Greyhawk adventures - Artifact of Evil Part 14

"It's a frontier town of Furyondy," Gellor told them, "located at the southernmost tip of Lake Whyestil. That was some pool.

. . . We're north of Chendl by thirty-five leagues and near the eastern edge of the Vesve!"

It took longer than they'd expected, but they arrived in the town tired but dry and cheerful. With a good rest and the acquisition of fast horses, they could be trekking into the fastness of the Vesve Forest tomorrow, still with fair prospects of finding Obmi the dwarf and his prize. This place was too close to enemy territory to begin inquiries for friends or allies, but there were good inns and a thriving market. After a meal and some sleep, the three went about equipping themselves for the expedition.

More than horses and provisions were needed. Gellor sought out a place to purchase maps, for they had precious little idea as to the extent and details of what lay within the Vesve. Chert was anxious to find a longbow, and Gord needed missiles for his sling. The bard went off on his errands while the pair of young adventurers sought a weaponer, hopefully a bowyer, elsewhere.

There were weapons aplenty to be found in Crockport, and in short order the barbarian found a huge bow that tested even his ma.s.sive arms. With it and two quivers crammed with broad-headed arrows, each over a yard long, they went on to find Gord's needs. This took a little longer, but eventually they located a place that provided Gord with a variety of weights and sizes of tapering lead bullets for his sling. With a quant.i.ty of these missiles stored away, and a pair of well-balanced knives tucked in his boots, the young thief was content. Gellor was waiting for them when they returned.

"There's scant information to be had, but I have a pair of crude maps and information from a hunter who has roamed the forest nearby," he said in clipped tones. "Let's be off."

"What's in the leather bag?" Chert asked the bard.

Gellor smiled at that. ''Long has it been since you have heard me sing and play, Chert, but the lack is cured. There is a fine little harp, therein, and I feel far better with such an instrument at hand."

With their coursers saddled and bearing bedrolls and saddlebags of provisions, they rode westward out of Crockport just after the sun had pa.s.sed its zenith. They followed a road that turned gradually northward, skirting the edge of the great forest. It was a no-man's-land that grew wilder and more lonely as they went.

"The map shows a likely place to spend the night," Gellor told his companions. "There's a little village that lies a hard day's ride from the town, but if we press our steeds, they'll carry us there before much of the dark has been spent."

Late in the afternoon they reached a place where the road split into three tracks. One veered toward the lake some ten miles to the east. The central lane continued northward, and the leftmost trail ran westward angled toward the north. Gellor took the latter way, and urged his horse to a faster pace, for there was but an hour or two of light remaining and a long distance yet to go before the village was reached.

"We are hunters," said the bard as he patted the heavy boar-spear strapped beside him. The hour was but two from midnight, and they were near the village at last. No further caution was needed, and the three proceeded into the community, found a tavern that offered accommodations, and there spent a safe and restful night.

The residents were curious to see the strangers, for not many such folk pa.s.sed their way - at least not many of honest sort, ora group so few in number. They were unmolested, of course, for the three adventurers were obviously tough and capable. Local folk gave them a wide berth, said little, and when the strangers needed anything they bargained sharply, beginning with exorbitant prices and grudgingly lowering them to merely outrageous demands. Gord pretended to be in need of a new spear, while Gellor and Chert casually inquired about the most likely areas to find the great boars for which the area was famous.

The village was, in fact, called Tusham, in recognition of the number of trophies of long, pointed teeth that decorated its tavern and other establishments. Chert, having hunted the ferocious pigs of his own hills, was eager to discuss the habitats and tricks of the local beasts. There was enough of the same stamp among the rustics of the village, so barbarian and yokels were soon telling tall tales and looking wise, Gellor got his additional information, while Gord and Chert ended up buying local boar-spears at only slightly inflated prices. A pair of young lads wanted to guide the three adventurers, for there was a famous old boar in the neighborhood. They said it was a devil in pig's hide, actually, but that three skilled hunters such as these strangers were could certainly bring it to bay and slay it. Gellor shooed them off, and the trio was soon out of Tusham and heading into the dim Vesve.

