by Gary Gygax
The xvarts were unwilling to allow him to pass, but the warning, the badge he showed in his left hand, and the size of his horse intimidated the evil-looking creatures sufficiently for them to give a grudging path along the left shoulder of their column. Clucking his mount to a trot, Gord managed to clear the bottleneck just before the mass of baggage clogged it fast. It would take nearly an hour before it was past and the next unit of troops entered. At this rate, it would be noon before the whole force was settled in the open space. This offered hope!
Several ogres blocked the pathway about a bowshot's distance from the turning he had just negotiated. "Make way for the Herald of Lord Obmi, passing by authority of Lord Ormuz," Gord bellowed in his best voice. All but one of the eight-foot-tall humanoids got out of the path, but the largest hulked in the center of the way, unmoving.
"Where ya goin'?" the creature demanded.
"On official duty by leave of Lord Ormuz," Gord replied with as much disdain in his tone as he could, and he thrust out the badge given him by Leilah. "Out of my way!"
Scratching its louse-infested mop of lank, greasy hair, the nearest giant shuffled aside reluctantly, and Gord rode quickly past him, going southward to bring the news to the dwarf of what was transpiring.
Obmi flew into a terrible rage at Gord's report. The dwarf was being upstaged and denigrated by the archmage, and Obmi's fury extended to the one who informed him of this fact. Keak was delighted at the tirade, but for once his demented brain worked to Gord's favor.
"Lord, you are justly wroth," the elf managed to tell Obmi as the dwarf was drawing breath for a fresh string of oaths. "But Stoat is the one who has brought you information which will allow us to slap Ormuz with his own gauntlet!"
"What mean you, Keak?" the livid dwarf replied, withholding his ire as Keak explained his thought. .
"Ormuz thinks to prepare a spectacle where he will be richly dressed and enthroned amidst his host, while we come to him like beggars, hats in hand, to report your success. He will then demand custody of the . . . item you have so cleverly gained and brought to Iuz's very doorstep. He will claim that it will be safer in his care, for Stoat says that there are thousands in the army he commands."
"I know all that," Obmi spat, "and that is why my bile flows so strongly, fool! Is there meaning in your babble, or are you flapping those skinny elvish lips to hear them clap together?"
Keak managed a small giggle at that, but his eyes were hard. He looked down, composed himself, and said, "My Lord, I have a point indeed. Ormuz in his overweening pride and pomp has neglected to send any message to you. Stoat came on his own to tell you of what was happening, although he was not quick-witted enough to see the potential to disgrace your enemy and turn the tables on him!"
Obmi's face became calmer, and a light of keen interest sprang into his small, steel-colored eyes. "Well, Keak, you have the plan - out with it!"
"Ignore Ormuz and his mass of troops entirely, lord. If we ride now, we can be past before daylight comes. Leave that fool sitting with his entourage while you carry the prize into Dorakaa alone!"
"Yes!" said Obmi, understanding instantly. "The puffed-up fool will think to leave me cooling my heels until he is prepared. Ormuz thinks to sit in state to receive me, as liege does vassal. If I came before his call, he would simply keep me in some corner until he decided the time was right for his show of power. He thinks to win either way, and I, Obmi the Great, will demonstrate otherwise! We leave now - get on your horses, you slugs!"
"Your cleverness is truly astounding, lord," Keak remarked dryly.
"Isn't it!" the dwarf concurred without questioning the statement. "Stoat, you will precede us to clear a path. When we are at the entry to the Gathering Place, you will go there and say no word of me - none! Your duty will then be concluded, and you will be able to count on my favor thereafter should you remain silent."
"As you wish, Lord Obmi," Gord replied with a sinking heart.
Just as they came opposite the mass of humanoids slogging into the way that opened onto the vale where Lord Ormuz was preparing his reception to humiliate Obmi, there was a great commotion. Drums thundered in the Gathering Place, and horns brayed and bellowed brazen tones. There were shouts and cries of command, and the disorderly troop of gnolls slouching their way westward suddenly swung into a fast trot amid snarls and barking calls.
"The alarum is raised!" Obmi said with a tone of wonderment. "And all seem concerned with something within the place. What think you, Keak?"
