James Ward - Pools of Darkness

"Illusion," Evaine interrupted. "The creature wasn't really there."

"How did you know?"

"Gamaliel figured it out first. The beast didn't smell like an abishai. Those last three we fought reeked of sulphur. I could also tell it wasn't real."

Ren twisted in his saddle to stare at Miltiades. "My dead eyes are difficult to deceive," the undead knight said. "I saw only a shadow of the fiend." The paladin reached out to hold Ren's chain mail and assist Andoralson.

"What about you, druid?" Ren was growing irritated.

"I specialize in the magic of illusions. When Gamaliel tipped us off, I checked for myself and found the fiend to be a fake."

The ranger huffed. "If that beast was such a fake, then why does this wound feel so real? Ouch!" He glared at Andoralson.

Evaine explained. "When you believe an illusion is real, you also believe its behavior to be real. The theory behind the magic is a bit complicated."

"You mean I could have died from something that wasn't there?"

"I'm afraid so. It's been known to happen."

"So why did the beast evaporate when it hit Andoralson's shield?"

The druid spoke up. "That was the oak shield Miltiades gave me from his tomb. It magically repels arrows and other attacks, so I took a chance on the abishai. I guess I got lucky."

The paladin's stern voice scolded the druid. "Luck. Bah. You should thank Tyr for your life." Andoralson nodded his apology to Miltiades.

"We should move on. We've got a long way to go." Gamaliel offered, trying to bring order.

"Apparently that Marcus fellow knows we're coming. This seems to be his way of greeting us." Miltiades nudged his ivory steed to the front of the group, leading the way across the clearing.

Ren made a face. His shoulder still ached. "You've all got a sixth sense about this kind of thing. From now on, give me a signal, or if we're facing other creatures, make some odd comment about oh, what we ate for breakfast or the price of ale in Waterdeep." The ranger sighed wearily.

The group rode hard the rest of the day. Around mid-afternoon, Evaine broached a subject that concerned her.

"Andoralson, would you mind telling us what magic you've placed on this group? Gamaliel and I have been aware of some kind of spell ever since the fake abishai attacked us." Evaine's curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.

"Well… ah, I wanted us to approach the red tower as secretly as possible."

"I understand. I've got my own protective spells at work. But what spell have you used on us?" Evaine wasn't about to let the matter drop.

"The truth is sort of embarrassing-but since you insist, I've placed an illusion around us. We now appear as a herd of wild pigs."

The barbarian snorted in disgust. Miltiades couldn't contain a dry laugh.

"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.