by Gary Gygax
"Those are generous gifts, exalted ones. Gellor and I thank you," Gord told the Hierophants as they looked first at the one-eyed bard, then directly at him.
Then came a series of other similar presentations. The affair was both a ceremony of elevation and a briefing and arming of a force being assigned to fight the enemy. The honors and powers were given to allow the two the utmost chance of success — success on behalf of the lords present and all those who opposed Evil. And there was more to it than even that. The whole issue now included the continued existence of vitality in the multiverse.
The Shadowking gave both men shadow armor. It was seemingly insubstantial stuff, weighing nothing, interfering with no motion or act; yet the umbrate cuirass and gorget, the greaves and brassards were as impenetrable as plate of enchanted adamantite in all conditions except total darkness or glaring, shadowless light. With this armor and the other protections each of the two heroes wore — magical rings giving proof against attacks and magic spells, shirts of mail dweomered by elven wizards, and all the rest — the most puissant of devils or demons would find it near impossible to strike either man with weapons.
The savants of Oerth, represented by Mordenkainen, could give Gord nothing of benefit to him, but upon Gellor the ancient archwizard bestowed a strange musical instrument. It was a lutelike thing with many additional instruments attached to or forming part of its body. It had been recovered from some lost trove and restored by those great mages with the assistance of Heward, Lord Hugh, one who was most skilled at such things.
Rexfelis too was unable to gift anything further to the champion, but to the troubador he gave what he called "cat's paws," boots and gauntlets that had power of enabling the wearer to land on his feet, climb as a cat, and deliver clawed blows.
There was but little the druids could assist with, for where the two had to venture there was no flora or fauna of natural sort; no sun, moons, planets, or stars, not even the natural elements. Those other priests of Balance, however, could be of some help. They were the channel through which flowed to Gord and Gellor the grants of healing. Immunity from disease and parasite, knowledge of truth, and warding from foes.
Then followed various and sundry other presentments and powers, so that when the last of them were granted, neither of the two companions was quite sure just what they now were and what they could accomplish. "You are somewhat confused," the Hierarchs noted. "We understand. Although you might find it incredible, you may rest assured that we were once thus," the three chorused. "The whole will be assimilated, never fear, in due time."
"There is precious little of that," Mordenkainen snapped. "They need neither your collective anecdotes or my lecturing," he went on. "We must get to the last part of this whole business, and then let the two of them get on with it!"
"Somewhat abrupt, dear old fellow," Keogh, Lord Thomas, said, stepping in to stand between the Hierophants and the archwizard. "I was about to get to the last part anyway, you know."
Mordenkainen made a sour face and twiddled his fingers in a "come on, then" gesture. The master of muses fumbled around inside his robe and finally brought forth a roll of parchment and a rune-worked stick of charcoal. Gord and Gellor peered at the objects, wondering what Lord Thomas was about to do. "He has discovered something at last," the old mage supplied somewhat in sarcasm, seeing their uncertainty. "Tell them! Get on with it!"
"Well," the mystic fellow said, seeming to ignore Mordenkainen with the patience an adult demonstrates with an unruly offspring, "I suppose you, Gord, and you, Gellor, are wondering just what this is all about, my little show here," Thomas spoke as he laid out scroll and stylus. "It is automatic writing, and it comes from an unexpected source. . ."
As he said that, the rime-covered charcoal stick arose, point on parchment, and began slowly to trace out a line of writing upon the pale surface.
"Basiliv here, if only in spirit. Constrained as to energy, what I can relate. Rite of shielding against dweomers follows. M can do that. Gord, beware the conclusion of all Triumph!"
There then followed a series of glyphs and other pictograms, a magical shorthand which filled the remainder of the roll.
"How did you discover this sort of communication was possible?" Gellor inquired.
"We have all been seeking Basiliv, his psyche, for a long time now. I was trying to make notes on new avenues to try when the Demiurge himself took over from me. There's no credit to me," Lord Thomas said modestly.
