"Pigs?" Ren asked in shock. "Why pigs? Why not lions, or buffalo, or even deer?"
"Uh… well, the spell requires a bit of hair or a tooth or some part of the animal. I found a few bristles from wild pigs a ways back. I didn't have the hair from any other animals."
The druid was embarrassed, but after his companions got over their surprise, they agreed his logic was excellent. A herd of wild pigs wasn't likely to attract attention.
The weary group rode a few more hours, until darkness. They settled into a small clearing, but despite their exhaustion, the companions were restless with anticipation. They expected to reach the red tower before noon the next day.
With the evening meal finished, everyone set about making preparations for the morning. Ren and Miltiades knocked a few dents out of the paladin's armor, repaired the ranger's chain mail, then set to sharpening their swords. As a cat, Gamaliel didn't need to prepare, but as a barbarian, he needed a sharp blade. The campsite was filled with the shhhinks and shooshes of three swords against whetstones. Evaine and Andoralson busied themselves taking inventory of spell components and placing them in convenient pockets. The two spellcasters spent extra time placing protective spells around the camp.
When Ren was satisfied with the sharpness of his blade, he pulled his daggers, Left and Right, out of his boots and began working over their long edges. Miltiades picked one up, admiring its weight and balance. "These have saved my life more times than I can count," the ranger explained. "I have a feeling they'll be put to the test tomorrow."
"A thousand years ago, no one knew how to fashion such fine weapons," Miltiades said. "Most weaponsmiths spent their time perfecting the larger, deadlier blades, like swords and lances."
Ren couldn't resist the opportunity to brag. "In the hands of one who's skilled, these daggers are more deadly than a lance. Assuming we all survive the battle tomorrow, I'll be happy to teach you the fine art of throwing such a blade."
"I would like nothing more, Ren, but tomorrow, win or lose, I will forever be put to rest. Those of us who are walking dead sometimes know when our final day and hour will come. If we succeed tomorrow, I will rest in peace and honor. If we fail, I will again lie in unhallowed ground without the grace of my god."
"Wait a minute," Evaine called out in surprise. "You already know you're going to… um, cease to exist… no matter what you do?"
"Correct. But do not feel sorry for me. I am lucky to have this second chance. I only hope I can accomplish my mission and help all of you in the short time I have left." His voice was full of pride and strength.
The others were silent for a moment. The loyal skeletal warrior had become a trusted friend and ally.
Ren broke the somber moment. "Well, Miltiades, I don't understand what Tyr may have set aside for you, but you've been a good friend to all of us. If we have anything to say about your fate, I know we'd all agree that you've served with faith and honor."
If the warrior had been made of flesh, he would have blushed at the compliment. Instead he returned the praise. "I am lucky to have found friends like you to share my quest. The gods will smile on each of you." Miltiades arose and walked the perimeter of the camp, peering into the dark forest, preparing for his watch.
The companions settled in for the night, but sleep wouldn't come. The red tower loomed in all their thoughts. Ren worried about Shal and Tarl. Evaine tried to focus her thoughts on the dark pool. Miltiades and Andoralson both prayed for strength and guidance. Even Gamaliel slept only in fits, since the nervous energy in the camp was as tangible to him as cold rain. Now in comfortable cat form, he lay motionless on the blanket, blinking in the dim glow of the fire.
Finally, near midnight, the foursome drifted into restless sleep. Miltiades paced the small camp. Nothing would surprise the vigilant paladin.
Suddenly, a voice boomed out from the darkness. Miltiades gripped his sword. Gamaliel was instantly on his feet, ready to pounce, his tail fluffed out.
"Well, my fine pigs. Will you be visiting me tomorrow?"
The others were on their feet as a horrid face made of crimson flames exploded in the night sky. The writhing blaze formed the head of a human wizard.
