by Anthology
“Who?” said Drath.
“Evil ones. Dreadful forerunners of an even greater evil. Dark and dire, foul and hideous to look upon—beings who will work frightful misery upon Ulthar and all the cities of the dreamworld.”
“You babble, little frog,” said Umatal. But his smile was very thin. “Who are these devils you speak of?”
“One is half-man—fat and blue-skinned, with hooked talons for hands and feet, and the face of a devil. He is shifty and foul-lipped—smelling of the gutters and with the eyes of a madman—”
“It seems to me,” chuckled Drath, “that this description would easily fit yourself, apart from the hue of your skin.”
Elfloq ignored this remark. “The other is tall, bent over and like a lean wolf with eyes that burn and hands that would rob the dead. His very presence fills the air with darkness, and he is a priest of the most abominable gods. His mother, they say—”
“Enough!” snarled Umatal. “Here, my friends, is yet another victim of the mad dreams that permeate this realm. He looks much like something from a bad dream himself! Away! Go out and annoy a street hound or one of the little wharflings on the Skai waterfront.”
“I cannot leave. I am forced here by sorcery. I must wait for them,” persisted Elfloq. He shuddered as he thought of the words of Ubeggi, the Weaver of Wars, from whom he had recently come. That meddlesome god had sent him here, warning him that if he did not do his bidding, Elfloq’s fate would be incalculably horrible. “But you have little time. I speak of real evil. These terrible ones are the slaves of something infinitely more vile. I speak of Ybaggog, the Dark Destroyer.”
Umatal’s hand shot out and gripped Elfloq by the throat, pulling him across the table. Cats screeched and leapt back, leaving fur dancing in the air. “Ybaggog!” snarled Umatal. “What do you know of him?”
“He sends his envoys here. They must be eradicated.”
“How do you know of this?” said Ibidin.
Elfloq wriggled, but was caught like a hooked fish. “Ah—my master. He is a great sorcerer. He is engaged in a tumultuous cosmic struggle with Ybaggog, dedicated to wiping out the Destroyer’s minions.”
“Who is this master of yours?”
“He is known as the Voidal.”
The travellers from the South glared at each other.
“Who?” they said in unison, baffled.
“Have you not heard of him?” piped Elfloq, struggling for breath.
Umatal and Ibidin shook their heads.
“That is because he shrouds himself in mystery and legend, so that he is not taken by his enemies, chief among whom is Ybaggog.”
“There are a thousand sorcerers on every world. What makes your master so powerful?” asked Umatal suspiciously.
“Should you meet him, you would know at once.”
“And where is he?” said Ibidin.
“Ah,” said Elfloq, with what he intended to be a theatrical pause. “He waits without. Ready for the summons.”
The men turned to the inn door, but Elfloq shook his head. “Not in this realm. He walks in the void between universes.”
“Indeed?” said Umatal sceptically.
“Then call him,” said Ibidin. “If he can help us, call him!”
Elfloq masked his terror at that particular thought, and shook his head. “I cannot, sirs, as I am his slave. It is I who do his bidding, not he mine. He would not obey me.”
Umatal’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I perform a convocation rite about which I understand nothing? I know of men who have summoned up demons and of the prices they have had to pay. You summon him.”
Elfloq tried not to look as though some great beast were about to devour him. This was not working out at all well. Ubeggi had charged him with coming here and summoning the Voidal, but Elfloq was terrified of the consequences. He must trick someone else into doing this. “Very well, release me.” They did so, and at once he flew up into the rafters.
Ibidin cursed and flung his knife, but in the darkness the blade lodged in a thick beam some feet from Elfloq’s membranous wings.
“Send the cats after him!” said Umatal, pulling shut the window. Drath was loath to do as the tall man asked, but he did not argue. He ignited a number of candles, which threw a shimmering and vast shadow of Elfloq on the upper walls. Drath spoke and the cats uncurled. As one they gazed up at the familiar, anticipating an unusual meal.
“No!” cried Elfloq. “You are unwise to distrust me! I mean only to help you. Bring my master here. He will save you all. He will save all Ulthar—all the dreamlands—everything!”
