Saga of the Old City g-1

by Gary Gygax

  “The cataboligne used illusion,” the druid said.

  “Then must we assume that an illusion hides the relic?”

  “No, not necessarily, Gord, but it is a good start.”

  “When I held my sword fast, the demon’s spell affected me not,” the young thief pointed out. “Yet I saw through no illusory cover to a treasure beyond as we searched this maze!”

  “You weren’t holding your sword,” Chert informed his friend.

  “I wasn’t?… I wasn’t!” Gord exclaimed in reply. He had grown so accustomed to having the sword in his grasp that he failed to immediately realize that he had sheathed the weapon and used normal sight in their explorations after the torches were acquired.

  Gord felt foolish, but neither of the others blamed him for the oversight-after all, they had not thought of it either.

  Greenleaf stood erect. “Let us do it all again, friends,” he said, “and this time Gord will employ the dweomer vested in him by his blade to see if we have been duped.”

  The circuit seemed longer and more tedious than they recalled from their first passage, but they went round again, up and down passages, from core to outer circle. Finally, back at the spot where they thought a tunnel should have been, Gord’s magical vision revealed to him that a loosely piled stack of blocks closed an opening in the wall.

  “What do you two see here?” asked Gord, pointing to the place.

  “Hewn rock wall,” the druid said.

  “The same-a stone wall,” Chert agreed.

  Gord tapped on the place with his knuckles. “Look again, and try to see what is really there. It is a passage blocked by stone slabs!”

  The barbarian shook his head, then grinned. “I see it now, Gord!” he said, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  Curley Greenleaf, despite closing and opening his eyes and shaking his head several times, could discern nothing. But this did not prevent him from lending a hand by feel alone, and as soon as enough of the stone was tumbled aside to allow entry, all three passed through, the druid remarking how soft the rock had become as he pushed his hand in front of him, still unable to believe what he was doing even though he realized that the stone was phantasmal.

  There was a short passage hewn through the rock, and then it opened on a natural tunnel-which Curley, much to his relief, could see. This passageway, in turn, allowed them entry to a cave beyond. The entrance to the cave showed signs of being worked; stones had been wedged together to form a crude archway, which indicated both that the rocks in this area were not terribly strong and that someone apparently cared about keeping the tunnel from collapsing. The flickering light from the torch Chert carried showed the adventurers that the place was some thirty feet wide, but the other end of the oblong cave was hidden in darkness the feeble illumination of the torch could not pierce from where they stood.

  “Hold that thing higher,” Greenleaf commanded. Chert complied, and the circle of illumination spread forward a few feet, faintly showing broken stone and some other indistinct shapes on the floor ahead.

  “What’s there?” Gord asked, pointing toward something glittering.

  They stepped a few paces ahead cautiously, then quickly recoiled from a hissing noise that rose up from the perimeter of the lighted area. There, confronting them, were fully a dozen pale adders, each as long as Chert was tall.

  Both young adventurers prepared to defend themselves, for the reptiles were still hissing furiously and now advancing toward them. Curley Greenleaf stood still and began chanting some strange verse, the sound of which seemed to attract the snakes and make them even more aggressive. Several of them slithered toward the druid, intent on sinking their fangs into his flesh. Gord sliced the head from the one nearest the rotund fellow, shouting as he did so for the druid to retreat. Chert’s axe caught two at once, chopping them both in half. Still, Curley remained motionless and kept chanting.

  “…serpent vine… wood entwine… over scale… bark prevail!”

  The druid ended his incantation on a rising shout and waved his hands before him, scattering bits of mistletoe leaf as he did so. Gord and Chert stared at the result in amazement. Where before there had been angry adders, now only twisted sticks remained-lengths of wood that bore an uncanny resemblance to the vipers.

  Curley Greenleaf beamed with professional pride as the weapon-wielders stood speechless. “A little something special, my lads!” he beamed. “Most can make snakes of sticks, but it is rare indeed to have the reverse on the tip of the tongue. Those billets will serve well as torchwood, too….”

