Come Endless Darkness

by Gary Gygax

  Krung snarled and looked around. The area was clean. There might be other bodies below, but that was not its concern. Gravestone had specified that the bodies "here" be disposed of, so the fiend was satisfied that it had fulfilled the letter of the command. It was not about to clean up after any mess that Gravestone might have made below.

  "I have done enough," the thing growled. "Let the human worry about the rest, if he cares so much about his mystery."

  Making a shrill humming noise through its broad, flat nose, the netherfiend started to perform the ritual that would return it to its home in the pits. When the first pale rays of the dawn's light began to wash the eastern horizon a few minutes later, Krung was no longer to be seen.

  Chapter 5

  IT IS PRACTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE to discover just where the mansion begins or ends. Positioned as it is among little swales, surrounded by trees and flowering shrubs, no eye can follow its lines. The place is large, and probably covered with some magic as well. For all the time Gord had spent in and around Rexfelis's own palace, the young adventurer was now quite unsure as to exactly where he and the Catlord's steward were going.

  "I feel rather silly, Lord Lowen, marching around out here in all this finery," Gord finally said, gesturing as he spoke to indicate his velvet garments and the glittering jewels that adorned the costume.

  "Tush! Our king has directed this promenade to occur," the steward said without irritation. Therefore, Prince Gord, this is what you and I shall do."

  Gord simply didn't understand. At a time like this, when the fate of the entire multiverse was at stake, such a waste of time seemed bizarre if not lunatic. "We have been at this ambling for over an hour now, lord steward. Perhaps it pleases everyone — although from the strange glances we've gotten I think otherwise — but I for one am no longer amused. There is that of import at hand which cannot— "

  "We will do as commanded," the old fellow said firmly, taking Gord firmly by his arm and quickening their pace. "Besides, we are almost finished now. See those tall yews ahead? That is where we began this walk."

  At the moment, Gord was quite unable to distinguish ash from elm, let alone recognize a particular clump of yew trees. Agitated or not, the young man maintained sufficient poise to recognize the merit of complying with Lowen's guidance. It was better to spend a few more minutes completing the business, whatever it was, than to fly off impatiently. "Very well," Gord allowed in a grudging tone, "we shall go on to those trees, but not one step thereafter. I must hurry inside and prepare myself."

  At that the old steward smiled and patted his charge on the shoulder. "By all means, prince, by all means. We shall go immediately inside once past these yews, through that broad portal over there. And you shall indeed prepare yourself."

  That means shedding this finery and readying for more deadly work."

  "No, what you said and what I meant are quite different," Lord Lowen said with a tinge of amusement in his deep voice. Gord was confused but elected not to press the matter. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, and then the steward added, "Now we come to the place of entry, prince. Are you ready to enter?"

  "Yes...." Gord let that trail off, for Lowen had sounded most formal and had spoken those last words loudly. Even as he had said "yes," Gord's eyes had fallen upon two lines of guards, stiffly arrayed so as to form a double line leading into the mansion that was the Catlord's palace. "But I think we must find another door, steward," the young adventurer said under his breath. "Some ceremony is in progress here, and it would not be meet to interrupt."

  "Have no concern, prince," Lord Lowen said as softly in reply. "We will not be intruding — quite the contrary." As the two strode on, the nine armored warriors on either hand saluted. Lowen's grip would not allow anything but for Gord to proceed on into the hall before them.

  Great thumps suddenly sounded. "Prince Gord Carl Quapardus now enters this hall! Who will display flattened ears?" The bellowing came from Raaph, major domo of the palace.

  Lowen had tugged him to a halt, so Gord had a moment to scan the scene. During the time they had been out walking, a transformation had been effected in the place. A semicircular dais had been erected in the leftmost portion of the big room. It supported nine groups of tall chairs. Each group had two on the higher level of the stand and four below on the lower tier. All six seats of each group were occupied by grandly arrayed men and gorgeously dressed women. To either side of the uppermost chairs stood pages, while below the lower four seats of each group stood a fully armored knight.

