Artifact of Evil g-2

by Gary Gygax

  "Floggin! Foogish!" the bugbear exclaimed, referring to some god the giant goblins worshiped casually and swore by often. "Ya am'l shittin' me, are you?"

  "I don't want my head bashed in! Who'd kid about that sort of stuff?"

  "Right, buddy. You go in and tell Lord Obmi!"

  Gord demurred. "No way! You said you would if I told you the message!"

  The bugbear straightened to his full seven and a quarter feet and sneered. "Tough turds, hairless. Your cap'n sent you, and I'm passin' you through the line. Tell the dwarf yourself!"

  Gord stumped past without a word, making it appear that he truly believed he was going to his own execution. The bugbear gave a snarling chuckle behind him and returned to his task of standing and looking bored.

  When he got to the entrance of the small tent, Gord coughed and said, "Message for Lord Obmi from Cap'n Sawtooth."

  "Enter," a voice said. Gord went inside, not having to feign nervousness. There he saw Obmi, seated in a dwarf-sized chair, gnawing at a haunch of some sort of meat and drinking wine. The dwarf looked up and asked him what his message was. The voice was wrong. As a beggar, thief, and confidence man himself, Gord knew this wasn't the real Lord Obmi. It looked like the dwarf, but the voice had a slightly different timbre, and the mannerisms were wrong. He was an impostor!

  Gord cleared his throat and replied, "It's the big, black leopard, Lord Obmi. Cap'n Sawtooth seen it near our position…"

  The dwarf swallowed a mouthful of meat and washed it down with wine. "So? Get back to Sawtooth and tell him I said to take care of it himself. Don't bother me again!"

  "Yessir! But…"

  "But what?" the dwarf asked with annoyance. "I told you to get out of here!"

  "Yessir, only Sawtooth wanted me to show you this ring he found when the panther was nearby — it's a great lookin' cat's-eye stone in it too," Gord concluded ingenuously, holding out his ring toward the seated dwarf.

  "Hand it to me then, you churl, and clear out." As he said this, the Obmi-impostor half rose and stretched out his hand for the glittering gold ring that Gord cupped in his left palm. Gord struck then.

  His needle-pointed dagger was in his right hand before the dwarf knew what was happening. Cord's arm flashed up and punched out with a force sufficient to penetrate even enchanted steel armor, for the blade had power over metal. The poniard pierced the plate protecting the dwarfs body as if it were leather. The false Obmi screamed in pain as the point bit through his shoulder and toward his heart.

  "To me!" the dwarf managed to croak, loud enough to be heard by the sharp-eared bugbear guard. The giant goblin immediately rushed toward the tent entrance, calling for his fellows to follow as he did so.

  Gord stabbed the impostor again as the dwarf tried to stand. Then, desperately jamming the proffered ring back on his finger, the young adventurer pulled out his sword. The hulking bugbear burst into the tent at that very moment, nearly pulling the structure down in his rush to be inside and aid his leader.

  "Graargg!" The humanoid screamed his war-cry as he came. Swinging a huge morning star in the confines of the tent was a problem the bugbear hadn't considered, however. He swung the massive, spike-headed club up to strike Gord, and the sharp projections pierced the canvas and immediately became entangled in it. As the startled bugbear brought club and tent down, Gord thrust his sword and dagger both into the creature's exposed chest and belly. The folds of falling canvas blinded the giant goblin, even as he let go of its morning star and clutched at his wounds. Two more quick thrusts made certain that the creature would never recover from his condition.

  Dropping to his hands and knees, Gord heaved open the small chest that served as the dwarfs table. If the Second Key was anywhere in the tent, it was in this coffer! The canvas had fallen all the way down, and the lantern that had illuminated the place had been knocked down and broken in the struggle. Flames were licking the oiled cloth now, and in a moment the whole thing would go up in a roaring blaze. Outside, several of the other guards were trying vainly to find a way inside the collapsed tent, while others of their number were shouting an alarm to the rest of the camp.

  Gord's searching fingers found bottles, cloth, and a leather bag. It was unlikely, but the pouch might be something. He thrust that into his belt even as he slashed at the tent cloth nearest him and concentrated immediately on changing his form.

