by Gary Gygax
"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!"
Parseval flushed and was ready to retort, but Greenleaf spoke first. "The manner of my comrade is wrong, Lord Constable, but his words bear much weight. Not just kingdoms are at stake here; we fight for the world!"
"Say on, druid," Parseval said expressionlessly. "Your queen sent you to us because Celene is in jeopardy. You must aid us immediately, for if we do not intercept that band of brigands, the consequences might be dire."
The constable looked solemnly at the half-elven druid, then shrugged. "Use your power to follow after these outlaws then, just as you did to enter Enstad."
"Each use of spell runs the risk of alerting the enemy - or worse," Onselvon said sternly "It is not to niggle that you were sent here, Lord Constable, but to give assistance as our queen directs."
"Ah-ummm," said Parseval, becoming uneasy under the piercing eyes of the old mage. "I suppose that you are right, Onselvon. The greater the strength of those seeking to foil the machinations of the Lower Planes, the better our chances for a happy result." With that, Parseval indicated the position of Enstad on the old vellum map. "It is some forty leagues from here to Hommlet - three days of hard riding, for much of the way is through the moundy Krons. Mounted on winged steeds, though - steeds such as the Royal Hippogriffs - the journey is one of but hours. Such aerial travel is perilous, of course, but you all seem capable, and time is precious. Agreed?"
There was a murmur of general assent from the eight strangers and a brief nod of approval from Onseivon, so the constable nodded with finality and spoke again. "Do what you must do, then, between now and mid-morning. I will have instructions sent to the staviary, the place which houses the hippogriffs, and all will be ready at the appointed hour. Eight mounts and an escort of a dozen of Her Majesty's Guards will await. You will be taken as far as the northernmost edge of the Kron Hills." Then he added with a note of warning, "No farther will our steeds take you, no deeper will our guards go, for Celene will retain her isolation. Nor will we deal with the men of other kingdoms. It is enough that we take such as you to the very edge of human realms."
"A fair enough arrangement," said Curley Greenleaf, stroking his palm over his bald pate. The gesture emphasized the human side of the druid's heritage, for elves never grew bald. "What of our quarry? Won't they still be beyond our reach?"
"Only two days at worst," Parseval asserted. "See where Hommlet lies?" he added, pointing to the central portion of the hilly region along the northern border of the elven kingdom. "These murderous rogues move erratically and with no great haste. This very night sees them no great distance from Hommlet, I am sure. If they are near Verbobonc, as I am sure they are, tomorrow they will ford the Velverdyva River, or head for the upper reaches of the Gnarley Forest. In either case, you will be here," and again Parseval pointed at the map, indicating the place they would be conveyed to. "Two days swift pursuit will enable you to catch your foes."
"How do we follow these malign reavers?" Gord demanded. "You are leaving us afoot!"
The court mage replied to this. "Never fear, Gord of Grey-hawk, I am doing my part in this too. Friends and good horses will be waiting nearby when you arrive. You will have all the help that Celene, and the elves of Welkwood too, can provide. Although our stout constable still seems somewhat uncertain as to the importance of your quest, I do comprehend its true nature and meaning."
"Enough then," Parseval interjected. "This night is most sacred to Celene and all elfkind, and I must return to the revel. A servant will show you to your quarters . . . although I suppose, as guests of Queen Yolande, you are entitled to join in our celebration if you choose."
The latter was said in a tone so dark as to discourage ready acceptance of the vague invitation. While the others turned and started to follow the liveried elf who had silently appeared at Parseval's mention of quarters, however^ Deirdre addressed the constable.
"Thank you, Lord Parseval, for the kind and generous offer of sharing," she said. "I, for one, have no desire to brood in some room for the next few hours and would indeed enjoy sharing elven joy at Midsummer's Night."
"Come then, fair lady cavalier," Parseval said with a gracious smile as he extended his arm. "There are fountains where you may refresh yourself, and bowers where gear such as yours can be changed for the dress of the revel - and you may call me Parseval ... if I may call you . . . ?"
"It is Deirdre, my lord - Parseval, rather," the young cavalier said. Then she waved toward her associates and smiled at them. "I shall see you at mid-forenoon, then, and good night!"
