Pools of Darkness (21 page)

Tarl and the warriors thundered along the narrow corridor next to the cavern wall. Responding to a magical voice in his head, the ranger screamed to the others. “Hold your breath until the mist clears!” A purple haze materialized at the edge of the trees and drifted into the forest. The moving branches temporarily halted, but as the haze faded, the trees resumed their encroachment.

A wall of ice and snow blasted out of the sky, forming a frozen drift at the edge of the forest. The trees slowed their squirming, and the fungus that dripped from the branches froze solid and fell off in huge chunks. Within moments, the ice began to melt and a cloud of steam arose. The trees resumed their unnatural assault.

Finally, a pinpoint of light appeared above Tarl’s head. Growing brighter and brighter, the speck swelled to a ball larger than a warrior’s helmet. It followed the cleric as it blazed forth with the intensity of the sun.

The unholy forest recoiled at the blinding light. Trees and plants ahead of Tarl all veered away as he approached. The four riders thundered onward, now unhindered. Less than five minutes later, they burst from the forest to charge across the grassy plain, their mounts streaked with white foam from the hard ride. Tarl called out to his unseen wife. “Nice going, Shal!”

Up in Denlor’s Tower, the sorceress smiled in relief.

The reaction in the enemy camp was much different. In Marcus’s tower, the fiend slammed his fist into the crystal sphere, smashing it to powder.

“Fair travelers, we would approach!” A voice rang through the woods, warning the sleeping camp of incoming strangers.

Miltiades, always awake, stood guard. Ren had awakened early to share the morning watch. They heard scuffling sounds in the woods long before the voice announced the presence of travelers. Overhead, dark stormclouds still rumbled and swirled, but the sky had lightened with the sunrise. Three men astride huge wolves trotted into camp.

Minutes earlier, Gamaliel had sensed their coming and awakened his mistress and the rest of the party.

“Friendly faces are welcome, but be warned, we are a formidable band,” Ren replied to their hail.

Dismounting, the three strode toward the group. They were a rough lot with shaggy black hair and torn, homespun clothing. None showed any weapons—a fact the companions found unusual for woodland travelers. No weapons, that is, except for the three enormous wolves.

“I am Artur Bladeson.” The biggest of the three men gave Ren a toothy grin. “These cubs behind me are my cousins, Wuldor and Donar Arcnos. We are traveling to Vaasa to visit relatives in Moortown. Can you tell us of any trouble in the lands between there and here?”

On the opposite side of the camp, the druids talked in hushed tones. “Look how the wolves are growling at Miltiades,” Talenthia whispered to Andoralson. “Could they be sensing your illusion magic?”

“No, but they could be detecting that he’s an undead creature. I’ll have to work on putting scent into my illusions. I don’t usually bother. I hope you noticed those wolves aren’t really wolves.”

Meanwhile, Evaine and the barbarian sized up the strangers.

Mistress, Gamaliel mentally communicated, those men do not smell human. And those huge wolves are just waiting for the chance to attack. He stood facing the three men like a pillar of stone, blocking their view of Evaine.

Ren senses something strange, too. I can tell by his posture. There’s no question he’s on the defensive. Let’s follow his lead, Evaine silently told her comrade.

The wolves continued to growl at Miltiades, all the while shooting wary glances at Gamaliel.

“Brutus, Tog, Garf, shut up! These fine people have invited us into their camp. The least we can do is be civil. Wuldor, take those curs away and settle them down.”

Wuldor smelled like wet fur. Ren couldn’t help but crinkle his nose as the man passed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen wolves used as mounts before. Are you druids?” Ren tried to break the uneasiness between the two sides.

The three men laughed in an odd, barking manner.

“Druids,” Donar said, choking with laughter. “No disrespect to those two over there, but even druids couldn’t tame our three pets. We live with these beasts, and they do what we tell them.”

“Your friends don’t talk much,” Artur said, warming his hands by the fire.

“They just woke up,” Ren said evenly. He walked to the opposite side of an already blazing fire and added more logs. He felt compelled to get these men on their way as soon as possible. “The paths to Vaasa are clear—I just came from there. Phlan has suffered the wrath of the gods and has disappeared. Only a patch of tents marks the place where the city once stood. But you shouldn’t have much trouble passing through. What do you know of Zhentil Keep and Yulash?”

