by Gary Gygax
Rain continued for the next two days. Unlike the showers they had experienced when departing Littleberg, this precipitation came in torrential bursts, making all miserable and the track a quagmire. Nevertheless they pressed onward, soaking, muddy, and exhausted. Finally the clouds broke into ragged tatters and a pale sun shone through.
"This is better," Biff observed, basking in the warmth of the sunlight, "but how much longer do we go on? Aside from wild creatures, we have seen nothing living since we took this accursed path!"
Melf smiled at the lazy little thief, for he knew full well how Biff preferred to spend his time. "Excellent, isn't it? No sightings means that we are undoubtedly ahead of those we seek. The foul conditions we have experienced will certainly have affected their train worse than it did us. When we come to a likely spot, we will establish an ambuscade and fall upon them when they come up!"
"Four ambush more than a score?" Chert said with incredulity.
Lizard laughed. "But think of how puissant a quartet we are!"
Biff looked nervous, and both mercenaries laughed at his expression. They had seen him practice his craft, including sword play and dagger throwing. Chert and Lizard knew that the halfling, despite his size and appearance, was a foe to be reckoned with.
"Less chatter, there," Melf said sourly. "We must be positive and decisive."
"I am positively ready for close combat," Chert exclaimed with a bellow that rang with assurance. "Cold steel is preferable to saddle sores and horse dung!"
Melf turned haughtily and rode away, leaving his companions to follow. "He doesn't always take such japes well," Biff told the others in a confidential tone. "But he is the most loyal and capable master a poor halfling such as I could ask." The sincerity of the statement was sufficient to stiffen both men, and they whistled and joked as they rode for the next few days, despite the hardships of the inhospitable countryside.
Chapter 13
"There is the Veng at last!" exclaimed Biff.
"And the Boulderford, which leads to Molag," added Lizard.
"We are ahead of those we seek, for nobody has come this way for days," Chert said as he studied the track.
"What twinkles so there, across the river?” asked Melf as he peered at the bluffs on the far side of the waterway that marked the beginning of the Horned Society, the lands of the dreaded Hierarchs and their unwholesome subjects. "Quick! Our horses to the hollow there," he commanded, pointing to a small dell to the left. "Stay with them while I scout ahead."
The others made no comment or objection, for they knew that the elven swordsman was also a spell-worker of considerable power. Melf had demonstrated his ability to become invisible and travel through the air like an arrow, and this is what he would certainly do now. The glittering on the far bank of the Veng was a body of troops, and an unseen, flying scout was a safe and sure way to determine who these soldiers were. Melf disappeared from view, moving toward the river. Chert, Biff, and Lizard waited patiently, soothing the eight horses to make sure the animals made no betraying sounds.
In only a few minutes Melf was back. "Be lively now!" he cried to his comrades. "Get the horses into that stand of scrub as quickly as you can, and hide yourselves too!"
"Does the enemy approach?" queried Lizard as he pulled a trio of mounts toward the thicket of box elders and tall shrubs.
"Nay, but they have an advance of great ravens which will most certainly overfly this very place soon, and I want no trace of us seen by such creatures," replied Melf as he urged his horses into the concealing foliage.
Biff appeared beside them suddenly, making the horses jerk back in fright. "Who sends such spies as carrion crows, Lord Melf?"
"Blast you and your creeping around in the bushes!" the elf replied hotly as he fought to quiet his courser. "Cease such foolery henceforth!"
"No creeping is needed," Biff said indignantly. "As halfling and thief, I move as naturally in such stuff as this as that giant yokel strides over hills and dingles." He grinned at Chert as he spoke this last, causing the barbarian to glower back with a look that promised terrible retribution if he ever grasped the small demi-human in his huge hands.
"The small one's query is apt," Lizard interjected laconically. "At whose behest come the ravens?"
Melf agreed, and as the four hid themselves amid the greenery, he related what he had seen.
