by Gary Gygax
"How can you be sure of that?" Gord asked, securing his horse to one tree and then sitting down under another a few feet away.
Zimp followed suit before answering the young rogue. "That's an easy un. cap'n," Zimp said with a smile. "I been to the village four, mebee five times. Ain't once seen a lass over thirty, nor a wench that wasn't a looker"
Just then Lord Maheal, who had refused to dismount, interrupted them. "Come along, you fellows! This is no time to be discussing such rude matters — we have a quest to complete!" The narcissistic nobleman managed to add the last few words with sneering accusation, despite the fact that it was he who had been continually trying to dodge the whole affair. Gord gave Maheal a look that failed to convey just how much disgust the young thief was feeling toward the troublesome Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. The cad, who had managed to outfit himself in reasonably fresh clothing he had taken from his seemingly endless store of garments, was a nauseating spectacle. He was decked out in a belted paisley smock of watered silk, high buskins of fawn color, and a deep brown, feathered velvet cap, which complemented the cummerbund that cinched the smock to his waist.
"Why don't you go on ahead?" Gord suggested, winking at Zimp. "The sergeant tells me the village offers excellent accommodations."
"What?! Risk the life of a noble? Utter nonsense! You two louts forge ahead now, and I shall lead the main party after, as is proper. Come along now, let's get cracking!"
Zimp spat, and Gord looked twice but saw no sign of jesting in the nobleman. Maheal was serious! Such temerity, unblushing at that, brought a grudging respect to Gord's heart. What a fine confidence man and swindler this lordling would have made, had he received proper training as a child. Well, no help for that now. Things were as they were. Gord rose to his feet and walked over to the would-be commander. The look in the young thiefs eyes showed that he was in no mood for nonsense. The Szek of Dohou-Yohpe squirmed a bit in the saddle.
"Maheal" — Gord distinctly enunciated each syllable of his name — "I'm only going to tell you this once. Then, if you still insist on being a pompous ass, I’m going to mess up your frilly clothes and smear mud all over your pretty face!" Maheal's face turned a bright shade of crimson. Gord reached up and took the horse's reins from Maheal's now-clammy hands. He then motioned for the humiliated nobleman to step down off his horse and waited while Maheal obediently complied. Then Gord continued. "Now, I want you to stop trying to play commander and get back with the rest!" The young nobleman opened his mouth to argue, but Gord cut him off. "Now! Or should I turn you over to Plinkus for disciplining?"
Maheal hastened to do as he was told but called back angrily over his shoulder as he walked away, "You'll be sorry for this, churl, when things are set aright!" Then he strutted back to where the others rested, pompously straightening his garments and dusting his hands as if he had just performed an heroic feat.
Thanks to Zimp and several of the other former brigands, they negotiated the rest of the way to Grimalklnsham before full dark and without incident. The place lay in the center of a scrubby woodland, but at least the area was dry. The village consisted of forty or fifty huts and hovels sprawled around a score of more substantial buildings. Half of the larger structures were taverns, gaming houses, and inns. It seemed that this place did a brisk business with rogues and outlaws. Totems and ringed stone pillars encircled the community. Gord could just make out some of the marks in the fading light. The symbols were meant to keep certain horrible things out He hoped that these wards were efficacious.
A few dogs barked and snarled as they rode into the village, but no other inhabitant of Grimalkin-sham seemed the least bit interested in their arrival. At Zimp's suggestion, they housed themselves at the smallest of the three inns. For the price of a handful of bronze zees and a couple of brass bits, all sixteen of them were able to get good beds. They bathed and ate while the stablehands cared for their horses and fed the animals.
Gord thought it strange, and disappointing, that all of the servants at the inn were men. "Where are the pretty lasses you mentioned. Zimp?"
"No sense mixing our rest with our romps," the outlaw said slyly. "We'll be meetin' plenty o' likely wenches soon enough, and they'll give us a workout you won't believe! This place is a safe haven after such a storm!"
Chert slammed his fist on the table and cried out, "Now here's a stout lad! Let's drink to a lively time this night," he said, and upended the huge flagon of ale he held in his pawlike hand. The outlaws at the long trestle laughed lasciviously and likewise drained their tankards. Only Plinkus and Maheal demurred.
