"You said all truly and exactly – as a bard should!" the druid answered. Then he turned to Oscar, inquiring, "And you, spell-caster of Hardby?"
"Our quarry speeds northward," the mage began, "after leaving the Suss for open lands in Celene. There seems to be some dissension in their midst, for they make first northwest, as if heading for Enstad – incredible as that may seem – then north and northeast for the Kron Hills or Welkwood. They do indeed have the portion of the artifact, though it is heavily protected and hidden. More about them – their master, or their ultimate destination – I could not learn."
"Well done!" said Curley. "We know that they have the prize, are not yet at the boundary of Celene, and the general direction of their flight. It is heartening indeed, and all we could expect. Thanks, boon companion and artful mage."
Oscar, always somewhat shy, simply lowered his gaze a bit and shrugged as the others smiled and congratulated him. Gellor interrupted the scene after a few seconds.
"Save this for another time, comrades," he said. "We are in dire jeopardy – a dragon comes, and unknown foes seek our lives! Let us set our minds on the perils of our mission and save the accolades for the time of final success."
"Correct as usual," noted Curley Greenleaf. "Here, stand round me a moment. I must needs touch each of you " He began an almost inaudible chant, gesturing and occasionally bringing forth some bit of leaf or berry, then bits of wood. About halfway through the incantation, the druid began touching each of his associates in turn, on the forehead, the hand, and the stomach.
Gord had never been so included in dweomercrafting, and he was slightly uneasy, perhaps a bit frightened, but he determined not to allow the others to see this, just as he always carefully masked all of his emotions. Whatever was to come, he knew it was meant to help, not harm, him and the others. It had better be something powerful, Gord thought, for otherwise there might be no future for any of them, not just Jokotai, Ash, Grover, and poor little Lorman.
The half-elven priest of nature had completed his touching and was walking away from them. His chant rose to a shout, and as he uttered the cry, Greenleaf threw his hands wide, sweeping them above his head in a near-magnificent gesture. The area darkened for a split second, then grew terribly bright, just as a resounding clap of thunder nearly broke Gord's eardrums and left him reeling. Blinking and trying to shake the ringing from his ears, the young thief saw something totally unexpected.
The clearing was now occupied by a pair of huge, fiery horses. These tawny, flame-coated steeds, with molten hooves and nostrils that showered burning sparks, were hitched to a large, clumsy-looking chariot likewise fashioned of living fire! With a bound, the druid was upon the vehicle, gesturing and calling to the others.
"Don't stand there gawking, friends! Enemies abound, and this will draw them faster than before. Hurry! Jump aboard, and let us be away with all haste!"
Gellor, Oscar, and even Deirdre complied instantly. The rest, including Gord, hung back. All could feel the heat, see the licking tongues of flame eating the surrounding vegetation, even though it was green and moist. How those on the flaming chariot survived was unknown to them, but surely the fire would consume them if they were so stupid as to climb into that inferno. Then Deirdre stepped down, grabbed Gord by his hand, and led the reluctant thief aboard the vehicle. Widi that, the other three followed – Incosee first, then Moon followed by Patrick. Even before that last worthy's feet were firmly aboard the chariot, Curley Greenleaf shouted words in some strange language. In response, the blazing horses pawed the ground, shot forth blasts of fire, and leaped ahead and upward. In seconds the whole group was borne into the air, the chariot trailing smoke and flames in its wake.
The druid somehow managed to guide the horses without benefit of reins or whip. They pulled the incandescent chariot ever upward and toward the northwest. Gord found he could grasp the red-glowing, flame-covered sides of the vehicle without pain or damage from the strange and wondrous fire it was composed of. Gellor saw his wonderment and told the young adventurer, in a shout that carried over the wind of their passage, that had not Greenleaf enabled this, Gord would even now be cinders and trailing ash. Then there was no more time for idle talk, for the druid commanded that all keep an eye out for possible attack.
