Artifact of Evil

Chapter 25

"Meeowww!" said Chert.

Gord shot the hillman a dark scowl that threatened mayhem.

"It isn't funny, Chert. Stop it," the bard said, just managing to suppress a smile.

Gord looked at both men disdainfully. "What I managed was more than either or both of you could have done… besides, if you think it is a joke to creep through an encampment of towering humanoids as a little pussycat in order to overhear what's being said, you try it."

"We can't," the barbarian said with a broad grin of contentment. "As you yourself pointed out, only you can manage the trick!"

Thatch and his small companion, Shad, were sitting cross-legged nearby. They had listened solemnly to the tale of Gord's using the ring to take cat-form. They were frightened by were-creatures of any sort, the very thought making them shudder. Yet this man who told them about turning into a huge, black leopard and killing losels thereby was a friend — and losels were awful things, too! They could only listen and withhold judgment. It seemed there was a whole lot more to the world than Tusham village and being successful hunters! Both lads listened carefully, not only because the story was exciting and full of danger, but because they wanted some clue about the treasure. So far they had seen more of trouble with evil humanoids and the like than folk were ever expected to. The rewards must be really terrific for these men to go through all this sort of danger just to get the key. What would the dragon be like? Thatch looked at Shad, and Shad stared back for a moment. There was an unspoken exchange then, both boys wishing that they hadn't decided to set out into the forest as hunters quite so soon.

"That foul little dwarf is a wily one," Gellor said. "If he has done as he said, we must either separate or find a way to get rid of the gnolls quickly."

"Pardon, Master Gellor, but what are gnolls?" Thatch asked.

Chert answered before the bard could speak. "Nasty, dog-faced things as big as I am. They're mean killers, too, and would cheerfully roast you two over a fire."

"That, boys," Gellor added, "is no exaggeration, and they'd eat you too, after they were done. AH that as it is, we'll see to it that you never have to face any gnolls until you're able to deal with them on terms they find not to their liking."

"Like Master Gord did to the losels?" Shad said eagerly.

Gord was somber. "You'd not like that much, Shad. Gellor means that when you're grown fully, trained to fight properly, and have armor and all, you and Thatch there will be more than a match for a pair of gnolls."

The boys sat back, feeling bigger and more confident.

"What's to be done, then?" asked the bard, looking at Gord.

There had been a subtle change in roles, the young man noted. Over the time he had known Gellor, the one-eyed man had been many things to him — fatherlike, a mentor, a leader, a rescuer, and more. The shift had occurred subtly, all right, but it was distinct. Not only was Gellor now treating him as an equal, but at times the bard was deferring to Gord almost as if the young thief were a superior! This was a bit disturbing, but there was no time for pondering the matter now.

"We move ahead," said Gord, "and if we find the band of gnolls spread out in our path, you four turn back a ways and stay put. I'll get by them without difficulty, and catch up with Obmi and his filthy train of scum — they'll be deserting the damned dwarf now, not flocking to him. Somewhere along the trail, somehow, I will get the chance to kill that miserable dastard and gel the Second Key," the thief said vehemently. "I'm certain it is on his twisted body somewhere, and I'll tear him apart to find it."

"Let's get going," Chert said practically. "Listen now, my boys. Here's what you two are to do if we meet any of these half-human scum and there is no way for you to get away. Hold your spears before you, thus…" and he went on with his instructions as their small group headed for the hard-beaten pathway leading toward the north and the realm of the demoniac Iuz.

"They're ahead, all right," Chert muttered as he slipped back to join his friends. He had gone ahead on the path to see if Gord's recounting of the conversation overheard as a small, midnight-black tomcat had been correct. It was. Gord had said that Obmi had ordered the gnoll captain, a huge monster named Harharaff, to remain behind to prevent any enemy from following, while the remainder of the force went northward as before. Gord said that the gnoll leader had seemed almost relieved to be given such duty, for the fear of the predatory killer of losels was spreading from ores to gnolls.

Gord nodded. "This is where we part company, then."

"Maybe if I picked off a few of those flea-bag bastards, the rest would take off," Chert said halfheartedly.

"That would not serve, my friend, so why risk it?" Gellor said softly.

Gord shook the hands of the others — Chert, the bard, Thatch, and then little Shad. "You kill some for me!" the boy said earnestly, and they all laughed.