  Curley’s self-congratulation was halted by a great slithering sound followed by a hissing so loud it seemed as if the whole cave were filled with snakes-and that was not far from the truth! There came from the darkness more slithering sounds of mammoth scale on stone, and then the trio was confronted with the largest serpent any of them had ever seen. Mother had returned, and she was not happy to find her young so roughly handled.

  “Now, Curley! Let’s see the trick again, and quickly!”

  “We fight or flee, lads,” the druid said as he pulled out his spear and backed slowly toward the entrance. “I can do that spell but once!”

  Weapons at the ready, the other two moved slowly in the same direction, willing to give the angry snake its run of the cave. If they could keep it at bay by retreating slowly and then draw it into the narrow passage, they would have the advantage. In such a confined space, the serpent would not be able to coil and thus strike from a distance, and they could close on it and cut it to pieces before its poisonous fangs did their work.

  The adder was not so cooperative, however. It was coming forward in a coiling rush, determined to not drive off but rather devour the creatures who had dared enter its nest and destroy its offspring. Chert acted equally quickly, dropping both axe and torch and picking up a large rock off to his side.

  “Eat some stone!” he shouted at the adder as he raised the missile over his head with both hands. Then he heaved the head-sized slab with all his strength, plunging it directly into the open mouth as the giant reptile lunged.

  The missile snapped off a fang as it flew into the serpent’s gaping maw. The snake recoiled, trying to spit the rock from its mouth and writhing from the pain of its impact upon both fang and mouth. Greenleaf jabbed at its darting head with his spear, while Gord sought desperately for some vantage point from where he could attack such a creature with effect. A small sword such as his was not likely to be effective against so huge a snake.

  Chert’s torch was guttering out on the floor, its flames dying and illumination dropping. The barbarian hurried to grab an; other stone missile and regain the torch before it was extinguished against the rock. This second chunk of stone was larger than the first, but he managed to hurl it with such power and aim that it flew as far as the other and again struck true. More of the fangs within the huge snake’s mouth were broken.

  Instinctive concerns of motherhood now gave way to another instinct-rage. The adder shook its head to clear the second stone, giving Chert the precious few seconds he needed to regain the torch and his axe. Then the snake struck back at its foe with blind fury. Its wedge-shaped head lashed forward with lightning speed, propelled by the massive power of a sixty-foot-long body as thick as the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak.

  Chert darted backward and to the side just as the snake committed itself to the direction of its lunge. The deadly jaws snapped shut on thin air, and the serpent’s massive head continued onward to smash into the stonework at the edge of the cave entrance.

  No doubt hurt but undaunted and still enraged, the snake recoiled for a second strike as Gord and Curley scurried away from the tunnel they had sought to reach. Chert, his back to the wall near the tunnel, succeeded in baiting the creature to come after him again. This lunge had much the same result as the first; the injured reptile was slightly off the mark, and instead of hitting Chert it again drove its head into the wall near the entrance.

  This
time it was a glancing blow, and the force of the thrust was not entirely absorbed by contact with the wall. The adder’s head ricocheted off the corner of the entranceway and into the narrow passage. Before it could withdraw its head, a rain of stone fell upon the snake. Weakened by the first smash, the rock gave way from the force of the serpent’s second impact, and hundreds of pounds of rock crashed down. This was not fatal in itself, but the blows so hurt and infuriated the reptile that its thrashing efforts to withdraw the pinned head served to cause still greater collapse. Within a few more seconds, a small avalanche of rock tumbled down to completely trap the adder.

  “Strike while it is held fast!” bellowed Chert, who was standing off to the side preparing to do just that.

  “Get back!” the druid shouted-particularly to Chert-for the writhings and coilings of the serpent’s enormous body were unbelievable.