"That we should ride like thunder to the north!" the elf cackled. "Demons be praised, our luck is getting better and better!"
"Then let us go!" shouted the dwarf. "Stoat, be off with you!"
"Wait! You can't leave now!" Gord commanded the dwarf, trying to think of some reason to delay the departure of the two who bore the precious Second Key.
Obmi's face was a mask of anger, but Keak interposed himself. "I will take care of this one, lord," he said with a menacing laugh that bespoke tomes of insane malice, and as he uttered the terrible cackling the elf reached inside his robes and began to make jerking passes with his hands.
Gord could think of nothing to do but attack. He had his sword unsheathed in a flash, while the dagger seemed to spring into his gloved left hand. Guiding his mount with knee pressure, the desperate young adventurer closed to strike at the vile dwarf, but the elven spell-caster was in the way. Gord's blow struck Keak but lightly, for the horse he rode was prancing nervously and carried him away from the blade even as it darted forth. There was a slim line that oozed blood across the elf's narrow forehead.
"Bastardling man!" Keak screamed at Gord in a voice mixed with pain and fury. That he had dared to attack him was bad enough, but worse still was the effect of the slight cut. The elven mage had begun a casting, and the sudden pain of the wound on his forehead had spoiled the dweomer. "Now, you feeble fart, I shall give you no mercy!"
Gord ducked low in his saddle, urged his horse ahead, and sent an attack directly at Keak. Obmi was cursing, and his hammer seemed to roar as it passed over Gord's head, ruffling his dark hair. Had Gord not suddenly crouched, the weapon would have struck him full on! His slashing blow struck the elf solidly this time, and the spell-binder gasped in real pain at that. Gord heard the loud whirling of the hammer as it flew back to its wielder's hand. He suddenly realized that dark figures raced past the little drama without bothering to notice what was happening. The call to battle was sounding, and there was no time to spare for a minor roadside dispute.
A string of glowing darts leaped from Keak's outstretched hand, and their impact brought terrible pain to Gord's chest. The rush of agony did not prevent his own attack, however, and the razorlike edge of his shortsword nearly severed the elf s rigid arm. Keak shrieked in pain at this wound, and Gord managed to get close and deliver a double attack with dagger and sword before the mage could cast another spell upon him. Both blades sank home, and the elf reeled in his saddle. Obmi was cursing nearby, but the dwarf was unable to cast his enchanted hammer into the confused melee for fear of hitting Keak.
Flames gushed from Keak's fingertips, searing both Gord and his horse with their licking tongues. The animal screamed and reared, throwing the young thief from its back. Gord tried desperately to hold on, but all he managed to do was pull the spear from its lashings as he fell. This slowed his tumble, and allowed him to land on his feet holding the spear. Sword and dagger were somewhere on the ground. The burned horse was gone into the woods, crashing and blundering its way from the torment it had just suffered. Obmi's whirling hammer struck Gord on the shoulder and sent him lurching toward Keak, who was readying a fresh spell.
Without considering it, Gord stabbed with the long-bladed weapon, managing to put the point well into the elfs thigh. Then he withdrew the spear quickly, threw it flit at the dwarf, and bent to retrieve his sword and poniard from where they had fallen, for the cat's vision he now had enabled him to see both weapons clearly.
The spear fl
ew true, striking Obmi in the chest as he was extending his arm to receive the returning hammer. The metal of his armor saved him, for the steel of the spear's head barely pierced his flesh. The blow caused him to drop the hammer, though, and the dwarf was forced to clamber down from his saddle to recover his prized weapon. As an afterthought Obmi flung the spear toward his adversary, but it went harmlessly past Gord and struck a tree bole.
To prevent the elven spell-caster from his magical work, Gord slapped the flat of his sword blade across the elfs horse with all the force he could. The animal leaped and bucked, kicking wildly when the blow fell, and Keak pitched from its back, just as Gord had been dismounted but a moment previously.
