Artifact of Evil (17 page)

An ear-splitting roar shook the trees as the thing struck the magical force thrown up before it by the elven dweomercrafter. Melf looked away from the abomination that the interplay of force and malign magic of the lower regions created when they met. The vaguely batlike daemon was elephantine in size and terrible of visage. It struggled against the screen of energy, tearing madly with mindless fury. As the monstrosity broke through, Melf worked quickly, causing another and yet a third plane offered to spring into magical being.

"May you tear yourself to bits fighting such!" he said vehemently to the unhearing monster. Then he turned and ran to where his companions waited. This was a thing to flee from, not to fight.

The group broke from the trees in a rush, reckless now of rough ground. The mounts galloped without urging, spurred on by the malign waves of fear inspired by the flying daemon from the deepest pits of Hades itself. It seemed as if they would actually escape, for the abomination was still battling the last of Melf’s force walls when they rode away. Soon enough, however, the soughing was all around them again, and with it the stench of vilest evil.

"Now we must dismount and make it pay dearly for our souls," Melf said heavily. Even as they prepared, the heavens were shaken by a triumphant bellow, and the beating of monstrous pinions resounded from the hills. The four stood in a line facing the onrushing monster conjured from the depths of woe. Each knew this would be his last battle.

"Parseval's plan is a sound one," Deirdre concluded. "I say we divide our party as he suggests."

"It is stupid!" Gord retorted angrily. "The brigands are riding northward across the frontier region, and you would divert our strength to turn southward!"

More debate followed, while the elven constable sat back with hauteur fixed upon his countenance. The party had traveled to the Kron Hills riding the hippogriffs of Celene's elite chivalry. Parseval and a score of noble guards had accompanied them. Now another matter had arisen.

Upon alighting near the village of Hommlet, a small settlement set around a crossroads, they had been met by the local lord, Burney, titled Worshipful Magus by the Viscount of Verbobonc, and his lieutenant, Sir Rufus of Skipperton. These stalwarts had given the party intelligence on recent events. The band of hard-bitten riders had called themselves free traders. Their leader was a dwarf, with a squint-eyed gnome and a stick-like elfin company. The strength of the brigand assemblage was no more than three dozen of mixed human and demi-human races, and with this band were a string of pack horses and a few small, two-wheeled wains. This information was almost an aside, however.

"They left the village next morning," Sir Rufus told the group. "They left without disturbance, paying for all they had used – food, lodging, supplies. I had them followed by a pair of scouts… but these ill-looking 'traders' merely went off down the road to Verbobonc, not doing anything other than travel their way. My men turned back in the afternoon, with the train still heading northward."

"You allowed them to simply ride away?" Deirdre said derisively.

Burney shrugged. "Word of their depredations only reached us yesterday. Besides, I doubt what strength we can muster here would have been sufficient…"

"Quite right," Gellor said firmly. "Your duty is to protect this community and to report activities of interest. You have done well by any measure."

"The folk of Welkwood expect us to aid them" Sir Rufus interjected. "But it will take two days to raise the levy and several more to reach the rallying point. Had we attempted to interfere with passersby who made no trouble, where would we be now in this time of need?" he concluded, giving the girl a challenging stare.

Deirdre reacted hotly, her hand upon her sword hilt. "Celebrated as heroes rather than ones who make cautious excuses!" she shot back.

"Dead heroes are unreceptive to celebrations," Curley Greenleaf said dryly. Turning to Parseval and his fellows, the druid inquired, "But you, Lord Constable, might make this your cause."

"The woodsmen of Welkwood are no affair of Celene," said Parseval.

Burney smiled softly and raised a finger. "But it was the elves of that wood who asked our help," he countered.

"What's this?" demanded Lord Parseval.

"As my friend related earlier, Lord Constable, there is a great horde of humanoids and men raging through the Welkwood. They gather up the evil hiding within the forest, gaining strength as they come. Their path has been traced from the Suss Forest far south of here, and it seems they intend to traverse the entire woodlands all the way to the Gnarley."

"These are the very ones who followed us from the start," Oscar observed. "If so," Deirdre added, "we must join with those who oppose them, for such is our duty."

The debate that followed divided the party. Gellor pointed out that the enemy was escaping northward, and that the ravaging horde within the forest was merely a diversion. The cavalier would have none of it, for she saw things in another light. In her estimation, this horde had threatened them. Blonk, undoubtedly one of its minions, had slain Jokotai and the three apprentices of Greenleaf without mercy. Possibly they were moving to reinforce the dwarf-led brigands as well, suggested Deirdre, for none knew for certain that the caravan had not veered eastward – to take shelter within the fastness of the Gnarley Forest until their fellow murderers arrived to assist them! The female cavalier insisted that duty required her to ride to the aid of those who opposed this evil horde, and that those who refused to accompany her had neither honor nor courage.

