by Gary Gygax
"Unkindly put," the priest said with a long-suffering look upon his benign countenance, "but quite true, nonetheless. By means of my inspired powers and a bit of help from the arcane craft that Wizard Phompton here manages tolerably well, you are safely directed and protected. Go about your test with the blessing of St. Trowbane upon your undeserving heads!"
As the wizard scowled at Boffly, and the cleric returned the glare with mild triumph expressed on his features, Gord, Chert, Pinkus and Maheal looked at each other blankly. It was immediately apparent that none of them had the faintest idea what they were supposed to do next. Before any of them could say so, however, the wizard saw their confusion.
"There, Boffly, is another sign of your incompetence! You failed to give the initial command, see?" Phompton stood with long arms folded in hauteur, stressing his point. Somewhat deflated. Good Priest Boffly allowed a tiny frown to cross his mild countenance. This was instantly replaced by a cheerfulsmile and with a wave of dismissal he said, "Good boys! Go get 'em!"
Resisting the urge to let his tongue hang out of his mouth, Gord turned obediently and headed for the door. The others were following without question. Each of the four knew that they were leaving Castle Fizziak and heading north. There was little else to worry about.
"Coercion of this sort is ignoble!" Maheal said as he scratched vigorously at various parts of his body. As this particular scene had been repeated several times previously, everyone else paid no heed whatsoever to the complaining and rode on in silence. This didn't deter the young nobleman a jot. He kicked his mount to hasten its pace and came alongside the huge horse ridden by the ehjure.
"I say, Pinkus! You have magical powers, I'm sure of it. Do something to remove this blasted compulsion and the base effects of disobeying it!"
The eight-foot-plus ogre looked down his pug nose at Lord Maheal in a manner which the most vain dandies would have been proud to ape. "Get away from me, minimus, or else I'll boot your ass clean over your palfrey's head." As he said this, he swung one leg free of its stirrup and made threatening motions with it.
"Savage!" Maheal cried as he quickly got out of the way. "You must be addlepated, the lot of you! From the way you're all acting, one would suppose you were eager to enter this dismal wilderness and meet a coven of warlocks and witches!"
After getting well clear of the grand count's massive stronghold and the attendant settlements, the four had known suddenly that their course was not northward at all. Maheal had exaggerated when he claimed to dwell in Rel Mord. Fizziak lands bordered Relmor Bay on the south and ran northward about a hundred miles. This was a place quite removed from the capital of Nyrond. And the test was to take place elsewhere — specifically, about forty leagues to the west. They were to cross the Duntide River and enter the Gnatmarsh area. Fortunately, they had been allowed to take all of their possessions when they left — all except Gord's and Chert's fortune in jewels, of course. Weapons, provisions, and horses they had aplenty. Even the reluctant Maheal was bristling with an array of weapons. It was probable the szek would have trouble finding the pointy end of his sword, but that was another matter entirely.
That they had been carefully instructed through mental messages hidden magically and triggered automatically by certain predetermined events was certain. So too was the power of the dweomer that forced compliance with the test if any of their numbers chose not to heed the mental promptings. Pinkus had. in fact, attempted to leave the group and head off on his own. Gord and Chert just ignored the defection, not caring much for the company of the ogre-magus anyway. Pinkus had returned in an hour, groaning from stomach cramps, complaining of a burning rash, and having trouble uncrossing his goggling eyes. Neither Gord nor Chert had considered swerving from the terms of the so-called test. Far more weighty than possible' consequences of the sort the ogreling was suffering was the fact that Lord Fizziak held their wealth!
Both of the young adventurers had guffawed at the sight presented by the errant ogre-magus as he returned. It was made funnier still by anticipation, since the desertion of Pinkus had prompted Maheal to do the same. No sooner had the ogre-magus been out of sight than the Nyrondel nobleman had airily waved a cerise-gloved hand at the two adventurers and said. "Well, so much for all this nonsense — I'm off for Dohou-Yohpe. The grand count will forgive me after a time. Imagine — sending his own flesh and blood off on such a dangerous missionl"
Chert had only stared in distaste at Maheal, but Gord tried to reason with him. "Remember what Good Priest Boffly told us. If you try to shirk your duty, there'll be unpleasant consequences!"