By this time the dwarf had managed to pick up his hammer and climb back atop his horse, and Gord had to dive to avoid taking another blow from the flying weapon. Gord continued the leap as a series of rolls, flipped to his feet, and struck a blow at the elf as he regained his feet. The blade cut through the robe Keak wore and seared the flesh of his skinny body as it passed, but it was no mortal wound. Gord mentally thanked his patron deities for Obmi's decision to leave his other two guards behind as unnecessary encumbrances to his plan. Had those two been here now, the young thief knew, he would have been dead. As it was, things were looking very desperate.
Keak was babbling rapid, unintelligible syllables now, while Obmi kept Gord busy ducking his hurled hammer. Gord decided to try to finish Keak and then see what the dwarf could do one-on-one. He sprang close and thrust both blades full into the thin body of the elf just as Keak was loosing his fell dweomer at his adversary. Keak managed a startled squawk, then lunged limply, suspended from the blades that passed through heart and liver.
Gord made no sound at all, for he and his weapons had been turned to gray stone.
"So much for both of you, then," the dwarf hissed, looking upon the strange tableau with some surprise. "Who would have thought a man such as that one could have done for a mage of your power, Keak?" he mused. "Have you no cackle for me, elf? No, I suppose not, for your foul spirit must be screaming its way to the Abyss even as your dead ears fail to hear my words. . . . But you haven't failed me, Keak! You, and Stoat too, have served me well. My thanks, Stoat, for ridding me of this one who always schemed to usurp me. Keak, you have rid me of one who was bent on my downfall, of that I am sure. Now I leave you, and may you rot for eternity in torment!" So saying, Obmi rode away to the north once again, mimicking the dead elfs maniacal cackling for a time as he went.
Chapter 29
A great battle raged in the valley called the Gathering Place by the minions of Iuz. Mordenkainen and his captains had set a careful trap. Had Lord Ormuz brought Obmi to the place immediately, the plan might just have succeeded, for the whole deployment and attack were well done. But Ormuz did not bring Obmi and the Second Key to his grand pavilion in the grassy clearing, and a company of unusually careful scouts in Mordenkainen's force discovered enemies lurking at the western end of the vale. Most of these gnolls had been slain on the spot, but a few managed to escape and raise the alarm. Mordenkainen had no choice but to close the jaws of his hidden array and hope that the prize lay within.
Bands of wild elves and their sylvan kin were thrust along either side of the valley. Wood gnomes accompanied these elves, and all were hated foes of the humanoids. They would neither give nor ask quarter of Iuz's foul troops. At the head of the valley were ranked the soldiers of the archmage - trained units of men and demi-humans well armed with bows and arbalests, pole arms, and the full panoply of war. Scattered throughout these stout companies were many minor spell-casters of both clerical and magical sort, while Mordenkainen stood with the archmage Bigby and the seven other mages and wizards who, with Bigby, formed the Magical Circle of Eight. When Ormuz's camp sounded the alarm, the army of Mordenkainen rolled forth to bring the enemy to battle.
The two arms of the force held fast in the woods, while the main body of the army came marching across the width of the vale toward the humanoids. The flanking companies were growing stronger as the movement occurred, for as the central mass came closer to the foe, they freed flanking units that likewise moved eastward. The long, inverted U-shape of Mordenkainen's array was slowly changing to resemble a small, tipped C-shape, with the open portion along the secret roadway that ran from south to north within the eastern heart of the sprawling Vesve Forest. All this occurred over a period of hours, of course, with much fighting and magical exchange taking place.
Ormuz himself was a potent archmage, and with him was the high cleric called Patch, plus an assemblage of dozens of lesser magic-users, clerics, shamans, and witch doctors - the latter two sorts of spell-workers being of humanoid sort exclusively. At the first onset of Mordenkainen's host, the servants of the vile cambion began casting their spells. They were met and answered by the advancing army, of course. Some terrible losses were initially incurred thus by both sides, but the lesser spell-binders were exhausted or slain, while the greater neutralized each other for a time.
This brought elves and men into the melee with gnolls and ogres. The preponderance of archers and disciplined troops belonged to Mordenkainen, while Ormuz possessed a greater weight of soldiers and ravening creatures such as trolls of all sorts and chimeras unleashed as hounds by the evil leader of Iuz's horde. Minor demons and elementals struggled and fought, while men and demi-humans contested with humanoids and renegade humans.
