Artifact of Evil g-2

by Gary Gygax

  The Catlord accompanied Gord to the upper floor where Chert and Gellor waited. All was in readiness, so they went immediately to a secluded chamber in the Master Cat's own portion of the ring-shaped villa. The room was filled with strange and bizarre trappings and equipment, but Gord had no chance to examine any of it.

  "Over there," the Catlord said, pointing to a place on the floor. "See the nine-pointed star between the gold sun and silver moon. There is ample room for all of you to stand within its confines. Lord Melf left us by means provided by one who favors him, but I have only this more prosaic device for magical conveyance. I have attuned it to the castle of the archmage Tenser — do you know him?"

  The three adventurers replied in the negative, although Gellor stated that he had heard of him by reputation.

  "Tenser is a kindred spirit and allied to me. He is aware of your imminent arrival, so there will be no unpleasant surprises when you appear there."

  "Where is the castle of this Tenser located?" asked Gellor.

  "In the Cairn Hills near the shores of Nyr Dyv. Tenser will have information for you, I am sure, as he keeps careful track of events of the nature you are concerned with. You should trust him, and do not hesitate to seek his assistance in your quest. He is likely to aid you in some fashion."

  "That is welcome news," Gellor said with relief. "It is most likely that we will need to be far to the north of where you send us. If he will but speed us to Chendl, or some similar locale, we will be most in his debt."

  At that the Catlord shrugged. "Who can say? Tenser is his own man, but he is fair and just and hates the forces of Evil. Until we meet again!" he said briskly, and rapped the floor with an ebony rod he had gotten from somewhere. There was a rainbow flash, and they were gone.

  The gray nothingness, without any of the unpleasant sensations that had previously accompanied their transference to the domain of the Catlord, washed over them for an instant. Then they were within a sunny, round chamber standing within the outlines of a series of circles and cabalistic diagrams set into the stone floor in strips of various sons of metal and other substances. The room was unoccupied except for themselves.

  "I smell the scent of the lake," Gord said as he stepped out of the magical diagram and went to gaze out one of the windows that pierced the circumference of the chamber — one facing each of the cardinal compass points, if the sun was any indication.

  "You refer to the Nyr Dyv, of course," drawled the one-eyed bard as he and Chert joined their companion and all of them gazed at the panorama revealed by the window. "There are other great bodies of water besides that one, you know."

  "I am provincial — not a world traveler such as you, Gellor," Gord said as he inhaled deeply. "Of those other so-called lakes I know nothing. Besides, the smell of the Nyr Dyv is unique — like perfume!"

  "More like seaweed and fish," the big barbarian said as he sniffed at the breeze wafting in off the sparkling sheet of blue water, which stretched northward as far as the eye could see.

  The three men made a circuit of the chamber, peering from each window in turn. They were at the top of the tallest tower of the castle — Tenser's castle, evidently, although that worthy had not made an appearance yet. The shore of the lake ran gently northeastward from the place the stronghold was built, and Gord hazarded a guess that they were somewhere along the lake's large Midbay, in territory claimed by neither Greyhawk nor Urnst. The cliff-lined shore, rocky verge, and sheer hills of the region made it unpopular with sailors and the bargefolk alike. It was a fine place for someone who didn't care for unexpected company.

  The castle itself seemed to have grown from the rocky spire of an ancient mountain worn to a nub by time and the elements. There were similar tors roundabout, but this one thrust up in a place where its neighbors were distant. In fact, the prominence stood in a valley — small and ridged, but a valley nonetheless. A creek ran down the southern slope of the ridge at the lower part of the U-shaped vale, passed along the western side of the fortress, and sped in its deep-cut channel to fall into the lake beyond. Steep-sided cliffs and streambed made the castle nearly unassailable by usual methods. Gord supposed that there were many protections against magical attack as well.

