Come Endless Darkness

Chapter 5

It is practically impossible to discover just where the mansion begins or ends. Positioned as it is among little swales, surrounded by trees and flowering shrubs, no eye can follow its lines. The place is large, and probably covered with some magic as well. For all the time Gord had spent in and around Rexfelis's own palace, the young adventurer was now quite unsure as to exactly where he and the Catlord's steward were going.

"I feel rather silly, Lord Lowen, marching around out here in all this finery," Gord finally said, gesturing as he spoke to indicate his velvet garments and the glittering jewels that adorned the costume.

"Tush! Our king has directed this promenade to occur," the steward said without irritation. Therefore, Prince Gord, this is what you and I shall do."

Gord simply didn't understand. At a time like this, when the fate of the entire multiverse was at stake, such a waste of time seemed bizarre if not lunatic. "We have been at this ambling for over an hour now, lord steward. Perhaps it pleases everyone — although from the strange glances we've gotten I think otherwise — but I for one am no longer amused. There is that of import at hand which cannot- "

"We will do as commanded," the old fellow said firmly, taking Gord firmly by his arm and quickening their pace. "Besides, we are almost finished now. See those tall yews ahead? That is where we began this walk."

At the moment, Gord was quite unable to distinguish ash from elm, let alone recognize a particular clump of yew trees. Agitated or not, the young man maintained sufficient poise to recognize the merit of complying with Lowen's guidance. It was better to spend a few more minutes completing the business, whatever it was, than to fly off impatiently. "Very well," Gord allowed in a grudging tone, "we shall go on to those trees, but not one step thereafter. I must hurry inside and prepare myself."

At that the old steward smiled and patted his charge on the shoulder. "By all means, prince, by all means. We shall go immediately inside once past these yews, through that broad portal over there. And you shall indeed prepare yourself."

That means shedding this finery and readying for more deadly work."

"No, what you said and what I meant are quite different," Lord Lowen said with a tinge of amusement in his deep voice. Gord was confused but elected not to press the matter. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, and then the steward added, "Now we come to the place of entry, prince. Are you ready to enter?"

"Yes…." Gord let that trail off, for Lowen had sounded most formal and had spoken those last words loudly. Even as he had said "yes," Gord's eyes had fallen upon two lines of guards, stiffly arrayed so as to form a double line leading into the mansion that was the Catlord's palace. "But I think we must find another door, steward," the young adventurer said under his breath. "Some ceremony is in progress here, and it would not be meet to interrupt."

"Have no concern, prince," Lord Lowen said as softly in reply. "We will not be intruding — quite the contrary." As the two strode on, the nine armored warriors on either hand saluted. Lowen's grip would not allow anything but for Gord to proceed on into the hall before them.

Great thumps suddenly sounded. "Prince Gord Carl Quapardus now enters this hall! Who will display flattened ears?" The bellowing came from Raaph, major domo of the palace.

Lowen had tugged him to a halt, so Gord had a moment to scan the scene. During the time they had been out walking, a transformation had been effected in the place. A semicircular dais had been erected in the leftmost portion of the big room. It supported nine groups of tall chairs. Each group had two on the higher level of the stand and four below on the lower tier. All six seats of each group were occupied by grandly arrayed men and gorgeously dressed women. To either side of the uppermost chairs stood pages, while below the lower four seats of each group stood a fully armored knight.

Gord's gaze settled upon each of the uppermost figures in turn. They were the noble heads of the Nine Houses, with their chief henchmen occupying the lower chairs. Here was the Scion of Smilodons in cloth of gold, bedecked with a necklace of nine huge golden beryls. Closest to his vantage point was House Lynx, its prince adorned in gray spidersilk vestments, a glitter of diamonds serving as his badge of nobility.