  Gord's gaze settled upon each of the uppermost figures in turn. They were the noble heads of the Nine Houses, with their chief henchmen occupying the lower chairs. Here was the Scion of Smilodons in cloth of gold, bedecked with a necklace of nine huge golden beryls. Closest to his vantage point was House Lynx, its prince adorned in gray spidersilk vestments, a glitter of diamonds serving as his badge of nobility.

  To Gord's right hand was another large dais. Thereupon he noticed the emblems and ensigns of those creatures who were associated with catkind — sea lions, true sphinxes, dragonnes, tiger sharks. Those beneath these blazons appeared to be men and women, but the young adventurer knew that such appearance was but one of the forms possible for them. The chief one of the leopard seals nodded almost imperceptibly as Gord's eyes briefly met hers. Then another voice brought his eyes elsewhere.

  "None questions the coming." Rexfelis said those words in a normal tone, but they seemed to I'll the whole of the huge hall.

  "There is no challenge!" agreed the major domo.

  The Lord of Cats arose from the throne he had been stiffly sitting upon. As he did so, the other creatures in the chamber followed suit, rising to their feet as their sovereign had done. Then the realization struck Gord: Rexfelis had stood to greet... him!

  "Go forward to our lord, prince." Lowen hissed. "I will follow just behind." Gord began to walk slowly ahead. He felt very uncomfortable, as though the hundreds of eyes in the chamber were burning holes in him. Yet proceed he did, and none hindered the forty-nine paces he took as he advanced to stand before the Catlord.

  "You have walked around the Place of All Cats?" Gord looked at Rexfelis, consciously noting for the first time that he wore a gold diadem set with a variety of gems. Never before had the young man seen him wear a crown of any sort. Without delay and with no need of prompting, Gord answered truthfully and simply. "I have, lord."

  "I then announce to all the Peers of this Realm that I have considered and found you most worthy of all. I name you Heir to the Domain of Catkind. Kneel, Prince Quapardus."

  Gord did as he was told. Then Rexfelis took the diadem from his own head and placed it upon Gord's brow. "Arise, Crown Prince Gord, and sit beside me."

  After the Lord of Cats said those words, another great thumping arose. "All hail Crown Prince Gord!" commanded the stentorian voice of the major domo. The assembled folk complied immediately and gave nine great shouts. In such a din, who could say if the cheers were full of happiness and respect, or discontent and envy? It made no difference, for the deed was accomplished.

  "I am at a loss. Lord Rexfelis," Gord said quietly as the Master Cat took him to a newly brought second throne. They both sat, and the others in attendance took their seats again too. "It is an honor and station I don't think I deserve — in fact, am most uncomfortable with. Besides, at a time such as this, what use is this position and the ceremony associated with it?"

  "Blunt, too blunt," Rexfelis muttered back. Think you that being a monarch is an insignificant task? In time you will get used to it... if we have such time granted. As to that, and your last comment, prince, the one who champions Balance must be of both proper station and have the support of all. You being of catkind, it is required that all the nobles of the dominion recognize you as such.... Enough of this now! We are being rude to our peers. Speak to them!"

  Apparently he had no choice. Lately Gord had found that circumstance to be more and more frequent. Wondering if he w
as simply growing more perceptive of what had always existed, or if fate was intervening, Gord stood to do as Rexfelis had commanded. Naturally, all the assemblage then rose once again, even the Catlord. Disconcerted yet more, the young man managed to utter a few words, gracefully accept the accolades then given him by the princes of the other eight of the Nine Houses, those from the allied ones, and so forth. After an interminable time, Rexfelis gestured for all others to be seated and spoke a lengthy speech that ended in an invitation to the royal feast.

  More thoughts were racing through his mind than he could cope with, more emotions were bathing his psyche than Gord had ever experienced. The sudden rush of information, of knowledge, and of purpose was too much. Where should he be? What should be done? How to accomplish what had to be done? Cold fear was deep within him: What if this all was an enormous lie? A dream? Or, worst of all, what if everything was true — but he proved unequal to the task? Also, he had to wonder why all this ritual and pomp was necessary now. There was so much more to learn, so many more important things to be done: What use was this revel?

