Dance of Demons

by Gary Gygax

  "No," was all Gord whispered at Zuggtmoy's first utterances. Two jagged rays issued from him, each Theorpart sending forth its killing force. The twin beams struck Zuggtmoy squarely, and nothing remained of the queen of fungi thereafter.

  If a deep and hollow laughter rolled faintly through the grotto then, Gord ignored it.

  Chapter 12

  "WHERE IS LEDA?" It was more a demand to know than a question.

  "What? I don't know," Gellor stammered, still dazed by the sudden blaze that had destroyed the demoness. "Leda was there," he said, pointing to a place on the grotto's floor. "She sent some dweomer to Zuggtmoy to distract the demoness, I think. I felt the rebuke and force of Zuggtmoy's counter to that. Leda was stunned by the attack, but it enabled me to fight back — to stay alive! Then I lost track because I was again fully occupied in the duel."

  Gord ran to the place his comrade indicated. The soft stuff of the floor retained impressions of heel marks and an indentation where a small, mail-clad form might have lain. "Help me search, Gellor," he called. "You have far more skill at such work than I."

  Only their own tracks entering the place led back to the stairway. "She must be somewhere in this grotto," the troubador ventured. "Leda hasn't left this way."

  "No. She isn't here. I can read nothing of her — no thoughts, not a glimmer of her aura. She has . . . gone!"

  "You don't think . . . ?" Gellor didn't finish the question, for the thought was too painful for him, let along his young friend.

  There was steel in the young champion's voice as he filled in the words. "That she was blasted in the conflagration which consumed Zuggtmoy? Not if she was where you said she fell." Gord paused, then went to the place again. Small foot-marks were there, and the steps went toward the spot where the fungoid demoness had squatted. "By the gods, no! It can not be!"

  Gellor came to stand beside him. Then, feeling inadequate, looking for something, anything to alleviate the tension, the bard studied the area. His enchanted eye saw far more than Gord's own eyes did, even with the paranormal perceptions the champion now possessed.

  "Gord! You are right! See?" Gellor pointed to a place and watched his comrade's face. Gord's bleak expression didn't change. "You can't see? Well, I do clearly enough, old friend. Leda went no farther than this spot. The blast which devoured Zuggtmoy couldn't have harmed her; the distance is too great."

  "Then tell me where her footprints lead!"

  Gellor stooped, peered, then arose shaking his iron-streaked locks. "Leda's steps end here. She went nowhere beyond this spot, not even backward. Here her trail simply vanishes!"

  Gord took some small comfort in that. "At least she is not dead — from anything which took place here, anyway. We must find her, but I can't search properly from this place. Watch for any enemies while I gather the Theorparts and reclaim Courflamme."

  It required only minutes to do that. Then Gord and the bard emerged from the underground place to the hardly different surface of what had been the domain of the queen of demon fungi. The atmosphere was redolent with sickly odors, and a keening filled their ears. As the two emerged, a thousand monstrous things moved. They had been drawn to the surging violence, the dark forces at play in the battle, but had been kept at bay by the dweomer of Gellor's mighty kanteel. Now the demon creatures were wailing their loss to fear and hopelessness. The very stuff of Mycorji was churning, pitching, and rolling in earthquake heaves, splitting and crumbling. The grotto was the epicenter, and the waves of despair ran outward, sweeping in growing circles to inform all the demons of the great stratum about the death of Zuggtmoy.

  "This is no place to scry, either," Gord said with disgust. "The shock of what has occurred will be transmitted to the whole of the Abyss soon — if the lords of demonium don't know already."

  "Yes. Not only this sphere but the whole of the netherworlds will be aware of the deaths of their own soon." Gellor counted the toll. "First the two old demons, Shabriri and Pazuzeus, and their master, the demonurgist Gravestone. . . . That alone should have been sufficient warning to put our evil foes on guard."

  "Their own greed and hateful desires blinded them to the certainty of the ancient prophecy, I think" Gord noted.