"I find human females ugly in the extreme," the ehjure muttered.
"Consorting with common trulls is beneath my station!" the Nyrondel lordling sniffed haughtily.
Gord, Chert, and the others ignored them. After a few additional rounds of the thick, amber ale, which was brewed somewhere nearby, they decided it was time to explore the village. Gord and Chert had determined that it was excellent cover to do so with a bunch of roistering bandits. Neither had yet been exposed to whatever it was that would trigger the final bit of information they needed. When this occurred, they would know what "the test" was. They both assumed that it would involve the recovery of some prize, possibly the elimination of some evil enemy of the king, and then a return to Castle Fizziak, The place, thing, or person that would cause the dweomered information to spring into their minds was possibly somewhere here in the village called Grimalktnsham. They hoped to discover the answers this very night.
Gord's eyes nearly popped from his head when they entered an establishment called Rosey's. The sign, appropriately sprinkled with rosebuds, didn't half prepare the young adventurer for what awaited inside. There were only a few patrons, all male. But the proprietress and her staff numbered at least a dozen and a half — and greater beauties Gord had never seen gathered together in a single place! He scarcely had time to wonder why the tavern wasn't jammed to the rafters with panting swains. Then a pair of buxom tarts were upon him, offering him drink and companionship, and before Gord knew it he was being led toward the stairs. He was escorted past the huge ehjure, who was holding a tall, willowy woman on his lap. "Hey, Pinkus! I thought you said humans were ugly," Gord playfully taunted.
The ogreling scowled at Gord, retorting, "They are, niggling — but I didn't know that you went for my type!"
Something clicked in Gord's mind. "Your type?" he asked, the horrifying reality of the situation sinking in at last. The two girls tugged on him, trying to pull the young thief away, but Gord would have none of that. Plinkus was pouring wine down his gullet, but Gord didn't let that put him off either. Pulling free of the pair of wenches, he walked over to the ogre's table and peered closely at the big woman sitting on his lap. Pinkus slammed down his tankard and jumped to his feet.
"Get the hell away from my female!" he roared at Gord.
This action rudely precipitated the object of Gord's scrutiny. As the ogre-magus sprang to his feet with intent to do serious bodily harm to the young thief who was ogling the female of his choice, the beautiful young thing struck the floor — and a strange thing happened. The force of the impact caused her form and features to waver and, for a second, the female's true appearance was revealed. Gord caught the transformation out of the corner of his eye. Springing back, he shouted, "The wench is a hag!"
"Of course she is!" screamed the enraged Pinkus as he advanced menacingly upon the young adventurer. "And you can't have her, you filthy human lecher! Go find your own!"
Gord ducked under a wild swing and danced behind the ogre-magus's back, calling to Chert to beware. He saw that there was a bevy of these seeming lovelies surrounding the big barbarian, and Gord suspected that they were not as they appeared at all. Meanwhile, Zimp and a pair of his comrades had rushed over to assist their young captain, thinking that Pinkus was about to make mincemeat of him. Of course, they did not reckon with Gord's incredible agility and acrobatic skills. Roaring and cursing, the ehjure was attempting to lay his talo
ned hands upon Gord and rend him limb from limb. Pinkus was both tipsy from wine and naturally slow. Gord was neither, and he easily avoided every attack, causing the ogreling to paw the air and charge bull-like into furniture and patrons alike.
In a minute a general brawl was in progress, with wenches forgotten or else taking part in very unladylike fashion. Suddenly the whole room went dark. It was so black that not a single ray of light could be detected.
Gord always carried his enchanted shortsword at his hip, and as soon as the darkness descended, he grasped the hilt and his eyes were empowered to see in the gloom. In addition to the groping and stumbling motions of the patrons, Gord noted that several of the people in the tavern were moving freely and with purpose. In the strange illumination that his blade enabled him to discern, the women were no longer young and beautiful. In fact, many weren't even women at all! In the shelter of the darkness the hags had dispensed with their magical disguises, and the young thief was able to spot a half-dozen crones heading for the stairway. Nearby were a pair of green hags, a shellycoatm an annis, and a leering night hag. Unfortunately, the latter was looking squarely at Gord as he stared in stupefaction at her.