  The rest of the day was a blur for him. Lady Tirrip was there, but she was distant and formal instead of the warm, loving woman-cat she had once been with him. Equally stiff and reserved were all the others of catkind he had known before, whether as friend and companion or as rival. They were respectful, but distant and... afraid?

  It occurred to Gord then that he was no longer like any of them at all, even Rexfelis. The infusion of power by the Lords of Balance, the words of that which called itself All and Nothing, his own commitment — all had combined to make him singular. There was no way he could relate to any of the others here. He was indeed a champion, and that set him apart. There was nothing to be done about it. Those who had identified, if not selected, him as the one to contest against the Ultimate Evil had set in motion a series of events that neither they nor he could reverse. The facts of his parentage and infancy, Gord's past life, the honors of the day: Each and every aspect of what had gone before and was now transpiring had no meaning to him except as they bore upon the thing to come.

  At the stroke of midnight, Gord turned to the Catlord. Your will in this matter has been accomplished, Lord Rexfelis. I thank you. I sense a new energy emanating from those folk here and flowing to me. For that too am I thankful. But I can bear this charade no longer. Now it is time for me to leave and seek the path which will bring me to the foe I am meant to confront. May I have your leave?"

  "I..." Rexfelis looked with his own strange eyes into the deep, gray pools of his heir. There was such pain and purposeful resolve there that the Lord of Cats was unable to say more for a moment. Then he looked away. In his heart he felt deep sorrow for this one, one of his own, to whom had passed such a terrible burden. Rexfelis was sad that he himself had labored long and with exacting care to bestow that weight. That Rexfelis had not apportioned the fate, only recognized it, made little difference in the Catlord's feelings. "I grant it, of course, prince. You and I must meet again before you begin, though, for there is news of importance just arrived today."

  "Why haven't you told me before now?"

  The naming of you as my heir had to be accomplished, and done in the manner I myself set forth centuries ago."

  Of course, the young man thought. Rexfelis had been master of all felines since there had been such a deity. Idly, Gord wondered why the Catlord would now find it desirable to abdicate. It was but a fleeting thought, one of little consequence under the circumstances. If Tharizdun triumphed, then there would be no Catlord, no heir. If Gord prevailed, it seemed quite likely to him that he would become something other than the new Lord of Cats. Odd.... "Very well. Let us go someplace where there is privacy."

  By this time the celebration had become quite festive. It was not difficult for both of them to leave the hall unnoticed. Sovereign and crown prince notwithstanding, the noble folk of this realm meant to enjoy the proclaimed celebration to the full. Considering the heritage of all concerned, independence and general lack of interest in something so relatively insignificant as those two when compared to the food, drink, and company was indeed natural.

  Shadowy galleries at either end of the hall provided space for many nonfeline attendees. Among them, incognito, were Basiliv and a host of others concerned with the coming duel. Several of these personages Joined them as Gord and Rexfelis headed along the corridor leading from the great room to one of the Catlord's quiet chambers.

  "Have you news for us. Demiurge?"

  Basiliv nodded, but somberly. "My agents discovered that Silver Seeker put into port at Telmstrand and then sailed for the Wild Coast. As that place is beyond my sphere, so to speak, I passed the information along to the Lesser Hierophants."

  "That is where I was called in." The voice was familiar, and Gord turned quickly to see if his ears were deceiving him. "Congratulations, Prince Gord," Gellor said with a slight bow and a big smile quickly hidden by the inclination of his head.

  "You one-eyed devil!" Gord cried. Then he stepped over and hugged the sinewy body of the grizzled troubador, forgetting decorum entirely. "Where have you been? Are you well?"

  "Time for that later, please," Rexfelis said curtly. "You urged this matter on. Gord. You must now accept the consequences."

  "Urged? I am the matter, as far as everyone is concerned. If I opt to tarry with an old comrade, then all of you will have to wait until I've decided otherwise!"

