by Gary Gygax
"I think more than a slave revolt would be needed to make the pygmies resort to that sort of alarm," Gord said between tremors. That sound makes my very bones shake."
Leda was about to reply when yet another sound joined the chorus of nearly inaudible horns and iron gong. This was a brassy shrieking, a wailing series of notes blown on some larger horn than that which made the thin piping.
"That sound I have heard — or, I should say, Eclavdra has heard," said Leda. "Her memories tell me it is the rallying horn of the pygmies. I don't know the significance, but it seems to come from up the river channel."
"Yes, I think so, Leda. And the gong sounds from that way," he added, pointing the opposite way. "The pygmies are under attack from two directions, I'll wager, and their slaves are in armed revolt even as their enemies come upon them. I hope those miserable little cannibals are about to get their just deserts!"
"Never mind justice right now, Gord. Let's find that temple while the pale ones are really busy." Chuckling grimly, Gord loped along beside her as Leda took off at a brisk run for the opposite side of the depression.
Chapter 17
They dashed up the ramp and stood panting in the gloom, sheltered from casual view by a portion of the building they leaned against. As they rested thus, a company of armed pygmy soldiers trotted past a short distance away, went down the ramp the two had just ascended, and were gone. Leda suggested that they find a way to enter this old mass they stood beside, saying that it matched the description of the place where too-large items were stored for trade with nonpygmy groups.
After a few minutes of searching, they found an alley door. It was locked, but Gord had no trouble opening the simple mechanism, using a bit of wire from the little pouch of tools kept on his belt for just such a need. A brief search through the welter of stuff strewn about inside the place uncovered all sorts of arms. Not one was of any great value, but finally Gord selected a light long sword, probably once the property of some woman or small man. It was longer and heavier than his old short sword, but not so different as to require hours of practice before he could use it properly. The weapon was stacked in a corner along with axes, a mace, several other swords, and a long-spiked morning star. Not wanting to waste still more time searching for a scabbard, Gord grabbed up a couple of the other weapons and hurried out. As he went, he dropped an axe just inside the door and a broadsword just outside the entry.
"What are you doing?" Leda asked.
"Leave the door wide open, girl. I hope that a band of roaming slaves — or ex-slaves, that is — will stumble upon this place. Now let's go find that bedamned temple and see what happens!"
As the two trotted out of the alley and along a street that they thought would lead to the pygmies' sacred shrine, a bright flash lit up the sky. It was followed by a fiery light that sent tawny shadows dancing along the underground thoroughfare for several beats, then died as quickly as it came. The display came from their right and was about a mile distant, Leda thought. "That was a magical sphere of fire, Gord. The others seeking the Final Key must be attacking at this moment. We must run!"
"Oh, hells! Look, Leda, to your left." As Gord spoke, pale spurts of glowing green energy zipped along a broad avenue that intersected the road they were following at a distance of about fifty yards. The darts were answered by a rolling cloud of some hellish vapors that gleamed with a grayish internal light as it boiled toward a group of albino soldiers who stood in its path. One of the pale little men in the front rank held a long wand, and from it issued more of the darting green spurts. Farther down the avenue, someone cried out; one of the wand-wielder's foes had apparently been struck by the force that came from the weapon. Then the vapors enveloped the squad of little soldiers, and only the lone, wand-using one staggered out of the cloud. He ran from the scene at a good clip, but made the mistake of heading for where Gord and Leda were hidden.
"Cut him down, Gord. We can use that wand he has."
Without hesitation, the young thief sprang out and angled so as to approach the little man from the side. The pygmy seemed disoriented, ill, and panicky, all of which made him an easy target for Gord's new blade. The long sword bit through flesh and bone before the little man even noticed Gord's presence. "Here, girl, is your toy," he said, taking the wand from the dead fingers of the pygmy and tossing it to the dark elf, who had trailed along behind him.