Umatal nodded to Drath, who whispered something. At once the cat horde began leaping up on to tables, flowing out to the shelves and clawing for the beams that would lead them, by stages, to the trapped figure above.
“I will give you a last opportunity to prove your good intent,” called Umatal. “Summon your master yourself.”
Elfloq knew that he had failed, and worse, knew that he could not skip on to the astral realm as he would easily have done under normal circumstances. The spell of Ubeggi bound him to this inn until the Weaver’s other servants came. But where were they? Elfloq felt doubly trapped: as soon as they got here, they would force him to invoke his master. The situation was not an auspicious one. The cats were already up on the beam and crawling along it upon eager bellies. There were many of them.
At that moment there came a heavy knock on the inn door. The men below cursed and Drath looked to them for instructions. The travellers looked up at Elfloq, who shrugged. The cats were motionless, all staring fixedly at Elfloq. Again the hammering on the door came, and then it opened to reveal a tall figure in a scarlet cloak and hood, a man who seemed to appraise the strange situation at once. He shut the door and bolted it, and as he came into the room, the cats drew back from him as if he were a wolf. They began to howl in their awful fashion, and nothing Drath could say would still them.
“You have chosen a bad time to visit this inn,” said Umatal.
“You should thank me,” said the stranger in a hard voice, one that was used to giving commands. He hissed something at the cats and they flattened themselves and amazingly were silent, a uniform movement that brought gasps of shock from the men of the South. Drath looked even more disturbed.
“Thank you?” said Ibidin. “For what?”
“Had you succumbed to Elfloq’s wish and summoned the Voidal, you would doubtless have perished unpleasantly, along with this furry tribe.”
“Then you are not the familiar’s master?” said Umatal.
The scarlet-robed man shook his head. “No.” He looked up at Elfloq. “Come down from that ridiculous perch, Elfloq. The cats will not harm you while I am here.”
Elfloq obeyed. He knew the man to be a Divine Asker, a spokesman of the Dark Gods, those who used his master and who kept him chained to their own grim causes for whatever crimes he had once committed against them. It was not wise to dissemble with an Asker. But what in the many dimensions could one of them want here? Still, it had indeed been a timely intervention.
The familiar stood before the Asker, gazing up at him uncomfortably. Amazingly, the Asker put a hand on the familiar’s shoulder in an almost affectionate way. He turned to the innkeeper and his guests. “Elfloq is known to us. He has a silver tongue, and I know how you value silver.” The Asker took from his blood-red cloak a heavy bag and tossed it on to a table. It thudded down, the coins inside clinking. “Here it is in abundance. Take it.”
Neither Umatal nor Ibidin moved, but their eyes filled with hunger.
“Am I not right in assuming that Elfloq would have been trying to inveigle you into summoning his master?”
“Your esteemed fountain of all holiness does me wrong,” began Elfloq, but the tightening grip on his shoulders silenced him.
“My advice,” went on the Asker, “is to take the silver and go back to your caravan. You are at liberty to remain if you wish, but be warned—those who next come in will not be kin
d. They are all the familiar said they are, and more.”
Ibidin reached for the bag of silver, but Umatal snatched his hand away. They grunted their goodbyes to Drath and in a moment had left. The Asker went to a table and called on Drath to bring him wine. The cats shifted like grass before the scarlet robe, and soon were hardly visible at the extremities of the room. “Be easy, Drath,” said the Asker. “None of this night’s work need concern you. Elfloq! Sit upon the table here. I have matters to discuss with you.”
Elfloq obeyed. Where were the others? “Master—”
A raised hand stilled him. As he sat before the Divine Asker, he saw the eyes for the first time. They had a sadness about them, as if a good deal of the original hardness in them had gone. “We have a little time before the others come.” The Asker sat forward with a sigh. Elfloq was puzzled. This was not the way in which the Askers behaved—something was certainly amiss with this one.
“I think perhaps, Elfloq, you must have won a special place in the minds of my fellow Askers. Darquementi, our Principal Questioner, has spoken of you more than once. Does this surprise you?”