The chariot was traveling at a speed the fastest of falcons would be hard-pressed to match, but magic was magic, and Gord obeyed the instruction to be on guard. He surveyed the land below, its features slowly growing smaller as the vehicle was drawn ever higher by the burning stallions. The Jewel appeared to be a narrow, silvery ribbon only inches wide, while the swamp and trees were merely bumpy colors. Hill and cliff were discernible only by light and shadow patterns, Gord noted. Depths were impossible to judge from a height such as this. He was exhilarated by the whole experience, and had there been no impending threat of attack, he would have thought this whole episode one of the grandest moments of his entire life.
"There!" shouted Patrick, his voice nearly carried away by the howling rush of their passage. "Below and to the right a bit! Something dark wings upward toward us."
Curley Greenleaf peered in the direction the frightened mercenary pointed. Sure enough, there was a great, winged thing coming their way, a creature nearly invisible against the mottled greens of the landscape below. He said between the tearing gusts of wind, "That's the biggest godsdamned greenie I've ever seen, an ancient moss-back. Look! Its wing-spread must be eighty or ninety feet! It is rising fast, too.,.."
"Aye," shouted Gellor in reply. "Turn these flaming brutes around, and let's get away from that monstrous blaster! Big and fast as he may be, no dragon alive can keep up with this chariot."
The druid complied, calling in his strange tongue to the burning horses. They obeyed instantly, curving leftward and climbing ever higher but in a direction opposite that of the dragon.
"Wait, see there!" cried Oscar. Ahead was a spiraling flock of winged specks, accompanied by some horselike shapes. This group was arising from the eastern side of the Jewel River, winging upward and in the same direction the flaming chariot was heading. They were caught between the largest of dragons and a horde of unknown foes.
Greenleaf urged the steeds again, and they turned so that they tore through the air in a course nearly due west, no longer climbing but moving straight ahead more than a thousand feet above the ground. This left the swarming specks out of the chase, it seemed, but the green dragon had other ideas. Its huge wings bore it up with amazing speed, and it was flying so as to cut the distance between itself and the intended prey, coming upward on a steep, sharp angle. The chariot drew ahead, but the dragon rose higher than the vehicle and kept on climbing. Gord saw that the monster was angling now to be on a beeline behind them.
"The smart old bastard's going to dive!" screamed Gellor. "Beware!"
Sure enough, the colossus was hundreds of feet above them now. Its wings were angled, its head a streamlined shaft of destruction. It swooped down and ahead, falling as an avalanche toward the chariot and its straining steeds. Worse still, it was now also apparent that some creature, a man in all probability, sat astride the verdigris-hued scales of the great worm.
It was likewise Gellor who detected another terrible fact. "Save your lesser spells!" the bard trumpeted in his best stentorian voice so that all could hear. "I see the glow of a magical sphere surrounding both dragon and rider. If you have nothing else to do now, pray!"
Gord didn't notice what the others were doing, but he had pulled forth his sling and loaded one of his few oblong shots of lead and silver into the pouch. Even as Gellor was crying his warning and advice, the young thief was leaning so as to be able to whirl the thonged bullet faster and faster above his head. The titanic green dragon was closing, and its rider seemed to be readying some attack of his own, but this did not stop Gord. If he was about to die, then he would certainly go with as furious a resistance as circumstances allowed. Nevermore would he be one to cringe or despair. With a final effort, Gord spun the sling to blurring speed and released the heavy, enchanted missile. It sped straight and true toward its target. What effect it had Gord did not wait to learn, for he was already setting the second and last of his magic bullets into the sling.
As he cast the second bullet, the grandfather of green dragons was a mere hundred yards away and coming fast. Mouth wide in a hissing scream, huge foretalons outspread, it was evident that it was going to plummet upon the vehicle of flame, fire or no, and physically attack its occupants. The force of the impact, tons of dragon traveling faster than any horse could run, would shatter even so magical a carriage as this. One of the spell-workers threw up a brief, blazing curtain of fire between chariot and dragon, but the monster and its rider plunged through without seeming injury. Then the moment of truth came.
The hurtling body of the scaled monster rushed past the fiery chariot, missing a collision by only a few spans. The wind of its passage nearly toppled Gord from the precarious position he had taken up to sling missiles at the enemy. The dragon was far below them in an instant, spreading its great wings and getting ready to come upward again in an arc.
