The angry fiend flew into the cavern and over the city of Phlan, basking in the darkness. He should have doused the lights weeks ago.
"Marcus is a fool. Conquering Phlan has nothing to do with taking its walls. The destruction of this city lies in taking its people. When I gain their souls, they will open their gates."
The fiend flew over the center of the city, past the docks. The winged beast soared to a secluded corner of the cavern's sea, then concentrated for only a few moments, creating one of its best illusions. The horrid black beast writhed and blurred, then emerged as a white bard named Latenat.
His appearance now was of a kindly, middle-aged bard with a short, white beard and flowing white robes. His voice was gentle and melodic, his demeanor peaceful. The monster's true nature was visible only in his stern eyes. But looking into his eyes would be difficult if Latenat did his job right.
The disguised creature conjured a small white sailing ship and settled himself into the stern. Although the boat was powered magically, the bard picked up an oar and began to row. The sail hung limply in the still air of the dark cavern.
About fifty yards from the south gate, the boat was spotted by Phlan's guards. Fires had been lit all along the beach, and flaming rafts had been set out in the water to reveal the presence of any attackers. An alarm was sounded at the first sight of the boat, yet it was allowed to approach the dock.
A squad of hard-eyed guards awaited the stranger.
"Just where did you come from?" the oldest guard demanded.
"I am the white bard, Latenat. I've been sent by the gods to lead the people of Phlan to freedom," the pit fiend purred.
"And I am the great bunny Tootal, sent by the gods to sink your boat. You got any proof?" the guard snorted.
The bard's voice was smooth and soothing. "My proof is in my songs, friend, in my songs. If you'll permit me, I'll sing one for you now."
"Ain't no law against singing that I know of, but your tune better be good, or you'll be eatin' that stringed thing of yours, young fella."
The bard smiled serenely, strummed his lute, and began his song:
"I sing a song of praise for Phlan,
The town I've come to free,
I sing a song of hope for you,
The folk I would set free."
The bard continued, verse after verse, as more guards gathered to hear the song. The magic of the pit fiend's spell wove in and around the people on the dock. Latenat's ballad of hope made the listeners long for their freedom. The fiend's spell seeped into the minds of the weary captives, making them vulnerable to his foul message.
All day and long into the night, the mysterious bard tirelessly sang his songs. His smooth voice never grew weary. He traveled to inns and halls and large manor houses, never asking for payment for his performances. Everywhere crowds of people gathered to hear the minstrel and his compelling tunes. It had been months since anyone in Phlan had heard such fine singing.
His message was always the same. In his lilting voice, the bard encouraged the people of Phlan to make their escape while the battlefield was quiet and empty. A few people scoffed at the idea, but many others started packing, convinced the bard was right. They had been in this cavern far too long. Most citizens didn't know what to think, but they knew anything was better than waiting in the dark for the next deadly attack.
Tanetal's spell was working. His song lingered in the minds of his listeners. The unity of Phlan's people was finally beginning to wobble.
18
The dull light filtering through chalky clouds told the companions that the hour was near noon. But to the battle-weary travelers, the hour felt more like midnight. The early skirmish with the trio of abishai had exhausted Ren, Evaine, and Andoralson. Even Gamaliel, in his barbarian shape, slumped astride his horse rather than scouting ahead in his preferred cat form. Miltiades, always energetic, blazed a trail at the head of the group.
The riders emerged from the forest of sickly trees into a wide clearing. A field that should have been filled with waving grasses, blooming wild flowers, and buzzing bees was instead a sea of gray, brittle weeds. The dead vegetation crunched loudly under the horses' hooves.
As the riders neared the center of the clearing, Ren suddenly shouted a warning. A black, leathery form dipped out of the sky, enormous talons snatching at Evaine. The sorceress ducked her head into the horse's mane just in time to avoid the creature's claws. The beast pulled out of its dive and flapped high into the sky, preparing for another pass.
"Mistress!" Gamaliel called. "It's not real! It's just a trick!" The barbarian nudged his horse alongside the sorceress.
Again, the monster swooped down, aiming for Ren. The ranger had drawn his sword and now swung valiantly at the creature. His swing missed, but the beast's claws found Ren's shoulder. He screamed in pain as the talons tore open his chain mail, carving out a deep gash.
Miltiades turned his horse, galloping up to Ren. "Close your eyes, ranger. What you see is not an abishai. It cannot harm you."
Ren snorted and looked skyward. Reaching into his boots, he drew Right and Left.
The beast was already diving again, this time at Andoralson. The druid held his oak shield high, bracing himself.
Ren raised his arm to launch a dagger, but a bony hand gripped his wrist and yanked it down. "Wait. This will be over soon." The ranger struggled, but the paladin's grasp held firm.
A fiend bigger than the druid's horse smashed into the oak shield. But instead of a deafening thump and the scrape of claws, the clearing fell silent. As Ren watched, the abishai turned to black mist and dissolved.
"What in the Nine Hells?" the ranger cursed. Andoralson reined his horse over to Ren and immediately began healing his shoulder.
"Illusion," Evaine interrupted. "The creature wasn't really there."
"How did you know?"
"Gamaliel figured it out first. The beast didn't smell like an abishai. Those last three we fought reeked of sulphur. I could also tell it wasn't real."
Ren twisted in his saddle to stare at Miltiades. "My dead eyes are difficult to deceive," the undead knight said. "I saw only a shadow of the fiend." The paladin reached out to hold Ren's chain mail and assist Andoralson.
"What about you, druid?" Ren was growing irritated.
"I specialize in the magic of illusions. When Gamaliel tipped us off, I checked for myself and found the fiend to be a fake."
The ranger huffed. "If that beast was such a fake, then why does this wound feel so real? Ouch!" He glared at Andoralson.
Evaine explained. "When you believe an illusion is real, you also believe its behavior to be real. The theory behind the magic is a bit complicated."
"You mean I could have died from something that wasn't there?"
"I'm afraid so. It's been known to happen."
"So why did the beast evaporate when it hit Andoralson's shield?"
The druid spoke up. "That was the oak shield Miltiades gave me from his tomb. It magically repels arrows and other attacks, so I took a chance on the abishai. I guess I got lucky."
The paladin's stern voice scolded the druid. "Luck. Bah. You should thank Tyr for your life." Andoralson nodded his apology to Miltiades.
"We should move on. We've got a long way to go." Gamaliel offered, trying to bring order.