Dance of Demons

by Gary Gygax

  The arrival of Infestix's minions actually brought some relief to Graz'zt. Other demon lords who had been wavering, thinking about throwing their force against Graz'zt, resented the intrusion into their domain by outsiders. Thus, they ultimately decided to remain neutral or elected to side with the ebon demonking. The weak rulers of Pandemonium were moved to send cacodemon conscripts to the assistance of Graz'zt. The reinforcements Graz'zt had thus gained saved his horde from prompt annihilation, but he remained ringed by enemies.

  The great, black-hued demon dug in and prepared for the worst. The sole portion of the relic he possessed, even along with the Eye of Deception, a mighty magical artifact of malign force, was insufficient to stave off the two parts of the key that his foes now wielded against him. Magical as well as numerical superiority meant that only time stood between the advancing enemies and their victory. Graz'zt determined to make them pay dearly, though. He conducted a brilliant defense, in large part thanks to his marshal, Vuron, and the dark elven high priestess called Eclavdra.

  Then the invading force became divided. Iuz, backed by Iggwilv, the Eldest Witch, and Zuggtmoy, the demoness Queen of Fungi, demanded that his armies be the ones to march into the heart of Graz'zt's realm. When Demogorgon, Mandrillagon, and their captains objected, desiring the honor for themselves, Orcus threw in his lot with the cambion Iuz, for he was ever opposed to Demogorgon's aims. Thus the besieging host was suddenly split into contending halves, and their Theorparts, their one-third portions of the relic of all Evil, opposed each other.

  Back came the regiments of the ebon king of the Abyss. With his own Theorpart now able to neutralize the forces of the contending thirds held by his enemies, Graz'zt used the Eye of Deception and a score of lesser magical objects along with his forces to crush spearheads of attackers, tear through their lines, destroy their bases, and totally disrupt their advance. Soon the legions of devils, phalanxes of dreggals, daemon and hordling divisions, and all the rest too were pushed back and nearly off the plane that was the heart of Graz'zt's empire.

  "Now there is but one thing remaining," Graz'zt announced proudly to the assembled demon lords and generals of his array. "We will defeat the enemy in detail. First comes the two-headed dungheap calling itself Demogorgon. Then it will be the turn of the sprat, Iuz, my by-blow. That will be the culmination of my delight, and great will be my glee as he and his mother Iggwilv writhe in final agony under my hand!"

  To counter the resurgence of Graz'zt's force, Infestix himself came to the Abyss with a deputation of the dukes of the Hells. The Netherlords of Acheron with their undead and maelvis were with him. Gehenna and Tarterus too were represented by their monarchs. By paying over objects of power, by promising and cajoling, the factious demons were reunited. Now outnumbering their encircled foe by six or better to one, and with an actual strength of at least twice Graz'zt's own, the reforged alliance closed its iron jaws once again, advancing slowly this time. Only after the ebon king of the Abyss was finished would they again allow their differences to surface.

  Such events were mirrored elsewhere. On Oerth the tide of battle swung first one way, then the other. Dark-complexioned armies from the far south marched northward into the vacuum left by hordes of nomads riding eastward. There these southerners met even more numerous hosts of golden-skinned warriors, and both forces were bloodied uselessly, the lands they fought over despoiled. The nations of the central portion of the continent became battlegrounds, just as all the rest of Oerik had been. Here, though, as if in counterpoise, the companies of darkness were being driven back. The powers of Weal ceased their bickerings and united to form an effective front against Iuz, the Scarlet Brotherhood, and the daemon-worshipping wild folk of the great steppes of the west.

  During all of this. Balance strived vainly to check Evil's advance into the spheres of neutral sort and, more importantly, to convince the lords of the spheres of Light to spend their power to thwart Hades, delay Infestix, and hinder the wielding of the Theorparts. But the forces of Light refused to cooperate; only Good can bring about a good end, they reasoned, and the urgings of the lords of neutrality went unheeded. Indeed, many of those greater ones who sought Weal were convinced that Balance was actually leagued with the dark powers. How else could Evil spread and grow? they asked. Thus, no small portion of the efforts of Good were expended against the neutral position.

