lightning to kiss the swords tip and vanish. The flow of evil force made him reel, his head spinning, his stomach twisting, but somehow Gord managed to retain his grip on the hilt of the weapon.
'Now open the way,' he said softly, still shaken and uncertain. The stone before him ran down and flowed out as would dry sand. Weird and twisted forms of metal fell from the air, no longer supported by the stuff that had been granitellke only a second before. Vile rune of brass, evil sigil of frozen quicksilver fell soundlessly into the soft, powdery stuff that mounded out to near where he stood. So too dropped steel bars and iron bindings, bronze and gold workings of all sorts. In that raid came some faint clangings and dull clinks, so thick were the pieces upon the little hill of powdered stone.
Blackheartseeker no longer trembled. It was stable again, and all along its length was the lightlessness seen as black to mortal eyes. 'You have done it!' Gord exclaimed in fierce joy. 'Now I'll do my best to fulfill my part of this bargain!'
A short, narrow passage was revealed beyond the destroyed gate. There was a dim illumination coming from its end, and Gord could hear a murmuring sound. It could be none other than Gravestone's voice chanting some evil litany of dark magic, as the demonurgist sought to gather strength for renewed combat. Not hesitating further, the young champion stole along the little hallway leading to the inner sanctum of the priest-wizard. The time of vengeance was come finally and at last.
Gravestone stepped into the open end of the narrow passageway just as his foe was slipping along it toward him. When the demonurgist beheld a form moving into his supposedly inviolate lair, the fellow started and cried aloud in shock. 'Out!' At the same instant he pointed a wand and moved it so as to cause the instrument to shoot forth a stream of searing fire.
'In!' Gord countered to the priest-wizard's denial, and charged ahead, Blackheartseeker lancelike before his rush. The fiery wash of magical power shot forth then, crackling and leaping as its tongues sought to consume all in their path. Gord was seared, his flesh blistering under the intense heat of the burning discharge. Still he came on. In fact, the dull ebon of the longsword held in his hand seemed to cool and lessen the flames of the demonurgist's wand, and the power of the blade washed back to cool and soothe its wielder as well. There were scorches and red burns to be sure, but the effect of the burning gout of energy was far less than it seemed.
The steely shaft aimed at him forced Gravestone to leap back and get away before he could send another withering spray of flames from his wand. He was readying it for another attempt nonetheless even as he retreated in haste. His adversary followed too closely. The ebon blade darted out as if a serpent's tongue, and the wand was broken, one piece still held in the priest-wizard's hand, the other portion spinning away. 'Devils take you!' Gravestone shouted, throwing the useless stump of it at Gord and then using his greater powers to evade the next blow that the young swordsman aimed at him.
The terrible dread was filling him again. The sword that seemed to fill the whole room was a weapon against which Gravestone had few defenses. He utilized all of them, though, in order to escape death. Between the demonurgist and his foe sprang up a huge and bestial form. It was almost as high as the vaulted ceiling of the chamber and as broad as a span of oxen. It was formed of darkly shining colors, transparent layers of color describing the creation's dimensions. Evil orange was its outermost hue, and beneath that thick sheen was another of vile gray light. Then there followed a diabolical red, a clear black fire, an ugly maroon, and a ghastly purple. Innermost, and of a disgusting incandescence that hurt the eyes to look upon it, was the violet sheen of the deepest nether-pits of evil. It was as if the priest-wizard had formed seven nether-beasts, each slightly smaller than the foregoing, each inside the other, and then himself gotten inside the whole to animate and empower the hideous agglomeration into assuming unnatural life.
'Hide, rat, but you can no longer escape into some rathole!' Gord shouted angrily.
'Hide?' the multilayered, evilly hued monster surrounding Gravestone bellowed. 'This for hiding!' and it struck a terrible blow.
Gord cut at the creation at the same moment. Sparks of brilliant orange shot from where the dark blade touched it, but the thing hit its target nonetheless. Gord was knocked back, sprawling, blood streaming from his nose.
