transpiring in the center of the column, however, was what drew their attention. Two armed figures appeared out of the cloud of poisonous vapors. These men were coming directly toward their position, for they had seen the pair at their contest.
Biff spun his sling and released the leaden bullet. 'Tough foemen to survive those killing fumes!' he grunted to Lizard as the missile he had slung flew in the direction of one of the armored brigands coming toward their position.
'Quick too,' Lizard said softly as the man used shield and movement to deflect the sling bullet. 'Not over- quick, though!' he exclaimed as his quarrel buzzed and cut a bloody path across the exposed leg of the same brigand.
Neither said anything further. The two attackers were almost upon them, so they saved their breath. One more missile from Biffs sling, another bolt from Lizard's arbalest, and then halfling and human were grabbing dagger and sword to engage in close combat with the screaming brigands.
Events at the head of the caravan were going awry also. The leader's canopied mount, and the trio of guards as well, were clear of the rolling fog before it settled upon the path. When the cloud was seen, and its effects halted the train of brigands, the four at the van spurred their horses ahead, aiming at escape.
'The wind be damned!' Melf had cursed as the situation became clear. The breeze, gentle as it was, had caused his en-spelled cloud to strike behind the point he had intended. 'Quick, Chert, to the enemy!' Without further word, wizard had gestured furiously, and a streak of burning fire raced from his finger. The flame inscribed a line that touched the fleeing brigands and then blossomed into a ball of roaring fire with a loud whoosh and a bang.
In an instant the burning globe consumed itself and was gone. Chert, loping down the hillside toward the road, hesitated for a split second when he observed the place where charred horses and dead men should have been. Instead there was a blackened circle and four galloping riders half a bowshot distant from the place.
'What happened, Melf?' Chert cried over his shoulder. Although there was no hope of him catching the fugitives now, the barbarian resumed his running anyway, calling out, 'If you can stop them, I can slay the lot!'
Melf made no reply, for he was too busy. In a moment he was speeding through the sky, angling his course so that it intersected the line of the rough roadway as it twisted toward the ramplike descent from bluff top to river valley. As he went, the elven fighter-mage saw that the outriders were coming back to join the leader, having been attracted by the explosion of the fireball. On the opposite side of the Veng there was a black smudge in the air — the great ravens were beating upward and gathering in a flock. This was bad news! Having gained considerable ground on the escaping brigands, Melf shot downward, skidded to a halt on a grassy knoll, and began instantly to work another spell.
'You use illusions, do you?' Melf murmured under his breath as the results of his dweomercrafting were completed. 'Then let's see how well you avoid the 'Tentacles!' '
Sooty black growths seemed to spring suddenly from the path in front of the four horsed brigands. The tentacles were so dark as to appear as nothingness, for they absorbed all light. The thick, ropelike strands writhed and twisted, lashing around in a hideous manner. Then, as if they were guided by some unseen eye, each of the ebon-hued protrusions grasped and entwined itself around a horse. One of the armored riders lost his seat when his mount was so seized, as the destrier lost its footing and crashed to the ground. This unfortunate brigand was immediately enwrapped in the coils of two of the black tentacles, members that were not already crushing mounts.
The other three riders were more fortunate — but not so their horses. Over a dozen of the rubbery arms had shot magically upward from Melf s enchantment, and at least a pair of the tentacles now held each animal. The two armored guards who were still in their saddles quit hacking at the snaky growths, leaped from their seats, and cut away at the tentacles holding the houda-bearing destrier.
All this occurred in but a trickle of time, a few minutes. Melf scarcely noted the activity, for he had other matters to deal with while the tentacles were seizing his quarry. The vanguard was nearly in a position to assist their leader, and it was time to deal with this threat. A sheet of flame shot up between outriders and the houda- bearing horse of the brigand leader, and several of the newcomers were consumed in the leaping tongues of fire, unable to save themselves by swerving or reining up short of the magical conflagration.
