by Gary Gygax
"Thank you for saving us the trouble of fetching you."
"Huh?" Hop whirled and peered in vain into the darkness.
"Come this way. Your fellow criminal has already been taken to the Arch of judgement."
Soft light sprang forth from the Up of a slender wand. Hop saw a trio of creatures that looked very much like sprites, but these slender, sharp-featured beings were far more beautiful than sprites — and they were larger than he was! One held an unsheathed sword of needlelike shape casually, and the other two had small bows with arrows nocked and pointed at him.
"This is, of course, an honor I cannot refuse," the mountebank said with a courteous bow. "But could I borrow a bit of clothing first?"
"Get going!" the swordbearer said.
Hop did just that.
"There is no great evil within them." intoned the aged male clad in priestly garments.
"None?" inquired the beautiful, spritelike being seated on a throne of carved and polished wood.
"Tinges of peccadillo, a touch here and there of larcenous desire, and a wisp of dishonesty, yes. But true evil? None of that, your glorious majesty."
"Truespeech is to be laid upon them, then." the queen said in a commanding manner.
Two pairs of armed males advanced on Gord and Hop. Both of the prisoners stood naked and feeling exposed in more ways than one. Worse still, there were many other lovely females present in addition to the queen, and they all seemed to be staring.
"Eat this now!" one of each pair of guards ordered the two prisoners. Each man was offered a wedge of steel-blue fungus about the size of a small piece of pie. Gord and Hop opened their mouths, for their hands were tied behind their backs, so they could do nothing else. The guards crammed the fungus wedges in. "Chew and swallow."
"Ulp!" Gord managed to get it all down, bitter as it tasted. He and the mountebank stood in a large, weirdly arched hall. At least two score of the man-sized sprites were here, not counting the queen, her half-score of attendants, and a dozen armed soldiers.
The place wasn't exactly large enough to accommodate the entire throng, even though it was evidently the throne room, audience chamber and hall of justice all in one. There were shafts and galleries and balconies, with more of the spritelike people crowding every available place. These areas, like the walls, floors and almost everything else in the place, were hewn from living wood!
Where they could be, what tree could be so vast. Gord could not imagine. He had heard of roanwoods that grew nearly ninety feet thick, but this was not roanwood, and their surroundings measured more than ninety feet from end to end. Gord knew this, for after being brought up from the storage cellars above the cell he and Hop had been in. he had been led up curving stairs and through a series of oddly shaped and interconnecting rooms, chambers and corridors. All were on one level — and it was the same level that held this weirdly arched chamber.
"Answer her glorious majesty!"
"A ... a thousand pardons, glorious majesty," Gord stammered. "I was bemused. . . ."
"Her glory asked if you had meant to deprive the Poochauns of their treasure." the officer told him in a hard voice.
"Poochauns? Treasure? I was simply gathering wild mushrooms. Of these Poochauns and their treasure I cannot say, for I do not know them or it."
"You!" another official said to Hop. "Did you know to whom the 'mushrooms' belonged?"
Hop opened his mouth, seemed to inhale and swallow, then said, "I knew that the little folk — sprites, grigs, atomies, pixies, and brownies — favor such places. I knew that tales told indicate that these folk relish the dweomerdots. I have crept into the glen aforetimes, though, and picked some small amount. Never did I see anyone to contest my right to do so. The produce of the wild wood is surety the property of the one who takes it first"
At this last remark the queen's lovely features darkened. She spoke directly to the two men. "You humans are presumptuous indeed! Know you not that we have plucked the Coins of Ehlonna — dweomerdots, as you call them — from this very glen since Avalondria became the home of Royal Poochaunla? Not for a century have those of Unsealy Court dared to trespass here!"
Both men shook their heads. "I crave forgiveness, majesty," Gord said, "but I know nothing of Poochauns, Poochaunia. nor . . . Avalondria?"
"Her glory speaks of her subjects, her majestic person, and the very tree we are standing in now, dolt!" the officer said angrily.