"What happened?" shouted Gord over the roaring of their flight.
"Your last bullet took that fellow full on the head!" Greenleaf called back merrily. "I saw it all as if in slow motion – his helm saved him, but the impact set him reeling, and he must have jerked back on his reins. You've saved us!"
Sure enough, the dragon and its rider were too far behind now to ever catch the flying chariot. Gord silently thanked whatever had guided that second shot and allowed that little tug that sent the dragon just a few feet off target. Gellor gave him a nod of approval, and Incosee slapped him on the back. Ahead were the first signs of the elven community of Enstad, and soon they would be safely on the ground.
As they clambered down and the vehicle and strange steeds sputtered and vanished in a fizzling poof, Deirdre came up to Gord, grasped him by his lean shoulders, and planted a kiss full on his mouth. "I owe you my life," she said to the startled young thief. Then she spun on her heel and strode off to join the others. Gord strolled along, trailing behind his hurrying companions as they made for the torchlit gates of the capital of Celene. All this was a strange business, and he needed a bit of time to ponder events and settle his mind.
A handful of yokels were pleading for their lives amid the smoking ruins of their thorp. As much to their own amazement as to that of the members of his company, Obmi signaled that the survivors were to be given quarter. One of the men either didn't see the signal, or else he simply chose to ignore it. Sneering, he thrust his sword into a little girl.
That was a mistake: A heavy hammer suddenly flashed through the air, and it struck the man's head with a sound reminiscent of a ripe melon hitting a stone floor. Shards of skull and bits of brain flew away with the hammer as the headless body flopped and jerked on the trampled, bloody earth.
Obmi caught the hammer as it returned to him and looked around at the scattered company. All were busily gathering up their booty, sheathing weapons, mounting up and readying for departure. Without comment or sign, the taciturn dwarf leader of the band slung the gory warhammer around the pommel of his saddle and rode out. His small stallion cantered away, leaving the sacked community on the edge of the Welkwood behind to the south. An uneven stream of other riders hastened after Obmi. There was no order to their march, but the weaker gave the stronger wide berth. Only two others rode near the dwarf.
Although he was hunted from the Crystalmist Mountains to Keoland, Obmi was virtually unknown to the reavers who followed him now. Keak and Gleed were the only ones in the group who were familiar with the jolly-looking, close-mouthed mountain dwarf, having accompanied Obmi for several years now. Keak was a tall, skinny high elf, fratricidal and murderous, adept with both spell and sword. Gleed, an aged-seeming gnome, was likewise a rogue and outlaw able to spin illusion or slit purse with equal skill. The lanky elf rode a gaunt horse, while the wizened gnome sat atop his own mount in a houdalike saddle. Keak was still snickering over the fate of the disobedient brigand and trying to get the squinty-eyed gnome to share his mirth.
"… and did you see his face when the hammer flew near?" Keak paused to cackle with glee at the thought. "It took him full in his sneering mouth, wiping that look away as cleanly as his teeth, face, and head! Heh, heh, heh!"
"Something less permanent might have done as well," was Gleed's only comment in reply. The gnome then spoke sharply to his ugly, jug-headed mount, and the horse responded by increasing its pace to draw alongside the long-maned stallion ridden by the dwarf.
Keak likewise brought his animal to a faster gait, drawing up to ride at Obmi's left. "Most nobly done, Lord Obmi, most nobly!" he said to the ruddy-cheeked leader. "I was just sharing my admiration with the good gnome – but he seems less impressed with our leader's skill and authority than I," he finished, breaking into his usual cackle.
"Bah!" said Gleed. "Nobody cares what a crazy elf thinks about whether or not some useless man is brained."
Obmi's eyes twinkled as he looked from one to the other of his henchmen. "They need sport," he said, "and they need lessons, too. I give them both. Today there is no doubt who rules this company." As he said the last, Obmi's merry gaze traveled from Keak to Gleed. Both understood the message, for elf and gnome had seen the jolly countenance of the dwarf wreathed in smiles as he wrought the most malign deeds upon foes and disobedient friends alike. Obmi had power, and both of his lieutenants feared him. To provoke Obmi was to invite death.
