Rays and bolts of unnameable colors were playing upon the ghastly figure and its murderous mount, as quarrels and sling bullets flew at them. Gord heard the one called The Reaper give vent to peals of sepulchral laughter at these efforts, and the evil rider spoke in a hellish voice.
'Now I claim you all for my flock, nigglings,' Nerull boomed as he flew from the huge, winged daemon-thing. 'Your souls and the Second Key shall be my gifts to He Who Will Awaken!'
This Gord heard, but he was unmindful of the meaning. Neither did he think of the beast or of Nerull's scythe. Gord had begun to read the twisting and writhing lines inscribed on the sheet of ancient parchment.
If the rider was impervious to the attacks of the beleaguered party, not so the daemon Putriptoq. It was stung by the spells and missiles. It lunged its titanic bulk forward, furious at the affront and ravening to crush and tear and devour those who dared to hurt him so. This fury saved the four defenders, for the monster's rush prevented The Reaper from plying his weapon.
'Be still!' Nerull commanded the winged behemoth. The thing felt the searing pain of the scythe, though the contact was a mere touch. Cowed, Putriptoq drew back and huddled its bulk upon itself. Then Nerull stepped to the fore.
All the while, Gord had been reciting the near unpronounceable words of the banishment spell. His eyes burned, and his tongue felt as if it were possessed by a serpent. Beads of sweat sprang from his forehead and ran into his eyes while his hands shook and water seemed to fill his knees. He invoked the names of the deities Celestian and Fharlanghn, and Rao from dimly remembered prayers of childhood, as the text demanded that beings of power be called upon. Gord tried to shout forth the spell, but his mouth was dry and his voice cracked, and the words seemed to be mere croakings and guttural, meaningless mumblings to his straining ears.
'This takes an eternity. You are too late!' one part of the young thief s mind babbled. Somehow he ignored the thought and read the scroll to its finish. The conclusion nearly gagged him, his throat was so raw, and the words brought agony to Gord's whole being.
'Ehlohum, XetorMudeelsa, Adonai… Rexfelis!' Gord shouted the conclusion, adding the name of the Cat Lord for good measure, for it seemed that one had certainly aided him in his quest.
A colorless sheet of nothingness descended before Gord's eyes. His mind closed upon itself and went blank.
A terrible wail spread outward from Nerull. The daemon beast took up the sound, and it became a groaning bellow that echoed and rebounded upon hill and plain, over meadow and marsh, piercing woodland and valley for a league — and was even faintly heard in Krebalsthorp a score of miles away. The earth was blasted from the spot as thunder boomed and lightning beat a frenzied tattoo roundabout, while tornadic winds howled and roared so that no vegetation within a mile stood whole and green when their work was finished. Rocks split and smoke shot from great fissures. Flames sprang from the very air to whirl and dance and consume, but even these ravening tongues were whipped and shredded to nothingness by the fury of the whirlwinds. There was a clap of sound as if iron had been slammed upon iron by two angry giants…
…And then, there was nothing save the scoured, ruined land.
Chapter 17
The lord of pain danced in glee through the great halls of his palace in Dorakaa. Those who served Iuz hid from his sight, lest he suddenly change his mood and punish those who viewed his gloating cavort. Iuz laughed and jeered and pranced, knowing the fear these actions evoked in his minions, and the feeling doubled his joy.
'Fonkin, frightface, foul boy! You are naught but My own root!' he called, mimicking children's rhymes as he pranced in step to his own ditty. After a time, though, Iuz tired of his vaunting. It was gladsome to his vile heart, but enough! There was much yet to do.
Iuz sent forth a thought: 'Attend Me instantly!' Then he sprawled his corpulent bulk upon his chair of bones and skulls and awaited the coming of those who served him.
'Lord of Ancient Evil, your servants attend their Master,' said a woman of indeterminate years who wore vestments of rust red trimmed in black. In her hand was an ebon staff bound with silver and topped with a silver-set skull, an object indicating her status as High Priestess.
