Sea of Death

Chapter 17

They dashed up the ramp and stood panting in the gloom, sheltered from casual view by a portion of the building they leaned against. As they rested thus, a company of armed pygmy soldiers trotted past a short distance away, went down the ramp the two had just ascended, and were gone. Leda suggested that they find a way to enter this old mass they stood beside, saying that it matched the description of the place where too-large items were stored for trade with nonpygmy groups.

After a few minutes of searching, they found an alley door. It was locked, but Gord had no trouble opening the simple mechanism, using a bit of wire from the little pouch of tools kept on his belt for just such a need. A brief search through the welter of stuff strewn about inside the place uncovered all sorts of arms. Not one was of any great value, but finally Gord selected a light long sword, probably once the property of some woman or small man. It was longer and heavier than his old short sword, but not so different as to require hours of practice before he could use it properly. The weapon was stacked in a corner along with axes, a mace, several other swords, and a long-spiked morning star. Not wanting to waste still more time searching for a scabbard, Gord grabbed up a couple of the other weapons and hurried out. As he went, he dropped an axe just inside the door and a broadsword just outside the entry.

"What are you doing?" Leda asked.

"Leave the door wide open, girl. I hope that a band of roaming slaves — or ex-slaves, that is — will stumble upon this place. Now let's go find that bedamned temple and see what happens!"

As the two trotted out of the alley and along a street that they thought would lead to the pygmies' sacred shrine, a bright flash lit up the sky. It was followed by a fiery light that sent tawny shadows dancing along the underground thoroughfare for several beats, then died as quickly as it came. The display came from their right and was about a mile distant, Leda thought. "That was a magical sphere of fire, Gord. The others seeking the Final Key must be attacking at this moment. We must run!"

"Oh, hells! Look, Leda, to your left." As Gord spoke, pale spurts of glowing green energy zipped along a broad avenue that intersected the road they were following at a distance of about fifty yards. The darts were answered by a rolling cloud of some hellish vapors that gleamed with a grayish internal light as it boiled toward a group of albino soldiers who stood in its path. One of the pale little men in the front rank held a long wand, and from it issued more of the darting green spurts. Farther down the avenue, someone cried out; one of the wand-wielder's foes had apparently been struck by the force that came from the weapon. Then the vapors enveloped the squad of little soldiers, and only the lone, wand-using one staggered out of the cloud. He ran from the scene at a good clip, but made the mistake of heading for where Gord and Leda were hidden.

"Cut him down, Gord. We can use that wand he has."

Without hesitation, the young thief sprang out and angled so as to approach the little man from the side. The pygmy seemed disoriented, ill, and panicky, all of which made him an easy target for Gord's new blade. The long sword bit through flesh and bone before the little man even noticed Gord's presence. "Here, girl, is your toy," he said, taking the wand from the dead fingers of the pygmy and tossing it to the dark elf, who had trailed along behind him.

"Good. It shoots magical missiles, Gord. We'll need them, I think, for those who approach behind that poisonous cloud are drow — and that means Eclavdra. I felt she was near…"

"Those other fireworks must be the dwarf and his henchmen, then," Gord said as he scanned the urban landscape. "There's a white building in the distance, midway between the two forces — see it? Run as if demons are on our heels, Leda."

"There are demons after us, Gord," she said, moving swiftly to show she meant it. Together, the two dashed through the dark streets without encountering any opposition; the albino forces were all off in other locations, trying to deal with two bands of invaders and a slave revolt all at the same time. A few minutes later they were bounding up a narrow stairway leading into a white, pillared edifice trimmed with red gold. This had to be the place they sought. At last, they had come to the shrine that housed the last portion of the artifact of great darkness. Without hesitation, they entered and prepared to confront whatever awaited them inside.

Not far away, Obmi, Bolt, and a group of Yoli warriors were finishing off the remnants of a company of pygmy soldiers who had thought to oppose them. The dwarf was rumbling a happy battle-song deep in his broad chest as he sent his deadly hammer flying to crack the skull of an albino priest trying to work up a spell against him. The martel was a handy thing to have, and he was glad for its presence in his right hand, but the hammer he had owned for a longer time, and it held a special place in his dark heart. It was able to wreak horrible damage, even when thrown, and the best part was that whenever Obmi released it, the hammer would hit its target and then circle around to return to the dwarfs grasp — as it did now.