"Behold your new lord, weaklings. I am Marcus, Red Wizard of Thay. I would expect a revelation such as this to frighten away most travelers. But I think the pigs I see in front of me will be knocking on my door tomorrow, anyway. You are either exceptionally brave or incredibly stupid. If you dare approach my tower, you will prove the latter. I am preparing a warm and highly magical welcome for you, my little piggies."
The image vanished as quickly as it had come. Gamaliel paced the camp, his fur standing on end, his great pink nose sniffing for any trace of the infiltrator. Evaine ordered him to lie down, rubbing his neck to settle him. "Wizards of Thay are well known for their preference for fire spells," she explained to the others. "That was a fairly common fire spell with an illusion thrown in. But what's really interesting is that he managed to affect us from miles away. That's not normal, and it's not easy. Obviously, we don't have the element of surprise." Gamaliel was now purring faintly, his eyes alert.
Miltiades still gripped his sword, scanning the trees for the slightest motion. Andoralson put a kettle of water on the glowing embers. "Since all of us are ready to jump out of our skins, I'm going to brew some herbs. I've got a mixture that might help us calm down and get some sleep. But it won't leave us groggy."
Ren questioned Evaine further about the Red Wizards. She explained that most were self-centered, arrogant, and only interested in personal gain. Their drive and greed made them extremely dangerous. They allowed nothing to stand in their way and wielded potent magic that could cut down enemies in a hurry.
Ren went to his saddlebags to fish out a metal box. "I think I have something that might help us." He opened the box, sorting out a variety of small vials and scrolls.
"These came from a dragon's horde-probably the property of some mage who fell prey to the beast. I've used them only rarely in the last ten years, but I've periodically taken them to an alchemist to learn whether they were still potent. The potions won't work on Miltiades since he can't drink them, but there's a scroll of protection against fire that should do the job. If he reads the scroll when we get to the tower, he'll activate the magic. We can all share the protection if we stay close to him.
"The rest of you should each take one of these little vials. The amber ones are potions of healing. I know you've all probably used them before-they'll heal you as quickly as any spell. The little red vials are potions of fire resistance. Wait until you think you might need it before drinking one, because they don't last long. But they'll protect you from all normal types of fire and most magical ones."
Ren passed two vials to each of his companions and handed the scroll to Miltiades. They were quickly stashed in convenient pockets and pouches. Everyone knew such potions might mean the difference between life and death in the battle to come.
The glowing coals of the fire began to hiss and spit as boiling water splattered over the side of the kettle. Andoralson moved the metal pot, briskly stirring in a handful of herbs. The smells of honey, clover, and orange rind soon overpowered the scent of wood smoke. Hot mugs of steaming tea were passed around.
A puzzled look crossed Ren's face. He stared at Evaine in the firelight. "Evaine, all of us have told the tales of why we're here, but you've always avoided the subject. We've got plenty of time now. How about letting us in on your story?"
Despite the red glow of the fire, the wizard's face grew pale. She stared into her mug as if searching for an answer, then sighed.
"I don't usually tell anyone my reasons for doing anything, but we've been through a lot together. I guess there's no harm in telling you why I'm in this fight." She settled against a tree stump and began her tale.
"I've been casting spells a lot longer than you might think. I may look as if I'm in my mid-thirties, but actually I'm much older.
"I once had incredible
powers. I spent my entire life searching for magical tomes, items of strong magic, new spells, and fantastic creatures whose powers I might draw upon. I didn't care about anything but amassing more power. Sure, I would sometimes perform a service for someone who wanted to hire me, but there was always a price-an incredibly steep price.
"Then I learned about pools of radiance and pools of darkness. Being narrow-minded and overconfident, I decided I could harness the energy tied to the pools, or maybe experiment on the waters and create my own pools. I was warned away by sages and wizards of extreme age, but in my pride, I ignored all of their advice." The sorceress sipped at her mug.
"I managed to collect some water from a pool of radiance. What I didn't know was that the pool was in a transformation and was becoming a pool of darkness. The unstable liquid caused all my experiments to backfire, creating horrible side effects. A portion of my lab blew up. I was knocked out with the explosion. I woke up four days later, lying on the floor of my wrecked lab.
