"What my cousin means is that we have been ordered to help you. We only want to restore nature's balance. You can understand that, can't you?" Talenthia was difficult for Ren to resist, but resist he continued to do.
The ranger wiped his hands on the grass. "I want to thank you both for the delicious meal, but I must go visit with the town council. I appreciate your offer, but you and your god will have to find Phlan without me. I don't have any plans right now, but I like to move as opportunities arise. You two would just slow me down."
The ranger gave them the friendliest smile he could muster, mounted Stolen, and waved good-bye.
Talenthia watched until Ren and his horse became specks in the distance. "Wasn't he handsome, Andoralson? I'm so glad Sylvanus sent us to help him."
"Talenthia, why must you always flirt? If they're tall and have a little gray hair, you fall all over them." Her cousin was obviously irritated, but he attempted to put his feelings aside. "He appears very confident. I like the fact that he didn't jump at our offer. We obviously have to prove ourselves to this one. The town council session ought to do it, don't you think?"
"Just what we need, Cousin. We should pack our gear and get moving." The woman's eyes twinkled. "And don't act as if you've never flirted before!" Her cousin blushed. The druids spoke a magical syllable and were instantly transformed into huge golden eagles. Lifting into the air, they set out for the council. They would arrive there long before Ren.
The ranger was deeply troubled. He tried to put the pair of druids out of his thoughts, but the woman's figure kept slipping into his mind. Gods, she was beautiful.
"Stolen, let's get back to the tents. I want to be in New Phlan long before the sun sets!"
The huge horse galloped across the grasslands at its best speed. Its massive, rippling muscles tirelessly carried the pair across the land.
Stolen slowed as they approached the river. Ren urged him to leap into the water. Rider and mount landed with a gigantic splash. Both enjoyed the cool relief.
Ren wiped the sweaty foam off Stolen. "What a great beast you are," Ren told the animal as he cleaned the horse in the waters of the river. He led Stolen to the bank. The horse balked slightly when it saw that it was headed for the corral, but Ren's urging got the animal moving.
Heading for the gate, the ranger sensed more than saw another group of guards waiting among the tents. He could have avoided them, but such cowardly behavior wasn't his way. He preferred direct confrontations. He threw his saddle and other gear onto the pile of equipment at the side of the corral and handed the stable boy a silver coin.
"Take good care of my horse and feed him an extra ration of oats tonight. There is a chance I won't be visiting him for a while."
Ren saw the boy's eyes widen as he looked at the coin and then beyond the ranger. The fighter turned to face several knights and a horde of town watchmen.
"Ren o' the Blade. You will come with us to Lord Bartholomew. My commander didn't say what condition you had to be in, and we would all welcome a fight." The rough leader of the knights gripped his sword eagerly.
"Am I charged with a crime?" Ren asked evenly. Some of the guards had surrounded him, but they kept their distance. A crowd of tent-dwellers had formed around the entire group. Some showed open hostility toward the guards, but most of them just looked on, curious.
"Resisting arrest, refusing an order from a councilman, obstructing justice, and a hundred others. Besides, I don't really need a charge to pummel you senseless, ranger. How do you want it?"
"I'll come quietly," Ren responded. Then he raised his voice to all the people gathered nearby. "You all know me. I fought on the walls of Phlan and killed the bronze dragon that plagued your city. I do not deserve to be treated like a common thief. I will come now, but I will take the hand of the first man who tries to bind me." With this, Ren started walking. In a heartbeat, a faintly glowing dagger appeared in his hand for all to see. In the next moment, the dagger disappeared. The simple sleight of hand was enough to impress many of the onlookers and several of the guards.
"We don't need to bind you," the lead knight called out. It seemed to be an attempt to counteract Ren's statement. "My men and I are more than capable of bringing you to justice."
Ren strolled along, head high. He smirked, wondering who was bringing whom, but kept silent.
Deep in the heart of ramshackle New Phlan, Ren was ushered to a mounded palisade of wood and earth. What the ranger saw was a keep of sorts, meant to be a last ditch defense if the tent city was attacked. Ren was impressed. He was ordered into the center of the compound, where he discovered a large white tent. Inside, he met the new council of Phlan.