They followed a narrow path that wended its way westward into the heart of the spreading forest. After an hour or so this path diverged, one fork tending toward the south a bit, the other seeming to curve northward. That was the direction desired, and they took the upper trail after a moment of pondering. There were occasional side paths, for here and there some woodcutter or hunter had his home.

As Gellor had been told, they came to a hermit's cave in a low cliff that bordered a small woodland stream. The recluse was not to be seen, and after drinking and filling their waterskins, they rode on, chewing tough sausages and bits of dried fruit as they went. The path faded into nothingness thereafter, but there were numerous game traits that meandered and crisscrossed. The woodland had been light, with patches of scrub and dense undergrowth where forestation or brushfire had been at work upon its verge.

Now the boles were ma.s.sive, rising to leafy crowns high above, and their limbs intertwined to make the forest floor dim and free of growth above stirrup height. The trails led to an occasional meadow or small clearing at first, but then the little tracks became fewer and the places where sunlight reached and gra.s.s grew scarce. Although the forest was not hard to pa.s.s through, it was difficult to keep to a single direction. The sun was hidden and the trails meandered confusingly between the thick trunks of the forest giants - ipp and roanwoods dwarfing oaks that were hundreds of years old. Chert was happy here, and both Gellor and Gord had sufficient skill at woodcraft to be able to remain on a northerly route.

At nightfall the bard told them they were now in the territory frequented by the herds of wild pigs. They made certain that they were armed with their spears as they made camp and gathered fuel for the fire. Chert slipped away to see if he could find any game for supper in the half-hour of purple twilight that remained. He returned with an enormous squirrel whose coat was of sooty hue. His chagrin at having found nothing bigger was changed to unease when the bard told him that such giants as the squirrel he had brought down were a sure sign of evil. They found it tasty anyway, roasted on a spit over the cherry embers of their small fire.

"You say that such limb-lopers as that are found only in forests of eldritch sort?" asked Chert again.

"Why are you surprised at that?" the bard countered. "You know that the cambion's servants use the heart of the Vesve as a highway, and we are making for that evil core. It is encouraging to find a creature of that ilk so soon . . . the trails of Iuz must be nearer than I thought."

Gord, not at all disturbed about the nature of the rodent, was thinking of the great swine that made their home in the area.

"And the wild boars? What about the tale of the one who is diabolical?" he asked.

"Devils and demons don't mix, as they say," Gellor said with a small shrug. "Still, perhaps the beast could be some form of demon, possessed or in swine-form - or even a were-form of that sort. Let us hope that we can avoid confrontation with a boar of any kind. If not, then we must slay quick and sure. There are more important things we must accomplish than sticking pigs, mundane or supernatural."

"Let it be a plain old tusker!" exclaimed Chert enthusiastically. "Second Key or no, a big tusker roasted over an open fire is a dish I haven't tasted in far too long."

Gellor had been only half-listening as the giant hillman spoke of such feasting. Without commenting, Gellor quietly opened the leather bag with its little harp nestled upon the velvet that lined it. He sat back, ran his fingers experimentally across the silver strings, and made rippling melodies play around the firelit little clearing. Both young men watched and listened in fascination. Gellor left off the runs and rills, playing instead a melody and singing a ballad that bespoke the comradery and gladness of a forest camp at the coming of night. The song lasted for minutes.

Before it concluded, two forms emerged from the shadowy dark just beyond the edge of the campfire's light and joined the listeners.

Chapter 21.

While Gord and his companions sought the evil dwarf Obmi deep in the Vesve Forest, events elsewhere began to lead toward a resolution of the matter.

Somewhere in the mountains to the west, a great citadel stood, carved from the basalt and obsidian of the peaks themselves.

The fortress was cloaked magically, so that only a few knew where it stood, and fewer of those dared to go near it. Within the sprawling complex were many sorts of folk, including the dwarven miners who dug the rich veins of platinum from the depths of the ma.s.sifs and the gnomish smiths who beat it into coins of finely wrought jewelry. Others, men and elves, carried the product of the mining and Grafting further west into Perrenland and Ket, southward to Highfolk and Veluna, and east into the sprawling Kingdom of Furyondy. The citadel was the demesne of Mordenkainen and the various folk were all who owned him as their liege.