With his left hand Obmi caught the bloodied weapon that came whirling back to him, and in the same instant buried the long pick of his martel in the side of a nearby pygmy. The force of this impact drove the tiny man sideways into his fellow defenders. At the same time, the dwarf jerked the pick sideways, freeing its bill and arcing the weapon to his left, where it struck another of the pale soldiers with its toothed hammer head, destroying the albino's face.

The dwarf felt wonderful. Here was a proper perspective at last! He was fighting men over whom he towered by a foot. And the magical boots bestowed upon him especially for this mission made him quicker than any ordinary human anyway, regardless of size. The dwarf flashed through the ranks of the desperate little albinos, a whirlwind of destruction that left a trail of blood and death behind. The poisoned quarrels from the repeating arbalests that the pygmy soldiers relied upon were next to useless against Obmi and his lieutenant. Bolt the wizard was protected from ordinary missiles by an enchantment, and the dwarf was by nature virtually immune to venom. Obmi smiled as he recalled plucking a little projectile from where it had stuck in his arm and using it on the fool who had shot him with it at point-blank range. The expression on the white runt's face as he had driven the still-envenomed quarrel into the very eye that had aimed it was hilarious.

The wizard was quite useful. Bolt had cleared away much of the opposition with a forked bolt of lightning — a stroke much bigger and more deadly than the defenders had supposed was possible. It had crisped a pair of the pygmy folk's own magic-workers before they knew what had hit them. Then Bolt had used his power to fry many of the remaining pale little men with a fireball, so the avenue up which Obmi marched was clear of opposition of serious sort, and he was able to amuse himself by crushing several of the pygmies with his own weapons. After a few minutes of this close fighting, half of the ten barbarian warriors accompanying the dwarf had been lost, but one had to expect as much. It didn't matter at any rate. One guide had been kept behind in a safe place outside the city, and that was all Obmi needed to get back to real civilization once the prize was his.

As Obmi came to an intersection of two avenues and turned the corner, he first peered ahead and caught sight of a commotion taking place in the distance. "Blast!" he roared. "Could it be that the filthy drow yet survives?" Bolt, as mystified as his master was angry, wisely let the question pass. Obmi stood still, taking a few seconds to discern the path along which the distant activity was moving, then let his gaze continue to track along the same route. Suddenly he set eyes upon an imposing building a few hundred yards away. "There!" he bellowed to the remainder of his assault group. "Look, you dogs! The temple lies ahead, and we must get there first. Run over any who stand in your way, now, and move for that place!"

Gord and Leda had come into the pygmy shrine from a secondary way, one reserved for the clerics who were housed nearby. Of course, the two had no idea that this was the case, for they couldn't see the grand entrances on the other faces of the great block that was the temple building. A large vestibule with three passageways was the first thing they saw upon entering. To either hand the reddish light common in the undercity was apparent, for the temple was filled with the strange globes. Ahead, though, the corridor glowed with a golden illumination that was unique to the place.

"Straight on, Leda," Gord hissed to the dark elf. That light must come from their most precious place of veneration." The pair rah on down the passage, a ten-foot width of polished alabaster with precious gold inlaid in the mosaic tiles of its walls.

The light is mysterious to them, I think. They must make this place so bright to awe the commoners — a reminder of the time when their ancestors dwelled upon the surface," Leda panted as they hurried forward. "It gives us a great advantage, for the pygmies will be nearly blind in such conditions."

"And a drow?"

"Most will be, but not I," Leda replied. "Eclavdra was supplied with dweomered cusps that protect the eyes from radiation of most sorts — and I, as her physical duplicate, also wear a pair of them."

Before they could converse further, the two came into a huge, pillared hall. They looked out upon a curved end wall, columned side aisles, and a wide central way. Down the middle of the four broad main aisles stretched lines of displays, as if the place was a museum. Perhaps it once had been such. The displays were encased in clear material — glass, crystal, or whatever, Gord could not tell. Along the way they came, the exhibits were of priestly nature, it seemed. They dashed past ancient books and even older-looking scrolls, carved chairs, displayed vestments, ornate reliquaries and sacred offery and altar pieces, and clerical paraphernalia of gold and silver.

