by Gary Gygax
Nothing that saw them cared to molest so ugly a group as this company was, and just as predicted, they rode into the village of Hommlet at evening the next day. The Inn of the Welcome Wench, accustomed to accommodating caravans, easily housed their number. There were suspicious looks, but no one questioned their money. Horses were fed and rested while the company dined heartily and slept in soft beds. Next morning, Obmi haggled with a pair of traders for provisions and a half-dozen fresh horses. Then the company continued northward. They were watched by hard-eyed men-at-arms serving the local lord, but nobody cared to delay their departure.
Obmi was even more silent than usual, and he appeared haggard, as if a night spent in a feather bed was worse for him than one spent rolled in a blanket on the ground. Only the wicked dwarf knew the true cause of his condition. As he had slept, ebon tendrils had stolen into his brain — long, slender tentacles as insubstantial as fog yet strong as steel. The tendrils thickened and grew barbs that hurt cruelly, bringing him instantly awake and making him aware of what was happening, Iuz was in contact, and his master was not pleased with Obmi's performance! The dwarf grovelled mentally as the rasping voice of the cambion spoke through the tendrils directly to his brain.
"Little fool!" Iuz shrieked mentally. "Your stupid meandering and pillaging has left so broad and easy a trail that even idiot puppets can follow! Do you have… it?" At this question, Obmi thought of the misshapen object he guarded so carefully. He did so without meaning to, but Iuz instantly caught the thought. "Good! Now I shall not have to waste a useful tool — you will live for a while yet, Obmi!"
Quivering in fear and rage, the dwarf sent a mental message in reply, while carefully masking the thoughts that lurked deeper within his mind. "Thank you, Lord of Evil, for your generosity. I am your servant to do with what you will…"
"Enough!" interrupted Iuz. "I must hurry, for some great cloud is gathering, and in moments this contact will be broken. I can not see what is around you, but it is dangerous — powerful! Good lies nearby, but some friendly force as well, I think, for this force is obscured and hidden. Perhaps it is a trap set by those righteous weaklings who seek to oppose me… No matter.
"Listen carefully, and do not fail me. Leave immediately, but do so without commotion. Go to Verbobonc, being careful to be open and seemingly carefree. Once well beyond the town, leave an obvious trail to the northeast, doing what you have done previously — robbing, murdering, raping, burning. It must seem that you are on your way to Molag, understand?"
"I understand, Lord," thought Obmi in reply.
The wisps within the dwarfs brain sent tingling pleasure through Obmi's body. "Excellent, my faithful servant! Do well, and your reward will be all you can ask" — and suddenly the tendrils were barbed and painful again — "but if you fail, such pain as this will seem a blissful reprieve from the torment you shall suffer! Now, stop cringing and attend my final instructions.
"Leave those clods who serve you to their fate. Divide when you reach the Att River. Send them on toward the lands of the Hierarchs, but you ride for your life northward. Enter the Vesve, and I will have an army there to greet you. This force will convey you in triumph to me in Dorakaa."
"But, Lord Iuz, how am I to convince them to…" Obmi let the mental question trail off, for the tendrils were gone from his brain. He could sense that he was alone within his head. Hatred mixed with fear poured from the dwarfs mind, helping him to blank out the headache that the contact had caused. He said aloud, "Damn you, Iuz, for the pig-bastard you are! Someday I, Obmi the Wily, shall become ruler of your realm, and you will cringe before me in abject terror at the fate I will bestow upon you!" Then, not wasting further effort on his hatred, the dwarf began to lay his plans for accomplishing the orders of the cambion, Iuz.
Ten days later, the company turned on the train of pilgrims and merchants they had been accompanying, some as travelers, others purporting to be guards. Treachery and surprise enabled Obmi to succeed with surprising ease, and only three of his number were lost in the process. The company was near the crossroads that made the area important. A well-repaired road ran east and west, from Furyondy to Veluna City, while another ran southward from Littleberg to Verbobonc. The site was perfect, of course.
"Take everything of value, Gleed, and lead the men toward Dyvers. At the main fork, take the Willip Road. Your destination is Molag!"