The affairs of others seldom interested the archmage, but of late he had been troubled by news from his agents. These included spies who roamed the domain of Iuz and actually entered the dreaded city of Dorakaa, or rode the plains of the Hierarchs and drank in the sinks of Molag. All said that Evil bestirred itself. There were rumors of a concerted effort, even strange flashes of power in the cosmos. Mordenkainen took heed of all this. Emissaries of magical and ordinary type as well went forth to alert heads of state and other cryptic groups and powerful individuals to what the archmage had learned. With them went a pledge of a.s.sistance and a promise to resist the growing coalition of malign forces. The knowledge sent hinted most abstrusely at the existence of the tripart.i.te artifact and its First Key. Those who were great in knowledge of arcane and recondite subjects knew then that the world stood in great peril.

Back came more bits and pieces of information and a.s.surances of cooperation. The elvenfolk of Highfolk and their nominal subjects within the edges of Vesve Forest made alliance with Mordenkainen and the force called the Obsidian Citadel. Seldom had theyquarreled anyway, and the arch-mage's va.s.sals included many tribes of wild grugach and wood elves. Agents came and went from secret places, bearing more secret communications. It happened that one of these agents managed to bring Iuz his first intelligence regarding the Artifact of All Evil and alert the cambion as to the likely whereabouts of the Second Key. Thus Obmi, the worst of Iuz's "Secret Six," managed to find the item where it was hidden in the lost temple.

The host raised by the Scarlet Brotherhood, meanwhile, had floundered through the Suss Forest and upward to the Welkwood.

Confused and slow, they had been hara.s.sed by the woodsmen and elves in the process of their march. Furious at their inability to locate something already far beyond their reach, the "Brothers" gathered a still greater force. Goblins and hobgoblins and any other of the vicious humanoids who could be found were conscripted to fight beside the bandits, brigands, and sc.u.m who served as auxiliaries for the main body. This army was composed of the highly trained and rigidly disciplined regiments of the Brotherhood. Its advance guard was a thousand strong, and behind that regiment were four others. Such size was actually why the force was ineffective. It was increased by the addition of thousands of men and humanoids.

So large a horde could not fail but to attract attention. The army had to eat and its scurvy auxiliaries had to slay and burn. The whole rolled northward slowly, and then turned away from the forests to stab into the pastoral countryside of Celene. The elvish monarchy was awaiting. They fell upon the horde almost immediately, and a great pitched battle raged for two days thereafter.

There fell the Marshal of Celene, Lord Pa.r.s.eval. With him many other n.o.ble elves and men were slain as well. As spell-caster fought spell-caster, the plying of bow and spear, sword and axe, took the worst toll. Of the "cousins," "nephews," and "brothers" of the Scarlet Sign there was a great slaughter. Afterward, their regiments had no heart and fought fiercely but without direction. So they died.

Brigand companies and allied humanoids simply melted away, fleeing this way or that. Those that went east, back to the Welkwood, were ambushed or hunted down and then exterminated. In this manner an a.s.sa.s.sin sometimes known as Blonk was brought low by Deirdre, a Lady Knight of Hardby, while the great company of outlaws whom he had led was slain to a man by the banner of riders and footmen who served her. Some few managed to remain alive by fleeing north or south. Those who escaped to the south eventually returned to the Pomarj to tell of the terrible battle.

Those who went northward found another fate.

At the northern edge of the Kron Hills, where the fringe of the great Gnarley Forest sent no more of its briars and oaks toward the setting sun, stand the ruins of a large building. Once active, the place is now generally shunned, for another battle was fought near it and its builders slain or gone in defeat. The place is, of course, the Temple of Elemental Evil - its ruin, rather - as any local serf or peasant farm-boy from the neighborhood could tell you. Other than an occasional group of adventurous explorers seeking forgotten treasure, n.o.body goes to the temple. Bad, evil things haunt the place still.

