by Gary Gygax
As the shrill sound dissipated, it was replaced by a tearing noise. Monstrous, taloned hands appeared In mid-air a few feet off the ground, their fingers gripping something unseen as if by the edges. The ripping sound continued, and more of the creature owning the disembodied, clawed hands became clearly visible through a rent, literally a tear in the fabric of space, plainly discernible in the air.
A hideous, evil head thrust itself through the unnatural opening, and then a massive arm poked out, its huge hand reaching toward the drow as the face leered and said, "Wanna fool around?" The fiend's exact intentions were unclear, perhaps even to itself. Eclavdra merely rested her left hand on the brass box and pointed her right index finger. A purple-black spark jumped from the outstretched digit to the creature's forehead, and it stopped grinning and howled.
"Little lizard-daemon! Listen carefully, or I shall allow the force to wholly devour you," Eclavdra said in a low, threatening voice. "Leave the gate I have readied and get your ilk together. You know by what power I summon you all, so do not delay an instant longer."
The daemon disappeared, leaving the strange hole in the air empty. The dark elven priestess sang another brief, hideous chant, and something else appeared in the opening — another daemon, this one having five arms and an insectlike head. The creature clicked its mandibles hungrily at the sight of her, and Eclavdra treated this creature to a taste of the fell power drawn from the Theorpart, just as she had done with the previous one. The insect-daemon then received its instructions and disappeared. After a few minutes, daemons began coming through the unusual gate in a steady flow.
Without saying a word, both types of daemons knew by what they had been summoned and what they were to do. The giant-sized lizard-daemons ambled off toward the center of the enemy line, while the three-legged insect-daemons trooped toward either side. Eclavdra meant to encircle and crush her attackers with an overwhelming force of daemons — monsters from Hades conjured through the power of the Theorpart. Despite her knowledge that she was acting in a fashion that would attract all powers watching for even minor occurrences of such sort, the drow high priestess drew upon the awful nature of the Final Key to wreak havoc on those who dared to challenge her.
Obmi, meanwhile, had proceeded with his assault — too late. The hapless marshmen, expecting to encounter a force many times smaller in number than they were, instead found themselves charging into the arms of the waiting daemons.
Yells and screams of terror and pain from the marshmen alerted the dwarf, who lurked far to the rear of the battleground, and in moments he was aware of the general circumstances. He did not know what his mercenary force had encountered, but clearly it was more formidable than a small group of humans and a couple of drow spell-users. Leda had darted off in the confusion, and was nowhere to be found. The dwarf considered beseeching his mistress for aid once again, but did not know if the call would be answered — and besides, he didn't have the time to make another attempt. Growling curses under his breath, Obmi did the only thing he could.
The broad-shouldered dwarf brought forth a tiny bronze figurine that Zuggtmoy had secretly given him, with instructions to employ it only if he found himself alone and threatened by ultimate failure. With a powerful twist, he snapped the head off the figure's body. Although Obmi did not know this at the time, the statuette was formed in the likeness of the demon Uliel, one of the most powerful who served Zuggtmoy. With the snapping of the old bronze, flames shot forth from the body of the little idol, and the metal grew scorchingly hot. The dwarf uttered a sharp sound of pain and flung the thing a few feet away from him. As the statuette was consumed, Uliel took shape in the air above, a solid form composed of blackest shadow and licking fingers of flame.
The huge demon glared at Obmi only briefly, then turned so as to magically perceive what was happening on the battleground beyond. "You have not erred, dwarf!" the demon said in a voice that made the very air vibrate. The shadows deepened around the creature, and the flames grew bigger and brighter. A booming sound echoed in the air above the demon's head, and in the next instant an other monster from the Abyss was beside Uliel. "Boar-demon," the bigger demon grated to the lesser one, "in the name of She you serve, summon the thralls of our Queen!"
The smaller demon appeared to be a mixture of the worst features of a ravening boar, a carnivorous gorilla, and a human. It grunted, a snarling yet obedient sound, and squealing, gibbering notes issued from the air in front of its huge chest. Then a popping sound issued forth, and on the ground before the boar-ape-human demon was a batrachian thing, its gaping mouth filled with a hundred needlelike teeth. Toad-demon, bring those of your sort who serve you!" the boar-demon commanded.