  On the phantasmal playing board of the cosmos, the pieces belonging to Light, the pawns of white and gold and blue, took material spaces and threatened the dark regions. Yet as they were so moved, their numbers shrank and there were fewer and fewer pieces to hold the territories and planes behind them. The blood-red and deep purple forces representing the Hells and Hades gathered in the nether planes to contest with the black masses of demonium, so few were their men moving on the spheres of Oerth and its sister worlds. These dark-hued pieces too were shrinking in number, but a shadowy one of massive size and unguessable power was forming deep within their lowest citadel. Expunge the inky rebels, brush aside the puny barrier of green, and carry the prize to Hades' nadir. Then would appear the great piece of All Evil, and it alone would be sufficient to sweep all other forces from the many-planed field.

  Green forces, those pieces and pawns of Balance, were troublesome in their placement, true; but their numbers were steadily eroding, and the configuration of potent men showing were clustered impotently in an out-of-the-way corner of the multiverse. There was interference of a most annoying sort, cloudings that disrupted moves, made captures turn into exchanges, shifted squares so that key positions were suddenly compromised or shunted to less important regions. No matter, Infestix said to himself. Strike into the Abyss with all available forces. Gain the three keys. Then — ah, then! — Infestix himself would carry the great relic's portions back to his realm. He would personally unite them, and in an instant Tharizdun, Greatest of Darkness, would be loosed for all time.

  What power could resist then? None. Gone would be the rebellious demon lords. Balance would be broken as rotten bones snap under the iron sole of a megadaemon warrior's armored boot With one taloned hand Tharizdun would tear down the spheres of gold, the vaults of argent, the thrones of blue. The gloom of Evil would rise upward as smoke. It would cover the heavens, darken all light, and bring all under the sole rulership of Tharizdun. Infestix, as the chief worker for the cause, would surely sit at the Blackest One's right hand. He was yielding his autonomy, but it would gain him tenfold the power, a hundred times the glory!

  The master of Hades crooked a skeletal finger. "Go, fetch The Diseased Ones to this place now," he grated to the putridaemon herald who hovered nearby. "Tell them to come before me fully prepared for every exigency," Infestix added in his hollow rasp. The herald knelt, banged its bronze-helmeted, zombie-faced head upon the massive stones of the floor, then crept backward from the place until well away from the hideous throne of its monarch. Then the monstrous thing leaped to its feet and ran to carry out Infestix's commands.

  To each of The Diseased Ones, the greatest of daemonkind other than Infestix himself, the putridaemon repeated the orders he had been charged with. A sense of urgency was conveyed; that, and a sense of impending triumph. These had been incuicated merely through the word and will of Infestix. The dull brain of the daemon herald was a sponge, and the eight who were The Diseased Ones squeezed it with their own mental power and were excited by the results.

  "The moment draws near!" exclaimed the first of the eight.

  "The Master himself will lead us," the least of them murmured.

  "Never fear," the greatest said with a mirthless smile to the eighth. "You will have your moment of significance. ..."

  "Pardon, Lord, I fail to understand," the least intoned suspiciously.

  "Heh, heh, heh! As the eighth, Brucilosu, it will be your honor to take the field as commander when the Master personally intervenes!"

  "But if I fall against the demons? . . ."

  "There is the seventh waiting behind you, of course
. Heh, heh. . . ."

  Nothing further was uttered as the eight servants of Infestix made their way to their lord's grim audience chamber.

  Chapter 3

  IT WAS A BLACK VORTEX filled with motes of disgusting colors. The motion of the bilious green, rotten gray, putrescent yellow, and livid violet glows as they whirled and mixed with a riot of ineffable motes of other hues, was sufficient to sicken the viewer. Intestines churned in nauseous counterpoint to the evolutions of those vile-colored little gleams as they surfaced and sank within the growing maelstrom. The sight of that, the terrible wrongness of it all, caused brains to ache, thoughts to turn inward in a desperate desire to escape. Wrenching gut joined wracked brain in denial of it all. Still the vortex grew, intensified, and became omnipresent. Then the sounds reached out, and with them came the indescribable odors. It was too much for any normal mind to bear.

