“Well, then, at least we know one of our own wasn’t besmirching our good name,” Shanhaevel quipped, moving beside the druid to gaze down at the body. “So what’s bothering you?”
Shirral grimaced. “Oh, nothing, except that she looks like she’s got some orcish blood in her.”
“Oh, a half-breed, huh?” Govin said, nodding. “Figures.”
“What does that mean?” Shirral said, turning to face the knight, her eyes smoldering.
Shanhaevel winced, dreading what was to come.
Govin blinked a couple of times, a look of puzzlement on his face, then his eyes widened. “No! That’s—” he sputtered. “I mean, I—That’s not what I meant!” He took a deep breath. “I was trying to point out that I was surprised an elf would be here at all. Many half-orcs are angry with their lot in life, shunned by both of their lineages. It made more sense to me that a half-breed would have fallen in with the temple than an elf. That’s all I meant.”
Shirral’s glare didn’t lessen much. “It’s not just half-orcs that are shunned by both lineages. In most people’s eyes, a half-breed is a half-breed, regardless of the blood mixed together.”
Govin’s face grew very serious. “Shirral of the wood, daughter of the earth and sky, you have my solemn word as a servant of Saint Cuthbert that your lineage is of no concern to me. You are a steady and true companion. I respect your friendship and would never disparage your heritage.”
Shirral’s countenance softened. “All right, Govin. Thank you.”
“Well, regardless of her bloodlines,” Elmo said, standing, “we have a bigger problem on our hands.”
The huge axeman still looked shaken.
“What’s wrong?” Shanhaevel asked.
“It could have just been coincidence,” Elmo replied, shaking his head, “but she”—he pointed at the dead half-orc—“called him Falrinth.”
“So?” Shirral asked, removing a pair of earrings and a belt from the woman.
“Falrinth was the name of a wizard who rode with Thrommel ten years ago,” Elmo answered. “Burne told me once that Falrinth was a key to their efforts to destroy the demon. When he fell during the battle and was carried off by temple forces, the rest of them were forced to revise their plan, sealing the demon inside the temple rather than confronting and destroying her. They all grieved for the loss of their friend. Burne has presumed all these years that Falrinth was killed.”
“And now you think this might be him?” Shanhaevel asked. “The same Falrinth?”
“It’s quite possible,” Elmo replied, “They might have broken him instead of killing him, turned him to their cause. He may be one of the main resources the temple leaders are using to hunt for the key. His knowledge of the demon’s power was extensive.”
“Burne must know of this,” Shirral said. “We have to figure out a way to get him a message.”
“If we can get to the surface,” Draga cut in, “one of us could ride for Hommlet.”
“That’s a big if,” Elmo said. “First, we have to find a way past that army. Plus, we must see what can be done about Ahleage.”
Everyone turned, suddenly remembering their petrified friend. A wave of despair passed through them as they beheld Ahleage’s frozen form. It seemed as though the palpable evil of the temple weighed even more heavily upon them.
No, Shanhaevel insisted to himself. Don’t let it wear you down. Fight it!
“I don’t understand,” Govin said. “You told us the image was false. Why, then, is he cursed so? Would not the effects also be fake?”
Shanhaevel nodded. “Except that the image seemed real enough to him. He believed he was going to be petrified… and so he is—at least in his mind.” Shanhaevel considered. “If that’s true…”
Shanhaevel hurried over to where Ahleage stood, frozen in place. He examined the man carefully, studying the skin and clothing. To his surprise—or rather lack of it, now—Ahleage was not made of stone at all. The wan light cast from their lanterns had only made him look like stone. He was only totally and completely rigid.
“Of course!” Shanhaevel said. “He’s only petrified in his mind.”
“Then he can be saved!” Draga said, the relief evident in his voice.
“Well, maybe.” Shanhaevel frowned. “Actually, even had he truly been turned to stone, there are ways to reverse it, but it still requires special dispelling magic to do so. I know of such a spell, but I would have to spend some time studying before I cast it.”
“I could do it,” Shirral said quietly. The druid stepped forward as Shanhaevel turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “I think I can reverse the condition.”
“Your magic allows for dispellings?” the wizard asked.
Shirral nodded, closed her eyes, and prayed. Shanhaevel took a deep breath, hoping this would be the right course. As Shirral muttered her prayers, the rest of the group gathered around, waiting expectantly. After several long moments, Shirral placed a hand upon Ahleage’s rigid arm and murmured the final words of her prayer.
There was a faint blue flash that cascaded across Ahleage’s body, and in the next instant he was yelling and backing up, his shield still in front of him. He backed right into Draga, who caught hold of his companion and held him steady. Ahleage’s head whipped about when he realized his whole frame of reference had changed in what for him had been a mere instant.
“Wha—? What happened?” Ahleage asked, regaining his balance. “Where’s the, the thing?” He gestured in the direction where the basilisk had been.
Shanhaevel sighed in relief and joy—more joy than he thought he could feel in this accursed place. On impulse, he decided to tease Ahleage. “Thing? What thing? We heard you yell, we ran around the corner, and we found you like this.”
“No! There was a thing, a beast! I saw it!”
“Hmm,” Elmo said, playing along. “There’s nothing there. You must have been seeing things.”
“I was not!” Ahleage growled indignantly. “It was right there!”
“Easy, Ahleage,” Draga said, patting his friend on one shoulder. “It probably scurried under the door right before we got here.”
The bowman snickered, and Shirral covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.
“Oh, I get it,” Ahleage said, turning from companion to companion, seeing the smiles on all their faces. “Just having a little fun with me, huh?”
At that, everyone grinned openly, born of both the humor and the relief that their companion was safe and recovered.
“You were affected by powerful magic,” Shanhaevel explained, still grinning. “You were tricked by an illusion to believe you had been petrified. Shirral returned you to normal.”
Ahleage blinked, looking around at the group, and finally settling on the druid. “Th-thanks,” he muttered at last.
“Oh, you’re more than welcome,” Shirral said sweetly. “It’s the least I could do for those friends of mine who pretend to be dying of poison.”
Everyone chuckled, but the oppressiveness of the temple caused the mirth to subside quickly, and the group returned to the business at hand. Ahleage accepted a magical weapon and armor obtained from the dead assassin.
As they were preparing to move on, Shanhaevel remembered the two vague forms standing near the flaming fountain. With a little study, the elf determined that they were magical constructs, invisible servants that wizards often summoned to perform menial labor. These two had worked together to light the oil in the fountain, which had lit the place upon Ahleage’s arrival.
“I’ll wager that the half-orc woman was Falrinth’s bodyguard,” Shanhaevel commented as they prepared to check the doors leading off the wide passage.
“Perhaps we’ll find out beyond these portals,” Govin said as he opened the first of the doors.
“Just go slowly,” Shanhaevel warned. “Both Shirral and I have burned off a lot of our spells. If we run into trouble, we’d better be ready to turn back fast.”