To this very place came a company of another sort - goodly clerics, stout cavaliers and soldiers too, and a magic-user or two as well. They came because a dire warning said that some being of great evil still lurked there, imprisoned in the temple but about to be loosed. They traveled quickly and with grim purpose.

They were greeted by a ma.s.s of fugitives. These evil men and malign humanoids were spoiling for revenge, and they lay in wait for the company. These outlaws had strong and fearsome leaders now, folk from the hidden places beneath the temple and others too. They thought to kill the clerics and knights and all the rest. The evil leaders left them, though, and as most of their fellows had done earlier, these survivors did now. They were killed on the field. The battle, small and brief as it actually was, comparatively speaking, took its toll on the company. There was a delay for meditation and prayer, for healing and rest, to prepare for the entry into the Temple of Elemental Evil.

Time had been purchased at a price held cheap and meaningless by those within the place. A great personage, an ancient magus, a feared and mighty one of eld, had come among the few who still remained within the precincts of the ruin. She it was who set the ambush, brought the delay, and gained the time for her ends. The company came, ready again to face any foe of evil nature. Into the temple they came, driving all before them. Downward they plunged, sending undead things back to the pits from which they came, destroying the lurking monsters who would otherwise prey upon mankind. Deep and deeper they went, seeking what they knew they must find.

Even as they finally discovered the confining place and readied for the great confrontation, a pair of ghastly figures sprang upward, pa.s.sing through stone and earth as if it were air. Too late had these archclerics and doughty fighters come. Iggwilv, Mother of Evil, had come before them and freed the demoness Zuggtmoy. But as these minions of Good lamented their failure, there were those not allied to Evil who rejoiced at Iggwilv's success. Mordenkainen, one who had secretly aided the plan to free the monstrous demoness, was among them.

Thirteen stone chairs stand above the many lesser seats in the Hall of Dread in Molag. Five to either hand are smaller and lower than the three in the center. Thirteen thrones for the thirteen Hierarchs, the Dread and Awful Presences who rule the Horned Society. Only three of the chairs were empty. The trio of the tallest thrones remained vacant as the Hierarchs took their places - five to the right, five to the left. Officials and military officers filed in to stand below the thrones.

Down the isle left unusually broad by the press of lesser masters of the Horned Society - humanoid chieftains, bandit leaders, all - wafted a terrible stench. As the foul odor came, the ranks compacted tighter still, and a wide s.p.a.ce was made wider by this movement. Behind the decaying stink came something from which eyes turned away in revulsion. Before the thrones and the ten Hierarchs came Anthraxus the Decayed, Daemonking of Hades. It is worthy of note that the ten who sat upon the stone chairs did not avert their eyes as the monstrous figure glided toward them.

"Greetings, Lord of Glooms," said the greatest of the remaining ten Hierarchs, acknowledging Anthraxus by the least of his t.i.tles as if in challenge.

The Daemonking made no sign that he had noticed the affront. "And to you all," the thing replied in a voice that seemed to issue from an empty chest and a throat choked with maggots. "I am come at the behest of Nerull to a.s.sist you in your war."

None of the ten flinched at the mention of the war, even though they had only today received news that ma.s.ses of Iuz's troops were marching through the northern regions of their realm. Again the greatest spoke.

"We serve Evil and acknowledge Nerull as Overlord. We likewise serve the same ends as Thee, but why is it that Our One Master does not Himself come?"

The great oinodaemon sneered and puffed out a cloud of foetid breath in answer. "Play not fools, you remaining Hierarchs!

Isn't the loss of three of your number enough to teach you your place?"

The spokesman seemed totally unaffected by the implication of the question. "You mean as His servants?" he replied in an icy, level tone."What else?" Anthraxus shot back in a voice that would sicken any normal listener.

"Of course, Lord of Glooms, just as you come to us . . ." and the spokesman allowed his voice to trail off but raised a finger and spoke again. "The Three who represented Tar-terus, Hades, and Gehenna are gone. We have not yet had the trials which will elevate three of our own number to these exalted positions - and bring three lessers to sit with the Ten. Until we are Three and Ten once again, our power is insufficient against that rebel who opposes the Unification!"

