Night Arrant (13 page)
The object of Maheal's new tirade bared his large fangs and advanced upon the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. The rumbling in his throat and the clutching motions of his long, thick fingers made his intent unquestionable; this ogre was about to tear the abusive nobleman limb from limb. One look was sufficient to convey this message to Lord Maheal as well. He uttered a frightened squawk and darted behind the other two humans.
"Save me, save mel" he whined, dropping to a, crouch and groveling in abject terror.
"Don't do something you'll regret, Pinkus!" Gord cautioned the enraged creature as he situated himself, somewhat reluctantly, between the ogre and the cowering Maheal. Although there were three of them against one, if need be, Gord knew they were probably no match for the monster. It would be best to try to reason with him.
"Are you crazy, Pinkus?" Chert said, dispensing with reason and psychology altogether. "Use that horny lump on top of your shoulders for something other than a battering ram," he added, referring to the creature's immediate reaction to their incarceration a day ago. The ogre-magus had then attempted to smash down the bronzewood door of their dungeon cell by butting it. All the fellow had received for his efforts was a bump on his thick cranium.
"Yah, Pinkus." Gord figured if Chert's words had not done any damage, his two cents' worth wasn't going to hurt anything after the fact. "If the Grand Count of Fizziak is determined to blame us for his recent loss of favor with the king, how much more so if we usurp his prerogatives and kill his nephew here!"
The huge enjure stared at Gord with bloodshot, yellow-pupiled eyes, snarled, and ceased his threatening approach. "Sometimes I wish I were of the savage stock of pre-ancestral sort found on this world rather than the enlightened race we have become. Frankly, I don't give us one chance in a hundred regardless of what we do to that little monkey," Pinkus concluded, with a casual sweep of a monstrous arm that dismissed the huddling Lord Maheal as not worthy of consideration.
Gord had to agree in his heart. If Lord Fizziak valued his nephew, the young noble would never have been thrown into the same cell with himself. Chert, and the creature calling himself Pinkus, a seeming ogre-magus. The affair would be laughable if their current situation were not so dire.
The terrible ruin made by their precipitation over the Grand Hall when the transportation device failed was not so easily dealt with. When Gord had been surrounded by guards, and the ogre, Pinkus, knocked unconscious. Chert had done his barbarian best to prevent the guards from putting him hors de combat it was a valiant fight, but eventually Chert, too, had been laid low.
Grand Count Fizziak was humiliated and in his ire quite prepared to put the lot. including Lord Maheal, on the gibbet instantly. But King Archbold, covered from head to foot with the food he had hoped to offer his guests, decreed that punishment would be less swift. He ordered Lord Fizziak to confine the offenders in the dungeon of the castle until further notice. As theirs was an offense against his person, a crime of lese majeste, as it were. Arch-bold III would make it his personal responsibility to decide the eventual sentence to be meted out.
Although beside himself with his own desire for revenge, the grand count had no choice. Stripped of all weapons, the four offenders were tossed into the cell they now inhabited. A full week had passed since, and the bread was more stale and the water more foul than when they began their incarceration. The cell was constructed to hold prisoners of special sort — those capable of employing spells and magic. No dweomer would function within the confines of the place. The walls were solid stone, and the bronzewood door was bound in silvered bands of iron, triple-locked, and watched constantly by a hard-eyed turnkey. The prisoners would remain securely in their cell until the king decided their fate; of that there was no question.
Lord Maheal had alternately wept and cursed the others during the first day or two. Meanwhile, Gord and Chert learned a bit about the ogre-magus. It seemed that this creature was from an alternate world, a place where humans were nothing more than savage, apelike creatures living in forests and jungles. Ogres, too, were animals, but the monsters known on Oerth as ogre-magi were the civilizing-force of that world. The creature introduced himself as Pinkus, claiming that he was an agent for a firm that imported and exported goods from many worlds and planes.
"Why help Plincourt attack us?" Chert had inquired mildly.