The gnome stared at Obmi in surprise. "Molag? What business have we with the Hierarchs?" he asked.
"They will receive us happily, and pay for our services and information. Am I to be questioned further?" As he posed his question, Obmi placed his hand on his hammer. Gleed shook his head, but there was doubt in the gnome's squinting eyes as Obmi went on. "Keak and I will take the useless steeds and lay a false trail toward the north. You make sure that your trail is well covered by using only the road as long as possible. We'll lead any pursuit as far as Littleberg, lose ourselves there, and then come cross-country to join you… let us say Boulder-ford on the Veng River, fifty leagues north of Willip." Gleed thought a moment, then nodded. The gnome had mentally pictured the route and arrived at the conclusion that the two routes were of about equal length and would conjoin at the ford, just as Obmi had suggested.
"An excellent plan, Master Obmi! The loot…"
Obmi shrugged his massive shoulders, feigning resignation. "For once I have to trust you fully, gnome. I must travel quickly and cleverly to lay the false trail, then be able to disappear. All the goods, even the silver and gold, must go with your group. I am charging you with safe keeping of the spoils until I rejoin the company — fail me, and I swear I will hunt you down and slay you!"
At that Gleed grinned, then quickly replaced the look with one of sober acquiescence. "Your orders, Obmi, are always faithfully followed by your servant, Gleed. Never fear, we shall be at the Boulderford as commanded. Give us two weeks." The dwarf scratched his beard, staring at Gleed as he did so, a mixture of doubt and consideration playing across his leathery countenance. Finally he nodded. " Let us say two and a half weeks — eighteen days — so that unexpected delays are covered. If you are not there within the allotted time, I shall seek you out," Obmi concluded with a threatening tone.
"Eighteen days, Master. I will be there!"
The gnome went off then to gather the company, while Obmi sought out the skinny Keak. This was almost too easy, thanks to the greed of the gnome, Obmi thought as he smiled merrily to himself.
Chapter 11
The high court of Celene was ablaze with light. Queen Yolande was celebrating the midsummer with a grand ball this night. High above carpets as green as the rich summer grass, domed ceilings showed the black velvet of the cloudless sky with its myriad stars and the full faces of both moons, pale Luna and azure Celene.
Fantastically carved and delicately wrought lanterns of all sorts, many with crystal and gems inset to refract and color their candies, competed with tapers reflected by mirrors of glass, copper, silver, and even gold positioned throughout the many-chambered palace. The Grand Court was awash in golden light, while other courts and salons adjoining it were either dim or bright, amethyst-hued, silvery, or illuminated so as to rival the cool depths of sea or ocean. All was harmonious and enchanting, each place exciting and different.
As carefully as the dozens of chambers were lit, so too their furnishings were chosen, complementing and enhancing the effect of each area so as to please the eye. Plants and flowers were everywhere, likewise blending with light and color, adding their special fragrances to the hall or court they graced. Here, night-blooming jasmine was a centerpiece in a salon of deep blue; there, green fronds and leafy branches screened yet another alcove whose dim interior sparkled with a rainbow of little colored dots as bejeweled lamps turned and swayed in the gentle zephyrs that flitted throughout the palace, causing even candle flames to dance and bow in seeming rhythm to the sweet strains of elvish music that accompanied these breezes.
The polished alabaster of the floor of t
he Grand Court bore no rug nor carpet. Hundreds of slippered feet moved across its surface, intricately stepping to solemn air or spritely melody. The dancers were begowned in silks and gossamers, garbed in velvets and satins, and glittering with cloth woven of precious metals. More glittering still were the arrays of gorgeous jewelry — diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and every other sort of gemstone imaginable.
Gray elves and faeries in indigo, gold, and white, purple, silver, and yellow, their high elven kin in soft hues of dove gray, blue, violet, green, and even a sprinkling of sylvan elves in chocolate brown and scarlet moved thus to the dance. With them were some few half-elves and humans, gnomes and half-lings. These folk added still other dress and colors to the spectacle — orange, fuchsia, citrine, mauve, turquoise, pink, crimson, maroon, and even black. Obtrusive only by the contrast of their garb, archers in green and brown and royal guards in silvered chainmail whose splendor was belied by the wood and steel of partisan and greatsword stood rigidly along walls and in alcoved balconies. Even in such festive surroundings as these, precautions were taken.