"Good. It shoots magical missiles, Gord. We'll need them, I think, for those who approach behind that poisonous cloud are drow — and that means Eclavdra. I felt she was near…"
"Those other fireworks must be the dwarf and his henchmen, then," Gord said as he scanned the urban landscape. "There's a white building in the distance, midway between the two forces — see it? Run as if demons are on our heels, Leda."
"There are demons after us, Gord," she said, moving swiftly to show she meant it. Together, the two dashed through the dark streets without encountering any opposition; the albino forces were all off in other locations, trying to deal with two bands of invaders and a slave revolt all at the same time. A few minutes later they were bounding up a narrow stairway leading into a white, pillared edifice trimmed with red gold. This had to be the place they sought. At last, they had come to the shrine that housed the last portion of the artifact of great darkness. Without hesitation, they entered and prepared to confront whatever awaited them inside.
Not far away, Obmi, Bolt, and a group of Yoli warriors were finishing off the remnants of a company of pygmy soldiers who had thought to oppose them. The dwarf was rumbling a happy battle-song deep in his broad chest as he sent his deadly hammer flying to crack the skull of an albino priest trying to work up a spell against him. The martel was a handy thing to have, and he was glad for its presence in his right hand, but the hammer he had owned for a longer time, and it held a special place in his dark heart. It was able to wreak horrible damage, even when thrown, and the best part was that whenever Obmi released it, the hammer would hit its target and then circle around to return to the dwarfs grasp — as it did now.
With his left hand Obmi caught the bloodied weapon that came whirling back to him, and in the same instant buried the long pick of his martel in the side of a nearby pygmy. The force of this impact drove the tiny man sideways into his fellow defenders. At the same time, the dwarf jerked the pick sideways, freeing its bill and arcing the weapon to his left, where it struck another of the pale soldiers with its toothed hammer head, destroying the albino's face.
The dwarf felt wonderful. Here was a proper perspective at last! He was fighting men over whom he towered by a foot. And the magical boots bestowed upon him especially for this mission made him quicker than any ordinary human anyway, regardless of size. The dwarf flashed through the ranks of the desperate little albinos, a whirlwind of destruction that left a trail of blood and death behind. The poisoned quarrels from the repeating arbalests that the pygmy soldiers relied upon were next to useless against Obmi and his lieutenant. Bolt the wizard was protected from ordinary missiles by an enchantment, and the dwarf was by nature virtually immune to venom. Obmi smiled as he recalled plucking a little projectile from where it had stuck in his arm and using it on the fool who had shot him with it at point-blank range. The expression on the white runt's face as he had driven the still-envenomed quarrel into the very eye that had aimed it was hilarious.
The wizard was quite useful. Bolt had cleared away much of the opposition with a forked bolt of lightning — a stroke much bigger and more deadly than the defenders had supposed was possible. It had crisped a pair of the pygmy folk's own magic-workers before they knew what had hit them. Then Bolt had used his power to fry many of the remaining pale little men with a fireball, so the avenue up which Obmi marched was clear of opposition of serious sort, and he was able to amuse himself by crushing several of the pygmies with his own weapons. After a few minutes of this close fighting, half of the ten barbarian warriors accompanying the dwarf had been lost, but one had to expect as much. It didn't matter at any
rate. One guide had been kept behind in a safe place outside the city, and that was all Obmi needed to get back to real civilization once the prize was his.
As Obmi came to an intersection of two avenues and turned the corner, he first peered ahead and caught sight of a commotion taking place in the distance. "Blast!" he roared. "Could it be that the filthy drow yet survives?" Bolt, as mystified as his master was angry, wisely let the question pass. Obmi stood still, taking a few seconds to discern the path along which the distant activity was moving, then let his gaze continue to track along the same route. Suddenly he set eyes upon an imposing building a few hundred yards away. "There!" he bellowed to the remainder of his assault group. "Look, you dogs! The temple lies ahead, and we must get there first. Run over any who stand in your way, now, and move for that place!"