The central portion of the mighty chamber was domed in gold, and the floor beneath this dome was a disc of dark, polished onyx. Set around this circle was a rail of wood, inlaid with gold, and broken at only one spot, on the side from which they approached. Outside the rail were curved benches of a size suitable for the pygmy folk. Perhaps a hundred or so could be seated there. Naturally, the benches faced inward so that the greatest of the albinos' treasures could be venerated. From the apex of the dome, fully forty feet above the onyx floor, hung a massive chain of dull, greenish metal. About two-thirds of the way down from the roof on this upper chain was fastened a massive ring. Four slightly smaller chains radiated out beneath this ring, enclosing a globe of crystalline transparency. Each of these four lengths of greenish links was caught fast again below the sphere by another great ring, and this, in turn, was fastened to another stretch of thicker chain that extended down to the onyx floor, held fast by a massive staple of the same metal as itself.

"If I stretched, I think I could just about touch the lower ring," Leda said to the young thief.

"I have never seen anything quite so black," Gord said in wonderment as he stared at the transparent globe. He referred to the small object set inside the crystal, a vaguely cone-shaped thing with three protruding parts that vaguely resembled horns.

Leda tugged at his arm to break his trancelike state. "Don't stare at it — don't look directly at it at all! That thing gives onto a part of the multiverse which is the opposite of what we know. It seems so black because it devours light. Don't touch it, for it will drain your life as it withers your flesh."

"How in the hopping hells do you expect me to touch it, girl? No one can get at it!"

"We must, Gord — and stop calling me girl. I am far older than you are!"

Gord slapped the dark elf on her round posterior, chuckling as he did so to break the tension of the situation. "No, you aren't. You said yourself that you are only months old — I should call you child, not girl."

"Ass! My memories stretch back over centuries, so I am no girl. Stop this foolish behavior and get moving. We have to loose that globe, crack it somehow, and gain the Final Key while the pygmies are busy elsewhere."

What the dark elf said made sense. There should have been dozens of guards and priests in the place, yet the temple was seemingly deserted — for now, anyway, and there was no telling when the battles going on outside would carry over to within this chamber.

Gord glanced around to see if there was anything nearby that might help him in what he meant to do. His eye fell upon a nearby display case. It held a statue, a lifelike work that depicted a warrior of the ancient empire, arrayed for battle and holding an oval-shaped shield and a surprisingly modern-looking sword. The weapon fairly radiated excellence of craftsmanship to the young adventurer. It was as long as the blade he held now, and shaped very much like it, yet there were differences that struck Gord as indicating that some great artisan had fashioned the weapon in the case. The blade was not as heavy and thick as the one he held, and the guard and quillons were far better. When he took a step and looked closer, Gord saw that the sword had a dish-shaped cutting edge and a ridged spine along its length. All in all, an excellent tool.

There is my new weapon!" he said with quiet determination.

Leda's face contorted in anger. "Have you gone daft?" she scolded. "Use that vaunted dagger of yours to sever those chains. We must have the Final Key now!"

Ignoring the dark elf entirely, Gord strode up to the tall case of wood-framed glass and peered at the incredibly realistic statue of the Suel knight therein. "Sorry, paragon of lost dreams of conquest, I have greater need for that blade than you do," he said, and with that he smote the case with the sword he was carrying. Strips of wood snapped, and thick panes of glass shivered into fragments that chimed and tinkled as they split into slivers upon contact with the stone floor. At the same moment, a puff of smoke erupted within the sundered display. Gord jumped back to escape the foul-smelling emission, coughing and wiping away the tears that the stuff caused to stream from his eyes.

"What have you- Look out, Gord!"

Leda's warning was unnecessary, for Gord saw it too. There was a crunch of powdering glass as the statue of the Suel knight, complete with sword in hand, leaped down upon the shards and flinders of the wrecked case. "You seek this blade, sooty-haired subhuman? I shall give it to you!" The warrior set upon Gord with a rush as he spoke the last sentence. The so-called statue was alive!