Gord thought otherwise but remained quiet. He was wondering just what the warning about the "conclusion of all" meant. "Will you be able to restore his spirit and form?" he finally asked the master of muses.
"Doubtful, most doubtful," Mordenkainen interjected. "Especially now that he has revealed to me one of the most potent castings of the Omni Arcana Magna. ..." He trailed off, turning to look over his shoulder at a cohort who had advanced toward the scroll.
"Aha! I suspected as much!" the archmage snapped, covering the writing on the scroll quickly. "You are not mature enough, not ready for such as this. Tenser! Return to your proper place whilst I finish instructing these heroes." He remained steadfast in the face of a glower from not only Tenser but Bigby as well, for that worthy spellcrafter had also slipped in near in order to view the writings from Basiliv.
"Upstarts!" Mordenkainen muttered, then looked at Gord and Gellor. "In a day or two I'll be ready to confer upon you that degree of magical immunity which your own force of being can maintain — possibly only a trifling bit compared to what I myself will undoubtedly be able to retain. No matter, no matter! I have much to do now, so the others can amuse you." With that, the gray-bearded archwizard turned and left the assembly without saying another word to anyone.
"Basiliv seems to be essentially lost from our ken, as it were," the three Hierophants piped. "He was perhaps the one best suited to deal with these times of tribulation, but the rest of us will make do. Unless there are questions you have, there is nothing further for you here." they observed in unison. "Our apologies for the truncated and hasty ceremonies."
"Everyone is either trailing off or abrupt," the troubador said under his breath to Gord. "My head spins and reels with all that has occurred. Anyway," he added as an afterthought, "if you have any inquiries, my friend, fire away, I am quite unable to think of anything to say."
"Thank you, thank you all," Gord said loudly. "I believe it is time Gellor and I returned to our own chambers and become familiar with all the new . . . powers ... we have received."
"An excellent idea, champion," Rexfelis announced. "I will personally escort you both." The others rose, or turned if already standing, and gave a semi-informal farewell before resuming a whispered debate, which Gord suddenly realized must have been going on for some time already. Somewhat in anticipation of the close of the ceremony, the group was already deep in discussion of what each indIvidual or society would now be doing to try to hold things together until the degeneration of conditions could be curtailed, halted, even reversed. Some said that would require Gord's reuniting the terrible relic and the freeing of Ultimate Evil. So another immediate round of how to deal with that sprang up from the others.
Responsibility and reliance, Gord mused, placed a heavy burden upon each and every one of the lords. Rexfelis commented on that to Gord and Gellor as the three of them walked slowly along the corridor outside, saying, "Don't press the issue regarding the Demiurge, Gord. I fear we have lost him forever — at least save for such bits as you Just witnessed."
"Surely the others know this, too?"
"Yes, but it is a terrible blow, and even such as we lords of Balance need to maintain morale. Do you feel much different?" he asked, changing the subject. Rexfelis looked at the gray-eyed man who was his great-grandson and champion of the fight against darkness. Gord shook his head, his confusion clear on his face. He was torn by conflicting realizations: he was quite literally now a powerful lord, and yet he felt much the same as he had when he was a mere stripling. "Exactly. I f
eel much the same myself at times. The most disturbing part is that Basiliv was taken by an enemy not of the dark forces. But enough of that now! Let's have a slight repast, we three, and I will tell you a few last things you should know."
The Catlord steered his companions to a small, cozy little dining chamber where silent servants set forth a sumptuous array of delicacies on silver trays and plates, poured various liquids into flagons and decanters, and bowed before leaving as silently as they had prepared the refreshments.
"I must admit," Gellor said as he viewed the astounding variety of comestibles before him, "I am still surprised at you, my lord."
"How so, good hero?" Rexfelis rejoined lightly.
"You are king of cats, yet this is much more than cat's fare — and there's not even a solitary mouse!"
Rexfelis laughed heartily as he raised a crystal goblet and sipped the red-gold wine it held. "Thank you, noble Gellor. We need to relax from the cares which would otherwise grind us down. Know you, though, that never will either of you ever be mistaken by your peers?"
