by Gary Gygax
It was again the druid who saved them. With a few quick passes and a litany of chanting, Greenleaf managed to complete a spell despite the lung-wracking, skin-burning vapors that crawled and swirled around the four. In the moment of completion, a curtain of flames shot up. Its hot flames encircled them, burning away the toxic clouds near, creating a growing updraft that cleared the area it inscribed. "Which direction shall I move it?" Curley asked as the wall of glowing fire did its work and normal speech was again possible.
Gord signaled to Chert and, with a spring, landed atop the great shoulders of the tall hillman. Chert then held his hands so Gord could place the sole of each boot in one of his large palms. Without seeming effort. Chert raised his arms to extend fully above his head. The young thief and gymnast now balanced with his head no less than thirteen feet above the ground Chert stood on. "I see pure white there," Gord called, pointing to indicate the direction desired. "All other places are naught but colored vapors of ghastly hues. I think the white is our egress!"
Gellor marked the direction, then Gord was down and likewise pointing.
The druid began to move, causing the fiery curtain that surrounded them to progress with him. It was slow traveling, for the four had to carefully maintain the line that would take them to the small place where they could escape the terrible poisons of this trap. By staying in line, one as near the rear, two in the middle, and one as far ahead as the heat of the fire allowed, the distance was covered. The sheet of flames washed over another of the big rectangles that were the manifestations of the steps leading to the suspended platform that was the lair of their enemy. Gravestone.
There," said Gellor, who was then in the lead. "On to the next welcome!"
"How many more, I wonder?" Greenleaf grumbled as he jumped onto the surface where his companions were standing. The poison gases and the dancing wall of fire vanished at that instant.
The biting wind of this next environment nearly knocked them off their feet. The ground was solid ice. Tiny particles of the frozen stuff filled the air as well. The howling wind whipped them laterally across the frozen, limitless expanse of the place. The ice crystals stung where they touched flesh, imbedded themselves in any fold or crevice where the wind drove them. Soon the four adventurers would be encased in the stuff, icemen frozen into cold death. The temperature was so low that it hurt them to open their eyes. Here was a trap most cunning and deadly. They had to move to stay warm, to locate the step that was their only escape from icy death. Yet the sheet ice made movement slow and perilous, the jagged hunks of upthrust ice turning the place into a maze.
Shivering from cold, their teeth chattering, they searched with their aching eyes, looking in ever-expanding circles for some clue to the portal of escape. "Shall I use more of my power to conjure fire?" Curley Greenleaf chattered. "We could warm ourselves a bit, then spread out to search for the hidden stairstep."
Chert instantly assented to the suggestion, and Gellor was uncertain, but Gord vetoed it. "Only as a last resort should more of your spells be used, Curley. We won't separate in any event! We must stay within sight of one another, and we should be moving now, too." The words were reasonable, Gord's assessment accurate and requiring no further explanation. His comrades nodded, and the four returned to scanning, peering.
"Any clue?" Gord shouted over the shrieking gale.
That question drew only negative responses — and then another shout blared forth: Gellor had slipped and fallen on the iron-hard ice. Curley thought the bard's cry was one of pain and distress, and in a flash the druid was hastening to the fellow's side by making skating movements with his frozen-stiff boots, using the staff's spearhead to balance and pole In the process. "How badly are you hurt?" he called.
"Hurt? Hurt?" The bard was actually laughing, so hard that tears were forming... and freezing to his cheeks! "It is ironic!" Gellor bellowed over the wind. "Come here! Look!" He pointed to a silver-white sheathed fang of old, black ice that was nearby.
"My fall has saved us, dear friends," the troubador went on — In a lower tone now, for the others were all clustered near. "See that darker ebon In the hummock?" Not one of the three could spot what Gellor was directing their attention to. He laughed again, then said, "No wonder, I suppose. Even though it was within a few feet of our entry point, the combination of ice and dweomercraeft cloaked it from us completely. Only from the edge can I discern the thing, even with my enchanted orb! The stair is imbedded there, hidden in the icy mound before you!"
