Artifact of Evil (23 page)

"Most pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen," said a man of medium height and quick gestures. "I am Tenser, of course, and you must be… Gellor… Chert… and this is Gord!" As he spoke each name he inclined his head curtly and smiled. "Please be seated," he went on, waving toward several chairs and a divan. This room was evidently his personal living quarters. There was a curtained bed, a small dining table, and other objects that showed the room to be a frequently used and well-loved domicile.

"Sir Tenser, despite the startling nature of our arrival, we are most happy to be here!" Gellor said in a stately tone. "It almost seemed we were imprisoned for a time when we were above…"

"Yes, I understand. However, such construction keeps unwanted snoopers out – and sometimes it keeps other sorts of things in, too, if you get my point."

Gord, imagining what sort of creatures magic-users often summoned with their spells, agreed heartily that the lack of means to pass freely from floor to floor of the massive tower was a splendid one indeed.

Tenser seated himself in an oddly carved chair with a high wooden back and a padded seat. The thing seemed very old, for the sheen of its wood was blue, the mark of ancient sable-wood. The archmage was clad in garments the shade of a robin's egg, with a sash of deep ultramarine and boots to match. Much of the room was also decorated in blue – rugs, arras, and various and sundry decorative pieces. All shades and admixtures of azure were evident. Small wonder, then, that Tenser chose to build his keep on the shores of the bright, blue Lake of Unknown Depths. The man himself, however, had both brown hair and eyes, Gord noted. He was not remarkable until one observed him closely.

Of medium height and build, the archmage seemed ordinary at first. His features were regular, although the nose was distinctive. One look at Tenser's large and penetrating eyes was sufficient to alert the discerning person that this was an exceptional character. His hands were large and long-fingered, and they moved with deceptive rapidity and grace. Gord felt that there was far more to the man than met the eye, and then realized that this was probably done by Tenser on purpose. Unprepossessing and mild – sure ways to put all off guard. No matter now, however, for the archmage was at worst a friendly neutral.

"When Catlord told me of the cause for the great disturbance in the energy flux, I began investigation immediately," Tenser said. "There is but little I have managed to glean. Powers contest with each other in the enemy camp. Each masks the action and purpose from the other. The enmity bodes well for all those of a disposition which resists the ascendancy of Evil. Still, the struggle might bring woe to us, for the use of magic to find something – information, an object, whatever – is now virtually impossible."

Gellor asked the archmage exactly what he was driving at. Tenser, it seemed, tended toward the pedantic, for he went into a lengthy exposition.

"All spells draw upon one form of energy or another. Little ones use small energy, big ones can draw tremendous currents. Those castings that utilize the power of some deity or another, those channeled through the medium of a being of power, are of one sort; and the aura of such is distinct. Likewise, work of dweomercrafting leaves a unique signature, as it were. Oh, not the minor ones – little spells are much the same as a rune or two written in the sand. But the major works leave a long and identifiable trace, at least for a time."

"Well and good, archmage. I understand this, for I am able to work a few minor spells myself," the one-eyed bard reminded Tenser.

"Just so. Your energy comes from a fixed point, as does all. Each focal point is different, distinct, and detectable. It is possible for those of great power to cloak theirs – however, I cannot. This place is built on a nexus, for I desired to have that advantage. Think on this: Of all probable worlds of this sort, Oerth is most magical. There are fewer constraints on dweomercrafting and other spell-working here than on other planes of probability. But that is a two-edged sword, so to speak.

"Imagine a map which glows with differing patterns and hues. It is a chart of energy points and flux lines on Oerth and the nearby planes. It is hard to read, for both knowledge and patience are required. Furthermore, only certain ones with talent or power can even perceive it. When force is employed, the map's colors brighten, the lines change, the patterns shift – slight or otherwise, for an instant or longer, as I have already spoken of. Certain ones can observe these changes. Beings are now observing – and interfering, too. I can observe, but I am too insignificant to alter patterns – other than my own, of course, by use of energy. Small usage I can mask, but there are those who can hide far more.

