James Ward - Pools of Darkness

Wind and rain pummeled the broken tower. The protections around her spellcasting chamber had prevented water from getting in, but the rest of the tower was a wet mess.

Andoralson had left the spellcasting chamber earlier, and now the two druids stood outside, near the battered front door. Both gestured simultaneously into the sky. Not a drop of rain touched their cloaks.

"What are they doing out there?" Evaine gasped. She struggled to fight exhaustion.

Ren shouted over the noise of the storm. "When you started your spell, Talenthia noticed a swirl of dark thunderclouds forming above our heads. Only moments ago, huge bolts of lightning started blasting down on the tower. Is your spell connected to what's happening out there?"

"Anything's possible with the strange weather we've had lately. My spell could have drawn the storm like a beacon. But if that was true, the effect should have stopped when I canceled my spell."

Boom!

Lighting struck and was deflected. Against Gamaliel's urgings, Evaine dragged herself outside with the others to see what was happening.

"Nice little storm we have here. I-" Talenthia's words were lost in the thunder.

Boom!

Talenthia gestured quickly, and the lightning strike was forced aside into the meadow near the tower. In the bright flash, all the companions saw smoke rise from the ground. The grass was filled with deep, charred depressions.

"Cousin, it's time to stop this nonsense for a while." Talenthia could barely be heard over the roaring wind.

"Great idea. I'll take your lead."

The two joined hands and raised their oak staves into the air. The pounding rain stopped, and a cool breeze blew up and swirled around the tower and the meadow. The druids' cloaks were whipped by the breeze; their staves swirled round and round above their heads, emitting a humming noise. The clouds above twisted and spun away. Then the sun broke through.

Clouds were visible in every direction, but in a wide oval above their heads, the warm noonday sun beat down from a bright blue patch of sky.

"Well, that's much better," Andoralson said with a satisfied smirk. "I expect our patch of blue will last only a few hours. Talenthia and I were able to slow the lightning today, but I expect the next attack will be stronger and will get through our best defenses. We'd best be off at first light. Evaine, you can rest. Tell us what you discovered as we move along the trail."

No one argued. They all knew they had to press onward as quickly as safety allowed.

"Tactics, Captain Brittle! Tactics win battles and carry the day!" The Red Wizard of Thay was especially arrogant and overconfident this morning. "And tactics, you bag of bones, is what you sadly lack."

If Brittle, the undead lord, had possessed lungs, he would have sighed in frustration. He had been summoned from the grave by a pit fiend because of his legendary fame for leading all types of armies into all types of battles. His victories and rare defeats a thousand years before were still discussed with admiration in all parts of Faerun. Written accounts of his battles were prized by both good and evil generals. Brittle knew more about tactics and combat operations than any creature alive on Toril. Or dead, for that matter. Somehow, a weak human, less than forty years old, who had spent most of his years reading crumbling tomes of magic in the libraries of Thay didn't impress him.

"Let's review my battle plan one more time, shall we?"

Brittle clenched his bony fists with a faint scraping and creaking. Along with half a dozen clerics of Bane, eight assorted mages, and the pit fiend, he was part of an assembly convening in what Marcus called his war chamber. Others would have called it a converted bedroom. Marcus circled and gestured around the pit fiend's magical creation-an exact, ten-foot-long diorama of the walled city of Phlan.

"I will lead the two main attacks against the walls of Phlan with the minions of Moander. We will attack from two angles in sort of a clawlike action."

"A pincer maneuver," Brittle interrupted.

"Ah, yes. Right. A pincer maneuver," Marcus stammered. "You, Brittle, will lead your three hundred skeletal warriors under the water, through the bay, and into the city, but naturally, your attack will not be the main thrust of the battle."

"Mine is the diversionary action."

"Correct. Yours is the, ah, diversion. One of my units will try to get around the main body of defenders and attack from the side."

"In a flanking maneuver?" Brittle noted flatly.

"Yes, yes, in a flanking action," Marcus said, creating a rod of flame to mark several spots on the model's walls. "If all goes well, the other half of my army should be able to create a weak spot in the walls and climb over to let everyone else in."

"You intend to probe the wall in force, is that correct?" Brittle asked.

"Why do you keep interrupting my war council, Brittle? Just do what you are told, and all of my plans should proceed in good order."

The skeletal commander could no longer contain his irritation. "Lord Marcus, any one of these operations would serve your purpose of getting into the city. But trying all of them at once is foolish-worse than foolish, suicide. I would advise you to give up all these groping tactics and simply make a frontal charge at the walls. With the power of the minions of Moander and all the hundreds of other troops at your command, one solid, direct attack should carry the day."

"It is clear to me, Captain Brittle, that you know nothing about military matters. I don't know how you got your reputation as a brilliant commander."

Brittle's hollow eye sockets stared at Marcus in bony silence.

Marcus turned to his pit fiend. "Escort this insolent being to his troops. See that he doesn't bother me again."

The evil creature flapped toward the skeletal warrior. Both left the room. As the pit fiend led Brittle out of the upper chambers, he lay a taloned hand on the skeleton's shoulder. A burst of magical black sparks sprayed from the talon and swirled around the skeletal body.

"Brittle, I know your talents as a leader. With my magic, I have now released you and your skeletal army from all control Marcus holds over you. You and I both know that tragedies sometimes happen in battle-often, sadly, to the leaders of armies. Go forth, Lord Brittle, and make war as you did in centuries past. Latenat!"

With a thunderous boom, the fiend teleported himself back to the heart of the tower.

At the edge of the accursed, twisted forest, Marcus's troops were gathering. The landscape was covered with green flesh, matted fur, and bony skeletal shapes of monsters of every size and description. Fangs dripped, voices screeched, and weapons rattled as the evil horrors anticipated the slaughter ahead.

Once again, Marcus flew into battle on his black nightmare. He roamed above his troops, reviewing them one last time while he shouted orders from on high.

"You ogres and trolls-move in front of the clerics and wizards. Your orders are to protect them with your lives!" Marcus had no trouble being heard above the din of his army. He had magically enhanced his voice. Even at a whisper, his voice was a bellow.

A little more than a mile-wide swath of Moander's minions stood before Marcus. The treelike creatures were the result of powerful, corrupting magic that rendered them deadly fighters. They moved more slowly than a normal man, but numerous magical protections were built into their bodies.

Marcus smirked from on high. And what's best, he decided, is that they do anything I command with just a thought! He shifted gleefully in his saddle.

Marcus ordered five of the tree-minions to charge Phlan's walls.