Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [105]
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,