To Gord's right hand was another large dais. Thereupon he noticed the emblems and ensigns of those creatures who were associated with catkind — sea lions, true sphinxes, dragonnes, tiger sharks. Those beneath these blazons appeared to be men and women, but the young adventurer knew that such appearance was but one of the forms possible for them. The chief one of the leopard seals nodded almost imperceptibly as Gord's eyes briefly met hers. Then another voice brought his eyes elsewhere.

"None questions the coming." Rexfelis said those words in a normal tone, but they seemed to I'll the whole of the huge hall.

"There is no challenge!" agreed the major domo.

The Lord of Cats arose from the throne he had been stiffly sitting upon. As he did so, the other creatures in the chamber followed suit, rising to their feet as their sovereign had done. Then the realization struck Gord: Rexfelis had stood to greet… him!

"Go forward to our lord, prince." Lowen hissed. "I will follow just behind." Gord began to walk slowly ahead. He felt very uncomfortable, as though the hundreds of eyes in the chamber were burning holes in him. Yet proceed he did, and none hindered the forty-nine paces he took as he advanced to stand before the Catlord.

"You have walked around the Place of All Cats?" Gord looked at Rexfelis, consciously noting for the first time that he wore a gold diadem set with a variety of gems. Never before had the young man seen him wear a crown of any sort. Without delay and with no need of prompting, Gord answered truthfully and simply. "I have, lord."

"I then announce to all the Peers of this Realm that I have considered and found you most worthy of all. I name you Heir to the Domain of Catkind. Kneel, Prince Quapardus."

Gord did as he was told. Then Rexfelis took the diadem from his own head and placed it upon Gord's brow. "Arise, Crown Prince Gord, and sit beside me."

After the Lord of Cats said those words, another great thumping arose. "All hail Crown Prince Gord!" commanded the stentorian voice of the major domo. The assembled folk complied immediately and gave nine great shouts. In such a din, who could say if the cheers were full of happiness and respect, or discontent and envy? It made no difference, for the deed was accomplished.

"I am at a loss. Lord Rexfelis," Gord said quietly as the Master Cat took him to a newly brought second throne. They both sat, and the others in attendance took their seats again too. "It is an honor and station I don't think I deserve — in fact, am most uncomfortable with. Besides, at a time such as this, what use is this position and the ceremony associated with it?"

"Blunt, too blunt," Rexfelis muttered back. Think you that being a monarch is an insignificant task? In time you will get used to it… if we have such time granted. As to that, and your last comment, prince, the one who champions Balance must be of both proper station and have the support of all. You being of catkind, it is required that all the nobles of the dominion recognize you as such…. Enough of this now! We are being rude to our peers. Speak to them!"

Apparently he had no choice. Lately Gord had found that circumstance to be more and more frequent. Wondering if he was simply growing more perceptive of what had always existed, or if fate was intervening, Gord stood to do as Rexfelis had commanded. Naturally, all the assemblage then rose once again, even the Catlord. Disconcerted yet more, the young man managed to utter a few words, gracefully accept the accolades then given him by the princes of the other eight of the Nine Houses, those from the allied ones, and so forth. After an interminable time, Rexfelis gestured for all others to be seated and spoke a lengthy speech that ended in an invitation to the royal feast.

More thoughts were racing through his mind than he could cope with, more emotions were bathing his psyche than Gord had ever experienced. The sudden rush of information, of knowledge, and of purpose was too much. Where should he be? What should be done? How to accomplish what had to be done? Cold fear was deep within him: What if this all was an enormous lie? A dream? Or, worst of all, what if everything was true — but he proved unequal to the task? Also, he had to wonder why all this ritual and pomp was necessary now. There was so much more to learn, so many more important things to be done: What use was this revel?

The rest of the day was a blur for him. Lady Tirrip was there, but she was distant and formal instead of the warm, loving woman-cat she had once been with him. Equally stiff and reserved were all the others of catkind he had known before, whether as friend and companion or as rival. They were respectful, but distant and… afraid?