"Fetch Red Bowman for me, Gleed," the dwarf said. "Keak, you move back too. Ride with your ilk. Make sure they remain steadfast."
Both of Obmi's henchmen muttered acquiescence and turned their mounts. Red Bowman was the leader of the score of humans who rode with the band, the remnants of a company of brigands that had numbered over fifty when they joined the demi-humans. Although the expedition had taken a heavy toll upon their number, the survivors were wealthy, and there was no grumbling or thought of desertion among them – none apparent, anyway. The wizened gnome shrugged and slowed his steed to a walk so that the others would catch up with him. Keak wheeled his gaunt horse around and rode back to where a half-score of various types of elves and half-elves rode together in a bunch. Near them were a handful of dwarves and gnomes riding ponies.
Keak took a position between the two groups and cackled, "Enough sport for you, lads?"
"When the hell do we get to someplace where we can have some real fun?" retorted one of the wild elves.
"Where the hell are we going, anyway?" asked one of the dwarves.
Laughing raucously, Keak told both lots that they should engage in anatomically impossible acts, but then he continued. "We'll be coming to our destination soon enough, and then the boss will collect the big money. Your share'll make you rich for life!"
"I should live so long!" shouted the single high elfin the company.
"Keee, keee, khee!" snorted the lieutenant. "You won't if you keep talking like that… but, then, all the more for the rest of us!" The group looked blackly at the skinny, cackling elf, but then many of them grinned at the prospect of a larger share of treasure. The half-elf closed his mouth and kept it shut under Keak's wild glare. "Now, that's better. I'd say that tonight we'll be camping outdoors again, but tomorrow we should hit Hill Road and spend the night in Hommlet – good food and drink at the inn there, lads!"
"We'll take it all, and the women too!" agreed one of the riders.
"In a pig's ass you will, Stubbin," replied the stick-thin elf. "Obmi'tl want no such business close to Verbobonc. We are to pass as quietly through the border as possible, and that means we act like goody-goodies there."
Stubbin, a broad-shouldered mountain dwarf, made a rude gesture at Keak in reply, but he did not argue. If Keak said that (he boss wanted no trouble, then Stubbin had no desire to cross him. Obmi was one mean dwarf, and nobody to screw around with.
Nothing that saw them cared to molest so ugly a group as this company was, and just as predicted, they rode into the village of Hommlet at evening the next day. The Inn of the Welcome Wench, accustomed to accommodating caravans, easily housed their number. There were suspicious looks, but no one questioned their money. Horses were fed and rested while the company dined heartily and slept in soft beds. Next morning, Obmi haggled with a pair of traders for provisions and a half-dozen fresh horses. Then the company continued northward. They were watched by hard-eyed men-at-arms serving the local lord, but nobody cared to delay their departure.
Obmi was even more silent than usual, and he appeared haggard, as if a night spent in a feather bed was worse for him than one spent rolled in a blanket on the ground. Only the wicked dwarf knew the true cause of his condition. As he had slept, ebon tendrils had stolen into his brain – long, slender tentacles as insubstantial as fog yet strong as steel. The tendrils thickened and grew barbs that hurt cruelly, bringing him instantly awake and making him aware of what was happening, Iuz was in contact, and his master was not pleased with Obmi's performance! The dwarf grovelled mentally as the rasping voice of the cambion spoke through the tendrils directly to his brain.
"Little fool!" Iuz shrieked mentally. "Your stupid meandering and pillaging has left so broad and easy a trail that even idiot puppets can follow! Do you have… it?" At this question, Obmi thought of the misshapen object he guarded so carefully. He did so without meaning to, but Iuz instantly caught the thought. "Good! Now I shall not have to waste a useful tool – you will live for a while yet, Obmi!"
Quivering in fear and rage, the dwarf sent a mental message in reply, while carefully masking the thoughts that lurked deeper within his mind. "Thank you, Lord of Evil, for your generosity. I am your servant to do with what you will…"
"Enough!" interrupted Iuz. "I must hurry, for some great cloud is gathering, and in moments this contact will be broken. I can not see what is around you, but it is dangerous – powerful! Good lies nearby, but some friendly force as well, I think, for this force is obscured and hidden. Perhaps it is a trap set by those righteous weaklings who seek to oppose me… No matter.