  All three hastened to save themselves from being crushed or battered by the lashing and twisting body. The feebly burning torch suddenly went out altogether, leaving Chert without guidance save for his ability to locate the sounds of clattering rock and the titanic thrashing of the trapped snake. Wisely, Chert dropped to the floor, and Gord could see the form of his big friend, prone and rolling across the cave floor. He watched until the barbarian’s body came to a sudden halt against a side wall, some distance from the entrance and also comfortably away from the thrashing body. So, Chert was safe, and it seemed that Curley was out of harm’s way also, for the druid had crept into a low spot some distance from the passageway, and the huge body could not touch him in its flopping and whipping. Gord himself had been moving up into the cave, going in the direction of the adder’s tail when the avalanche came, and he was presently in the most danger.

  Gord stood flattened against the wall, doing his best to hide, to avoid being crushed by the contortions of the dying monster. He dared not move too far or too quickly, feeling himself overcome by an irrational fear that the snake’s body could see him and would seek him out if he made himself evident. So, he stayed more or less where he was and endured, for what seemed like hours. At last the thing was still, and the cave quiet.

  Gord and Curley joined up and walked across the cave to where Chert had sought refuge. The druid stood silently for a moment, and the place became dimly illuminated by the now-familiar phosphorescent green glow, this time coming from a portion of the dead reptile’s tail.

  “This is the best I can do for you, Chert,” said Curley. “Gord and I will guide you if need be.”

  “I have eyes to see in this light,” the barbarian replied as he clambered to his feet.

  “What do we do now?” asked Gord somewhat plaintively. “The damned snake has closed off our escape from this place!” After the long hours of effort and tension, he suddenly — felt trapped and even doomed.

  Curley would have none of such an attitude, however.

  “First we gather up our prize,” the druid said confidently. “Thereafter, all we need to do is find the exit that dead adder used to go hunting!”

  That made perfect sense to both of his young companions, so, greatly heartened, they explored the small cave. It was a small place compared to the caverns they had previously explored in this place, but the space was long and had many side openings.

  It took only a little time to locate what the druid sought. Within a recess near the middle of the main cave there was a chest of ancient origin, much discolored by verdigris. Gord was able to examine it and find where an incautious hand would be pierced by poisoned needles, and opening its primitive lock was mere child’s play for him. Within the chest lay yet another coffer, one of gleaming wrought gold. They removed this from the heavy chest with great care, with respect both for its contents and for possible traps laid to protect the prize.

  “What think you, lad?” Greenleaf asked the young thief. “Can you open it safely?”

  “I am not sure…. See the glyphs graven ’round its top? And there, by its catch, are yet more runes and sigils. I have seen such before-or writings similar, I should say-and they bode ill for any who violate them. It is my thought that we take this out of here unopened, and see what is therein in some place where we have better chance for safety.”

  “It is a good plan,” Chert agreed. “This thing fairly reeks of some dweomer I like not.”

  “Then let’s take it and find our route to light and clean air!” the druid said cheerily. “I am sick of this dark and gloomy place and long to see sun and trees again.”

  Chapter 32

  After many wrong turns and retracing of steps, the three eventually managed to find their way to the surface. Greenleaf used his skills as a ranger to follow the route-or, rather, routes-the serpent had used. This in itself was not a difficult task, but locating egress to the outside was time-consuming because of the reptile’s propensity to meander along many subterranean passages that also led to and from the cave. There was no way to tell whether a certain passage actually led up to ground level without trying it, and there were several to choose from; thus, it took a while for the hardy trio to make their escape.

  As Gord moved briskly along the tunnel toward the exit, he wondered out loud what had prevented the demon from escaping by this same way. Curley Greenleaf suggested that some eldritch command from ancient days hedged the whole place so as to allow the cataboligne only one means of freedom; otherwise, the demon could surely have used its great powers to move itself by magical means to wherever it chose.