"All the greater patterns and fluxes of Oerth are being scrutinized. At the same time, those of beings elsewhere are being screened, altered, concealed. While this indicates still greater events than even those which have recently occurred, it also means I am unable to draw upon any major energy without attracting attention and possibly retaliation of unwanted or overwhelming sort.

"Perhaps I will have a part in the resolution of things. Perhaps not. Any action now would be premature, so I wait and gather my strength for the appropriate time. This boils down to the fact that I cannot send you to where you wish to go by means of magic," Tenser concluded with a solemnity that was as anticlimactic as his statement.

This evoked an immediate response from Gord, who was less interested in the technicalities of magic than Gellor was, and not totally uninterested and uncomprehending as Chert was. "Where should we be?"

"There is a helix over Chendl."

"That is where we planned to go," said Gord.

"Perhaps the display is deceiving," the archmage countered.

"If so?"

"You must make a choice. Before the whole display became too dangerous and difficult for me to read, I believe I detected a curious flux pattern."

"Please explain this to us, archmage," the one-eyed bard asked with renewed interest. "Perhaps we can discern our course from what you observed."

Tenser drew himself up, puffed out his cheeks, and nodded. "Who can know? Still, perhaps it will mean something to you. For a brief time a Y-shaped pattern seemed to flow. It ran from the Kron Hills area straight toward Chendl. One arm stretched over the Vesve Forest and the Valley of Highfolk. The second was unstable, but arced toward the eastern shores of Whyestil Lake, vibrating as does a lute string when plucked. It all lasted but briefly, and then the spiraling helix replaced it as powers fought to cloak their designs."

At this point Tenser rose and left the chamber. The three adventurers began an animated discussion of what their course should be. The southern area was easily assessed and could be discarded as a possibility. They knew what was happening there, and that the elves of Celene and their allies must deal with it as best they could. Certainly the Second Key traveled along one of the two arms of the Y-shaped force. But which arm? The one vibrating between Dorakaa and Molag showed the great tension between the foul Iuz and the Hierarchs. Summoning of their deity indicated the Hierarchs thought the thing they sought to be near their southern border. But the flux showed that Iuz might know otherwise. There was also the question of relative power. How was it that the cambion, fell and terrible as Iuz was, could resist such as Nerull? Demonaic assistance was the only reasonable conclusion.

The left branch of the Y was a less certain clue. There might be interplay with the archmagi of Highfolk leagued with Mordenkainen and his circle of wizards, with a countering pull again emanating from Dorakaa. But why? What was transpiring along such a line?

"The thing Melf sought went northward from Littleberg with the brigand leader," Chert recalled.

"That's right! The stroke toward Chendl, the arm running to the northwest. One trail false, the other true!" Gord cried in enthusiasm.

Gellor sobered both young men by pointing out that the pattern might have indicated nothing more than points of power in conflict, a concord of such force, or any number of other things. He then spoke encouragement. "Yet, the border area between Furyondy and Veluna offers a good route for one seeking the safety of the Vesve, for that wild forest could hide much. It is the only route that one journeying to meet with Iuz could follow, what with the forces in the south seeking to prevent it and the Horned Lords and their master ravening to the east."

"Finding a dwarf in that forest is as vain as seeking a needle in a haystack," Gord said gloomily.

The barbarian brightened. "Melf recounted how he once did just that, only the pin was magical and there were a multitude of haystacks. He said he'd fired the lot and sifted the ash!"

"Burning down the whole of the Vesve is impractical, to say the least," Gellor commented dryly.

"His recounting the tale has merit, I think," Gord said as the barbarian slumped back in his chair at Gellor's remark. "If this Obmi has the Second Key, then Iuz, much as Melf did, must locate dwarf and key and see them to Dorakaa. The 'smoke' of such 'burning' will leave a distinct trail. No petty escort will be sent to retrieve something so powerful as that piece of artifact!"

"Gord, my young friend," Gellor said with a beaming smile, "you and Chert there are something more than a pair of sharp swords! I begin to think that your mind is keener than that enchanted blade you so prize, for between the two of you have put the point to the vitals. It is to the Vesve Forest's shadowy depths we venture."