Without further ado, Gord left. He went on foot, carrying his weapons and little else. The forest would provide for him. When the dwarf had begun to move at night, they thought they had lost the game. Chert was unable to see to travel and fight in darkness, for he had no magical sight as did his adult comrades. The lads needed tending. Something had to be found to slow, if not halt, the humanoid band that surrounded and protected the dwarf and his prize. Then Gord had decided to experiment.

The Catlord had told him that the ring he wore conveyed the power of lycanthropy, and that Gord could assume cat-form at will. The other powers of the ring worked, and Gord had no reason to doubt the Master Cat's word about form change. It was one thing to play at being a cat, to call oneself "Blackcat" and be a cat-burglar. It was quite another to actually become a genuine leopard — or even a domestic cat. Gord had just never wished to be anything other than his human self. But desperate circumstances call for desperate measures. Without telling his companions, the young thief had slipped away and tried the power of the ring. It worked, of course. The transformation took only a minute, and it was only slightly painful. Everything he wore simply became part of his new form somehow — clothing and boots, weapons, everything.

Gord could see parts of his new body. He was a cat, a big leopard with inky coat and long tail. Gord-the-leopard had padded to a nearby pool and peered at his reflection in the water. He looked splendid, handsome! Green eyes, long whiskers, a long, pinkish-red tongue, and huge fangs of gleaming white. How nice it would be to eat some fresh meat, drink from the pool here, and then gaze at his reflection until sleep came. There was a broad, comfortable-looking limb nearby where he could rest, too.

Gord had had to jerk his mind back quickly. How easy it was to fall into the thinking of the form one had assumed — and what would happen if he allowed this to occur? Perhaps he would take animal form more and more, eventually living out his life as leopard, not man. Gord shuddered and willed himself back to his own shape. In a minute he was human again, clothed and equipped as before.

As he stood pondering this, Gord recalled the feeling of being a large, powerful cat. He wanted to go back to that form, try the feline muscles, bound and spring, climb and hunt. To see and experience the world as a leopard was an interesting desire. Well, so was drinking alcohol, in a far different but similarly insidious way; and the vapors of herbs, fungi-eating, and extractions of certain other substances all had lures that ensnared some humans. Gord could resist these habits and addictions because he enjoyed life without them. He knew he must do the same with respect to this human-to-cat power he possessed. It must become a tool used only for purposes necessary to some cause, and used only when Gord must.

The others heard the news with excitement, not having any of the reservations that Gord did. When he told them of the strange feelings the change evoked within him, Gellor had shrugged them off and Chert had told him to enjoy. Upon reconsideration, he realized that druids and magic-users assumed many sorts of forms on a regular basis. Still, this wasn't lycanthropy, was it? Then Gellor had pointed out that the ring had a magical power, so strictly speaking there was no shape-shifting within Gord, and the whole was less lycanthropic than Curley's ability to become a hawk or a turtle for a brief time. Gord gave up his reservations.

He had stalked through the night, bounding along the forest floor, climbing trees and using branches as a roadway, slipping through places two-leggers would find impossible. It had been easy to move ahead of the mass of smelly, noisy humanoids and the gabbling ape-creatures who swung clumsily through the branches. It had been the simplest of things to catch and kill the first losel, for the stupid creature didn't know enough to flee from certain death. Had it been leopard slaying baboon or human slaying ore? No matter. When the clubs and small bolts had struck him, Gord-the-leopard felt only small thumps and fly-bites. Momentary fear for his safety gave way to feelings of invulnerability and triumph. Now he could singlehandedly slay the whole filthy tribe of two-leggers and get the prize. He had laughed full in the face of one gaping losel, causing it to leap groundward, chattering in fear.

Reason returned when he saw a stick-thin elfin robes that bespoke magic staring upward at him sometime later. Cat-contempt for so puny a creature caused him to stare haughtily down as the puny thing began muttering softly and waving his arms. Gord's ears heard every sound the creature made, and then the human part of Gord's mind panicked, and the cat portion reacted by leaping away.

Just in time, that great spring. It carried him across some thirty feet to another tree limb slightly below the one he'd been upon, and along it to another, all in a second. Behind his black-furred tail there was a flash and sizzle of energy, as a lightning stroke hit the spot where his graceful form had lain only a second ago, and losels screamed and fell like ripe fruit from the struck tree. Thereafter Gord made an effort, and the human mind always controlled the leopard brain.