"Why has this ranger been brought to me wearing weapons?" The speaker was a tall, thin knight in expensive, gleaming armor. He was obviously nobility, and Ren knew he faced Lord Bartholomew. The other councilmen were seated around a large table. Ren saw Anton sitting in the tenth councilman's seat, and for the first time since the encounter with the guards, he found some joy in the impossible situation. The cleric of Tyr would not fail the ranger.
"I wasn't brought to you, Lord. I came myself. I am wearing my weapons because I was not made aware of any charge against me. Has the council of Phlan changed so much that an innocent man must stand like a criminal, unarmed, before them?"
"What I have heard of you seems to be true, Ren o' the Blade. I am Lord Bartholomew, first councilman of New Phlan. My city needs brave heroes like yourself to help rebuild. I would make you one of my highest lords."
"I didn't come here to become a gate guard of a town with no gates. I have come for information regarding my two friends. Maybe you have heard of them-the warrior cleric Tarl and the wizard Shal Bal?"
"Bah, they were of old Phlan. The gods took the city for their own reasons. We have to think of the future. We have to build New Phlan into a greater city than the old one ever was. Now, are you with us or against us?"
Ren was stunned. This man was actually ready to forget Phlan. Lord Bartholomew was too pushy for his taste. This first councilman was a far cry from the type of leader the new city would need.
Anton tried to signal Ren to remain calm, but the ranger didn't care right now who he offended. "I'm going after my friends wherever the quest takes me. I will not be stopped."
"Stopped? I will do much more than stop you if I must, ranger. You can be chained to a work crew. You can be sold to serve on a merchant ship. I will have you working for Phlan or-"
"Have you ever seen an enraged squirrel attack a wood cutter?" a deep voice cut through the tirade.
"Or have you seen what happens when dock rats get unbearably hungry?" said an enchantingly feminine voice.
Two druids had slipped through the throng of guards as if they didn't exist, gliding up to Ren. The brown robes they had worn earlier had been replaced with dazzling white robes. There seemed to be a pale green aura to the fabric, but the robes were so white they were hard to look at.
"Rats, squirrels, what are you talking about? Guards, remove these-"
"Oh, I wouldn't try that," said Talenthia. "We druids have a way with animals. Or aren't you aware of such powers?"
A huge black rat, bigger than a man's boot, leaped up onto the chamber table, and seven more surrounded the first councilman.
"Please let me explain before my cousin turns the rats on this entire tent. I am Andoralson, a druid and worshiper of Sylvanus. This is Talenthia. If you harm our friend Ren or do anything to hinder him, you will be amazed and terrified at what happens. The animals of the forest will prevent you from taking the lumber you need. The mules you drive to bring back the stone of the Dragonspine Mountains will refuse to budge. The fish of the sea will never enter your nets. Have I left anything out, Talenthia? Ren?" After a moment of stunned silence in the tent, the druid added, "The three of us will be leaving now."
Anton was the only councilman looking at all pleased. The cleric made no attempt to conceal the big grin on his face. He gave the three a
wave of encouragement.
"No, I think that covers everything, Andoralson. We must be going. We may be in town for a few more days. See that these fine, strong troops don't bother us, Lord Bartholomew. Ren, come with us." Talenthia took the surprised ranger by the arm and led him away. As they left the tent, she whispered, "I am so glad everything worked out. Things could have gotten messy. Now what do we do?"
"I don't have the slightest idea," Ren said, looking into her deep gray eyes. He couldn't remember a time when he had been more confused.
7
Phlan Under Siege
The battle plans were ready. Troops were assembled and trained. Monsters were recruited, bribed, and in position. All varieties of spellcasters-both clerics and wizards-were ready to unleash magical fury on the unsuspecting city.
Phlan was about to be attacked again.
At the center of this swarm of activity was a cackling, evil, overconfident wizard. Red robes flowed around him as he galloped among the troops on his horrifying black horse, a nightmare. Catching sight of his battle commander, he trotted over to issue final instructions. Marcus was exhilarated by the thought of the upcoming conflict.