Silver horns and gold pipes sounded, and the throng parted so as to open a wide circle in the middle of the chamber. Coronets and diadems of noble lords and ladies formed the inner circle, and the handsome princes and beautiful princesses bent their knees and bowed their heads of platinum and golden tresses, raven-haired high elves, auburn-locked sylvan elves too. The Queen and her consort, Fasstal Dothmar, were taking the floor to dance the ritual steps of the Midsummer Frolic, the last formal requirement of the celebration.
When it was completed, the audience would empty into the acres of wooded gardens and parks that surrounded the palace. There they would doff most of their excess finery to trip and prance in dances and games of ancient elvish sort. This heritage could not be ignored by even royal elves when Rich-fest came and the twin moons of Oerth proclaimed Midsummer's own night. Only when the sky paled and dawn came would the revelry cease.
Queen Yolande and the tall Dothmar trod the steps of the dance alone for a full minute; then, as protocol demanded, royalty joined them, and then nobility, so that after a few minutes the hall was a swirl of color and motion. Suddenly the great doors at the far end of the chamber swung open. The ranked guards in the antechamber beyond slammed spear butts loudly upon the marble squares of the floor, and a silver bell sounded a reverberating note that caused the musicians to falter in their playing.
Into the Grand Court strode an old elfin mage's robes, with him a travel-stained druid, and behind them a straggle of others likewise clad in motley, dirty garments. What impertinence! Not even the Royal Court Mage would dare to interrupt so important and marvelous an occasion as this — yet here came the old geezer, Onselvon, now! The frowning crowd parted before his scowl, and, his staff making loud clattering noises in the suddenly silent chamber, the court mage strode purposefully toward the royal couple.
"How now, Onselvon!" called Dothmar. "You disturb the Queen!"
"Not to mention our noble guests," noted Yolande softly. She then turned her lilac-colored eyes to Onselvon and his incongruous entourage. "There had better be a good reason indeed, cousin, for this outrageous intrusion on our revel!"
"Your Majesty," Onselvon said with a slight bow. "Your Royal Highness," he added, nodding his head toward the outraged Dothmar. "I come with grave and dire news, and I must crave Your Majesty's forgiveness and immediate attention."
"Crave? You demand, not beg!" sputtered Dothmar, but Yolande laid her slender, white hand upon her consort's arm, and he shut his mouth in a grim line.
"How dire, mage? Say softly now."
Onselvon shook his head slowly. "The gravest," he replied to the Queen in a voice that only the three of them could hear.
"Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies," said Yolande in her clear voice, "I must speak a few words with our mage and his honored guests. You have our permission to resume the frolic, and when we return, the revel shall proceed henceforth to the parks and greenery."
The musicians resumed their playing as queen, consort, and mage went without unseemly haste through a short hallway to a paneled and frescoed audience room suitable for the urgency of the need. At Onselvon's beckoning, the group of strange guests followed, and a squad of the queen's guards brought up the rear.
"Out with it, cousin," Yolande demanded of the royal mage as soon as they were in the room. "I do not desire to keep my court dancing for hours!"
Onselvon again bowed slightly. "As Your Majesty commands. These are warriors fighting for Light," the white-haired old elf said, indicating the eight adventurers with a sweep of his arm. "Dismiss the guards, for these are the bearers of intelligence which only you two must be privy to." The queen nodded, and the guards withdrew. The mage then related the whole business succinctly, finishing with the fact that an agent of the hated Iuz was thought to have the precious third of the artifact created to restore Evil to the world. "Hear for yourself. I present Druid Greenleaf; Lord Gellor; Lady Deirdre; a fellow mage, Oscar; agent Gord; and the doughty fighters Incosee, Moon, and Patrick." Each of the visitors bowed deeply as the queen and consort acknowledged the brief introduction.