At this point, the elven constable proposed that he make ready to accompany any force that was bent on bringing the ravagers to battle, for subjects of Celene were involved after all. He and his squadron of hippogriff-mounted warriors would be certain to locate the enemy and bring them to bay. There were mounts, after all, for the party as well, and Deirdre's words were befitting a chivalrous noble of Celene as well as a patriot of Hardby.

"Gord is correct, if tactless," Gellor said. "Our mission is to recover an instrument of most malign power from the clutches of evil. I too would say we must stop the humanoid despoilers from their savagery – were we not otherwise sworn. The greater evil, and the greatest good, lie northward. There we must go."

"Oscar and I go to slay these foul raiders," Deirdre said with finality. "You others can do as you wish."

The one-eyed bard was grim-faced as he nodded. "Then so be it. Let us see who will remain faithful," he said. Deirdre seemed to wince at these words, and Oscar turned away but made no objection to the cavalier's assertion that he would accompany. Parseval and the rest against the horde to the south.

With the disposition of Deirdre and Oscar decided, Gellor turned to the other members of the group and elicited their answers by calling their names.

"Greenleaf?"

"Need you ask?" replied Curley with a wide grin.

"Gord?"

The young thief spat and stepped beside Gellor. "I have pledged myself."

"Incosee?"

The warrior's dark face split into a broad grin. "A Flan soldier remains loyal unto death, One-eye," he said. "And you are my commander."

"Patrick? Moon?"

Moon, as usual, spoke for both of the fighters. "Your orders, Lord Gellor?" he said, and both men saluted sharply toward the bard.

"It is settled, then. We six ride north," said Gellor, allowing himself a thin smile. Then he turned his head toward Deirdre. "I must forgive you, lady, for your decision. I know you follow where you believe your duty lies… even though your vision might be somewhat colored at the moment. In any case," Gellor continued brusquely, "Burney, Rufus, and the rest will be glad for your assistance – and the constable's, too, for his force is to be reckoned with." The bard stepped up to Deirdre, shook her hand, and wished her success in her endeavor. He did likewise with Oscar and Lord Parseval.

The remaining six members of the band watched as Deirdre and Oscar mounted up with the elven guards. A pair of these latter warriors went off westward to bring intelligence to the Court at Enstad, taking with them the half-dozen hippogriffs that Gord and the others had ridden thus far. The aerial cavalry took wing in a thundering of hooves and a rush of great pinions, with neither Deirdre nor Lord Parseval waving a farewell.

"We must hurry after them," Burney said matter-of-factly. "If you will accompany us, good sirs, your horses await at the keep."

Gord and the rest followed the magic-user as he trotted briskly toward the village. Hommlet was a rather unremarkable place, boasting of little more than a good inn, some small shops, a few houses, and a strong tower recently erected under the supervision of Sir Rufus and the magus. As Burney had said, there were a number of swift horses awaiting them in the paddock outside the keep. That place was aswarm with activity, for the militia from all over the area was gathering there. The party could spare no time for any of this, and soon all six were mounted and heading away from the arming village, seeking the trail of the reavers.

"I like not this lessening of our strength," Incosee confided to Gord. "Our number was scant enough at the outset. Now a dozen is but six, and our spell-worker is amongst the missing!"

"Treachery took four, fickleness the balance," replied Gord bitterly. "Both are foul. Still, both Gellor and Greenleaf are able users of the recondite arts."

"Still," countered Incosee, "I dislike losing our wizard, for dweomers of his sort are more potent in battle than those of priestly sort."

For one claiming to be but a plain warrior, Incosee displayed uncommon astuteness in matters of spells. Gord looked at him with new respect as they rode. "And what of the cavalier?" he asked his companion.

"A fearless and puissant fighter, no doubt. I would have Deirdre as a weapon-mate in any battle. It is her cousin, though, who was to enable us to come to sword strokes with the foe," Incosee said. "And that is why I speak as I do."

"Why refer to Oscar as Deirdre's cousin?" Gord said with a puzzled expression.

Incosee looked at Gord for a moment, reading his expression carefully. "I thought you knew," he said. "The two have a fair reputation along the Wild Coast. Their grandmother was a noble of the Court of Hardby. The town of Safeton abducted her, and when no ransom was paid as demanded, the Szek had her publicly executed as an object lesson."

"And then?"

