Artifact of Evil

Chapter 27

The soft thudding of hooves came steadily closer. The forest around the well-used track of packed clay was as silent as a tomb. Now the horses and their riders came into view around a turn in the pathway. A pair of man-ores rode in front, small arbalests across their laps, lances and swords slung. They wore dirty cloaks of dull brown that failed to conceal the chainmail that was beneath the cloth.

As tough and vigilant as these half-breeds were, the riders behind were more fearsome in aspect, though smaller in size. A broad and knotty-limbed dwarf in steel plate came with a hammer half as big as he, held casually in one hand. Beside him rode a thin-featured elf whose gaunt face matched his thin form perfectly. This elf was old, but not elderly, as it showed in lines and in the eyes that started forth from his narrow face. The robed demi-human smiled and giggled for no apparent reason, and a terrible madness shone forth from his bulging eyes. Behind this ill-matched pair were two more horsed figures, men in armor and bearing many weapons, but they scarcely mattered. Such riders were insignificant in comparison to the evil power of the two who went before.

Hidden in the boughs above, six or seven keches pressed their green-colored hides closer to the branches they clung to and were silent. The terrible aura that radiated from these riders through the Vesve was sufficient to freeze these predatory fiends of the forest into fearful hiding. What they had thought might be prey was certainly something vastly different, and the keches were not so stupid as to stir an inch until the sound of the hoof-falls was no longer heard. The life of the forest became active and made sounds only then. As fearsome as these distant relatives of trollkind were, the silence had not been because of their presence amidst the trees. Their leader pointed westward, and all of the things swung away through the branches. There was easier prey to be had, and the big female who headed up the band smelled losel in the breeze.

Below, already well distant, the six riders went along the trail. "Those keches were scared silly," Keak giggled.

"Too bad we are pressed for time," the dwarf agreed. "Killing a few of those sort would be great sport, for they are tough and die hard."

"Oh, never fear, Lord Obmi, I'd have softened them up a bit before your hammer knocked them over and spread their contents for fertilizer," the elf cackled.

Obmi frowned at his companion. "You'd dare to spoil my sport? Rot your skinny pizzle, Keak, someday you'll go too far. I'd not be pleased if you did such work, for I wish to know if it will take one blow or two to bring down one of those green squirrelkins!"

Giggling merrily, Keak ran his gaze from the enchanted hammer to the magic girdle the dwarf wore around his thick middle. The elf wondered just how great a power these two things conveyed to this one he had to call his liege lord. No matter — if the time ever came, it would be when he had neither nearby to aid him… Keak gave a series of cackling sounds as he considered the prospects of such a time and then went back to watching the surrounding forest for possible enemies. It wouldn't do at all to be taken by surprise.

Obmi, in the meantime, having a fair idea as to the mind of his long-known associate, made a mental vow never to be in a position where the elf would have the advantage over him.

They had come a full two days away from the useless accumulation of weaklings they had abandoned. Keak had used a simple spell to make Obmi appear to be the half-orc cleric, while the dupe of a priest had been changed to look as if he were Obmi himself. The dwarf had to admit that the alteration was certainly much to the mongrel's physical enhancement, while Obmi could hardly wait to be sufficiently clear of the encampment to have Keak remove the dweomer that had made his marvelous features ugly. The dwarf wondered idly what would become of the fools behind. No good, he knew. The question was how long it would take for the priest to blunder or for some other event to bring the whole group into disaster. Well, no matter. Let even fat old Iuz rant and rave about his precious subjects, losels and the rest be damned. He, Obmi the Great, was responsible for the location and safe delivery of the mighty Second Key of the Artifact of All Evil.

"Let us hope we are not interfered with before we reach our ultimate destination!" Obmi muttered without realizing it.

"What?" the elven mage asked in a startled tone. "Do you sense some danger?"

Obmi, dismayed by his own blunder, shook his iron-gray locks and sent a steady glare at his companion. " No, forget it, I merely referred to having some others sent by Lord Iuz intercept us before we personally brought our prize to the Master."

"What matter a welcoming party to see us safely to Dorakaa?"

