The Rod of Seven Parts

by Douglas Niles

  "Thanks, Kip," he said gruffly, and the matter was concluded.

  "Where's Rathentweed?" Badswell asked suddenly.

  "He was right behind me.... Now where did he scuttle off to?" Parnish muttered.

  "I was fooled, and we left him behind!" groaned the half-ogre in dismay. He lumbered back toward the stairs, with me trotting at his side.

  Feeling a growing tremor of fear, I turned with Badswell toward the stairs, then halted in shock before reaching the top step. "Here he is," I said grimly.

  "Poor little guy." Badswell knelt, his voice choked with grief as he cradled the limp form of the gnome in his arms.

  Saysi, following at a trot, gasped as she reached us. Kneeling beside the shriveled form in the half-ogre's arms, she reached for Rathentweed's wrist in what I knew was a vain effort to find a pulse. The gnome's eyes were wide open, his mouth locked in a rictus of soundless horror. The only visible wounds were a pair of punctures, revealed on his forearm when Saysi pulled back the torn sleeve of his shirt.

  "Poisoned," she whispered sadly. "He must have died almost instantly."

  "Another raklupis?" I guessed, looking around warily as Parnish came up to us.

  "He died in the service of law. It is as he would have wished," the wizard pronounced, leaning down to regard the gnome's pinched, horror-stricken features. "He is a hero."

  "My fault," wailed Bads thickly. "I shouldn't of—"

  "No!" Saysi interjected firmly. She touched the grieving fellow's shoulder lightly. "Don't think that. It's a fate that could await any of us in here, and it's no one's fault!"

  She was right, I knew as I blinked back a surprising level of grief. Perhaps Rathentweed had been a pompous fussbudget, but in the end, he had entered a horrible place with courage and faith.

  Yet his was a fate that lurked around every corner, a possibility that each of us might have to face before this quest was through.

  "Which way?" I asked gruffly, pulling Parnish's attention back to the task at hand.

  "Up... still higher," he declared after a moment's reflection. "I can't be certain, but I think we're getting closer."

  None of us knew how long we wandered after that, finding more hallways, another set of stairs, always seeking a way to the top of the fortress. Once we reached a door, passing outside of the fortress, and followed a circling stairway from battlement to battlement while the vast chaos of Pandemonium lurked beyond the hazy barrier of law's cocoon. Atop the flight of steps, we followed a slender bridge toward one of the upper halls of the keep. There we came to a castle gate, and once more I smashed the barrier with a blow of my mighty sword.

  Immediately within, we found another stairway, and Parnish led the way, bouncing forward with an eagerness that belied his years. Taking the steps two or three at a time, he all but jogged upward, forcing Saysi to scramble desperately to keep up. Badswell and I, with our long legs, followed with easy strides, casting anxious glances backward, remaining alert for any signs of pursuit.

  At the top of this flight, Parnish had to decide whether to turn right or left, and as he turned toward the left, I saw him pause, then whirl back to the right with an expression of surprise.

  "Rathentweed! My good gnome," he exclaimed in unmistakable delight. "You're alive!"

  "No!" Saysi screamed as the wizard hurried out of sight. My heart was in my throat as I leapt up the last few steps, darting after the halfling priestess and the wizard.

  I glimpsed a small figure limping toward Parnish. That big nose was unmistakable, though the normally flushed and cheery cheeks were pallid and sickly.

  "Your Lordship! Thank the gods I've found you," groaned Rathentweed, falling to the floor, reaching up as Parnish stepped closer.

  Saysi halted a few steps away, her hand locked around her jade amulet, her eyes wide and staring. Hearing my approach, she looked up and spoke with desperate urgency.

  "Kill him!"

  I had no choice but to trust her. Savagely elbowing Parnish Fegher aside, I brought my blade down, piercing the gnome's chest, drawing the weapon free and hacking again at the big-nosed face.

  Something slammed me across the back, and I crashed into the wall, stunned, vaguely realizing that Parnish had struck me with the Rod of Seven Parts. Groaning, I looked up into the wizard's enraged face, then watched as rage gave way to shock, confusion, and finally grief.

  On the floor, lying still and already fully transformed, lay the body of yet another raklupis.