  "Then Nerull nearly met death — the thing he is supposed to be lord of," the bard said, nearly laughing as he spoke that. "You plucked the Theorpart from him as if he were no more than a lamb." Gord nodded, saying that it was the unexpected force of Courflamme which surprised the daemon. Gellor went on with his list. "Besides the various and sundry demons and their beasts and brutes we have made into fertilizer, the foes must now toll their dirges for Zuggtmoy of the Abyss, Iuz of demonium and Oerth, and Iggwilv the Mother of Black Witches."

  "And along with that roster goes the second portion of the artifact, my friend. There will be much frenzy and ranting, I think, amongst the demons' councils now. Yet we are missing Leda. That is intolerable. I must get to a place where I can use the powers of these relics to search for her."

  "Unless I have confused the intelligence which was given me, Gord, I think there is a place deep herein which even the demonlords avoid. We can venture there for respite."

  Gord nodded. "With our force, we'll have no trouble there — for a short time. No longer can our location be disguised, though, so we must be quick and be ready. The demons will seek us out wherever we go now, for the Theorparts must be regained by them, or else in their view all will be lost."

  "Can they do that?"

  "No," the young champion responded simply. "Let them think it, though. Then they will bring Unbinder to us."

  * * *

  To say that there was consternation among the rulers of demonium would be far too reserved. With the death of Zuggtmoy and the sudden change of balance caused by the loss of the Theorpart, a shock ran through demonium and impacted all of the other lower spheres too. The great battle with Graz'zt came to a sudden, unprecedented cessation. Although demons do not surrender, the great lords who were desperately opposing the ebon demonking were shocked into asking for quarter and parley. It was unthinkable for the haughty Graz'zt to accept, for his enemies were in the palm of his six-fingered hand. But though he did not acknowledge the request, a short time thereafter Graz'zt ordered all of his forces to cease attacking. After a few thousand more of the foe were slain in reactive situations, and a few of Graz'zt's own troops who would not stop were cut down by commanders enforcing the demonking's order, the battlefield became silent.

  "The foundations of our world are undermined," Baphomet bellowed with a distress that transmitted to each demon-heart beating there. "Worse than Tharizdun, may that name be forever in chains, would be the hegemony of the neither hot nor cold pap of the neutral ones."

  "Hear me!" The demand was from Orcus, suddenly returned to the place of conflict. "I am come to pledge my whole strength to a cause no demon can deny!"

  "Speak demonking. We listen!" That response from Graz'zt was met by roaring agreement from the assembled beings of demonium.

  In the next hour, three of the greatest of the Abyss and thirty times that number of princes and lords of demonium also voiced their burning words. Whether already arrayed there on the former battlefield or newly come from some other place within the Abyss, these arrogantly independent lords of demonium vowed to band together to fight a common enemy.

  Of the five remaining monarchs of demonium, four finally pledged to the cause. Zuggtmoy was gone, of course. Only Arachne, the Spider Queen, withheld joining. Demogorgon was, naturally, reticent but eventually went along with Graz'zt, Orcus, and Marduk Fully two thirds of the princes and lords, the masters of the strata, tiers and regions of demonium's vast reaches, did likewise when the great gathering was held on Mezzafgraduun several days afterward. The stupid lesser sorts of demons were uncaring. Those of greater power were uncertain, but the rulers of demonium were filled with a determination.

  They would again fight and try to slay each other, as soon as possible. One or more of them would possibly hav
e the advantage of the Theorparts. All of that was as it should be. The demonkings had long ago determined two things: the Abyss would remain a place wherein their kind would rule by the whim of the strongest, and the tripartite relic of the great AllEvil would remain there to assure that.

  Evil the demons were and always would be, but evil independent of any overlord, save possibly one of their own who was able to bind them ... for a time! Always the wheel turned, and no ruler was safe from overthrow. Tharizdun would never lord it over the Abyss, not while its masters were still in existence and able to resist. Neither would mortals, or morethan-mortals, enter the reaches of demonium and freely slay and take from its greatest what was theirs.