'Now for the rest!' Melf shouted aloud, running so as to place himself in position to cast his next spell. The horsemen milled in a knot before the wall of fire, and suddenly one of their number spotted the running elf. 'That's grand,' Melf grunted as he came to a sudden halt and began conjuring rapidly with odd, flashing gestures. His voice rose into a keening, whistling chant. Arrows thunked into the ground around him, and one glanced off his metal- shod leg, but he ignored them all.
'By a stroke of luck, I've ended your resistance,' Melf said sardonically as he watched what occurred next. The horsemen had been galloping toward him in a straggle, and his answer had been a terrible bolt of lightning. The electricity was of violet blue, and it struck and leaped, arced and cracked from man to beast in a sizzling chain of death. When its full course had been run, nothing remained alive. The air was full of the smell of ozone and charred flesh. Despite himself, Melf felt sick. 'Why must such be?' he asked the playful breezes softly. Then he returned to his duty.
Chert was upon the scene, avoiding the tentacles that still writhed, seeking someone or something to grasp. 'Penwolf!' the barbarian screamed, the battlecry bringing the two mailed fighters around and on guard against him. The great battle-axe, Brool, buzzed a deathsong as the massive arms of the giant hillman brought the blade around in a glittering arc of steel. The war axe cleaved mesh and steel plate. Gurgling, one of the foemen pitched forward, a mortal wound gaping where the axe had nearly cut him in twain at the waist. His comrade, however, was upon Chert with a howl, delivering a stroke with his broadsword that left a red furrow across the barbarian's right arm. The two opponents settled down to a duel, axe versus broadsword, to the death.
'Shaz sneers at me!' Melf exclaimed, watching a wounded horse begin to trot slowly down the track. Before engaging Chert, the two henchmen of the mysterious rider had managed to chop the constricting tentacles. The magical members had inflicted bloody damage upon the hapless war-horse, but the animal still stood and carried its houda and rider away as commanded. The horse was slow and Melf reacted quickly. He again gestured, uttered a strange, staccato string of syllables, and shot forth his arm, with forefinger extended. A series of thick, greenish bolts shot forth, each glowing missile following its predecessor unerringly to impact upon the canopied arrangement atop the huge destrier.
'This is not so, and I do not believe,' Melf said loudly as he observed the effect of the spell. When the last of the greenish streaks struck the houdalike affair, the draperies burst into a sudden fire, a flash followed, and then horse and houda were no more. Only a greasy, brownish cloud of smoke wafted slowly down the path where mount and rider had been. 'Bring me true vision,' the elven mage uttered as he passed the symbol of Fharlanghn before his eyes. Revealed thus was the same destrier and its odd trappings, proceeding as if nothing had occurred, save for the scorched areas of the canopy where his magic missiles had struck home.
'Now it is time for the final act of this charade,' Melf said as he took flight, arrowing directly toward the concealed figure atop the horse. Before him extended a spear that grew magically as he flew, changing from a weapon the height of a tall man to an ashen shaft as long as a horseman's lance. 'Behind you, you bastard!' Melf shrieked just before he was upon his target. He saw the wizened visage of a gnome, one eye nearly popping, the other squinted nearly closed. The demi-human was frantically gesturing in order to evoke some dweomer, but only a vague fountain of muddled colors sprang forth before Melf s broad-bladed spear took the creature in the shoulder.
The impact nearly sent Melf spinning, but he managed to continue. The gnome was carried from the houda trailing a ragged tail of draperies. 'Quarter!' he screamed, dangling like a speared fish.
Melf ceased his magical flight, using the impaling spear to pin the foe to the ground as his feet jolted upon the turf. One look told him that the illusion-using gnome was in extremis and would die soon indeed. 'Your death can be quick and clean, or I can keep you suffering for some time yet — that is the only quarter you will receive from me. Now, your choice?'
The gnome peered desperately around, then he glared hatefully at his slayer. 'My curse forever upon your foul, peaked-eared head, elf, for what you have done to me!' he screamed defiantly.
Melf leaned upon the magic spear and twisted the shaft. The malign visage before him crumpled in pain, and the gnome's knotty arms and legs thrashed wildly.