  Parnish Fegher whirled away, wiping at his eyes and stumbling in the opposite direction. I climbed stiffly to my feet, shaking the kinks out of my muscles. We advanced four abreast now, since the corridor was wide and danger obviously lurked all around.

  In a few moments, we arrived at what promised to be a last stairway, which climbed a short distance and terminated in a landing and a door. I didn't hesitate to smash the barrier into splinters. Stepping through the wreckage, we found ourselves on one of the castle's highest battlements, soaring above vast descents to all sides. The bizarre sky of Pandemonium, filtered by the cocoon of law, extended far overhead.

  But these features were minor compared to the thing that drew our attention toward a raised stone table in the center of the platform. On that slab of rock lay a wand of perfect black, longer than any of the segments we had found but clearly the ultimate object of our quest.

  The seventh and final segment of the rod.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE ROD OF SEVEN PARTS

  Parnish made the first move, darting forward before any of us could react to stop him. He was halfway to the stone table when I dived, wrapped my arms around him, and bore him to the floor.

  "Wait!" I urged. "It's too easy. It could be a trap!"

  "It's mine!" hissed the wizard, his tone wild with frustration. "You shall not interfere!"

  "Of course it's yours," Saysi said soothingly, coming up to lay a hand on his perspiring brow. "And you'll have it soon. Just let us take a look around first."

  "No!" The magic-user's eyes stared around wildly. Gradually, under the priestess's gentle touch, Parnish drew a few deep breaths and apparently settled down. "Of course... you won't steal it.... I know that."

  "I promise you shall have it," I reassured him, startled by the need apparent in his posture and expression.

  I helped the wizard climb to his feet. Saysi, meanwhile, advanced to the stone table and walked a careful circuit around it. Badswell crossed to the far wall of the platform, leaning over the battlements to look down.

  "Nothin' comin' this way," he announced, holding his axe with a determination that belied his confident tone.

  "See if there's a trap around that table," Saysi urged me. "I don't like the looks of this."

  "All right," I agreed, taking a step forward with instinctive confidence, then paused miserably, hanging my head with a groan of frustration. Seeking a trap should have been a simple thing. Hadn't I saved lives before, my own included, by spotting a cleverly concealed tripwire or hearing the hollow sound of a trapdoor? When I walked around the block of stone, studying it carefully, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet I had the peculiar feeling that I really didn't know what to look for. There could be a fireball trap ready to explode with a simple touch, but I doubted that I would see even the boldest and most obvious clue.

  "I don't know how anymore," I declared in dismay. "I've forgotten!"

  Saysi looked at me sharply, her eyes bright with excitement. "Forgotten? That means you remember that, at some time, you did know how?"

  I felt one of those headaches coming on again but forced myself to concentrate on her question. "Yes... it seems as if I should know what to look for, like picking locks.... I used to be able to do that, too, didn't I?"

  Her face softened into a smile. "You were the best damned lockpicker I ever tried to reform."

  "I guess you succeeded," I said, wishing I could share her pleasure. More memories tickled at me, reflected thoughts of things that once had been: of myself as a sma
ll person, a true halfling, not a human-sized warrior with furry feet. I looked at my strapping arms, felt the solid weight of my sword, and for a fleeting instant missed the person I once had been.

  But now I was a champion of law. The wind duke Arquestan had told me as much.

  With that thought, I remembered that he might be nearby, and joined Badswell at the edge of the battlement. The "sky" of broken landscape within the vast tunnel of Pandemonium was a smoky mix of colors, muted only slightly by the gauzy barrier created by the cocoon of law.

  "I myself shall check the table," Parnish Fegher declared, advancing slowly, then stalking a measured circle around the irregular block of stone. He muttered an incantation, waving his assembled portion of the Rod of Seven Parts over the solid platform.

  I watched tensely as blue tendrils of fire flickered silently in the air. I wasn't sure if the brightness came from the rod or from Parnish's spell. The tongues of flame danced around the table, scouring little patterns on the sides, slowly working their way toward the flat upper surface.