  The place rambled along the natural contours of the rock. Far below was a wall that surrounded the place. Where it was pierced for entry were barbican, drawbridge, gatehouse, and portcullis. Turrets and bartizans stuck here and there at the angles were proof against any portion of the machicolated battlements having attackers ascend unmolested. A grassy strip of varying breadth grew between this wall and the rest of the works, although there was a separate bailey from the gate to the place where the rock had been hewn to allow entry into the central spire. Along the paved road were squat stone buildings that formed a parallel set of walls to confine those entering the gate to a narrow way.

  From the spire rose the roof of a great hall and several lesser constructions, tied by walks and bridges of stone blocks, crenellated and showing pierced merlons for archery. The ancient rock of the mountain had been hardest where the great tower rose. About half of its seventy-foot height was of this core, shaped but little by tools, but embrasured between natural buttresses of living stone.

  "A hard place to assault," Gellor murmured, "and Fli wager that there are rooves and shutters of metal to place when this place is besieged!"

  "I prefer the open," Chert said in reply, "to being bottled up in some little place such as this."

  Laughing at the truth of that, Gellor and Gord began searching for some means of egress. The barbarian joined them gladly. They could find neither stair nor trapdoor. They were prisoners, it seemed!

  "Where is this Tenser?" said Chert angrily. "Mage or no, I have words for one who provides no means of leaving his 'hospitality.' "

  Suddenly the floor in the center of the chamber became as transparent as water. Only a faint reflection revealed that something other than air occupied the space where great slabs of polished gneiss had formerly been seen. Then a strange, metallic voice rang out.

  "Welcome to my castle! I just discovered that you were already here, and I regret not greeting you sooner. If you will step onto the transparent section of floor, you will be with me shortly."

  Gord took the opportunity to test the powers he had just learned his chrysoberyl ring possessed. Neither of his friends seemed eager to comply with the request, eyeing the dear floor suspiciously.

  "Come ahead," the young thief said confidently as he stepped directly into the middle of the glasslike floor. "It is as solid as stone!" He did not articulate that he had seen no trick or trap in the area when he gazed carefully at it and thought hard as the Catlord had instructed.

  Gellor strode readily enough to stand beside Gord even as he spoke about the firmness that his presence demonstrated. Chert was still nervous, and he moved his bulk gingerly, tiptoeing to take a position with the other two. Immediately upon his so doing, the floor yielded to their weight, and they sank only slightly more slowly than they would have in water.

  "Hopping hells!" the barbarian yelled, trying vainly to grab the edge of the floor as he sank past it. Gellor and Gord too made clutching motions, but some force prevented them from grasping the edge of the solid floor they could clearly see.

  They sank through the floor of the next level of the tower as well — some sort of laboratory, workroom, and library, from what little they could observe during the brief course of their passage. Again they futilely attempted to hold on. As they sank yet further, however, their rate of descent slowed dramatically, and at the last they floated so softly that their feet barely felt a jolt when they came to rest on a thick rug that was but one of many rich carpets covering the chamber's floor.

  "Most pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen," said a man of medium height and quick gestures. "I am Tenser, of course, and you must be… Gellor… Chert… and this is Gord!" As he spoke each name he inclined his head curtly and smiled. "Please be seated," he went on, waving toward s
everal chairs and a divan. This room was evidently his personal living quarters. There was a curtained bed, a small dining table, and other objects that showed the room to be a frequently used and well-loved domicile.

  "Sir Tenser, despite the startling nature of our arrival, we are most happy to be here!" Gellor said in a stately tone. "It almost seemed we were imprisoned for a time when we were above…"

  "Yes, I understand. However, such construction keeps unwanted snoopers out — and sometimes it keeps other sorts of things in, too, if you get my point."

  Gord, imagining what sort of creatures magic-users often summoned with their spells, agreed heartily that the lack of means to pass freely from floor to floor of the massive tower was a splendid one indeed.