"I was only slightly injured, but changed forever. My mind and body were reversed about fifty years. I was once again a twenty-year-old woman. All but my most basic powers were gone and I was forced to start my life over. I could remember the powers I had and what I'd once known, but I had nothing to work with. You can't believe how frustrating it was.
"I sought out one of my former students and asked him to teach me the same things I had taught him. Fortunately, learning spells the second time was easier than the first. Occasionally, snatches of memory would come back." She sighed mournfully. "Over the next ten years, he was able to teach me much of what I had lost. And since then, I've spent my time traveling and learning. I've made the study of magic my life's work, but you'll rarely find me cooped up in library.
"Years later, I learned that the fiend who was transforming the pool sent incredible energies at me through the water I had stolen. The creature tried to kill me, but the unstable waters twisted the magic. Instead, I suffered the loss of my powers.
"I'm still trying to regain skills I once had, but I'm no longer driven by greed to amass power. I seek to learn all I can to enhance my magical powers and destroy those vile pools. There's no reason for such things to exist. They cause nothing but pain and suffering."
Evaine sipped at her cup while the others tried to comprehend her story. Andoralson poured the wizard a second mug of tea, then gingerly asked the question that was nagging him. "Are you telling us you're actually one hundred years old?"
The sorceress looked at him with an embarrassed smile. "That's just about right. I was seventy-eight when the transformation happened, and I estimate I reverted to twenty. That was fourteen years ago."
Andoralson patted her shoulder sympathetically. Evaine clasped his hand affectionately, but discouraged the sad look on his face. "Don't feel sorry for me. I was bitter and angry at first, but I've accepted my situation. I am determined to hunt down these pools. I once sought power for its own sake, but now I have a purpose in life like I've never had before. I suffered a great loss, but I've also gained a great deal. Not many people get to live their lives a second time."
The wizard's gentle tone changed to one of determination. "So now you know why I'm here. I'm going to destroy the pool of darkness hidden in Phlan, and no snotty little wizard or his fiend from the pits of the Nine Hells is going to stop me. After this one is gone, Gamaliel and I will move on to the next one. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll destroy all of those vile puddles."
Evaine drained her mug. Ren idly poked at the fire's glowing embers with a stick. Drowsiness was overtaking all of them. Once again, they climbed into bedrolls.
As they began to get settled, Ren spoke up. "We'll get that wizard for you, Evaine, and the pool, too. And we'll find my friends and rescue Phlan. After tomorrow, there'll be one less magical blight on Faerun."
19
Subtle Assault
Since the day it had been torn from its home on the Moonsea, Phlan had been attacked so many times that most of its citizens had lost count. Once again, they were under siege. Only this time, no one knew it.
When the lights in the cavern died, the city was alerted and all guards were summoned to their posts on the walls. Wizards and priests appeared at their stations, preparing to cast their most powerful spells at the enemy. Children were called indoors, shutters were bolted. The city silently waited for the attack.
In the dark stillness of the streets of Phlan, a lone voice was heard. A bard known only as Latenat brought his message of peace and hope to the desperate city. He walked the inroads and avenues of Phlan, singing his message of rescue. In his wake, housewives packed whatever possessions they could carry and dressed their children for a long journey. The end of their imprisonment had finally come. The bard would show them the way out of the wretched cave.
Crowds of hopeful people began filling the streets. Those who had packed for the escape encouraged reluctant neighbors to join them.
As the residents milled about, snatches of the bard's songs could be heard amid excited conversation. The tunes were infectious, and the voices in the streets grew to an incredible din.
On the city walls, distraught guard captains dispatched several dozen warriors to the streets. The citizens were endangering themselves by remaining outdoors. And the clamor was loud enough to drown out the sound of approaching cavalry. In the darkness, the guards had little other than sound to warn them of an attack.