"Fonkin! Would you share our glory with undeserving nobodies who only come at the last?"

Keak cackled but said nothing further, knowing he'd get precious little credit for his major role in the whole affair and wishing all the glory could go to him alone.

Behind them came an agent who would interfere, and this one had no thought of stealing glory from either. He sought only their death. He raced through the forest, tail streaming, tongue lolling like a dog. The keches spied him, but the leader saw that this leopard was as large as a lion and unnaturally muscled. The panther stopped to glare at the green-hided things. It spat out the spear it carried in its teeth in order to issue a roaring challenge at them. This cry, so filled with hate for foulness and evil as it was, almost brought the keches into battle, but the old female who led them made the others ignore it. Why fight this dark champion of good? It radiated a power that was different, but just as fell, as that which came from those riders they had so feared. Since it was alone, they might triumph — but at what cost? Besides, cat meat was pungent and bad-tasting.

The keches swung on toward the tempting odor that came from the west, and the great leopard picked up its strange burden and was off through the upper highway again.

Gord was angry at himself for die challenge he had given to the fiendish-looking things he had just encountered. He allowed his antipathy for their obvious evil to be voiced in a roaring cough of pure feline hatred. He must watch it more carefully in the future, this allowing the admixture of man and panther to form an integral mind that was neither human nor animal. It was so natural a melding, though, that he knew he would have to exercise continual control to avoid, or Gord and leopard would be inextricably bound into a new, single entity.

A brief time later his ears detected the drumming sound of a fair number of horses trotting ahead. The noise told him that the animals moved along the path. Gord increased his pace, which he had slackened after meeting the keches, back to a run once more. He hated the feeling of his tongue dangling from the side of his mouth, but it being there cooled and refreshed his tired body, and it was the best he could manage while bearing the magical spear in his teeth. He had tried to make it a part of him, as his other weapons were, but for some reason the transformation from man to cat would not accept the captured spear. This alone made Gord all the more determined to bear it with him when he pursued the hated Obmi.

He stayed well away from the party that rode below, for Gord felt that they would be unnaturally aware of a presence such as his, but he kept them in sight and could pick up occasional snatches of the conversation between the malign dwarf and the unbalanced elf who served him.

Upon hearing the mention of unwanted intrusion, Gord had a flash of inspiration. Slowing his pace, he moved perpendicular to the trail for a few dozen bounds, then paralleled it for a much longer time, nearly exhausting himself in the race to get as far ahead of the six riders as possible. Eventually he had to slow down. Moving at a fast walk, Gord allowed his cat lungs to draw great gasps of air, and his tired muscles to un-knot themselves. As he allowed his feline form to slow and cool itself, he mentally reviewed his plan. After a quarter of an hour of pacing thus, he dashed ahead again, then leaped down onto the track in a series of incredible bounds.

A minute later, Gord stepped from behind an ash tree. He went on two legs now, and the feeling was as strange as other changes in his senses that came with man form. Shapeshifting would take much getting used to — not the form differences, for that part was only a matter of understanding how the mind must mesh with the feline instincts of the new body. But the abrupt changes in locomotion and senses were a bitch for sure! No time for useless reflection now, though. Gord began striding purposefully down the pathway, carrying the spear jauntily as he headed south.

In a minute he heard the sound of distant hoofbeats. Gord stopped and whistled a mournful air he'd once heard in a dive near the river in Stoink, the bandit city. He stood stock still, continuing the tune as the sound of the party approaching grew nearer. Suddenly the leading horsemen spurred their mounts toward him at a gallop, lances leveled for the kill. At the very last moment before their points struck, Gord used the spear he held to vault over their heads. The stupid half-breeds thundered on down the trail, wondering what had just occurred, while Gord flipped upright and bowed to the two figures who now stared at him with suspicion and malign intent.

"Lord Obmi! Lord Keak!" the young thief said with formal dignity and humble demeanor. "I greet you in the name of Iuz, Ancient and Exalted Lord of Evil!"

The wicked-eyed dwarf spoke first. "Just who, pray tell, are you to greet me thus?"