"I owed him a favor — besides, I don't like either of you!" Pinkus had said with a snarl. Fortunately, the civilized ogre-magus was not nearly as big or as strong as the monstrous sort that plagued Oerth, although he was large enough to be threatening, being a span more than eight feet in height and weighing about five hundred pounds or so.
For the last few days, the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe had been nagging and threatening his fellow prisoners with terrible punishments. The noble had recovered sufficiently to imagine that somehow he would prove that he was blameless, gain his uncle's forgiveness, and thus be able to visit his wrath upon the heads of those he held responsible for his current pass.
Gord had to laugh at the whole. Childless, Lord Fizziak had shown great favor to his nephew Maheal, and it seemed that for some time all the grand count's court had presumed that Maheal was the heir apparent to all the Fizziak fiefs and holdings. So too, the young Szek of Dohou-Yohpe had aspired. But no longer! The grand count had made a point of sending a page to read a pronouncement naming a distant cousin of Maheal's as chamberlain. This position was the most likely one for the heir of the family to hold, and Maheal fell into a deep depression and was silent for nearly a whole day after hearing the news. Then he had begun his hysterical tirade that culminated in the near-attack by Pinkus. Gord waited for the creature to calm down some before addressing him again.
"Even if you were a real ogre-magus, this cell would prevent you from using magic to escape — or even give that twit the comeuppance he deserves," Gord said to the still angry creature. "But then again, maybe you can do something! What sort of stuff can you civilized ogre-types do. anyway?"
"None of your business, you hairless little monkey," Pinkus said, going back to his own corner of the cell to brood darkly.
"That's no way to talk to your comrades!" Chert admonished the fellow with a grin. "We're willing to let bygones be bygones and help you out, so why not return the favor?"
"Go roll yourself in ryxzotilofuul!" Pinkus countered in triumph. The evident delight on his hideous face spoke volumes, and the humans could only guess at what sort of insult he had delivered, but it pleased him mightily, no doubt.
Any further exchange was cut short just then by the sudden noise of tramping feet. A whole squad of armored guards came marching down the passageway, led by a brightly clad officer and the new chamberlain. Lord Preppyn. The latter had such a smug expression on his round, chubby face that Gord feared the worst. It turned out to be something other than what was expected, however, for the doughlike visage was wearing its look due to the man's station, not his message.
"You are ordered to appear before His Lordship, Grand Count Fizziak, immediately! Maheal — and you other curs, too — come along quietly and smartly. If you cause the least bit of trouble, I am authorized to deal with you in most rude fashion!"
The Szek of Dohou-Yohpe was ashen-faced and shaking with indignant rage at the tone used by Preppyn, who had been a mere thegn of a petty territory before his recent elevation. "How dare you speak to me in such a tone, you . . . you . . . dearly beloved cousin!" Maheal managed to blurt out. For all he was, the Nyrondel nobleman was not totally stupid. Without any power at the moment, Maheal thought twice and attempted to use family ties to gain favor with this distant relative.
"Don’t mention our kinship, distant as the consanguine ties are. You bring shame to all who have the noble blood of the Fizziaks in their veins!"
Maheal clamped his mouth shut and stepped out of the cell. The other three prisoners followed, each having a trio of guardsmen with ready weapons to assure meek and prompt compliance with the chamberlain's commands. In a few minutes they were out of the dark and dank labyrinth below the castle and were heading for a wide archway that led.
Into one of the lesser chambers of the administrative area of the sprawling chateau. While the four stood in a line, sharply pointed steel held against their spines, the plump Preppyn strutted to a small door in the opposite wall and rapped softly. "Noble nuncle," he cried respectfully, "the prisoners await your disposition."
The door flew open, nearry smacking the unctuous chamberlain's pudgy face, which he jerked back most hurriedly to avoid the panel. Sputtering over the loss of dignity, Preppyn quickly smoothed his doughy features into blandness, the closest he could come to stern authority, as the grand CQunt strode forth, his expression hard and his bearing harsh. Preppyn trailed after Lord Fizziak like a fly trying to catch up with a platter of sweetmeats.
