Kobort nodded solemnly.
“All right,” Melias said, “Ahleage, lead the way. Check the entire place for weak spots, and go slowly!”
“Hey, you don’t have to remind me,” the man replied, starting forward cautiously.
Shanhaevel had to resist the urge to reach out and grab Ahleage. Damn it, he chided himself, what has you so spooked? He still couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong.
With Ahleage in the lead, the group worked its way down the passage, which ran for about twenty yards before turning a corner. Beyond the turn, there was the faint glow of torchlight.
Shanhaevel tried to convince himself that his doubts were foolish, but the nagging feeling would not go away.
Ahleage reached the turn and went around the corner, everyone else close behind him. When Shanhaevel reached the bend, he looked around in surprise. At the turn, the passage opened into a room—a room filled with a large, crude wooden table surrounded by similarly constructed chairs. Crates and barrels of goods were stacked along the walls—foodstuffs, weapons, armor, and blankets—enough to supply a small army. A door was set into the wall to one side, but there was no collapse anywhere, and no one about. A lone torch crackled in a sconce on one wall.
“Zert’s in there,” Kobort whispered, pointing to a far corner, where Shanhaevel could now see a second room off the first.
Just then, it dawned on Shanhaeveclass="underline" The frogs! Kobort had never mentioned his party being attacked by the frogs.
He was about to call to Melias when about half a dozen dirty, armed men rose up from hiding places on the far side of the table. A couple of them leveled crossbows at the group. At that same moment, another cluster, including a handful of gnolls, stepped out from the second room, brandishing swords. Each of the companions froze, although Draga immediately took aim with his bow at the chest of the closest man to him.
“Mother of Ralishaz,” Ahleage snarled. “You bastards!”
Shanhaevel turned to where the man was glaring. Turuko and Zert were among the group of men on the far side of the table.
Only a heartbeat or two later, a third contingent of men appeared, coming up behind the companions from the corridor Kobort had led them through to get here.
They were surrounded.
Fool! Shanhaevel admonished himself. It was right in front of me. Why didn’t I see it sooner?
“He lied,” Shanhaevel said. “They never fought the frogs.”
“What?” Melias snapped, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. “What are you talking about?”
“He said they went in through the front, but the frogs didn’t get them. I should have realized it sooner. I’m sorry.”
“Help, please help,” Turuko said mockingly, an unfriendly smile on his face. “I’ve been buried alive, and Zert’s leg is broken.” He laughed, then said, “Lay your weapons on the ground and kick them away. Now!”
Melias growled in fury, but several crossbows were aimed in his direction, and he stayed his hand. Slowly, he pulled his sword free and set it on the floor. Following the soldier’s lead, Draga relaxed his bow and tossed it away. The rest of the companions followed suit, and soon, all their weapons lay out of reach. Melias glared at Kobort, who had joined his companions.
Turning to the door, the crimson-robed Turuko called out, “Master Lareth, we have them.”
A moment later, the door along the side of the room swung open wide. Framed in the doorway was a large man, dressed in shining plate mail with the flaming eye emblazoned on the chest plate. His face was hidden by a helm, but the malevolence that radiated from him nearly made Shanhaevel choke. In one hand, the man wielded a mace, and in the other, he held a staff. He stepped into the room and crossed to Melias. The soldier involuntarily flinched from the palpable evil emanating from the helmed figure, though he refused to back down.
“I am Lareth, priest and master of this place,” the man said, looking from person to person before him, “and you are nothing before the might of the Elemental Temple. You will now die at my pleasure.”
Then, in a single, graceful motion, the man struck, first hitting Melias squarely in the chest with one end of the staff, then swinging at Ahleage with the other. Ahleage leaped back out of range of the attack, but the blow against Melias sent a shower of sparks cascading over the warrior, who cried out for an instant in pain. That cry was short lived, though, for Lareth finished his attack by swinging the mace up directly in Melias’ face. The warrior crumpled limply to the ground, his face a pulpy mess of blood, tissue, and shattered bone.
Shanhaevel found himself rooted to the spot, horrified by what he was witnessing but unable to move. The filthy, clinging feel of evil that emanated from this heinous man threatened to choke him. No one else seemed able to react, either.
Chaos engulfed the room as Lareth’s troops surged forward, ready to cut down the disarmed prisoners where they stood. The remaining companions crouched defensively, pressed together, back to back. Ahleage had daggers in his hands. Shanhaevel flinched as several crossbows went off, but none of the missiles struck him—although one bolt whizzed by so closely that he felt the wind from its fletching as it passed his nose. He tried as best as he could to ignore the confusion welling up around him and concentrate instead on casting magic. In the back of his mind, he prayed it would be enough.
Shanhaevel spread his fingers wide and pointed them at Lareth, uttering a single magical phrase. The elven wizard engulfed the malevolent priest in great gouts of flame, spraying him with charring heat. Beyond him, the other ambushers flinched away from the scorching flames. Shanhaevel hoped that Lareth would be consumed or wounded enough so that he would back away from the fight. When the spell faded, the smell of smoke hung thick in the dim light of the room. Both companions and ambushers paused, staring in Lareth’s direction.
The evil priest appeared untouched by the fire.
“Boccob!” Shanhaevel breathed in dismay.
Lareth laughed. His voice boomed in the place, echoing in the chamber, and the vileness of his evil washed over the companions like a foul vapor, turning Shanhaevel’s stomach.
“Kill them!” he said and stepped forward to engage the elf.
Draga darted between Shanhaevel and Lareth. The bowman let out a ferocious roar and lunged forward, bull-rushing the priest, grabbing him by the collar, and flinging him backward against the wall. Lareth grunted from the force of the blow, but he quickly shoved back, easily pushing Draga away from him.
Rolling to his side and away from that fight, Shanhaevel came up next to Shirral, who cried out in a language the elf had never heard before. She was instantly wielding a blade of fire in her hand, a glowing scimitar of flame.
Magic, Shanhaevel thought admiringly. Magnificent!
The druid and the wizard faced an advancing cadre of gnolls who were grinning and barking as they closed the distance. Every one of them held a large axe, and a few even had a shield. Shanhaevel began to cast again, hoping Shirral could keep the nasty humanoids at bay long enough for him to summon the magic. With the utterance of another simple enchantment, he gestured at the wall of menacing gnolls, and three of them slumped to the ground in a deep sleep, leaving the fourth still up, now dropping into a defensive crouch and eyeing the flaming blade in the druid’s hand.
Get him, Shirral, the elf silently urged the druid, then turned to see how the others were faring. He nearly had his head taken off by Kobort, who had come up behind him, sword held high. Shanhaevel dived away, scrambling to stay clear of the furious Kobort, who had swung at the elf full force and was just now regaining his balance.
The man glared at Shanhaevel, nostrils flaring. “You’re dead, tree-boy!” he growled, advancing again and swinging his blade back to strike.