It occurred to Gord then that he was no longer like any of them at all, even Rexfelis. The infusion of power by the Lords of Balance, the words of that which called itself All and Nothing, his own commitment — all had combined to make him singular. There was no way he could relate to any of the others here. He was indeed a champion, and that set him apart. There was nothing to be done about it. Those who had identified, if not selected, him as the one to contest against the Ultimate Evil had set in motion a series of events that neither they nor he could reverse. The facts of his parentage and infancy, Gord's past life, the honors of the day: Each and every aspect of what had gone before and was now transpiring had no meaning to him except as they bore upon the thing to come.

At the stroke of midnight, Gord turned to the Catlord. Tour will in this matter has been accomplished, Lord Rexfelis. I thank you. I sense a new energy emanating from those folk here and flowing to me. For that too am I thankful. But I can bear this charade no longer. Now it is time for me to leave and seek the path which will bring me to the foe I am meant to confront. May I have your leave?"

"I…" Rexfelis looked with his own strange eyes into the deep, gray pools of his heir. There was such pain and purposeful resolve there that the Lord of Cats was unable to say more for a moment. Then he looked away. In his heart he felt deep sorrow for this one, one of his own, to whom had passed such a terrible burden. Rexfelis was sad that he himself had labored long and with exacting care to bestow that weight. That Rexfelis had not apportioned the fate, only recognized it, made little difference in the Catlord's feelings. "I grant it, of course, prince. You and I must meet again before you begin, though, for there is news of importance just arrived today."

"Why haven't you told me before now?"

The naming of you as my heir had to be accomplished, and done in the manner I myself set forth centuries ago."

Of course, the young man thought. Rexfelis had been master of all felines since there had been such a deity. Idly, Gord wondered why the Catlord would now find it desirable to abdicate. It was but a fleeting thought, one of little consequence under the circumstances. If Tharizdun triumphed, then there would be no Catlord, no heir. If Gord prevailed, it seemed quite likely to him that he would become something other than the new Lord of Cats. Odd…. "Very well. Let us go someplace where there is privacy."

By this time the celebration had become quite festive. It was not difficult for both of them to leave the hall unnoticed. Sovereign and crown prince notwithstanding, the noble folk of this realm meant to enjoy the proclaimed celebration to the full. Considering the heritage of all concerned, independence and general lack of interest in something so relatively insignificant as those two when compared to the food, drink, and company was indeed natural.

Shadowy galleries at either end of the hall provided space for many nonfeline attendees. Among them, incognito, were Basiliv and a host of others concerned with the coming duel. Several of these personages Joined them as Gord and Rexfelis headed along the corridor leading from the great room to one of the Catlord's quiet chambers.

"Have you news for us. Demiurge?"

Basiliv nodded, but somberly. "My agents discovered that Silver Seeker put into port at Telmstrand and then sailed for the Wild Coast. As that place is beyond my sphere, so to speak, I passed the information along to the Lesser Hierophants."

"That is where I was called in." The voice was familiar, and Gord turned quickly to see if his ears were deceiving him. "Congratulations, Prince Gord," Gellor said with a slight bow and a big smile quickly hidden by the inclination of his head.

"You one-eyed devil!" Gord cried. Then he stepped over and hugged the sinewy body of the grizzled troubador, forgetting decorum entirely. "Where have you been? Are you well?"

"Time for that later, please," Rexfelis said curtly. "You urged this matter on. Gord. You must now accept the consequences."

"Urged? I am the matter, as far as everyone is concerned. If I opt to tarry with an old comrade, then all of you will have to wait until I've decided otherwise!"

Gellor shook his head slightly. "You are right, my friend, but so is your grandsire. There will be time for personal talk later — and with other old friends besides myself — but now we should stick to the affair of the Silver Seeker and your sword." He looked at the young face, noting that the gray eyes had darkened somehow and aged. They were older now, as old as the world, and there was no youthfulness or thoughtless Joy there, none of the recklessness that had made him a gallant thief and carefree adventurer. Gord returned the study, then nodded for Gellor to continue.