"Cease badgering the accused!" said the priestly male. "I shall ask the humans one or two questions — with your glory's kind permission, of course," he said with a stiff bow toward the enthroned queen.
"As you wish, Panloron. Permission is granted."
"To what end did you gather the fungi we call Ehlonna's Coins and you name dweomerdots?"
Hop spoke before Gord could. "To sell, to gain enough money so that my friend, Gord there, could enjoy his few remaining days hereabouts without worrying about costs. The best I would keep for myself, of course, to use in the medicines and potions I make and sell as Hop the Savant — I am not actually a savant, but the claim is efficacious in peddling the products."
"I see," the cleric said. "Do you swindle folk of your race thereby?"
"Perhaps, but I think not. They are pleased with the price, and the material used is of pure and wholesome sort. Some ingredients might actually be beneficial."
"Hmmm. . . , Humans are like this, I know." Turning to look squarely at Gord, the elderly being asked, "What plans had you?"
"To select and secret the choicest ere Hop could know," the young thief found himself saying. He had been angry at hearing the mountebank relate his plan for utilizing the mushrooms in his wares. Now he was blurting out how he thought to cheat Hop out of those of the magical fungi that Gord thought would benefit him, and he could not stop himself from stating the pure truth. "The bulk I assumed would be sold and the profit therefrom divided. I didn't know that Hop planned to unjustly withhold most for his own use!"
"As you were planning to filch the cream of the crop for yourself. Gord!" the mountebank retorted angrily.
"Cease," the old cleric ordered them without passion. "You were each plotting against the other, as your sort do frequently. You have said truthfully that you know nothing of Poochauns. Have you knowledge of the Noblest Little Folk? The Sealy Court? Have you heard of The Princely People?"
Both men shook their heads simultaneously.
"It seems clear to me, my queen," said the silver-locked cleric, "that these two humans sought to compete only with such wild folk as they imagined to inhabit the region. That they should know of Avalondria and the Poochauns would be unthinkable. We would never permit such knowledge.. We have recovered what they took, and they have done no harm. I ask that they be enspelled and taken into the forest. Their memory of Ehlonna's Coins will be wiped out so they will not return, and there will be no tales they can tell."
The queen looked uncertain, and the chief officer spoke up when he noticed this. "Glorious majesty. Panloron grows senile in his dotage! A hint of unscrupulousness is warrant for these two to be exterminated. That, and that alone, will assure your majesty and all Poochauns their safety."
"Yes, yes!" the other officers urged, and several of the others around and in the tiers of galleries above cried out their agreement as well. This was followed by other calls in support of the cleric. The queen still seemed uncommitted.
"How dare you tell your twisted version of our laws to her majesty?" The old cleric managed to sound thunderous as he spoke in a piping voice. "These humans are far from blameless, but this is not sufficient warrant for any Poochaun to condemn them!"
"Any?" asked the queen in ominous tone.
"Not even your glorious majesty!" the elder said stiffly.
"Then I proclaim they be tried by arms," she said regally. "Prince Buckbee, you shall serve as Royal Champion, and so shall Sir Dragonfly."
The two named guard officers bowed at this, vowing to champion their queen and prove they were o
n the side of right, law, and justice. The old cleric frowned and scowled at the dandies who were cheering on the two noble lords, but otherwise did nothing else. Gord and his friend were bound to fight their duels.
"We need proper clothing and our arms," the young adventurer suggested to the sneering Prince Buckbee.
"You will be properly attired soon enough, man-ling, and given good Poochaunian weapons to try defending yourselves with."
This was not what Gord wished at all. "I demand to use arms of my own choice, and my choice is the sword and dagger I wore when you attacked us!"
The queen and her entourage had departed, and the strange hall was nearly empty. All the Poochauns were probably arraying themselves in festive attire in light of the coming tournament. Panloron remained, possibly to see to the fair treatment of the two accused. Prince Buckbee and Sir Dragonfly were assailed with flts of laughter at Gord's demand for his own weapons. Hop had asked for his own sword, too, and both men stood in angry puzzlement when the sprltelike beings made light of these reasonable demands.