"Nonsense! I am a Peer of the Realm, and no one would dare to inflict such ills upon my noble person!" So saying. Maheal had reined his steed around and galloped off to the northeast.
It was only minutes after Pinkus came back that they heard the sound of another horse approaching. There was Maheal, all right, reeling in his saddle and crying out piteously. At first Gord and Chert laughed, but then they could not help but feel compassion. They helped the feebly moving noble from his mount and laid him carefully down. To have lasted as long as the ogreling under the pangs of enthrallment and geas brought new respect for Maheal in the hearts of both humans. Later, the Nyrondel told them he had passed out from the pain. That, and his combination of whining and continued attempts to break the dweomer sent all high regard from them. It was clear that the young noble was a fool, a coward, and a dolt. They were, however, stuck with him — and Pinkus as well.
"Is it the curse of that benighted artifact we stole from Nerull's temple?" Chert asked crossly, accusation lurking behind the query.
"With the situation as it is," Gord replied, eyeing the foppish Maheal and the ehjure sulking along beside each other, "I'm not certain that this so-called test is anything other than retribution," he admitted grudgingly to the hulking barbarian. "Nonetheless, I am determined to turn the tables and get both our just compensation and revenge!"
"Compensation?" the young nobleman echoed.
"Revenge?" Pinkus growled as he glared at the three humans.
"Curdling curds of catoblepas crap!" Chert expostulated as he turned away and rode off to scout ahead for possible trouble. Gord, suffering from boredom and tired of the company he and his barbarian friend were currently compelled to keep, fervently wished he could go with him, but the young thief knew that it would be most ill-advised to leave Pinkus and Maheal alone together. Hunching his shoulders, Gord resigned himself to a long trek with the ogre and the whiner. It seemed like days before the hillman returned, although he was gone but a few hours.
When a small company of bandits attacked them from the rear the next day, everyone but Maheal welcomed the encounter as a pleasant diversion. The outlaws evidently had a minor spell-weaver in tow, for their assault was preceded by a streak of sizzling fire that impacted squarely upon the ogre-magus. Whatever differences he and his less-civilized kin who dwelled on Oerth had, resistance to magic was certainly one no one in the party would find objectionable. The spell was most likely meant to create a fiery globe to incinerate the group, but when it came in contact with Pinkus, the flames fizzled and went out. The magic-user who cast the spell had no opportunity to attempt further harm.
Where a hot, glowing streak had been a split second before, there now existed a line of pale blue. Icicles appeared along it and fell tinkling to earth in the same moment. A muffled shriek came from a clump of flash-frozen brush, and Gord could see crystalline flakes of snow gently descending on the area. Although the spell-slinger was thereby put out of commission, his associates pressed the attack. As Gord, Chert, and the ogre-magus turned to stand their ground against the outlaws, Maheal spurred his horse on ahead, leaving his traveling companions for behind.
"Mind the arrows!" the barbarian shouted as a dozen barbed missiles buzzed near.
Gord screamed a wild oath as if in reply. One shaft grazed his horse, and several others had come close enough to hear, but the young thief was unscathed. "Surrender or die!" he
shouted as he struck right and left at the startled bandits crouching amidst the newly frozen brush.
Chert and the ogre-magus were likewise laying about them with vigor. In fact, as soon as Pinkus was among the outlaws, he threw his huge body from the back of his destrier, sweeping up a trio of brigands as he crashed to the ground. While the hulking hillman whirled his axe, Brool, in bloody arcs, Pinkus discarded outlaws' broken bodies left, up, right, and down as if a cyclone had struck in the midst of these hapless ambushers. It was all over in a few minutes.
"Who is your captain?" Gord demanded of the dozen prisoners.
"Cob the Crazed — but he lies dead there," one wounded outlaw managed to reply.
Chert, meanwhile, was chipping the ice from the frozen corpse of the spell-caster who had foolishly. sent his dweomer at the ogre-magus. It seemed that a backlash had occurred when the spell struck Pinkus, and an opposite effect had been inflicted upon the sender, who was caught off guard and did not act fast enough to avoid it. The fellow's surprised gaze looked blankly forth from a globe of slowly melting ice several feet thick. The barbarian, who thought that the dead Cob might be carrying something worth salvaging, was using his axe to whittle the stuff away to speed the natural process.