The druids of the Suss, and certain priests too, were sent word. They in turn passed information along to other agents of ours. We knew within hours of her dropping anchor that Silver Seeker and your shipmates were in Safe ton." Gellor paused a moment to shrug helplessly. "Information is one thing, decision is another. By the time word had reached us and we could hold council to decide how best to approach the captain — Barrel, I believe, was his name- "

"What do you mean, was?!" Gord's face was set in hard lines as he shot that interruption at Gellor.

"Oh… I am getting ahead of myself, and most stupidly so," the troubador said with a sigh. He reached across the little distance between himself and his friend and clasped Gord's forearm. Tour comrades came to grief, my friend. Now, please allow me to tell this in chronological fashion. I'll come all too soon to the part you want to hear…. What indeed you must hear."

"Go on, then." His voice was toneless, but Gord managed a small smile to show Gellor that he understood the difficulty of his comrade's position.

Gellor released his hold on Gord's arm and continued without haste, for precise detail was needed. "We were in council, and therein it was decided to have several of us go to the town and speak with the captain of the vessel and your associate Dohojar, the Changa."

Before Gellor could say more, Gord allowed himself to interrupt again. There was something he had to know, and it was an essential part of the whole. "How were you aware of Dohojar? Barrel? Even the ship?"

"All of our energies are not spent on watching the foe, Gord," Basiliv said. "You have been informed of our constant vigilance in the distant past, from the time you were but a babe. Can you doubt that we do not continue to observe at all times? After all- "

"I have protection against such intrusion," Gord said flatly.

"Of course, we cannot watch you directly, but events around you are sufficient indicators of your whereabouts and actions. Then a spy here, an informant there, and agents sent to a locale discover all the details. We have known who to watch exactly. Fortunately, the evil ones have only been able to suspect. What is known to Balance is barely guessed at by those of the netherrealms."

"Where was I?" Gellor said with a hint of irritation.

"Sending a delegation to see Barrel and Dohojar in Safeton." Gord supplied.

"Thank you. That is what was decided by the Lesser Hierophants. It took a while to round us all up — Chert, Greenleaf, and me. By the time we arrived in Safeton, the Silver Seeker had raised anchor and sailed away five days earlier. Fortunately, we quickly discovered that she had left with a man calling himself Graves, who claimed to be a river pilot able to navigate up the Selintan." The troubador raised a finger to make sure that Gord didn't interrupt him further. "Unfortunately, we also found out that the so-called pilot had paid a third party to get aboard the ship as its navigator; it seems the man wanted this particular job very much.

"It was easy to guess that your mates were making for Greyhawk, Gord. Obviously, they were heading north up the river for that destination. Presumably you had arranged to meet them in the city if you became separated, or you had arranged to Join up there at some given time. No matter…. We immediately sought out the chief one of Balance in Safeton, and she arranged for us to arrive in Greyhawk's vicinity within hours. The three of us were already inside the city's high walls when tragedy happened aboard your ship."

"Barrel is dead, then," Gord said heavily. It was a statement, not a question.

"Dead and worse. So too your Changa comrade, Dohojar. Both of them were slain ruthlessly by the pilot, the man calling himself Graves."

"How can you know for certain? If neither could be raised and both are still dead, then-"

"The murderer was careless. No, I should say that he was careless with one of his agents. There was a series of violent thunderstorms on the day that Silver Seeker came upriver to Greyhawk. The weather was so foul as to preclude docking at a quay or Jetty. The ship was taken on up into Hook Harbor, and when the sun rose in a clear sky next morning was seen riding peacefully at anchor there.

"One of our men told us that the customs officials of the city were going out to investigate her, so we immediately hired a wherryman to scull us out to the ship. We brought along someone of sufficient authority in the government to be sure there would be no problems for your shipmates. However, when we got alongside the vessel, there was no sign of life. The deck was empty and nobody answered our hail. We knew the customs cutter would be there soon, so all of us clambered aboard and sought someone to tell what was going on."