"I don't follow you, grandsire," Gord told him.
"With friends, comrades, allies, you may set aside your guards and wards in part. Here, now as we do. But if you do so, any being of power, a greater demon, a major devil, even a plane tar from the higher spheres will instantly see you for what you are."
Gellor stroked his chin in thoughtful acknowledgment. "It is a fair warning, Gord. We must always remember who we are, always be prepared to act in the face of hostility or aggression."
Rexfelis smiled. "Nicely put. Gord is our champion, but the wisdom of years cannot be done without. You, Gellor, are just the right companion for young thinking." He placed his hand upon Gord's forearm and squeezed. "We show little affection, but know that it is within — and pride, too! Would that I had years to spend instructing, counseling, being a friend. We have but scant days. Gord, mark my words and your friend's, too. You are changed, and plainly apparent as above the mortal now."
"I understand, and I have always given Gellor heed."
"Beyond that, remember that you are grown, altered, and henceforth your existence and whereabouts will be traceable," the Catlord said solemnly. "Beyond one or two places of safety, your every movement will be observable. Unless you are careful, your thinking will be noted and possibly read. With the power you now possess comes a whole host of difficulties not heretofore experienced by you."
Respectfully, Gord nodded, but then said, "Just as I learned when I played at being the unknown cat burglar, lord, I can learn quickly from instruction as well as my own experience. Please give me a little credit."
"Gord— " the troubador started to admonish.
Holding his hand up to stay that, Rexfelis interrupted. "Yes. You are right, and I am condescending toward you as if you were a cub, not champion of Balance. Do allow yourself time for introspection and meditation whenever possible. You will handle all far better then."
"That I will certainty do. We must practice much, alone and together, Gellor and I. The new strengths and abilities must be tested, gauged, and studied so that we can control them."
"I will keep my eye on him . . . perhaps even the enchanted one, lord," the troubador said only half in jest.
"So . . good! Excellent! Let's eat and drink now. There'll be no time later. This is the last opportunity we have before what is to be, at best, a long separation. There are too few such times!" And without further ado, Rexfelis set to as an example. Both men quickly followed suit.
Later, after eating much, but before finishing all that was to be drunk the Catlord observed, "From the way you demolished the viands, I have no fear when you face the enemy. If you handle demons and devils in such fashion, there will be none left!" Gord and Gellor laughed in agreement, for they had indeed fallen savagely upon the food. "Seriously, my friends, I see in you the power to send your foes flying in fear, the strength to deal with the darkest of the netherworld. That blade of yours," he said to Gord, looking him in the eyes. "Courflamme. It is the essence of our cause, and the most potent thing Balance has ever wielded. Have a care, though, for it may avail you naught against Tharizdun."
Despite drink those last words stayed in the forefront of Gord's thoughts as he went to sleep many hours later.
Chapter 2
ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND and more men under arms marched through the Great Kingdom. Before these soldiers swarmed yet more thousands of vicious humanoid scouts and irregulars. The clash of steel and the tramp of hooves and iron-shod feet rang everywhere from the streets and courtyards of Rauxes, the kingdom's capital, to the far reaches of the empire.
No neighbor of the Overking's trembled, though. The Great Kingdom was torn by rebellion and internal strife. North Province and South were leagued to overthrow their monarch, while the Medegian army tore at the border marches, meaning to wrest them from the Overking while he was occupied elsewhere.
Did the other states of the eastern Flanaess rejoice, then? To the contrary — Nyrond, Almor, and the other northern neighbors of Overking Ivid were embroiled in their own disputes. Quarrels and skirmishes were rife. Open warfare loomed. So too in the south. Civil disturbances, banditry, and seafaring raiders made the lands of Sunndi, Irongate, and all the others red with fire and blood. Even the barbaric kingdoms to the far north, the Flan states, and the nomads of the west were embroiled in one form of strife or another. All of the continent of Oerik in fact, was in turmoil. At best, there was unrest; at worst, armed hosts clashed and slaughtered and wrought destruction.