"After becoming invisible," he began, "I winged upward to gain a bird's-eye view of the terrain on the northern verge of the valley. Flying across the Veng, then, I noted a large force of soldiers. Their advance is a body of the most benighted humans I have seen in many years - mercenary brigands, unless I miss my mark. Behind comes a battalion of hobgoblins led by a grim-garbed and horn-helmed rider attended by several underclerics. The chief is certainly one of the Hierarchs.
"This great troop was in the process of encamping, and as their scouts returned to the camp, a large flock of ravens, huge ones too, was loosed. I knew full well that my presence would be detected by the leader if I came closer, and when the birds were sent forth it was time for me to take my leave, for those malign croakers of evil might well sense my whereabouts also."
"Are we safe here?" asked Biff uneasily. "Probably, for the light evens toward dusk as we speak," the elf replied. "Still, as soon as possible we will return along our route a mile or two. Such distance will give us the security we need. It seems that the force is placed so as to await the arrival of someone, but perhaps they intend to cross the river and invade. We will keep sharp lookout tonight."
Chert was dissatisfied. "What of the caravan of bandits we lie in wait for? This regiment of troops surely spoils our plans."
"As long as they remain on the far side of the Veng, I intend to go ahead with the ambush," Melf said with determination. "We will hit these reavers, slay them, and gain our prize before the Hierarch and his foul servitors can react."
"What then?" Lizard asked slowly.
"We ride as if pursued by night fiends!" was the elfs answer.
Chuckling at this candor, all four settled down to await full darkness. When the sky showed an array of twinkling stars, they led their steeds back toward the south, avoiding the trail. After camping in a sheltered ravine, they determined sentry duty and settled down for an uneasy sleep. In the morning Biff related an encounter with a giant owl who spoke to him of the force on the opposite shore. The owl had come because of the ravens, and it was moving as far from the area as it could because of these ebon-feathered marauders. The owl stated that it thought the encampment looked permanent, because the hobgoblins had been cleaning out the limestone caves along the bluff during hours of darkness.
"That confirms my thinking," Melf told the others. "So we set our trap as planned."
The track leading to Boulderford ran across the relatively open prairie, wound through the low hills, and then dropped into the Veng River valley where the forces of nature had created a natural ramp along the steep bluffs that marked the basin of the watercourse. Some three miles from these bluffs, at a place where the worn trail bent sharply right, they placed themselves in wait. On the left of the road, near the turn, Melf readied his magic as the huge barbarian honed his enchanted battle-axe, Brool. The barbarian hummed softly to the weapon, feeling most comfortable in the rocky little hummocks where they concealed themselves. Across the way Biff and Lizard waited. The halfling had his sling ready, and beside him rested a dozen leaden bullets, each missile engraved with strange runes and carrying a special dweomer of deadly sort. He and Lizard had arranged a contest between themselves, for the crossbowman likewise had stubby quarrels painted with mystic sigils and enchanted to fell purposes. The one who slew fewer of the enemy with his missiles must give over to the other a tithe of his battlefield loot.
"What if the dust that cloud-bumping clod detected marks some procession other than that we seek?" Biff asked.
"Unless our leader says otherwise, we strike," Lizard said as he rearranged his bolts once again. "No weal comes from any w
ho would have intercourse with the Hierarchs in any case, so we will discommode no one of good by such action. Do you think Melf will allow these folk to pass unmolested if they appear to be ordinary riffraff come to trade with the Horned scum?"
"Most probably," the halfling mused. "He is bent only on laying low the raiders who pillaged Celene and then crossed the Kron Hills on their trek northward. We pursued them long ere we encountered you and Chert, you know, and that band is my master's only target. He will withhold his spells if the caravan is not the enemy he seeks."
Lizard shook his head sadly. "Too bad. Whoever comes is sure to be laden with valuables."
