by Gary Gygax
"What are you rummaging for?" asked Incosee, awe in his voice as he noticed a foot of Gord's arm buried within a pouch no more than six inches deep.
The young thief dug deeper still, saying, "Some small tool to confuse the enemy ... I hope!"
"Oh," said the Flan soldier noncommittally, still eyeing the pouch.
Gord ignored his stare and soon found the roll of (hick stuff he sought. Before drawing it carefully forth, he looped reins around cantle so as to have both hands free. Unrolling it cautiously, Gord peered at the writings that he discerned clearly despite the faint illumination.
The page was covered in magical ideograms, interspersed with certain arcane signs and sigils surrounding a cryptic diagram and runic grid of power. Gord breathed a great sigh of relief, for the thing contained neither trap nor curse. It was a recondite writing of great power! After puzzling over the page for several minutes, the young adventurer looked up with his face wreathed in a smile.
"This scroll I hold is a work of marvelous fortuity!" he cried to his comrades. "This holds the key to deal with that unnameable one - it is a banishment."
The others reined in, and Curley Greenleaf came near to Gord. "I am no dweomercrafter, but I will examine that parchment, if I may, Gord."
Gord agreed readily, handing the crinkly scroll to the half-elf. Greenleaf peered intently, saying, "Not so fast, my friends. I can make out but little of this stuff, but this I do know. The spell writ hereon is aimed at stuff of Evil, but is most puissant when used against those of Negative Plane power."
There was no sense disputing the words of the druid, for he knew the symbols of the nine alignments as surely as any cas-socked priest.
"Tell me how you came to possess this scroll," Gellor said urgently.
Gord complied, briefly relating a strange encounter in a strange place. "Then," the young thief said to his comrade, "we learned the extent of our folly, for many unexpected and unpleasant things befell us thereafter. Still," Gord said reflectively, "this may be reward and more for what was lost. . . ."
"Perhaps," the bard said slowly, "but be not over-quick to rely on it. You yourself, Gord, are worth more than even the greatest of spells when danger must be faced."
"The one we must oppose is a malign and powerful being, but he is not so all-powerful as you might attribute," avowed the druid a little peevishly.
"What is our situation now, damnit?" growled Incosee. "Are we stopping or riding? Talking? What?"
Gord grinned at the dark warrior, for his point was well taken.
"We are riding, Incosee," said the bard. "But we are better prepared now than before."
"Not a moment too soon, either," Greenleaf interjected. "Look!"
Ahead and just a little to the right, a strange, shimmering plane suddenly lit up the sky. A dark, bulky form struck the plane of luminousness and a soul-wrenching shriek followed. As the deep bellow reverberated, the plane of light fell away in coruscating shards that dimmed and went out before they touched the ground. Even as this occurred, a second and then a third of the planes appeared before the great blob of utter darkness.
"It is the great daemonkin and its master!" cried Gord as he kicked his horse into a run. "They have come for the souls of those in the grove ahead!"
The other three quickly followed, and in a minute all were streaming toward the stand of trees a few hundred yards distant. They were almost to the copse when the last of the planes of phosphorescent force broke, and a wave of terror struck them as a mighty breaker washes the shore.
Gord vaulted out of his saddle. The near-palpable fear that swirled around him had no effect upon his mind, but his horse was terrified and uncontrollable. Rather than try to fight the creature's panic and waste valuable seconds, the young thief abandoned the beast to its fate. He hit the ground running and in a dozen strides reached the grove.
The druid used his power to soothe and quiet his steed, and Gellor, likewise skilled in the arts of nature, used similar power to do the same for his horse. Both adventurers were as heedless as Gord was of the mindless panic radiating from the horror from the depths of Hades. The projected terror simply had no effect upon either Greenleaf or the bard - but not so Incosee.
First there was a moment of frozen struggle during which the Flan warrior locked his mind upon his mission and denied all fear. His courser was rigid beneath him, Incosee's legs holding its barrel in a viselike grip. Then the horse screamed, reared, and came down wide its legs madly pumping.
Perhaps it was his effort to keep his seat and control the animal, perhaps not. Whatever the cause, Incosee was suddenly as crazed with panic as the horse that bore him. Man and animal, both crazed and screaming, went into the night.