Gord pondered, briefly, the dichotomy of thinking. Of course! The power of shapechanging would be useless if the ability to properly utilize the new form were missing. Simplicity itself. The trick was to keep the real mind in power while allowing the new one to handle the body as it was designed to control. Human mind directs, cat mind operates. Easy to visualize, difficult in the extreme to accomplish. Too much direction, and the cat brain was overridden. Then the leopard body became clumsy and unable to perform its natural functioning. On the other hand, too little monitoring, too much freedom, and the cat took over the human portion, submerging it to little more than a vague memory or relegating it to a sort of conscience that could do little but scold or praise. It took an hour, but eventually Gord managed to get the correct balance.

By men the company of humanoids had been halted, a perimeter ringed with guards, and alert leaders stationed where they could protect the center of the encampment. Gord-the-leopard managed to harass the ape-ores, but the exercise was useless. When he saw the leaders of the company gathering to hold some sort of council, he acted at once.

If he could assume leopard form so easily, why not that of a small domestic cat? Springing to the ground, Gord concentrated on shifting from leopard to torn, and in the usual time he was as he wished — a rather large one, but a tomcat nevertheless. In this form he had crept through the camp to where he could hear the words of the group gathered. Gord-the-cat arrived just at the conclusion of the meeting. He heard the dwarf tell the huge, heavily armored gnoll who stood respectfully there that he was to block the path. At least that's what it seemed to be, for Gord had scant proficiency with the bastard tongue of ores and gnolls and the rest of the humanoid species.

The gnoll chief was reluctant and argued. Obmi insisted, telling him that only a weak force could be expected — something like "few, soft men who you will kill and loot" were more like the exact terms the dwarf used. He clinched the whole by mentioning that the cat-devil would follow Obmi and the losels. Then gnoll had grinned hideously in agreement and gone off.

"The scouting group will ride well in advance tomorrow morning," the gaunt elf called Keak had said with a cackle.

"Yes, that is so," the dwarf replied, and then Obmi smiled for the first time since Gord-the-cat had been watching, crouched in the shadows beneath a low shrub.

"Klabdul," Keak had said with a friendly arm around the half-orc's wide shoulders, "you must come into our tent to get special instructions about your role as chief of the scouting force!''

The half-breed's ugly face had shown delight at such a display of favor. With Obmi suggesting a bit of wine as they talked, the three had stepped into the tent shared by the elf and dwarf. A ring of guards surrounded it, so there was no way for Gord to get close enough to hear more. Belly brushing the ground, he had slunk from the encampment, shifting into leopard form, and loped to the place where his friends waited. The whole story fascinated them, and then they had checked to see if Gord's interpretation of the conversation had been correct. The presence of over half a hundred of the hyena-faced humanoids was ample confirmation. The gnolls prevented further pursuit by all but Gord, for even if the others managed to slip around the widely spread humanoid band, they could well be caught between gnolls and the main body later. Even with Gord's work, there were several hundred still in the main party. If losels and ores deserted in numbers, a hundred men and ores were still too many when backed by the tough dwarf and the spell-caster, Keak. Gord's friends would have to remain behind, for only he could now hope to accomplish the mission.

Gord was still uneasy about changing from man to cat — bashful or ashamed, he wasn't sure which. After the farewell, the young thief moved eastward into the forest, swinging wide to the right-hand side of the pathway. Moving as quietly as any woodsman, Gord made certain that he was several hundred yards off the trail and well away from the observation of his companions; then he allowed the transformation to occur. In a minute a huge black panther stretched itself. The cat yawned almost lazily, flexed its claws, stretched, and then moved like a bolt from an arbelast into the trees.

Seconds later several gnolls moved into the small area left clear by a falling tree. They peered around carefully, their bows and axelike bardiches at the ready, but there was nothing threatening there. One asked another if he had seen something black a moment before. The other grunted a noncommittal reply. The humanoids went on with their scouting, looking for humans to kill.

