by Gary Gygax
Gord could hardly believe his ears. "What are you talking about?" he asked, too amazed at the statement to be angry.
Post stood nearby, grinning, and the others gathered round upon overhearing the exchange. Barrel dug into his makeshift pack and took out a small but obviously heavy bundle. "Drag your stuff out too, boys," he called, "and we'll make Cap'n Gord tote his lot from now on!" As the others began rummaging in sacks and backpacks, not one of them spoke a word to the young man. At a signal from Barrel, everyone opened their parcels and displayed the contents… and then Gord understood.
"You pack of pilferers looted the temple!" he said with a mixture of surprise and relief.
"This is nothing to compare with the stuff we actually hauled out, Gord," Smoker confided. "We had to leave behind the bulkier things bit by bit as we lost the pack beasts. Still, I suppose it isn't a bad bit of pay for our slave labor — and your freeing us. If you'll divvy it into ten equal shares, we'll be honored, sir."
After voicing a moderate protest, Gord got to work. The haul included almost a hundred of the golden wheels that were the coin of the lost realm of Suel, some loose gems, some ornate jewelry, and a variety of small things such as statuettes, carved ivory seals, little boxes, and so on. It was difficult to be exact, but the young thief felt comfortable with the result when he finished a few minutes later. "That's the lot of it. And here I thought you were accusing me of dereliction of duty…"
"Oh, no, Gord Zehaab," said Dohojar between chuckles. "All we ever said was that it was fair for you to carry what rightfully belongs to you."
"And now," offered Smoker, "sit back, and we'll see just what that amounts to."
By virtue of the others' prearranged agreement, Dohojar got first pick of the piles, Post second, and then Shade, Delver, and Barrel chose their shares of the loot in that order. Then Smoker scooped two of the remaining heaps into a little mound for himself, winked at Gord, and said, "Sorry you got last dibs, cap'n, but to make up for the slight we voted you three shares."
By tucking some of the big coins here and there on his person and stuffing his rucksack to near bursting, Gord was able to load all of his loot. When they set out again the next morning, Gord quickly got accustomed to the added weight — no doubt due in part to the nature of the burden, which he did not at all mind carrying. The other six seemed in highest spirits too, as if the division and sharing out had wiped the old slate clean and new vistas beckoned them all.
Several days afterward, the seven came out of the highlands and into a warm, subtropical area with the smell of the sea clearly evident on the breeze. The trials and dangers of the climb over the mountains had been hard and harrowing, but they had endured, overcome, and reaped a fair reward for all their difficulties.
"No mistakin' this strip o' land, cap'n," said Barrel. "I've been here many a time afore. We're on the west coast of Jade Bay, part o' the Azure Sea. Me and my mates used to put in along this shore for water and food when we sailed from Dolle Port to trade with the savages of the Western Jungle."
"That being the case, Barrel, what do you suggest we do?"
"Seems a good bet that if we hike up on the coast, we'll encounter some ship or other bound for the Seakings' Lands," the burly fellow replied after some thought. "If we're not in luck, why, we're still heading on the right tack — even though it's quite a haul from here to the cities of the Princes."
It was indeed a long march north up the coast. But the going was easier, for the savannah land they traveled across was well-watered, full of edible vegetation and game. Almost sixty leagues they went, generally following the coast, skirting salt marshes, and once in a while taking to the high ground so they could sight well out over the waters of Jade Bay. They did spot sails in the distance occasionally, but no ship came close enough to even signal by smoke, let alone hail.
At last the seven, tattered and tired wanderers all, came to a point where they had a choice. The shore turned sharply to the east, and before them were the low, tree-covered sides of an arm of the Inferno Peaks that towered to their left. A dispute arose then.
Delver, backed by Shade, thought the group should again take to the high ground. The dwarf asserted that getting over the low ridges of this extension of the Inferno Peaks was child's play — an obviously slanted view, for Delver was born and raised in such terrain. That the half-elf concurred was surprising, but Shade explained that he had heard that an area of tidal marshes lay to the east of their location, making progress afoot that way an impossibility. "We'll have to retrace our steps," Shade told the others, "as sure as I'm standing here talking to you, and come back to this spot. Why waste time in all that when we can do the right thing now?"