Just as he was about to plunge in among the trees, Gord heard voices. The steeds of four riders were moving away from the copse, the horses running in reckless abandon but under control of those who rode them. Gord shouted a curse of frustration and ran southwest after the horsemen. A groaning of awful aspect nearly deafened him, and he was almost knocked off his feet as the wind from the monstrous flying daemon buffeted the ground beneath. He smelled a terrible stench, felt an ache in every nerve in his body, and then the utter blackness was gone from above Gord's head.
Despite himself, the young adventurer looked up and saw the true forms of steed and master. Retching and spitting bile, Gord stumbled on. He could see the distant figures of dismounted men - one must be a gnome or halfling from its size, he knew - preparing to make a stand against the horror approaching them.
Hooves pounded behind him. "Now, Gord!" shouted Gellor as he and Greenleaf stopped their horses. "If you have ever read quickly and true, do so now. The scroll - use it!"
"I know not the names of daemon or rider!" Gord shouted in reply as he readied the parchment. "The master of the thing is Nerull himself," Gellor said as he dismounted, "and the daemon is called Putriptoq - true name or not!"
"Call upon any names your heart knows are inimical to those of Evil," Curley Greenleaf added desperately as he himself prepared to unleash his own spell powers. "Neither of us can aid you now," he said, and the druid turned to face the lightless mass that besmirched the ground but a hundred paces distant.
As his comrades began to work what spells they could to bring woe to such fell adversaries, Gord could not refrain from glancing quickly at the scene before him. His extraordinary new vision enabled him to see clearly, but he focused on the four men being held at bay, not upon the nauseating pair who attacked them. One of those he saw was a giant of a man hefting a huge axe. Gord nearly started and dropped the precious scroll. That was Chert! His mind screamed at him to run to stand and die fighting at his friend's side, but reason held Gord in check.
Rays and bolts of unnameable colors were playing upon the ghastly figure and its murderous mount, as quarrels and sling bullets flew at them. Gord heard the one called The Reaper give vent to peals of sepulchral laughter at these efforts, and the evil rider spoke in a hellish voice.
"Now I claim you all for my flock, nigglings," Nerull boomed as he flew from the huge, winged daemon-thing. "Your souls and the Second Key shall be my gifts to He Who Will Awaken!"
This Gord heard, but he was unmindful of the meaning. Neither did he think of the beast or of Nerull's scythe. Gord had begun to read the twisting and writhing lines inscribed on the sheet of ancient parchment.
If the rider was impervious to the attacks of the beleaguered party, not so the daemon Putriptoq. It was stung by the spells and missiles. It lunged its titanic bulk forward, furious at the affront and ravening to crush and tear and devour those who dared to hurt him so. This fury saved the four defenders, for the monster's rush prevented The Reaper from plying his weapon.
"Be still!" Nerull commanded the winged behemoth. The thing felt the searing pain of the scythe, though the contact was a mere touch. Cowed, Putriptoq drew back and huddled its bulk upon itself. Then Nerull stepped to the fore.
All the while, Gord had been reciting the n
ear unpronounceable words of the banishment spell. His eyes burned, and his tongue felt as if it were possessed by a serpent. Beads of sweat sprang from his forehead and ran into his eyes while his hands shook and water seemed to fill his knees. He invoked the names of the deities Celestian and Fharlanghn, and Rao from dimly remembered prayers of childhood, as the text demanded that beings of power be called upon. Gord tried to shout forth the spell, but his mouth was dry and his voice cracked, and the words seemed to be mere croakings and guttural, meaningless mumblings to his straining ears.
"This takes an eternity. You are too late!" one part of the young thief s mind babbled. Somehow he ignored the thought and read the scroll to its finish. The conclusion nearly gagged him, his throat was so raw, and the words brought agony to Gord's whole being.
"Ehlohum, XetorMudeelsa, Adonai . . . Rexfelis!" Gord shouted the conclusion, adding the name of the Cat Lord for good measure, for it seemed that one had certainly aided him in his quest.
A colorless sheet of nothingness descended before Gord's eyes. His mind closed upon itself and went blank.