Gord was the last to head for the rooms where they would rest, and he stumped along with a black look as he went. Surely, he thought, as bad as elven fickleness was, that of humans was worse still.
Chapter 12
"You must leave now," said the cleric to the elf. "Time works against you."
Melf shook his head. "I have but three others with me," he countered. "If there is to be a chance of overcoming more than a score of the most savage brigands in a decade, the party must be augmented - a good cleric, at least!"
"I can offer no assistance there," came the reply, "for this temple houses only myself and a handful of underpriests. None are suitable for such an undertaking, Melf. May I suggest to you that you underestimate your own prowess?"
"Venerable Halomew, you subtly seek to influence me by flattery. I seek only to complete my mission."
The balding high priest of Celestian smiled benignly, took the elf by his mail-clad arm, and steered him toward the rear exit of the chamber. "Let us walk to the stables as we converse," he said. "Although you serve Mordenkainen, Veluna's interests are at stake here also, I assure you. All that I can do has been done, and it is now up to you and your associates, but you are not alone. Honor and glory to the first who stop these rogues and gain the prize."
"Are you certain that this intelligence is correct?" Melf asked, tapping the small roll of parchment the high priest had given him earlier.
"The facts are as given, and divination has revealed that if you speed due east the foe will be met," the high priest reassured him.
The elven warrior-mage shrugged. "Then we four bear a heavy burden - but bear it we must. We will leave immediately, for all is in readiness."
"The stars guide you and the heavens watch over you," Venerable Halomew said in benediction. Then, smiling and clasping the gray elfs hand, he said, ''Melf… good luck! Before you go, there is a question I must ask.”
Melf was puzzled, but he liked the old cleric, and nodded m him. "You may ask."
"Why do you use this name Melf? Prince Brightflame…"
"Cease!" Melf commanded without regard for Halomew's station. "It is recorded that I gave up all titles and claims, so name not these bygone things to me. As for Melf, it is a simple name, as good as any." Then he unbent a little and admitted, "This art of dweomercrafting is a perilous one, good cleric, and one must protect one's true name as carefully as a miser hoards his treasured gold."
"My blessings upon you and the others, then . . . Melf," said the priest, and he took his leave of the elven fighter-mage as they reached the stables.
Four armored riders cantered eastward on swift destriers. In the lead was the gray elf fighter and spell-caster, Melf. Next to him rode his friend and henchman, Biff. This halfling certainly had another name also, but as a swordsman and thief, one of his sort wished to avoid notoriety, to say the least. Behind these small figures came a pair of large men. The larger by far was Chert, a barbarian axeman wearing chainmail shirt and a plain helmet. Leather leggings and heavy boots protected his legs, but he disdained a shield. Beside him rode a hard-eyed crossbowman who called himself Lizard. This worthy was clad in scale mail, which did lend a semblance of reptilian nature to him. Tall and lean-muscled,
Lizard prided himself in his accuracy with his chosen weapon, the arbalest.
"There is a fire under the elfs saddle," Lizard commented as he and Chert moved their steeds from canter to gallop following Melfs lead.
"Aye," agreed Chert, laughing. "When I signed on for this expedition, I thought to escape the dull routine of soldiering in Veluna. Now we might as well be warding some caravan!"
"Better the merchant train than this," the leathery-skinned crossbowman called back. "Caravans move at a more dignified pace, offer comfortable ease at night, and often have comely lasses amidst their baggage!" Further conversation was withheld, for they needed their attention and wind for the journey.
"There is the Velverdyva!" Melf shouted as he reined in his sweating steed. They had ridden hard for two days to arrive at this place on the great river that formed the boundary between Veluna and the Kingdom of Furyondy. There was a collection of buildings near the pier that marked the ferry here. "We will spend the night at Shanscross and take the first ferry tomorrow," said the leader.
All were pleased to find a small but well-kept inn in the thorp. Lizard, Biff, and Chert retired immediately after supping, but Melf stayed late in the common room, sipping wine and listening to the crackle of the fire and the idle chatter of barman and a pair of local patrons.
"Bring me a cold meat pie, Okelard cheese of the smoked sort, fruit, and your best wine!" a whining voice demanded.