  "Is . . . this . . ."

  "The Abyss? Yes. Exactly as pictured for me by the Hierophants," Gord said. With a great deal of effort, he managed to speak to Gellor without choking on the gorge that was rising in his throat.

  Gellor swallowed hard and with crabbed fingers managed to pull his leather eye patch down to cover the enchanted gem that served as his left eye. "Your energy is greater than mine, Gord, or else your constitution is stronger. Either way, I can’t view the place through the ocular. Too much can be seen that way."

  "Not likely, you old wolf!" Gord countered, squeezing his comrade's shoulder in a gesture of both sharing and reassurance. Gord, as the champion of Balance, had been imbued with a deep and lasting vitality from many supernatural sources. In all, however, the one-eyed troubador was his equal. Gellor too had received energies, been gifted with power, and granted strength beyond the ken of mortals. "I'd wager it's the perspective, not the prospect, which so disconcerts you."

  That remark, meant in Jest but taken more seriously, gave Gellor pause. Gord obviously referred to their situation and status. Always in the past it had been the bard who knew more, discovered more, and was in charge. Gord had been like an apprentice, a wayward nephew, then almost a protege. Now the roles were reversed, and Gellor accompanied his young friend as a lieutenant. Gord shared information, but there were certain things Gellor was not privy to, despite that. That circumstance existed because of the responsibility the young man bore, and because Gord must bear it, not because Gord desired to surpass his friend or to dominate him. "Perhaps you do see things better than I," Gellor finally said as the spinning vortex loomed to fill the whole of their universe. "I am unused to reliance on another, albeit even a minor dependence and from a bosom companion."

  "This is a fearsome thing we do," Gord said. "Who can feel anything but dread when confronting the mouth of the Abyss?"

  "It is like no other plane," Gellor said with a choked voice. "You have walked in Shadow, dwelled on the sphere of the Catlord, and sojourned in aether and astrality; but this . . ."

  "Don't forget I've brushed the interlinked planes of the elements, Gellor — even seen the fuicrum of positive and negative, sailed upon the vast Ocean of Thought."

  The grizzled troubador nodded vigorously at that. "None of which could have prepared you for . . . this!" he nearly shouted, waving wildly to indicate the now all-encompassing expanse of the first tier of the chaotic evil sphere known as the Abyss, the realm of all demonkind. "I have in my time had to deal with the charnel vistas of Acheron, and seek certain objects in the riotous horror of Pandemonium. Not even those places prepared me for what we now must face!"

  "Face? More than that, dear friend, more! We are to enter, traverse, and make this place our own,"

  Gord said with a grim smile.

  * * *

  After being armed, armored, and equipped with all that the masters of neutrality could provide, he and the bard had simultaneously touched the intricately worked buckles of their girdles. Each buckle was imbued with those dweomers that enabled the two to traverse the infinity of places that constitutes the cosmos, the endless spheres of the multiverse. Each device was rune-worked, sigil-covered, studded, and bore a spiderweb tracery of marks in strange and rare metals. A touch and a thought; then Gord and Gellor were no longer in the realm of Rexfelis, master of all felines. One moment there was the assembly of the Lords of Balance; the next instant, Gord and his companion were elsewhere.

  In the pearlescent twilight of the Aethereal Plane, Gord and Gellor fairly glowed with the strength of their internal powers, while the many magical items each bore radiated intense auras of their own. When Gellor remarked on the rather obvious locating and identifying effect coming from this emanation of dweomer, that caused Gord to consider cloaking both of them. By merely concentrating on his own amulet, a device that screened its wearer from magical locating and spying, the young champion was able to determine what needed to be done. By mentally weaving a screen of force to close in the radiations, by bending some forces and by altering others, he was able to dim the aura around them.

  "How's that?" Gord had asked his companion as the two strode along the glowing gray path that their senses interpreted for them as the environment of the place. In truth, human senses, even many supernatural ones, could not properly interpret the aethereal realm as it was in actuality.

  "Better," Gellor replied as he stopped and gazed first at the young thief, then at himself. "Less than beacons, now, we two, but bright still. I think we will bring attention to ourselves despite your best efforts, Gord."