Croaking in reply, the ugly beast hunkered down on its bent legs and began to make sounds such as a bullfrog of monstrous sort might give off during spring courtship. The greatest of the three demons present, Uliel, nodded his homed head, a head that was above that of the ten-foot-high boar-demon beside him. "You obey and live! See that the toad-demons propagate thus until I say otherwise. Send them forth immediately upon their bringing forth a companion of theirs — they are needed to contend with the spawn of Hades who swarm toward us now!" With that, the demon of flame and shadow stalked toward the daemons, and the first toad-demon hopped and croaked at his heels as he went, for already that creature had brought forth another, and the second was summoning a third.
Soon demons fought with daemons, while the few remaining men sought to hide, trembling in fear at the struggle that was now being waged in the remote grassland beside the Ocher River.
Meanwhile, Leda had not been idle. When the dwarf rushed off at her urging to spur the marsh-men to action, she had held back and then employed her ring to invisibly slip away from him. Her first invocation had gone unfinished and thus unfulfilled, but Leda still had hope that she could successfully call upon assistance from beyond — if she could get to a secluded place and begin the process anew, this time carrying it to completion.
When she came upon a small clearing from which the ongoing struggle could be heard but not seen, Leda knelt and began to utter as elaborate a plea as she could formulate. She actually fell into a trance-like state while continuing to call for aid — and finally, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, she got what she was asking for. Or, perhaps the maelstrom of daemons and demons being brought to the Material Plane by other forces was the trigger; for whatever reason, the Queen of Demons finally brought her attention to the place where Leda invoked her. In the first instant that her form appeared, Zuggtmoy was livid.
"How dare you, bitch of Graz'zt…" she said in her growling, burbling tone — and then Zuggtmoy paused, for her assessment of Leda made her aware of the fact that this was not Eclavdra herself, but a clone-not-clone of the drow who served the six-fingered lord. In the next instant as Leda came back to full awareness, Zuggtmoy transformed herself from human form to a towering, fungoid thing with vegetable eyes that saw in all directions around the copse.
This is madness! We are undone!" the Queen of Fungi said in her strange, hollow tone in a voice that seemed to issue from inside a rotten log and sent a pungent odor of mold and decay wafting toward the little dark elf cowering nearby. Leda could not know exactly what caused the demoness to exclaim so, but the problem was evident to her. Zuggtmoy and all the other demons involved in the contest had wanted total and complete secrecy. Now, all of the beings in the multiverse who sought the last portion of the Artifact of Evil were alerted to its location and were certain to react swiftly and with all their might.
This supposition on Leda's part was swiftly borne out. A wave of hordlings came into the open, and with them were winged devils. A pack of toad-demons and a flock of vulture-demons flying above were instantly engaged with the servants of the Nine Hells in a life-and-death fight. To this combat streamed the soldiers of Law and the equally weird warriors of Chaos, while around and above them swirled shining, powerful presences that exuded an aura of Good — evidence that
those of the Upper Planes were now also alerted to the goings-on.
Leda, once she realized that Zuggtmoy was paying no attention to her, gained her feet and ran off in a panic. She still cared about destroying Eclavdra, but right now the most important thing was to find a place of refuge, if any such existed in the midst of this cataclysm. Shortly thereafter Zuggtmoy vanished, but from where she had been came a tide of poisonous fungi, moving, growing, a deadly carpet that rolled toward the dell wherein the Theorpart rested.
More and more beings from all planes of the multiverse were appearing and joining in the fight. There could be no doubt that unless something happened soon, the very fabric of the material world would be unable to support this collection, and not even the deities who commanded these forces and brought them forth could be sure of controlling what would occur then. Perhaps all of the stuff that made the whole of the multiverse would be pulled into the maelstrom that this concentration of creatures and powers would soon bring about, and the parts of the terrible artifact would conjoin willy-nilly then. If deities and devils agonized over such an occurrence, they were not deterred from their purposes, either. For one reason or another, all of those who fought and directed the fight desired more than anything to possess the Final Key. So the air was alive with fighting creatures, and the ground beneath likewise swarmed with combatants, while the fabric of all that existed strained and trembled at what was occurring.