"So!" the grand count thundered. "It is time to determine your punishment."
"My lord uncle— "
"Silence!" Fizziak roared, cutting off the blenching Maheal in midsentence. "I did not give you leave to speak. If you interrupt me again it will go hard with you — and do not call me uncle!"
"You heard mine nuncle!" Preppyn said with a smirk. "Speak only when his grand lordship addresses you!"
"Oh, shut that fat face of yours, Preppyn!" Lord Fizziak muttered angrily in the general direction of the dithering official. "Sometimes I wish that more robust breeding were to be found within our lineage," he added to himself as he eyed the pale chamberlain sourly.
Gord thought that the grand count certainly bore little resemblance to either of his kinsmen. Lord Fizziak was tall, lean, and muscular despite advancing years. At one time he must have led a soldier's life, and Gord imagined that the grand count would happily take the field at the head of an army once again if the opportunity arose. The nobleman tugged absently at one of his drooping, iron-gray mustaches as he glared at his captives.
"Your crimes are great, and were it strictly up to me you all would have been dealt with already," Lord Fizziak snapped. Then, harrumphing, he went on: "I must be ruled by my liege. King Archbold, in this matter, so I now pronounce the sentence of the king." The Lord Fizziak produced a sheet of heavy vellum that bore the Royal Seal of Nyrond at its bottom and began reading. "I, Archbold III, King of Nyrond, Duke of Flinthill, etc., etc., do hereby decree that the prisoners, to wit Lord Maheal, the commoners called Chert and Gord, and the creature named Pinkus, an ogre or ogre-magus of some unknown sort, are charged with numerous crimes against Nyrond. Having been found guilty, the four must either be brought to justice by beheading or accept a test of perilous nature. If the former course is taken, sentence will be carried out instantly. ..." -
The grand count ceased reading at this juncture, for Lord Maheal had fainted, and the noise of his sudden fall disturbed the process. "You there!" he said irritably to the officer of the guards. "Stand that lily-livered nephew of mine upright, and slap him smartly until he is again in possession of his senses, such as they are." Then, looking hard at the limp Maheal. he waited until the fellow was again conscious before resuming his reading.
". . . sentence will be carried out instantly and in any order Lord Fizziak determines best. However, should the condemned prisoners elect to show mettle and courage and accept the test, sentence is withheld until such time as they complete the trial. Royal Pardon will be bestowed upon all who accept said test and meet death or succeed. Failure in the completion of the test shall mean death — one way or the other."
The grand count looked at each prisoner, then asked. "Is it to be the axe or the test? You have one minute to decide."
Gord and Chert took a step forward without hesitation, signaling their desire for the latter choice. Grumbling about apish barbarism, Pinkus followed. Maheal fell forward in another swoon, a gesture that Fizziak took as concurrence.
"That is that," Lord Fizziak said with a shrug as he toed his nephew's body. "Guards, see that these prisoners are taken to the Tower of Winds. Our Court Wizard Phompton and Good Priest Boffly will take charge of them there." Without another word the grand count stumped back to his private room.
"Awaken!"
At the command, all four prisoners snapped alertly erect in the stiff wooden chairs in which they had slumped moments before. A wizard with bushy, black brows and an even bushier beard was peering at them with his startlingfy blue eyes. Beside the magic-user stood Good, Priest Boffly. smiling benignry upon the quartet.
"You are now charged and properly directed upon your test." the cleric said with a smile. "And my blessing is upon you all," he added.
"What Boffly here means," the Court Wizard of Fizziak said in a gravelly voice, "is that you have been geased, enthralled, and otherwise tampered with to assure that you'll either see the mission through or die in the trying. If you so much as turn aside you'll be stricken with pain, a burning itch, and far worse if you attempt to deviate further!"