Barrel and his friends were of a contrary view. The burly fellow admitted that he'd even seen the tidewater marshes the half-elf had merely heard of, but he was of the opinion that they could skirt this inhospitable area and make for Ocherfort thereafter without climbing mountains again. "I'm in with Barrel," Smoker told Gord. "No more mountaineering for me if it can be avoided."
Gord called a vote then. "Mountains!" said Delver, and both Shade and Dohojar agreed with him. "Coast!" Barrel said loudly, with Post and Smoker nodding their assent to that. It was up to Gord, not as leader, but as the deciding vote. Biting his lip, the young man considered the alternatives, keeping in mind his actual purpose. Both sides watched him anxiously. That made him nervous, so Gord thought about it some more.
"I am unable to decide for the group," he said finally, speaking each word slowly. "Going Into the rugged mountains again is not my idea of a pleasant stroll, and the path along the shore is possibly usable, certainly more to my liking." At that, Barrel grinned. "But — and this is important," and now the dwarf looked pleased, "the quickest, most direct way for me is over those peaks yonder."
"So? What do we do, cap'n?"
"It comes down for each of you to determine for himself, I guess," the young adventurer admitted. "I feel I must continue north, mountains or no. You three can head along the shore if you feel so inclined. I don't believe you are obligated to follow the course I must take."
The matter was settled. Delver, Shade, and Doho-jar took a few steps northward, separating themselves from the three who preferred the coast route. Before any of them could start to say their farewells to the other three. Barrel cut loose with a stream of obscenities that practically made the air shimmer with their force. He shouldered his pack, grabbed his crossbow, and suggested that Smoker and Post do the same. Then the trio held a brief conference, exchanging quick words in low voices.
Gord didn't bother to try to overhear. He simply turned away to face the mountains and went down on his haunches, too saddened to speak. There was no going back on his decision, but he couldn't help feeling dejected over the loss of three such staunch fellows. Then Barrel's voice boomed out again from behind him.
"Well, godsblast it, cap'n! Are you just going to hunker there, or are we headin' up into those futterin' mountains?" Without waiting for a reply, Barrel, Smoker, and Post stumped by, their backs stiff, heading for where Delver and the others were standing. Gord got to his feet, caught up with the three of them, and wordlessly expressed his feelings by clasping each man around the shoulders.
It was an easy trek, as hikes over mountains go. and the seven were down on rolling ground again in a couple of days, none the worse for the passage. "Just like I told you," Delver said smugly. "Bat-crap!" was the burly seafarer's only retort.
"Enough of those little pleasantries, you two," Gord said — although he didn't really care if they insulted each other, because that meant they were in good spirits. "I think we should angle away from the mountains a bit, so that we can travel on level ground if possible. The land ahead appears very hilly, but off to the west a bit it seems to grow level — and that glint looks to be a big lake."
"Must be Emerald Lake," Barrel volunteered. "The headwaters of the Ocher River, so I've been told, though I've never seen it."
"What makes
you think that?" the dwarf asked curtly.
"The Seakings' Lands are my country, shorty," Barrel shot back. "You might know your stuff when it comes to heaps of granite, but don't think I don't know what's in my own land."
They trudged across the steep hills, going west and slightly south along the route that seemed the least taxing. When the seven reached the low, level land beyond the steep foothills, night was falling. The last rays of the sun showed a toothy northern horizon — certainly more mountains, but they sunk away just a little to the west of due north. Gord's desire to gain the plain had been well founded. After an uneventful night, the party moved on, maintaining the northwesterly course. There was water ahead — the Ocher River, Barrel again asserted. Its valley enabled the seven to bypass the little spur of mountains and slog on into the heart of the hinterlands of the territory ruled by the Seakings. Fish from the river fed them that evening, and the waters of the Ocher washed bodies and clothing equally clean.