Incosee shrugged and continued. "The two grew and came to the Szek's town one day. Nobody knew their identity, and when they did, it was too late. The next day, Safeton had a new ruler and the family Longland of Hardby was avenged. Ransoming is no longer so popular with the masters of Safe-ton, either."

Gord said nothing to that, and the two rode in silence until it was time to encamp for the night.

Eventually they came upon the place where the dwarf had fallen upon the pilgrim train and had slain most of the hapless folk. It was near sunset when they discovered the grisly remains of the slaughter. Vultures and crows squawked and flapped angrily away as the six riders came upon the sheltered glen.

"Not long dead," Moon pronounced after examining several of the corpses.

"Aye, these murders were done this very day," agreed Patrick.

"The bastards are not far ahead then. Let us ride around and see if there are any signs of survivors," Greenleaf said. "If you, my friend will take the right," he said to the ashen-faced bard, "i will take the left."

Gellor nodded, and they rode into the scrub and tall grass. Gellor, Gord, and Incosee went to the right, while the druid, Moon, and Patrick took the opposite side. Although they were careful, Gellor's group could not find a single trace of anyone who had fled the massacre. Soon it was too dark to continue, so Gellor signaled for the three of them to return to the road. With Gord leading the way out of the underbrush, they came back onto the road about a hundred yards from the site of the murders.

"Here come the others!" Gord called excitedly to his comrades. "And they have someone with them!" This was plainly evident, for a total of five figures were walking up the well-used way, with the adventurers' three horses being led behind.

After moving on a sufficient distance to remove themselves not only from proximity to the bodies but also from predatory beasts attracted to the carnage, the six hard-bitten adventurers made camp and examined their new charges. One was a girl of eleven or so, the other a boy about two years younger. Both were pale and silent. The husky druid patted them fondly and spoke in his most affable voice.

"I know you have been through a terrible experience, and if possible we would have aided you to prevent the murders. That isn't possible, but if you can tell us what happened, we will try to bring the culprits to justice." Here Curley Greenleaf paused and looked at each of the children. "Do you understand?"

The boy only stared back, but the girl spoke. "Yes. Please help us…" she whimpered, her voice trailing off.

Incosee offered the two some hard biscuits and sharp yellow cheese. The children accepted the food woodenly but then devoured it ravenously, for they had not eaten all day. Moon proffered his wineskin, demonstrating how good the stuff was before the children drank. Now somewhat refreshed, the girl spoke in a voice that was steadier but still very quiet.

"I am Isobel, and this is my brother, Franz," she began. "We came all the way from Urnst, sailing across the Nyr Dyv to Dyvers. Mother died, you know, so Father took us with him on a pilgrimage to Mitrik in Veluna. But now Father is dead, too…"

Gellor placed his cloak around the girl's shoulders. "He was a good man, I am certain," said the bard in a gentle tone. "Now he has no more troubles to bear. You must think now of yourself and your brother. Life goes on for you, and you must tell us of these murderers."

Isobel stifled a sob and spoke with trembling lips. "It happened just as everybody was waking up and getting ready to travel. Franz and I went into the bushes to… well, you know…" She hesitated a moment, not wanting to recall what occurred but realizing she must. "I heard a cry, a scream, and awful laughing too. Franz started to run to the camp to see what was the matter, but I held him back."

"We both hid under some bushes," the boy interjected. "One of the men guarding the caravan was running toward us – he had an arrow through his arm, and someone on a horse was chasing him!"

"I didn't want to watch, but I had to," Isobel said, picking up the story. "The guard didn't get very far. There was a dwarf riding after him, and he threw an awful hammer at the poor fellow. It hit him on the back and knocked him down. The dwarf just sat there. We didn't move or make a sound."

Franz nodded, adding, "He was holding the big hammer again – it flew right back to him after it killed the guard. The dwarf was going to get off his horse, but a laughing elf came running up just then. He was giggling about how they had murdered everybody!"

"No, that's not right," Isabel corrected her brother. "They talked about killing everyone except the ones they'd keep to sell as slaves."

"Did this dwarf and the laughing elf have names?" asked Gellor, "Think carefully."

"Oh, yes, sir," the boy said eagerly. "The dwarf was called Lord Obmi, and the nasty elf was Geek."

"Keak," the boy's sister said in a tone that indicated she was used to correcting him.

"What happened then?" the one-eyed bard gently prompted the girl.

"We stayed hidden," said Isobel. "A man came and searched the body of the dead guard. He stripped it and took everything. We stayed put for a long time, but finally there was no more sound for a long time. We got up and looked for Father…" At this, her voice trailed off, and she looked down.