Come Endless Darkness

'No. I seek to not fulfill my obligation.'

'That one slew me, Gord.'

'I think otherwise. Tharizdun has been chained and helpless till this moment.'

'Remains thus; and you do not heed. The one you see is the murderer.'

'Now… I understand.'

'Blessed culmination of my being, all fortune to you.'

'Will we speak again thus?' Gord's mental voice was strained, then almost pleading.

That cannot be, as you know in your heart… not yet for ages of your time will we meet otherwise. It is naught. We shall. You are. Let that suffice.'

'Thank you, my father.'

There was no reply, no form visible to his mind's eye. Gord was again alone, his brain unoccupied by anything save his own thoughts. The voice of the dark, nearly formed Tharizdun penetrated his consciousness.

'Well? What is your answer, man? I grow impatient. Those who think to be Mine must instantly obey!'

'Obey you? That is a jest!' Gord spat in the general direction of the monstrous being, raising Black- heartseeker as he did so. 'I'm loath to spoil this fine weapon by thrusting it into such corruption as you, Tharizdun — but I shall!'

Iuz was still clutched in Tharizdun's huge left hand, the long, misshapen fingers of the malign monster smeared with the cambion's blood. The great right hand stretched forth toward Gord, purple talons as long as scimitars, clicking and rattling eerily as the digits writhed in anticipation. 'Come then, Gord-the-dead. It is your doom!'

As the hand suddenly shot toward him, Gord leaped to meet it.

Chapter 16

The long, sallow face of Gravestone was beaded with sweat, but otherwise there was no sign that he was alive.

He sat, in a trance, upon a flat pad on a steplike dais. It was circular, dark, and graven with sigils and writings of power and warding. Near to him three candles burned, each with a flame the color of its wax — black, plum, deep crimson. From a brass bowl resting on his crossed legs arose smoke, tiny columns of vapors. Each was of a different hue, each betokening one of the netherspheres.

The faint haze reeked of noxious drugs, an odious stench. These drugs aided the priest-mage in his work. When he needed the stuff of flame and incense, the candles flared and smoke streamed upward. A sudden Inhalation, more sweat, then absolute stillness again. The flickering tongues of the candles' flames receded to mere glimmers then, and the tiny streams of noisome stuff resumed their slow rising.

Nearby, watching for what seemed hours, Gellor gazed upon the scene. But the bard was by no means idle. He was struggling to free himself from the bonds that held him as Gravestone sat in his trance. The bonds were of both physical and magical sort, however, and the attempt to win free of them was proving to be long. If not fruitless. Curley Greenleaf was nearby, his condition very serious. Gellor thought the druid was sinking toward death. Chert was there too, battered and bloody but awake and silently straining to free himself just as the troubador fought against his bonds.

A figurative 'third eye' watched the three. Despite the trance, Gravestone was not so foolish as to allow enemies to be in proximity without being under observation, bonds or no bonds. This mental watch would trigger an alarm instantly. The priest-wizard had a special surprise awaiting, and his attention would be needed for only a moment if the spell was required to deal with one or more of the captives.

The demonurgist was not thinking about all that, however. At the moment he was deep into the dweomers he had spun. A final trap was in action, and he personally must oversee the occurrences, utilize his powers to operate the whole of it.

It was a masterful and deadly piece of work. The trap had three levels of complexity, three ways of snaring the enemy therein. First and least likely was despair and withdrawal. Both the spectacle and information imparted by the magic were set to promote the proper mood for dejection and hopelessness. Those emotions, that mental state, was enhanced as fully as Gravestone could manage by powerful spells. The adversary within the trap was very potent, charged with magical energy himself, so Gravestone dismissed the likelihood of the initial snare actually functioning as was hoped for.

The second level, that of persuasion and subversion, was insidious in that it played off of the first grouping of power. Even though the enemy might ultimately reject the dweomer of forced surrender and inaction, it would surely affect him nonetheless. Thus primed, there was a greater potential for the acceptance of offers meant to appeal to the base and low desires contained in even the best of persons. Together, then, the demonurgist gave the first and second ploys about four chances in ten of success.

Five in ten was the probability he placed upon the final tier of the trap. That was physical combat based upon mental conviction. Accepting what was seen and experienced, the victim mired in the snare would accept and fight back against the threat. More insidious than the second snare, this portion played off both foregoing magics. Best of all. Gravestone was there mentally to channel energy and force. The at tacks of the illusory opponent would be far from imagined. The vision of Tharizdun he had enspelled and now operated would utilize very real attacks of terrible power against the would-be champion.

Even if that fool discovered the figure he opposed was naught but a false image. It would be too late. Blasts of magic from the demonurgist's own store of dweomer would cut him down before he could escape. Gravestone recalled for an instant his pleasure in slaying this young upstart's father and mother. He had enjoyed the woman's tenor as-

The extrasensory alarm in his head blared its warning. This was terrible! The final confrontation and fight between the champion and the illusory Tharizdun was commencing. The demonurgist men tally set a fixed program of actions for the phantom deity of all evil, sufficient in force and deadliness to keep the man occupied for a minute or two. That was ample time, for he needed only a few moments to deal with the three prisoners. Gravestone had thought to keep them alive for questioning and amusement. Under the circumstances, though, he would now simply kill them, then return to the direct handling of what would be the demise of the last hope of all who opposed evil.

It was at the instant that Gord leaped toward the illusory Tharizdun that the mental warning was triggered in the demonurgist's mind. Even as he shut off the telepathic link with the trap, leaving it on a program that included triggering of actual magical energies, and turned his attention toward the bound captives, Gord did what the demonurgist had not anticipated. The phantasmal form of the dark god was nothing, but the hand that reached forth to seize the young champion was enspelled with dweomer and meant to crush Gord. Instead, Gord used his acrobatic ability to bound up and actually stand upon the bundle of force that was the enspelled member. That was the last step….

'What's this?!' Gravestone blinked and stared, using magic as well to examine the three bound enemies. None of them were actually loose. 'But why did the warning sound…?' Thinking about that, the demonurgist decided to slay them instantly anyway and return full attention to his chief antagonist. He raised his arms to set in motion the power that would kill the helpless prisoners.

'Whump!'

The soft sound of something falling behind him distracted Gravestone. He spun and readied the dweomer's force for some possible new opponent. Somehow, one of the trio of captives must have managed to summon another to assist. As the demonurgist turned, arms half raised, mystic syllables ready to trip from his tongue, something struck htm a blow that drove the air from his lungs, the spell from his mind. 'Sorry to drop in on you like that, old sorcerer.' a mocking voice said as Gravestone scrabbled to gain his feet and face the opponent.

He saw Gord. This was impossible! The alarm… the trap. It all came together suddenly. It had been this one's action in leaping that had triggered his mental warning bell. There could be only one result of Gord's action, coming here to this plane to threaten Gravestone personally. His own mind had tricked him, worked too quickly,