"Listen carefully, and do not fail me. Leave immediately, but do so without commotion. Go to Verbobonc, being careful to be open and seemingly carefree. Once well beyond the town, leave an obvious trail to the northeast, doing what you have done previously – robbing, murdering, raping, burning. It must seem that you are on your way to Molag, understand?"
"I understand, Lord," thought Obmi in reply.
The wisps within the dwarfs brain sent tingling pleasure through Obmi's body. "Excellent, my faithful servant! Do well, and your reward will be all you can ask" – and suddenly the tendrils were barbed and painful again – "but if you fail, such pain as this will seem a blissful reprieve from the torment you shall suffer! Now, stop cringing and attend my final instructions.
"Leave those clods who serve you to their fate. Divide when you reach the Att River. Send them on toward the lands of the Hierarchs, but you ride for your life northward. Enter the Vesve, and I will have an army there to greet you. This force will convey you in triumph to me in Dorakaa."
"But, Lord Iuz, how am I to convince them to…" Obmi let the mental question trail off, for the tendrils were gone from his brain. He could sense that he was alone within his head. Hatred mixed with fear poured from the dwarfs mind, helping him to blank out the headache that the contact had caused. He said aloud, "Damn you, Iuz, for the pig-bastard you are! Someday I, Obmi the Wily, shall become ruler of your realm, and you will cringe before me in abject terror at the fate I will bestow upon you!" Then, not wasting further effort on his hatred, the dwarf began to lay his plans for accomplishing the orders of the cambion, Iuz.
Ten days later, the company turned on the train of pilgrims and merchants they had been accompanying, some as travelers, others purporting to be guards. Treachery and surprise enabled Obmi to succeed with surprising ease, and only three of his number were lost in the process. The company was near the crossroads that made the area important. A well-repaired road ran east and west, from Furyondy to Veluna City, while another ran southward from Littleberg to Verbobonc. The site was perfect, of course.
"Take everything of value, Gleed, and lead the men toward Dyvers. At the main fork, take the Willip Road. Your destination is Molag!"
The gnome stared at Obmi in surprise. "Molag? What business have we with the Hierarchs?" he asked.
"They will receive us happily, and pay for our services and information. Am I to be questioned further?" As he posed his question, Obmi placed his hand on his hammer. Gleed shook his head, but there was doubt in the gnome's squinting eyes as Obmi went on. "Keak and I will take the useless steeds and lay a false trail toward the north. You make sure that your trail is well covered by using only the road as long as possible. We'll lead any pursuit as far as Littleberg, lose ourselves there, and then come cross-country to join you… let us say Boulder-ford on the Veng River, fifty leagues north of Willip." Gleed thought a moment, then nodded. The gnome had mentally pictured the route and arrived at the conclusion that the two routes were of about equal length and would conjoin at the ford, just as Obmi had suggested.
"An excellent plan, Master Obmi! The loot…"
Obmi shrugged his massive shoulders, feigning resignation. "For once I have to trust you fully, gnome. I must travel quickly and cleverly to lay the false trail, then be able to disappear. All the goods, even the silver and gold, must go with your group. I am charging you with safe keeping of the spoils until I rejoin the company – fail me, and I swear I will hunt you down and slay you!"
At that Gleed grinned, then quickly replaced the look with one of sober acquiescence. "Your orders, Obmi, are always faithfully followed by your servant, Gleed. Never fear, we shall be at the Boulderford as commanded. Give us two weeks." The dwarf scratched his beard, staring at Gleed as he did so, a mixture of doubt and consideration playing across his leathery countenance. Finally he nodded. " Let us say two and a half weeks – eighteen days – so that unexpected delays are covered. If you are not there within the allotted time, I shall seek you out," Obmi concluded with a threatening tone.
"Eighteen days, Master. I will be there!"
The gnome went off then to gather the company, while Obmi sought out the skinny Keak. This was almost too easy, thanks to the greed of the gnome, Obmi thought as he smiled merrily to himself.