  Did the reputed champion of Balance actually desire masteiy of all the Abyss? No matter; his possession of the two Theorparts, combined with the other terrible powers he and his associates bore, were sufficient threat to silly the demon masters against them. Was the man actually an agent of Tharizdun? That seemed possible, too, but the answer made no difference to any of the demons concerned. It was sufficient to know that he was an enemy! After the initial truce on the field from which Zuggtmoy, Iuz, and Iggwilv had fled, whence Orcus had likewise run in panic and then returned with furious determination, where Graz'zt had himself made common cause with his forever-foes, the demons went to the ebon demonking's domain to hold their council.

  As noted, this was days later, as men measured time. Graz'zt and others of the great demons wondered how it passed that they were given so long a period to meet, organize, and formulate defenses. The three interlopers possessed sufficient force to have confronted the wielder of the third Theorpart and taken it, even though Graz'zt had the support of the Eye of Deception, his hordes, the Abat-dolor warriors, even the assistance of Orcus and the others of his foes now came over to his side. Each day, however, granted the demons a slightly improved chance to resist, a greater possibility of actually turning the tables and taking the two relics from the man who had them. Why did he hesitate? The question was asked and asked again. No answer came, but even demons don't decry fortune.

  "You have the Unbinder, Graz'zt. You must lead us." That came from the three other demon monarchs there, voiced by Orcus as their spokesdemon. "I will be at your right, of course, because of my own relic," he added, displaying the Rod of Unlife with which he ruled the demons of air. "Marduk and his Firefan are with me, as are Demogorgon and his Venomfountain, so the demons of fire and water are at your right hand too."

  After Marduk and Demogorgon voiced their agreement with the statement, Orcus stepped back, and Graz'zt announced that his reinstated consort, Elazalag, would stand on the left, bearing the Eye of Deception. There she would command the host of demonlords and a score of minor objects of power that those great demons possessed. If a fraction of the demonic objects of power — Zuggtmoy's Cauldron, to name one — were not there, then nothing could be done now. The power of all these minor objects combined was no match for what the enemy would bring, but a million and more demon warriors counted for something. At some point, sheer weight of numbers would perhaps come into play. In such event, the masters of demonium would unquestionably hold the upper hand.

  "The humans can perhaps gather a few thousand of the beasts, a hundred of the brutes, but that is insufficient," the six-fingered demonking cried with hatred. "Our force will crush them in open battle."

  "If we must go to them. Graz'zt." Princess Elazalag said, "then your estimates are wrong. We will never manage to march all of our force to where they lurk in the depths, and in time this alliance will begin to crumble."

  "If we go to them." Orcus said, "they will be at a great advantage, for the powers they command can maintain the calling of endless streams of the mindless things inhabiting those tiers, and our relics are less potent in the sinks as well."

  Suddenly a dark, amorphous shape coalesced in the very midst of the assembly of terrible demons. Then allow me to Join you and assist," it said in a voice as heavy as a mountain, as slow and final as extinction. "For I have the power to force the enemy to come to you."

  * * *

  For too long a time Gord and Gellor had remained in the depths of demonium. It was not by the bard's choice that they did so. Gellor asked, then urged, and finally pleaded. His words fell upon seemingly unhealing ears, for his comrade made no response. Gord spoke often and with emotion, but not about their leaving the place. It was a nightmare wilderness, a place as agitated and ugly as a worldly retreat might be serene and beautiful in its lonely uninhabitation. Yet the champion remained there, meditating, scrying, and seemingly taken by alternating fits of depression and reflective musing expressed in long, mournful soliloquies.

  "The toll is endless. First my parents, poor Leena, all of my old comrades and associates — Dohojar, Barrel, Timmil, Allton, Chert, dear old Curley Greenleaf. No friend, no love, no one can survive once exposed to me."

  "I survive!" the troubador said firmly in rejection. "I am here with you now. We have to go on, and we must hurry! No war is won without casualties, Gord. We have always been fighting that war, aware of it or not. The whole struggle now rests with us. The victory is in your hands."

  "Victory?" At that, Gord seemed to shrink into himself. "No guarantee of a win, none at all. All that is said is that a champion will face Tharizdun as the only hope of keeping the cosmos free of an unending night of evil. You and I are doomed, I think, either way. Now Leda is gone. She is lost forever. ..."