The Asker could hardly have got a more shocked reaction from Elfloq had he dipped him in boiling oil, but the familiar covered his distress. “Yes, indeed, master. Darquementi is held in great esteem.” Elfloq recalled his brush with the terrifying personage all too clearly.
“Most of the things you do are observed—most. There are times, I imagine, when our eyes are not on you. It is a busy omniverse. At the moment, much is transpiring. Strange forces are working, and we cannot see everything. Why should Darquementi be concerned about you, eh?”
“Because of my master?” said Elfloq, but at once wished he had not.
The Asker laughed softly. “Yes, your forbidden master. The Voidal.”
“Though, of course, he—and thus I—are the slaves of the Dark Gods.”
The Asker gazed across what seemed a vast distance. “I wonder.” After a moment he had recovered himself. “Now, what is this business you are on for the Weaver of Wars? He sent you here to invoke your master, did he not?”
Elfloq knew better than to lie this time. “He did, knowing that it would be the end of me.”
“Apparently he thought so. Well, it does not suit the Dark Gods that you should meet your doom in Ulthar—at least, not through the invoking of your master. However, it does suit the Askers that the Voidal comes here. The Dark Gods have work for him. Ybaggog must be destroyed. Otherwise he will bring to the omniverse an incomparable darkness.”
“Given a little more time, I would have made the men from the South—”
Drath appeared, set down wine and then withdrew solemnly. The Asker smiled at the earnestness of the familiar. “Elfloq, Elfloq, have you learned nothing? You would have sacrificed those men needlessly.”
“But the importance of the task—”
“Which is?”
“Destroying Ybaggog?”
“Is that the will of Ubeggi? To bring the Voidal here to destroy Ybaggog? No, little one. Ubeggi has other designs. Jealous of his power, he wishes to see your dark master locked away forever. And how will that serve your own ambitions, eh?”
Elfloq studied his feet uncomfortably. Did the Askers know everything?
“But what of justice? Do you not respect it, even a shade? The two travellers were harmless, reasonably good men. What sins they have committed may well find them out, but do they deserve to meet the Voidal’s power? Of course not. I realise you acted out of terror, which is understandable. It is a typical ploy of Ubeggi. But you must be fair. Some other person must bring the Voidal here.”
Elfloq leaned closer and whispered, “Drath?”
The Asker laughed aloud and slapped the table. “Stars of the Abyss!”
Elfloq shook his head. “No, not Drath. Foolish of me. You mean Snare, or that double-dealing worm, Orgoom2.”
“Oh, you have no liking for the Blue Gelder?”
“Betrayer! First he serves Ubeggi, then is freed by my master, and now he serves Ubeggi again.”
“And yet he acts as you do, to save his hide. He bends with the winds of chance. Had he not done so, he would not have lived so long. Remember, he does not love Ubeggi, though he may take the guise of a willing slave to him.”
“Snare, then! The vile demon-priest, Ubeggi’s servant. Or that repugnant half-face, who now also serves the Weaver.”
“Shatterface? Neither he nor Snare would be foolish enough to call up the dark man.”
“Then who?”
The Asker took a hurried drink of wine and became silent for a few moments.
Elfloq stared at him. “You will call him? You? Ah, then as an Asker, you must have the power to revoke the curse that falls on he who—”
But the Asker was shaking his head. “No, I must take the consequences.”
Elfloq was staggered. “You do this willingly?” This was a trick. There was some devious, underhand scheme running through this.
“I will do it,” said the Asker. “I will tell you why, even though you may not believe me.” He drank again of the wine, then pushed it away. “My name is Vulparoon, and once I was the highest of the high in the order of the Ascendant Mages. I was called to the Divine Askers3 and after a long initiation joined them and served at Holy Hedrazee. I did the work of the Dark Gods, the Punishers, and for a long time I did nothing to earn their displeasure. However, Darquementi remarked to me one day that I was considered a moderate, and that I did not seem to seek out evil and crush it as devotedly as one of my calling should. My absolute dedication was in question. I came before the Most High of the Askers, and I reeled under their probes. I was found lacking. The Dark Gods, they told me, are never to be questioned, always to be obeyed, and all that is done in their name is just and fair. Their enemies are to suffer, endlessly, until they decree otherwise. Just as your master, the Voidal, pays for his sins by walking eternity. Serve as an Asker should, they told me, or go from Hedrazee.”
