooed under his eye was now visible to Ren and the others. "My priests are on a quest of our own, along with the priests of Torm." Painel deferred to his colleague.
"And I am Starnak, High Bishop of Torm. What is a ragged band such as yourselves doing here? Do you realize how dangerous this land has become?"
Without asking for consent, Painel moved to bless Evaine and the others. Gamaliel leaped between the cleric and his mistress, hissing at the intrusion.
"Good clerics," Ren boomed in his most authoritative voice, "our quest is to find some friends who were stolen along with the entire city of Phlan. We plan to look for answers at a red tower."
The clerics extinguished their pungent incense. The leaders looked upon Ren's group in surprise.
"Isn't this a coincidence?" Painel said calmly as he backed away from Gamaliel. "Our mighty gods have given us the quest of finding a red tower and expunging the evil there. Warrior, won't you introduce us to the rest of your party?"