Chert needed no further encouragement. He swung Brool with vigor unusual even for that hulking barbarian. Shoulder muscles rippling, arms Gorded as he worked. Chert chopped with the battleaxe. The massive blade sent ice flying in chunks, slivers, and a spray of finer stuff was instantly borne away in the wind. There was no room for the others, for the axe described mighty arcs as the brawny hillman sent it biting into the ice-fang time after time in a furious frenzy.
In a handful of minutes the little mountain of frozen water was a waist-high plateau. Chert ceased his titanic hewing then, and Gord and the bard relieved him, doing the finer work of clearing the metallic rectangle with their swords first, then daggers for the inch or two that remained atop the thing's surface.
"Done," the champion said with a last chiseling of the long dagger he plied against the ice. "Six tests have we passed. This might be the stair which brings us to the enemy!"
"Hey," Chert said unbelievingly, "I saw about a hundred steps when we first started on this stupid exercise. What makes you think that there aren't pretty near that many left for us to go!" The query was accusative in tone. Despite the severe cold, the words sent a chill through the other three.
Seeing the effect on his comrades, Gord shook off his own foreboding and managed a grin. "One more or one hundred — will it matter? We will win through the rest, just as we've managed the traps behind. There's no choice, comrades. Either we succeed, or we die... and if we die, so does all hope everywhere." That bolstered them, and even the young adventurer felt heartened by his own words. They reminded Gord that this hunt was for more than personal revenge. Gravestone was the one responsible for the deaths of his father and mother, for the murder of his ship's crew, and the killing of his friends Dohojar and Barrel. Only the archdaemon, Infestix, was more culpable than the vile priest-wizard.
Still, there was far more at stake. Gravestone was a very powerful agent of evil, one of the greatest working for the awakening of Tharizdun. It would be a double blow then, the satisfaction of personal scores settled being secondary to the lessening of the ability of the nethersphere to achieve its malicious ends.
"Come on, Gord! We'll freeze here soon. What's wrong?"
He realized he had been standing, lost in thought. "Sorry, Chert. I was considering strategy, more or less. You're right, though. I can't stop for that sort of thing now. Tarrying is death. Let's climb up and see what's in store for us next." And he again shot his friends his boyish grin.
Although his eyes did not laugh, the three with the young champion understood and smiled as well, each hefting his own weapon as he did so. Come what may, they were four men who together would face and overcome anything that was thrown at them, or else they would lay down their lives in the trying. "On the count of three?" Gellor called out.
"Agreed," Gord replied.
"One!" shouted Curley.
"Two!" the big hillman boomed immediately.
"Three!" Gellor cried as he hopped up to the surface.
They were in a warm, green-lit forest glen. It was, in fact, a druidical grove, and all four of them were standing upon the smooth altarstone in the center of three rings of standing stones. There was a crowd of the faithful there, too, and the circle of faces showed shock and surprise at their sudden materialization atop that holy place.
"Gord, what are you doing here?" The question was from a female voice. Gord recognized it instantly, even before he turned to face its owner. She was Evaleigh, the Baroness of Ratik — the first woman Gord h
ad ever loved. She was here!
Chapter 11
LORD NELBON, GELLOR RECOGNIZED the beautiful woman just as quickly and as happily as Gord did. The troubador was a nobleman of Nyrond, just as was Evaleigh's father. Count Dunstan of Blemu. In his service to the crown, Gellor had traveled often the lands of the Count, seen the pretty little child grow into a lovely girl and even a more beautiful woman. It had been his intervention that had brought Gord, who was then Evaleigh's lover, from the count's dungeons on the pretext that the young thief was actually a secret agent and captain of Nyrond's king.
How would Gord react now? Gellor wondered, then dismissed the question. The real issue was, how had the four of them come to this place? A place somewhere in or near Ratik was a long step indeed from the quasi-dimensional places where they had been hunting the malign demonurgist.
"Our apologies for this unseemly intrusion, Lady Ratik," Gord said with utmost aplomb, giving a courtly bow as he spoke. Then he sprang lightly down from the stone block. "We were brought here by sheer mischance, and no sacrilege is involved."
"Most assuredly, lady, most assuredly!" Greenleaf said as he too hopped off the altar and signed to make pardonable the transgression that he and his associates had committed. The nature priest who was evidently officiating at the ceremony that the appearance of the four had interrupted recognized Greenleaf as a fellow druid and saw the little ritual of asked-for forgiveness that the half-elf had silently performed after vacating the hallowed stone block.