  Gellor shook his head slightly. "You are right, my friend, but so is your grandsire. There will be time for personal talk later — and with other old friends besides myself — but now we should stick to the affair of the Silver Seeker and your sword." He looked at the young face, noting that the gray eyes had darkened somehow and aged. They were older now, as old as the world, and there was no youthfulness or thoughtless Joy there, none of the recklessness that had made him a gallant thief and carefree adventurer. Gord returned the study, then nodded for Gellor to continue.

  The druids of the Suss, and certain priests too, were sent word. They in turn passed information along to other agents of ours. We knew within hours of her dropping anchor that Silver Seeker and your shipmates were in Safe ton." Gellor paused a moment to shrug helplessly. "Information is one thing, decision is another. By the time word had reached us and we could hold council to decide how best to approach the captain — Barrel, I believe, was his name— "

  "What do you mean, was?!" Gord's face was set in hard lines as he shot that interruption at Gellor.

  "Oh... I am getting ahead of myself, and most stupidly so," the troubador said with a sigh. He reached across the little distance between himself and his friend and clasped Gord's forearm. Your comrades came to grief, my friend. Now, please allow me to tell this in chronological fashion. I'll come all too soon to the part you want to hear.... What indeed you must hear."

  "Go on, then." His voice was toneless, but Gord managed a small smile to show Gellor that he understood the difficulty of his comrade's position.

  Gellor released his hold on Gord's arm and continued without haste, for precise detail was needed. "We were in council, and therein it was decided to have several of us go to the town and speak with the captain of the vessel and your associate Dohojar, the Changa."

  Before Gellor could say more, Gord allowed himself to interrupt again. There was something he had to know, and it was an essential part of the whole. "How were you aware of Dohojar? Barrel? Even the ship?"

  "All of our energies are not spent on watching the foe, Gord," Basiliv said. "You have been informed of our constant vigilance in the distant past, from the time you were but a babe. Can you doubt that we do not continue to observe at all times? After all— "

  "I have protection against such intrusion," Gord said flatly.

  "Of course, we cannot watch you directly, but events around you are sufficient indicators of your whereabouts and actions. Then a spy here, an informant there, and agents sent to a locale discover all the details. We have known who to w
atch exactly. Fortunately, the evil ones have only been able to suspect. What is known to Balance is barely guessed at by those of the netherrealms."

  "Where was I?" Gellor said with a hint of irritation.

  "Sending a delegation to see Barrel and Dohojar in Safeton." Gord supplied.

  "Thank you. That is what was decided by the Lesser Hierophants. It took a while to round us all up — Chert, Greenleaf, and me. By the time we arrived in Safeton, the Silver Seeker had raised anchor and sailed away five days earlier. Fortunately, we quickly discovered that she had left with a man calling himself Graves, who claimed to be a river pilot able to navigate up the Selintan." The troubador raised a finger to make sure that Gord didn't interrupt him further. "Unfortunately, we also found out that the so-called pilot had paid a third party to get aboard the ship as its navigator; it seems the man wanted this particular job very much.

  "It was easy to guess that your mates were making for Greyhawk, Gord. Obviously, they were heading north up the river for that destination. Presumably you had arranged to meet them in the city if you became separated, or you had arranged to Join up there at some given time. No matter.... We immediately sought out the chief one of Balance in Safeton, and she arranged for us to arrive in Greyhawk's vicinity within hours. The three of us were already inside the city's high walls when tragedy happened aboard your ship."

  "Barrel is dead, then," Gord said heavily. It was a statement, not a question.

  "Dead and worse. So too your Changa comrade, Dohojar. Both of them were slain ruthlessly by the pilot, the man calling himself Graves."

  "How can you know for certain? If neither could be raised and both are still dead, then—"

  "The murderer was careless. No, I should say that he was careless with one of his agents. There was a series of violent thunderstorms on the day that Silver Seeker came upriver to Greyhawk. The weather was so foul as to preclude docking at a quay or Jetty. The ship was taken on up into Hook Harbor, and when the sun rose in a clear sky next morning was seen riding peacefully at anchor there.