  Finally, like thieves sneaking past the guards of a treasure chamber, the blue flickers crept over the lip of the stone platform and began advancing on the ebony wand that lay in the middle of the space. I began to view the thing as not so much a table but an altar, and watched enthralled as the fires rose and commenced a rhythmic circle, twisting and bobbing about the black shaft.

  The tongues of fire crept closer and closer to the stub of the rod, the seventh and final part of the potent artifact. This was clearly the biggest and heaviest of the segments. More than a foot long, it continued the tendency of the rod growing wider toward the end, terminating in a blunt stub that was easily a handspan across.

  I continued to watch the dancing, bobbing figures of the wizard's flickering fires. As each neared the shaft, the little blaze left a scar on the surface of stone, etching hieroglyphic symbols very much like those Parnish had created when he assembled the five pieces in his mansion.

  "Look," Badswell said softly, speaking to me alone.

  I followed the direction of his pointing finger, out along the walls of the palace, still within the gauzy barrier of law, into the space enclosed around the lofty fortress prison. The whirlwind of Arquestan spun there, cruising easily along the side of the mighty palace, floating gradually lower along the lofty walls. Looking down at it, I saw the wind duke standing there proud and aloof, guiding his sky chariot by the mere will of his thought. His eyes met mine for a very brief instant before he looked away, diving more quickly now, maneuvering evasively, and I sensed his purpose.

  "He knows we're close. He's trying to lead Miska away from here, away from us," I whispered to Badswell.

  Recalling the image of the three-headed wolf-spider as portrayed in Parnish's painting, I could only hope that the outcast succeeded. It would take more than a champion with a golden sword, a half-ogre with a battle-axe, and a wizard to hold that horrific creature at bay should he discover our whereabouts and make up his mind to attack.

  "It is ready." Parnish spoke in a strong voice, striding forward to stand beside the platform. "There are no snares, arcane or mundane, in place to inhibit our gaining of the seventh and final piece."

  "How long will it take you to prepare for the linking?" I asked, glancing around nervously. Aside from the shattered door, through which we had entered the landing, there didn't seem to be any other way to reach this place short of flying. Still, I wasn't sure that would be a major deterrent to a creature as potent as Miska. For a brief moment, the hairs tingled at the back of my neck, another sign of warning that I found difficult to ignore.

  "It is already done," Parnish informed me, indicating the sigils that had been scarred into the stone of the altar by the passage of the blue flames. "I have but to work the final enchantments, and the rod will be assembled."

  "Be careful," I encouraged, probably needlessly. Sword clutched in both of my hands, I sidled over to the wrecked door, looking into the darkened hallway. Nothing moved there, but I resolved to stay ready. Saysi came to stand beside me, while Badswell remained on the opposite side of the platform, keeping his eyes on the vast space beyond the fortress walls. All of us looked anxiously from our posts back to the wizard and the Rod of Seven Parts.

  Once we were in position, Parnish wasted no time in beginning the soft, muttered chanting of his spell. The words were audible, though indecipherable, but I recognized the patterns I had heard on two previous occasions—when he had linked the five parts in his mansion, and when he had added the sixth part in Arquestan's chariot. I found myself holding my breath as the seventh part of the rod was outlined in blue fire. Slowly it rose, levitating to float perfectly still above the stone platform. As the wizard's chanting approached a crescendo, the long black wand pivoted with the grace of a dancer, turning to angle toward the rest of the artifact.

  Parnish Fegher held his own portion of the rod still, horizontally before him, aligning the shaft perfectly with the floating segment. His words grew louder, the pace of the incantation faster. Bracing myself for the impact, I watched the wand, ready to see it smash against the rest of the ancient artifact.

  The climax came so quickly that I didn't see the piece move. It seemed to disappear from my sight as Parnish staggered backward and a massive thunderclap echoed across the platform. My ears rang, and balls of lightning crackled outward from the artifact, rolling around on the platform, hissing and sizzling with angry fire. The stink of ozone, hot and acrid, immediately penetrated the air.

  "It is complete!" cried the wizard, holding the artifact over his head, brandishing it at the sky. "Powers of chaos, behold your doom! Your ultimate destruction is upon you!"