"A humble servant of our Master, Lord Obmi," Gord said with a self-effacing tone. "I am a negligible person altogether, called Stoat."

"Tell me before I kill you then, Stoat. What madness made you dare to stand before me?"

"It is not by my own whim that I come to you thus, Lord Obmi. I am sent by… He who sired Lord Iuz," Gord said with pride, hiding the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea what demon had fathered the foul Iuz and left his spawn to blight the world.

"You serve Graz'zt?" Keak interjected. "For what reason does that One send you to us?"

"Silence, fool!" the dwarf said, his face blackened by anger at the elf s interruption. Now he would not be able to test this cocky fellow who stood before him with the question he had planned. Obmi watched silently for a few heartbeats as the two half-orc guards came racing back to point their lances at the fellow's exposed back. The man was brave enough, he'd give him that. The dark-haired fellow never moved a muscle or gave so much as a glance as the riders thundered toward his naked back. Obmi spoke then, as the guards looked at him for direction.

"Hold, you brainless bags of shit! I am questioning this man now. Had he been an enemy, you'd have left me exposed to his onslaught with your useless charging!"

The dwarf turned back to Gord. "Very well then, Stoat. Let's assume for the moment that you are who you claim, and that you serve Lord Iuz's loving sire. Why does that One send you to me?"

Gord smiled ingratiatingly. "Prince Graz'zt conveyed word to me by means of a quasit, Lord Obmi — not personally, so what I relate to you is third-hand. However, the demonling, Schwartz by name, was most explicit in relating the commands of Graz'zt, and I shall be the same in telling you — "

"Leave off naming of names — especially those of Ones of power!" the dwarf stormed, an ominous tone in his shout. "And get on with it now, or by the Rusted Rump of the Father of Dis, I'll smear your smiling face across yon tree!"

Gord was glad for the interruption. He had hoped that his stalling wasn't as noticeable as he thought it was, for he was having to invent his tale on the spot. Furthermore, all the speaking aloud of the demon's name was dangerous business, and he feared it would attract unwanted attention from Graz'zt or his real minions. That this naming made Obmi, and Keak too, as nervous as a new-made thief about to pick his first pocket delighted Gord. These wicked demi-humans were more afraid of the demon father of Iuz than he was. Of course, the thought flashed through his mind, the two undoubtedly had cause to be, for they knew far more of such foul beings than Gord ever hoped to. Still smiling rather fixedly, Gord inclined his head briefly in homage to the dwarfs command and went on.

"Schwar — The quasit who serves the One who shall no longer be named told me that I was to venture southward along the secret road through the Vesve. There I would meet a dwarf of much importance and a powerful elven mage called Keak. The dwarf, called Lord Obmi, would be bearing something of great import to Lord Iuz. My orders were simply to seek you out. Once I had found you, I was to serve you in whatever fashion you deemed appropriate. Once you have been conveyed safely to Lord Iuz, the One said I would be free to go where I wished… unless Lord Iuz had use for my services."

Keak was peering closely at him, but the admonition by the dwarf had silenced the elf. It was Obmi who responded to Gord's statement.

"Really. What services do you offer?"

Gord felt more confident now. "As you saw in ample demonstration, my lord, I am far more suited to guard your person than those two who sit foolishly at my back with their clumsy lances — I could kill both without trouble. I am also a skilled thief and have some small talent at woodcraft, tracking, scouting out ambuscades, disguise, impersonation, gambling, and a few lesser arts and ploys as well."

Obmi never blinked at the exposition, and Gord wondered if he had gone too far in daring to mention impersonation. The dwarf nodded and commented, "Modesty is not amongst those many parts. No matter — I'll teach you that soon enough in my services. Being so wonderful as you claim, a small test is in order — is it not, master Stoat?"

Gord felt sudden tension but replied mildly, "As my Lord Obmi wishes."

Obmi screamed, "Kill this arrogant man! "The two guards lunged with their sharp-pointed lances immediately, their horses going forward as they did so.