"Tell us now of your mission," Dothmar instructed, "so Her Majesty may make full her understanding."
Gellor, with appropriate homage, stood forth a step and related the beginning of the affair. The ruler of Celene glanced at her consort and nodded, acknowledging that she was aware of the alliance to prevent Evil from accomplishing its goal. The half-elf then concluded the rapid narration, for Greenleaf had assumed the coordination of things once the party had been assembled.
"Your undertaking serves Celene as well as all other states of goodwill," said the queen, "so we will now lend what assistance is possible. It is time for our return to the revels," she said with a worried expression playing across her delicate and strikingly beautiful features. "But we will send our constable to you soon. Onselvon, you have our leave to take these stout and goodly folk to the guest chambers of the Royal Wing of the palace. See that they are given all they need to refresh and rest them. The constable will join you soon."
Yolande and Dothmar departed then, as Onselvon and the tired and worn adventurers once again made appropriate obeisance. The court magic-user then beckoned for the others to follow him, and without further word he turned his back on them and strode from the room, taking a small passage screened by an arras.
"Come on, Gord," Gellor urged the young thief. "You seem to be thunderstruck — what's wrong?" The one-eyed bard grabbed Gord's upper arm and began towing him along.
"She is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever seen…" Gord replied dazedly, "even Evaleigh, and they could be sisters."
"Yes, Lady Evaleigh did show a strain of faerie heritage, but that's magic gone from the wand, if you will. It's our purpose now which is important, so pay attention, understand?" When Gord nodded, Gellor saw his expression and added, "If you must look for substitutes for your lost lady love, don't look at queens, and do it when our quest is complete — Celene is open to you, and the fair damsels of the court will receive you well — provided we triumph."
About then, they came to a rather plain room whose curving wall indicated it was in a tower. The constable, Parseval, met them there and escorted the group to his private quarters. The noble elfs party dress contrasted sharply with the austerity of the furnishings and the martial trappings that adorned the walls, but Parseval seemed unaware of the incongruity of his appearance in these surroundings. Despite his rather foppish garb, his manner was hard and direct. Queen Yolande had told him but little of the matter, so once again the druid and the bard explained — with many additions, this time, by Deirdre. This bothered Gord, for the constable seemed too fine-featured and handsome to him, and Deirdre's participation in the account all too obvious an attempt to flirt with the noble gray elf. How easily, he thought bitterly, women's heads were turned by pretty men.
"We have had some small intelligen
ce of this entire scheme," said Parseval, unrolling a vellum map as he spoke. "A week ago, a distant cousin of mine came seeking information — which I did give to him. Melf, my adventurous kinself, has sworn fealty to the Lord Mordenkainen. He was here to discover the whereabouts of a band of reavers reportedly led by a renegade dwarf — a bandit company that I myself am hunting." The constable paused momentarily to peer intently at the unrolled map of Celene and its bordering territories. Then he went on.
"Here," he said pointing to the edge of the Suss Forest in the southernmost region of Celene. "This is where they first struck. A Royal Patrol spied them, but the villains killed nearly all of its number. These brigands then moved northward. They sacked and burned several small communities and waylaid a caravan too. They were shielded with a powerful dweomer, so our magic-users were unable to locate their whereabouts. Three forces were sent to intercept them, but these murderers somehow slipped between two of them and seemed bent on coming directly for here. Instead, they turned back and went northeast, getting clear and away into the Kron Hills before we knew. Melf is now trying to intercept them, I believe," Parseval concluded.
During his short recounting of these events, the constable had traced the path of the brigand gang on the map. Gellor studied the chart carefully and then asked, "Where do you suppose they are now?"
"Our agents in Hommlet have just informed us that a band of evil-looking men and demi-humans passed through that village three days ago. That is the last we have heard. The problem is now one for Veluna or Furyondy; Celene is no longer concerned." The constable said this last with a great deal of satisfaction in his voice.
"You err!" Gord interjected, allowing his scorn for the effete-seeming elf to show in his tone and expression. "If those outlaws bear what we fear, their escape could mean the end of all goodness and reason — and the fall of your isolated little kingdom, too!"