"You waste My time!" Anthraxus said in a voice that coughed and choked.

"No, Master of Daemonkind, you are wasting your time - and ours too. We Ten erred, but not as did the former Three. It is not my place to question the removal of the offenders by the Master of Us All, but I do state now that unless the Society is given aid, we - and the Unification - are in jeopardy."

"Do not place undue importance on yourselves or your petty realm!" the oinodaemon wheezed angrily.

"Then why did Lord Nerull send you to us?" the speaker asked mildly.

Anthraxus shook his rotting, ramlike head in frustration. "I am come to make certain you make no further errors!"

"And . . ."

"To aid you against the might of that fungi-fornicating, toad-sp.a.w.ned, whelp of a miserable little demon princeling, Iuz!"

The spokesman nodded, with neither pride nor fear in expression or the voiced statement that followed. "Now we understand fully, Lord of Hades, but there is that which must be spoken. What if the cambion gains the Second Key?"

"Then you will take it from him," the ghastly, diseased voice of the oinodaemon rasped, "and I shall be there to see you do not fail again!"

Bits of decaying matter fell from Anthraxus, dropping here and there as he went. The oinodaemon had been standing before the Ten of the Hierarchs for an extended period, and a small circle of the putrescent matter had acc.u.mulated around his filthy greatcloak. As he was about to turn and leave, he saw the faces of the enthroned Ten turn pale, eyes start, hands shake. He followed their staring gaze down to the hem of the garment, where the litter of rotting stuff oozed and stank. The stuff had become a fairy ring of fungi, tiny zygoms sprouting from the rot.

At that moment Anthraxus felt fear crawl through his plagued body.

Obmi and the crazed elf, Keak, moved carefully once they were well beyond Littleberg. They rode sharply west to gain the no-man's-land between Veluna and Furyondy. Once therein, they veered northward again toward the great forest above. It was dangerous going for them, with patrols to avoid, groups of bandits to dodge or evade, and occasional brushes with feral animals or night-stalking monsters to deal with. Despite all that, Obmi was satisfied with their progress. Keak had told the dwarf about the curious elf, the last probable pursuer they had. But none followed, none knew where he went, and he had the prize!

Scarcely a sennight after leaving Littleberg, they came to the seedy little village of Stump. Obmi sought an agent of Iuz there, but none were to be found. In fact, because of Keak they were virtually treated as untouchables by the folk of the village. The residents of Stump had a reputation for aiding and abetting outlaws and reavers if they were paid. There were places to dispose of stolen goods in the village, brothels and a gambling hall for disposing of excess coin. Elven knights had been to the village just days before. Their men-at-arms (elves-at-arms, to be correct) had searched the whole community and discovered property that could be identified as stolen goods. Villagers were hanged on the spot, and a half-dozen were carried off for questioning. That, Obmi thought, explained why there was no help for them there. They stayed and debauched themselves a day or two anyway, for the dwarf thought a second visit from the knights improbable.

As he had hoped, a scar-faced half-orc and several men appeared in Stump asking for a dwarf. The villagers, thinking that these ruffians had come to kill both Obmi and Keak, cheerfully directed the group to where the dwarf and elf swilled cheap wine and sported. Obmi killed the proprietor of the establishment as he looked expectantly for an attack upon the pair of customers he would have murdered himself if he dared. Laughing, Keak dragged the best-looking of the women from the place. In a few minutes they were riding into the edge of the towering forest, and the low folk of the village quickly forgot that they had ever been in Stump.

The going was slow but steady. The half-orc was the leader and the three men who served him were skilled woodsmen. After seeing the dwarfs hammer in action, none questioned his a.s.sumption of leaders.h.i.+p. Keak was even more feared than Obmi because of the elfs absolute unpredictability. There were stations - lone huts, tiny thorps, or hidden places - where they found a safe night's rest, food, even fresh mounts. After a few days more men and a handful of arboreal ores joined them as reinforcements. The arboreal ores were new to both Obmi and Keak. The creatures seemed to show a strong strain of ape, and this fascinated both dwarf and elf.