There was no sign of foul play?" Gord asked. "Not on deck," Gellor replied. "It was as clean as if just holystoned. Forward belowdecks it was the same — everything left as if the crewmen had stowed their gear and were standing by for inspection. But the aft cabins were a different tale, let me assure you. Violence and magic and pain. Each was etched there, and the remains of both of your comrades were left as they had fallen… or been slowly killed."

"Say on, and spare me no detail," the young champion said sternly. "Of this business I will know all."

Following came an exacting description of what Gellor and the others had observed and deduced. "Our personage from government was a cleric, one of both high standing and accomplishment. That priest used his powers to attempt a bringing back of both dead men. It was to no avail. Barrel and Dohojar had been sent past the veil from where they could be recalled. So too it was with normal questioning of that vibratory force that lingers after the spirit has gone.

"The venerable priest was not one to yield to evil so easily, though. He worked long and painstakingly to divine what had occurred, to gain a clue about what had transpired aboard Silver Seeker. He gained enough for us to follow a thread. As there was nothing else to do, no trace of your sword or other things you had left aboard, Gord, we removed both bodies quietly and buried them with proper rites there in the harbor's deep waters.

"Then, yesterday, we met with two other great spell-binders come to assist the priest in the tracing of the single thread he had gained. Mordenkainen, despite the pressures of the cambion's hordes attacking his lands, arrived by the use of certain objects and words given to him by the Demiurge. Tenser was present thanks to assistance directly from the Archimage himself.

"Carefully, so as not to arouse attention from watchers of the evil ones, the work was done. The clue was sufficient to reveal that a netherfiend was involved in the slaughter, and only a few of such monsters can be so employed. By careful selection and questioning of those beings who attend to the matter of transference through the portals that wend their way from the foul pits to the material worlds, it was discovered which fiend was involved."

"That one's name?" Gord demanded harshly.

"Krung. One of the most disgusting and potent of the thirty-three able to move out of the nether pits."

"Let us go to where you have it prisoned and force all from its vile throat!" Gord sprang to his feet and started for the door.

"Easy, my friend, easy there," Rexfelis said soothingly. "Please return to your place a moment, for the troubador has more to tell you, I am certain."

That is true, Lord of Cats," Gellor said. "Do listen, please, Gord. We dared not force the netherfiend into returning to this plane for fear of alerting its master and all the lords of evil. Instead, we attempted to discover which sorcerous servant of the pits commanded service from Krung."

"With what result?"

At that the one-eyed troubador smiled a wolfish smile. "A most enlightening result, my dear comrade, a most enlightening one indeed! There are some of the elements which defy Neutrality and serve Evil. There was the matter of the long series of violent storms which came too conveniently for coincidence. Although we dared not delve into the lower realms in our quest for truth, those of elemental air were more than open to us. Greenleaf alone was able to trace down and summon the one which had served to call forth the storms which enabled the murderous work to be done in secret. We forced the truth from the thing, a creature called Vashmilkusom. Then we imprisoned it safely to await a time when it will be convenient for us to return it to its own place and execute it."

Gord allowed himself a moment to feel satisfaction, then inquired, "The elemental revealed who had summoned it to bring the storms?"

"Oh yes, eagerly too… after a time. The summoner, the one who commands the service of the netherfiend Krung, is one you might actually have heard of. He is from Greyhawk and uses many different appellations. It took us only a few hours to discover that, but we do not have his true name."

"Enough beating around the bush, Gellor," Gord said in the hard, impatient tone he had used so frequently of late. "What aliases does the scum use?"

"Undron Nalvistor is the one you may have heard, Gord. That is the name that the Assassins Guild of Greyhawk knows him by. Beanpole is the appellation that the urchins of the Low Quarter use, while his older neighbors there refer to him as Norund, a dotty gemner. Certain of the city's oligarchs utilize his talents, thinking the man to be named Rundon Tallman, a mystic and seer of no small power."

