“I shall inform Prince Orcus,” he said loudly, and without formality spun on his scaly heels and strode toward the chamber’s exit with a swagger. Then Haskruble howled in agony as an ulcerous growth sprang from his head, sprouting upward in corrupt nodes. The demon spun to face Infestix, a mixture of indignation and terror on his visage.
“That will remind you, niggling, to pay homage to all above your station—and to Me, Infestix, in particular. Your master can remove it or not, as is his whim. It won’t destroy you, only turn you into a gibbering mound of boneless flesh in due course. You have hours, so there is no need for you to hasten your departure.”
Haskruble disappeared with a shriek, gating himself from the chamber instantly. There was a chorus of yammering, barking, yowling approval at the Netherlord’s justice—one in which even the diabolical monsters of the lower regions joined in, for Infestix’s punishment had been swift and masterful. Here was strength and power that could not be mocked!
“Strugne, return to the Infernal Regions and inform the dukes of Our decision. You others are also dismissed,” the daemon added, “save for you, Utmodoch, and you, Weyzeneal.” The master of demodands and the king of dreggals bowed to their emperor and stood still. The rest of the attendants slithered or strode, flopped or flew from the massive chamber after paying homage appropriately. None cared to test the power of Infestix again.
After all had departed, the daemon motioned the two remaining beings to join him upon the dais, and when they had complied the whole vanished from sight, leaving only a bubbling pool of nauseating filth where the platform had stood but an instant before. By whatever means, the trio of monstrous denizens of the nether regions were now elsewhere. Their abode was a circular room suspended in nothingness, a chamber with no entrance or exit. It was an otherworldly place, but it was not strange to them.
“Thank you for the honor, overlord,” the demodand Utmodoch boomed.
Not to-be outdone, the sovereign of Gehenna, Weyzeneal, also hastened to murmur his appreciation. “My emperor shows much wisdom by his generosity.”
“Cease this stupid pandering,” Infestix snapped. “We are all but pieces to be moved by He of Utter Evil… although our ranks do differ. You are here to supply me with information, not waste time on useless flattery. I know your black hearts and your festering brains too well for that!”
“The parents of the whelp were assuredly slain, overlord,” the pocked and waited dreggal said without being asked. He too had certain abilities, and a small show of strength could not harm his position. “Before we could take the corpses, though, someone or something intervened. The bodies vanished without a trace, and probing failed to discover the cause of the disappearance or where they went.”
“You, Utmodoch?” the daemon asked after nodding at Weyzeneal.
The gigantic demodand rumbled his response instantly. “My human servants on the material plane have sought in vain for some clue to the mystery which Weyzeneal just told of, emperor,” he said. “But not a trace of the whelp can be found, not an inkling from Greyhawk to a hundred leagues outward. It is as if that one no longer existed.”
“Kill your servants, you feces-headed vessel of dog vomit! Were the whelp not alive, the rede would not show uncertainty as to the success of My plan!”
“But one small child cannot—”
Infestix’s sneer silenced the dreggal, just as the daemon’s harsh rebuke had stilled the gaping maw of the master of demodands. “You dare to suggest that My understanding of this is flawed?”
“Never, great lord,” the pair muttered in unison.
“I will forgive you… this time. Think on this. Long and long have I worked and schemed to bring back the Evil of Evils. Centuries have passed since the time I commenced the plan, and now this! A miserable human threatens Our success. Unacceptable!”
“My agents will continue the hunt,” the demodand said with assurance. “It will not be long before his skinny soul whimpers in the nethermost depths.”
“His?” The word, drawn out by Infestix’s bubbling growl, spoke volumes. “Not even I know if the whelp is male or female! Speculation will prove your undoing, Utmodoch, if you persist in this.”
Weyzeneal grasped the opportunity to curry favor for the forces he controlled. “I will serve, emperor, without the use of idle statements. My dreggals and our human slaves too will keep at it until the cryptograms are broken, the cipher revealed, and the secrets known. Recall, it was Gehenna that discovered the arcanum of the Tripartite Artifact.”