"But what is the test?" Gord demanded. "Nobody's bothered to tell us!"
"Oh no, my son," the Good Prtest Boffly said with a tone of hurt fatherliness in his voice. "We have taken great pains to instruct each of you in all matters pertaining to the test. You will recall them as time and circumstances demand."
Bristling beard thrust forth, the Wizard of Fizziak interjected, "What Boffly means is that you'll know what you need to know when you have need to know it — and not a moment sooner! We don't want you wandering about spilling everything in the meantime, so we have used various forms of dweomercraefting and priestly spell-tinkering to lock the knowledge safety away until proper events trigger it forth."
"Unkindly put," the priest said with a long-suffering look upon his benign countenance, "but quite true, nonetheless. By means of my inspired powers and a bit of help from the arcane craft that Wizard Phompton here manages tolerably well, you are safely directed and protected. Go about your test with the blessing of St. Trowbane upon your undeserving heads!"
As the wizard scowled at Boffly, and the cleric returned the glare with mild triumph expressed on his features, Gord, Chert, Pinkus and Maheal looked at each other blankly. It was immediately apparent that none of them had the faintest idea what they were supposed to do next. Before any of them could say so, however, the wizard saw their confusion.
"There, Boffly, is another sign of your incompetence! You failed to give the initial command, see?" Phompton stood with long arms folded in hauteur, stressing his point. Somewhat deflated. Good Priest Boffly allowed a tiny frown to cross his mild countenance. This was instantly replaced by a cheerfulsmile and with a wave of dismissal he said, "Good boys! Go get 'em!"
Resisting the urge to let his tongue hang out of his mouth, Gord turned obediently and headed for the door. The others were following without question. Each of the four knew that they were leaving Castle Fizziak and heading north. There was little else to worry about.
"Coercion of this sort is ignoble!" Maheal said as he scratched vigorously at various parts of his body. As this particular scene had been repeated several times previously, everyone else paid no heed whatsoever to the complaining and rode on in silence. This didn't deter the young nobleman a jot. He kicked his mount to hasten its pace and came alongside the huge horse ridden by the ehjure.
"I say, Pinkus! You have magical powers, I'm sure of it. Do something to remove this blasted compulsion and the base effects of disobeying it!"
The eight-foot-plus ogre looked down his pug nose at Lord Maheal in a manner which the most vain dandies would have been proud to ape. "Get away from me, minimus, or else I'll boot your ass clean over your palfrey's head." As he said this, he swung one leg free of its stirrup and made threatening motions with it.
"Savage!" Maheal cried as he quickly got out of the way. "You must be addlepated, the lot of you! From the way you're all acting, one would suppose you were eager to enter this dismal wilderness and meet a coven of warlocks and witches!"
After getting well clear of the grand count's massive stronghold and the attendant settlements, the four had known suddenly that their course was not northward at all. Maheal had exaggerated when he claimed to dwell in Rel Mord. Fizziak lands bordered Relmor Bay on the south and ran northward about a hundred miles. This was a place quite removed from the capital of Nyrond. And the test was to take place elsewhere — specifically, about forty leagues to the west. They were to cross the Duntide River and enter the Gnatmarsh area. Fortunately, they had been allowed to take all of their possessions when they left — all except Gord's and Chert's fortune in jewels, of course. Weapons, provisions, and horses they had aplenty. Even the reluctant Maheal was bristling with an array of weapons. It was probable the szek would have trouble finding the pointy end of his sword, but that was another matter entirely.
That they had been carefully instructed through mental messages hidden magically and triggered automatically by certain predetermined events was certain. So too was the power of the dweomer that forced compliance with the test if any of their numbers chose not to heed the mental promptings. Pinkus had. in fact, attempted to leave the group and head off on his own. Gord and Chert just ignored the defection, not caring much for the company of the ogre-magus anyway. Pinkus had returned in an hour, groaning from stomach cramps, complaining of a burning rash, and having trouble uncrossing his goggling eyes. Neither Gord nor Chert had considered swerving from the terms of the so-called test. Far more weighty than possible' consequences of the sort the ogreling was suffering was the fact that Lord Fizziak held their wealth!