"Come, follow me," the silver-haired cleric said. "I will show you the source of their amusement, and you will understand then, I think." Neither officer objected as Panloron led the two men to a pair of huge doors in the hall. Poochauns standing guard at each side came to attention as the old priest approached. At his signal the valves were swung inward to reveal what lay beyond.
Gord and Hop saw a vast expanse of broad, tangled grass that extended upward just above the heads of the Poochaun and his prisoners. There was a path leading through this thicket of head-high growth, and the cleric began to walk slowly along this track. The pair of humans followed, and were soon standing on a high bank that allowed them a view of the area below. There, half-hidden in the tall savannah, were weapons of gigantic proportions.
"A storm giant has been here?" Gord asked aloud, then cut himself off abruptly. Hop stood in shocked amazement too. The swords, daggers, and belts they saw were their own arms — grown to monstrous proportions!
"Why have you enlarged our gear?" Hop asked.
"Enlarged? Oh no, human, no such thing has been done. Quite the contrary — you and your companion have been made small to fit the accommodations of fair Avalondria." the cleric said matter-of-factly. "Now you see why you must accept the arms that we will supply to you for the trial by combat."
Gord didn't feel any different, but he was only a foot tall! No wonder the glowworms were monstrous, the tree's interior so vast. The young adventurer turned and looked at the growth behind. It appeared to be the most titanic ipt ever to grow on Oerth — the largest tree in the world! What startled him even more were the windows, walkways, oriels, pentlces, stairways, and turrets that were built on or hewn from trunks and limbs. "This cannot be the same ipt that stands in the middle of the glen!" he said in disbelief.
"The very same." Panloron said with dignity and pride.
"Impossible!" Hop retorted as he too surveyed the mountain-tall growth that blocked the sky above them from view. "We saw no such construction. Even at a distance in moonlight these works could not escape the eye."
"Of course they could, human. You are in a slightly altered place now, just as are all Poochauns when they are within the Realm of Avalondria. In your own world these will be seen by you as bumps, whorls and holes. Your vision will not see through to the true realm beyond."
"Let's go back and get the clothing and weapons promised to us," Gord interjected practically. He could see the citizens of this tree-realm peering down at them from windows and balconies, and many of these watchers were female. The young thief was growing tired of being on display.
Later, when night had fallen — the time interval seemed endless to the two captives — Hop and Gord mock-fought each other in order to accustom themselves to the long, slender swords, leaf-bladed daggers, and bucklers that the Poochaun guards had grudgingly supplied on Panloron's command. They had also been supplied with garments of Poochaun sort — hose, close-fitting doublet over blouse, silken sash, knee-high boots — and with martial equip-page. "What about long spears and bows?" Hop had asked one of the soldiers.
"In trial by combat you will use noble weapons." was the haughty repry.
After their rigorous practice session, Gord advanced the subject of exactly how to approach the coming contest "We are in a bad predicament, Hop. and in my opinion we will be in worse straits still if we should defeat and slay the champions their queen has appointed."
"Must we then allow these skinny spritekins to skewer us?" Hop retorted hotly.
"Of course not! But somehow we must win without killing or even seriously hurting them, and in a manner that does not humiliate either them or their monarch."
"Impossible! They are winged, too. Our only hope is to fight for our lives, and as fiercely as we can."
Minutes dragged by. They dozed, resumed their fencing, rested, ate a light meal of strange wafers, a milky liqueur, and other things also odd but nonetheless delicious. Finally Poochaun soldiers came to take them to the field of combat.
Moonlight and shadows made the place seem very eerie. Both Gord and Hop could see with new vision. Panloron explained that this was from the drink they had quaffed. The pale moonrays seemed as brilliant as the beams of the sun, shadows were deep purple swaths in which the glowing, golden forms of the Poochauns cavorted and flitted. If colors were distorted and different nothing else was right either. Being reduced to such a small size made adjustment difficult. Smooth ground became rough when one was shrunk to a mere twelve inches high. But as distracting as all of this was. it was also immaterial. They must battle the two champions and win. Whether they were slain in combat or merely defeated made no difference, for death was sure and certain either way.