This woke Melf from his doze, and he turned to see what the commotion was about. He noted that the order had come from a tall, skinny elf. As he looked, the lanky fellow returned his gaze with a smiling face but cold, cold eyes. The barman hurried to comply, going into the kitchen to fetch the viands, while a young wench, probably his daughter, drew a beaker of wine from a large cask behind the counter. The girl was well-formed, and the mop of auburn ringlets that framed her delicate face was most fetching.
"Draw two goblets extra, my pretty!" the thin elf called to her as she finished filling the container he had ordered. "One for me, one for you," he said with a rising cackle. "Then you can help me Carry the lot upstairs," he concluded with a suggestive giggle.
The wench flushed and shook her curls. "My father does not permit me to drink with patrons," she said with a tone of disgust that could be taken as discontent with either the for-biddance or the offer. The expression on her pretty face, however, left little doubt as to the cause of her revulsion.
"Eh? We'll see about that, my saucy little trollop. Barman! Come here at once!" Although the fellow was still laughing as he called, there was cruelty and threat in the cackling.
Melf arose from his chair and strode to a place near the unsavory elf. "Allow me to buy those two flagons you mentioned, sir elf, and to introduce myself to a fellow demi-human. I am Melf of the Arrow. And you, sir?"
The skinny elf stared unblinkingly at Melf, assessing him carefully. It was evident that he cared for neither the intrusion nor the offer of wine. But Melfs steel-clad form and the easy bearing he maintained under the scrutiny disconcerted the other elf, and he cackled to break the tension he felt within. "Yes, of course," he said. "I am Keak, and I will accept offer of a drink."
"Keak, then. A native of these parts?"
"Nay, a stranger like yourself - merely passing through," the odd elf giggled in reply.
"Crossing the Velverdyva?"
"No, my comrade and I are taking . . . goods . . . from his home in the Kron Hills to my own. Do you know Highfolk?" Keak's laughter rang with a happy yet mocking note as he asked Melf the question. "It is a lovely, lovely place, you know."
Melf could not help concluding that this elf was imbalanced. From a half-wit, such constant giggling and laughing could be expected, but Keak was certainly in possession of all normal faculties - except that they were awry. "I have been there once or twice, both town and valley," Melf responded. "Is your companion elvish too?"
"Ahahahh, ha, ha, heehee! That squatty little fellow elvish? Never! Some call us an odd pair, traveling alone together as we always do - my friend is most interested in rocks and soils, while I collect butterflies and other insects - but it works out well enough," said Keak with a rollicking giggle and a wild eye.
Any further conversation was cut off by the arrival of the innkeeper's daughter with a great tray of food. Without comment she placed it firmly down upon the counter and looked expectantly at the skinny elf. Keak tittered, shrugged, plunked down a few coins, and turned again to Melf.
"My companion will be rooting about in his haversack for interesting rocks, so if you'd care to join us in a midnight repast, Melf of the Arrow, you are welcome. Heh, heh, ha, tee hee! Elvish talk would please me much."
Feigning regret he certainly did not feel, Melf declined. "The invitation is most kind, but the hour is late. On the morrow I must hasten east. Good night and safe journey to you, Keak."
"Farewell then yourself, and may your passage carry you speedily to the lands beyond the broad Velverdyva!"
As Melf turned to pay his reckoning, the curly-headed girl smiled warmly at him. "My thanks, sir, for intervening. That one isn't right, you know, and I was afraid. Were it not for a bold and decent person such as yourself, I fear he might have made a lot of trouble, and who's there here to resist such a one?"
"No matter now," Melf replied casually, "for he has gone abed, and you may likewise retire behind a locked door, safe and sound."
"Oh, that's just it, sir! I sleep alone in the loft just at the end of the hall above, and I believe that maniac will creep into my bed when it is quiet. Locks wouldn't prevent his type from entering, you know," the girl concluded in conspiratorial tones. As she leaned close to whisper thus, a good part of her bosom was displayed to Melf’s view.
"Delightful . . ." he mumbled.
"What was that, sir?"
"Frightful, I said. Frightful indeed!" Melf said quickly. "But perhaps I could . . ."