A terrible wail spread outward from Nerull. The daemon beast took up the sound, and it became a groaning bellow that echoed and rebounded upon hill and plain, over meadow and marsh, piercing woodland and valley for a league - and was even faintly heard in Krebalsthorp a score of miles away. The earth was blasted from the spot as thunder boomed and lightning beat a frenzied tattoo roundabout, while tornadic winds howled and roared so that no vegetation within a mile stood whole and green when their work was finished. Rocks split and smoke shot from great fissures. Flames sprang from the very air to whirl and dance and consume, but even these ravening tongues were whipped and shredded to nothingness by the fury of the whirlwinds. There was a clap of sound as if iron had been slammed upon iron by two angry giants...
...And then, there was nothing save the scoured, ruined land.
Chapter 17
The lord of pain danced in glee through the great halls of his palace in Dorakaa. Those who served Iuz hid from his sight, lest he suddenly change his mood and punish those who viewed his gloating cavort. Iuz laughed and jeered and pranced, knowing the fear these actions evoked in his minions, and the feeling doubled his joy.
"Fonkin, frightface, foul boy! You are naught but My own root!" he called, mimicking children's rhymes as he pranced in step to his own ditty. After a time, though, Iuz tired of his vaunting. It was gladsome to his vile heart, but enough! There was much yet to do.
Iuz sent forth a thought: "Attend Me instantly!" Then he sprawled his corpulent bulk upon his chair of bones and skulls and awaited the coming of those who served him.
"Lord of Ancient Evil, your servants attend their Master," said a woman of indeterminate years who wore vestments of rust red trimmed in black. In her hand was an ebon staff bound with silver and topped with a silver-set skull, an object indicating her status as High Priestess.
Six heads bowed before him. "You are the Greater Six, and as My right hand, you will be the first to know of My coming triumph," Iuz said in a gloating tone. As he spoke, the half-dozen clerics lifted their bowed heads and stood quietly with rapt attention. They knew the cambion was about to relate something of unusual importance, for his antics were known throughout the nightmarish palace.
"My plan is nearing fruition," Iuz boomed. "Far to the south the weaklings have finally gotten enough courage to band together. They are going to battle with a host of the Stinking Brotherhood" (of course Iuz referred to the scarlet-clad servants of regimented Hell, his listeners knew) "and the two will neutralize each other." There was a soft murmur of pleasure from the listeners, for they anticipated ill for the Kingdom of Furyondy and the Archclericy of Veluna - two states who constantly sought the downfall of their master, and of themselves as well.
"Happy as that news is," Iuz purred, scratching his great belly and ignoring their minor interruption of his speaking, " I have even better word!" At this the six froze into silence and attention once again.
"Molag is in confusion! Three of the Hierarchs are missing, My spies tell Me, and there are reports of some terrible loss somewhere . . . but even this is not the best news!"
"May the plans of our Ancient Master always prevail," the entourage intoned in unison.
Beaming with malign pleasure, the great cambion raised his voice to a triumphant basso that filled the ghastly throne room. "My tools now come near. With them they bear the Second Key, that portion of the Artifact of All Evil most dear to the Dunglump Who Must Forever Sleep. Once that portion is safe in My hands, never will I allow it from My grasp. It will make Iuz more powerful. It will bend the Abyss to My will, for as long as the artifact remains separate, never will the others be able to force their wretched little plans upon Me! Upon the Abyss! Upon the only True Evil!"
"Our Lord of All Evil speaks. We hear and accept," the six said in ritual response to the utterances of the cambion.
"Listen now, for I have instructions for each of you." So saying, Iuz rapped a brazen tube beside his throne, and the horny knuckles of the demonling caused the cylinder to shudder with a mournful bell tone.
A pair of dretch swung the chamber doors apart, and a huge nabassu, wings flared, strode three paces into the room. The demon bent its knee and asked in a rasping boom, "Your wish, Eldritch Lord?"
"Fetch the ambassador of the drow here at once," Iuz said, The man-eating demon bowed, backed from the throne room, and the bronze valves were shut again by the dretch servants. Iuz smiled at his trusted lieutenants, his mouth full of pointed teeth seeming to split his face in half as he did so, then continued his instructions.