  Gellor's young companion shook his dark head. "Normally I would agree with you, but look at the distortion just in the near distance. See the paling of colors? The dimming of light?"

  "Yes," Gellor admitted, having studied all that surrounded them for the space of many heartbeats. "There is something wrong. ..."

  Gord shrugged. "Wrong? Perhaps, perhaps not. But there is something unnatural to this plane. It seems to screen us from it — it from us, too. Were Basiliv extant in the world I'd think he had managed it, but with the Demiurge passed elsewhere, I think we are being cloaked by another agency."

  "So which force aids us?" Gellor asked uncertainly.

  "The one of Entropy," Gord replied flatly. "And I don't believe that one interposes for our real benefit."

  "So?"

  "So we forge onward," the champion of neutrality said, shooting the troubador a hard smile. "I plan nothing good for such a thing as it is, either; that makes us even . . . once the greatest of evils is dealt with!"

  Gellor shook his head, wondering if Gord was suddenly overcome with a hubris brought on by the infusion of power he had been granted. Yet he said nothing further and followed Gord's lead. There were whorls and streamers of various hues evident in the milky nebulousness of the aether. Where these colors were most intense they went, passing through the fringes of the elemental spheres to gain the manifold branches and loops of the Plane of Probability. In all time and none at all the two heroes traversed the elemental planes and probability's sphere and could thus pass onto the astral realm. It was as if they suddenly stepped into the center of an infinite bubble. There was nothing supporting them, yet their feet were firmly planted. Above them the cosmos grew bright and brilliant, while beneath their armored feet spread gloom of somber and ugly hues. Gellor gestured toward a well of inky darkness.

  The Abyss," Gord agreed. "Let us hurry."

  * * *

  That is how the pair came to the insanity-provoking maelstrom that now surrounded them, moments before Gord had said they had to face and conquer the many strata of the realm of demonkind. When he heard his friend speak thus, Gellor commented, "No two can ever subjugate such a madness as this place, Gord. Not if we had every atom of energy of every deify opposed to the demons!"

  That's no more than the simple truth," the young thief agreed with a smile of encouragement. "When I said we must make this place our own I meant we would venture through it, dispossess those opposed to our purposes, and bend the others to our will. Never would any but those of netherspawn dream of
actually possessing this vile agglomeration of forsaken planes!"

  The grizzled bard had to chuckle at that "Thinking aloud, as it were, has definite disadvantages now that both of us employ mind speech, mind search. Instant thoughts allow no modification through reflection in the course of articulation of the basic ideas. We are both being too literal, too serious."

  "I get your point. This is a serious business, yet we must keep our good humor, uplifted spirit, the sense of true reality in the multiverse. If we dwell too much on the abyssal realms, both of us will surely lose perspective — even sanity."

  That and more," Gellor agreed telepathically. "So what do we face here in the vestibule of demons?"

  "I see this area as a no-demon's-land, more or less," Gord told the troubador aloud. He needed to hear the sound of his own voice to bring himself firmly into the reality of the Abyss as a mere portion of an infinite series of places, states, conditions and energies. "It is the common entry point to the hundreds of realms which are below, a wilderness of lurking monstrosities and roving packs of outcasts. This first tier is a place where not even the weakest of demonlings dwell; instead, it is the habitat of terrible things which guard the deeper spheres."

  At that the bard turned up the leather covering of his gem-faceted ocular, viewing the surroundings carefully as if wishing to confirm his companion's words. "Faugh!" Gellor said after completing his survey. "This is a disgusting place. What can live in it?"

  "Many things, methinks," Gord replied slowly, gazing off beyond Gellor's right shoulder. "In fact, here comes a welcoming party now!"

  The pack that approached was indeed no puny force of scavengers vomited up from below. The demon-beasts were elephantine in size, and their aspect was a nightmare phantasmagoria. As soon as Gellor turned to view their approach, the monsters sensed discovery and rushed at the two companions in a thundering charge. Bellows, hoots, and screams of hunger, blood lust, and cruel anticipation accompanied the mad stampede.