"Well, well, my pretty," the creature cackled at the young thief, "it happens that you have the power to see in this dark, do you? Now what shall old Auntie Scroddy do with such a naughty boy?" Gord waved his sword at her, for she and her associated horrors were coming toward him.
Just then Pinkus, whose natural resistance to magic made the lightless spell useless against him, stepped between these monsters and their victim. "If you want action, baby, forget that little punk and look for a real male!" he boomed, showing his huge tusks in a suggestive smile. At least Gord assumed that was what the ehjure was doing from the tone of his voice.
The night hag simpered and replied, "Oh, you are a smooth talker, handsome, but right now I have to take care of a little business. Can you wait a couple of minutes?"
The annis, easily as tall as Pinkus, shoved the night hag aside with a snarl. "Find your own lover, you pruneface!" she screeched as she clutched the ogreling's arm possessively.
The night hag flexed her clawed hands and spat. "I'm sick of your pretensions, you bitchy old beanpole! it's time for you and I to get a few things straight!" At that, Auntie Scroddy grabbed Pinkus's other arm and yanked him toward her with surprising strength.
"Don't let that floozy push you around, Ugweelal" said one of the green hags to the annis.
"Mind your own business, Brinlugi, you bitch!" the other green hag said, taking up the cause of the night hag.
Gord took the opportunity to dash over to where Chert was stumbling around in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to do something useful — such as groping one of the serving wenches he imagined to be temptingly nearby. Gord took hold of him and shouted, "Follow me quickly! This place is a den of hags and witches!" Chert obeyed meekly, and the young thief led him through the mess of overturned tables and chairs, benches and milling bodies. The pair had almost made it to the exit when their progress was stopped.
"Not so fast, boys," a cracked, scratchy voice ordered. "If you take one more step toward the door I’ll turn you both into frogbeasts!" The speaker was a witch, human in form but ugly nonetheless.
"What's a frogbeast?" Chert asked.
"A thing created by the wizard Denimarkz,", the crone supplied helpfully.
"Huh?" the barbarian said.
"Shut up and let's go," Gord urged.
"You're asking for it!" screeched the black-clad witch.
With that, Chert lowered his head and moved. Gord held him back. The crone was standing inside the doorway making threatening passes with her hands and squinting balefully at both young men. "Give it up, Chert," his friend advised. "It looks like we're trapped."
"That's more like it" the witch said with a smile that displayed her lone tooth. "Now turn around, and we'll go to someplace private where we can have a little chat. Just as the two of them turned, the altercation between Auntie Scroddy and Ugweela escalated. They were no longer screaming insults at one another; the two were suddenly mixing it up like a pair of furious alley cats. This was enough to bring the two green hags to blows as well. As all of them fell into a scratching, clawing, biting tangle, the witch's attention was distracted just long enough to allow Gord to perform a back-flip. He landed beside the startled witch, his weapons out in an instant.
"Now it's your turn, darling!" he cried, with his sword across her throat and his dagger pressed to her side. "One move, and you're dead meat!" in fact, she smelled pretty much like she was dead already, but Gord tried to ignore the odor.
"Don't be hasty now, my boy!" the crone said, mustering as much sweetness as she could. "I'm sure you and I can reach an arrangement ..."
"Cancel the darkness — and be quick," Gord ordered harshly, "or I’ll slice your throat and skewer your shriveled liverl"
"How can I do that?" the witch asked with real concern in her tone. "If I make any motions you'll kill me, but I have to move to dispel the magic!"
"Go ahead," Gord said with suspicion, "but one false move and I’ll wet my blades with your black blood!"
In a moment the deed was done, and the room was again brightly illuminated by lamps and flre-light. As the magically induced blackness was lifted, the hags ceased their brawling and sprang to their feet, scratched and disheveled. Amid a flood of vile comments directed at each other, all four of the former combatants demanded to know what was going on. Meanwhile, seeing things as they actually were, most of the patrons of the tavern screamed and fled, faces ashen, legs rubbery. Only Zimp and a trio of the staunchest outlaws remained, hands on weapons, hovering near the way out, torn between duty to their masters and a desire to run in panic from the horrors they saw.