Now a torrent of fiery orange flowed from the thing, and it gave vent to a scream as the stuff of its outermost shell poured out upon the floor. 'A mere trifle,' a sinister voice mocked as the scream died away into nothingness with the last flicker of orange light. The sound was putrescent, as hideous as the deep gray outline that was now the outermost part of the varicolored creation of evil.
Again the monstrous form struck, this time a pair of swift blows. Gord dodged the first and met the second with the keen edge of Blackheartseeker. Dead gray flickered, globs of luminosity were sent flying. 'A mere trifle,' Gord mocked, stepping in as the thing tried to move back to get a better swing at him. Staying close, darting and weaving, the champion of Balance stabbed and stabbed again at the corpselike color of the form; and each blow he struck made the gray lessen in intensity, thin, dim as its stuff was sent oozing forth and away. 'Yet it seems effective,' he added as the gray went out and the hell-red was clearly visible.
Inside the construction of evil power, Gravestone was still safe, but he was weakening with each loss suffered. There were yet five layers of protective force shielding him, and serving as weapons too. But the loss of the two was severe, not to be discounted. He would have to redouble his efforts to slay his opponent immediately.
Because he was who he was, the task was far from an impossible one for Gravestone. Many spell-binders had the means to produce multilayered spheres to protect themselves with. A few of the most evilly adept could form beasts of energy to encase themselves in and serve as extensions of themselves.
The demonurgist, however, went far beyond either of these accomplishments. This many-colored beast of force was drawn from all of the netherspheres, fought as well as any great devil or demon, and protected its creator behind seven barriers of malign energy. It had a life of its own, too, and Gravestone could lend the quasi-thing his own powers to employ. Touch of rotting death,' the priest-wizard said softly. The disgusting crimson of the right hand of the beast that encased Gravestone glittered with a darker sheen from the power thus bestowed. Mage's spell and cleric's power both were known to the blacksouled demonurgist. By transferring either to his construct, Gravestone could utilize his fell energies beyond the confines of the many-hued beast. Then he feinted with the thing's left, and as his foeman moved to avoid the blow, the deadly right hand came flashing forth to deliver its killing charge of dweomer.
It almost worked. The huge fingers brushed Gord, and the death contained in each digit hurt him to the center of his being. Yet by instinct and long training the champion managed to leap back just far enough to prevent Gravestone's tactic from having its full intended effect.
Using the sword to shield him from another such trick, Gord circled and drew several deep breaths, trying to regain lost energy. He knew that the demonurgist desired a melee at this long range, where he could watch Gord and strike more efficiently at him, but there was no choice. If he went closer, the touch of the beast would be fatal, for the energy that generated the scarlet color was a force that would burn flesh and destroy bone if it came in solid contact.
The groping, pawlike extremities of Gravestone's agglomeration swiped wildly at Gord. He danced, ducked, and slashed with Blackheartseeker as he avoided the attacks and regained strength. The pain subsided to a dull aching. That he could put aside with effort of will. Now it was time to take the offensive again. Gravestone made a clumsy rush with his beastlike thing, and the longsword slashed into the glowing maroon with cut after cut upon the defenseless flank and back of the nether fiend.
'Howoou!' The hell-red layer seemed to give vent to the sound from every portion of itself, not just the near- featureless head and hint of a mouth it possessed. Then the light was gone, replaced by the glitter of abyssal ebon.
His sword seemed to leap for joy as the black sheen sprang clearly forth. With volition that seemed to come from itself, Blackheartseeker plunged its tip into the darkness and drank. The jet instantly lost its lustrousness; then it was gone, vanishing without sound of protest. There were now but three layers of the construct left to protect the demonurgist, but Gord had to retreat without striking a further blow as the thing of maroon light spun and attempted to sweep him into an embrace. It was but ten or so feet tall now, and narrower too, but it moved with greater speed.
'Come, champion. Stand and fight your enemy.' Gravestone used 'champion' as a dirty word, and scorn
