Govin reached Ahleage and knelt down to tend to his tormented companion. The battle seemed to have come to a halt, and the rest of the companions gathered around their fallen friend.
Shanhaevel turned his attention back to Falrinth. The wizard was alive, but he was burned almost beyond recognition and did not seem long for this world. The elf grabbed Falrinth and dragged him away from the curtain, then knelt close to his face.
“My druid companion can heal you, but you must help me. Where are the gems?”
Falrinth stared unblinking at Shanhaevel’s face and said nothing.
Shanhaevel shook his head and tried again. “She can make the pain go away. The temple will fall, but you can serve goodness once again, as before, when you rode with Prince Thrommel. Redeem yourself. Find it in your heart to rise to goodness once more. Tell me where the gems are!”
Very faintly, almost imperceptibly, Falrinth nodded. “Hedrack,” he gasped. “Hedrack h-has them.”
Something—Shanhaevel could never explain it later—made the elf flinch back at that moment. Perhaps it was a reflection in Falrinth’s eyes, or maybe it was a rustle of cloth or the swish of a weapon through the air, but whatever it was, flinch Shanhaevel did, and it saved his life. The crushing blow of a mace that had been intended for his head instead fell upon Falrinth’s face, spattering Shanhaevel with blood. Stumbling away from the gruesome sight of the other wizard’s pulped face, the elf stared up to see Hedrack looming over him, bloody mace in hand.
“You won’t be able turn him back to goodness, now,” Hedrack said, his voice filled with malevolent glee. He took a step forward, raising his mace once more.
Elmo snarled, leaping between Shanhaevel and Hedrack, lunging into the air with his axe held high. Hedrack spun, sliding easily out of the way, and swung a fist around, pummeling Elmo in the ribs. At the same instant, Hedrack barked a single word—something Shanhaevel did not comprehend, a word of power. At the moment of contact, Elmo’s eyes went wide. He spasmed, gasped in midair, then his body went limp as he skidded across the floor. Hedrack grinned down at the axeman’s unmoving form, sniffed, and turned away again, casting another spell.
Before Shanhaevel could react, he lost track of Hedrack. His attention seemed to be forced elsewhere. One moment the high priest was standing there, and the next, Shanhaevel just didn’t care. He could still see the high priest’s movements, but it no longer mattered that Hedrack was walking across the room, retreating from him. Unable to shake off these disconcerting sensations, the wizard turned his attention back to Elmo.
Elmo lay perfectly still, his eyes staring at nothing. Shirral had already rushed to his side, rolling him over before Shanhaevel could even touch the man.
“Get up!” she pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. “Elmo, get up!”
Elmo’s still form told Shanhaevel well enough that he was dead.
“Noooo!” the druid wailed, realizing the terrible truth, too. She buried her face in Elmo’s chest, huge sobs wracking her frame.
Shanhaevel reached out a hand to console her, but Shirral shoved him away, a crazed look in her eyes. “No!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. “Come back here, you bastard!” She took off like a shot, running after Hedrack.
“Shirral, wait!” Shanhaevel yelled, forcing down his own horror at Elmo’s death and scrambling to his feet to try to catch her, to slow her from her mad, headlong charge. She was too fast, though, and he could not catch her. “Come on!” he cried out to Govin and Draga, who were still kneeling over Ahleage, watching with stricken looks on their faces.
Shanhaevel didn’t wait to see if they would follow. He sprinted out of the temple after Shirral, praying he could catch up to the grief-stricken druid before she caught Hedrack.
The winding passages Shirral followed led to a series of well-appointed rooms—living quarters, from the looks of them. Shanhaevel saw Shirral dart ahead of him, around a corner and out of sight. Panic rising in his chest with every footstep, he ran after her, charging around the corner and almost into the flank of a huge creature—a two-headed monster that loomed over the fallen body of Shirral. The monster held a great axe in each of its hands.
Shirral moved, though she seemed woozy, languishing on a thick carpet with a gash across her forehead. The two-headed creature, an ettin, turned to Shanhaevel. Before the elf could react, though, a glowing hammer of dark blue light swooped in, hovering before him in midair. The wizard backed away from the levitating weapon, ready to dart out of the way should it attack, but the magical hammer was quick, and it caught him squarely on the chest. Coughing from the blow, Shanhaevel stumbled back and down, landing hard on his rump. His vision swam with spots, and he found it difficult to breathe. He tried to bring his staff up but discovered that he was sitting on it, and as he worked to get it free, the hammer hit him again, catching him in the temple. Everything faded to black.
26
“Wizard, come on! Get up!” It was Govin’s voice, although it seemed far away. It came through a haze of pain, a throbbing, pounding pain that bounced around in Shanhaevel’s skull. He considered speaking, but the idea of opening his mouth seemed to make his head pound worse, so he decided against it.
“Come on, Shanhaevel.” Draga’s voice cut through the throbbing. “Wake up. They’ve taken Shirral.”
The elf’s eyes opened, then, almost involuntarily. Nothing was in focus, but he blinked several times, willing them to work, and soon enough, several faces swam into view. Govin hovered over him, as well as Ahleage and Draga.
Shanhaevel was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He tried to speak and found that his jaw was incredibly sore. He only managed a feeble croak.
“Can you drink?” Govin asked, holding up a small vial and lifting Shanhaevel’s head.
The elf nodded feebly. The knight pressed the vial to the wizard’s lips and dribbled a bit of the liquid. The familiar taste of cinnamon and ash confirmed its healing nature. Shanhaevel swallowed the thick fluid and felt some of the pain leech out of his jaw. Pushing himself up with one hand, he reached out, took the vial from Govin, and quaffed the remainder of its contents, swallowing it hurriedly. He felt the familiar feeling of the magic at work, the coolness spreading through his body as the potion did its trick, soothing away many of the pains he felt.
When the healing was done, Shanhaevel felt much better. Sitting up fully now, he looked from face to face at the three men around him. “What happened to Shirral?” he asked, strangely calm.
“Hedrack grabbed her,” Ahleage said, his voice wavering the slightest bit. “He managed to get away before we could get past that”—he motioned with his head back in the direction of the two-headed ettin, now lying dead in a spreading pool of blood—“to reach and aid either of you.”
Damn! Shanhaevel thought, furious. Another part of his mind was strangely surprised that this was his reaction. “We’ve got to find her,” he said, trying to stand. He wavered on his feet, still a little light-headed from the beating he had taken. “Where did he go?”
Ahleage gestured back through the doorway where Shanhaevel had come in. “He threw her over his shoulder and went that way,” he said. Gesturing at his now healthy leg, he added, “Govin managed to cure me.” He shuddered once but that was all.
Shanhaevel saw how pale the man looked, recognizing the mark of having survived a harrowing experience. “You all right?”
“I’ll survive.” Ahleage nodded once. “But Shirral may not, if we don’t go now.”