  Tenser seated himself in an oddly carved chair with a high wooden back and a padded seat. The thing seemed very old, for the sheen of its wood was blue, the mark of ancient sable-wood. The archmage was clad in garments the shade of a robin's egg, with a sash of deep ultramarine and boots to match. Much of the room was also decorated in blue — rugs, arras, and various and sundry decorative pieces. All shades and admixtures of azure were evident. Small wonder, then, that Tenser chose to build his keep on the shores of the bright, blue Lake of Unknown Depths. The man himself, however, had both brown hair and eyes, Gord noted. He was not remarkable until one observed him closely.

  Of medium height and build, the archmage seemed ordinary at first. His features were regular, although the nose was distinctive. One look at Tenser's large and penetrating eyes was sufficient to alert the discerning person that this was an exceptional character. His hands were large and long-fingered, and they moved with deceptive rapidity and grace. Gord felt that there was far more to the man than met the eye, and then realized that this was probably done by Tenser on purpose. Unprepossessing and mild — sure ways to put all off guard. No matter now, however, for the archmage was at worst a friendly neutral.

  "When Catlord told me of the cause for the great disturbance in the energy flux, I began investigation immediately," Tenser said. "There is but little I have managed to glean. Powers contest with each other in the enemy camp. Each masks the action and purpose from the other. The enmity bodes well for all those of a disposition which resists the ascendancy of Evil. Still, the struggle might bring woe to us, for the use of magic to find something — information, an object, whatever — is now virtually impossible."

  Gellor asked the archmage exactly what he was driving at. Tenser, it seemed, tended toward the pedantic, for he went into a lengthy exposition.

  "All spells draw upon one form of energy or another. Little ones use small energy, big ones can draw tremendous currents. Those castings that utilize the power of some deity or another, those channeled through the medium of a being of power, are of one sort; and the aura of such is distinct. Likewise, work of dweomercrafting leaves a unique signature, as it were. Oh, not the minor ones — little spells are much the same as a rune or two written in the sand. But the major works leave a long and identifiable trace, at least for a time."

  "Well and good, archmage. I understand this, for I am able to work a few minor spells myself," the one-eyed bard reminded Tenser.

  "Just so. Your energy comes from a fixed point, as does all. Each focal point is different, distinct, and detectable. It is possible for those of great power to cloak theirs — however, I cannot. This place is built on a nexus, for I desired to have that advantage. Think on this: Of all probable worlds of this sort, Oerth is most magical. There are fewer constraints on dweomercrafting and other spell-working here than on other planes of probability. But that is a two-edged sword, so to speak.

  "Imagine a map which glows with differing patterns and hues. It is a chart of energy points and flux lines on Oerth and the nearby planes. It is hard to read, for both knowledge and patience are required. Furthermore, only certain ones with talent or power can even perceive it. When force is employed, the map's colors brighten, the lines change, the patterns shift — slight or otherwise, for an instant or longer, as I have already spoken of. Certain ones can observe these changes. Beings are now observing — and interfering, too. I can observe, but I am too insignificant to alter patterns — other than my own, of course, by use of energy. Small usage I can mask, but there are those who can hide far more.

  "All the greater patterns and fluxes of Oerth are being scrutinized. At the same time, those of beings elsewhere are being screened, altered, concealed. While this indicates still greater events than even those which have recently occurred, it also means I am unable to draw upon any major energy without attracting attention and possibly retaliation of unwanted or overwhelming sort.

  "Perhaps I will have a part in the resolution of things. Perhaps not. Any action now would be premature, so I wait and gather my strength for the appropriate time. This boils down to the fact that I cannot send you to where you wish to go by means of magic," Tenser concluded with a solemnity that was as anticlimactic as his statement.

  This evoked an immediate response from Gord, who was less interested in the technicalities of magic than Gellor was, and not totally uninterested and uncomprehending as Chert was. "Where should we be?"

  "There is a helix over Chendl."

  "That is where we planned to go," said Gord.

  "Perhaps the display is deceiving," the archmage countered.

  "If so?"

  "You must make a choice. Before the whole display became too dangerous and difficult for me to read, I believe I detected a curious flux pattern."

  "Please explain this to us, archmage," the one-eyed bard asked with renewed interest. "Perhaps we can discern our course from what you observed."