"Thank you, sir ... may I call you Sir Melf? I overheard you tell the other your name," she added apologetically. "And my name is Silyoni."
"Silyoni? Yes, a pretty name for a beautiful girl. It is Melf, Silyoni, without the honorific. Just Melf. . . ."
With Keak and his lunatic presence forgotten, Melf sipped wine and chatted with the young country girl until the last patrons left and the place closed for the night. He and Silyoni walked hand in hand up the stairs, then, and he guarded her until dawn. There were no undesired intrusions, and no one came unannounced. When morning came, the girl pronounced him both a hero and an upright protector.
Unfortunately, he fell asleep just about then, and it was near forenoon when Melf finally arrived downstairs to greet his companions where they sat waiting, their morning meal long finished. As he came down, Silyoni gave him a smile and a wink, then bustled away to serve a trio of traders demanding an early dinner.
"You look worn," said Lizard with a concerned voice.
"The girl yonder looks chipper enough," Biff the halfling said, staring innocently at the ceiling. "She must be a witch who used energy transference to sap our leader's strength in fashion vampiric!"
All three burst out in gales of laughter as Melf turned crimson at the jest. Although he was old by human standards, to be celebrating his 165th birthday soon, this was still young by elven standards. Simply put, Melf was shy and not a little awkward and prudish about certain things.
"Enough of that!" said Melf, breaking the mood. "Biff, see to the payment for our stay. Chert, you and Lizard get our coursers ready - and make certain that they have clean hooves and that there is grain in the saddlebags."
Still grinning, they three went to carry out their leader's orders. Melf broke his fast with some gruel of groat clusters, crisp herbs, and oatcakes and bumblebee honey, washed down with a mug of blackberry tea. He gulped his food, hardly tasting it, blaming himself for making them late. How could he tarry so when the fate of mankind and elves might hang on his actions! Silyoni tried to be pleasant, but Melf was too worried to notice.
"
Ah, Sir Melf, will you be returning again soon?"
"Fate knows, not I!" he snapped. "What of Keak?"
"That wretched stick? Why do I care if he ever returns?" the girl replied crossly.
"When did he and his dwarven companion leave?" demanded Melf.
Silyoni slammed his mug of tea down. "They left an hour after dawn, the evil bandy grinning, and Keak with his awful giggling - he even pinched me on the bottom as he left, not that you'd care!" With that the girl flounced off. Melf didn't notice, for he was thinking hard about the strange elf. Something he couldn't quite identify was gnawing at the back of his consciousness. "Damn!" he said aloud, but there was nobody close enough to notice. Silyoni was nowhere to be seen, so he slipped a gleaming lucky under his tea mug, knowing that the lass would find it there when she cleared the table. Tightening his sword belt, he walked outside to where his fellows waited with the horses.
Despite the late start, they continued to make good time. The weather was fair, and Furyondy kept its roads in excellent repair. They camped under a starry sky that night, and the next as well. Arriving at the town of Littleberg late the next night, they took shelter in a tavern. The fine weather had turned rainy, and the horses were worn. Much to the surprise of all, a priest of Celestian found them there the next morning and gave them further news. Their quarry was reported to be traveling northward not more than a day's distance from the broad ford of the Alt River. As this was only a few hours' ride upstream, Melf decided that they should risk rain and high water in order to pursue hotly the vile crew they sought. This was exactly what the high priest desired, and to assist their journey, he had extra steeds and fresh supplies ready. They left Littleberg behind, obscured in sheets of blowing drizzle, and made the broad ford by high noon.
By riding hard, switching mounts, and sleeping seldom, the four managed to eat up the leagues with great rapidity. Before long they had come to where the rutted track leading north toward the dark realm of the Hierarchs split away from the highroad northeast to Willip Town on the shores of the Nyr Dyv. This portion of the kingdom was far wilder and more lawless than that region where trade between Furyondy and the west flourished. Far above lay the sole crossing place of the Veng River - the Panggate, as it was called. Unscrupulous merchants and evil traders used this place to bring their wares to the lands of the Horned Ones, the domain of Molag. The four must travel this way too, looking for the marauders.