Gord was more relaxed that night than he had been in a long time. His turn at the watch was not scheduled until the hours just before sunrise, and as he ate his evening meal he was looking forward almost obsessively to getting six straight hours of sleep on a mattress of soft, grassy ground. He quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It seemed like minutes later, but was actually several hours into the night, when Gord heard a whispered "Zehaab!" and then felt Dohojar's hand shaking his shoulder as his eyes flew open. "Shade says come quick! All hell's breaking loose across the river, and all of us should come and see in a hurry!"
Gord was up and ready in a moment. Dohojar was still rousing the others as he ran off in answer to the half-elf s summons.
Chapter 22
A globe of radiance washed over a dell plainly visible from their vantage point across the river and not more than a half-mile distant from the scene. As the light blossomed and made several figures near its center plainly visible, two things happened almost at the same time. Something dark spread itself over the glow, and the light was gone, leaving the depression in darkness again. At nearly the same instant, a group of capering little figures glowed greenly, outlined by some mystical means where they stood between river and dell.
"What's going on?" Gord asked as he came up beside the half-elf.
This is mild compared to what happened before you got here," Shade hissed. He spoke as if he was afraid to be heard by those across the Ocher despite the distance between them.
"Sure, sure, but what happened before?"
Post thumped up and flopped down beside the two. Then Smoker and Dohojar came up, the Changa winded and gasping for breath from the hasty round trip he had just negotiated. Just as Gord was about to ask the half-elf again, Barrel came trotting up, his rolling gait unmistakable even in the gloom, and not far behind was the bandy-legged Delver bringing up the rear. "No talking, any of you — except Shade, I mean," the young adventurer ordered. "Now, Shade, what's been going on over there?"
It seemed that a big audience encouraged the half-elf to be more explicit. "I happened to be looking out that way at what must have been the start of a surprise attack. There wasn't much noise — isn't now, for that matter. All of a sudden there's a half-dozen pale blue balls of light in the dell. At first I thought they were will-o-wisps, but then those things winked out and a bright light floated in the air in our direction. That showed a bunch of folks."
"I thought you said you witnessed an attack, not a show of lights."
"As soon as those figures were exposed, Gord, damned if a bunch of big, black tentacles didn't come up right out of the ground and grab the men nearby. You could hear the yelling from here!"
"Oh, I see. Sorry, Shade."
The half-elf was mollified at that. "No need for apology. I guess I was trying to be too dramatic. The defenders took some losses. I heard screams from their camp too, when the dancing lights were floating through their area. Could the attackers use will-o-wisps as allies?"
"No," Gord said softly. "The spheres of blue light were cast from a spell, Shade."
"It is a simple one, too," Dohojar added.
After the half-elf told them the rest of what he had seen, Gord realized that they still knew nothing about who was being attacked by whom. The seven held a hurried council. The others said the group should simply move on, slipping off in the night to avoid encountering either of the parties involved in the fighting, but Gord thought differently. For one thing, as he pointed out to them, this could be advance elements of two armies skirmishing, and to try to move off blindly might place them directly in the path of opposing hosts.
Also possible in Gord's mind, although he didn't articulate it, was a hunch he had formulated. Leda, in revealing to him what she knew of the contest, had inferred that while the contestants could go to either place, Obmi had preferred a return to Yolakand, while Eclavdra was intent on making for Ocherfort. If half of what Leda had said and what Gord knew was true, the drow high priestess had the Final Key and the dwarf was hot on her heels. If by some miracle he and his comrades had actually gotten ahead of both of the demoniacal contestants, then the altercation they were witnessing could be Obmi and Eclavdra battling for possession of the prize. It was a slim chance, but it couldn't be overlooked.
To remain here is to invite disaster," Smoker said with finality. "If, when light breaks, we find ourselves between two armies, each adversary will think us scouts or spies for the other." To that point there was general agreement.