The ancient knight was clad in armor of antique design, but the metal was as good as, or even better than, that of any cavalier who boasted of the latest plate today. He held a shield of good metal, too. All that plus his sword made him more than a match for the young thief, even though Gord wore a shirt of elfin chainmail and could use his enchanted dagger in addition to the unimpressive long sword. Gord met the warrior's rush, avoided his opening shield-smash, and parried an overhand stroke of the sword. The duel was on then, but the third time their weapons made contact, Gord's steel broke under the force of the blond knight's blow. At that, the young adventurer hurled the remnant of the old sword at the laughing Suel. As the knight jerked his shield up to ward off the missile, Gord did a back somersault followed by several rolls, and was clear of danger for a moment.

"Tumbler's antics won't save you, niggling," the tall man said as he strode forward to attack again.

At that pass, Leda sprang into the conflict. Her sudden rush surprised the haughty fellow, and the dark elf s flashing scimitar nearly went home. As it was, the knight barely had time to try to parry the vicious cut, while attempting to duck away at the same time. He succeeded only partially, for the tip of the curved blade drew a red line across his cheek. "Face a truly sooty foe, then, you yapping human cur!" she snarled. Her tone and posture demonstrated that Leda was very ready to fight this ancient minion of the Empire of Suel to the death.

Infuriated at the little wound, the challenge, and the fact that not only was this a female, but a black-skinned, nonhuman one at that, the knight roared some ancient oath and unleashed a storm of steel upon the drow. His attack was so swift and brutal that Leda had all she could manage to survive, blocking, parrying, and retreating without getting in another blow of her own. But she kept the knight busy, and that was all that was needed. In one instant, Leda saw Gord move across her field of vision with unhuman swiftness, springing from behind the knight's left flank with his dagger sweeping in a sideways arc.

The momentary distraction almost cost Leda her life, for at that very moment the Suel warrior planted his feet and sent a downward cut at her. She brought her scimitar up a split-second too late; by then, the knight's stroke had gathered sufficient momentum. His sword was deflected, but not before it had knocked Leda's weapon from her numbed hand and drove her to her knees with its force. Laughing in anticipation, the fair-skinned knight drew back his arm to sink the sword point first into the dark elf s breast, but his peal of laughter ended in a high-pitched howl of anguish.

Gord yanked the long-bladed dagger from where it had sunk through the knight's armor and into the flesh of his bicep. The young adventurer twisted the weapon as he pulled it free, mocking the laughter that the knight had voiced just an instant before. "Ah, ha, ha, hah! Now you think such work is mirthful?" The knight whirled and swung a cross-body cut at him, but Gord was too quick. He ducked under the blow, dived into the man's legs, and sent the knight sprawling. Again Gord's dagger struck, and again its magically sharp point penetrated metal and flesh, this time that of the haughty Suel warrior's left thigh.

"Wait! I cry a truce!" the knight said as he tried desperately to regain his feet.

Leda kicked at the arm he was using to lever himself up in such a way as to maintain his shield between himself and Gord. The boot knocked the arm so that it bent. Again the knight sprawled, and this time it was worse, for the sword spun from his grasp when Leda's foot impacted against his arm. "I'll show you a truce, pig!" she growled as she reached for her scimitar.

"Wait, Leda," said Gord quickly. "Perhaps this revivification of the ancients can help us."

"Don't be foolish," she shot back as she picked up her sword and advanced on the near-helpless man. "This one is like a scorpion. We must kill him."

"Listen to me, foreigner," the knight pleaded, addressing the more merciful of the pair. "I honorably ask for quarter now, not truce. I offer by proof of my surrender the sword you coveted. Take my blade, and this fine armor too, as is your right, but spare my life."

One long stride put Gord between the half-prone man and the advancing dark elf. "Leda, please get his sword and bring it to me," Gord said mildly. She hesitated, then with a look of disgust at the young man shrugged her shoulders and turned to do his bidding, keeping one eye on the enemy all the while. "As for you, warrior from the past," Gord continued, "don't you know that your empire and all like you are gone? The land above, and the bones of all your fellows too, blow as dust over a desert which has swallowed up your vaunted realm."