Laughing softly at the mercenary's regretful response, Biff too began realigning and readying his bullets and weapons. An hour later the first outriders of the approaching caravan came into view. There were about a dozen men, lightly armored, riding swift steeds. They approached in an open formation, fanned out so as to observe all the ground ahead and to both sides of the track. The horses had been hidden well, however, and the advance guards failed to detect the presence of the four hidden adventurers lying in wait amid the rocks and shrubs a hundred paces from the route. At the sharp bend, one of the advance guards rode back to the main body while the others continued slowly toward the river.
The main body came about a half-mile behind the advance. It consisted of several carts with huge wheels. These vehicles, as well as the score of mules that followed them, were laden with goods. About a dozen teamsters and animal handlers were with diem. A like number of armed raiders flanked the caravan. Before this procession was a huge, houda-equipped horse and three warhorses ridden by steel-encased warriors. Behind came a straggle of footmen herding a line of bearers. The latter appeared to be females, evidently taken for sale into slavery in the lands of the Horned Society of the Hierarchs. This could only be the band that Melf sought.
"There!" Biff called softly to his companion. "See the jaundiced vapors which have sprung up and roll toward the track? Master Melf casts his dweomer even now!"
Lizard peered at the growing mass of foglike vapor that was spreading outward and downward toward the approaching train. "They see the stuff," he replied excitedly to the halfling.
The outriders on the caravan's left were shouting. The train lurched ahead more rapidly in a confusion of cries and cracking whips. Too late. The cloud surged upon the track like an avalanche, engulfing animals and men in its roiling vapors. When it touched them, horses and mules kicked, bucked, and then fell. Men took a few steps and then likewise died. The cloud of poisonous vapors covered the trail from hillside to hillside and remained. The path was closed, but the head and tail of the caravan were untouched.
Lizard aimed carefully and released the first of his quarrels. An instant later, one of the guards at the head of the column of prisoners dropped in his tracks. "One!" shouted the cross-bowman triumphantly as he placed another quarrel in his arbalest and cocked it in one smooth motion.
The halfling's sling made a brief whirring sound, and another of the guards fell. "And one," Biff retorted.
As they began this assault with their missiles, the scene was changing quickly. At the rear of the caravan, those brigands not overcome by the poisonous cloud were quick to understand their peril and react. Several of the outriders joined these men, and the group turned the prisoners and retreated down the trail at a trot. Biff and Lizard had managed to fell two each and wound another two before the remainder were out of range. What was transpiring in the center of the column, however, was what drew their attention. Two armed figures appeared out of the cloud of poisonous vapors. These men were coming directly toward their position, for they had seen the pair at their contest.
Biff spun his sling and released the leaden bullet. "Tough foemen to survive those killing fumes!" he grunted to Lizard as the missile he had slung flew in the direction of one of the armored brigands coming toward their position.
"Quick too," Lizard said softly as the man used shield and movement to deflect the sling bullet. "Not over-quick, though!" he exclaimed as his quarrel buzzed and cut a bloody path across the exposed leg of the same brigand.
Neither said anything further. The two attackers were almost upon them, so they saved their breath. One more missile from Biffs sling, another bolt from Lizard's arbalest, and then halfling and human were grabbing dagger and sword to engage in close combat with the screaming brigands.
Events at the head of the caravan were going awry also. The leader's canopied mount, and the trio of guards as well, were clear of the rolling fog before it settled upon the path. When the cloud was seen, and its effects halted the train of brigands, the four at the van spurred their horses ahead, aiming at escape.
"The wind be damned!" Melf had cursed as the situation became clear. The breeze, gentle as it was, had caused his en-spelled cloud to strike behind the point he had intended. "Quick, Chert, to the enemy!" Without further word, wizard had gestured furiously, and a streak of burning fire raced from his finger. The flame inscribed a line that touched the fleeing brigands and then blossomed into a ball of roaring fire with a loud whoosh and a bang.
In an instant the burning globe consumed itself and was gone. Chert, loping down the hillside toward the road, hesitated for a split second when he observed the place where charred horses and dead men should have been. Instead there was a blackened circle and four galloping riders half a bowshot distant from the place.
