Greyhawk adventures - Artifact of Evil Part 17

"Get going, the rest of you!" Obmi shouted. "You'll trot for the next hour to make up for the delay. Stragglers and laggards will be killed!"

A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed, and then a new commotion occurred at the head of the company. The cause was the black leopard again, and this time Obmi had to use his hammer on two of the frightened arboreal ores before the rest could be forced back into the trees again. Now Obmi was certain that the creature was a were-cat of some sort. Knowing this, he called to the thin-faced elf to settle the matter.

"Keak, you are to take charge of the advance. Keep a close eye on what's going on above, for a were-leopard seems to be stalking the losels - bad taste in food habits, I'd say, but it is disrupting things inordinately. If the kitty shows its whiskers again, pluck them!"

Keak smiled at the prospect. "Any preference as to how I kill the thing?"

"Why should I care?"

The sticklike figure shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I thought you might like to have its hide for a saddle covering," Keak cackled, "but if it's no matter, I'll blast its b.a.l.l.s off with a lightning bolt!"

"Bah! Just do it and be quiet."

When another disturbance came a half-hour later, Keak was there and ready. This Obmi knew, for a great flash and the sizzling crack of the stroke of blazing electricity gave clear evidence that the elven spell-caster had done just what he'd said. The dwarf smiled to himself and went ahead to view the body. A half-dozen charred losels were scattered on the ground, but there was no corpse of man nor body of cat.

"What occurred?" the dwarf asked with a calmness he did not feel.

Keak looked sick. "The bolt missed," he said through thin lips.

"These unfortunate apelings?" inquired Obmi mildly as he eyed the smoking remains of the losels.

"They were in the path of the stroke, or else in the tree, and took too much electricity and died," Keak replied with a wince as the dwarf stared unwinkingly at him. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d cat is fast. Lord Obmi," the elven mage hastened to add. "It watched me stand near and begin my casting. Just as I loosed the stroke, it leaped away - vanished, possibly, I don't know. It is very smart and more than any were-beast I've ever seen, and you know I have slain my share!"

Obmi nodded at that and reslung his hammer. Keak did not make stupid errors like that without cause. Angry as he was, Obmi valued the elf too much to waste him for no purpose other than the satisfaction of frustrated ire. Too much, far too much, was at stake in this whole game for him to make foolish misjudgments or allow rage to blind him.

"See that the column is halted. Get sentries out. Make sure that we are as well protected as possible. When that's done, come back to me at once, dear Keak. You and I must work together on a plan to solve our problems."

The elf bowed and hurried off, relieved that Obmi bore him no malice for the failure. "Too bad," he mumbled to himself as he went. "Too bad the runt didn't have the b.a.l.l.s to go after the black devil of a cat himself. Then he'd find out a thing or two. Hammer or no, that leopard would have a dwarf for dinner, and then I would be commander and bring the prize to Lord Iuz. What power I would have then. . . ." Continuing to mull over this pleasant reflection, the elven renegade went about his duties.

In the hours just preceding dawn, Obmi and Keak worked out a plan of action. As they huddled in conference, there were several more incidents, but after a scream and the following commotion, the black killer went elsewhere to strike again. It didn't matter.

The cat-creature seemed unwilling to come near the center of the party, and that meant that it was most certainly vulnerable to spell and weapon - at least, those enchanted weapons wielded by Obmi, Keak, and a few others of the officers of the motley collection of humanoids.

"Let us summon Klabdul, Phlug, and the gnollish captain . . . Harhaff, then."

"The name is Harharaff, Lord." Keak corrected the dwarf politely, being careful not to giggle. "I'll bring them here at once."

"You're certain this will work?" Obmi asked again.

"I see no flaw, Lord Obmi."

"Get them, then. Hurry!"

Chapter 25.

"Meeowww!" said Chert.

Gord shot the hillman a dark scowl that threatened mayhem."It isn't funny, Chert. Stop it," the bard said, just managing to suppress a smile.