Both of the young adventurers had guffawed at the sight presented by the errant ogre-magus as he returned. It was made funnier still by anticipation, since the desertion of Pinkus had prompted Maheal to do the same. No sooner had the ogre-magus been out of sight than the Nyrondel nobleman had airily waved a cerise-gloved hand at the two adventurers and said. "Well, so much for all this nonsense — I'm off for Dohou-Yohpe. The grand count will forgive me after a time. Imagine — sending his own flesh and blood off on such a dangerous missionl"
Chert had only stared in distaste at Maheal, but Gord tried to reason with him. "Remember what Good Priest Boffly told us. If you try to shirk your duty, there'll be unpleasant consequences!"
"Nonsense! I am a Peer of the Realm, and no one would dare to inflict such ills upon my noble person!" So saying. Maheal had reined his steed around and galloped off to the northeast.
It was only minutes after Pinkus came back that they heard the sound of another horse approaching. There was Maheal, all right, reeling in his saddle and crying out piteously. At first Gord and Chert laughed, but then they could not help but feel compassion. They helped the feebly moving noble from his mount and laid him carefully down. To have lasted as long as the ogreling under the pangs of enthrallment and geas brought new respect for Maheal in the hearts of both humans. Later, the Nyrondel told them he had passed out from the pain. That, and his combination of whining and continued attempts to break the dweomer sent all high regard from them. It was clear that the young noble was a fool, a coward, and a dolt. They were, however, stuck with him — and Pinkus as well.
"Is it the curse of that benighted artifact we stole from Nerull's temple?" Chert asked crossly, accusation lurking behind the query.
"With the situation as it is," Gord replied, eyeing the foppish Maheal and the ehjure sulking along beside each other, "I'm not certain that this so-called test is anything other than retribution," he admitted grudgingly to the hulking barbarian. "Nonetheless, I am determined to turn the tables and get both our just compensation and revenge!"
"Compensation?" the young nobleman echoed.
"Revenge?" Pinkus growled as he glared at the three humans.
"Curdling curds of catoblepas crap!" Chert expostulated as he turned away and rode off to scout ahead for possible trouble. Gord, suffering from boredom and tired of the company he and his barbarian friend were currently compelled to keep, fervently wished he could go with him, but the young thief knew that it would be most ill-advised to leave Pinkus and Maheal alone together. Hunching his shoulders, Gord resigned himself to a long trek with the ogre and the whiner. It seemed like days before the hillman returned, although he was gone but a few hours.
When a small company of bandits attacked them from the rear the next day, everyone but Maheal welcomed the encounter as a pleasant diversion. The outlaws evidently had a minor spell-weaver in tow, for their assault was preceded by a streak of sizzling fire that impacted squarely upon the ogre-magus. Whatever differences he and his less-civilized kin who dwelled on Oerth had, resistance to magic was certainly one no one in the party would find objectionable. The spell was most likely meant to create a fiery globe to incinerate the group, but when it came in contact with Pinkus, the flames fizzled and went out. The magic-user who cast the spell had no opportunity to attempt further harm.
Where a hot, glowing streak had been a split second before, there now existed a line of pale blue. Icicles appeared along it and fell tinkling to earth in the same moment. A muffled shriek came from a clump of flash-frozen brush, and Gord could see crystalline flakes of snow gently descending on the area. Although the spell-slinger was thereby put out of commission, his associates pressed the attack. As Gord, Chert, and the ogre-magus turned to stand their ground against the outlaws, Maheal spurred his horse on ahead, leaving his traveling companions for behind.
"Mind the arrows!" the barbarian shouted as a dozen barbed missiles buzzed near.