But the warriors who were sent to keep the peace quickly became part of the chaos. Forgetting their tasks, they returned home to pack their valuables and join their families. The bard's infectious song did not discriminate. Following his instructions, the warriors left their weapons at home, collected their money and jewels, and gathered in the streets. More warriors had to be diverted from the walls to the streets.
The bard tirelessly continued his stroll through Phlan, singing his tales of redemption. No one seemed to notice that the bard had been singing for over twenty-four hours without a break.
Little by little, the city walls were drained of warriors. Soon they were no longer defensible.
Finally, the glorious, wondrous bard signaled his flock. The masses began to move toward the Death Gates. The people sang and danced their way through the streets, charmed by the captivating man and bewitched by his songs.
The spellbound crowd called for the gates to be opened. The guards refused, but Latenat began another song. As his melody rose, the warriors forgot their objections. Puzzled, they looked at each other and at the gate machinery.
Then the minstrel's song was interrupted.
A voice rang out, ordering that the Death Gates remain closed. Booted feet pounded along the top of the wall, coming to a halt on the gate. Tarl, gripping the glowing Warhammer of Tyr, planted himself firmly at the head of the throng. He tried his best to appear calm, but his anger was evident.
A few feet behind him, waiting on the stone wall, stood Shal. She was wrapped head to toe in a purple cloak, but to anyone with magical abilities, it was obvious she was also wrapped in strong protective magics. Six other wizards moved along the wall beside her.
The bard ended his song, turning his back on Tarl and Shal. He raised his hands for silence, then addressed the crowd. "Noble people of Phlan, your famous champions are here to lead you and protect you on your way. Let us thank them for their bravery!" A deafening roar erupted as the mob cheered.
Behind Latenat's back, Shal cast a spell to learn something of this strange bard. The purple beams bathed the bard and bounced off his flesh, but revealed nothing of his true nature.
"Noble heroes, it is wonderful to have you join us in our bid for freedom and safety," the bard laughed. A magical suggestion was wrapped in his voice. But the spell had no effect on Tarl, Shal, or the other wizards.
"Noble bard, we haven't been introduced. My name is Tarl, and I represent the Council of Phlan. I would like to know why you've brought my people to this gate."
A hearty laugh arose from
the bard, and his syrupy answer lilted up to the cleric.
"Tarl-brother-dear friend-I am the bard Latenat! I've been sent by the gods of fortune to release these people!" Once again, the bard turned away from Tarl and addressed the crowd surrounding him. "These wonderful people of Phlan must be freed from this dreadful cave and from the dangers they face. They must again walk in the sunlight and cultivate the earth the gods have given them!"
A roar again erupted in the streets, and the mob began chanting, "We are freed, we are freed, we are freed!"
Tarl bellowed to be heard over the noise. "I wish you to be free of danger, too! But leaving the walls of the city will not save you from the foes that have attacked us for months! You will march to certain death!"
"Shall I sing a song to answer Tarl?" the bard asked the crowd.
"A song-sing us a song!" the crowd called back.
The bard raised his lute and addressed Tarl.
"Noble and fearless stood a fine priest,
His city and people behind him,
They battled and fought but could not slay the beast,
So Tarl led the charge to a new land."
Latenat continued, verse after verse, about Tarl and his heroics. So persuasively did the bard sing that even Tarl began to wonder whether it wasn't indeed time for the people of Phlan to leave.
He looked longingly at the men who stood by to raise the gates. Shal knew it was time to step in.
"Tarl, dear husband! Hear my voice and no other!" She turned to the peculiar minstrel. "Sing no more songs, bard or whatever you are. No one is going with you."
Shal levitated herself into the air, a vision of magical power. As Shal glared down at the bard, the bewitched crowd became filled with fear. At one time or another, everyone had seen her power used against armies of monsters. There was no doubt she could blast the crowd to cinders if she wished.
"Come up into the light of truth, bard." The wizard raised her hand. A purple mist curled and streaked toward the minstrel. When the vapors tried to lift him, they puffed into harmless gas and dissipated.
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