  "Lord Obmi! Lord Obmi!" a man cried, poking at the fallen canvas as he did so. One corner of the tent was now blazing. Spears lifted the other end to allow the dwarf to escape… if he could. Half the canvas was burning now, and the brigands were moving back, driven off by the heat.

  As spears and pole arms lifted what remained of the tent, one of the humanoids crouched down and crawled forward to rescue the dwarf. A snarling black leopard tore half of the man-ore's face away with a swipe of its claws. Then the big cat was in the midst of the rest, a whirlwind of clawing biting fury.

  "Save your ass!" an outlaw shouted as he dropped the glaive he had been holding and ran away in terror. The others with him weren't so lucky. Gord bit an ore on the leg, disabling him, then leaped upon a bugbear, tearing the humanoid with claws and teeth as he tried to pull his attacker off with his huge, hairy hands. A spear-thrust grazed harmlessly off Cord's flank, and the deflected point went downward into the bugbear's thigh. The goblin giant fell, and Gord immediately left off his attack on the creature in favor of another victim. He sprang full into the midst of a group of men and ores, knowing instinctively that any attack on him from a distance would be virtually impossible while he was surrounded by the brigands.

  Amid the screams and shouts and wildly flailing weapons, Gord-the-leopard exacted a terrible toll. He didn't try to kill any one of the outlaws or humanoids, only to wound them with fang and claw. Their blows went unnoticed, and he gradually gave his human mind over to blood-lust and the urge to bring vengeance upon these malicious killers. Suddenly the press melted away, and he was standing amid a circle of fallen foes. A little distance away three foemen still held their ground. In fact, they were advancing cautiously toward him! This was too good to be true. Gord crouched, bunching his steely muscles to spring upon these foolish ones. Then his human mind registered a fact that enabled him to override feline fury. These opponents were bearing wicked-looking weapons and ready to take his charge on the gleaming tip of spear, sword, and scimitar. Magic weapons!

  Instead of leaping ahead onto the waiting blades, Gord sprang sideways. A bolt caught his hind leg nonetheless. It barely grazed his ebony coat, but the path it left burned, and he let out a startled yowl of pain as he landed and bounded off again. There was a shout of triumph from whoever had loosed the enchanted missile and wounded him, while the other three — a renegade human, a half-orc, and a particularly big bugbear — cursed and ran after him.

  Gord ran flat out for the safety of the nearby forest, not caring to find out just how magical the weapons threatening him were. The spear the giant goblin waved whistled overhead and buried itself in the ground just a few feet in front of him. On an impulse Gord managed to bring himself to a sudden stop. "Having four legs is a real advantage at such times!" his human mind thought even as his cat one was causing his massive jaws to clamp fast on the quivering spearshaft. Then he was running again, bounding between the giant trees. The ragtag brigands howled after the escaping were-leopard, with the bugbear whose enchanted spear had been just stolen yelling the loudest of all.

  Safe in a tree, pacing along the upper world of the forest, Gord-panther decided it was high time to rest and assess the situation. Only a few of the bravest of the band had dared to follow the three leaders into the woods in pursuit of the fleeing leopard. Gord had easily evaded the chase, climbing a tree and then moving swiftly from limb to limb. After a few minutes the humans and humanoids had ceased their halloo and returned to their encampment. Gord still held the enchanted spear fast in his leopard teeth. He realized that biting on the shaft made his teeth ache, and he spat it out on the broad limb
he rested on. There were no indentations in the wood from his fangs. It was a potent weapon indeed!

  The collection of bandits and humanoids would be breaking up even now, Gord thought. Without knowing that they had been deserted by their leader, they would think the body of the dwarf in the burned tent was their master. Without either Keak or Obmi to keep them in line, natural hostilities, bullying, and differences would send the motley assembly into separate bands immediately. The losels would certainly remain intact as a group. They would probably seek to inform their ultimate master, Iuz, of what had happened. The men would split from the ores, and the few other sorts of humanoids — bugbears, gnolls, and an odd norker or xvart — would side with one or another of these parties, according to where they thought they'd be least likely to be killed. Tomorrow morning there would be nothing left save the litter and refuse the brigands left behind.

