Pools of Darkness (28 page)

Miltiades, ever vigilant, kept watch, quietly sharpening his sword. He removed his plate mail armor and meticulously polished each piece, then carefully oiled the leather straps. Turning over his breast plate, the paladin sighed as he caught his reflection in the metal. An unfamiliar face, not his usual bony self, stared back at him.

The paladin didn’t regret his appearance; rather, he considered it a privilege. After a millennium in the tomb, his god had chosen him for a holy quest and had given him a chance at redemption.

Buckling on his armor, Miltiades arose to pace the perimeter of the camp. He prayed silently to Tyr. “God of might and law, your servant is truly grateful for this chance at redemption. Grant that I may prove myself worthy. Grant that I may unselfishly complete your quest. Grant me strength that I may take no action except in your name and for your glory. Guide this humble servant into your light.” The paladin slowly circled the camp, repeating his prayer in a whisper. Completing a sixth circuit, he bowed in reverence to his god, then seated himself on a boulder to resume his watch.

Morning dawned with a chill breeze and the ever-present stormclouds. Andoralson was the first to rise. Gamaliel, tucked behind his mistress on her bedroll, followed the druid’s movements with his golden eyes. Seeing that the two of them were awake, Miltiades ducked into the trees for firewood. Andoralson busied himself at the edge of the clearing.

The druid picked away a patch of grass, weeds, and fungi, dug down a few inches, then planted several seeds. After humming a chant and adding blessed water and some sparkling dust, several tender sprouts pushed up from the ground.

Ren was now awake. His curiosity finally got the better of him. “Alright, druid. I watched you go through this ritual at least four times yesterday. Each time you planted some seeds, and, within minutes, a ring of seedlings started to grow. Why do you keep doing this?”

Andoralson looked up at Ren, smiling. He loved any opportunity to enlighten others about the wonders of the forest. The ranger could see he was in for a lecture.

“I’m helping to save the land. I’m not able to sense the mass of darkness Evaine tells us about. I can, however, see what the unknown evils are doing to the forests. The destruction must be stopped. I am following the good example of my cousin and doing my small part.” The druid brushed off his hands and took a seat near the fire, helping Miltiades to stoke up a blaze.

“The trees I’ve just planted will grow magically. If they are not disturbed for a week, they will grow into huge oaks, unusually resistant to fire, disease, and blades of all kinds. Each ring of seven trees will form a grove—a haven of goodness, if you will. The trees will help counter the effects of evil.”

Gamaliel jumped abruptly to his feet, sniffing the air.

Evaine announced the cat’s message. “Riders coming.”

The group readied their weapons, but left them concealed. They casually broke camp as they waited for the riders to approach. Long before the new group could be identified, Ren and the others heard their chanting. Evaine informed the group that Gamaliel smelled incense.

Andoralson cast a quick spell to mentally view the approaching horsemen.

“They’re clerics,” he observed. “There’s a group of seven who follow Ilmater. You’ll be able to tell by their gray tunics and tabards. One wears a red skullcap, indicating he is the leader. Take note if he has a gray teardrop tattooed under his left eye. Such a mark means he is a master of unusual power and dedication.

“There are ten other riders who are clerics of Torm. You can tell by the blinding shine on their plate armor, even under these gray skies. One has a blue tint to his plate armor, marking him as their leader. I’d guess him to be very powerful.”

Both groups of clerics were loudly singing different chants, apparently oblivious to the clamor their conflicting tunes created. One priest of each sect carried a smoldering censor, filling the air with a trail of smoky incense. The singing didn’t stop, even when the clerics discovered the travelers. The companions were on their feet, packing gear into saddlebags.

“Be ye friend or foe?” asked the cleric in the lead. The even tone of his voice and the scourge he hadn’t drawn told everyone he didn’t expect a fight. The other horsemen crowded into the clearing, arranging themselves so as not to alarm the strangers.

“Friends to those who would be our friends, foes to any who would slow our quest,” Ren said, nodding to both groups.

“Well spoken, for a warrior,” the cleric commented. The priest with the red skullcap gestured to the others, and his followers stopped their chanting and dismounted. The clerics of Torm held to their saddles but lowered their voices to a faint hum. The leaders of both groups stepped forward.

