Artifact of Evil (25 page)

Eventually, Keak gave the woman to the ape-ores and they soon killed her.

By then the band was halfway through the Vesve, and Iuz sent Obmi word that a fitting escort was coming to bring them safely to Dorakaa.

At this same time, almost at the same moment, Mordenkainen himself took the field. With him were his trusted henchmen of old, as well as the gray elf fighter and magic-user, Melf, and several companies of deadly elves and hard foresters. The archmage had waited quietly as the Second Key came ever nearer to him. Now he would strike quickly, take the thing, and return with it to the Citadel. Then let Evil rave and threaten, let the forces of Good demand. He would hold the Key and with it would withstand such threats easily.

As long as the factions of the malign fought and quarreled, as long as men established nations and states and fought among themselves, this long would there be need for those who saw the whole as a slowly turning wheel. Neutral, even though generally despising true evilness, the Obsidian Citadel would remain strong and assist the balance. The possession of the Second Key guaranteed that.

Why then, Mordenkainen wondered as he set about his foray, did the Hierophants of the Cabal not support him? Jealousy, he supposed. That must be the reason.

"Never have I heard such music," breathed one.

The other sat silently, still hearing the singing perhaps, and made no reply.

"What are your names?" the bard asked quietly.

"I am called Thatcher – or Thatch, as my friends say," the taller of the two lads answered.

"And I am Shad, although the folk of the village make it to be Shadow, for I follow my friend Thatch," the one who had been silent piped.

Gellor nodded and smiled. "We are glad to have you at our fire, Thatch and Shad. Why did you follow us here?"

"Well, sir," the gangling boy said with a nervous swallow, "Shad and I want to be hunters. When we heard you speak of wild boar, we decided to join you… If you slay the devil-pig, you'll be famous hereabouts, and then so will we!"

The boy called Shadow bounced in eager agreement. "We heard where you were going, so we cut through the forest and got ahead of you. When you passed it was easy to follow."

Gord looked at Chert, and the big barbarian shrugged. Gellor had somehow brought the boys into their camp with his singing, that was clear Gord wanted to know if the bard knew when he began the melody that the boys, or somebody, was near. He had heard nothing, and it seemed that Chert had likewise been unaware of the presence of the two. The young thief remained silent, though, allowing Gellor to do all the talking. The one-eyed man was certainly getting answers.

"Why did you come so close?"

"We couldn’t make our own fire, so we had to be near yours for protection. There's things in the night, you know, which would gladly have us for their dinner," Thatch responded. "I am sorry we disturbed you by coming into the circle, but when you sang and played we just had to -.."

"No matter, boys. We're pleased you joined us, aren't we?" and as he spoke the latter he glanced meaningfully at his comrades.

Chert rumbled a greeting, and Gord nodded and smiled.

"There," Gellor said. "We are all friends here. Tell me, what did you hear us talking about?"

"Oh…" Thatch said, and then he looked toward his friend for help. Shad looked away, shifting nervously.

Gellor looked at the bigger youth and prompted him to go on by saying, "It's fine to say whatever you like when you're with boon company!"

"I know, sir, but I am confused. You are hunters, the boldest-looking hunters we have ever seen in Tusham! We know that you've come to slay the tuskers – maybe get the devil-pig himself – and we heard you speak of running from them," Thatch said with a note of betrayal in his voice.

"Shad, did you hear that?" Gellor asked.

Shad grinned. "I'm not a post! I heard everything," and with that he turned to his taller friend and said, "Thatch, I'll wager that it's treasure they're after! Why else get away from pigs when you're a hunter?" Thatch made no reply to that, so the eager-faced lad turned and looked at Chert, Gord, and finally Gellor as he asked, "It is a treasure, isn't it? The key you talked about opens a big chest full of silver and gold, doesn't it? The evil place is where some dragon hides its hoard, right?"

"Hmmm," the bard said, stroking his chin. "You are as keen-eared as an owl. You must not mention any of what you heard ever again. Shad? Thatch? Understood?"

Both lads agreed readily enough, and Thatch added, "We'll help you get it, and that way we won't be around others to tell them the secret." Gellor shook his head at that. "No, my good lads, we could never expose you to the dangers we must face for the journey, let alone the conclusion – the treasure, shall we say. In the morning you must go home.

"Yes, sir," Thatch said with a downcast expression.

"But, Thatch," the smaller lad cried in disbelief, "we can't go back to Tusham without a trophy – and maybe even with one we can't. Clydebo kill us for sure!"