Chapter 24
The little wooden quarrel struck the ravening, four-armed monster full in its beady, red eye. Fortunately, the target was a demon, not one of the other horrors that were swarming across the field. Had it been a daemon, for instance, the venom would have been of no consequence, and a wounded, enraged creature of such sort would surely have torn its attacker to shreds in a second. Instead, as the quarrel lodged in the demon's head, the thing bellowed in terrible agony, its pincer-tipped outer arms worked frantically, and then it fell dead at Barrel's feet.
"Skunar's pearly pizzle!" the burly man exclaimed at the close call, naming the one said to rule salt waters. The oath, ancient and time-honored among seafarers as it was, would not have annoyed the deity even if Skunar himself had been on hand.
"Keep your head down!" Post shouted. Barrel ducked as a winged servant of huge size flew only a couple of yards above the ground, pursuing some monstrosity from the Lower Planes. The lean Post had by now exhausted all of the bolts he had possessed for his small crossbow and was clenching a weapon he had scavenged from the battlefield, a short-hafted fauchard with a keen-edged hook backing it, making the weapon similar to fauchard-fork-bill with an abbreviated shaft — a strange pole arm indeed, but one that the sinewy Post seemed to ply with vigor and considerable effect upon any who came near. He and four of his comrades were formed in a tight ring, facing outward to provide defense all around their perimeter.
Whether because of the posture they maintained, or for some other reason, the five forming the ring seemed to be miraculously keeping the two within it safe as they held at bay the denizens of other planes, a riotous host of which abounded now. Inside the circle, Dohojar was virtually screaming, both from distress and so as to make himself heard above the tumult. "Gord! Gord! You must wake up, please!" In his anxiety the brown-skinned Changa had forgotten about his usual honorific, Zehaab.
"Who?… What?… Where am I?…"
Grinning happily at the response, Dohojar said, "Gord! Oh, Gord Zehaab! You live! It was most terrible, I'll tell you — you were so blue you looked black just a few minutes ago, but now it is all right!"
"Dohojar? I… I must have been dreaming. Are we at camp still?"
"No, no, Zehaab. We are in the middle of a great battle with devas and devils all around!" the Changa told him.
The young adventurer managed to sit up with Dohojar's assistance. "I'm weak as a kitten," Gord said apologetically. "Wait. If we aren't at the camp, what are you doing here? All of you," he added, "are supposed to be making tracks away from here!" Gord said as he looked around and noticed the comrades who ringed him.
"Friends must take care of each other, Captain Zehaab, and we are but here in obedience to duty, for soldiers must see to the safety of their commander."
That's a crock of crap, Dohojar, and you know it. Troops obey their leader."
The brown man gave Gord his white, toothy smile. "And leave him abandoned to die? Not so, Zehaab. We are not a pack of jackals, you know."
"I guess you're not! More like crazy men, I'd say." The Changa smiled more broadly still at that, and Gord stopped his tirade. They were here, saving his hide, and it was high time he did something to merit their loyalty. "Help me up. If I can get some of this stiffness out of me, perhaps I can help to fight off this weird collection of creatures that are swarming all over here."
Dohojar helped him to his feet, saying, "We don't think to win, Zehaab. Mortal men cannot survive such a struggle as this. We fought only to save you. Now perhaps we will all die — or we will die and you will escape."
"Batshit! These monsters are so busy taking care of each other that they'll never notice a few folk slipping out of their confrontation."
By this time the two had struggled to take positions in the circle, the Changa assisting the still-woozy Gord to stand and walk slowly. There was a lull in the confused melee around them, so the others greeted him warmly and took a minute to breathe and rest. "How did you lot come to rescue me — again?" Gord demanded, trying to be stern.
Smoker replied. "We were going to get away, I'll tell you, when Post here saw a funny cloud gathering over the place we thought you were. It was low, and seemed to glow with a purple-black fire inside of it. We watched, and the damned thing spread outward, just like a smoke ring."