The cleric in blue plate mail shouted to his followers to cease their chanting. The smoke from the burning incense concentrated in the clearing, tainting the air with the smell of singed hair and stale, bitter herbs. The entire group grimaced as the odor washed over them. Gamaliel bared his teeth in a silent hiss.

“I am Bishop Painel,” announced the man wearing the red skullcap. The gray teardrop tattooed under his eye was now visible to Ren and the others. “My priests are on a quest of our own, along with the priests of Torm.” Painel deferred to his colleague.

“And I am Starnak, High Bishop of Torm. What is a ragged band such as yourselves doing here? Do you realize how dangerous this land has become?”

Without asking for consent, Painel moved to bless Evaine and the others. Gamaliel leaped between the cleric and his mistress, hissing at the intrusion.

“Good clerics,” Ren boomed in his most authoritative voice, “our quest is to find some friends who were stolen along with the entire city of Phlan. We plan to look for answers at a red tower.”

The clerics extinguished their pungent incense. The leaders looked upon Ren’s group in surprise.

“Isn’t this a coincidence?” Painel said calmly as he backed away from Gamaliel. “Our mighty gods have given us the quest of finding a red tower and expunging the evil there. Warrior, won’t you introduce us to the rest of your party?”

Ren quickly surveyed the others. “I am called Blade. Yonder is a warrior dedicated to Tyr, known as Ordean.” The ranger silently hoped that the clerics couldn’t see through the paladin’s illusion or sense that he was actually undead. “The lady is a wizard calling herself Anastasia—” Ren smiled, thinking Evaine wasn’t the only one who could think fast on her feet “—her familiar, the giant cat, is Fellinor. The druid—”

“This druid can introduce himself. I am called Acer, good clerics. Perhaps we can join forces to approach the red tower. What do you know of this magical structure?”

Evaine observed slight hand gestures among the clerics at the rear of the group. She knew they were probably casting spells of detection.

The sorceress cleared her throat loudly. She hoped she could stop the clerics before they discovered their real names and the truth about Miltiades. “Excuse me, but your spells of detection won’t work on us in the cloud of evil in which we find ourselves,” she called over the heads of the two leaders. “Magics of searching won’t work around the tower, either. You’ll just have to trust us.”

“Ah, trust—a charming concept, rarely given freely, is it not?” Painel asked. “Shall we compare knowledge of the tower before we decide whether to join forces?”

Four of his clerics began setting up strange poles, each with an iron gauntlet affixed to the top. The two lesser clerics of Ilmater walked between the poles, spreading the ashes from the incense burner.

Clerics are so odd, Ren thought to himself. He could never imagine such a life for himself.

“So, dear lady, please illuminate us on what your group knows,” Painel said. A small stool was placed between the poles and the bishop settled onto it with a grunt.

Evaine was not about to spill the whole truth until she knew more about these clerics. She could tell a little of the story, however. “My home was destroyed and a message was left behind stating that a wizard named Marcus was responsible. He is recruiting wizards to join him at the red tower.

“Through some difficult spells, I think I have determined that this Marcus is involved in Phlan’s disappearance. We hope to find him and learn what his terms are for the city’s return. I could tell you all the details of our journey, but I’m sure a man such as yourself would be bored with the exploits of our little band.” Evaine paused, waiting to hear the clerics’ reaction. Hoping to bait them, she added, “I’ve also discovered three abishai guard the area around the tower.”

The clerics were obviously intrigued. “We had no idea fiendkind were involved. The situation is much more serious if fiends from other planes are present.” Starnak reached into his cloak and drew out a parchment.

“Our clerics have been using every possible means to learn about the interior of the tower. Over a dozen have gone insane, ranting about the voice of evil just before they die tormented deaths. We know of a secret door leading to a spellcasting chamber, and there are many magically locked doors there. This parchment lists the three words used to unlock the door. Be warned, if you get that far. These words came via the rantings of insane clerics. We don’t know whether they’ll do any real good.”

Gamaliel nudged Evaine suddenly. Despite all this ridiculous incense, mistress, I suddenly detect the odor of sulfur. And a strange presence—similar to dragonfear, but not nearly as strong. Should we be concerned?

