"Tarl, we've seen a lot of adventure in our lives, but are you ever unhappy that we never had children?"
The cleric was taken aback. This subject had a way of popping up when he was least prepared. He tried to soothe Shal although he wasn't sure of his own feelings. "If the gods want us to have children, we'll have children."
"But we-"
"Shhh. Don't think about it right now. You need to relax and try to sleep." Shal opened her mouth, but Tarl pressed a finger to her lips. The wizard gave up and settled into his arms.
The tower suddenly shook as a colossal lightning bolt struck the center of Phlan. "Did you feel that?" Tarl asked. "Really, my love-"
"Shut up, Tarl! Let me out of bed!" Shal whipped back the blankets, jumped to her feet, and paced over to a wardrobe. "Oh gods, something horrible has happened. I just know it. Tarl, get dressed. We have to go outside." The sorceress was already tugging a robe over her head. The cleric blinked at her, confused.
"Shal, it's all right. It's only the storm."
"It's not the storm! Something dire has happened. I can sense it. Please, please put some clothes on. We have to go out. Hurry!"
Tarl shambled over to his wife, whose eyes were filling with tears. "It's alright, sweetheart. I believe you. We'll go out." He yanked on breeches and a tunic and pulled on a pair of boots. Reaching for a heavy warhammer, he took his wife's hand and led the way down the stairs.
"Listen," she said ominously. "The rain stopped."
Phlan's walls were a flurry of motion. Troops moved through drills they had practiced dozens of times. All around the city walls, the fields and grasslands were dotted with magical lights that would betray the approach of any enemy. Tar-covered logs stood ready to be lighted and dropped on foot soldiers who might attempt to climb the wall. Baskets of sharp caltrops were scattered onto the ground, waiting to pierce the feet of advancing troops. Catapult teams loaded and cranked down enormous buckets of rock without waiting to catch first sight of the enemy.
"Hssst. Ston! See anything?" Tulen's voice was a gravelly whisper.
"Nothin'. That's what scares me."
"Uh… gentlemen," Jarad stammered. "Where did the moon go?"
"What?"
"The moon. It's gone. It was hard to see anyway-what with the storm and all-but the clouds have broken and, uh, it's completely gone."
"He's right, Tulen. Look up. No moon. No clouds. Whooo, I've got a baaaaad feeling about this."
"Steady yerselves, men. Yer as nervous as bridegrooms. We're tougher than anything that's out there."
"Ha!" Ston spat. "Sorcery! I know it is. I can feel it. Give me critters to fight, and I'm happy. Orcs, skeletons, even a dragon or two-I'll battle 'em-but keep that magic stuff away. It's too creepy. Why, I remember-"
"Shush!" Tulen ordered. "Listen!"
As the men squinted over the wall, hundreds of soldiers materialized within the circle of lights. The soldiers did not ride out of the darkness; instead, they sprang up as if growing from the grass itself.
"I knew it! I told you! Sorcery!" Ston gurgled.
"Shut up and start firing!" Tulen punched his friend. "We've been in worse!" Already, two bolts had whooshed out of Tulen's crossbow.
Farther down the wall stood the city's largest gates. Named the Death Gates by Phlan's citizens in honor of the thousands of monsters and mercenaries who had died there over the years, they were usually the hub of any battle.
As enemy warriors swarmed toward the walls, they were greeted by barrels of hot oil pouring down from above. As the liquid spread, wizards flew high out of reach of the attackers, casting spells to ignite the oil. Blazes flared; grass, walls, and soldiers were caught in the flames. The enemy troops were driven back by the intense heat.
The volley of crossbow fire never ceased. As more attackers arrived, more and more of the enemy fell to the expert aim of Phlan's crossbowmen.
When the flames along the wall died, the enemy renewed its press. The city's heavy artillery teams ignited the tar-coated logs and dropped them over the wall. Dozens of enemies were crushed and burned, and dozens more were turned back.
Far from the field of battle, far from danger, the wizard who commanded the enemy forces watched the assault. He was gleeful-an odd thing since his troops were dying in great numbers and his forces had not yet struck a telling blow. The denizens of Phlan did not suspect the worst: the wizard's magic had stolen the entire city and dropped it into a cavern deep below his tower. Bane would be pleased. The wizard would gain more power than he ever dreamed possible.
It only remained to conquer Phlan's citizens and strip away their souls using the pool of darkness. He assumed those tasks were to be the easiest parts of his plot.
His troops were formidable. Humans were shoulder to shoulder with pig-faced orcs. Scaly lizard men fought alongside bug-eyed goblins and hobgoblins. Every soldier was tough and battle-hardened. They had the proper respect for their leader, a Red Wizard from the faraway land of Thay. The troops had been offered an enormous amount of gold for an easy mission. In addition to their payment, they would be allowed any loot they could carry away.
The wizard pounded a fist. "Where are my fiends?"
Instantly a black mist formed next to the angry sorcerer. Within moments, it writhed and coalesced into a twelve-foot-tall ebony horror, whose rumbling voice startled the wizard. "Your bidding, Lord Marcus?"
The Red Wizard glared at his servant. "We're looking bad out there!" he hissed. "Summon your minions and get busy! Those weaklings can't stand up to the power of a pit fiend and his hellish followers. Your unit alone should scare them into surrender! Now go!" Marcus pounded his fist again. His face flushed crimson to match his robes.
The winged monstrosity nodded at its master. It flexed its banded muscles and stretched its arms and feet, revealing sharp talons larger than a man's hand. Green ooze dripped from two tusks protruding from the beast's mouth. As the liquid splashed to the ground, wisps of smoke arose from the blackened earth. Although the creature resembled a gargoyle, anyone could see that its power was a hundredfold greater. The monster's crusty skin creaked and scraped as it called out for its minions. Black sparks leaped from its body.
One by one, other black forms from the bowels of the Nine Hells arrived. Foul clouds of mist formed around the pit fiend, swirling into solid forms. Dwarfed by their master, the three-foot-tall beasts were nonetheless horrifying to behold. Vaguely human in shape, each had spiky wings and a tail. The monsters hopped about on sharply taloned feet as a smell like charred flesh filled the air. Each of the twelve creatures carried a sharpened black trident. The mob slobbered and hissed in anticipation of the impending onslaught.
The Red Wizard's rage turned to a gloat. "Spinagons! What fine creatures! These beasts will terrify the puny mortals! Now go! My prize will be the souls of Phlan, and I do not intend to wait!" Marcus's eyes blazed, and he waved a hand at the hideous assembly. The pit fiend flapped its wings and lifted off the ground, its minions following closely.
The defenders of Phlan were turning back their attackers with ease. Bodies piled up outside the walls, while less than a dozen city guards had been pronounced dead by the priests. Many of Phlan's wounded were healed by clerics and soon returned to their posts. Those who were seriously injured were carried to churches that stood ready to serve as infirmaries.
Catapult teams tirelessly fired and reloaded their weapons. Archers delivered a constant stream of arrows into the charging enemies. Wizards arrived from all over the city and hovered high above the battle, casting spells of fire, lightning, ice, and magical energy. The hobgoblin troops in the enemy forces broke ranks and fled the field.