After pondering a minute, Gord shook his head slowly. "Odd. I have not heard those names at all. This one is a spider!"

"Spider and adder as well," Gellor concurred with a look of disgust and loathing on his lined countenance. Tet not so clever as he thinks himself to be — not by half! He used the air elemental to travel swiftly and safely from Greyhawk to Hardby. Then he masqueraded as a cleric, calling himself Brother Donnur, and insinuated himself onto a vessel bound for Safe-ton. How he knew that Silver Seeker was making for that same port speaks volumes in testimony of his connections with the nether realms.

"When he arrived in Safeton slightly in advance of Seeker, which was coming from the opposite direction, he assumed the guise of Graves, a navigator and river pilot. He fabricated a suitable tale, applied bribery freely, and got aboard Seeker as the one who would guide it safely up the Selintan to Greyhawk. That he did, but in the end only so that he could torture and murder the ship's captain and crew outside the city's high ramparts.

"His vile servants know his name as Gravestone. So too his masters use that name, in all likelihood. He is a rarity — perhaps a nonesuch, considering just who this Gravestone must bow down to. The creature is a demonurgist of great power. We have not discovered which of the abyssal spheres are in his thrall, but we will, we will. Powerful and clever — invisible until now — but no supra-genius. Gravestone left a clear trail from his meddling with elementals and others of that ilk. He can no longer hide from us, Gord!"

"And he has the sword?"

"Aye. Donnur the mendicant cleric entered Grey-hawk the very morning of the frightful killings aboard Silver Seeker. By close querying we discovered that the supposed priest carried with him a sword-sized parcel. Man, weapon, and whereabouts — we have them all!"

Basiliv and Rexfelis exchanged glances. "That is fine work, Gellor," the Demiurge said then. "No wonder so many of our associates in the alliance speak so highly of your talents. One small matter, though. It seems that this… Gravestone knows far too much. How, for instance, did he know that the sword was there aboard that ship? What intelligence does this demon-binder have?"

"More than mere demons, even lords of their vile kind," the troubador said with conviction. Tenser posed the same question. How can it come to pass that this one knew to find the right vessel at the right time and take from it the sword?"

Gord stood and raised his right hand, slowly turning it into a fist. "Because there is a traitor amongst us," he spat through clenched teeth.

"Just so," the Demiurge agreed. "Not one highly placed, however. It would be worse otherwise. Someone who professes to serve Balance is actually a carefully masked double agent. It can only be one of those placed so as to pass information, a relay." Basiliv turned to the Catlord. "When Gord told us that he had left the sword on board the ship, who was it that took the information out to pass along to the rest of the network?"

"Prince Lurajal and Prince Raug," Rexfelis replied slowly, obviously weighing each in his mind as he spoke, trying to fathom which of the two might be leagued with Evil.

"Let us summon them to us, then." Gord said the words before the Demiurge could. "One or the other, we will have the truth quickly enough!"

"Have a care. Lord of Cats," Basiliv said instantly. "Either of them could undo us now. Both have at worst an inkling — at best, certain knowledge — that Gord is the foreordained champion. Whichever one of those two is the spy and traitor, he must be itching to convey that information to the masters of evil. Do not alert either Raug or Lurajal of the true reason for their summoning. The guilty one will certainly have some means of escaping, some portal to carry him away instantly to the nether realms!"

"They shall both believe that they are to accompany their cousin, Gord, on his imminent visit to the material world," Rexfelis said with a tigerish snarl. "Have no fear. Both will come quickly enough upon hearing that… only one of them will hasten to us for the wrong reason!"

It was open and shut as far as Gord was concerned. In his mind the young champion dismissed Lurajal from consideration. There could be no real suspicion about that one. Not only had he become Gord's fast friend, but he was too open, too uncomplicated a person to manage such duplicity as what had occurred. In short, Lurajal was just not bright or clever enough to manage such black treachery. Raug, on the other hand….