The All-In-All will accept with understanding," the druid said to his fellow. Then something clicked in the tall man's mind; that was evident from the play of emotions across his face as he stared at Curley. "I... I... beg your forgiveness. Great Harmoniousness. To have one of such exalted standing in my humble grove..." He let his words trail off as he wrung his hands and looked hopefully down at the bald, rotund little man, for the fellow had recognized Greenleaf as a very, very high druid indeed.
Just at that same moment. Lady Evaleigh called out, "And you too, Lord Gellor?"
That caused the tall nature priest double anxiety, for Gellor's was likewise a well-known name in these parts. Who might the other two be? The baroness had recognized the small, gray-eyed man first. Could he be of greater station than even the Great Harmony named Greenleaf and the renowned nobleman of Nyrond called Gellor? The druid decided to take no chances, so he addressed the rest of the visitors as a group. "And to you also, gentle lords, I extend my sincere pardon, and that of those faithful here gathered in celebration of the coming of Midsummer this night—"
"Midsummer?" The demand came from the one-eyed bard. "Did you say Midsummer?"
"Well, of course, I.... Yes, your lordship. Tomorrow is Midsummer's Day, none other; and naturally we..." Again the druid lapsed into silence in mid-speech, for Gellor had turned away with shock on his face.
"We have been trapped for the better part of nine months," he said to the three who now faced him. Gellor's face was as pale as ash. "Such time, such time lost. Surely we are undone."
Dire as those words were, Gord could not help but believe that his comrade spoke true. So long a period would certainly have allowed the dark foes to have done their worst, free of serious challenge from the only force capable of opposing them. He, Gord, had tried and ultimately failed. But... no! This place was not In despair, overrun by the forces of evil, groaning under the yoke of slavery and degradation. The young adventurer turned directly to Evaleigh, ignoring the rest of the assemblage. "Good Baroness, Lady Evaleigh, we have been absent from this world for a considerable span of time and have just now returned — as you yourself witnessed. Tell me, pray, what of the great battle between Evil and Good? Has the Ultimate Darkness made headway?"
"Darkness?" Evaleigh's pretty face showed incomprehension. Then her lilac-hued eyes widened, and understanding was plainly written in them. "Oh, you mean the evil deity, the one they name Tharizdun."
"That is exactly the one I mean!"
"There is a great temple under construction in his honor in our capital," Evaleigh said. "This last spring there was great rejoicing amongst those who serve the netherspheres — and a great deal of bloodshed between them, too."
All four of the men gathered closer to her, unbelieving. The baronial husband of Evaleigh was not present at the grove, but various knights, officials, attendants, guards, and servitors were thronged nearby. So, too, other groups of petty nobles and their entourages, and many other folk from the surrounding area, had come to honor the druidical festival. The grove was very large, the glen and rings of stones of moderate size. Perhaps three hundred or more people were there.
As the adventurers came near, Evaleigh's knightly retainers and guardsmen moved to Interpose themselves, half-drawing swords or aiming crossbows as they did so. "Hold, sirs! Guards!" Evaleigh ordered. "These are noblemen of great standing. They may approach as they will!" There was a little grumbling among the cavaliers, but the matter was settled.
"I fail to understand, lady," Gellor said slowly. "It seems we have been too long out of touch. Although this is not a meet place for such, I beg your Indulgence. Will you favor us with an account in detail?"
"Of course. Lord Gellor," Evaleigh said with a smile so sweet it would win any heart. "Those dark-lings who honored the Abyss and demonkind were taken to task by the rest of those who give service to the netherspheres. With them were strangely garbed clerics, priests of the newly risen deity Tharizdun. After much rioting and fighting amongst themselves, the demon-lovers were either slain or converted. There is now a general amnesty. The old temples dedicated to such as Orcus and his ilk are being torn down or simply abandoned. All the darklings now swear allegiance to Tharizdun."
"I am not hearing right!" The exclamation sprang from Gord's lips before he could prevent it. "Well," he quickly added, "you are in a far better position to know than I. But the great one of All Evil — surely he has brought blood and suffering to our world!"