  All of the groups would avoid going in the direction of the tribal lands of gnolls left behind to the south. These humanoids would only kill or enslave men or ores who came their way. There being no need to have more concern for the safety of his comrades and the two boys with Gellor and Chert, Gord pondered the problem of the Obmi-impostor's and Keak's absence from the encampment. The answer was not long in coming. Once again the dwarf had callously abandoned his company to whatever fate held in store for them. He and Keak must have simply ridden on, leaving the rest to bear the brunt of things.

  Very well, then. Obmi was a day ahead, but he surely had the Second Key with him. To make certain, Gord shifted to his own shape long enough to check out the leather poke. It held an assortment of coins equal to about a gold piece in value. The impostor had died for that sum, nothing more, for these creatures of Evil certainly had no loyalties. Resuming panther form, Gord again took the captured spear in his mouth and headed northward.

  Chapter 26

  "They come this way," Chert said.

  Gellor nodded grimly. "Then it is time we showed this pack of yapping jackals what it is like to face men."

  The barbarian had gone to spy on the gnolls blocking the route north. Although they had moved their own camp several miles southward, and well off the trail, the two men still felt uneasy, so Chert had volunteered to scout the enemy. If they had not had the two lads with them, Gellor and the woodland-raised barbarian would have simply slipped away until the humanoid tribe had wandered off elsewhere. Thatch and Shadow were village-bred. They had some skill at woodcraft, but certainly it was insufficient for what was demanded now. This put the two adventurers in a quandary.

  "I can set a deadfall or two," Chert said.

  "Good. I'll use a bit of druidical power to prepare some surprises, too. Chert, be ready with your bow," the one-eyed bard said. "I want you to feather as many of those hyena-heads as you can, and don't spare the shafts!"

  Chert looked shocked. "Shoot away all the arrows? That will leave us with no defenses save spear and sword!"

  "There you are wrong, my friend," Gellor said with a meaningful smile. "You see, the little snares I'll place to discomfit the enemy are just an annoyance. I have a far warmer welcome planned for that dreadful band of murdering humanoids."

  The bard began explaining his plan, Chert nodding and occasionally adding some detail or asking a question. As Gellor concluded his exposition, the massive barbarian was grinning and slapping his thigh. "That will indeed do for them, but what about the lads?"

  The one-eyed man ceased his smiling. "There's no help for that. We'll have to use them in the initial stage — for show only, I hope, and I'll give them what aid I can even for that."

  Chert agreed that it was the best hope they had. Staying put was out of the question, abandoning the lads was unthinkable, and there was no way of avoiding the gnolls when the two boys were along. They had to bring the fight to the humanoids, and that fight had to go in their favor! Gellor called the two boys over and gave them a brief outline of what was to be done.

  "Now you two stay put here. Be ready with your weapons, for we'll be back to get you soon enough, and then you're going to help us fox those man-eaters for sure, right?"

  "Right!" Thatch and Shad cried in unison.

  "Now both of you paint yourselves with that green and brown paste I made up. Put it wherever your skin shows, and help each other! I want you two to look as fierce and savage as any wild woods-roamer does!"

  Smiling and laughing at the prospect, the lads hurried to comply. It was like a game to them, for they didn't fully understand the full nature of the whole matter. The men turned away and went into the forest to set the stage.

  The heavy log fell suddenly, and the gnoll beneath it was dead in that instant, his neck broken. His fellows snarled in shock, froze, and peered here and there. One barked a syllable or two, pointing ahead on the trail. There was another trap there. Their teeth bared in feral attitude, the nine remaining humanoids moved off the path, to the right and left, stalking ahead in search of the men who dared to do this to one of their number.

  Bowed limbs sprung upward with heavy, swishing sounds, and another pair of gnolls were caught in traps. These were not so effective, though. Each of these victims was simply suspended by one of his legs, nooses holding them dangling a few feet above the ground. With rude comments and laughs, another pair of their comrades went to cut them down. Both would-be liberators were struck by clothyard shafts as they attempted to cut the snares free. As the wounded humanoids fell, their companions took cover, their own bows and arrows ready to return the compliment.