"How?" the two young adventurers asked in unison.

"That is easy," interjected Tenser as he strode into the chamber, "if you don't fear waterdragons."

The rush of green water became darker and more frightening as the monster dived deeper. Huge fish, dwarfed by the bulk of the creature writhing through the depths, darted away in fear. Then a thing only a bit smaller than the monster swam up, but it was unwilling to cope with the ferocity of the would-be meal, and it sank out of sight almost immediately. The monster arrowed through the water a hundred feet beneath the surface, and slowly the light above faded as the sun moved toward the unseen horizon in the west.

Gord could not speak. He, his friends, and a strange, silent man rode the back of the great waterdragon. Those things that would be harmed by immersion were sealed within a metal case as proof against damage. The case and the men were strapped to the scaly back of the monster. It swam so swiftly that even the stout straps would have been sundered were it not for a crystalline shield that sheltered their heads and upper bodies from the force of the water.

Tenser had led them below his castle. Taking a labyrinthine route, they had eventually emerged in a large cavern tilled with water. There lived the waterdragon. Unlike the great dragon turtles, this vast creature had no carapace. It appeared much as would a red dragon, save its wings were vestigial – more like the great flukes of whales – and its feet were webbed. The scales of the waterdragon's back were aquamarine, and its underside the color of old ivory. Where upper and lower scales met there was a band of deepest sea-green color. The monster was beautiful in its way. It was also frightening in aspect. Tenser had explained that the creature was a guardian of his fortress, but he would forego its protection for a time in order for their party to be carried swiftly across the Nyr Dyv to a place from where they could travel by other means. None of the men had understood just how swift their passage was to be.

The spell-binder had somehow signaled, and the silent man and several servants had come into the cavern and attached the rig to the great dragon's back. It made no objection. Rather, the monster gazed fondly at the archmage with its fishlike eyes – something that Gord could but wonder at, for never had he seen expression in the eyes of fish or reptile. Or rather, he thought, any expression but cold hatred or ravening hunger. Tenser stroked the scaled muzzle and fed the dragon fish often- or twelve-pound size. They were like minnows to the maw that snapped them up.

"Never have I seen a waterdragon!" Gellor exclaimed as he admired the great creature.

"They are rare," Tenser admitted. "I have seen only two myself, and when this little fellow grows up he will leave me for the depths of the ocean."

So much for that.

Then each of the three, in turn, was introduced to the monster. It hissed softly at each, and it took all of Gord's resolve not to tremble when his turn came. The creature was not showing anger or giving warning, however, when it vented the sound. The waterdragon was intelligent, and was acknowledging each man as not-food. At least that is what Tenser had told them, and there was every reason to believe he spoke the truth. All the while the archmage crooned and made hissing noises to the monster, and it made odd sounds in reply.

"Now, my friend here agrees to convey you swiftly and safely as far as he can, and there you will be met by others who will see that your journey continues," Tenser said at last. Then he gave each of the three an antique diadem of bronze set with aquamarines and covered with sigils. "These enable you to survive underwater for a time – long enough for your journey and then some. Do not breathe while you have these headbands on! Instead, merely relax and the dweomer of these ancient devices will bring clean air into your bodies and remove the used breath. Return them to my servant when you come to the end of your ride."

The end of the journey came soon enough. The great waterdragon swam tirelessly for more than a dozen hours to bring them to their journey's end – at least that portion that was of watery element. The dragon brought them suddenly into open air, writhed ashore, and, turning its head to gaze at them with huge eyes, hissed farewell. The silent man signaled for them to dismount, holding out his hand for the diadems. The three complied quickly. Their gear was handed down by the fellow, and then waterdragon and rider were gone.

Gilled folk that were neither nixies nor aquatic elves but something similar, yet altogether different, greeted them. Again this "language" was silent, merely signals and gestures whose meaning could not be misunderstood. The adventurers followed their guides to a place in the underground complex of caves where there was a shimmering pool of water. These odd creatures signaled for the adventurers to step into the pool.

