“Surrender?” The high priest laughed. “To you? I think not. You have done nothing, proven nothing! This is the Elemental Temple’s finest hour! The elements will feast upon your souls before this day is through, Sir Govin Dahna.” He laughed again, turned, and disappeared through the curtain once more.
Govin growled and took two more steps forward, intent on pursuing the man, when chaos erupted.
From out of nowhere, a torrent of ice rained down upon the group. Thin, cutting shards sliced through the air, shredding clothing and skin alike. Govin dropped to one knee and held his shield over his head. Shanhaevel spun away from the center of the storm, shielding his face with his arm as the splinters of ice slammed against him. He could feel the stinging needles stabbing at him from everywhere, and the pain was fierce. Suddenly, he found himself free of the attack, and he spun around again, looking for evidence of where it had come from. He could spot nothing.
Frowning, the elf drew upon the energies he was so used to shaping and molding now, hoping they would reveal to him where magic was being used. As he opened himself to the magic and spoke the words of the spell, he was struck as something dark and swift shot past him, raking him with horribly sharp claws. He felt the talons drag across his back, trenching deep gouges in his flesh.
The wizard cried out and fell forward, losing control of the magic he had been gathering. He tumbled and rolled onto his back. He brought his arms up to ward off the next attack and saw something dart past, only inches away from his face. As the thing circled and turned to come at him again, he saw now that it was a gargoyle—a flying abomination, magically animated, from the buttresses overhead.
Scrambling to his knees, Shanhaevel waited for the next attack, and when the gargoyle soared close, he swung his staff up hard, catching the thing across the front of the wing. There was a sickening crack, and the gargoyle swerved away, flying haphazardly to the floor and landing hard. Shanhaevel saw other gargoyles swarming about, but he ignored them for the moment as he rose to his feet, trying to see what was happening to his companions.
Everyone was engaged in a fierce battle. A host of ogres and trolls had rushed in during the ice attack to swarm the companions. Shanhaevel turned to put his back against a wall, hoping to secure some bit of defense against the flying attacks of the gargoyles. Pressing himself firmly against the wall, he cast, praying to Boccob in the back of his mind to allow him time to make good use of the magic.
He prepared a bolt of lightning to catch several ogres that had formed up in a rank opposite Govin, Draga, and Shirral. As he completed the final words of the spell, he took aim with his line of sight, but a troll suddenly loomed over him, seemingly appearing from thin air. Both of its huge, clawed hands drew back, ready to strike. In his surprise, Shanhaevel yelped and fell back, unable to set the lightning where he had intended. Instead, the bolt struck from above. The troll raked out, snapping Shanhaevel across the head with one claw an instant before the lightning engulfed it. The creature shrieked as the electrical energy coursed through its flesh, killing it.
Shanhaevel was knocked sideways and tumbled to the floor, his vision blurred and hindered with streams of light. His ears rang from the thunder of the lightning, and his whole body felt numb. Even as he tried to rise, he was knocked sideways again as something plowed into him, scoring a direct hit on his ribs. With the air knocked from his lungs, Shanhaevel gasped and dropped to the floor once more, breathless and defenseless. As his vision was just beginning to clear, he saw yet another dark form hurtling toward him from overhead. He tried to roll away, but his muscles would not work.
At the moment it seemed that the flying gargoyle would plow directly into him, a blade slashed out—a blade of flame that ignited Shanhaevel’s vision all over again, arcing through the air and slicing the gargoyle cleanly in two. The two parts of the flying beast tumbled apart and bounced like stone as they hit the ground and bounded away into some dark recess of the chamber.
Shanhaevel blinked, trying to clear his vision. His head throbbed from the blow of the troll, and his breath was still shallow. He was pretty certain one of his ribs was cracked, and the wounds across his back were bleeding.
In front of him, Shirral stood her ground, brandishing her blade of flame at anything that moved close. As Shanhaevel rose painfully to his feet, he caught sight of a new streak of light out of the corner of his eye. From behind the terrible statue of Iuz, three glowing green missiles shot into view, blazing across the distance and heading straight toward Shirral. The druid saw the attacks coming, but she was not fast enough to avoid them. All three of the missiles slammed into her chest, knocking her backward and making her cry out in pain.
Growling in frustration and anger, Shanhaevel managed to get to his feet even as Shirral sank down to one knee. He moved beside her, even though he saw an ogre approaching them. Reaching down, the elf grabbed the druid’s shoulder and tried to help her stand. Shirral struggled to her feet, still wielding the blade of flame, and turned to face the ogre as it neared, a large axe in its hands.
Working quickly, Shanhaevel cast, muttering the words to a spell and aiming his own missiles at the beast rearing up before Shirral. Guided by his sight and mind, all three of the green missiles shot from his finger and hammered into the ogre’s arm and shoulder. Shirral darted in and cut low, raking her blade of flame across its knees and sending it staggering back, howling in pain. The druid pressed the attack, cutting again and again as the beast reeled from the onslaught and finally fell.
Shanhaevel turned to see who else needed his help and spotted Ahleage, surrounded by two ogres and a troll. Pursing his lips, the elf rushed between them and set off another spell, summoning magical black tentacles and positioning them behind the two ogres. Immediately, the tentacles sprang up and writhed outward, seeking anything to grab. They found the ogres’ legs. As the tentacles enveloped the beasts’ limbs, the ogres screamed and tried to beat them away, flailing at the magical constructs with their clubs. Ahleage darted away, free at last to engage the troll.
As Shanhaevel turned, looking where his help was needed next, he spied a movement at the huge purple curtain. Narrowing his eyes, Shanhaevel saw an arm holding a thin wand that was stained dark with age. The wand was aimed at where Elmo, Draga, and Govin were engaged in a running battle with several large foes. A thin white beam sprang forth from the wand, and Shanhaevel saw his three companions engulfed in another of the magical storms of ice.
Grimacing, Shanhaevel prepared a spell of his own, waiting and watching. When the arm appeared again, he let his spell fly. A tiny cinder shot forth from his fingertip and streaked across the room to the figure hiding behind the curtain. When the cinder reached its target, it detonated, blossoming into a mammoth ball of flame that expanded in a heartbeat and then vaporized almost as quickly.
Falrinth staggered out from behind the curtain and fell forward, his burned and smoking form tumbling against the base of the altar. Nodding in satisfaction, Shanhaevel started forward to determine the wizard’s condition, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw another movement. Ahleage darted forward, daggers in his hands.
“Ahleage, no!” Shanhaevel cried out, but the man was too fast and did not hesitate. Reaching the downed wizard, Ahleage raised his daggers high, but he never finished the killing blow. The curtain sprang to life, writhing violently and shooting forth several dark tendrils that struck his leg.
Ahleage cried out and stumbled away even as Shanhaevel came to him. The man fell to the floor, trembling. To Shanhaevel’s horror, Ahleage’s leg atrophied before the elf’s eyes, shrinking and darkening almost to nothing in a matter of seconds. Ahleage, almost delirious from the pain, rolled about, clutching his rotting limb futilely and screaming for someone, anyone, to help him, to make the pain go away.