Artifact of Evil

by Gary Gygax

  "You grow old and soft," Gellor said with a chuckle as he noted the tears in the druid's eyes. "This is not a permanent thing, merely an answer to a call of duty. All soldiers must do thus."

  Gord found Melf standing beside him, hand extended. The halfling was there likewise. "I thank you, as does Biff, for our lives," he said, gripping the young thief hand. "Here is a token of my everlasting esteem, a small scroll of spells to replace the one you used. May you use them to their direct purpose!"

  Everyone laughed at that, and, tension broken, the six said their final goodbyes and it was done. Melf, Greenleaf, and the halfling went off to the gray elfs chamber. They would leave from there, unseen. The three remaining men decided to move about the place and make themselves evident, attracting attention just in case.

  They toured the huge mansion and strolled the gardens and parks in and around the place for the next two hours. All was quiet, and nothing untoward occurred. They gave wide berth to the numerous great cats, which were everywhere. Here a leopard lay on a tree limb, there a pair of cheetahs seemed to be racing for sheer sport. Lions, panthers, tigers, jaguars, pumas, smilodons with their sabre-teeth, and all the sorts of smaller felines as well, from bobcats to jaguarundi to domestic varieties. None so much as sniffed at them. It was as if the men were invisible.

  "Come, Gord! Your friends too!" Tirrip called as they passed a green. She was with a handful of men and women - males and females, actually - who all appeared to be her brothers or sisters. "We are practicing our skills with human weapons and having all sorts of sport," the tiger-were called to them. "Come join us!"

  The three men strolled over, and the others of Tirrip's kind greeted them in cool but polite fashion. There were two males and four other females all clad, as Tirrip was, in belted tunics of thick cotton. After introductions, the others returned to their contests - fencing, wrestling, jumping, and whatever else seemed to please them. One large male had defeated all his fellows at wrestling. Chert could not resist.

  "I will try my skill against you," he said, stepping into the area of flattened grass and removing his jack and blouse as he did so. The tiger-were male was nearly as tall as the giant barbarian, and his whole body was a mass of corded, rippling muscles.

  "Ha!" the fellow laughed, dropping into a crouch. "This will be a good lesson for you," he added - and then he sprang.

  All the rest watched with fascination. Fast as the tiger-in-man-form was, Chert was ready. The huge hillman caught the tiger-were in a hold, heaved, and the surprised creature sailed through the air. Chert spun to observe his opponent's fall, but there was no thud and whoosh of breath from the force of the throw. The fellow landed on his feet, snarling!

  "Come on, Raug! Show him!" shouted one of the females in totally human fashion. The tiger-were needed no encouragement, however, for he was now circling and ready to spring again.

  The contest went on for some time without either combatant able to gain an advantage. Both Chert and Raug seemed to grow more angry and determined to break the impasse. From springing and circling the two went to grips, and after much twisting, breaking of holds, and straining, the massive barbarian finally managed to get his opponent in a vise from which Raug could not escape, nor break in any fashion. "Yield!" Chert demanded, applying leverage and squeezing with all his force.

  "Beware, Chert!" Gord called suddenly. "He takes tiger form!"

  Chert instantly loosed his hold and was on his feet, reaching for a nonexistent weapon - the axe, Brool, which was usually at his broad leathern girdle. Meanwhile, the enraged Raug was completing his transformation. From a two-hundred-fifty-pound man he had changed to a tiger of twice that weight, and there was murder in the great cat's baleful eyes. The other tiger-weres were hissing - whether in encouragement or some other emotion, Gord knew not. Without hesitation, the young thief snatched up Chert's mighty axe and sent it spinning toward his friend in one smooth motion.

  "Chert!"

  The barbarian caught the weapon without taking his eyes off the tiger, standing poised to bring the great blade arcing to meet any attack. Neither antagonist moved. Suddenly, Tirrip was between them.

  "Stop this! Slaughter is not permitted by our Master - you know that, Raug. Shame! And you!" she spat at Chert. "As a guest, how dare you bare a weapon in such manner!"