"What does this mean?" Gord asked the bard.

Gellor smiled at his two young companions. "I recognize this sort of magic. The pool is attuned to another similar one located elsewhere – in this case, I would suppose the other to be far distant, as Tenser knows where we must go, and these are his associates. Our entry will trigger a dweomer that will carry us instantly from this pool to the other. Shall we go?"

As the strange underground aquanauts watched with unwinking eyes, the three men stepped into the pool.

"All we did was get our feet wetter," Gord muttered as he peered around the grotto. There seemed to be a few more of the strange folk watching them, and perhaps the glowing lichens that illuminated the cave were now emitting more of their phosphors. But that was all the thief could discern.

"As I told you, this is a twin of the other, Gord. Unless I am a knave and fool, we are far distant from that place where we were but an eyeblink ago!"

Again they followed the signs of the gilled folk, and in a minute they were walking along a natural passage that rose steeply upward. The three were alone, the gilled folk gone. Puffing from the exertion of the climb, tired from lack of sleep, they came into the light and open air in a quarter-hour or so. A vast body of water extended before them. The sun was overhead. Sails and buildings could be seen off to the right, a mile or two distant.

"Right you were," noted Chert with a grin. It was obvious they were somewhere else. Now to find where!

"A good time to stretch our legs and dry off," said the bard laconically as he finished strapping on weapons and gear. His companions did likewise, and then the three trooped across a boggy meadow until they came to a road a mile distant. There was commerce here, and Gellor hailed a passing carter plodding his way up the road from the buildings in the distance.

"What city's that?"

"Ain't no city at all!" the rudely dressed man called in reply. "That there's the town o' Crockport." He went on, shaking his head at the total ignorance and foolishness of strangers.

"Crockport?" Gord said, trying to remember where that place was located.

"Never heard of it," the barbarian said with a shrug.

"It's a frontier town of Furyondy," Gellor told them, "located at the southernmost tip of Lake Whyestil. That was some pool… We're north of Chendl by thirty-five leagues and near the eastern edge of the Vesve!"

It took longer than they'd expected, but they arrived in the town tired but dry and cheerful. With a good rest and the acquisition of fast horses, they could be trekking into the fastness of the Vesve Forest tomorrow, still with fair prospects of finding Obmi the dwarf and his prize. This place was too close to enemy territory to begin inquiries for friends or allies, but there were good inns and a thriving market. After a meal and some sleep, the three went about equipping themselves for the expedition.

More than horses and provisions were needed. Gellor sought out a place to purchase maps, for they had precious little idea as to the extent and details of what lay within the Vesve. Chert was anxious to find a longbow, and Gord needed missiles for his sling. The bard went off on his errands while the pair of young adventurers sought a weaponer, hopefully a bowyer, elsewhere.

There were weapons aplenty to be found in Crockport, and in short order the barbarian found a huge bow that tested even his massive arms. With it and two quivers crammed with broad-headed arrows, each over a yard long, they went on to find Gord's needs. This took a little longer, but eventually they located a place that provided Gord with a variety of weights and sizes of tapering lead bullets for his sling. With a quantity of these missiles stored away, and a pair of well-balanced knives tucked in his boots, the young thief was content. Gellor was waiting for them when they returned.

"There's scant information to be had, but I have a pair of crude maps and information from a hunter who has roamed the forest nearby," he said in clipped tones. "Let's be off."

"What's in the leather bag?" Chert asked the bard.

Gellor smiled at that. ''Long has it been since you have heard me sing and play, Chert, but the lack is cured. There is a fine little harp, therein, and I feel far better with such an instrument at hand."

With their coursers saddled and bearing bedrolls and saddlebags of provisions, they rode westward out of Crockport just after the sun had passed its zenith. They followed a road that turned gradually northward, skirting the edge of the great forest. It was a no-man's-land that grew wilder and more lonely as they went.