“I heard that Phlan was gone,” said Artur, “but I figured it to be a rumor. You’ve seen it, then?” Ren nodded. Artur’s gaze shifted about the camp. “You people seem a little tense. Let’s share some food. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, eh?” he said, trying to act more congenial than he looked. All the companions instinctively felt he was hiding something.

Wuldor, still tending to the wolves, spoke to Ren. “If you’re traveling south, stay away from Zhentil Keep. Something has stirred up the evil in that gods-cursed city. We lost a brother there when we tried to conduct some business for our master. Some frenzied priests of Bane attacked us without reason.”

None of this surprised Ren. Zhentil Keep was always a place to avoid, and Wuldor described what might well have been daily events.

Wuldor was slapping the wolves and casting strange glances toward the campfire. “Something is odd about the forests and trails to the south of Zhentil Keep. We tore through them because they didn’t smell or feel right. There’s a growing evil.”

“Yulash, on the other hand, is fine. No problems,” Donar said, taking packs of meat from his saddlebags. He quickly whittled a branch into a spit and hung some meat over the fire for roasting.

Do you see what kind of meat that is, Gam? Evaine silently voiced to the barbarian.

I smell what kind of meat it is. Should we attack now? The barbarian’s eyes shifted from pale green to a deep golden color.

Let me get Ren away from them. When I give the signal, I’ll go for the humans—you attack the wolves. Maybe we can disable one or two of them before they have a chance to metamorphose, she told the barbarian. She raised her voice and spoke to the druids. “Talenthia, I think you should prepare your new chalice for our friends’ visit. You know, the one that makes that wonderful wine.” Evaine hoped the two would pick up on her hint.

The sorceress mentally readied a spell. “Ren, could you help me for a moment? That clumsy barbarian has the straps of my backpack all tied in knots.”

The ranger arose, giving Gamaliel a puzzled look. He pulled a dagger from his boot and stepped toward Evaine. But as he did so, she rounded the campfire and yelled, “Attack!”

Eighteen missiles of magical energy shot from her hands and struck Artur’s chest, albeit with little effect. The camp was suddenly filled with the shouts of the companions and the flash of spells. But the three strangers and their wolves reacted almost in slow motion.

Artur rose from his place by the fire. As he stood, he transformed, as did his cousins, into a werewolf. Dark fur sprouted all over their bodies. Each man grew in height, expanding muscles rippling along their arms and legs. The change was nearly instantaneous, but these monsters weren’t in any hurry. They relied on the horrifying transformations to help frighten their victims.

The three wolves grew from huge, four-legged shapes into large and deadly half-human forms, known through Faerun as wolfweres. The three new creatures launched themselves at Evaine, knowing the spellcaster was the greatest threat to them. The creature that had been Wuldor, now eight feet tall, moved to block Gamaliel.

The barbarian’s sword landed solidly on the wolfwere causing little more than a scratch.

“Watch out! They’re wolfweres!” Ren shouted, slashing at two of the transformed wolves with his magical daggers. The weapons bit deep and diverted the lunges of two of the wolf-men, but the third one smashed into Evaine full force.

Worried about Gamaliel and Ren, Evaine was so caught up in her spellcasting that she didn’t notice the attack from behind her. The wolfwere’s front paws bashed into her skull and sent her to the ground with a thud. She lay motionless.

Gamaliel’s roar of rage could be heard for miles through the woods as he transformed into his true form, the giant cat. Two lightning-quick swipes with his eight-inch claws struck the monster that had attacked his mistress. Its spine was instantly severed, and Gamaliel tossed the wolfwere ten feet into the air. The monster landed, twitched, then was still. Blood oozed from its back and mouth.

Miltiades, knowing only silver or enchanted blades could harm a werewolf, was attacking with brute strength. The undead paladin locked arms with what had been Artur and tried to strangle the life out of the creature. As the werewolf reached to do the same, the paladin’s illusionary flesh turned back into enchanted bones.

Artur howled in fright as Miltiades snapped his woolly neck.

Wuldor leaped at Andoralson, but the creature’s crusty claws struck—not the druid—but an illusion. Two mystical flaming scimitars, created by magic and guided by the druids, flew forth and bit deep into Wuldor’s flesh, seeking his heart, burning his fur, and sending him thrashing to the ground.