"Now you shut your chop-trap, Shad, or I'll – "

"Enough of that, m'lads!" the bard thundered. Thatch had stood up as he spoke and clenched his fists. Shad had been ready to fight too, when the command came. Both plopped back to the leaf-covered ground, sheepishly looking at their hands. "We're friends here, and we don't squabble and fight like a flock of jackdaws. Mind your manners! Now, what's this about someone harming you?"

"Shad means Clydebo, the Chief Hunter. We… ah… borrowed some of his… things so we could come with you."

Gellor looked sternly at the two. "Borrowed? Do you mean you stole something belonging to this Clydebo?"

"I… I guess you'd say that, sir. But we'll bring everything back – won't we, Thatch?" said the small lad in a pleading voice.

Thatch decided to make a clean breast of it. "We knew that you'd kill many boars – even the one that's a devil! We'll never get to be hunters unless someone like you will let us learn. Else I have to be a thatcher, just like my name, and Shad there'll end up as a tailor."

"What did you take?" asked the one-eyed bard gently.

"Boar-spears, some old leggings, a lodencloak, a flatchet, and a rucksack," the tall lad ticked off the list.

"We needn't any of his other stuff, for I'd taken a leather poke full of grub and a big knife from my uncle already," volunteered Shad.

At that Gord had to laugh. Thatch scowled at his small friend. Before he could say anything about this addition, Shad went on.

"Don't be cross, Thatch. I didn't say anything about the stuff you took from your master!"

"Master, you say? Are you a prenticed boy?" interjected Gellor.

"Aye, both Shad and I are. He to his kinfolk, though, and I to old Reed."

Stealing was bad – bad enough to get the boys flogged and bound to their victims to work out twice the value of the stolen goods, recovered or no. Stealing things from a master by an apprentice was worse still. If the master chose, he could sell the thief into slavery in redress for the crime. Worst of all, the theft from Clydebo was of relatively high value, and the goods taken were those of his livelihood. That usually meant hanging. All three of the adventurers looked at the lads in wonderment. What could these boys have been thinking of?

"That won't matter, you see," Thatch said almost as if he had read the men's minds. "The prentice-breaking nor the borrowing of the stuff, that is. You're going to kill wild boars aplenty. The devil-pig that's got everyone in Tusham scared to go into the woods, too! We'll help, and the whole village will call us heroes! We'll give everything back, and Clydebo will have a trophy from us to boot. Then we can be hunters!"

"No, we can't!" countered little Shad glumly. "Don't you recall that they said they weren't going to look to pig-sticking? We got in trouble for naught, Thatch."

Gellor looked grim. "Where was this Clydebo the hunter when you made free with his gear?" he asked.

"Out after game, sir," said Thatch weakly.

"They could sneak back into the village before anyone's up," Gord said. "Then, after replacing what they stole from Clydebo, they can creep back to their own homes. They'll have to take a few whacks, that's sure. But a few commons or a silver noble even will soothe any feelings of anger. Besides, they can claim we forced them to show us the way through the forest and made them take the food, too."

Chert looked doubtful. "That's pretty thin, Gord," he said.

"It's all we've got."

"No argument there," interjected Gellor. "But I like it not. The story is likely to be questioned, and these two know about… other things, shall we say."

"We'd never, never betray the truth about you hunting for treasure, not boar," Thatch said earnestly.

"We can't go back, though," Shad chimed in, '"cause we saw Clydebo in the afternoon heading back to Tusham. He's found his spears and equipment missing for certain, and tomorrow he'll be on our trail with a vengeance."

"That tears it! What on Oerth are we to do with you two?!" the bard demanded, his tone halfway between mirth and anger.

"Why, that's easy!" Thatch shot back with abroad, wholesome grin. "We'll help you get the treasure, Shad and I. Even with just a little share of it, a small part suited to boys like us, we'll be the wealthiest folk in the whole village. We'll tell them all how we used the spears to help kill the evil dragon that guarded the gold, and Clydebo will hang the pair on his wall in honor! We'll pay ten times the – "

"Enough, enough," Gellor said in exasperation. "Bring your gear to the fire and bed down with us. We'll settle the matter in the morning. A good sleep will clear the muzziness of your tangled scheme from my head, and I'll be able to solve the problem then."

Standing proudly as men, but still sheepish about their predicament, the two lads hurried off to bring in their weapons, provisions, and bedrolls.

"How did you net these two slippery little fish?" Chert asked the one-eyed man.

Gellor covered himself with his cloak, getting ready for sleep, as he replied. "I saw someone outside the firelight – thanks to a peep with my enchanted orb. My music has certain powers, and when I played and sang, I drew them in with a warm feeling of home and good friends. Had they been ogres, I doubt they'd have behaved differently."

"Well," Gord opined, "these lads are not ogres, and we can't leave them to their fate."

"Would you rather they died with us fighting hardened soldiers and fell spell-binders?" Gellor grumped from his bed of leaves.