Eventually, Keak gave the woman to the ape-ores and they soon killed her.

By then the band was halfway through the Vesve, and Iuz sent Obmi word that a fitting escort was coming to bring them safely to Dorakaa.

At this same time, almost at the same moment, Mordenkainen himself took the field. With him were his trusted henchmen of old, as well as the gray elf fighter and magic-user, Melf, and several companies of deadly elves and hard foresters. The archmage had waited quietly as the Second Key came ever nearer to him. Now he would strike quickly, take the thing, and return with it to the Citadel.

Then let Evil rave and threaten, let the forces of Good demand. He would hold the Key and with it would withstand such threats easily.

As long as the factions of the malign fought and quarreled, as long as men established nations and states and fought among themselves, this long would there be need for those who saw the whole as a slowly turning wheel. Neutral, even though generally despising true evilness, the Obsidian Citadel would remain strong and a.s.sist the balance. The possession of the Second Key guaranteed that.

Why then, Mordenkainen wondered as he set about his foray, did the Hierophants of the Cabal not support him? Jealousy, he supposed. That must be the reason.

Chapter 22.

"Never have I heard such music," breathed one.

The other sat silently, still hearing the singing perhaps, and made no reply.

"What are your names?" the bard asked quietly.

"I am called Thatcher - or Thatch, as my friends say," the taller of the two lads answered.

"And I am Shad, although the folk of the village make it to be Shadow, for I follow my friend Thatch," the one who had been silent piped.Gellor nodded and smiled. "We are glad to have you at our fire, Thatch and Shad. Why did you follow us here?"

"Well, sir," the gangling boy said with a nervous swallow, "Shad and I want to be hunters. When we heard you speak of wild boar, we decided to join you. . . . If you slay the devil-pig, you'll be famous hereabouts, and then so will we!"

The boy called Shadow bounced in eager agreement. "We heard where you were going, so we cut through the forest and got ahead of you. When you pa.s.sed it was easy to follow."

Gord looked at Chert, and the big barbarian shrugged. Gellor had somehow brought the boys into their camp with his singing, that was clear Gord wanted to know if the bard knew when he began the melody that the boys, or somebody, was near. He had heard nothing, and it seemed that Chert had likewise been unaware of the presence of the two. The young thief remained silent, though, allowing Gellor to do all the talking. The one-eyed man was certainly getting answers.

"Why did you come so close?"

"We couldn't make our own fire, so we had to be near yours for protection. There's things in the night, you know, which would gladly have us for their dinner," Thatch responded. "I am sorry we disturbed you by coming into the circle, but when you sang and played we just had to - . ."

"No matter, boys. We're pleased you joined us, aren't we?" and as he spoke the latter he glanced meaningfully at his comrades.

Chert rumbled a greeting, and Gord nodded and smiled.

"There," Gellor said. "We are all friends here. Tell me, what did you hear us talking about?"

"Oh . . ." Thatch said, and then he looked toward his friend for help. Shad looked away, s.h.i.+fting nervously.

Gellor looked at the bigger youth and prompted him to go on by saying, "It's fine to say whatever you like when you're with boon company!"

"I know, sir, but I am confused. You are hunters, the boldest-looking hunters we have ever seen in Tusham! We know that you've come to slay the tuskers - maybe get the devil-pig himself - and we heard you speak of running from them," Thatch said with a note of betrayal in his voice.

"Shad, did you hear that?" Gellor asked.

Shad grinned. "I'm not a post! I heard everything," and with that he turned to his taller friend and said, "Thatch, I'll wager that it's treasure they're after! Why else get away from pigs when you're a hunter?" Thatch made no reply to that, so the eager-faced lad turned and looked at Chert, Gord, and finally Gellor as he asked, "It is a treasure, isn't it? The key you talked about opens a big chest full of silver and gold, doesn't it? The evil place is where some dragon hides its h.o.a.rd, right?"

"Hmmm," the bard said, stroking his chin. "You are as keen-eared as an owl. You must not mention any of what you heard ever again. Shad? Thatch? Understood?"