Gord looked at both men disdainfully. "What I managed was more than either or both of you could have done . . . besides, if you think it is a joke to creep through an encampment of towering humanoids as a little p.u.s.s.ycat in order to overhear what's being said, you try it."

"We can't," the barbarian said with a broad grin of contentment. "As you yourself pointed out, only you can manage the trick!"

Thatch and his small companion, Shad, were sitting cross-legged nearby. They had listened solemnly to the tale of Gord's using the ring to take cat-form. They were frightened by were-creatures of any sort, the very thought making them shudder. Yet this man who told them about turning into a huge, black leopard and killing losels thereby was a friend - and losels were awful things, too! They could only listen and withhold judgment. It seemed there was a whole lot more to the world than Tusham village and being successful hunters!

Both lads listened carefully, not only because the story was exciting and full of danger, but because they wanted some clue about the treasure. So far they had seen more of trouble with evil humanoids and the like than folk were ever expected to. The rewards must be really terrific for these men to go through all this sort of danger just to get the key. What would the dragon be like? Thatch looked at Shad, and Shad stared back for a moment. There was an unspoken exchange then, both boys wishing that they hadn't decided to set out into the forest as hunters quite so soon.

"That foul little dwarf is a wily one," Gellor said. "If he has done as he said, we must either separate or find a way to get rid of the gnolls quickly."

"Pardon, Master Gellor, but what are gnolls?" Thatch asked.

Chert answered before the bard could speak. "Nasty, dog-faced things as big as I am. They're mean killers, too, and would cheerfully roast you two over a fire."

"That, boys," Gellor added, "is no exaggeration, and they'd eat you too, after they were done. AH that as it is, we'll see to it that you never have to face any gnolls until you're able to deal with them on terms they find not to their liking."

"Like Master Gord did to the losels?" Shad said eagerly.

Gord was somber. "You'd not like that much, Shad. Gellor means that when you're grown fully, trained to fight properly, and have armor and all, you and Thatch there will be more than a match for a pair of gnolls."

The boys sat back, feeling bigger and more confident.

"What's to be done, then?" asked the bard, looking at Gord.

There had been a subtle change in roles, the young man noted. Over the time he had known Gellor, the one-eyed man had been many things to him - fatherlike, a mentor, a leader, a rescuer, and more. The shift had occurred subtly, all right, but it was distinct.

Not only was Gellor now treating him as an equal, but at times the bard was deferring to Gord almost as if the young thief were a superior! This was a bit disturbing, but there was no time for pondering the matter now.

"We move ahead," said Gord, "and if we find the band of gnolls spread out in our path, you four turn back a ways and stay put.

I'll get by them without difficulty, and catch up with Obmi and his filthy train of sc.u.m - they'll be deserting the d.a.m.ned dwarf now, not flocking to him. Somewhere along the trail, somehow, I will get the chance to kill that miserable dastard and gel the Second Key," the thief said vehemently. "I'm certain it is on his twisted body somewhere, and I'll tear him apart to find it."

"Let's get going," Chert said practically. "Listen now, my boys. Here's what you two are to do if we meet any of these half-human sc.u.m and there is no way for you to get away. Hold your spears before you, thus . . ." and he went on with his instructions as their small group headed for the hard-beaten pathway leading toward the north and the realm of the demoniac Iuz.

"They're ahead, all right," Chert muttered as he slipped back to join his friends. He had gone ahead on the path to see if Gord's recounting of the conversation overheard as a small, midnight-black tomcat had been correct. It was. Gord had said that Obmi had ordered the gnoll captain, a huge monster named Harharaff, to remain behind to prevent any enemy from following, while the remainder of the force went northward as before. Gord said that the gnoll leader had seemed almost relieved to be given such duty, for the fear of the predatory killer of losels was spreading from ores to gnolls.

Gord nodded. "This is where we part company, then."

"Maybe if I picked off a few of those flea-bag b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, the rest would take off," Chert said halfheartedly.

"That would not serve, my friend, so why risk it?" Gellor said softly.