  They came into the bright morning through a long, down-slanting tunnel of natural stone, stepping out upon a grassy slope that overlooked a mountain valley far below the cliff they stood on. It was evident from the position of the sun and the roll of the mountain peaks that they were on the western side of the place. Their route back was lost to them, and their horses too, and now their only recourse was to somehow manage to get westward and out of the mountains on foot. Fortunately, all three men were used to climbing, although Gord was by no means the outdoorsman that his comrades were.

  Although Chert’s bow had been broken during his final struggle with the demon, both Curley and the young thief still had slings, and finding good stones to use as missiles was no problem at all. They walked and climbed downward, heading in the direction of the setting sun, watered by mountain freshets and fed on small game brought down by slung stones. They had occasional encounters with things far more dangerous than a rabbit or a grouse, but by avoiding some or using spell and weapons to defeat the predatory purpose of others, the trio managed to gain the foothills several days later, with the golden coffer still safe and sound, hidden in a wrapping of old cloak and strapped on Chert’s broad back.

  They trudged farther west, seeking an inhabited place where they could refurbish and replenish their clothing and gear, find mounts, and seek what they needed to safely examine what the coffer contained. When they came to a place where a large marsh spread northward as far as the horizon, the druid said that they were near the border between the lands of the city state of Greyhawk and the area controlled by Hardby-a wild territory, but at least one containing communities where they might locate their needs. Moving with great caution, and keeping sharp watch in darkness, the three adventurers managed to walk the next twenty leagues without incident. Early the next morning they saw signs of habitation on the horizon, and when they finally entered the village of Cepentar at midday, all three rejoiced. They had accomplished their quest, and now the matter was all but complete.

  Gord provided the coinage for their needs, although not without some grumbling and dark looks. The barbarian and druid had no more than a few copper commons between them, so their companion had to tap his secret cache of orbs and platinum plates. Early on the following day, mounted on good steeds, newly clothed, rearmed, and rested, they rode along the highway that wended its way beside the Selintan River. This watercourse was the western outlet of the great Nyr Dyv, emptying that lake and running southward to pour its waters into Woolly Bay. This way was an artery of
commerce, whether waterborne or otherwise, and the road was both well-used and frequently patrolled. Better still, it was dotted with hamlets, villages, and even towns, so that the one hundred and twenty mileposts they passed were not marks of a hard journey, but rather points along a rather comfortable ride between various inns, taverns, and hostels. No one questioned three such men, nor did any highwayman or bandit gang cross their path. They kept to themselves, and likewise were allowed to do this; such hardened and armed riders were let alone by outlaws, and were too few in number to concern soldiers bent on maintaining law and safety, for three apparent mercenaries were of no interest in a land where such were common.

  The sight of Greyhawk’s high wall and strong towers brought a flood of memories to Gord’s mind. How long since had he left this city, bound for fortune and adventure? Only about eight years of real time, he reckoned… but eight years that seemed to hold a lifetime worth of joy, sadness, fear, and all the experiences between those extremes.

  Would the city have changed much? He doubted it. Was his old friend, San, happily wed? Perhaps a ranking thief of the Guild by now? What of the rebellious Teline and Sunray? Gone, he supposed, either to another place or to whatever lay beyond death.

  The word “death” brought to mind the Beggarmaster’s bones and a heavy box of plate iron, resting together in a dark cistern below the city. Gord had originally left the city to avoid the suspicious Guildmaster of Thieves, but he thought Arentol would neither recognize him after all these years, changed as Gord was, nor have any particular interest in him. Whether he would even be remembered at all was as much a question as whether or not he cared about such long-past matters of little real import.

  What finally struck Gord was that other than during his short episode as a student-a period of time all too brief, it seemed in retrospect-he had never really had a home in Greyhawk. The city had merely been a place where he housed himself, or rather was forced to live, in his miserable youth. Did he hate this metropolis? Or did he love it? Perhaps he was indifferent to it entirely. He would soon discover which, Gord suspected, when he was once again within its walls.