Six heads bowed before him. 'You are the Greater Six, and as My right hand, you will be the first to know of My coming triumph,' Iuz said in a gloating tone. As he spoke, the half-dozen clerics lifted their bowed heads and stood quietly with rapt attention. They knew the cambion was about to relate something of unusual importance, for his antics were known throughout the nightmarish palace.
'My plan is nearing fruition,' Iuz boomed. 'Far to the south the weaklings have finally gotten enough courage to band together. They are going to battle with a host of the Stinking Brotherhood' (of course Iuz referred to the scarlet-clad servants of regimented Hell, his listeners knew) 'and the two will neutralize each other.' There was a soft murmur of pleasure from the listeners, for they anticipated ill for the Kingdom of Furyondy and the Archclericy of Veluna — two states who constantly sought the downfall of their master, and of themselves as well.
'Happy as that news is,' Iuz purred, scratching his great belly and ignoring their minor interruption of his speaking, ' I have even better word!' At this the six froze into silence and attention once again.
'Molag is in confusion! Three of the Hierarchs are missing, My spies tell Me, and there are reports of some terrible loss somewhere… but even this is not the best news!'
'May the plans of our Ancient Master always prevail,' the entourage intoned in unison.
Beaming with malign pleasure, the great cambion raised his voice to a triumphant basso that filled the ghastly throne room. 'My tools now come near. With them they bear the Second Key, that portion of the Artifact of All Evil most dear to the Dunglump Who Must Forever Sleep. Once that portion is safe in My hands, never will I allow it from My grasp. It will make Iuz more powerful. It will bend the Abyss to My will, for as long as the artifact remains separate, never will the others be able to force their wretched little plans upon Me! Upon the Abyss! Upon the only True Evil!'
'Our Lord of All Evil speaks. We hear and accept,' the six said in ritual response to the utterances of the cambion.
'Listen now, for I have instructions for each of you.' So saying, Iuz rapped a brazen tube beside his throne, and the horny knuckles of the demonling caused the cylinder to shudder with a mournful bell tone.
A pair of dretch swung the chamber doors apart, and a huge nabassu, wings flared, strode three paces into the room. The demon bent its knee and asked in a rasping boom, 'Your wish, Eldritch Lord?'
'Fetch the ambassador of the drow here at once,' Iuz said, The man-eating demon bowed, backed from the throne room, and the bronze valves were shut again by the dretch servants. Iuz smiled at his trusted lieutenants, his mouth full of pointed teeth seeming to split his face in half as he did so, then continued his instructions.
'Mole, you are assigned to work with Olive of my Lesser Six. You are to take a force of buheer and nonuz. You will command them, My regiment of Black Death, and a company of drow. You are to invade the lands of the Hierarchs, raise the wild Uroz and free reavers there, and march on Molag! I want My city back!'
A short, long-nosed mage stepped forward a pace, bowed, and replied, 'I hear and obey, Ancient Lord.' As he said this a pretty woman wearing the garments of a cleric of Iuz came from a curtained alcove nearby and stood one pace behind Mole, likewise making obeisance.
'Good,' the cambion said as he motioned for a tall old crone, wearing a black robe covered with magical sigils, to join Mole and Olive. 'Your second will be Althea, and she shall have the illusion-worker called Jumper at her beck as well. General Sindol knows My plan, and he will inform you of it. Go at once! You must begin your march immediately — do not fail!'
As the four were departing, Iuz pointed to yet another of his Greater Six. 'Kermin-Mind-Bender!' A turbaned Bakluni bowed deeply. 'Take the wizard, Null, and go amongst the rulers of the Bandit Kingdoms. Give them heart. Tell them I, Iuz, come to their aid. Renegade nomads and a host of others are ripe for war. Pass through the Fellreev Forest on your way. Bring them south with you. Slay the servants of the Horns. Make certain that the petty lords understand and invade the enemy after they are driven out.'
'Yes, Ancient One. We will cross the Ritensa and harry the enemy all the way to Molag, or I am nothing,' said the swarthy illusionist with hard arrogance in his voice.
'Exactly,' said the green-eyed creature who sat on the throne above him. 'Else your skull and bones will
