Melias, Ahleage, and Draga joined in eating, but the rest of the gathered crowd seemed to have already dined, for they were content to sip their mugs. Burne tipped his back and took a long draught, then set the mug down and wiped his sleeve across his mouth.
“Now that you know everyone,” Burned said, “perhaps Melias can explain why he is here and why the company has been formed.”
The warrior nodded at Burne and finished off his own mug before speaking.
“Yes. Well, as most of you know, ten years ago a blight of evil assailed these parts, a festering sore in the form of a foul temple dedicated to the worship of things dark and elemental.” An uncomfortable murmur rose up, and it was obvious to Shanhaevel that this discussion did not set well with some in the room. “The marshal of Furyondy, Prince Thrommel, raised an army to destroy this temple. Burne, Lanithaine, and I, among others, rode with the prince. At the Battle of Emridy Meadows, we scattered the forces of the temple. Most of their leadership was slain or captured, although a few managed to escape.” Melias paused at this point, obviously troubled by this fact. Clenching both his fists and his jaw, he took a deep breath and continued. “The temple itself was thrown down. The prince’s company, of which we were a part, was there to seal the place. However, recent activity in the area suggests that something may be stirring in or near the temple once again.”
The room erupted into chaos for the second time that night, and it took quite a bit of mug-banging on Burne’s part to restore the group to some semblance of order. Even after the men had quieted, many of the council members continued to mutter. Only the druid, Jaroo, and Rufus seemed unfazed by this revelation.
Hroth, the captain of the militia, spoke, and Shanhaevel leaned in, listening intently. “Are you telling me, sir, that the temple is growing again? Is that what this is about?”
Before Melias could answer, Burne explained. “Recently, there have been a rash of attacks along the trade routes near here, as everyone certainly knows.” There was more mumbling, along with several nods of assent. “These attacks have been far too well organized to be attributed to the normal depredations of the tribes. Someone or something is leading them. It is entirely possible that whoever—or whatever—is behind this would like to see the temple rise again. We won’t know for sure until we investigate.”
“If your suspicions are true,” Mytch, the miller, said, “we are no match for them. We’re farmers, not soldiers. Oh, sure, we stand in the field once a month and march around when Hroth tells us to, but we’re not up to fighting roving beasts on a regular basis. We need help.”
“Mytch is right,” agreed the mayor, whose soft voice seemed at odds with his position of authority. “This is how it started ten years ago, but we must not wait to act this time. The viscount must send an army immediately.”
As the clamor for aid arose, Burne raised his hands for silence. When the room was calm, he said, “That is why Melias is here. Of all the old companions who rode with the prince ten years ago, Melias stills serves King Belvor in Chendl, primarily as an advisor to the viscount here in Verbobonc. The king and the viscount have agreed that Melias can represent both of their interests in this matter, and he thus has instructions to assemble a company to search the area—specifically the remains of the old moathouse south and east of here. Once we can determine the extent of the threat, the king and the viscount will act jointly, sending whatever aid is required.”
Shanhaevel stopped eating and looked keenly at Burne. “That’s why you summoned Lanithaine? To join this company? Surely you realize he was too old to go gallivanting around the countryside any—”
The wizard waved the elf to silence. “It was never Lanithaine who was to go on this expedition. I needed him here for other reasons, to help me research something related to this trouble. It was you whom we both intended would join Melias.”
Shanhaevel’s jaw dropped at this revelation. Why didn’t Lanithaine tell me? What was he afraid of? This must have been what he was keeping to himself, but why?
Burne smiled at the elf as he said, “I know this must seem overwhelming to you. With Lanithaine’s death, there are new problems to solve.”
Nodding, Shanhaevel let all of this information settle, then looked up at Burne. “This moathouse? What is—or was—it?”
“An old stronghold in the swamps,” Burne replied. “It was an outpost for the temple, a mustering point for troops. It was besieged and defeated shortly after the Battle of Emridy Meadows, once the temple itself had been defeated…”
Melias cut in, looking somewhat pained “You mentioned before that you were attacked tonight by gnolls.” Shanhaevel inhaled sharply at the mention of the ambush that had slain his mentor. “How many of them attacked you?”
The elf grimaced. “Six of them. Lanithaine killed them before he died.”
“Did they have any markings, any insignias?” Melias asked, his hands on the table in front of him.
Shanhaevel nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “an eye, a flaming eye. Nothing I’ve ever seen before, but then, I’ve never been outside of—” He stopped suddenly, realizing he was about to admit that he had never left his home before.
“Those are the same markings mentioned by the other victims,” Melias said to Burne.
“Yes.” Burned nodded. “It seems as though they are spreading their activities farther afield.”
“If Ormiel had not been keeping a lookout for us,” Shanhaevel said, “I might have died, too.”
“Ormiel?” Ahleage asked. “Who’s that?”
Shanhaevel cringed, for he seldom liked mentioning his hawk companion to people.
“Ormiel is a friend of mine, a pet,” Shanhaevel replied. “You will meet him tomorrow.”
Shanhaevel realized he was clenching his jaw. The very thing Lanithaine was traveling to Hommlet to eradicate had instead brought about his own end. It should not have ended this way. If only he’d told me!
“Are you certain it was only gnolls?” Burne asked. “There was no one—or nothing—else with them?”
The elf shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on the conversation at hand. “Not that I could see, although I was in fairly deep woods—and it was night, so something could have been farther back, out of my line of sight—but they seemed to be acting on their own.”
“Hmm.” Burne mused, scratching behind one large ear. “We must not delay, then. Melias and his company will set out first thing tomorrow.”
“Aye,” muttered the mayor, and several others nodded in agreement. “How can we aid you?”
“The company will need supplies,” Melias said. “I have coin, of course, but the favor of the king and viscount will shine upon those who provide what we need at better than fair prices.”
There was another round of murmuring, but it faded away as Burne cut in, “Most of what you will need must come from the traders. Rannos and Gremag keep their own council, and few seem able to sway them from their profits. Whatever else we can provide, we will offer at no gain to ourselves.”
A few others muttered, but Burne’s stare quickly silenced these.
“I could use a couple more stout bodies to round out the group. I need a healer,” Melias said, looking toward Terjon, the priest of Saint Cuthbert, “and another strong arm, especially one who knows the land, would make me feel more at ease.”
Terjon frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I do not think Calmert, my assistant, is much of the soldiering type. I can, however, provide you with a potion or two of curative magic. With Saint Cuthbert’s blessing, of course.” The priest smiled, apparently feeling he had done his good deed for the day.