“And the hells whose servants gained the Initial Key,” scoffed Utmodoch. “Tarterus alone can—”
“Enough, both of you,” Infestix admonished without force. The poxed creature was not growing soft; he was merely distracted by his own pondering of the problem. He had strived for an eon to locate the three parts of the artifact that kept Tharizdun slumbering, chained, and prisoned in somewhen, some nullity in dimensions. The wardings around the secret were of incredible potency, but with tenacity equal to the task Infestix had broken them, one by one. Then the information had somehow slipped out, and servants of the Infernal Dukes had managed to gain the Only known portion of the key that the forces of Good had fashioned to bind the Evil of Evils, Tharizdun. There was no help for that now. The rulers of the hells would have to be given appropriate merit when the Darkest One arose and again sat upon His throne. Perhaps their devils would be of some assistance now, the greatest of daemons mused.
The problem was actually a simple one. A prophecy had been scribed, and its rede was ominous. There was the inkling of failure in it. One chance in ten thousand—a seemingly insignificant factor. It had been one chance in a thousand but a short time before. Then Infestix had caused the netherlords to become active. The packs and the human hounds of Hades and its dependencies had gone out, and they had brought down their quarry as expected. No, that was incorrect. They had torn the throats from two, but a third had somehow escaped, and that third little one was the most important of all. Somehow that one was connected to the Final Key. The rede implied that Evil would gain the Middle Key soon enough, but also that the fates of the Final Key and the human would intersect. If they did indeed come together, then all would be lost.
Getting this far had not been simple, but the forces of darkness were accustomed to having to work hard for what they gained. By the use of treachery, beguilement, lies, deception, flattery, and all the other tools of the lower planes, the denizens of Evil had managed to discover the identities of those who threatened to defeat Infestix’s purposes. The instigator was the half-human offspring of a minor lord of the concordant existences. He and his woman had brought forth a child who might become a factor in the matter.
Now, father and mother had been betrayed and slain thanks to the cooperation of their siblings—the father’s siblings, more correctly. They were a jealous lot, that litter, and each was anxious to inherit the domain of his sire. The mere hint of one gaining an edge over the others was sufficient incentive to keep all of them working on behalf of Evil for a time, but then their realization of the enormity of their treachery had caused the eight dupes to withdraw from the cause—a major miscalculation on the part of the night hag to whom Infestix had entrusted the responsibility of success. Just as well, the daemon lord rationalized—Haegresse had grown too ambitious anyway. It was high time that the night hags had a new queen. Infestix would inform them of his choice later.
“Emperor?” The hesitant word came from the lord of the dreggals, reluctant to interrupt his lord’s musings but anxious to know if his continued attendance was required. Infestix set his gaze on Weyzeneal for a minute. Then he turned away and stared at the massive, hideous face of the demodand. “It is not so much a matter, one in ten thousand. It is the Abyss which troubles me. Those brawling tubs of excrement will never be useful!”
“I am a demodand, overlord, not a sovereign lord of demonkind,” Utmodoch replied defensively. “I have much Influence amongst the strongest of the pr
inces of the Abyss, of course,” the ghastly being hastened to add so as to assure Infestix of his value, “but the stupidity and worthlessness of demons is legendary.”
“See that you maintain your influence, and use it correctly,” the overlord of the nether planes replied in his hollow, menacing voice. “One way or another, I will succeed. Fail me naught, either of you.” Nothing further needed to be uttered, for both knew the consequences of incurring the wrath of this being.
“Gehenna will be unrelenting in pursuit of your purpose,” the dreggal king intoned.
Utmodoch dropped to his knees, saying, “Tarterus will serve by sussing out and destroying all who attempt to stand in competition to you, overlord.”
The cadaverous daemon seemed satisfied with that homage and those promises. “I will send you to your respective places now. Report the least thing to me personally. Nothing regarding this matter must escape my scrutiny. Hear me and obey.”