  A sudden, piercing shriek sounded to the gnolls' right, and ahead there was motion in the foliage. They loosed several shafts at the unseen enemy, and in return one of the humanoids was struck by a pair of arrows that killed him on the spot. Several of the gnolls started to advance, moving carefully from tree to tree; then another gave a startled bark as it was jerked suddenly into the air by a snare. This humanoid had been caught about its neck, however, and the cry was instantly choked off as the cord broke its neck. When humans armed with spears and painted in savage camouflage were seen moving toward them, darting from tree to tree, the five un-wounded gnolls ran back up the trail, leaving their pair of wounded comrades to their fate.

  "Where is the second one?" Gellor hissed.

  Chert, wiping his axe clean on the ragged cape worn by one of the gnolls, shrugged. "He should be near to your location — that's where he fell when my broad arrow took him," the barbarian replied in a low voice as he jerked the arrow free from the corpse at his feet. Then the giant hillman dashed across the hard-packed trail and joined his comrade in the brush on the other side of the pathway.

  "This looks like a splash of blood," the bard said as Chert came up. "He must be heading toward the lads!"

  "Hurry! We can — " and a snarling cry interrupted the barbarian in mid-sentence. Chert and Gellor ran toward the sound as fast as they could. Shrill shouts answered the initial cry. Then there was a terrible sound, an ascending laugh consisting of barking coughs, suddenly halted midway in its rise toward the high-pitched whining giggle typical of gnoll war-cries. Both men were certain of what they'd find, and Chert regretted ever having allowed the poor boys to accompany them into the Vesve on this deadly quest.

  "I'll flay that mangy hide off the dog-faced bastard while he yet breathes!" Chert vowed as they came to the place where Shad and Thatch were to remain after showing themselves briefly to the gnolls.

  Gellor was ashen-faced. "It's my fault. I should never have used boys to do men's work!"

  "What do you mean, boys?" a shrill voice challenged. "Thatch and I are warriors!"

  There beside the path stood the two lads. Shadow seemed to be nursing a broken arm, and he looked pale, while his bigger comrade was bleeding from a long gash across his chest. At their feet was the wounded gnoll, a bastard sword still clutched in his dead hand, and two boar-spears buried in abdomen and neck,

  "Damned if you aren't warriors!" exclaimed Chert proudly.

  "Let me see those wounds," the bard
said more practically and with real concern. "There's going to be a lot more happening very soon, and you two are going to have to be in shape to run as fast as you can!"

  "No," Shadow said sternly, if weakly. "Thatch and I aren't running from enemies ever again!"

  The young barbarian laughed at this assertion. "Let me-tell you one thing, boys — warriors. You'll run plenty after this, and often enough too, unless I don't know anything about battle. I've done it many a time in the past, and I expect to do it soon again — who wants to die uselessly?"

  Thatch and Shad looked surprised at that. "You've run from enemies?" Thatch asked with disbelief and scorn.

  "Yes!" Gellor interjected. "So have I, so has every soldier who was faced with a situation where dying would do no good for his cause. It has been called retreat, or a retrograde movement, but in truth it is running away to be able to fight another day. Now hold still while Chert and I tend those injuries. We have only a few minutes!"

  The one-eyed bard employed arts of druidical healing to set and mend the broken arm, for Shad's forearm had been fractured by a chance hit from the gnoll just before he died. Luckily the flat of the blade had been involved; otherwise, Gellor had told the groaning lad sternly, his arm would have been severed. Shad was less eager to be a warrior after that.

  "You're going to be well soon enough, although I can't get that broken bone mended as quickly as I'd like," Gellor told the lad when he had finished his ministrations. "Keep that sling on, and don't move your arm. Even with my spells of healing, it will take a few days for the bones to knit together and all the internal damage to be set right. Don't fret, though," he added hastily as he noted the worried expression on Shadow's thin face. "You'll be right as rain soon enough."

  Chert, meanwhile, had cleaned up the long cut that crossed the upper part of Thatch's boyish chest. The barbarian had made a compress of herbs that stung, for Thatch had let out a cry of pain when the stuff was placed there. "Silence, warrior!" Chert had ordered with a stony face. "In my clan, such an outcry would bring disgrace until a brave deed expunged the shame of making noises at such little hurts as that!"