Before the metal tips contacted his leather-clad back, Gord was bunched into a ball, tumbling backward between the trampling hooves of the nervous horses. Then he was on his feet, all in an instant. He dared not slap the animals into a bolting run, for the horses would surely collide with Obmi and Keak just a few paces to front of them. That would result in Cord's death — or at best his losing all hope of insinuating himself into the dwarfs company. Instead the young thief used the trick he had seen Gellor perform not long ago. As he sprang to his feet he placed a hand under the stirrups to either side, straightening his legs and heaving upward with back and arms as he did so. It worked. One guard fell heavily to the left, the other half-orc sprawled to the right, while their horses, suddenly relieved of their burdens, whinnied in fear and reared harmlessly.

Gord darted quickly around to the right, where he had caught a glimpse of the guard there, face down. That sort of opportunity was not to be missed. The dazed half-breed was trying to gain his hands and knees, preparatory to getting to his feet, when sword and dagger struck in tandem. The villain coughed and fell back upon his face, arms and legs making feeble motions. Gord stabbed again for good measure and then spun to face the other man-ore.

That one had not been so stunned by the fall, and while Gord was busy with his mate, the half-caste humanoid had managed to pull his arbalest free from his mount's saddle. As Gord turned, the fellow was bringing the weapon to his shoulder, looking to place Gord in his sight along the bolt. A series of leaps and bounds so confused the stupid half-orc that he threw the crossbow down in disgust and drew forth the heavy broadsword he wore scabbarded at his hip. Gord sprang in, pinked him on the cheek with his shortsword, and quickly darted back out of range of the retaliatory slash the guard aimed at him.

"Come, come, my stupid ape-faced one," Gord taunted the guard. "You'll have to do better than that to get me with that rusty lump of iron you're swinging."

The half-orc wiped at his bleeding jowl, spat, and waded in, the broadsword swinging in great scything motions before him. Such a technique would work well enough against unskilled opponents, but employed against a swordsman such as Gord, with fencing skill and battle experience, it was almost laughable.

Gord timed his attack so that he came in on the backswing of the heavy sword. A quick step, point straight, leg extended, arm shooting forth. The point of his blade pierced the half-orc's left arm where the mail gaped as the arm moved back. Gord parried the return scythe of the broad-bladed sword with his long dagger, making the guard's weapon go upward and away as he crouched under it. At that instant he continued his closing, coming up arid driving both dagger and sword into his adversary's body. The dagger sunk through steel mesh into the startled fellow's groin, while the shortsword bit through armor and went upward under the ribcage.

Gord leaped back, and the half-orc reeled, then managed to prop himself up with his useless sword. "Spare me," he gasped. "I yield."

Obmi's hammer flew, and the guard's helmeted head disappeared in a spray of crimson. "You failed me," the dwarf said emotionlessly. "That was twice, and once is all I ever allow," he added, looking at Gord as he spoke.

"Your servant, Lord Obmi," the young adventurer said, bowing to hide the expression of hatred that crossed his countenance.

"He fights marvelously well," Keak commented with a cackling laugh. In fact, the elven spell-binder was pleasurably contemplating the possible results of a duel to the death between the dwarf and this black-clad fellow who called himself Stoat.

Obmi scowled at the elf, and Keak fell silent. "I mistrust you, knave, but nonetheless you have earned your place in my service… until you show me cause to decide otherwise. Pray to your patron demon that this never occurs! Now mount one of those horses and ride ahead. If you fail to notice any threat, you'll die first."

Without a word, Gord vaulted into the saddle of the nearer of the horses, wheeled the animal, and trotted it off to a position about sixty feet ahead of the others. He was now the official and only advance guard for Obmi and his precious burden. Being careful to watch the trail ahead with utmost caution, he began pondering on how to make certain that the dwarf and his prize never reached the cambion ruler of the lands not too far ahead.

It was one matter to get close to this malign servant of evil. Now the problem was to separate Obmi from his prized possession, the Second Key of the Artifact of All Evil, and to bring him to justice in the process. Gord knew that the former was lar more important than the latter, but he could not dismiss the desire to bring a fitting end to the dwarfs career of murder and worse.

Eventually the sun sank, and Obmi called the party to a halt for the night.