Ren rolled in the grass, locked in a life-and-death duel. The wolfwere ripped at his throat, but the ranger wedged his chain mail-protected arm into the jaws of the beast while his other hand jabbed with Right to find a vital organ in the huge lycanthrope. Blood splattered the campsite as the weapon found its mark repeatedly. The creature exerted its full energy trying to tear Ren’s arm out of its socket.

Still guarding Evaine’s body, Gamaliel sank his fangs and claws into the body of the werewolf that had been Donar.

Andoralson, hidden by several illusions, used phantasm magic on another of the wolfweres. The creature’s brain played an image of its most horrible fear. The wolfwere died under the attack of mystical fangs, never realizing that the fangs were only in its mind.

Ren’s dagger finally found its mark. He threw the dead body of his attacker to the ground and leaped to his feet. His arm was numb and limp, but no monsters were left alive.

All the other companions—except Miltiades—lay in the grass, panting. The undead paladin, never tiring, began dragging the bodies into the woods. Six bloody trails in the grass were soon all that remained as traces of the vanquished.

Catching his breath, Ren turned to see Evaine still lying on the ground. A tawny cat, larger than a full-grown tiger, stood guard over her. Blood slowly oozed from a large gash in the sorceress’s head. The ranger limped over to her. The giant feline fluffed out his tail and hissed.

“Ren, don’t!” Talenthia shouted. “Gamaliel, or whatever he is now, is in a battle frenzy. He probably doesn’t even recognize you. You can bet he’ll attack anything or anyone trying to touch Evaine.”

“We have to do something. She could die if we don’t get her head bandaged.” Ren’s face reddened in frustration.

“I can try to distract Gamaliel while all of you attend to Evaine. If all of you try together, you can work fast. I don’t think the cat can do much to my dead bones,” Miltiades offered.

“Don’t be so sure,” Andoralson warned. He circled wide around cat and sorceress to get a better look at Evaine. “Whatever magic operates on this beast gives it greater strength. If that cat crushed your bones, I doubt that even my cousin could heal you. Let Talenthia and I try to calm Gamaliel.” The huge feline simply hissed at the druid, revealing six-inch fangs.

The druids tried everything to coax Gamaliel away from Evaine, but the big cat didn’t move an inch. He aloofly watched their attempts, hissing loudly. The cousins tried spells of charming, friendship, illusion, and animal-repelling, all to no avail.

“That’s one unusual animal Evaine has there. He’s stubborn, but gods, he’s beautiful, isn’t he? I can see why Evaine is so fond of him.”

Andoralson agreed with his cousin. “He really is magnificent. But right now, he’s more trouble than anything.” Gamaliel’s golden eyes glared at the druid, then the cat lifted his nose in pride and looked away.

“Talenthia, I can’t tell if it’s the magical collar the cat wears or Gamaliel’s innate magical resistance that allows him to ignore our spells. Can you get a better fix on him?” Talenthia concentrated and tried a spell, but shook her head. “Sorry.”

Ren kept an eye on Evaine, standing as close as Gamaliel would allow. “It looks like her bleeding has stopped, and her breathing sounds more normal. She’ll probably wake up naturally in a few hours.”

“What do you think we should do, just wait until she comes around?” Andoralson didn’t like the idea, but didn’t have any other suggestions.

“We don’t have much choice,” Ren replied, shaking his head. “Miltiades, you and I should burn the bodies of those creatures. The two of you, pick through their equipment and see if you can learn anything about them. All we can do is hope that Evaine is all right and wakes up on her own. But if her wound gets any worse, or if she looks like she’s in danger, I’ll take a hand in moving Gamaliel myself. I’ve fought large cats like him before.” The deadly look he gave Gamaliel told everyone he would kill the cat to save Evaine if necessary. The glare Gamaliel returned told Ren he would be in for trouble if he tried. “Well, uh, not exactly like this cat,” Ren admitted. He motioned to the others to get busy, but Miltiades asked a question.

“What were those wolf creatures, anyway? The ones that started out as wolves and changed into humanlike things? I’ve battled werewolves before, but never creatures like those.”

Andoralson explained. “Wolfweres. When werewolves and wolves mate, their offspring are more wolf than man. The creatures are more intelligent than normal wolves and can change shape to look like werewolves whenever they want. They’re incredibly powerful and are ferocious killers. Once they’re stirred up, they fight to the death—as you now know from experience.