“They rejected you?”
“In a way. But you see, they are just. Even in sending me out, they have given me the chance to atone.”
“For your sin of moderation, if it is a sin, they sent you here to invoke my master!”
“It was not an order. I do this of my own free will.”
“Why not flee? You are free of them.”
“Am I?”
Elfloq did not have to answer.
“I will flee afterwards. You see, I know the dilemma of the Askers. They fear this Voidal. It is not easy for them to keep him locked up inside the void they have made for him. They want him shut away, just as Ubeggi does. Devoured by the one who dreams out there, and whom all fear. If Ybaggog consumes the Voidal, I need fear no penalty for summoning him.” He strode to the door and in a moment was gone.
Elfloq was surprised by what seemed to have been a genuine show of affection, something he rarely met. But he snapped out of his semi-trance and was about to pursue Vulparoon when he saw others arriving. Hunched in the doorway was the gangling Snare, a cruel smile on his white face. He was pulling at the ear of a Blue Gelder, whom Elfloq knew to be Orgoom, and Snare twisted the ear so that the ugly creature tumbled into the inn. He was as small as Elfloq, with a blue, hairless skin, his eyes wide, his once human hands turned into terrible sickles, the work of his master, Ubeggi, whom he had once tried to desert.
“Greetings, master,” stammered Elfloq, shuffling backwards and banging into a table. “All is as Ubeggi wished. My erstwhile master comes.”
Snare spat, his eye catching the shadowed movement of Drath. “Here! Food and wine! The working to bring us here has exhausted me. Though you got here fast enough, familiar! Tried to flee my web, eh? Bruised your wings?” His long neck dipped down, his hideous face leering as though it would turn the very cats to stone.
“I wouldn’t be so foolish,” Elfloq answered with feeling. “I’ve waited patiently.”
Drath quietly set cold meat and more wine down and Snare w
olfed the food. He scowled at the innkeeper. “Is this true? Or did he try to flap his way out of my trap?”
Drath smiled. “He wasted a little effort, no more.”
Snare laughed bitterly, spitting out particles of food. He pointed to the familiar.
“To business! Invoke your master. Do it at once.”
Elfloq had retreated as far as the window ledge and hopped up on to it again. “I knew how invaluable time was, master. Already he is summoned.”
“Again!” snarled the tall one, rising and flinging a tankard at Elfloq. It shattered against stone and several cats hissed in the dark. As soon as Snare saw them, he hunched down as if about to be attacked. “Damn these creatures! Can’t you get them out of here, innkeeper?”
Drath made no move to do so, but spoke softly to them.
“Ask him,” said Elfloq. “Ask him if my master is coming.”
Snare scowled horribly at Drath. “Well? Has he done it? Did he perform his disgusting ritual while awaiting us?”
Drath studied Elfloq for a moment, then nodded.
Snare strode to the innkeeper, mindful of the restless legion of cats that had been reforming since Vulparoon’s exit. “So he’s done it, has he? Then you’ll know the name that he called on, eh? What was it?”
Drath ignored Elfloq’s frantic mime behind Snare’s long back. “I heard only one word.”
“Yes?”
“Voidal.”
Snare whipped round and fixed Elfloq with a withering gaze. “So you spoke the truth for once!”
“Of course.”
“Excellent!” Snare turned upon the wretched Orgoom. “Time for you to earn your part in this, Gelder. Remember that Ubeggi has offered to restore you, to make you a man once more, if you serve him as you ought. I must go and prepare. Shatterface will soon be here. Wait for him and be sure that Elfloq does not try to wriggle away. There’s more work for that scum yet.” Snare guzzled the last of the wine and went to the door, kicking out at a cat that had strayed near him, and then was gone.
At once Elfloq rushed over to Orgoom. “Let us hurry away before Shatterface arrives.”
But Orgoom barred the way, flashing his curled sickles. “We wait.”