"Hop," Gord said in the cant of thieves, "can you understand me?"
The mountebank looked surprised but nodded and replied in kind. "Yes, but speak slowly."
"Hold your man — Poochaun — off as long as possible, don’t try to wound or kill him. Understand?"
Hop looked doubtful but nodded assent again. "Until Sir Dragonfly strikes me," he said, "for at that I shall kill the popinjay without mercy."
"We have made a clear space for you humans to stand in, see?" one guard said as he pointed out an area where the Poochauns had been at work removing vegetation and smoothing the earth. "We are a very fair people, you know," he added seriously.
"We can't fly," Gord pointed out. "Will Prince Buckbee and his fellow champion be constrained to remain afoot?"
"Certainly not! To prevent the Poochaun to utilize his natural prowess is ignoble and villainous!"
"I thought as much," Gord said dryly.
The contest was heralded by tiny horns of silver — tiny in Gord's mind, at least, for in his present condition they appeared to be normal-sized trumps. A noble stood and proclaimed the titles of the queen, who Gord and Hop discovered was named Lifayvia. After receiving due homage, she proclaimed the event a Royal Trial by Combat, and again the noble spoke. After the charges against Gord and Hop were stated, the two Royal Poochaunan Champions strode forth to stand and bow before the queen. Their homage complete, the pair took wing in a dizzying display of aerobatics that made Gord's stomach knot. If they used aerial tactics, he and Hop would be dead in no time. Suddenly the two Poochauns swooped back to the ground, and the guards thrust Gord and Hop forward. The fight was on.
The young thief didn't intend to make this a long and noble duel filled with chivalrous acts. Poochaun-tan bards, if there were such beings, would sing of his glorious death if he tried to fight Prince Buck-bee in terms the spritekin expected. The sash at his waist had a barely detectable lump in it — his secret weapon. Gord had earlier found a fist-sized stone and tied it into the cloth. As soon as he and Hop had paid their homage to Queen Lifayvia and compliments to their sneering opponents, the young thief acted.
Prince Buckbee sprang into the air, drawing his sword as he did so. Gord didn't bother with sword, dagger, or eve
n the buckler strapped onto his back. Instead, he quickly undid his sash. He had folded it so that it made one turn around his waist. A quick tug, and he had about eight Poochaun-sized feet of silken sash whirling in his hand.
"What knavery this?" the prince cried, looping and darting to attack the man who spun a sash carelessly over his head.
"No knavery, Dear Buckbee, just human ingenuity!" The Poochaun ignored the retort, intent upon bringing the combat to a quick end by spearing his adversary in a dive-and-impale maneuver. The circling sash forced him to swoop so as to come in a beellne at head height to accomplish his tactic. As he did so, the young thief instantly tilted the plane of the spinning sash. The stone at its end didn't immediately strike the zooming Poochaun, but a portion of the sash that held it enwrapped his arm. The spin then brought the stone in contact with the underside of Prince Buckbee's jaw. He went out like a light. The force of his flying charge continued long enough for his sword to graze Gord's left side. Then the Poochaun thudded to the ground.
"Hang on, Hop!" Gord saw that the mountebank was lighting furiously with the spritekin called Sir Dragonfly. He had been hit at least twice by the Poochaun, but from the looks of it the wounds were no worse than the little cut Gord had suffered. This made no difference to Hop. He was determined to slay or be slain now!
"Foul, foul!" the herald shouted. "Single combat! Stop that human from assisting his co-felon!"
Ignoring these urgings and a threatening response from the soldiers around the field, Gord managed to get close to his friend. Ducking to avoid a slash from the airborne Poochaun, the young thief thrust the end of his twisted sash into Hop's left hand, shouting, "Use it like a flail! There's a rock in the end, and you can entangle—" Then he was grabbed by a pair of the Poochaun soldiers and carted away bodily.
"If you try to aid your fellow human again." they warned him sternly, "you will be brought down by archery, and the arrows used will be lethal!"