"Don't eat those bodies, Pinkus!" Gord called to the ogre-magus. The ogreling growled and grumbled but left off his prodding of the dead bandits and smacking of his lips. Gord wasn't certain if he had been doing this to further intimidate their captives, or whether the ehjure had actually been planning to eat one or more of their fallen attackers. Whatever the case, the effect upon the survivors was amazing.
"Please keep him away from us," the spokesman for the prisoners pleaded to Gord. "We'll tell you anything you want — just keep him from us!"
"Gather up all the valuables, then," Gord ordered, "and be certain that your own wealth is in the pile. If I find so much as an iron drab has been held back. I'll give the offender to Pinkus for his next meal!"
The ogre-magus clicked his fangs fiercely and rolled his goggling eyes. There was a mad scramble to comply, each outlaw attempting to be the first to divest himself of his money and valuables.
"Get the stuff from the bodies too!" Chert shouted, and another rush ensued. Meanwhile, the barbarian had whittled the ice down to where the sun would soon complete the work, so he rested on his axe and watched the captives with a flinty gaze. It took little urging for them to complete the task and meekly return to a huddled group near the two humans.
"What a pitiful treasure!'' Gord said with disgust. There, on a worn and dirty cloak, was the sum of the wealth the brigands had possessed. No more than a hundred coins, and nothing larger than a copper common in the lot. There were a few pieces of cheap jewelry and one silver-studied belt. "No wonder they sought to rob wayfarers. Even a Medeglan pilgrim would be likely to enrich such a poor lot as this!"
"Now can we eat?" Pinkus asked hopefully.
"Cut it out now, pal. If we eat them, we won't be able to enlist them on our quest I think that would be putting them to much better use, don't you? After all. you don't want to have to deal with indigestion in addition to whatever else we might encounter, now do you?" Gord asked condescendingly. Pinkus looked disappointed, but he nodded agreement. Gord turned to the dozen or so survivors of Crazed Cob's corps. "Bury your comrades, and leave a place for the magic-user, too." Meanwhile Chert had finally broken the ice, so to speak, and the body of the sorcerer could now be searched.
"What's he got?" Gord asked, peering over the crouching barbarian's shoulders.
"A fat purse and a gold brooch, I think," Chert called back. "Just a second, and we'll see!"
It turned out that the "gold" was only washed brass, and the purse was a leather pouch filled with the various packets and stuffs of dweomercraefting. So much for that. The now-enlarged band of questers set out for the bandits' encampment, which, as luck would have it, was on the same route the dweomer compelled the quartet to tread. Along the way the group encountered the grazing steed of Lord Maheal, and nearby was that worthy's prone form, asleep in a patch of warm sunlight.
"Boo!" Pinkus barked in the nobleman's ear, and grinned to show his huge teeth as the startled fellow's eyes popped open.
"Yeow!" Maheal shrieked, trying to jump up and run away at the same time. This resulted in a comical heap, with the ogreling and Maheal in a tangle, for all the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe had managed to do was to bound upright and then flop upon the ogre-magus. Pinkus attempted to throw the offending form from his person, and Maheal struggled desperately to get free. The problem was that these efforts seemed to make the two more inextricably entangled than ever. Screams, growls, and other less identifiable sounds emerged from the pile. The captive bandits sniggered and jeered, until Gord ordered them into the frey to assist. Although he was enjoying the spectacle, he feared that the fainthearted Maheal would suffer bodily harm soon unless the pair was untangled.
When they finally managed to straighten things out, Maheal's plum-colored doublet was shredded, and his particolored hose of citrine and puce were ruined. Calling down terrible curses upon everyone in general and Pinkus in particular, the nobleman trudged off with the group. Gord had determined that Lord Maheal would go afoot hereafter, for when horsed, he was always riding away.