  "Why say that? Come on, man! Where is your courage?"

  "Died with the rest," was the self-pitying, lethargic reply. "You know the hopelessness of it all. I have used all of the energies of the Theorparts and Courflamme. No trace, no trace. She is passed into realms beyond any ken of such power as that. . . just like Basiliv. Who will be next?"

  Gellor shook his young friend by the shoulder. "See? Think on what you just said. It is the clue we needed. The enemy responsible for the loss of the Demiurge is the very same who has managed to cany off Leda. All we need—"

  "All? You know that there is no hope of Basiliv's return. He is gone — gone forever, do you hear?" The words were filled with cold despair. "If he fell to the same one responsible for Leda's taking, what matter then? It only means that she is lost as surely."

  "And what if Tharizdun is the agency? What if the benighted one has somehow managed to inflict such things upon us? Do you surrender before the fight even commences?"

  Gord slumped into silence for long minutes, but Gellor remained, waiting. "Yes ... no ... I cannot say. All courses now seem useless. It does not matter if I Join the three portions now, for I have no desire to remain alive."

  "There is the small matter of the rest of the multiverse," Gellor supplied with burning sarcasm.

  He might as well have been speaking to a stump, for the young champion seemed not to hear. Gord lapsed into another of his silences and remained thus for what seemed to Gellor an endless period. Then, without appearing to notice that his comrade was waiting expectantly near, Gord rose and wandered off. Gellor got up to follow, but at that the gray-eyed man turned and spoke. "I need to be by myself. Stay where you are."

  "This is stupid, Gord! DIvide our force in this place of horrors? That is insanity! I should be there to watch, seeing as how you are—"

  "I am moved by a purpose now, Gellor. Mind your own ass while I'm gone. Stay on guard, and stay put," he admonished. There was a ring in Gord's voice that belied the hopelessness that had previously seemed to pervade the young champion's soul. "I will return to you as soon as possible, and be ready. I think I have come up with something which might explain all of this."

  Gellor was at a loss, but he did as his friend ordered. Short time or long, there was nothing else to do but await Gord's return.

  * * *

  The Lord of Entropy was keenly aware of what had transpired in the depths of demonium. It was he who had subtly influenced the young champion of Balance — beginning with his removal of the stunned Leda from the grotto
of Zuggtmoy. Then Entropy insinuated the lethargy, covering Gord with it as night steals after the fading illumination of a long summer twilight.

  All the skeins of Entropy's terrible plan were now nearly woven into the tapestry of his designing. The spinning had taken long, but time was one thing he had. Time worked in Entropy's favor. The many conflicts and destruction, death and decay too, each and all were in the fabric. Tharizdun must arise, but only after the whole of his new domain was in shambles. The Ultimate Evil would have a short reign thereafter, as the last energies of the multiverse dwindled and stasis slowly came. In a few eons, then, only Entropy would remain, as master of a cold, lightless nothingness. That was all he desired, for he was, after all, Entropy.

  First aiding one faction, then another, the Lord of Stasis had worn all of them down and hastened the day of the coming of his victory. All the while, those who denied his victory thought they were succeeding in their own plans. They were wrong, quite mistaken indeed, but that was all part of the weaving Entropy labored over.

  In the final analysis, there was no doubt that Tharizdun was a desirable tool. After all, such evil was destructive in the extreme. The negative forces, death, despair, and destruction that arose with the greatest of the malign could only hasten the triumphal coronation of the last ruler of the multiverse. Evil would spread over all, and behind that shroud would stalk the Lord of inertia, Master of Devolution, and not even Tharizdun would realize that the crowning achievement of Evil was but a brief glory leading to its own ashen nothingness. Entropy would inevitably come into his cosmic realm, but by working thus, acting counter to his own definitions, he had brought the event forward by a billion years at least. Deep inside itself, Entropy felt a slow stirring of content, then allowed it to die.

  "Yes," the being said slowly. "I have that which will cause your foe to come to you. He will be fought where you choose, and the attack will be weakened by his own emotions."