"The map shows a likely place to spend the night," Gellor told his companions. "There's a little village that lies a hard day's ride from the town, but if we press our steeds, they'll carry us there before much of the dark has been spent."

Late in the afternoon they reached a place where the road split into three tracks. One veered toward the lake some ten miles to the east. The central lane continued northward, and the leftmost trail ran westward angled toward the north. Gellor took the latter way, and urged his horse to a faster pace, for there was but an hour or two of light remaining and a long distance yet to go before the village was reached.

"We are hunters," said the bard as he patted the heavy boar-spear strapped beside him. The hour was but two from midnight, and they were near the village at last. No further caution was needed, and the three proceeded into the community, found a tavern that offered accommodations, and there spent a safe and restful night.

The residents were curious to see the strangers, for not many such folk passed their way – at least not many of honest sort, or a group so few in number. They were unmolested, of course, for the three adventurers were obviously tough and capable. Local folk gave them a wide berth, said little, and when the strangers needed anything they bargained sharply, beginning with exorbitant prices and grudgingly lowering them to merely outrageous demands. Gord pretended to be in need of a new spear, while Gellor and Chert casually inquired about the most likely areas to find the great boars for which the area was famous.

The village was, in fact, called Tusham, in recognition of the number of trophies of long, pointed teeth that decorated its tavern and other establishments. Chert, having hunted the ferocious pigs of his own hills, was eager to discuss the habitats and tricks of the local beasts. There was enough of the same stamp among the rustics of the village, so barbarian and yokels were soon telling tall tales and looking wise, Gellor got his additional information, while Gord and Chert ended up buying local boar-spears at only slightly inflated prices. A pair of young lads wanted to guide the three adventurers, for there was a famous old boar in the neighborhood. They said it was a devil in pig's hide, actually, but that three skilled hunters such as these strangers were could certainly bring it to bay and slay it. Gellor shooed them off, and the trio was soon out of Tusham and heading into the dim Vesve.

They followed a narrow path that wended its way westward into the heart of the spreading forest. After an hour or so this path diverged, one fork tending toward the south a bit, the other seeming to curve northward. That was the direction desired, and they took the upper trail after a moment of pondering. There were occasional side paths, for here and there some woodcutter or hunter had his home.

As Gellor had been told, they came to a hermit's cave in a low cliff that bordered a small woodland stream. The recluse was not to be seen, and after drinking and filling their waterskins, they rode on, chewing tough sausages and bits of dried fruit as they went. The path faded into nothingness thereafter, but there were numerous game traits that meandered and crisscrossed. The woodland had been light, with patches of scrub and dense undergrowth where forestation or brushfire had been at work upon its verge.

Now the boles were massive, rising to leafy crowns high above, and their limbs intertwined to make the forest floor dim and free of growth above stirrup height. The trails led to an occasional meadow or small clearing at first, but then the little tracks became fewer and the places where sunlight reached and grass grew scarce. Although the forest was not hard to pass through, it was difficult to keep to a single direction. The sun was hidden and the trails meandered confusingly between the thick trunks of the forest giants – ipp and roanwoods dwarfing oaks that were hundreds of years old. Chert was happy here, and both Gellor and Gord had sufficient skill at woodcraft to be able to remain on a northerly route.

At nightfall the bard told them they were now in the territory frequented by the herds of wild pigs. They made certain that they were armed with their spears as they made camp and gathered fuel for the fire. Chert slipped away to see if he could find any game for supper in the half-hour of purple twilight that remained. He returned with an enormous squirrel whose coat was of sooty hue. His chagrin at having found nothing bigger was changed to unease when the bard told him that such giants as the squirrel he had brought down were a sure sign of evil. They found it tasty anyway, roasted on a spit over the cherry embers of their small fire.

"You say that such limb-lopers as that are found only in forests of eldritch sort?" asked Chert again.

"Why are you surprised at that?" the bard countered. "You know that the cambion's servants use the heart of the Vesve as a highway, and we are making for that evil core. It is encouraging to find a creature of that ilk so soon… the trails of Iuz must be nearer than I thought."