Gord and Leda had come into the pygmy shrine from a secondary way, one reserved for the clerics who were housed nearby. Of course, the two had no idea that this was the case, for they couldn't see the grand entrances on the other faces of the great block that was the temple building. A large vestibule with three passageways was the first thing they saw upon entering. To either hand the reddish light common in the undercity was apparent, for the temple was filled with the strange globes. Ahead, though, the corridor glowed with a golden illumination that was unique to the place.
"Straight on, Leda," Gord hissed to the dark elf. That light must come from their most precious place of veneration." The pair rah on down the passage, a ten-foot width of polished alabaster with precious gold inlaid in the mosaic tiles of its walls.
The light is mysterious to them, I think. They must make this place so bright to awe the commoners — a reminder of the time when their ancestors dwelled upon the surface," Leda panted as they hurried forward. "It gives us a great advantage, for the pygmies will be nearly blind in such conditions."
"And a drow?"
"Most will be, but not I," Leda replied. "Eclavdra was supplied with dweomered cusps that protect the eyes from radiation of most sorts — and I, as her physical duplicate, also wear a pair of them."
Before they could converse further, the two came into a huge, pillared hall. They looked out upon a curved end wall, columned side aisles, and a wide central way. Down the middle of the four broad main aisles stretched lines of displays, as if the place was a museum. Perhaps it once had been such. The displays were encased in clear material — glass, crystal, or whatever, Gord could not tell. Along the way they came, the exhibits were of priestly nature, it seemed. They dashed past ancient books and even older-looking scrolls, carved chairs, displayed vestments, ornate reliquaries and sacred offery and altar pieces, and clerical paraphernalia of gold and silver.
The central portion of the mighty chamber was domed in gold, and the floor beneath this dome was a disc of dark, polished onyx. Set around this circle was a rail of wood, inlaid with gold, and broken at only one spot, on the side from which they approached. Outside the rail were curved benches of a size suitable for the pygmy folk. Perhaps a hundred or so could be seated there. Naturally, the benches faced inward so that the greatest of the albinos' treasures could be venerated. From the apex of the dome, fully forty feet above the onyx floor, hung a massive chain of dull, greenish metal. About two-thirds of the way down from the roof on this upper chain was fastened a massive ring. Four slightly smaller chains radiated out beneath this ring, enclosing a globe of crystalline transparency. Each of these four lengths of greenish links was caught fast again below the sphere by another great ring, and this, in turn, was fastened to another stretch of thicker chain that extended down to the onyx floor, held fast by a massive staple of the same metal as itself.
"If I stretched, I think I could just about touch the lower ring," Leda said to the young thief.
"I have never seen anything quite so black," Gord said in wonderment as he stared at the transparent globe. He referred to the small object set inside the crystal, a vaguely cone-shaped thing with three protruding parts that vaguely resembled horns.
Leda tugged at his arm to break his trancelike state. "Don't stare at it — don't look directly at it at all! That thing gives onto a part of the multiverse which is the opposite of what we know. It seems so black because it devours light. Don't touch it, for it will drain your life as it withers your flesh."
"How in the hopping hells do you expect me to touch it, girl? No one can get at it!"
"We must, Gord — and stop calling me girl. I am far older than you are!"
Gord slapped the dark elf on her round posterior, chuckling as he did so to break the tension of the situation. "No, you aren't. You said yourself that you are only months old — I should call you child, not girl."
"Ass! My memories stretch back over centuries, so I am no girl. Stop this foolish behavior and get moving. We have to loose that globe, crack it somehow, and gain the Final Key while the pygmies are busy elsewhere."
What the dark elf said made sense. There should have been dozens of guards and priests in the place, yet the temple was seemingly deserted — for now, anyway, and there was no telling when the battles going on outside would carry over to within this chamber.