It was an easy manner to travel as a leopard through the old trees of the Vesve. The ground below was perfect for running, while the thick, interlocking branches above made a highway for a big cat to walk upon. Gord-the-panther — and he now simply thought of both human and animal forms as Gord — elected to stay on the leaf-matted forest floor until he approached the main body of Obmi's band. His panther's sense of smell would give him all the warning he needed when he was near. He allowed his human mind to ride that of the cat, so that the feline part received and sorted out sensory information while the human part gave it identifiers that related to human experience. Odors were the difficult part.

Several times during the next few hours Gord had to scramble madly up a nearby tree in order to avoid other dangerous creatures not accustomed to having a panther intrude on their domain. Not being certain that his immunity to weapons extended to the tusks of a boar or the jaws of a savage brown bear, Gord took flight as the wiser course. He could not run for long periods, but there were many areas where he could safely rest. Luck seemed to ride with him too. He had caught one of the giant squirrels busy eating fungi, made a fast (and delicious) meal of it, and was taking a catnap in the leafy crotch of a galda tree when a dozen bugbears padded past as quietly as great cats.

These giant goblins were heading west and seemed to be no part of the humanoid party still several miles ahead. Gord watched through glowing, green panther eyes as the humanoids passed, and the bugbears never realized he was there. Could these big goblins have actually hurt him? Gord wasn't interested in finding out unless he had to. Another time he was taking a drink from a stream when his feline mind seemed uneasy, so Gord allowed it to have its way without seeking to interpret the cause of the tension. The panther jumped and spat, just avoiding the strike of a huge adder that was lurking at the bank of the watercourse, waiting for unwary prey.

It took the whole day for him to catch up with the collection of humanoids and renegade humans traveling toward the realm of Iuz. The company had halted to rest and forage for food. Gord restrained the cat-urge to attack the losels he saw. He went wide around them and ahead of the humanoids again. No attacks this time, he reasoned. He would see if the dwarf could be lulled into a sense of security and safety, then he would strike.

Then an idea came to him that satisfied both man and panther. He lay in wait and eventually saw a man venture forth to answer the call of nature. Gord wondered why he would go so far from his fellows so close to dark. The brigand drew out a large flask and swigged great gulps of its contents. That explained that. He was a lone drinker who did not care to share his liquor with his associates.

The panther leaped upon the unsuspecting outlaw and tore out his throat before the fellow knew he had been attacked. Gord was appalled at his desire to strike thus, and the panther mind was repulsed at the reek of alcohol and the foul stench of the man. They compromised. Panther carried corpse into a tree and hid it, and man assumed the guise of brigand, using the fellow's cloak as a disguise.

As he returned to his own form it suddenly occurred to Gord that the shape-shift ing was no longer a dreaded thing. The day of integration between cat and man had been beneficial. It made him realize that he had thought in cat-fashion, or as close as a human could come to thinking thus, as long as he could remember. Certainly, when he walked slender lines, balanced on roof ridges, and ran along eaves he was feline, just as his burglar appellation, Blackcat, attested. He could now shift from man to cat and back without hesitation or reservation. There was no sense of ill or unnaturalness in so doing. This made Gord glad, for he had no choice in the matter anyway.

As Gord walked into the encampment, he was surprised at the disordered nature of affairs. When he had spied upon it previously, the dwarven leader had kept order and discipline. But this time Obmi had allowed things to slip. The place was in chaos.

"Whazzup, pal?" a drunken bandit asked as he staggered past Gord to relieve himself against a nearby tree.

"Ah… nothin', pal… Got any sauce?"

The fellow leered at Gord, patted a half-full skin slung around his shoulder, and slurred, "Yep, but I ain't sharin' it unless ya got some ta split with yer ol' pal!" And he emphasized just who the "ol’ pal" was by striking himself hard enough on the chest to send himself stumbling backward a couple of steps.

"Say, I don't rec'nizeya… Waz yer name, anyway?" he said, then laughed at his own joke. "Ya get it? Anyway!" He reeled and laughed more. "I sure wish I could get some, an' I'll take it anyway. Arr, har, har!"

"What?" asked the young thief, confused.

"Who gives a pinch o' coon-crap anyway, Anyway? I be Tick, an' damned happy to meet a man who's got balls enough to admit he'll get it anyway. What outfit ya with, Anyway?"

Gord relaxed. This sot was so stupid with booze that he had asked a question and interpreted it as Gord's name. The dolt was calling him "Anyway" thinking it was his name… Gord realized that this very drunken fellow was his ticket into the camp without questions being asked. Gord handed him the flask he had taken from his earlier victim, watching to see if the brigand called Tick would recognize it. Tick merely took it and swilled brandy.