"Commander Brittle, with the forces we now command, we can't lose. The pathetic citizens of Phlan will soon know what it is to have their lives ripped from their grasp." Marcus laughed an evil, grating howl.
The battle commander turned toward his superior. Neck and spine bones creaked and cracked as the skeletal warrior moved. The clicking of bones and the rattle of armor was audible above the sounds of battle preparations. Marcus grinned. Undead creatures fascinated him. He was delighted to have skeletons, ghouls, wights, and other undead making up nearly half his army. These creatures weren't harmed by the injuries that could devastate a human; they didn't bleed and were immune to many spells. Marcus had spells to simulate such effects, but these benefits came naturally to undead creatures. The wizard grinned again.
Brittle listened to his leader with feigned respect. A thousand years ago, he had been a mighty human commander of an army of hundreds of thousands. Buried peacefully until recently, he had been awakened and animated by Tanetal to serve this crazed wizard.
The undead warrior wasn't impressed by the forces passing in review, but he would do his best to serve. There was always the chance to move up in rank if those above him became casualties of war. But even Marcus's position didn't pique his interest. The ragged assembly of warriors, monsters, and spellcasters was neither disciplined nor properly trained. Great numbers of creatures had been assembled, nearly twice the population of Phlan, but Brittle doubted their effectiveness. Time would tell.
This red-robed wizard was arrogant and overconfident. He organized a terrific military parade, but simply wasn't a strategist.
If the skeleton had been capable of breathing, Brittle would have sighed. Instead, he faked interest in the wizard's babbling. Skeletal warriors couldn't be choosy about whom they served.
"The gates of Phlan must fall in this attack. The gates will fall in this attack. There are thousands of men out there ready to die for me. After the gates are dust, we will sweep into the city and decimate the rabble trying to defend their homes. But remember, as tempting as it may be, we can't kill them all. Most of the pathetic humans must be captured and taken to the dark pool. I have some enticing rewards planned for my commanders who prove themselves today." Marcus's eyes gleamed.
Brittle was irritated. He had heard all these plans before, over and over. All seven feet of his undead body crackled with mystical energy.
The bony commander knew what would really happen. The mercenaries would run at the first sign of real resistance. Even the piles of gold the pit fiend had promised them after a victory wouldn't be enough to make them hold rank. Against Marcus's wishes, Brittle had placed better troops behind the puny humans to cut off the inevitable retreat and force the mercenaries to keep fighting.
"Look at those ogres, trolls, and orcs. There must be a thousand of them. With these monsters as the backbone of my army, I know we can't lose today. I wish I'd had these troops a month ago when we first attacked Phlan. All I had were those dozen fiends, just like Bane gave the attackers of the other cities. The troops of Phlan crushed them and the other armies I hurled at their walls. But I'm not going to lose this time. By the gods, this army is ten times stronger than the last one."
The crazed red mage was right about one thing, the skeletal warrior thought. The ogres, orcs, and trolls were the best troops he commanded. They would carry the day if anything could.
"Look there, Brittle," Marcus said, pointing, "why aren't those two hundred skeletons in the front lines with the rest of the undead troops?"
Brittle's answer was short and curt. The less he said, the less his chances of revealing his contempt for the wizard. "Reserves. In any battle, reserves are crucial." Then, staring down at his leader, the skeleton took the opportunity to end Marcus's lecturing. "I must go now to lead the ogres into battle. With your permission?"
"Of course-go, you tower of bones. Do me proud, and I will command the pit fiend to restore you to life. I will personally lead the reserve forces into the fight when needed. You needn't worry about them. They will be well commanded."
A shudder slithered up the fleshless spine of the skeletal warrior. The thought of this bag of water leading anything didn't please him. In centuries past, Brittle had controlled a hundred wizards like Marcus and had forced them to do little more than ensure clear weather. Now, he was forced to follow such a man's orders.
Although the skeletal commander hoped the mage wouldn't lead the reserve units to disaster, Brittle gave up the notion of depending on that portion of the army to do anything worthwhile. He marched down the hill to lead the waiting army.