Gord shook the hands of the others - Chert, the bard, Thatch, and then little Shad. "You kill some for me!" the boy said earnestly, and they all laughed.

Without further ado, Gord left. He went on foot, carrying his weapons and little else. The forest would provide for him. When the dwarf had begun to move at night, they thought they had lost the game. Chert was unable to see to travel and fight in darkness, for he had no magical sight as did his adult comrades. The lads needed tending. Something had to be found to slow, if not halt, the humanoid band that surrounded and protected the dwarf and his prize. Then Gord had decided to experiment.

The Catlord had told him that the ring he wore conveyed the power of lycanthropy, and that Gord could a.s.sume cat-form at will. The other powers of the ring worked, and Gord had no reason to doubt the Master Cat's word about form change. It was one thing to play at being a cat, to call oneself "Blackcat" and be a cat-burglar. It was quite another to actually become a genuine leopard - or even a domestic cat. Gord had just never wished to be anything other than his human self. But desperate circ.u.mstances call for desperate measures. Without telling his companions, the young thief had slipped away and tried the power of the ring. It worked, of course. The transformation took only a minute, and it was only slightly painful. Everything he wore simply became part of his new form somehow - clothing and boots, weapons, everything.

Gord could see parts of his new body. He was a cat, a big leopard with inky coat and long tail. Gord-the-leopard had padded to a nearby pool and peered at his reflection in the water. He looked splendid, handsome! Green eyes, long whiskers, a long, pinkish-red tongue, and huge fangs of gleaming white. How nice it would be to eat some fresh meat, drink from the pool here, and then gaze at his reflection until sleep came. There was a broad, comfortable-looking limb nearby where he could rest, too.

Gord had had to jerk his mind back quickly. How easy it was to fall into the thinking of the form one had a.s.sumed - and what would happen if he allowed this to occur? Perhaps he would take animal form more and more, eventually living out his life as leopard, not man. Gord shuddered and willed himself back to his own shape. In a minute he was human again, clothed and equipped as before.

As he stood pondering this, Gord recalled the feeling of being a large, powerful cat. He wanted to go back to that form, try the feline muscles, bound and spring, climb and hunt. To see and experience the world as a leopard was an interesting desire. Well, so was drinking alcohol, in a far different but similarly insidious way; and the vapors of herbs, fungi-eating, and extractions of certain othersubstances all had lures that ensnared some humans. Gord could resist these habits and addictions because he enjoyed life without them.

He knew he must do the same with respect to this human-to-cat power he possessed. It must become a tool used only for purposes necessary to some cause, and used only when Gord must.

The others heard the news with excitement, not having any of the reservations that Gord did. When he told them of the strange feelings the change evoked within him, Gellor had shrugged them off and Chert had told him to enjoy. Upon reconsideration, he realized that druids and magic-users a.s.sumed many sorts of forms on a regular basis. Still, this wasn't lycanthropy, was it? Then Gellor had pointed out that the ring had a magical power, so strictly speaking there was no shape-shifting within Gord, and the whole was less lycanthropic than Curley's ability to become a hawk or a turtle for a brief time. Gord gave up his reservations.

He had stalked through the night, bounding along the forest floor, climbing trees and using branches as a roadway, slipping through places two-leggers would find impossible. It had been easy to move ahead of the ma.s.s of smelly, noisy humanoids and the gabbling ape-creatures who swung clumsily through the branches. It had been the simplest of things to catch and kill the first losel, for the stupid creature didn't know enough to flee from certain death. Had it been leopard slaying baboon or human slaying ore? No matter.

When the clubs and small bolts had struck him, Gord-the-leopard felt only small thumps and fly-bites. Momentary fear for his safety gave way to feelings of invulnerability and triumph. Now he could singlehandedly slay the whole filthy tribe of two-leggers and get the prize. He had laughed full in the face of one gaping losel, causing it to leap groundward, chattering in fear.

Reason returned when he saw a stick-thin elfin robes that bespoke magic staring upward at him sometime later. Cat-contempt for so puny a creature caused him to stare haughtily down as the puny thing began muttering softly and waving his arms. Gord's ears heard every sound the creature made, and then the human part of Gord's mind panicked, and the cat portion reacted by leaping away.