Gord glanced around to see if there was anything nearby that might help him in what he meant to do. His eye fell upon a nearby display case. It held a statue, a lifelike work that depicted a warrior of the ancient empire, arrayed for battle and holding an oval-shaped shield and a surprisingly modern-looking sword. The weapon fairly radiated excellence of craftsmanship to the young adventurer. It was as long as the blade he held now, and shaped very much like it, yet there were differences that struck Gord as indicating that some great artisan had fashioned the weapon in the case. The blade was not as heavy and thick as the one he held, and the guard and quillons were far better. When he took a step and looked closer, Gord saw that the sword had a dish-shaped cutting edge and a ridged spine along its length. All in all, an excellent tool.
There is my new weapon!" he said with quiet determination.
Leda's face contorted in anger. "Have you gone daft?" she scolded. "Use that vaunted dagger of yours to sever those chains. We must have the Final Key now!"
Ignoring the dark elf entirely, Gord strode up to the tall case of wood-framed glass and peered at the incredibly realistic statue of the Suel knight therein. "Sorry, paragon of lost dreams of conquest, I have greater need for that blade than you do," he said, and with that he smote the case with the sword he was carrying. Strips of wood snapped, and thick panes of glass shivered into fragments that chimed and tinkled as they split into slivers upon contact with the stone floor. At the same moment, a puff of smoke erupted within the sundered display. Gord jumped back to escape the foul-smelling emission, coughing and wiping away the tears that the stuff caused to stream from his eyes.
"What have you- Look out, Gord!"
Leda's warning was unnecessary, for Gord saw it too. There was a crunch of powdering glass as the statue of the Suel knight, complete with sword in hand, leaped down upon the shards and flinders of the wrecked case. "You seek this blade, sooty-haired subhuman? I shall give it to you!" The warrior set upon Gord with a rush as he spoke the last sentence. The so-called statue was alive!
The ancient knight was clad in armor of antique design, but the metal was as good as, or even better than, that of any cavalier who boasted of the latest plate today. He held a shield of good metal, too. All that plus his sword made him more than a match for the young thief, even though Gord wore a shirt of elfin chainmail and could use his enchanted dagger in addition to the unimpressive long sword. Gord met the warrior's rush, avoided his opening shield-smash, and parried an overhand stroke of the sword. The duel was on then, but the third time their weapons made contact, Gord's steel broke under the force of the blond knight's blow. At that, the young adventurer hurled the remnant of the old sword at the laughing Suel. As the knight jerked his shield up to ward off the missile, Gord did a back somersault followed by several rolls, and was clear of danger for a moment.
At that pass, Leda sprang into the conflict. Her sudden rush surprised the haughty fellow, and the dark elf s flashing scimitar nearly went home. As it was, the knight barely had time to try to parry the vicious cut, while attempting to duck away at the same time. He succeeded only partially, for the tip of the curved blade drew a red line across his cheek. "Face a truly sooty foe, then, you yapping human cur!" she snarled. Her tone and posture demonstrated that Leda was very ready to fight this ancient minion of the Empire of Suel to the death.
Infuriated at the little wound, the challenge, and the fact that not only was this a female, but a black-skinned, nonhuman one at that, the knight roared some ancient oath and unleashed a storm of steel upon the drow. His attack was so swift and brutal that Leda had all she could manage to survive, blocking, parrying, and retreating without getting in another blow of her own. But she kept the knight busy, and that was all that was needed. In one instant, Leda saw Gord move across her field of vision with unhuman swiftness, springing from behind the knight's left flank with his dagger sweeping in a sideways arc.
The momentary distraction almost cost Leda her life, for at that very moment the Suel warrior planted his feet and sent a downward cut at her. She brought her scimitar up a split-second too late; by then, the knight's stroke had gathered sufficient momentum. His sword was deflected, but not before it had knocked Leda's weapon from her numbed hand and drove her to her knees with its force. Laughing in anticipation, the fair-skinned knight drew back his arm to sink the sword point first into the dark elf s breast, but his peal of laughter ended in a high-pitched howl of anguish.