Gord still dissented, however. "I must see just what is going on. I will do my work alone, though," he added quickly as both Delver and Shade started to volunteer themselves for the mission. "I have night-sight myself — and better than either of you have, if you recall," he told the pair dryly. "You help the rest to gather their things and conceal the traces of our camp. At the first paling in the east, move off toward the high ground behind us. Don't worry — I'm experienced at tracking, so I'll find your trail no matter how carefully you hide it… and do be careful!"
"What will we do then, Gord Zehaab?" said Dohojar, bewildered and a bit apprehensive at this strange turn of events.
"If I'm not back right after dawn, I'm not coming back at all. In that case, my friends, you six will just have to take my share of things, divide it among yourselves, and look to yourselves thereafter."
"But we can't just leave a comrade — our cap'n at that! — stranded, can we?"
Gord gripped Barrel by his thick arm and peered into the ugly, honest face of the fellow. "Believe me, comrade, you had better. If I can't return, then there's nothing the whole lot of you can do to aid me. Without meaning to sound a braggart, I can fend for myself in such situations far better than all the rest of you combined. Trouble which prevents my returning to you, good folk, means that you'll be dead if you try to rescue me… Besides, I'll probably be beyond saving anyway. Now, heed the orders of your captain and move out," the young man finished with a softness in his voice he wished wasn't there.
Whispering their wishes for safety and success, the six adventurers headed back toward their camp, leaving Gord alone with his thoughts.
The night was alive with sounds and smells, each blade of grass starkly outlined against the glowing sky, shadows making only slightly deeper pools of dimness. Insects scuttled and leaped from his path. Little mammals and big ones too crouched down and froze, hearts thudding, hoping not to be the ones sought. Without sound, barely discernible even to the keen senses of the wild creatures around, he paced along the verge of the river's marshy banks, avoiding the wet ground whenever possible. A male leopard out on his night's hunt saw him and considered disputing the passage of this stranger, but only for a moment. The big cat's brain wasn't a marvel of intelligence, but even so dim an intellect as the leopard possessed could note the size and power displayed by the intruder. The cat slunk off in the opposite direction, trusting that tomorrow the stranger would be gone from its territory. Besides, the reek of men was strong in the direction in which the intrud
er went, and the leopard knew from experience that many men meant danger, even if this one seemed unaware of it.
Crouched in the weeds and tall grass of a low ridge, Gord surveyed the night. The illumination of the waning moon and the stars were all he needed to make the sky seem bright as day to his cat's eyes. The young thief was, of course, in the form of a huge, coal-black panther. None he might possibly encounter this night knew that he could take such shape. He growled softly to himself, and his long tail twitched as he viewed the scene before his eyes.
Nearly four score men, wild tribesmen from marshy regions judging from the smell of them, were scattered in a crescent between the dell and the river bank. Gord had crept on his belly to a point near them. These men had come by boat, probably from downstream, to attack. Their enemies were a mixture of humans and dark elves. His cat's nose related that to him clearly, recalling odors earlier detected by the far less efficient human nose he normally used.
The defenders were encamped in a hidden glen, and the men had apparently been there for several days. The odor of horses and humans was much stronger than would be the case if they had come but recently. There were a dozen men and mounts to begin with, but the attacking marshfolk had killed some of each. The odor of blood and death was clear. The dark elves and their human associates had not suffered alone, certainly. Gord had counted two or three dozen dead marshfolk with his own eyes, so their casualties were undoubtedly greater than that.
Both sides were quiet now. The defenders were alert, and any movement by the tribesmen was sure to draw an unpleasant response from the elves and men they beleaguered. Spell-casting had been used by both forces — the drow having more such power, he supposed, for the more numerous attackers had been kept at bay.
A sour, earthy-smelling scent suddenly came wafting to his black nose. His whiskers twitched and, uncontrollably, his cat's ears flattened along his broad skull. His panther lips drew back, and Gord bared his massive fangs in a snarl. The smell was of dwarf, and an odor both human and feline brain recognized well indeed — Obmi's distinctive scent and none other! Suppressing a nearly overwhelming urge to voice a coughing roar of challenge, Gord brought his cat's body belly-down and slunk forward. He wanted to see the broad-shouldered dwarf with his own eyes.