Before they could reply, Infestix touched a diagram before him and spoke a word. The demodand and the dreggal king vanished.
Weaklings, both of them, thought Infestix. Better that He should be served by the Infernal Dukes, despite their machinations. Let Tharizdun come, and He, Infestix, would gladly stand to be weighed in evil-ness and ability against any of those order-headed devils. In the interim, their strict routine and meticulous methods would serve well to promote the one worthwhile goal that would end the factiousness of Evil for all time and make it paramount in the multi-verse forever.
Chapter 3
“Your hair is lovely this evening, mistress,” the serving girl said as she held up the mirror.
Meleena peered into the glass and turned her head slowly from side to side, scrutinizing every detail of her coiffure that she could see. The sapphires in the comb that adorned her rich, chestnut-hued tresses matched her eyes perfectly. At last she smiled and motioned the girl away, completely pleased with herself and her situation. New servant, new wardrobe, new jewelry… a new life!
“Fetch my fur-trimmed cloak, girl,” Meleena said, trying unsuccessfully to maintain an attitude of aloofness and not give a hint of the secret pleasure she felt inside. “I will be going to the Citadel tonight,” she added, every word exuding happiness and pride. Thanks to Wanno, there was every likelihood that young Lord Roland would notice her this very evening. In addition to providing her with clothing, jewelry, and a great sum of gold, some of which she had spent to attain her new station, the mage had promised to use his power and Influence to bring her to Roland’s attention. Although she had not seen Wan-no for several days, she had no reason to doubt that he would be true to his word. Meleena was certain that she would soon be someone in the city.
“Here is your cloak, my lady,” the serving girl said happily. It was evident she shared the glory of her new mistress this night as she spoke. “There is a litter waiting outside too,” she gasped breathlessly, “with two linkboys and a guardsman!”
At that Meleena could no longer help herself. She smiled and hugged the thin girl, “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said with a little giggle. Then, recalling her new station, Meleena quickly released her servant and stepped back, once again a cold and important lady. “Sleep on the rug by the hearth, for if I happen to return late tonight I might need you.”
“Yes’m,” the girl replied as she opened the outer door for her mistress to depart. She was pleased at the prospect, for her usual bed-place had no warm fire to add comfort to the hard floor. After shutting and latching the door, the girl quickly tidied her new mistress’ bedchamber and went to her assigned place by the embers. Thinking that no one would notice, she added a few big chunks of coal to the fire and snuggled down on the thick rug.
She felt a bit guilty about using the coal, for she was a devout person and the deity she worshiped would not have condoned such an action. But she did, after all, deserve what little comfort she could procure for herself, so long as she did not hurt someone else in the process. She would be able to sleep for several hours, undisturbed and toasty. This was luxury indeed, she said to herself as she drifted off to sleep, clutching the symbol of her faith that she wore around her neck.
Meleena was thinking similar thoughts as the bearers carried her hooded chair along toward the fortress that was the governmental heart of Grey-hawk Before her great good fortune of the last few days, she had been merely one of the many maids-in-waiting amid the welter who served the oligarchs. As the orphaned daughter of a petty landowner and unsuccessful merchant, she had been fortunate to get even so lusterless a position as that.
Wanno, the Master of Magics to the Oligarchs of Greyhawk, had first seen her by chance at the Halls, when she had come to protest the annexation by the city of her father’s property upon his death. Initially Meleena had thought the weird old man was lusting after her, but the mage had not so much as laid a finger on her. Wanno had simply silenced her useless protests to the unsympathetic clerk, taken her to another building nearby, and informed the functionary there that he should give her immediate status as a waiting maid to the oligarchs. The fellow had done just that after Wanno had presented him with the mage’s own writ, and hied himself quickly to the task too. Spell-binders were not noted for their patience with petty bureaucrats.