  I stared, elated and awed, as the faded impulses of lightning flickered around the gray-haired wizard. Parnish shook the staff at the sky in a frenzy of triumph, shouting his challenge, spinning around with wild, staring eyes.

  Teleportation—that's the only way that the platform could have suddenly gotten so crowded, how a half dozen tanar'ri could suddenly be here, among us, sharing this space that had been ours alone a moment earlier.

  In the instant of my recognition, a raklupis, its wolflike head growling, crouched between Saysi and me. Another snapped and bit at Badswell as the half-ogre swiped quickly with his axe, driving back the jaws that hadn't even been there a moment before. I started to turn, then froze, staring in awe and horror at the horrific beast that now crouched over the stone altar, leering at Parnish Fegher.

  Miska the Wolf-Spider, master of the tanar'ri, consort of the Queen of Chaos, was far more terrifying in actual presence than he had been in the gruesome depiction of Parnish's painting. The creature was huge, looming larger than the elephants that had carried us from Argenport. The twin wolf heads snarled, baring fangs as long as swords, while the humanlike arms, as big as the limbs on any giant, reached for the wizard.

  "Die, fiend of chaos!" cried Parnish, his eyes blazing behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. Hair unkempt, voice shrill, the wizard turned the rod like a spear, as if to cast it into the huge body. "Your time is past!"

  "My banishment is past," declared the golden-haired, handsome head in the center of Miska's visage. The words were powerful, the sound booming like thunder, yet the voice was as calmly and clearly articulated as the gracious speech of a seasoned barrister. "I have had enough of imprisonment—and enough of mortal arrogance! As to impending death, that is but a proper fate for you!"

  The giant hands reached forward and plucked Parnish from the platform, twisting the wizard so that he could flail the rod only at the air. One of the savage wolf heads snapped forward, jaws closing over the magic-user's kicking legs. I felt a surge of nausea at the sound, like the snapping of dry, brittle sticks, of breaking bones.

  The other wolf head closed around Parnish's head, fangs piercing the all-too-mortal body, cascading gouts of crimson blood into a gory shower. The Rod of Seven Parts fell from the wizard's lifeless hands as the two monstrous heads pulled apart, rip
ping Parnish Fegher's body into ragged halves. The parts of the corpse flopped heavily to the platform, unrecognizable, as the black artifact clattered onto the flat paving stones between them.

  "Kip, help!" Saysi screamed, drawing my horror-stricken gaze. The nearest raklupis leapt at her, forcing her back through the splintered doorway to the keep. She picked up one of the boards, bashing the monster's narrow snout, halting the deadly pursuer for a split second.

  With a snarl of animal rage, I sprang at the monster's back, driving the gold-bladed sword with all my power. The weapon cleaved through the hard carapace, ripped into the monstrous body, and clanged off the hard stone floor. The two pieces of the raklupis twitched and kicked, trickling dark ichor, as the creature slowly perished.

  Whirling back, I saw Badswell slash at another tanar'ri, and with Saysi in tow, I rushed across the platform to aid my hulking companion. The raklupis blinked out of sight as we reached the half-ogre's side at the castle parapet. The three of us stood with our backs to the rampart as five or six spyder-fiends, all raklupis, closed in slowly.

  Miska himself loomed over us but took no notice of our fight. Instead, the monstrosity crouched above the rod, dropping a spiraling tendril of webbing from his bloated abdomen. A silken strand touched the rod, encircled it in a layer of shimmering web, and slowly began to lift the artifact upward.

  Another raklupis reached beneath its belly, snatching up a strange, pale globe that had been affixed there. The monster tossed the ball with a humanoid arm, the object splattering onto the floor before me. I stumbled against the rampart, gagging on a rancid stench that rose like a stinking cloud into the air. My sword clattered to the flagstones, slipping from nerveless fingers. I desperately knew that I had to hold it, to wield it against these monstrous horrors, but my muscles refused to obey my will.

  Wind swirled around us, and I was vaguely aware of a tall, dark form nearby. Arquestan, mounted on his whirlwind chariot, had soared to the edge of the platform and now stood ready to step across the gap. A gust preceded him, sweeping over us and starting to carry away the lingering cloud of the spyder-fiend's poisonous gas.