  Raug was growling curses but returning to man form. The barbarian was sheepishly lowering his weapon.

  "Stupid cubs! Little boys! That's what you are," the angry female said, looking disdainfully from one to the other. "You, Raug, were arrogant and couldn't accept an honest defeat at the hands of a mere human, so you resorted to foul play."

  Raug, now again appearing as a man, flushed and looked away, but there was no escape, for the others were still hissing at him, and the sound was clearly one of disapproval. Raug slunk out of the ring. Tirrip turned to Chert again.

  "Would you kill another over a wrestling match? All were on your side, and simply stepping back would have sufficed to end the confrontation. No! You had to show your manliness and bravery, didn't you? Well, think on the result had you used that weapon - and be glad I stopped your stupidity."

  Now it was Chert's turn to look elsewhere. He shuffled from the beaten circle and tossed Brool casually to rest on the grass again, pretending nothing had happened. "You two," Tirrip said flatly, "will shake hands and apologize to each other. You are going to behave properly and not spoil things for the rest of us. Do it now!"

  Slowly the two brawny males approached. Then, grinning, they shook hands and began apologizing to each other, sharing the comradeship of males who had been scolded and bullied by a female, a feeling that cut across species to unite them, and the group relaxed and returned to easy mingling. In fact, the whole affair brought them together in better understanding, and soon the three humans and seven tiger-weres were engaged in all manner of tests to see who could out-excel the other.

  After winning at every contest save racing, Gord began to be ostracized by the tigerfolk, and even his friends watched most strangely as he performed. He beat all at swordplay, moving with a speed none of the others could duplicate. He jumped higher and farther than all the others. Tirrip barely outdistanced him running. None could get a grip on him in wrestling. Although he could not throw Raug, Chert, or the other male, Yeeor, he managed to defeat them in wrestling through agility and what seemed like trickery to his opponents. Gellor, who had not engaged in the various trials, spoke up.

  "It is time to see if you can best me, Gord. The others are not really skilled swordsmen - Chert's weapon is the axe. Will you use long or short blade?"

  Grinning and feeling confident, Gord eyed the practice swords that were displayed near his comrade. He selected a small blade not too dissimilar from his own shortsword, hefted it, found its balance satisfactory, and stood on guard. "Ready," he said, his eyes locked on Gellor.

  "And I," replied the bard, slowly bringing a longsword up.

  A rapid exchange of attacks took place. The feints and parries amazed the onlookers, for such swordplay was rare. The typical mode was to slash, chop, and cut with only an occasional and often fortuitous thrust or parry. Gellor had the longer blade, and he was very fast and clever. Gord's shortsword was quicker in response, however, held as it was by the young thief. In addition, Gord was so agile and fast on his feet that there was much fencing before either opponent managed to touch the other The match would go to whoever managed to hit the other five times. Gellor finally won with a score of five to four.

  "That was well done," said Gord as he clapped his comrade on the back. His breathing was easy, and only a light sheen of perspiration showed that the young adventurer had been exerting himself.

  Gellor drew a deep breath. "For one supposedly skilled in arts other than weapon play, you show remarkable ability. You seem far better than the last time I saw you ply your blade," the bard said almost ruefully as he mopped sweat from his brow with a linen square.

  "You'd have slain me easily enough were
the contest actual," Gord replied, passing the whole matter off. "Let's wash the grime from these trials from ourselves and find something to eat. I'm famished!"

  That suggestion met with general approval, and everyone went off to refresh themselves. Gord, Chert, and Gellor found their clothing clean and ready for wear, it having been seen to by the servants while they had been at sport. They had a surprisingly fine meal in a small, flower-filled atrium. Chert managed to clear every dish of its contents before finally admitting surfeit. Eventually each went off to his own apartment to doze.

  "Up, lazybones!" It was Tirrip, looking lovely in a flowering gown of deep green piqued out with golden piping. "There is a sing about to be held, and you must come."