"Fagh! Just because you two forced my surrender does not mean I am deranged. Lies will not serve you at all. Spare me now, and when my companions come to slay you I will speak on your behalf. Your sort are useful in our auxiliary bands. Service might even earn you the right of citizenship."

"Your words make no sense," Gord said without anger. "What do you know about the sphere suspended yonder?"

The Suel stood up and looked where Gord pointed. "So they have encased the Cone of the Magi in resochist… but what of Uattho?"

"Never mind," said Gord, not knowing how else to respond to this cryptic question. "You are on your parole, so stand quietly and do nothing until I say otherwise," he instructed the bemused warrior. Then Leda was beside him, handing him his newly won sword, and Gord smiled as he held it and felt its balance. Thanks, love," he said to her. He walked over to one of the benches surrounding the globe and laid the sword there for safekeeping. "I'll see about the Final Key now, and then we can be away."

"High time," was all the dark elf replied. She took up a post where she could guard the Suel warrior as well as get a good view of the four wings of the temple, watching lest some unexpected arrival should take them unawares.

A little more than a bowshot distant from the temple, Eclavdra, high priestess and champion of the demon Graz'zt, drained the last trace of energy from a wailing albino spell-binder. The little man had failed to avoid the kiss of her demon-wrought staff, and the leering visages that were carved along its length seemed to gloat as the thing sucked the pale midget's life from his trembling body. Eclavdra and her guards, four drow males, had faced a great many of these same little men. The members of her escort, however, were skilled not only with weapons but also with magic. All who dared oppose their advance had died. She did not know, of course, that the albino force had been divided. Her contempt for the pygmies was great, and Eclavdra credited herself and her henchmen with being so puissant as to be able to virtually walk over such puny opponents.

"The temple we seek is just ahead, Chosen of Graz'zt," one of the males said to her. Just then there was a blue flash inside the big building the male was pointing toward.

"What was that?" Eclavdra demanded of the smaller drow.

"Some energy discharge — of what sort I cannot say."

"No matter," Eclavdra told the woolly-haired male. "Gather up your fellows and precede me. Kill any who oppose you. I will cover your advance."

"There are savage bands of wild-looking humans roaming around these streets, great one. Perhaps I should remain behind with you in case one of these groups should attack."

That triggered something in Eclavdra's mind. While she hated to think that their assault had been aided by such a lowly event, the situation did amuse her. "Nonsense, underling! The stupid albinos are beset with a revolt of their slaves, and just at the time we came to their filthy little hive to take what is rightfully ours. Obviously, this is the work of The Dark Lord of the Abyss. He smiles on us and gives us his aid! Get moving, dolt — I want the Theorpart now!"

Bowing his cotton-white head, the male hurried away to gather his comrades and obey Eclavdra's command, cursing her mentally as he went. Were it not for the mighty black demon who favored her, he would be able to dispose of the High Priestess unaided. How dare such a nothing order him around! No matter — he would have the other three take his instructions, and he would cover their assault upon the temple. If any of them were to survive, it would be him…

It took some time, but the dagger did its job, and the lower chain fell to the polished onyx floor with a loud clatter. Gord grabbed the bit of chain that dangled from the bottom of the now free-swinging globe and was about to clamber up the thing when he heard a choking cry from behind. "What…?" He turned, and there was Leda, red-smeared scimitar in hand, and the knight of the ancient empire lying at her feet in a spreading pool of blood. "The flaming hells! What have you done?"

"The sneaky bastard was preparing to steal up behind you, Gord, ready to kill you when your back was turned," Leda replied with an icy tone. Then she used her toe to roll the man over. As his corpse flopped into its back, the dagger he held gripped in his dead fingers was exposed. "As I told you, his kind are scorpions."

Angry but much abashed, Gord returned to his work. With a little spring, he was upon the strange globe, averting his gaze from what the glassy ball contained. It swung like a pendulum, but that didn't bother him in the least. In a moment Gord was on top of the globe and climbing up the long chain, but a little ways only. Then, holding fast with his left hand, the young thief began cutting the greenish metal of the heavy link just below the one he gripped. The enchanted blade of his dagger bit into the weird metal, but only so as to make the dull greenish cast a little brighter. It was not surprising to him, for this was the same as had occurred when he had attacked the lower binding of the globe. Several more such slashes and chops, however, made the metal gleam still more brightly as the cut widened and deepened.