"Now see what you’ve done!" the ancient crone cried. The whole night is ruined, totally ruined." the witch finished in a whine.
"Shut up," Chert said without force.
Gord was watching the hags and not liking what he saw. The crones were coming in the pair's direction, with murder in their eyes. Worse still, several other hags and witches were coming downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. "Time to get down to business," Gord said matter-of-factly to his hostage. "Have all your friends sit on the floor, hands under their bums, or it's all over for you right now!"
"Do as he says, girls," the crone cackled. "Sit on your hands while this pretty lad and I exchange a few words."
Grumbling, the hags and witches complied, making rude remarks about both Gord and his captive as they did so. Pinkus. meanwhile, clambered out from under the table where he had taken shelter during the brawl. Despite the sheepish manner in which he did so, the ehjure still managed to give Gord a withering look.
"You sit on your thumbs too, Pinkus!" Chert ordered, "or Brool and I will lower your vanity by a foot of ugly head!" As he said this. Chert hefted the huge axe menacingly. Pinkus snarled but sat.
"What are you here for, anyway?" the head witch queried. "Maybe we can work something out."
He didn't trust this crone as far as he could toss the bulging body of the mountainous ogre-magus, but this was one hell of a tight spot. Gord lowered his weapons and said, "All right, let's cut out the forceful crap and have a serious conference on this whole matter."
The ancient witch cocked her head and peered birdlike at him with her beady, black eyes. Then she nodded at the young thief. "It's a deal, m’boy," she screeched so that all assembled could hear. "You and I will go upstairs and get this straight," she added with a salacious cackle.
In a shower of catcalls and ribald comments, Gord and the witch marched to the staircase, the crone clutching his arm smugly. As they passed the hags, Gord heard the annis say, "Come here, Pinky, you big hunk! No sense in letting them have all the fun!" There was a squawk from the ogreling and a string of expletives from the bat-faced night hag. Then, mercifully, Gord and the crone ascended the steps and the sounds were cut off by the door of the room they entere
d.
"That'll hold 'em," the witch murmured as she slammed the portal.
"What the devil are you doing?" Gord demanded, reaching for his weapons again.
"Calm down, sonny," the old woman said soothingly. "It won't do to let that gaggle of trollops think we ain't doing what we ain't doing — and that's so. After all, a girl's got to have some pride," she finished with a sniff.
"Well, the only reason we're here is to see if we can come to a deal, so let's get to it," Gord said crossly.
"Ah, rejection doesn't get any easier with age, now does it?" The old crone mused sadly. "Ah, well," she sighed and poured two stiff drinks into a pair of pewter goblets on the sideboard, took a swig from each to demonstrate neither was drugged or poisoned, and then dropped glumly down on the bed. Gord sat stiffly on a three-legged stool. Ignoring the proffered drink she held in front of him. After all, she was a witch; there were many poisons she could use to do away with a mortal that would not affect her in the least. The witch shrugged when Gord failed to reach out for the drink and then quickly downed the contents of both goblets. "They call it White lightning' on the plane where the stuff's made," the crone said with an appreciative sigh after draining her vessel. Then she continued in another vein. "So, why don't we begin by addressing the question of why you and your chums have ruined our little scam here?"
"We had no choice," Gord said quickly. "We're under enthrallment and geas, and we had to come here."
"Let's begin at the beginning, sonny, and go until the end comes," the witch said shortly. "I don't like this whole business anymore than you do — unless maybe you'd like the two of us to get it on!"
"No, thanks. I'll settle for spending the time explaining," Gord countered. "Here's the story." The young thief spent the next hour relating the details of their adventure from Weird Way to Castle Fizziak,
"Bugger that old bastard Boffly, and his crony Phompton, too!" the witch said vehemently. "By the way, the name's Quodilde," she said, extending her hand. Gord took it cautiously. The witch continued. "They set you boys up — and the grand count and the king, too, or else I ain't got warts!"