Up on the rise, Marcus was still giddy with anticipation. His armies had to win today. Bane wouldn't tolerate many more delays. In the few communications the pit fiend had had with the god, Marcus learned that some of the other captured cities had also managed to resist the god's grasp. He was relieved that Phlan wasn't the only city holding out. One town filled with spellcasters had even managed to transport itself back to Faerun. The Red Wizard hoped the distraction of the other cities would help fend off the god's wrath until Marcus could conquer Phlan.
The wizard's mood was dampened slightly as he surveyed his troops. "Where is that fourth squad of mercenaries? I thought we counted about fifteen hundred human troops coming up to the tower. I hope that pit fiend didn't eat them or something. It would be just like him to eat the best troops. Well. No matter. It's time to put the fear of Red Wizards in the hearts of my enemies. Xanotos, kartaalomi, tysrius flarigraasi!"
The upper third of the huge cave was suddenly filled with a ball of fire thousands of yards tall and wide. The blinding light of the magical flames blasted forth as bright as the sun. The inferno at the top of the cavern gradually began to form familiar images and scenes.
The flames writhed and created blood-red towers and gates identical to the walls and towers of Phlan, which rested a mile below on the floor of the cavern. More flames took the forms of molten figures of men, orcs, ogres, and trolls, taller and more powerful than the real things. The scorching armies charged against the flaming towers and walls high in the sky. A magical battle began between the flaming forces representing Phlan's guards on the walls and the molten armies of the Red Wizard. In seconds, the molten forces tore down the gates and broke through the walls, streaming into the city like a river of lava.
"A splendid effect!" sighed Marcus. The spell was a bit more than he had planned, but if his magical show of power frightened the defenders and inspired his own troops, his efforts were well worth the cost of his magical reserves.
Waves of searing heat blasted down on the Red Wizard's army. The trolls, particularly vulnerable to fire, cowered in fear. The orcs, ogres, and humans stood at sweaty attention, frightened by the display. Hundreds of skeletons raised hollow eye sockets to the flames, showing no expression on their
fleshless faces, but nonetheless impressed.
"Stupid wizard," hissed Brittle, "now I have to use the ogres to get the trolls moving. And he's destroyed any element of surprise we might have had."
The skeletal leader commanded powerful ogres to move toward the gibbering trolls. Trolls were awesome fighters and difficult to kill, but fire prevented them from regenerating damaged limbs. The lumbering green creatures feared fire above all things. Gods help him, if Brittle survived this fight, the enchanted commander wouldn't ask to be made human again. Thinking unspeakable thoughts, the skeleton imagined it would ask for the heart of the wizard instead. The undead leader snorted a dry chuckle at the thought as he directed the army to attack the gates of Phlan.
The defenders of Phlan were unimpressed by the magical display. None knew why their town had been taken by the gods and sent to this place of evil. None knew when their torture would end. But all knew how to fight, and the force rising against them wouldn't be much trouble. They had endured worse.
"Think they'll attack over here, Ston?" Tulen asked, spitting a chaw of tobacco over the wall.
"Naaa, looks like they're goin' after the Death Gates again. You think they'd learn after the last time. Them trolls are nasty, though. My brother Dorel got eaten by a troll in the hill giant battle we had a few years back."
"Shouldn't be much of a problem this time, Ston. That cleric Tarl sent a bunch of boar skins full of blessed oil over to the gate the other day. That's one smart priest if you ask me."
"I know what you mean. That sorceress wife of his has been cooking up all kinds of magical defenses. And, boy, is she something to look at." Ston snorted a laugh.
"I hear tell our wizards and clerics can't figure out where the gods stuck us. Whaddya think?"
"I guess I'm not surprised none. Wizard stuff ain't normal. But they've usually got an answer for everything. If the gods want us in Faerun or in the Nine Hells, well, then that's where we'll have to be. Mark my words, we'll be back fishing on the Moonsea before the year's out. Tarl has the Warhammer of Tyr, and his god is a tough one to trifle with. If we hold off these attacks, we'll be fine, you betcha."
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