This illness brought advantage to no one. not even the evil ones who sought to gain from it Whether allied to demons or devils, whether the conglomerate empire hammered together by the half-demon Iuz or the scheming forces of the Scarlet Brotherhood, the forces of Evil could garner no profit from the madness that seemed to sweep over the world. If their enemies were torn by factiousness, so too were the hosts of the netherworlds as they sought to conquer.
In the deadly game being played out on Oerth, attrition was the sole benefactor. Creatures died, fire and storm wrought havoc, famine and plague spread. As if in protest at the fighting, or perhaps in harmony with the desire for extinction, the very planet itself brought forth devastation. Freak weather, cold or hot, flood or drought, conjoined with tempests and tornadoes to decimate whole regions. Earthquakes tore gashes and leveled cities, while old volcanoes thundered to life after centuries of slumber and new eruptions built ever larger blotches of desolation.
Even those states whose military forces gained victories found their borders contracting. With their resources, populations, and strength of government dwindling, there was no way for conquerors to maintain control. Cartographers in the court might redraw maps to show extended territories, but in actuality the writ of each prince shrank to little more than the territory which he and his soldiers happened to occupy at the moment.
With such turmoil occurring, trade withered. Land and sea commerce dwindled. With markets gone and food scarce, people began reverting to subsistence activity: find enough to eat, avoid being slain by soldiers, bandits, or monsters, and be ready to take what could be taken if the opportunity arose.
On that portion of the cosmic game board that was Oerth, the little figures remaining in play became fewer and fewer, while the squares upon which they had stood altered to show ruin and wilderness. A whole continent disappeared under the waves. The waters rose. The form of Oerik shrank, and its coastline moved inland.
All of the multiverse was afflicted to some degree. Far-removed worlds, alternates of Oerth, were in flux; star-roving beings fought with others over galactic empires; entities combated with one another over planes and dimensions unimaginable to most humans. Woe was everywhere and every when. The darkness of Evil spread to stain all, yet its minions grew no greater. Evil pervaded the cosmos, but as it spread it thinned and grew tenuous in its power.
The vast disaster brought only sorrow and death. This condition was perceived by the lords of all the
warring factions, but even they could do nothing about what was occurring. At least, they could do nothing short of ceasing their warfare — and that, of course, was unthinkable. Could the bright minions of Weal ever rest until dark Evil was destroyed? Never! So too, the ordered phalanxes of Law had only one reason for existence: the extinction of Chaos's wild realms. If no advantage was to be gained, then ideology became paramount. Each infinite cause continued to struggle in its contention with that it opposed.
All losses, no gains, and the very stuff of the multiverse turned inward and began to consume itself.
At the nadir of the nether spheres, Infestix saw the dire course that was unfolding. He raved and raged and redoubled his efforts to bring the pieces of the great relic together. Reasoning that only Ultimate Evil could redress things, Infestix brought more diabolic aid to the war in the Abyss at great personal cost to himself, promising the dukes of the Hells much in return for their reinforcements. Similarly, the Master of the Pits scraped the gloomy planes of Hades for fodder, sending regiment after regiment of hordlings, daemons, and mixed bodies of dreggals and dumalduns to be slaughtered in the fight.
Although the massive influx of evil soldiery had its effect upon the tide of the war, there were repercussions. The higher spheres saw the destruction occurring on all levels of the cosmos and attributed it to the proximity of the three parts of the malign artifact. Solars, planetars, and companies of devas, unable to strike directly in the realms of demonkind, roamed the channels between the lower planes, ambushing all Evil they encountered there. The slaughter was great, and soon only the most powerful of dark beings could travel these areas; lesser devils and daemons, for example, were destroyed by the roving minions of the spheres of Good.
Although the lords of the Hells were much disturbed at this turn, Infestix himself was pleased. The troops he had already moved into the Abyss, committed to his fight against Graz'zt and the allies of the demon king, were now consigned to the fray for an indefinite period. They had no real choice; to fight there and die at the hand of others of Evil was preferable to being destroyed hideously by shining squads of devas and their even greater officers.