Just in time, that great spring. It carried him across some thirty feet to another tree limb slightly below the one he'd been upon, and along it to another, all in a second. Behind his black-furred tail there was a flash and sizzle of energy, as a lightning stroke hit the spot where his graceful form had lain only a second ago, and losels screamed and fell like ripe fruit from the struck tree. Thereafter Gord made an effort, and the human mind always controlled the leopard brain.

Gord pondered, briefly, the dichotomy of thinking. Of course! The power of shapechanging would be useless if the ability to properly utilize the new form were missing. Simplicity itself. The trick was to keep the real mind in power while allowing the new one to handle the body as it was designed to control. Human mind directs, cat mind operates. Easy to visualize, difficult in the extreme to accomplish. Too much direction, and the cat brain was overridden. Then the leopard body became clumsy and unable to perform its natural functioning. On the other hand, too little monitoring, too much freedom, and the cat took over the human portion, submerging it to little more than a vague memory or relegating it to a sort of conscience that could do little but scold or praise. It took an hour, but eventually Gord managed to get the correct balance.

By men the company of humanoids had been halted, a perimeter ringed with guards, and alert leaders stationed where they could protect the center of the encampment. Gord-the-leopard managed to hara.s.s the ape-ores, but the exercise was useless. When he saw the leaders of the company gathering to hold some sort of council, he acted at once.

If he could a.s.sume leopard form so easily, why not that of a small domestic cat? Springing to the ground, Gord concentrated on shifting from leopard to torn, and in the usual time he was as he wished - a rather large one, but a tomcat nevertheless. In this form he had crept through the camp to where he could hear the words of the group gathered. Gord-the-cat arrived just at the conclusion of the meeting. He heard the dwarf tell the huge, heavily armored gnoll who stood respectfully there that he was to block the path. At least that's what it seemed to be, for Gord had scant proficiency with the b.a.s.t.a.r.d tongue of ores and gnolls and the rest of the humanoid species.

The gnoll chief was reluctant and argued. Obmi insisted, telling him that only a weak force could be expected - something like "few, soft men who you will kill and loot" were more like the exact terms the dwarf used. He clinched the whole by mentioning that the cat-devil would follow Obmi and the losels. Then gnoll had grinned hideously in agreement and gone off.

"The scouting group will ride well in advance tomorrow morning," the gaunt elf called Keak had said with a cackle.

"Yes, that is so," the dwarf replied, and then Obmi smiled for the first time since Gord-the-cat had been watching, crouched in the shadows beneath a low shrub.

"Klabdul," Keak had said with a friendly arm around the half-orc's wide shoulders, "you must come into our tent to get special instructions about your role as chief of the scouting force!''

The half-breed's ugly face had shown delight at such a display of favor. With Obmi suggesting a bit of wine as they talked, the three had stepped into the tent shared by the elf and dwarf. A ring of guards surrounded it, so there was no way for Gord to get close enough to hear more. Belly brushing the ground, he had slunk from the encampment, shifting into leopard form, and loped to the place where his friends waited. The whole story fascinated them, and then they had checked to see if Gord's interpretation of the conversation had been correct. The presence of over half a hundred of the hyena-faced humanoids was ample confirmation. The gnolls prevented further pursuit by all but Gord, for even if the others managed to slip around the widely spread humanoid band, they could well be caught between gnolls and the main body later. Even with Gord's work, there were several hundred still in the main party. If losels and ores deserted in numbers, a hundred men and ores were still too many when backed by the tough dwarf and the spell-caster, Keak. Gord's friends would have to remain behind, for only he could now hope to accomplish the mission.

Gord was still uneasy about changing from man to cat - bashful or ashamed, he wasn't sure which. After the farewell, the young thief moved eastward into the forest, swinging wide to the right-hand side of the pathway. Moving as quietly as any woodsman, Gord made certain that he was several hundred yards off the trail and well away from the observation of his companions; then he allowed the transformation to occur. In a minute a huge black panther stretched itself. The cat yawned almost lazily, flexed its claws, stretched, and then moved like a bolt from an arbelast into the trees.