Gord screamed a wild oath as if in reply. One shaft grazed his horse, and several others had come close enough to hear, but the young thief was unscathed. "Surrender or die!" he shouted as he struck right and left at the startled bandits crouching amidst the newly frozen brush.
Chert and the ogre-magus were likewise laying about them with vigor. In fact, as soon as Pinkus was among the outlaws, he threw his huge body from the back of his destrier, sweeping up a trio of brigands as he crashed to the ground. While the hulking hillman whirled his axe, Brool, in bloody arcs, Pinkus discarded outlaws' broken bodies left, up, right, and down as if a cyclone had struck in the midst of these hapless ambushers. It was all over in a few minutes.
"Who is your captain?" Gord demanded of the dozen prisoners.
"Cob the Crazed — but he lies dead there," one wounded outlaw managed to reply.
Chert, meanwhile, was chipping the ice from the frozen corpse of the spell-caster who had foolishly. sent his dweomer at the ogre-magus. It seemed that a backlash had occurred when the spell struck Pinkus, and an opposite effect had been inflicted upon the sender, who was caught off guard and did not act fast enough to avoid it. The fellow's surprised gaze looked blankly forth from a globe of slowly melting ice several feet thick. The barbarian, who thought that the dead Cob might be carrying something worth salvaging, was using his axe to whittle the stuff away to speed the natural process.
"Don't eat those bodies, Pinkus!" Gord called to the ogre-magus. The ogreling growled and grumbled but left off his prodding of the dead bandits and smacking of his lips. Gord wasn't certain if he had been doing this to further intimidate their captives, or whether the ehjure had actually been planning to eat one or more of their fallen attackers. Whatever the case, the effect upon the survivors was amazing.
"Please keep him away from us," the spokesman for the prisoners pleaded to Gord. "We'll tell you anything you want — just keep him from us!"
"Gather up all the valuables, then," Gord ordered, "and be certain that your own wealth is in the pile. If I find so much as an iron drab has been held back. I'll give the offender to Pinkus for his next meal!"
The ogre-magus clicked his fangs fiercely and rolled his goggling eyes. There was a mad scramble to comply, each outlaw attempting to be the first to divest himself of his money and valuables.
"Get the stuff from the bodies too!" Chert shouted, and another rush ensued. Meanwhile, the barbarian had whittled the ice down to where the sun would soon complete the work, so he rested on his axe and watched the captives with a flinty gaze. It took little urging for them to complete the task and meekly return to a huddled group near the two humans.
"What a pitiful treasure!'' Gord said with disgust. There, on a worn and dirty cloak, was the sum of the wealth the brigands had possessed. No more than a hundred coins, and nothing larger than a copper common in the lot. There were a few pieces of cheap jewelry and one silver-studied belt. "No wonder they sought to rob wayfarers. Even a Medeglan pilgrim would be likely to enrich such a poor lot as this!"
"Now can we eat?" Pinkus asked hopefully.
"Cut it out now, pal. If we eat them, we won't be able to enlist them on our quest I think that would be putting them to much better use, don't you? After all. you don't want to have to deal with indigestion in addition to whatever else we might encounter, now do you?" Gord asked condescendingly. Pinkus looked disappointed, but he nodded agreement. Gord turned to the dozen or so survivors of Crazed Cob's corps. "Bury your comrades, and leave a place for the magic-user, too." Meanwhile Chert had finally broken the ice, so to speak, and the body of the sorcerer could now be searched.
"What's he got?" Gord asked, peering over the crouching barbarian's shoulders.
"A fat purse and a gold brooch, I think," Chert called back. "Just a second, and we'll see!"
It turned out that the "gold" was only washed brass, and the purse was a leather pouch filled with the various packets and stuffs of dweomercraefting. So much for that. The now-enlarged band of questers set out for the bandits' encampment, which, as luck would have it, was on the same route the dweomer compelled the quartet to tread. Along the way the group encountered the grazing steed of Lord Maheal, and nearby was that worthy's prone form, asleep in a patch of warm sunlight.