Evaine relayed the information. “My cat detects a strange smell and presence. I think perhaps the abishai have found us. Prepare for the battle of your lives!”

Ren, Andoralson, and Miltiades immediately reached for weapons. Gamaliel’s ears twitched as he listened for the approach of the fiends. The clerics barely moved.

Starnak paused, then raised his gauntleted hand in a clenched fist. Instantly, his clerics drew their weapons. Starnak swirled his hand twice as his followers began a magical chant, causing their weapons to glow with an eerie green luminescence. The clerics of Ilmater were outlined in a white glow.

Starnak addressed the companions. “I’d like to add your group to our circle of protection. Any defenses we can raise against these fiends may increase our odds of survival.”

Ren started to accept the offer, but Evaine interrupted. “We have our own special defenses that we prefer to use. We’ve found them to be most effective against nearly any beast.” Ren shot an angry glance at the sorceress, but Evaine ignored him.

“I’ve heard these types of creatures create an aura of fear as a weapon,” Evaine continued.

“Oh, sweet child,” Painel said, “If you allow yourselves to be protected by my clerics, fear will get no hold over you. Perhaps you should reconsider our offer.”

Evaine disregarded his words, further irritating Ren.

“Um, Acer, can you do anything to locate the beasts that might be preparing to attack us?” The sorceress hoped desperately that Andoralson would catch on to what she and Gamaliel already suspected.

“I can try. If only my cousin were here—she had the chalice whose mist could locate such creatures.”

Ren gave the sorceress and druid a confused look, but then gripped his huge sword with both hands, finally understanding the deception. Miltiades stood ready, ancient blade in hand.

The druid quickly spoke the words of a spell. Bluish purple fire poured from his hands and flowed toward the clerics. One by one, the false men evaporated into the magical mist until only three clerics, among them the two leaders, remained in the clearing.

“Now!” Evaine screamed. “Before they transform!”

The flaming stream of energy cast by the druid bent and curved, bathing the three figures in an outline of turquoise light. The three clerics shrieked unearthly screams as their flesh began to peel away.

Their presence discovered, the three creatures writhed and thrashed to free themselves, revealing a green, a black, and a red abishai. Miltiades and Ren landed solid sword blows on the red and the black fiends before they could complete the transformation. Gamaliel bounded around behind the green abishai, leaping on its back, tearing with all four clawed paws and ripping with enormous fangs. The monster let out an unearthly shriek as black ichor flowed down its back.

Even so, the red and the black abishai were able to leap into the air on huge bat wings. The green creature tried to take to the air also, but Gamaliel’s hold was firm. Two hundred pounds of cat made flight impossible.

The druid’s swirling blue fire continued to outline the creatures brightly, blinding them slightly. As the two monsters circled about the camp, hissing and spitting, Evaine and Andoralson continued to lob powerful spells at the fiends. The abishai screamed in pain as flashes of greenish white light burned into their wings and bodies. Yet the pain barely slowed them.

The red beast dropped out of the air onto Miltiades. The horrible creature’s talons and fangs ripped into his plate mail armor as if the metal were soft cheese. Its tail flailed wildly. In the struggle, the illusion around the paladin failed, revealing the skeleton’s true appearance. But his unnatural attacker barely noticed.

Evaine spread her fingers and shot eighteen white-hot jets of energy at the fiend grappling with Miltiades. Its shriek of pain pierced the air, spooking the horses. The abishai maintained its hold on the paladin, but Evaine could see that its wings hung in tatters. At least this monster was grounded.

Meanwhile, the black fiend flew straight at Ren. The ranger swung vigorously with his sword, but the abishai’s wings pounded him, allowing only one swing to find its mark. Black ooze spurted from the fiend’s thigh. Ren was dizzied by the attack but held his ground, gripping his weapon tightly.

Andoralson chanted loudly, trying hard to maintain his concentration. With a snap of his fingers, a searing white jet streaked toward the black abishai, landing squarely between its eyes. The monster roared in pain as its eyes were charred and blinded. It thrashed wildly, one of its claws raking Ren’s shoulder. The ranger’s chain mail tore open, blood spurting from the wound.