Seconds later several gnolls moved into the small area left clear by a falling tree. They peered around carefully, their bows and axelike bardiches at the ready, but there was nothing threatening there. One asked another if he had seen something black a moment before. The other grunted a noncommittal reply. The humanoids went on with their scouting, looking for humans to kill.

It was an easy manner to travel as a leopard through the old trees of the Vesve. The ground below was perfect for running, while the thick, interlocking branches above made a highway for a big cat to walk upon. Gord-the-panther - and he now simply thought of both human and animal forms as Gord - elected to stay on the leaf-matted forest floor until he approached the main body of Obmi's band. His panther's sense of smell would give him all the warning he needed when he was near. He allowed his human mind to ride that of the cat, so that the feline part received and sorted out sensory information while the human part gave it identifiers that related to human experience. Odors were the difficult part.Several times during the next few hours Gord had to scramble madly up a nearby tree in order to avoid other dangerous creatures not accustomed to having a panther intrude on their domain. Not being certain that his immunity to weapons extended to the tusks of a boar or the jaws of a savage brown bear, Gord took flight as the wiser course. He could not run for long periods, but there were many areas where he could safely rest. Luck seemed to ride with him too. He had caught one of the giant squirrels busy eating fungi, made a fast (and delicious) meal of it, and was taking a catnap in the leafy crotch of a galda tree when a dozen bugbears padded past as quietly as great cats.

These giant goblins were heading west and seemed to be no part of the humanoid party still several miles ahead. Gord watched through glowing, green panther eyes as the humanoids pa.s.sed, and the bugbears never realized he was there. Could these big goblins have actually hurt him? Gord wasn't interested in finding out unless he had to. Another time he was taking a drink from a stream when his feline mind seemed uneasy, so Gord allowed it to have its way without seeking to interpret the cause of the tension. The panther jumped and spat, just avoiding the strike of a huge adder that was lurking at the bank of the watercourse, waiting for unwary prey.

It took the whole day for him to catch up with the collection of humanoids and renegade humans traveling toward the realm of Iuz. The company had halted to rest and forage for food. Gord restrained the cat-urge to attack the losels he saw. He went wide around them and ahead of the humanoids again. No attacks this time, he reasoned. He would see if the dwarf could be lulled into a sense of security and safety, then he would strike.

Then an idea came to him that satisfied both man and panther. He lay in wait and eventually saw a man venture forth to answer the call of nature. Gord wondered why he would go so far from his fellows so close to dark. The brigand drew out a large flask and swigged great gulps of its contents. That explained that. He was a lone drinker who did not care to share his liquor with his a.s.sociates.

The panther leaped upon the unsuspecting outlaw and tore out his throat before the fellow knew he had been attacked. Gord was appalled at his desire to strike thus, and the panther mind was repulsed at the reek of alcohol and the foul stench of the man. They compromised. Panther carried corpse into a tree and hid it, and man a.s.sumed the guise of brigand, using the fellow's cloak as a disguise.

As he returned to his own form it suddenly occurred to Gord that the shape-shift ing was no longer a dreaded thing. The day of integration between cat and man had been beneficial. It made him realize that he had thought in cat-fashion, or as close as a human could come to thinking thus, as long as he could remember. Certainly, when he walked slender lines, balanced on roof ridges, and ran along eaves he was feline, just as his burglar appellation, Blackcat, attested. He could now shift from man to cat and back without hesitation or reservation. There was no sense of ill or unnaturalness in so doing. This made Gord glad, for he had no choice in the matter anyway.

As Gord walked into the encampment, he was surprised at the disordered nature of affairs. When he had spied upon it previously, the dwarven leader had kept order and discipline. But this time Obmi had allowed things to slip. The place was in chaos.

"Whazzup, pal?" a drunken bandit asked as he staggered past Gord to relieve himself against a nearby tree.