"Grea' stuff! Both Galley and Pegger got bottles, too… Hey, ya seen ol' Pegger 'round here? He wen' out to take a dump, an I'll bet the wild hogs ate 'im. Ahar, har, arrh!"

"Nah, I ain't seen neither of them," Gord said. "How come the camp is so relaxed tonight? Yesterday it was all that spit-and-polish bit, and now old Obmi's let up on us. You know why?"

Tick puzzled over that a moment, helping himself to think by taking another pull from the flask of fiery liquor. "That buggerin' li'l dwarf is a mean un, an' who can tell what's goin' through that dirty dwarf mind he's got. Yesserday he wuz a jabberin' and cursin' and bossin' us about all the time. Today he jes' sits on his horse and don't talk at all, an' now he's holed up in his fancy-assed tent and lettin' us have some fun for a change… Hey, what's yer outfit again?"

"Loner — just came in and signed up with that skinny elf called Keak."

"Thass funny, I don' recall any loners bein' taken on…"

Gord put his arm around Tick's shoulders. "Come on, old pal! Let's go and see if maybe Keak can explain it to you."

The outlaw jerked away as if Gord were a leper. "You full of crap, boy! I ain't goin' nowhere near that crazy li'l elf bastard. He's yer boss, you go an' talk to "im," Drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, the drunken brigand staggered away, anxious to find better company. Gord let him go. Before he'd gone adozen steps, however, Tick turned and came back.

"Wait a sec, chum! Keak rode off this mornin' with that creepy half-orc priest! Whattin hell ya sayin'?"

Trouble! Drunk as he was, the outlaw was suspicious and not about to let this statement pass as he had the rest. Gord thought fast. "Damn, Tick, yer right! That brandy is potent stuff — want another swig?"

Suspicious or not, Tick couldn't pass that up. "Okay, an' then you an' me better see Cap'n Sawtooth an' get things strai — "

Gord hit him solidly over the head with the pommel of his dagger, and the brigand collapsed without a sound. The brandy spilled out over him, and Gord let him lay where he was. Passed out in drunken stupor from all appearances, Tick would sleep for hours. Gord doubted anyone in the camp would be interested. There was already sufficient commotion to awaken the dead. Singing and shouting, arguing and fighting, and all the rest of the things typical of a disorganized collection of brigands and humanoids, met for a rollicking good time. Something was certainly wrong!

Gord approached the command tent. A motley collection of men and humanoids surrounded it at a distance of about ten paces. A bugbear challenged him in barely intelligible Common speech.

"Get yer ass outta here, man! Not even a dog passes here!"

Putting on his most ferocious scowl, Gord faced the humanoid thing, glaring a challenge up at the towering form. "Yer ass, hairy! Cap'n Sawtooth sent me with a message for Obmi, personal-like."

"Gimme the message, and I'll pass it on," the bugbear said with a truculent sneer.

"Crap too, dumb-ass. Ya think the cap'n wants a big jerk like you knowing important information for the boss?"

"Yah, ya smart-mouthed little man? Izzat so? How come he let you know it if it's so damn important?"

Gord put on an expression of mixed relief and chagrin. "Okay, big guy, so you ain't so stupid as you look… Now I know why they put you on guard duty here," he added as if amazed that he had to admit being outwitted by the giant goblin. "I guess you can keep a secret."

"Bet yer fat human ass I can," the guard snapped back.

"Well, you got it now. Here goes — only lean close so's all the camp don't hear it." The bugbear did, keeping a wary eye upon Gord as he did so.

"Cap'n Sawtooth says that Obmi should come quick. That bastard of a black panther is over by our position, but it don't know we spotted it. Sawtooth, he thinks it's waiting 'til things quiet down before it starts eatin' us again…"

"Floggin! Foogish!" the bugbear exclaimed, referring to some god the giant goblins worshiped casually and swore by often. "Ya am'l shittin' me, are you?"

"I don't want my head bashed in! Who'd kid about that sort of stuff?"

"Right, buddy. You go in and tell Lord Obmi!"

Gord demurred. "No way! You said you would if I told you the message!"