There was nothing of value at the outlaw hideout, although they found a fair amount of cold game to eat and enough horses to provide mounts for all of the prisoners. Gord located the slim tomes that contained the writings of the now-deceased spell-user. These books he had tucked away without informing anyone, for he knew that such works had considerable value to certain persons. They didn't linger at the camp, because the effects of the enthrallment made the quartet restless and irritable.
To assure the cooperation of the outlaws, Gord made the twelve of them swear a blood-curdling oath of fealty to their captors as Pinkus looked on with a leering expression of awful sort on his ugly visage. Having Chert nearby with his huge axe was definitely a big plus, and it didn't hurt when the young rogue proclaimed that all of the loot taken from the group would be divided among the survivors who were faithful to their new leaders until the end of their quest.
The former bandits eagerly vowed to serve as men-at-arms for their new masters, casting doubtful looks at both the ogre-magus and Lord Maheal as they did so. Gord made it clear that these new henchmen were to seek direction principally from either Chert or himself. That done, they were again on the trail, Maheal now seated atop his steed once more but this time neatly surrounded by the pack of newly created soldiery.
The Gnatmarsh came all too soon, but despite the swarms of hungry insects and the hazards of trekking through the mire, the party pressed ever deeper into the morass. The former bandits complained less than either Lord Maheal or the ogrish Pinkus. Gord suspected that the bestowing of all the loot taken from them and their former associates was only a part of the reason for this behavior. This suspicion was confirmed shortly.
"Not makin' much speed." a bandit named Zimp said to the young thief.
"Considering this miserable mud." Gord replied, "I think a league a day is exceptional time."
Zimp scratched his beard with dirty fingers — at this point everyone was mud-encrusted, even the meticulous Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. Although Zimp was acknowledged by the others as their noncommissioned officer, more or less, the outlaw wasn't quite sure of his relationship to Gord yet The young adventurer wanted him to understand that he could speak up without fear. "It's right amazin', sir, the way you and Master Chert is makln’ a beeline, as they say, straight toward Grimalkinsham. Ain't none o' us ever seen the likes before!"
"Grimalkinsham? Beeline? Are you telling me you and your men know where we're headed?"
Zimp peered hard at Gord to see if he was angry. When it was clear that he was only surprised. Zimp said. "Me an' the boys have been in an' out o’ this here marsh a few times, and Grimalkinsham ain't a bad place a'tall to spend time in — specialty when things roundabout get hot, so to speak.
"
"Tell me more, sergeant." Gord said with a grim expression on his face.
Beaming back in relief, Zimp nodded enthusiastically. "First, cap'n, we got to get outta this mess and foller the causeway. ... I mean I’ll be a-gittin’ a sergeant's share o' treasure?"
"Yes indeed! Show me the causeway."
A little later the party was wending its way along a relatively dry track that snaked here and there through the marsh. They avoided the bottomless pools, willow thickets, and who knew what else, covering ground at a far more rapid rate and without the mud. Only the swarms of insects reminded them of their presence in the dreaded morass of Gnatmarsh.
"Beware goin' beyond this here hummock 'til nighttime," Zimp told Gord. "That there catoblepas will get us sure otherwise," he added laconically.
"Catoblepas? Here?"
"Yep," Zimp confirmed with determination and then asked, "Ever see un?"
Gord shook his head back and forth and signaled for those following behind to halt.
"Me neither." said Zimp, "and I don't rightly care to, either, sir. It basks in the sun all day, I’m told, then snoozes the dark away. When twilight comes we got t' hurry quick as Tifly Tumbleskln, as they say. That'll get us inta Grimalkinsham afore full dark."
"You mean we have to travel several miles in a mere hour?" Gord asked the outlaw doubtfully.
"Yessir! Who'd want to be on this here track at night? Lessen he was partial to green hags, spooks, and that lot, o'course." Zimp replied, casting an unbelieving glance at his commander.
"Right you are, Sergeant Zimp. Glad we agree there!" Gord said quickly, dismounting and signaling the others to do the same. "Now, as there's a bit of a wait before the sun starts to set. tell me all you know about Grimalkinsham. I hear the place is crawling with witches."
Zimp waved off that observation. "Grimalkinsham is a tad on the tough side, that's sartin," the former bandit said sagely, "but there be no more witches there than in most places."