"At least with us they'll have a chance," the barbarian said just before the two boys reappeared bearing armloads of gear. That ended the conversation for the night.

While the others were readying for travel the next morning, Gord took a scrap of paper and wrote out a message.

"To Clydebo the Hunter," it read. "Be made aware that we have need of the service of two boys, Thatch and Shad by name. One of these electrum pieces is to cover what was taken from you, with another just like it for good measure. And there are two more luckies here, one for each of the boy's masters. Give them to their rightful owners. We will return soon to learn if you did!" He signed it "The Three Who Hunt Devils."

Gord tucked the message and the electrum pieces in a place where it would be evident to a keen-eyed woodsman, and made a small blaze above it just to be sure. Gellor gave a small cough, and Gord looked up, startled. Gellor pretended to be relieving himself on the tree, but the bard's expression showed that he'd seen the whole thing. Gord gave a small shrug, and Gellor returned a disapproving look.

"You are determined to bring these boys into grief," he said with resignation. "Then be it on your head – and the curly mop of that hulking friend who supports you in this – not on mine." With that he mounted and began to ride away. There was a scramble to get the last of the gear onto the horses or slung over youthful backs, and the remaining four hurried off after the bard. Gord and Chert rode, and the two boys trotted happily after the horses.

Neither Thatch nor Shad could ride very well, but the two young adventurers gave them their turns atop their mounts anyway. "This way you'll learn, for learn you must!" Gord scolded the reluctant boys.

"It'll spare your arses some, too!" said Chert with a laugh as he recalled the pain of becoming accustomed to the saddle.

During a brief pause to get bearings, eat, and rest, the lads were instructed in the proper handling of the broad-bladed, cross-pieced spears they lugged along. Each weapon consisted of a stout shaft, one of hickory, the other of hornwood. The spears were taller than the lads, but not by much, for each was just a little over five and a half feet long. What the weapons lacked in length they made up in girth, for the shafts were as thick as quarterstaves. The steel spearheads were sharp and thick for strength and bloodletting, and their fastening cupped the shafts and extended nearly a foot past the cross-piece.

"You'd suppose," Chert told the raptly attentive lads, "that a blade a hand's-span wide and a foot long would do for a boar, wouldn't you?"

The boys nodded certainty as they looked, awestruck, at the wicked spearhead that the giant hillman held as if it were merely a toothpick.

"Well, you're wrong!" Chert continued. "A maddened tusker will take this bit of steel in his chest without flinching, just to get at you. If this bar wasn't at the base of the blade, that tusker would push himself on, running the whole damned spear through his vitals, just to tear you to bloody ribbons with his tusks! Then he'd trample you into mush before he fell dead on top of your guts and broken bones." There was a certain relish in Chert's voice at this description of what could happen.

Both Thatch and Shad turned pale and looked sick upon hearing his very graphic words. They were bright and imaginative lads, and they were now beginning to reconsider their desire to be boar-killing hunters. Chert gave each a reassuring swat and spoke again.

"Never mind. There is a cross-piece, so if the shaft doesn't snap the pig'll be held off to bleed himself to death in a squealing, foaming rage. It's their lust to kill that does for boars, you know… Now, see the spike here at the butt?" He moved the weapon so that the lads could get a close look at the metal-shod base. A fingerlike spike protruded from the endcap. "This is to hold the weapon solidly. You see the boar. It charges! You lower the spear and aim the point, so! See how the butt is grounded? You can use a tree or the like too, depending on where you are."

"No use when mounted," Gord pointed out. "Clydebo goes afoot, but boar-spears for horsed hunting are longer and lack the spike."

"Now notice the difference when you're fighting with this spear rather than setting up for a charging tusker," Chert said. And so it went for all that day and the next while they kept a watch for signs of danger and the outlaw's road through the forest.

There were swine around, of that there was no doubt. They heard them and occasionally caught glimpses of the great wild pigs dashing away at their approach. None attacked, though, as if even the tuskers feared to encounter them. This disappointed the boys and Chert too, for the hillman still thought a loin of boar roasted over their evening fire would be most toothsome.

It was the afternoon of the second day that brought their first incident. Chert was riding in the lead, Gellor at the rear, with Gord and the boys going in between. As they rounded a corner where a game trail swerved past a massive yew and entered a small clearing, a piglet dashed across the path. Reflexively, Chert drew his bow and sped an arrow after the creature. The shaft pierced the piglet, which squealed shrilly as the projectile pinned it fast to the ground. There was an answering grunt and deeper squeal as the sow poked her head out from the brush. The barbarian had nocked another arrow, but before he could react, a deeper voice came from almost beside him.