Although he had spoken to her seldom over the next few months, Wanno had certainly kept track of her. This Meleena knew because of the little hints given to her by others in the same station within the Citadel. Like her, they were quartered in dreary lodgings in the Halls District and had to come to the fortress center of the city every day to await instructions as to their duties. Usually there was nothing to do save attending some oligarch’s wife, seeing to an important female visitor, or serving dainties at a feast or function. In truth, she and the others were nothing more than glorified serving wenches themselves, and but slight the glorification at that. Meleena flushed with indignation as she thought about how she had been ordered about, humiliated, and often degraded during that time.
Then, one day, Wanno had summoned her to his own quarters and questioned her at length. There were many bubbling retorts and smoking pots and braziers in the place. The fumes muzzied her. Meleena recalled, and the bloodshot eyes of Wanno had bored Into her brain.
Afterward the mage had been kinder still, and certainly friendlier. During this meeting, Wanno had informed Meleena that she was soon going to have to care for the little son of her deceased cousin Ermantrude. Try as she might, Meleena could not recall ever having heard of Ermantrude—nor, for that matter, of her mother’s sister, someone whom Wanno referred to as her Aunt Una. However, Wanno convinced Meleena that he had researched her family history, through means that only an accomplished mage such as he could command, and he had found that she was assuredly the infant’s only known relative. Meleena could hardly remember her own mother, who had died when she herself was a babe, so she scarcely wondered that she had trouble recalling her Aunt Una and her cousin Ermantrude. Once she had gotten over the surprise of hearing all this information for the first time, Meleena readily assented to taking charge of the child—and Wanno had been mightily pleased at that.
As part of his final preparations for Meleena’s assumption of her new responsibility, Wanno had sent word to another official in the Citadel, and soon she had been moved from a waiting maid to a position as Lady and Ward of the Lord Mayor. No more daily drudgery, only occasional summonses to official functions where Meleena would sit at table with those of rank and high station. This very night was her first such occasion—her coming-out, as it were.
Good things come in threes, it was said. Meleena was convinced that, for her, it was so—the babe, her newly exalted station, and the means to maintain and enjoy that status. And all of it revolved around the efforts of the kindly old mage. Wanno told her that he had taken the time and trouble to personally investigate the circumstances surrounding her cousin’s death, and the case was worse even than her own, where property rightfully hers had been taken by the powers that gover
ned Greyhawk.
In Meleena’s own case, Wanno told her, he had come on the scene too late to help. But luckily, he had found out about Ermantrude’s demise in time to act swiftly. It seemed that the woman had been very wealthy. The officials of Hardby had meant to seize that wealth and make the Infant a ward of the state, but Wanno’s intervention had saved the situation. The mage, being one whose abilities and influence were respected even where his name was not known, demanded to be recognized as the infant’s official guardian, and could not be refused that right since he had come forth before any judgment had been rendered. To the dismay of the court officials. Wan-no’s status also carried with it the right to administer Ermantrude’s considerable fortune, so long as It was disbursed with the infant’s welfare in mind.
Fortunately for both Meleena and Wanno (whose life was not one that could easily accommodate the raising of a child), he was permitted to delegate the responsibility for the day-to-day care of the infant. Since he was later able to identify and then locate Meleena, the babe’s only relation, she became the logical—and from an ethical standpoint, the only—choice for a nursemaid.
Getting a chance to be a mother was wonderful enough in itself. Having her station in life elevated (in the interest of giving the babe a decent upbringing) was an exciting additional benefit. And there was more: As long as Meleena cared for her cousin’s infant son, she would receive a maintenance stipend—stipend, mind you, she thought to herself, was how Wanno put it—of five golden orbs each month!
As if that wasn’t enough, then the goodly old dweomercraefter had produced a chest filled with beautiful clothing and jewels—a part of the estate of her poor, dear cousin. Meleena regretted that she couldn’t recall anything about Ermantrude, for she must be… must have been … a very sweet and wonderful person.
“Please alight, m’lady. We are at the Grand Palace,” the guardsman said deferentially as he swept aside the heavy plush drape to enable Meleena to leave the sedan chair.
[Gord the Rogue 05] - City of Hawks Page 3