The bugbear straightened to his full seven and a quarter feet and sneered. "Tough turds, hairless. Your cap'n sent you, and I'm passin' you through the line. Tell the dwarf yourself!"

Gord stumped past without a word, making it appear that he truly believed he was going to his own execution. The bugbear gave a snarling chuckle behind him and returned to his task of standing and looking bored.

When he got to the entrance of the small tent, Gord coughed and said, "Message for Lord Obmi from Cap'n Sawtooth."

"Enter," a voice said. Gord went inside, not having to feign nervousness. There he saw Obmi, seated in a dwarf-sized chair, gnawing at a haunch of some sort of meat and drinking wine. The dwarf looked up and asked him what his message was. The voice was wrong. As a beggar, thief, and confidence man himself, Gord knew this wasn't the real Lord Obmi. It looked like the dwarf, but the voice had a slightly different timbre, and the mannerisms were wrong. He was an impostor!

Gord cleared his throat and replied, "It's the big, black leopard, Lord Obmi. Cap'n Sawtooth seen it near our position…"

The dwarf swallowed a mouthful of meat and washed it down with wine. "So? Get back to Sawtooth and tell him I said to take care of it himself. Don't bother me again!"

"Yessir! But…"

"But what?" the dwarf asked with annoyance. "I told you to get out of here!"

"Yessir, only Sawtooth wanted me to show you this ring he found when the panther was nearby — it's a great lookin' cat's-eye stone in it too," Gord concluded ingenuously, holding out his ring toward the seated dwarf.

"Hand it to me then, you churl, and clear out." As he said this, the Obmi-impostor half rose and stretched out his hand for the glittering gold ring that Gord cupped in his left palm. Gord struck then.

His needle-pointed dagger was in his right hand before the dwarf knew what was happening. Cord's arm flashed up and punched out with a force sufficient to penetrate even enchanted steel armor, for the blade had power over metal. The poniard pierced the plate protecting the dwarfs body as if it were leather. The false Obmi screamed in pain as the point bit through his shoulder and toward his heart.

"To me!" the dwarf managed to croak, loud enough to be heard by the sharp-eared bugbear guard. The giant goblin immediately rushed toward the tent entrance, calling for his fellows to follow as he did so.

Gord stabbed the impostor again as the dwarf tried to stand. Then, desperately jamming the proffered ring back on his finger, the young adventurer pulled out his sword. The hulking bugbear burst into the tent at that very moment, nearly pulling the structure down in his rush to be inside and aid his leader.

"Graargg!" The humanoid screamed his war-cry as he came. Swinging a huge morning star in the confines of the tent was a problem the bugbear hadn't considered, however. He swung the massive, spike-headed club up to strike Gord, and the sharp projections pierced the canvas and immediately became entangled in it. As the startled bugbear brought club and tent down, Gord thrust his sword and dagger both into the creature's exposed chest and belly. The folds of falling canvas blinded the giant goblin, even as he let go of its morning star and clutched at his wounds. Two more quick thrusts made certain that the creature would never recover from his condition.

Dropping to his hands and knees, Gord heaved open the small chest that served as the dwarfs table. If the Second Key was anywhere in the tent, it was in this coffer! The canvas had fallen all the way down, and the lantern that had illuminated the place had been knocked down and broken in the struggle. Flames were licking the oiled cloth now, and in a moment the whole thing would go up in a roaring blaze. Outside, several of the other guards were trying vainly to find a way inside the collapsed tent, while others of their number were shouting an alarm to the rest of the camp.

Gord's searching fingers found bottles, cloth, and a leather bag. It was unlikely, but the pouch might be something. He thrust that into his belt even as he slashed at the tent cloth nearest him and concentrated immediately on changing his form.

"Lord Obmi! Lord Obmi!" a man cried, poking at the fallen canvas as he did so. One corner of the tent was now blazing. Spears lifted the other end to allow the dwarf to escape… if he could. Half the canvas was burning now, and the brigands were moving back, driven off by the heat.

As spears and pole arms lifted what remained of the tent, one of the humanoids crouched down and crawled forward to rescue the dwarf. A snarling black leopard tore half of the man-ore's face away with a swipe of its claws. Then the big cat was in the midst of the rest, a whirlwind of clawing biting fury.

