inadequate to follow the simple, untrapped checker of upward-soaring cubes. Instead it moved and fought along the hundred steps of the deadly helix. Basiliv watched in horrified fascination as the Gord-Chert-Gellor-Curley Greenleaf figure went on, space after space, slowly, fighting the form or foe at each step, moving haltingly toward the lair- board so far above.
Wrenching himself from the spectacle, the Demiurge concentrated on the ultimate goal that Gord struggled toward. Gravestone's image appeared, seen as from a bird's-eye view of a bowshot above. He stood at the apex of a triangle formed by himself and his antagonists, Timmil on the right with a potent staff held ready, Allton at the other corner, likewise armed. The two who held Gravestone at bay had so many protections and tokens of power that even the great evil one was uneasy, it seemed. He neither struck at one or the other, only stood still and slowly moved a long wand, or a slender rod, first left, then right, and back again.
Was this to ward against the two? No! Some new presence was gathering behind Gravestone, slowly, becoming more palpable with each slow, measured sweep of the priest-wizard's malign wand.
Where were the others? Basiliv thought frantically.
Gord was plodding upward still. The four had just overcome a place of living metal where iron spheres and steel cubes sought to crush nonmetallic life with savage ferocity. Next was a wilderness of alkali, then a primal jungle-swamp filled with monstrous dinosaurs. Somehow the four managed to win past and gain the place of the efreet; and despite the evil nature of those denizens of the City of Brass, the foursome prevailed again.
A monstrous efreeti transported them past the next fell space, a square wherein things of negative force waited to leech life from them, onto a formless void where not even the Demiurge could guess what awaited.
But then… 'I understand!' Basiliv spoke aloud, not caring if he disturbed the others. They too must know. The revelation was sudden, and the shock was sufficient to make Basiliv curse.
'How could I have been so stupid?' Now the others were staring at him. He'd tell them in a moment. Two things first. Quickly concentrating on Gravestone again, Basiliv saw the shape of what formed behind.
'As I feared!' Shifting instantly to Gord, the Demiurge then viewed the formless expanse where the four were now held. Yes. It was as he thought. There was a… Never mind thinking it! He had to communicate directly with the champion.
'Gord!' The name, thought and shouted at the same time, was sent with all the energy the Demiurge could muster. 'Gord! You are- '
'That is quite enough of that,' a dry voice said, an interruption heard only in the Demiurge's brain just before…
Basiliv's mind went blank.
Chapter 13
'We needn't be enemies, you know.'
The words were addressed to him only, so Allton responded. 'That is true, daemon-kisser,' he mocked. 'You or I will die, and thus we will no longer oppose each other.'
'That is the solution toward which we now steer, I grant,' Gravestone said without rancor or threat. 'There is another answer, though. A better solution for you and your associate.' As he said that. Gravestone allowed his eyes to slide easily, head turning slowly, to include Timmil in the offer.
'Another?'
'Cease the bantering now,' Timmil barked to the mage. 'He is as sly as any archdevil and as vile as Nerull!'
'Yes, another, better way,' Gravestone responded to Allton even as his stare stayed fixed on the high priest. 'Join me. You are a spell-worker of great puissance. Become my lieutenant. Your priestly friend here says that Nerull is vile; still, I think you know otherwise, for you seek the balance, do you not?'
'The lord of the pits is reviled!' Allton shot it out without having to consider.
'True,' Timmil affirmed in support.
'False, quite false,' averred the priest-wizard. 'Is death wrong? How is there balance against the riotous spawning of life without quiet death? And light — would it not gladly sear your eyes constantly were it not for sweet darkness?'
'Sophistries!' the priest barked.
The words of Balance,' Allton admitted.
The Weal would suppress Balance were it able. Long and long it has oppressed us of the nether-spheres. We strive now against those above — not you, not Nature. How could we know our own if our actual aim was to destroy all save those who served the same master?'
The mage found a grain of something in what Gravestone uttered. Nodding slowly, Allton began, 'But all know that Tharizdun-'
'Beware again, Allton!' Timmil interrupted. 'He lies with scant truths!'
'Beware yourself, priestling called Timmil,' Gravestone fired back unheatedly. 'Might not your 'truths' be formed of scant lies? No? You think not? No matter! Think on this, mage Allton, and you too, cleric, if your brain is not too filled with propaganda to remain open to reason.' That seemed to have an effect. The priest-wizard shifted his eyes back to the mage, who now stood uncertain.
'Ponder the enmity which exists now,' Gravestone continued. 'Has any hostile action been taken on the initiative of the netherspheres? Yes, of course! But only, and I repeat, only, against those who fight us. Balance has interfered, made cause with Good, because its leaders betray it!'
Allton took a moment to consider that, but Timmil did not hesitate.
The fallacies of your statements, blackheart, are exceeded only by your deceitful actions!' The cleric had picked up the gauntlet, for he was all too aware of the nature of their opponent. Gravestone had evil powers of persuasion that could overwhelm both of their defenses if allowed to insinuate their way into their minds unchecked.
Upon hearing the high priest's denunciation. Allton snapped back to himself. The staff he grasped with knuckles now white sprang up to point at the malign figure before him. 'Yes, liar and deceiver, I am aware of your summoning!'
'Too late, you puny fools!' Gravestone shouted the words with malign laughter rolling after them. It was as if a curtain had been raised behind the priest-wizard. As his peals of maniacal laughter died away in the measureless distances that were no distance at all, there appeared behind him two towering forms. The burning eyes of Pazuzeus seared into Allton's brain, while the stunned cleric tried to defend his sanity against the assault of Shabriri's many-orbed stare.
'They are yours, body and soul, my servants!' Gravestone shouted at them at the top of his voice, his tone still laden with unholy joy. Take them! The sport is yours!' So saying, the priest-wizard made a tiny gesture. Instantly he was gone from the setting, leaving the great elder demons to deal as they could and would with Timmil and the archmage. Gravestone reappeared in the same heartbeat that he vanished, now well removed and comfortably reclining on a divan. Cacodaemon whores from Gehenna fawned around him, and dumaldun slaves from Tarterus fanned and fed him. Now he could relish the coming spectacle in proper comfort!
That the two mighty demons were sufficiently formidable was beyond question. After all, no human mage could stand alone and unprotected against the likes of ancient Pazuzeus, four-winged lord of aerial nethercreatures. Shabriri too was of incalculable power, and even so great a cleric as Timmil would be helpless to defend against the mental, magical, and physical assaults that the elder demon would send and employ. Taking no chances, however, Gravestone was ensconced at a long distance and employed a distorting dweomer to appear closer. The best part about that spell was that it also allowed him to see as if he were only but a few rods distant.
Even removed as he was. Gravestone also took additional precautions. He activated protective magics and then used a personal spell to construct a globe around the area he was in, so that stray energy or spells would not penetrate. Of course, such defense precluded any direct intervention by him, but the priest-wizard was more than confident that his demoniacal servants would need no assistance from him. Gravestone was commensurate at his black art; he was