Rexfelis called one of his servitors into the room. After giving a carefully worded set of instructions, the Catlord told them all to compose themselves and to wait. It was only a few minutes before both of the suspects came eagerly into their presence.

Raug bowed stiffly, showing not a little cold jealousy on his face when it came to paying his respects to the new crown prince, Gord. On the other hand, when Lurajal entered he did not bother with protocol and went straight to the young man and hugged him. "Gord!" Lurajal purred. "High time they recognized you as prince and heir!"

"Does that suffice?" Gord said aloud, looking from Rexfelis to Basiliv and then finally glaring at Gellor and Raug.

The latter scowled. "I have no idea what you mean… prince," Raug said.

Lurajal didn't bother to inquire at all. "When do we seek out the enemy?" he asked Gord.

"Enough, all of you," the Lord of Cats said, looking meaningfully at the young champion. His glance told Gord to shut his mouth and keep it that way. "Now then — you, Raug, and you, Lurajal, of House Panonca. Do you both stand ready and willing to serve me in a matter of life and death?"

"Yes, Lord of Us All," the two replied in chorus.

"Good. It is all settled, then. Gord will need two such stalwarts as you in what lies ahead. Before you equip yourselves for the mission, however, there is one thing further I require of you. Go to the crown prince and pledge your fealty and life to him!"

There was no hesitation from Lurajal, but Raug rumbled ominously, deep in his chest, a scowl plainly written on his face, and made no move to comply with Rexfelis's command. "I am your right arm!" Lurajal exclaimed, dropping to one knee before Gord as he spoke and holding both hands before him.

"And you?" Rexfelis asked ominously, staring at Raug.

The big fellow tried to remove the look of enmity from his face. "I… I… have some difficulty, lord, accepting him… the Prince of Panthers… as my liege," Raug finally blurted in a growl.

"Here to me, then, and let it be as it may. You shall not go," said the Master of Cats.

Raug stared at him only a moment, then shrugged and stepped to stand beside Rexfelis. "I will be obedient, lord… but Gord and I have been at odds often, and it will take time. I wish to serve you in this cause, but another in my stead is better, I suppose."

Rexfelis smiled in an agreeable, knowing way when Raug said that. "Yes, it is only honest to admit your weakness thus," he replied. Turning to the others, the Catlord then spoke sharply. "Have a care when you take Lurajal! He will resist to the death!"

Basiliv had anticipated the matter fully. His hand shot forth and touched the dark young scion of jaguars on the forehead, and Lurajal dropped as if he had been poleaxed.

"There, my friends," said Rexfelis sadly. "The Demiurge has taken care of the traitor in our midst."

Lurajal wasn't dead — only unconscious, Basiliv explained. He would be questioned immediately when he awakened in an hour or so. Raug was completely taken aback and bewildered, but the Catlord took him aside and patiently went over the whole affair for his benefit. While this was occurring, Gord looked from Gellor to the Demiurge. "I would have wagered my life against Raug and on him," he said, pointing to the prone Lurajal.

"And lost, too," the one-eyed troubador observed. "Then again, I would probably have made the same misjudgment as you… until it came time to pledge an oath of fealty."

Basiliv nodded. "That was the undoing of Lurajal. He was too ready, and Raug too honest. Lucky for us that both did not agree readily, for then we would have had to use some potent spells to discern the truth — and that might have allowed Lurajal an opportunity to make good an escape. But no trick or enchanted object will save that one now," the Demiurge noted. "Even now there are spell-workers and priests hastening here with armed warriors. Soon Lurajal will be stripped, chained, and put to the question in a place where none of his magic will work. Soon we will know his master's name and perhaps more; the evil ones he serves will not guess the fate of their agent until it is too late, I think. For once, we are ahead in this deadly game!"