"Save your ass!" an outlaw shouted as he dropped the glaive he had been holding and ran away in terror. The others with him weren't so lucky. Gord bit an ore on the leg, disabling him, then leaped upon a bugbear, tearing the humanoid with claws and teeth as he tried to pull his attacker off with his huge, hairy hands. A spear-thrust grazed harmlessly off Cord's flank, and the deflected point went downward into the bugbear's thigh. The goblin giant fell, and Gord immediately left off his attack on the creature in favor of another victim. He sprang full into the midst of a group of men and ores, knowing instinctively that any attack on him from a distance would be virtually impossible while he was surrounded by the brigands.

Amid the screams and shouts and wildly flailing weapons, Gord-the-leopard exacted a terrible toll. He didn't try to kill any one of the outlaws or humanoids, only to wound them with fang and claw. Their blows went unnoticed, and he gradually gave his human mind over to blood-lust and the urge to bring vengeance upon these malicious killers. Suddenly the press melted away, and he was standing amid a circle of fallen foes. A little distance away three foemen still held their ground. In fact, they were advancing cautiously toward him! This was too good to be true. Gord crouched, bunching his steely muscles to spring upon these foolish ones. Then his human mind registered a fact that enabled him to override feline fury. These opponents were bearing wicked-looking weapons and ready to take his charge on the gleaming tip of spear, sword, and scimitar. Magic weapons!

Instead of leaping ahead onto the waiting blades, Gord sprang sideways. A bolt caught his hind leg nonetheless. It barely grazed his ebony coat, but the path it left burned, and he let out a startled yowl of pain as he landed and bounded off again. There was a shout of triumph from whoever had loosed the enchanted missile and wounded him, while the other three — a renegade human, a half-orc, and a particularly big bugbear — cursed and ran after him.

Gord ran flat out for the safety of the nearby forest, not caring to find out just how magical the weapons threatening him were. The spear the giant goblin waved whistled overhead and buried itself in the ground just a few feet in front of him. On an impulse Gord managed to bring himself to a sudden stop. "Having four legs is a real advantage at such times!" his human mind thought even as his cat one was causing his massive jaws to clamp fast on the quivering spearshaft. Then he was running again, bounding between the giant trees. The ragtag brigands howled after the escaping were-leopard, with the bugbear whose enchanted spear had been just stolen yelling the loudest of all.

Safe in a tree, pacing along the upper world of the forest, Gord-panther decided it was high time to rest and assess the situation. Only a few of the bravest of the band had dared to follow the three leaders into the woods in pursuit of the fleeing leopard. Gord had easily evaded the chase, climbing a tree and then moving swiftly from limb to limb. After a few minutes the humans and humanoids had ceased their halloo and returned to their encampment. Gord still held the enchanted spear fast in his leopard teeth. He realized that biting on the shaft made his teeth ache, and he spat it out on the broad limb he rested on. There were no indentations in the wood from his fangs. It was a potent weapon indeed!

The collection of bandits and humanoids would be breaking up even now, Gord thought. Without knowing that they had been deserted by their leader, they would think the body of the dwarf in the burned tent was their master. Without either Keak or Obmi to keep them in line, natural hostilities, bullying, and differences would send the motley assembly into separate bands immediately. The losels would certainly remain intact as a group. They would probably seek to inform their ultimate master, Iuz, of what had happened. The men would split from the ores, and the few other sorts of humanoids — bugbears, gnolls, and an odd norker or xvart — would side with one or another of these parties, according to where they thought they'd be least likely to be killed. Tomorrow morning there would be nothing left save the litter and refuse the brigands left behind.

All of the groups would avoid going in the direction of the tribal lands of gnolls left behind to the south. These humanoids would only kill or enslave men or ores who came their way. There being no need to have more concern for the safety of his comrades and the two boys with Gellor and Chert, Gord pondered the problem of the Obmi-impostor's and Keak's absence from the encampment. The answer was not long in coming. Once again the dwarf had callously abandoned his company to whatever fate held in store for them. He and Keak must have simply ridden on, leaving the rest to bear the brunt of things.

Very well, then. Obmi was a day ahead, but he surely had the Second Key with him. To make certain, Gord shifted to his own shape long enough to check out the leather poke. It held an assortment of coins equal to about a gold piece in value. The impostor had died for that sum, nothing more, for these creatures of Evil certainly had no loyalties. Resuming panther form, Gord again took the captured spear in his mouth and headed northward.