"Mole, you are assigned to work with Olive of my Lesser Six. You are to take a force of buheer and nonuz. You will command them, My regiment of Black Death, and a company of drow. You are to invade the lands of the Hierarchs, raise the wild Uroz and free reavers there, and march on Molag! I want My city back!"
A short, long-nosed mage stepped forward a pace, bowed, and replied, "I hear and obey, Ancient Lord." As he said this a pretty woman wearing the garments of a cleric of Iuz came from a curtained alcove nearby and stood one pace behind Mole, likewise making obeisance.
"Good," the cambion said as he motioned for a tall old crone, wearing a black robe covered with magical sigils, to join Mole and Olive. "Your second will be Althea, and she shall have the illusion-worker called Jumper at her beck as well. General Sindol knows My plan, and he will inform you of it. Go at once! You must begin your march immediately - do not fail!"
As the four were departing, Iuz pointed to yet another of his Greater Six. "Kermin-Mind-Bender!" A turbaned Bakluni bowed deeply. "Take the wizard, Null, and go amongst the rulers of the Bandit Kingdoms. Give them heart. Tell them I, Iuz, come to their aid. Renegade nomads and a host of others are ripe for war. Pass through the Fellreev Forest on your way. Bring them south with you. Slay the servants of the Horns. Make certain that the petty lords understand and invade the enemy after they are driven out."
"Yes, Ancient One. We will cross the Ritensa and harry the enemy all the way to Molag, or I am nothing," said the swarthy illusionist with hard arrogance in his voice.
"Exactly," said the green-eyed creature who sat on the throne above him. "Else your skull and bones will make a footstool here!" Null, a nondescript man, had joined Kermin during the course of the instruction from Iuz. Both now backed from the chamber and were gone. Half of the Greater Six remained, and Iuz now addressed them, calling in the remaining Lessers as he did so.
"Halga, My Grand Priestess, and Vayne, too, for your magic, you two shall remain here for staff duty. Radduj, Beesting - a fine pair to venture into the upper reaches of the Vesve. There you will whip the sniveling Celbits and Jebli into a frenzy of hate against men and elves. Make the forest and the northern portion of the Valley of Highfolk a charnel house. You will have assistance."
"As you command, Eldritch Lord," the two intoned in reply, then departed.
"Ormuz, arch-mage - with Patc
h, My High Priest, you will go to the southern portion of the Vesve and likewise incite the bands there to murder and pillage. You will have companies of My Woodsrunners and Eiger Guards. This is a most crucial part of My plan, so you two will remain until all others have gone. Then will I give you final instructions. . . ."
The huge bronze doors to the throne room were suddenly opened by the miserable slave demons, the dretch, to allow the grand entrance of Eclavdra. In addition to her entourage of dark elves, the drow noblewoman was flanked by a pair of succubi and a cadaverous cleric arrayed in the full panoply of a priest of Graz'zt. Eclavdra strode into the chamber, bowed slightly, and allowed a tiny smile to cross her lips as she addressed Iuz.
"My Lord has requested my attendance?"
Iuz was torn between laughter and fury. His demon sire had learned of Eclavdra's humiliation at the cambion's hands and had sent her guards. The strikingly lovely and totally evil drow had accepted these reinforcements as a confirmation of her own status, and again she was speaking to Iuz as an equal. What had Graz'zt promised her? Certainly queenship of all the dark elvenfolk - who could guess what else? Well, no matter. . . .
"Requested? Well, I will let that pass, for there is much cause for magnanimity," said Iuz with a mocking tone. "My plans go ahead as expected. The Hierarchs are in confusion. The fraternity of devils' curs is beset with difficulties. I send forth My hosts on all fronts, and ... it ... comes near!"
A brief look of confusion passed over the features of the beautiful drow. "All fronts, Lord Iuz?" Eclavdra asked.
"Just so. My magus, Mole, will need the assistance of your best company of fighters, dear Eclavdra, during his ... foray . . . into the lands to the southeast." Iuz paused and gave the drow noblewoman a meaningful glance. Then he added, "You and the remainder of your force here should most certainly accompany the expedition I am sending into the Vesve to bring retribution to the lowly elves and their ilk who dare to resist My will there."
