Falrinth was on the verge of casting a spell that Shanhaevel recognized—the flaming ball of fire the elf had used several times before. Shanhaevel opened his mouth to shout a warning, but before he could utter a word, Ahleage threw a dagger, and the blade blossomed in the other wizard’s shoulder. Crying and stumbling backward in pain, Falrinth lost his concentration, and the spell he had been about to unleash failed. Snarling in anger, Falrinth reached inside his robes and removed a small length of wood, polished dark with age, and ducked to avoid further injury.
Shanhaevel frowned when he saw the wand in the other wizard’s hand. He quickly cast a spell of his own, summoning three of the glowing green missiles and directing them unerringly toward Falrinth. As the other wizard raised his arm to use the wand, the missiles struck him in rapid succession, causing him to howl in renewed pain.
Shanhaevel followed with a new spell, launching the acidic arrow that he had used to slay Falrinth’s imp, but Falrinth had taken enough. He turned away and scampered into the darkness of the opposite corridor. The magical arrow of acid fell harmlessly to the floor where he had been only moments before.
Her flaming blade in hand, Shirral was battling a pair of grim-looking men, each of them wielding a short spear. Govin and Ahleage, meanwhile, had waded through the thickest clump of the enemy and found themselves pressing the attack against the force of temple followers from both sides, trapping them.
With practiced ease, Shanhaevel summoned his spell of sleeping and put the few remaining combatants down. As the handful of men-at-arms and bugbears slumped to the ground, Ahleage moved in to finish them with his dagger. Shanhaevel gaped at him.
“No, Ahleage!” the elf cried out, causing the man to pause.
“They would release a demon on the world!” Ahleage said. “We can’t leave them here to destroy the door after we’re gone. If there was another way, I’d take it, but there isn’t. Blood for blood, wizard.”
Shanhaevel shook his head. “They cannot get near the door to ignite the powder. Only Falrinth can do that, with his magic. Leave them to their fates.”
“I won’t risk it,” Ahleage replied “A flaming arrow, a hurled lantern or torch… You convinced me to come here, to save the world from this festering evil. Well, I’m here, now, and I’m going to make sure it gets done. Turn away if you cannot watch.”
Resigned, Shanhaevel turned away, trying hard not to listen. He concentrated instead on Shirral, who was looking at him with sorrowful eyes.
“Does the evil of the temple wash over us?” he asked her softly. “Does it win in the end, then?”
“The lesser of two…” the druid whispered, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. “Our sorrow at committing even the lesser evil is what separates us from evil.”
Shanhaevel nodded, feeling great sadness in his heart, because he realized Shirral was right. “I understand, now, why Lanithaine never talked about his experiences during the war,” the elf said quietly. “In war, the line that separates the two sides of conflict grows perilously narrow.”
Govin looked back at his companions, and his gaze fell finally on Ahleage, whose bloody dagger was still grasped in his hand. The knight frowned. “There will be too much killing before this day is over,” he said. “May Cuthbert have mercy on us all.”
“Come on,” Ahleage said, wiping the dagger on a dead bugbear’s cloak. “We still have a wizard to catch.”
25
Shanhaevel and the rest of the Alliance crept through a wide corridor decorated with gruesome murals. The elf’s stomach roiled as he passed images of demons frolicking upon some great battlefield, dancing and playing among their vanquished foes—suffering humans, elves, gnomes, and dwarves. The defeated lay in agony, battered and broken. Claiming the bodies of the victims were horrid growths—great pools of vile substances, fungal sprouts of every conceivable shape and color, molds, and other things the wizard could not identify. Shanhaevel forced himself to stare at the floor, avoiding the hideous imagery.
The passage led gently downward, bisected occasionally by sets of broad stairs and smaller side passages. Falrinth had escaped, fleeing through several winding passages and stairwells, deeper into the temple. His wounds had left a discernable trail of blood, and the chase led the group to this vile passageway. Now Shanhaevel could see the faint glow of light where the hallway opened into a much larger space ahead.
Elmo, who was now in the lead with Govin, held up a hand, signaling the group to halt. Shanhaevel paused in midstride, listening intently. After a long, breathless moment, the word was passed back: A great chamber lies ahead. Be ready for an attack.
Sorting through the magic he had prepared, Shanhaevel selected a couple of useful spells and steeled himself for the coming conflict.
Quietly, Elmo started forward again, treading softly upon the great black flagstones of the corridor and into the vast chamber beyond. One by one, the rest of the Alliance followed him in, fanning out. The warriors took the lead. Shanhaevel and Shirral remained near the back, out of harm’s way but ready to cast spells when needed. The place was obviously a temple, and Shanhaevel scanned the great room, taking in the details and looking for hidden threats.
The vast chamber was a rough U shape, with the hallway through which the group had entered connecting to the bottom of the curve. Several smaller passages led off, four to a side, along the outer perimeter. A great altar atop a raised dais, with steps leading up to it, dominated the center of the chamber. A great red cloth, embroidered with the elemental symbol for fire, covered the altar. Behind the altar was a great purple curtain that writhed and undulated in some unfelt breeze. To either side of the altar and set back a little were two great statues, each twenty feet tall. To the left, the statue was of an old man, except that the head was that of a horned and grinning skull. The right-hand statue was the great bulbous fungal thing Shanhaevel had seen in his vision. He cringed, realizing that the two statues depicted Iuz and his demoness consort, Zuggtmoy.
Flanking the altar were a pair of golden columns that rose to the ceiling, well over fifty feet above the floor. The ceiling itself had been decorated to appear as a night sky full of bright, twinkling stars. All along the walls, near the ceiling, were a series of flying buttresses, atop which sat hideous gargoyles that leered down at everything below. The walls, as well as the floor, were of the deepest onyx, unblemished with any further decoration. Torches flickered along the walls at even intervals, casting weak light throughout.
At that moment, a lone figure, dressed in the blackest armor with the stylized symbol of Iuz painted in bright gold upon the breastplate, stepped into the room, passing through the shimmering curtain and walking past the altar. It was the same man Shanhaevel had seen through his spell, out in the snow, when the second door had been demolished.
Upon seeing the six intruders, the figure stopped, contemplating the group for a moment. Slowly, almost casually, the figure removed its helmet.
The man behind the helmet wore his hair short and his face was clean-shaven. He smirked slightly, though his fingers drummed frantically upon the helmet under his arm.
“Well, at last we come face to face,” the man said, his rich and deep voice echoing strangely in the large chamber and confirming that this was, indeed, Hedrack. “Falrinth told me you were on your way. You do prove yourselves time and again as more than a mere annoyance, don’t you? I, Hedrack, Mouth of Iuz, high priest of the Elemental Temple, salute you.” Hedrack bowed low, sweeping his arms out to either side.
Govin, who was standing the closest to the man, took a couple of steps forward and said, “I am Sir Govin Dahna, knight of Saint Cuthbert. I bring the light of truth and goodness into this unholy place. Surrender, Hedrack, and be spared my wrath.”