  Gord followed and was soon in a high-raftered hall that was filled with felines. Tirrip's friends were there in human form, and there were a number of other people. The young thief wasn't certain about the true form of any of them, but they seemed friendly enough when he was introduced - Gellor and Chert were there ahead of him and already in conversation - Chert with his new comrade Raug and a pair of women unknown to Gord, while Gellor spoke with several others including a white-haired man with pale skin and colorless eyes.

  "...Lord Lowen the seneschal; Lowen, this is Master Gord," Tirrip concluded the introduction.

  "My pleasure, Gord, and do dispense with the formalities; call me Lowen, please." When the young thief inclined his head in acknowledgement, the seneschal went on. "Your associate here, Gellor, has told me a little of your adventures and how you came here, and I am eager to hear more. Our liege was in too big a hurry to be elsewhere to give me much information about the unexpected arrival of guests such as yourselves."

  Gord gave a brief and lucid account of their adventure, omitting all details that pertained to the Second Key of the Artifact of All Evil. He was interrupted often, though, by the quick-witted seneschal, who asked pointed questions required to explain some detail or other. Gellor helped him to manage the virtual interrogation, disguised as it was by polite conversational tone. Lowen seemed altogether too sharp not to detect the gaps in the whole, but he did not ask direct questions about the reason for the party to be where they were, seeming to accept the vague references to political and military matters as sufficient.

  " Now that is a lovely ring!" Lowen exclaimed as Gord was describing an encounter with gestures.

  "What? Oh, this chrysoberyl? It is nothing," Gord said with seeming modesty as he lowered his left arm to remove the ring from sight.

  "Nothing? It is hardly a trantle!" the seneschal said. "A cat's-eye stone is most prized here, of course," he laughed. "That one has an aura of power about it which is unmistakable to such as myself. . . . May I ask how you came by it?"

  There was no polite way to avoid this direct inquiry, so Gord simply told Lowen the truth; he'd taken it from a dead thief when he was but a lad. He also added that he was not aware of any special dweomer borne by the ring. The seneschal seemed satisfied, and the matter was dropped. Just then the sing began.

  What followed seemed to Gord to be the worst attempt at music he had ever heard. There was endless screeching and yowling, accompanied by basso growls and falsetto howls. It was, in fact, a massed caterwauling performed by feline and were-feline throats from housecat to tiger-were. The cathedral-ceilinged hall was filled with creatures who seemed to find this wonderful, but the three humans came near to clapping their hands over their ears and fleeing. After a time, though, the general chorus broke up, groups going here and there to continue the festivity in discrete company, more or less.

  "Let's walk in the garden," Tirrip suggested.

  Gord found that a fine idea, despite the occasional clumps of yowling "singers" that were there. Eventually even these serenades were ceased, and the remainder of the night was pleasant indeed.

  Chapter 19

  Three days later their host returned from whatever business he had been about. The Catlord said nothing about his affairs, and the three men who were his guests dared not make impolite inquiry. They had been well cared for and comfortable. The enforced inactivity galled them, however, and all were itching to be back on the trail of the artifact they sought so desperately. Gellor broached the matter of their return, and the Master Cat said that the matter would be accomplished to their satisfaction in due course.

  "Prepare your gear," he told them, "and be ready for departure soon. Please be so kind as to see to Gord's things too, for I would speak to him for a bit before you take your leave."

  Puzzled, Gord watched Chert and the one-eyed bard depart for their quarters. What could the Catlord wish to talk to him about? Granted, they had met once before, but that matter had been satisfactorily settled to both his and Gord's evident benefit. This matter was of another sort, and only the Master Cat knew, but Gord would soon learn of it, he reflected.

  "Your thoughts are plain, Gord." The comment startled the young adventurer from his pondering, but the dark-haired man spoke on, ignoring this. "Don't be surprised at such stuff as that. You wonder what I am at, and I'll be blunt and plain. Your mission is known to me, and I approve. No active part will I take, but I will give you some information that may assist you in your coming adventures."

  "You are aware of the Second Key?"

  "Yes, as well as the First and the Third - and what they will do if ever joined," the Catlord said somberly. "It is now time for me to tell you about that ring you have worn for some years. You asked once, and I spoke not, for it is one that I myself made long ago. There are eight others like it, but that is something altogether different. Are you now aware of any of its benefits?"