"Ah . . . nothin', pal. . . . Got any sauce?"

The fellow leered at Gord, patted a half-full skin slung around his shoulder, and slurred, "Yep, but I ain't sharin' it unless ya got some ta split with yer ol' pal!" And he emphasized just who the "ol' pal" was by striking himself hard enough on the chest to send himself stumbling backward a couple of steps.

"Say, I don't rec'nizeya. . . . Waz yer name, anyway?" he said, then laughed at his own joke. "Ya get it? Anyway!" He reeled and laughed more. "I sure wish I could get some, an' I'll take it anyway. Arr, har, har!"

"What?" asked the young thief, confused.

"Who gives a pinch o' c.o.o.n-c.r.a.p anyway, Anyway? I be Tick, an' d.a.m.ned happy to meet a man who's got b.a.l.l.s enough to admit he'll get it anyway. What outfit ya with, Anyway?"

Gord relaxed. This sot was so stupid with booze that he had asked a question and interpreted it as Gord's name. The dolt was calling him "Anyway" thinking it was his name. . . . Gord realized that this very drunken fellow was his ticket into the camp without questions being asked. Gord handed him the flask he had taken from his earlier victim, watching to see if the brigand called Tick would recognize it. Tick merely took it and swilled brandy.

"Grea' stuff! Both Galley and Pegger got bottles, too. . . . Hey, ya seen ol' Pegger 'round here? He wen' out to take a dump, an I'll bet the wild hogs ate 'im. Ahar, har, arrh!"

"Nah, I ain't seen neither of them," Gord said. "How come the camp is so relaxed tonight? Yesterday it was all that spit-and-polish bit, and now old Obmi's let up on us. You know why?"

Tick puzzled over that a moment, helping himself to think by taking another pull from the flask of fiery liquor. "That b.u.g.g.e.rin' li'l dwarf is a mean un, an' who can tell what's goin' through that dirty dwarf mind he's got. Yesserday he wuz a jabberin' and cursin' and bossin' us about all the time. Today he jes' sits on his horse and don't talk at all, an' now he's holed up in his fancy-a.s.sed tent and lettin' us have some fun for a change. . . . Hey, what's yer outfit again?"

"Loner - just came in and signed up with that skinny elf called Keak."

"Tha.s.s funny, I don' recall any loners bein' taken on. . . ."

Gord put his arm around Tick's shoulders. "Come on, old pal! Let's go and see if maybe Keak can explain it to you."

The outlaw jerked away as if Gord were a leper. "You full of c.r.a.p, boy! I ain't goin' nowhere near that crazy li'l elf b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He's yer boss, you go an' talk to "im," Drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, the drunken brigand staggered away, anxious to find better company. Gord let him go. Before he'd gone adozen steps, however, Tick turned and came back.

"Wait a sec, chum! Keak rode off this mornin' with that creepy half-orc priest! Whattin h.e.l.l ya sayin'?"

Trouble! Drunk as he was, the outlaw was suspicious and not about to let this statement pa.s.s as he had the rest. Gord thought fast. "d.a.m.n, Tick, yer right! That brandy is potent stuff - want another swig?"

Suspicious or not, Tick couldn't pa.s.s that up. "Okay, an' then you an' me better see Cap'n Sawtooth an' get things strai - "

Gord hit him solidly over the head with the pommel of his dagger, and the brigand collapsed without a sound. The brandy spilled out over him, and Gord let him lay where he was. Pa.s.sed out in drunken stupor from all appearances, Tick would sleep for hours.

Gord doubted anyone in the camp would be interested. There was already sufficient commotion to awaken the dead. Singing and shouting, arguing and fighting, and all the rest of the things typical of a disorganized collection of brigands and humanoids, met for a rollicking good time. Something was certainly wrong!

Gord approached the command tent. A motley collection of men and humanoids surrounded it at a distance of about ten paces.

A bugbear challenged him in barely intelligible Common speech.

"Get yer a.s.s outta here, man! Not even a dog pa.s.ses here!"