"Beware below," he called softly to Leda.

"I'm watching, you child! Stop playing around and bring that thing down!"

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Gord gripped the dagger and prepared to smite the chain exceptionally hard. Then he heard shouts and clanging nearby.

"Damn!" Leda cried. "Our foes are coming, Gord! Stop this delaying and get the Theorpart down."

With a grunt of effort, Gord brought his long-bladed dagger's edge against the bright spot on the link. The force and the keen edge were sufficient. The strange, green-hued metal split apart at the point of impact. The broken link groaned as its form stretched and bent under the weight of the chain-bound sphere it held. Then it gave, suddenly, and the ball of transparent substance fell to the stone beneath, making the domed temple boom and clang with the force of its impact. The rail smashed and benches broke where it hit. That thing was heavy!

Gord started to shout with glee as the chain-enwrapped globe bounced and rolled across the temple floor. His gaze followed it as it weaved this way and that, then the young man's eyes widened and his delight was cut short. The careening sphere's course took it toward the wing to his left. Although Gord didn't know it, this was the northern entrance to the place, and one that had just been entered by another group of invaders. The globe veered and turned as it rolled unevenly on the chains, finally coming to a stop at the feet of a small figure, not much taller than the ball of translucent material itself, who had just stepped into the chamber. It was an armored little fellow with vast shoulders and huge beard — a dwarf with a huge hammer in his left hand and a bloodstained military pick in his right. Gord recognized him at once, and spat his name under his breath as if it were a curse.

"Obmi! You dirty toad! I'll-"

The dwarf did not hear that remark, but even if he had he could not have scowled any more blackly as he looked up at Gord. Figuring him to be one of Eclavdra's minions, he did not hesitate in issuing an order to kill. "Bolt, bring down that monkey!" he commanded, pointing toward Gord as he spoke.

Leda took advantage of the moment to run as fast as she could back into the corridor she and Gord had used to get into the place. Her companion was in a bad spot, but she saw no way she could either help him or take on both the dwarf and his spell-worker at the same time. She had no spells she could put to good use at the moment, and in her haste she forgot entirely about the wand she was carrying in the pocket of the cloak she wore beneath her robe. So, she fled for a short distance, until she was out of sight of Gord and the dwarf — and then she remembered the ring…

"Yes, lord," the wizard replied, already holding the components he needed to cast his spell. Gord had a scant few seconds to form and execute a plan. He dared not to try leaping down hastily, for an uncontrolled drop from this height might injure him or at least hinder his mobility. The safer course was to remain hanging from the chain, at least for the time being, where he would have distance on his side. He tried to start his body swinging on the end of the chain so as to present a tougher target, but he did not have time to build up much momentum before a bolt of crackling energy shot from the spell-caster's fingertips.

Obmi watched with glee as the force of the spell crossed the distance between Bolt and the suspended figure faster than the eye could follow, a purplish-blue flash of electricity that hit the thick metal chain and made an eerie, fiery light play up and down its length. Was the man who had grasped the chain dropping off just as the lightning hit? No matter, it was too late. An aura of light surrounded the falling form, and the fellow fell like a stone, hitting the floor feet first and then collapsing with a dull plop. The victim lay burned and unmoving.

That one will not trouble me now," Obmi said with a cruel smile. "I congratulate you, Bolt. It is fortunate for you that you succeeded." The ugly dwarf was suddenly in an exceptionally good mood, since he had vanquished his opposition and the object of his quest lay literally at his feet.

"My thanks, great dwarf. I am here to serve capably, not misperform," the wizard responded ingratiatingly.

"Very well," said Obmi in a magnanimous tone. "In light of what you have accomplished since, I will overlook the fact that you misperformed when you supposedly killed Eclavdra and her party those many weeks ago. I know not who you victimized that time, but I do know that it was the drow bitch herself who disappeared down that hallway a minute ago." The dwarf turned to a pair of the Yoli warriors who stood behind him. "Go find her — but do not kill her. Bring her to me, and I will reward you well!"

The two nomads bowed hurriedly and sped away.