"What happened, Melf?" Chert cried over his shoulder. Although there was no hope of him catching the fugitives now, the barbarian resumed his running anyway, calling out, "If you can stop them, I can slay the lot!"
Melf made no reply, for he was too busy. In a moment he was speeding through the sky, angling his course so that it intersected the line of the rough roadway as it twisted toward the ramplike descent from bluff top to river valley. As he went, the elven fighter-mage saw that the outriders were coming back to join the leader, having been attracted by the explosion of the fireball. On the opposite side of the Veng there was a black smudge in the air - the great ravens were beating upward and gathering in a flock. This was bad news! Having gained considerable ground on the escaping brigands, Melf shot downward, skidded to a halt on a grassy knoll, and began instantly to work another spell.
"You use illusions, do you?" Melf murmured under his breath as the results of his dweomercrafting were completed. "Then let's see how well you avoid the 'Tentacles!' "
Sooty black growths seemed to spring suddenly from the path in front of the four horsed brigands. The tentacles were so dark as to appear as nothingness, for they absorbed all light. The thick, ropelike strands writhed and twisted, lashing around in a hideous manner. Then, as if they were guided by some unseen eye, each of the ebon-hued protrusions grasped and entwined itself around a horse. One of the armored riders lost his seat when his mount was so seized, as the destrier lost its footing and crashed to the ground. This unfortunate brigand was immediately enwrapped in the coils of two of the black tentacles, members that were not already crushing mounts.
The other three riders were more fortunate - but not so their horses. Over a dozen of the rubbery arms had shot magically upward from Melf s enchantment, and at least a pair of the tentacles now held each animal. The two armored guards who were still in their saddles quit hacking at the snaky growths, leaped from their seats, and cut away at the tentacles holding the houda-bearing destrier.
All this occurred in but a trickle of time, a few minutes. Melf scarcely noted the activity, for he had other matters to deal with while the tentacles were seizing his quarry. The vanguard was nearly in a position to assist their leader, and it was time to deal with this threat. A sheet of flame shot up between outriders and the houda-bearing horse of the brigand leader, and several of the newcomers were consumed in the leaping tongues of fire, unable to save themselves by swerving or reining up short of the magical conflagration.
"Now for the rest!" Melf shouted aloud, running so as to place himself in position to cast
his next spell. The horsemen milled in a knot before the wall of fire, and suddenly one of their number spotted the running elf. "That's grand," Melf grunted as he came to a sudden halt and began conjuring rapidly with odd, flashing gestures. His voice rose into a keening, whistling chant. Arrows thunked into the ground around him, and one glanced off his metal-shod leg, but he ignored them all.
"By a stroke of luck, I've ended your resistance," Melf said sardonically as he watched what occurred next. The horsemen had been galloping toward him in a straggle, and his answer had been a terrible bolt of lightning. The electricity was of violet blue, and it struck and leaped, arced and cracked from man to beast in a sizzling chain of death. When its full course had been run, nothing remained alive. The air was full of the smell of ozone and charred flesh. Despite himself, Melf felt sick. "Why must such be?" he asked the playful breezes softly. Then he returned to his duty.
Chert was upon the scene, avoiding the tentacles that still writhed, seeking someone or something to grasp. "Penwolf!" the barbarian screamed, the battlecry bringing the two mailed fighters around and on guard against him. The great battle-axe, Brool, buzzed a deathsong as the massive arms of the giant hillman brought the blade around in a glittering arc of steel. The war axe cleaved mesh and steel plate. Gurgling, one of the foemen pitched forward, a mortal wound gaping where the axe had nearly cut him in twain at the waist. His comrade, however, was upon Chert with a howl, delivering a stroke with his broadsword that left a red furrow across the barbarian's right arm. The two opponents settled down to a duel, axe versus broadsword, to the death.