It seemed at first that the sheer numbers of foul humanoids would prevail, supported as they were by nearly unkillable trolls, ogres, and the like. Whole rows of screaming xvarts and goblins, gnolls and hairy bugbears fell to storms of arrows and bolts, but they poured into the valley in the thousands and came on undaunted by the slaughter of their fellows. The stalemate between the spell-casting forces of the opposing armies was illusory, however. Mordenkainen alone was more than a match for the archmage Ormuz, and together with Bigby he held the enemy in check. Thus, the seven others of the Circle were free to roam the field. With their power they brought down the trolls, slew the chimeras, and sent the great ogres down into death. Without such creatures to stiffen diem, the swarming bands of humanoids and outlaw humans began to lose heart and retreat.
In desperation, Ormuz sought the dwarf Obmi, desiring to hold and use the power of the Second Key, for that artifact would certainly have tipped the balance in favor of his forces once again. But neither Obmi nor the second portion of the Artifact of All Evil could be found.
Then Ormuz called forth a great demon, one of the six hundred and sixty-six who were the demi-lords of the Abyss. The thing that answered was not Balor himself, but one scarcely less powerful. The demon demanded a terrible price for service, and Ormuz agreed, for he had no other hope. The huge demon rose with a roar of awful laughter over the battlefield, and the men and demi-humans of Mordenkainen, even those of the Circle, lost heart just as their foes rejoiced and regained courage to fight again at the sight of the terrible, bat-winged monster.
Mordenkainen himself, mounted on a great cloud dragon, went to meet the demon, and with him went the lords Eraj and Felnorith, whose steeds were griffons. At first the contest was even, but both of the armored fighting men who were sworn vassals of the archmage bore weapons that caused the demon harm. Both of these brave men attacked fearlessly, and as the demon turned to combat their attacks Mordenkainen sent his spells at the monster. The demon withstood most of the power so sent, the magic seeming to fall harmlessly away, but not all of these attacks were resisted.
A great plane of force nearly tore the dark wing from the demon's right shoulder, while both Eraj and doughty Felnorith smote him with their swords. The fiend flew straight for the archmage then, grappling with the dragon he rode to cause the rider to cease the painful dweomers he sent upon his scaled hide. Both dragon and rider were prepared, and as the drake closed its great jaws upon the demon, Mordenkainen actually reached forth over the dragon's neck and laid his hands upon the demon, drawing its powers from it. The demon was alread
y much weakened by its fighting, and the dragon was clutching it fast with its claws while it bit and tore with its teeth. When the archmage released the demon's energy by his touch, the thing uttered a shrill scream that was audible over the whole battlefield.
Heads turned upward at the sound, and the forces who fought for Iuz saw their champion collapse into itself, imploding with a dull sucking noise that was followed by a thunderclap as air rushed in to fill the void where the huge demon had been. The concussion sent all three men and their riding-creatures spinning downward, stunned and helpless. Despite this, the battle had turned in favor of Mordenkainen's army, and these troops advanced with a roar when the demon was slain.
At that moment both Ormuz and Patch sought to use their powers to escape the coming disaster, but Bigby had drawn near enough during the combat overhead to cast a disjunction of magical forces over the pavilion where the two servants of Iuz were. Unable to escape, both Ormuz and Patch sought to sell themselves as dearly as possible. In the end both died, however, while Mordenkainen and his two vassals, Eraj and Falnorith, as well as the cloud dragon, managed to survive their falls.
The victory was by no means complete. It was a hollow one, in fact. The circle did not close properly, and many of the humanoids and brigands managed to escape. Many of Mordenkainen's troops had been slain or wounded, just as the archmage and his lords were hurt. Three members of the magical band commanded by Bigby had met irrevocable death.
Worst of all, the reason for the battle had proved fruitless. No Second Key was there for the taking. Lamenting his failure even as clerics healed his wounds, Mordenkainen the archmage, commander of the Obsidian Citadel, realized suddenly that beings of vaster power than his own had manipulated him, just as he had sought to manipulate others to gain the Key. Laughing ruefully at this joke, he wondered if perhaps there weren't strings moving those who had moved him. . . .