"Not that I have noticed, Gord — Sir Gord." Evaleigh hastened to add, seeming a little flustered at using such familiarity before the crowd there listening. "We collect and pay out from and to fewer of the nether sects. Tharizdun's priests have demanded and received recognition and a place in our council and those elsewhere, I assume. But blood? Only that of the demon-servers. Suffering? Nay. The ones obedient to Tharizdun seem to have quieted evil doings, stopped much of the activities which those of other persuasions objected to, and brought reason and order — reason which goes beyond those formerly convinced of darkling principles. I have heard that many folk are actually converting to service of the one you call 'All Evil.'"
The four exchanged glances. "This is astounding news, lady," Gord managed finally.
"Perhaps. Why do you all have so much interest in a matter of passing concern only to those who devote themselves to the nether regions?" That seemed a fair question indeed at this juncture.
Greenleaf looked around as Evaleigh spoke. When she mentioned the last, the tall druid who was the priest of the grove gave the half-elf a strange, questioning look. It seemed to ask. Have you become a minion of demons? and Curley was troubled. "I can perhaps explain that—" he began.
"No," Gellor interrupted. "Better I do — or you, Gord."
The young champion of Balance looked at his friend for a long moment, then nodded. Evaleigh watched the exchange from atop her little dais, that platform that set her apart from the rest as the greatest noble there. "My lady," Gord said, turning to face her directly, "it is because of a solemn charge placed upon me directly, and these three stout comrades indirectly, that we express such concern." He took another step, so that he now stood a full pace away from his friends but still two long steps from the Baroness of Ratik.
"Upon my soul and sword I swore an oath," he said earnestly, placing his hand upon the dead black of his longsword's hilt to emphasize his point. The hand closed upon the hilt, and with a motion so fast that the eye had difficulty following it, Blackheart-seeker was draw
n from its scabbard. Even as the blade shot forth Gord was leaping ahead and striking. The sooty length of the blade entered Evaleigh's chest on an upward angle, pierced her heart, and passed through to show itself above her shoulder blade. The thrust was accompanied by a piercing scream from the beautiful mouth of the woman.
Chert was uncertain what was happening, but he swung his great battleaxe up anyway. He would stand by Gord. Then he heard the troubador singing a song of doom to evil, and at that sound the big hillman was reassured. The knights and guards who accompanied the baroness were rushing in to attack, and Chert happily hewed into their ranks with the angrily buzzing axe. Brool began its bloody execution.
Greenleaf held his staff ready, but called first a great summoning word. This took but an instant. Then the staff swept out in a semicircle. Wherever its butt end pointed, the ground gave forth a furious growth of briars, thistles, and thorns. Three quick passes of this sort, and no attacker could approach the four from the rear without first contending with the tangled barrier that was yards high and thick as a castle wall.
Satisfied, Curley turned to confront the swarm of angry attackers that Gord, Chert, and Gellor were engaging with their gore-smeared weapons. Still the druid didn't cause the spear tip to shoot forth from the stout length of ancient wood. Instead, he held it almost as one would wield a wand. "Back to me, comrades!" he shouted. As quickly as possible, his three friends disengaged from the enemy and sprang back to where Greenleaf waited.
It seemed as if the heavens were being torn open from where Gord stood. Chert clapped his hands to his ears, letting Brool swing free on its thick thong. Gellor hunched and half closed his eyes. From the druid's staff had come a terrific noise, a clap as loud as the most fearsome of thunderclaps splitting the sky just overhead. At the same time there issued from the thing a sizzling bolt of dual lightning.
The sound bowled over the onrushing opponents and sent others of them away howling. So, too, the eye-searing discharge of electrical energy played havoc upon the foe. It struck, leaped in great arcs, striking again. It burned, charred and killed indiscriminately with an awful snapping and crackling sound as the lightning discharged itself into flesh. Between them Gord, Chert, and the bard had slain a half-dozen of Evaleigh's retinue of warriors. The single magical attack that Greenleaf unleashed from his staff felled that many more and a score of the rest as well. Even so, the four heard the crowd behind howling and raving as they attacked the thorny barrier.