  Tenser drew himself up, puffed out his cheeks, and nodded. "Who can know? Still, perhaps it will mean something to you. For a brief time a Y-shaped pattern seemed to flow. It ran from the Kron Hills area straight toward Chendl. One arm stretched over the Vesve Forest and the Valley of Highfolk. The second was unstable, but arced toward the eastern shores of Whyestil Lake, vibrating as does a lute string when plucked. It all lasted but briefly, and then the spiraling helix replaced it as powers fought to cloak their designs."

  At this point Tenser rose and left the chamber. The three adventurers began an animated discussion of what their course should be. The southern area was easily assessed and could be discarded as a possibility. They knew what was happening there, and that the elves of Celene and their allies must deal with it as best they could. Certainly the Second Key traveled along one of the two arms of the Y-shaped force. But which arm? The one vibrating between Dorakaa and Molag showed the great tension between the foul Iuz and the Hierarchs. Summoning of their deity indicated the Hierarchs thought the thing they sought to be near their southern border. But the flux showed that Iuz might know otherwise. There was also the question of relative power. How was it that the cambion, fell and terrible as Iuz was, could resist such as Nerull? Demonaic assistance was the only reasonable conclusion.

  The left branch of the Y was a less certain clue. There might be interplay with the archmagi of Highfolk leagued with Mordenkainen and his circle of wizards, with a countering pull again emanating from Dorakaa. But why? What was transpiring along such a line?

  "The thing Melf sought went northward from Littleberg with the brigand leader," Chert recalled.

  "That's right! The stroke toward Chendl, the arm running to the northwest. One trail false, the other true!" Gord cried in enthusiasm.

  Gellor sobered both young men by pointing out that the pattern might have indicated nothing more than points of power in conflict, a concord of such force, or any number of other things. He then spoke encouragement. "Yet, the border area between Furyondy and Veluna offers a good route for one seeking the safety of the Vesve, for that wild forest could hide much. It is the only route that one journeying to meet with Iuz could follow, what with the forces in the south seeking to prevent it and the Horned Lords and their master ravening to the east."

  "Finding a dwarf in that fo
rest is as vain as seeking a needle in a haystack," Gord said gloomily.

  The barbarian brightened. "Melf recounted how he once did just that, only the pin was magical and there were a multitude of haystacks. He said he'd fired the lot and sifted the ash!"

  "Burning down the whole of the Vesve is impractical, to say the least," Gellor commented dryly.

  "His recounting the tale has merit, I think," Gord said as the barbarian slumped back in his chair at Gellor's remark. "If this Obmi has the Second Key, then Iuz, much as Melf did, must locate dwarf and key and see them to Dorakaa. The 'smoke' of such 'burning' will leave a distinct trail. No petty escort will be sent to retrieve something so powerful as that piece of artifact!"

  "Gord, my young friend," Gellor said with a beaming smile, "you and Chert there are something more than a pair of sharp swords! I begin to think that your mind is keener than that enchanted blade you so prize, for between the two of you have put the point to the vitals. It is to the Vesve Forest's shadowy depths we venture."

  "How?" the two young adventurers asked in unison.

  "That is easy," interjected Tenser as he strode into the chamber, "if you don't fear waterdragons."

  Chapter 20

  The rush of green water became darker and more frightening as the monster dived deeper. Huge fish, dwarfed by the bulk of the creature writhing through the depths, darted away in fear. Then a thing only a bit smaller than the monster swam up, but it was unwilling to cope with the ferocity of the would-be meal, and it sank out of sight almost immediately. The monster arrowed through the water a hundred feet beneath the surface, and slowly the light above faded as the sun moved toward the unseen horizon in the west.

  Gord could not speak. He, his friends, and a strange, silent man rode the back of the great waterdragon. Those things that would be harmed by immersion were sealed within a metal case as proof against damage. The case and the men were strapped to the scaly back of the monster. It swam so swiftly that even the stout straps would have been sundered were it not for a crystalline shield that sheltered their heads and upper bodies from the force of the water.