"The Changa started to go and investigate," Delver put in, "and I, for one, wasn't about to be outdone by some human. I guess Shade wasn't either, were you, Shade?" the dwarf said with a nod toward the half-elf. "Being like you are — humans — these lads were left with nothing else, so they joined in."
Gord was still bemused. "So, I understand how you decided not to get away. How you discovered me here, though, is another thing altogether."
"That was pretty easy, too," Smoker said, regaining the lead in telling what had happened. "We knew you well enough to figure you'd go to the rear of the place, so it wasn't hard to do that ourselves — all the fuss was between the two camps."
"It's Dohojar who deserves the credit, Gord," the half-elf interjected, and then corrected himself by adding, "Captain Gord Zehaab, I mean." The others managed a short round of forced laughter. "He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, and we managed to track you quite a ways. Some damned big cat — probably a leopard — got onto your trail then. He was big, and he must have been hungry. We followed his prints for a bit, then circled this way and found you."
The young thief was nearly himself now. He looked at the six and shook his head ruefully. "Now you've managed to bring me around, all right, and all you'll earn for it is a bloody end. You should have followed instructions." They all held their heads high at that, each conveying a staunch rejection of the thought of abandoning him. It made Gord feel happy and sad at the same time. "Well, the fat's in the fire, as they say, so let's see if we can get away in the smoke. Do any of you see a place where the fighting's less intense?"
"You must be jesting," Delver rumbled, and gave his beard a tug by way of emphasis. "Look around. It's getting thicker and worse. Maybe those shining fliers are champions of Good, but I think that right now they're attacking anything moving. What I'd like to find is a good, deep cave to hole up in until this fray is over."
A knot of fighting things suddenly approached them, and the seven prepared for the worst as a tall, pin-headed monster detached itself from the group and came toward them. Whether or not the thing thought they would be easier opponents, a shower of bolts discouraged it. As it hesitated, a six-legged, six-armed cylinder spun near and the pair of weird creatures fell to fighting furiously with each
other. "That was too close," Smoker said as the group moved cautiously away. "Anyone have extras for the crossbows?" A fast inventory came up with only a pair of quarrels left in the group. "Well, now we have to go hand to hand," Gord observed grimly, "and the odds are good that we'll not survive that."
Streaks of fire, jets of energy, and flashes of electricity flickered and darted in all directions. Although none of these discharges seemed to be aimed in their direction, the seven had to remain alert and wary at all times. And these were not the only manifestations of magic evident around the growing melee. Rocks and logs arose from the ground, seemingly of their own volition, gathered speed, and flew through the air. Telekinesis was being used by devils and demons and who knew what else to attack their opponents. So too unseen spells and powers were in play. Light, dark, dazzling beams, fog, disembodied hands, snapping jaws, and things that couldn't be described in words were appearing and disappearing throughout the field of confrontation.
The din of roars, stentorian voices singing battle hymns, yells, shrieks, clashing metal, blaring horns, and thundering of spells sounded in ever-growing waves. Occasionally the sounds would be muffled or changed as the tide of combat shifted, but the cacophony was growing to such a pitch that the ears of men and demi-humans alike would soon no longer be able to bear it.
They all clasped hands. "Good bein' with you, cap'n," Barrel shouted, trying to demonstrate a cheerful air. Just as the others were about to bid their farewells to each other, a strange thing happened. A hush fell over the tumultuous battlefield. A strange, icy wind whispered over them, and the hush turned to dead silence. Amazingly, one by one the mighty creatures from planes of existence other than Oerth began to disappear, winking out like candle flames being extinguished. All the while the odd wind blew and a faint, cold chiming accompanied its chill.
The seven of them could still move and speak, but the otherworldly things around them were frozen by something. Whether in the air or on the ground, the creatures continued to simply wink out of existence — at least as far as the seven startled folk could tell. For a second, Gord wondered when their time would come, and then he gathered his wits about him and decided to take matters into his own hands. He pointed toward a glen not far away. The noise of chiming comes from over there, and I'd rather see what's causing it than stand here and wait for it to take us. Follow me!" he said, and with that the young adventurer broke into a run.