  Gord nodded slowly. "I think it enabled me to see clearly through intervening clouds, with vision unnaturally sharp and close . . . but that is all."

  "The dweomer of the ring includes such vision, and the seeing of light not normal for the human eye as well. Even the sharpest-eyed cat sees not as clearly as you when you employ the power of that ring. That is but a minor benison which it conveys. It has a principal power. It saves your life, but only if you are attuned to it. You are, somehow, and this is most surprising to me. It was not meant for humans."

  "Not meant for humans?" Gord repeated stupidly, unable to comprehend this.

  "Nevertheless, it worked. That, Gord, is how you managed to twist that banishment spell as you did. The casting would never have affected one so powerful and well-shielded as The Reaper when he ventures upon the Prime Material Plane. The ring expended a portion of its dweomer and brought you and your friends here. Now there are eight usages remaining, for all know a cat has nine lives."

  At that Gord had to grin. The Catlord was likewise smiling. "It will save me eight more times?"

  "That it will . . . probably. There are always situations in which its dweomer can be negated, so do not become overconfident," the Catlord warned.

  "That I will remember," said Gord with feeling.

  "Do. The ring has certain other powers you should be aware of, for they do not operate properly without knowledge - sometimes only with concentration, as with the vision power. Those who are, or would prove to be, ill-disposed toward you, are seen in sinister light, thus alerting you of their malign nature. Similarly, should you think on it, most devices and traps will be discernible, so you will notice the covering of a concealed pit, some fell trap loaded with poison or blades, or see in glowing outline magical guards to snare the unwary."

  "That I have seen in Rigello's stronghold. Had I but known, the prize might have been mine. . . ." Gord's voice trailed off as he looked accusingly at the Master Cat. "You cheated!"

  "Unjustly accused," smiled the Catlord contentedly. "How could I know what understanding you had of the ring? Besides, never was there an obligation to explain such to you. I do so now out of my kindness and a desire to defeat those who would bring ruin to all."

  Gord could not but agree with that. "True. I do thank you for this intelligence - and for your hospitality during our stay. Please convey my fond farew
ell to Lady Tirrip and all the others."

  "You are welcome, but not so fast. There is yet a little more. Anxious as you and your companions are, this hiatus will be beneficial, I think," said the Catlord in a serious tone. He poured Gord and himself a pale, greenish wine, handed the young adventurer one of the crystal goblets, and then went on.

  "You are thief, acrobat, swordsman, and more. Have you ever considered how it is that you are able to have such skills, to gain and improve them so readily? I have. Your performance in the small contests here must have been spectacular, for I have heard repeatedly about it. Lowen, my trusted seneschal, actually thinks you might be dangerous . . . no matter! The ring you wear conveys surefootedness, agility, the catlike property of landing on your feet, and magical ability to climb as a cat does as well. Test this, and you will quickly learn - you must already unconsciously draw upon some of the power of the gem."

  "You say you had this ring created," interjected Gord. "You tell me of its great power. Why not also explain the reason for making such rings as this and its eight mates?"

  The Catlord stared at Gord, assessing him carefully. He saw nothing save honest desire for knowledge and a keen mind trying to discover what lay behind the matter. The Master Cat spoke. "Each of the nine is similar, yet subtly differs from the others. If you are truly attuned to the ring you wear, its dweomer will enable you to transform yourself into a cat of midnight coat, tomcat or great leopard, as you desire. Fitting, isn't it, for one who styles himself as you do at times?"

  At this Gord chuckled wryly. "Yes, I am astounded and pleased at all this. More and more wondrous it grows, but still I am at a loss to understand the reason for the existence of these nine magic circlets."

  "Each was made as a token and favor for ... certain humans, let us say. The nine were bestowed as gifts. Of the other eight I know, just as I now know the whereabouts and owner of this one. I was surprised to learn how you had acquired it, for I had supposed another manner altogether. You told true when you related to Lowen the means by which you gained it. ... There are unanswered questions for us all, it would seem. Now, let us join your friends, for it is the hour of leave-taking!"