Artifact of Evil (34 page)

"Something dampens our powers, Lord of Evil," the mage Vayne explained nervously as Iuz strode into the scrying chamber atop one of the greater towers in his dreadful palace. "If the others were here, I am certain we could get through, but with nothing but petty little weaklings to assist me, I can do nothing," the magic-user whined in his fearful, nasal voice.

"Stop that," the cambion said without looking at the anxious man who scuttled a pace behind him. Iuz was in his massive demoniac form, and his long legs propelled the corpulent mass of his red-skinned body along at a pace that Vayne found difficult and undignified to keep up with. The cambion liked that, for the whining spell-binder had to come flapping after him or else risk his displeasure. Iuz stopped before a massive vessel of beaten copper and brass. The inky stuff within it was dead black. The surface should have reflected an iridescent sheen. Strange!

"You see Lo – "

"Silence!" Iuz bellowed, and Vayne nearly collapsed in fear at the command.

"Why is it so dark in here?" the cambion demanded.

It had suddenly grown particularly gloomy in the chamber, and the shaking magic-user hastened to a nearby window to find the cause. "There is a great mass of clouds overhead, Lord Iuz, as black as I have ever seen! Perhaps some enemies send weather-magic against us…"

His master wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his words, so Vayne allowed his sentence to trail off. Iuz was still at the great scrying basin, peering into the thing fixedly.

"Little man, I feel that some event of great import is about to occur. It is of favorable sort, I am certain. Be gone when I cease my speech, and I am enough talking!"

This statement was punctuated by the slam of the chamber door. Iuz smiled an eerie, evil smile, and then he concentrated on the liquid. Instead of growing lighter, the absolute blackness of the surface increased, as if the stuff was absorbing what little illumination fell on it. The cambion bent closer, then leaped back with undignified haste.

The oily liquid in the massive pool erupted in a geyser that struck the ceiling almost twenty feet above its surface. As the droplets pattered down throughout the room, a pair of women appeared. Before Iuz's startled gaze stood Iggwilv, his mother, and Zuggtmoy, Demoness Lady of Fungi. Between them, grasped by both, was die Second Key!

"For one who calls himself the Eldritch Lord of Evil, – you look rather startled – 'thunderstruck' is the word! Weren't you expecting us?" Iggwilv said, and as she asked the question she smirked at the figure beside her.

Zuggtmoy the demoness smirked back at the crone who was possibly the oldest and most powerful human ever known, then smiled broadly at the cambion. "Iuz, my love, it has been too long!"

Recovering his lost dignity, Iuz drew himself up to his full height and spoke with firm tones. "Both of you, assume a more pleasing form immediately. But first, you may hand Me that which you have brought."

Iggwilv shook her head. "Not so fast, my prodigal. Is that any way for a devoted son to speak to his Dear Mother?" Even as she uttered this admonition, the ancient crone, one who had appeared a parody of every child's nightmare of a wicked witch, changed. Her features flowed and changed as her body grew and straightened. Scraggly, gray locks became flowing tresses of hair like spun gold, and face and form matched the radiance of this golden head.

"You brought me forth by accident, and you have been more a mother in the breach than the office, Iggwilv. Cease your foolery and deliver my prize to me," die cambion added with what could have been petulance.

Zuggtmoy too had altered from a horrid harridan to a breathtaking beauty. As voluptuous as her companion, Zuggtmoy's assumed form was as dark as Iggwilv's was golden. As this occurred, the demoness swayed across the intervening distance between them and threw her arms around Iuz. "Greet your lover properly!" she demanded in sultry fashion. "And you too, Wilva, come and join us, do!"

"Stop this foolishness," the cambion said, trying to disengage Zuggtmoy's arms with one hand and fend off the giggling Iggwilv with the other. Iuz dared not offend the one and wished for nothing more than the artifact held by the other. This was not in keeping with his dignity nor power. "I demand you stop this now!"

"Demand?" said Zuggtmoy.

"Demand?!" echoed Iggwilv.

The hard edge of both voices made the cambion hastily rephrase his statement. "My dearest love, My own Mother, you have confused and befuddled Me with your coming, with that which you bring Me, and most of all with this fond greeting!" With that he clasped the dark form that was Zuggtmoy and embraced her lasciviously. As she laughed, Iuz scooped the transformed Iggwilv into the expanse of his other arm and kissed her too. "There, My most lovely ladies, I make amends!"

Releasing them, Iuz proceeded to kiss each of their hands in a courtly fashion, greeting each by full title and welcoming them to his abode.

Iggwilv smiled, and there was a suggestion of mockery and sly understanding in the expression. "Iuz, My son, you excelled yourself in your choice of consorts. Lady Zuggtmoy is absolutely without peer!"

"Thank you, dear Iggwilv," the transformed demoness said prettily. "I am in your debt, and you will never regret aiding Me."

"Tsch! Do not mention it – time for settling that will come. You and I have much to accomplish now," she added, giving the Queen of Fungi a meaningful glance. "What – " Iuz began.

"Of course," the woman who had given him birth said, "you are wanting information. Well then, attend Me. It was a near thing, for those soft and stupid ones who oppose the true order of things came in their multitudes. Despite their mewling attempts, I found and freed Dear Lady Zuggtmoy. Together we went to her lovely estate in the Abyss, where she renewed herself. What wonderful chats we shared', and what plans we schemed, Lady Zuggtmoy and I! Then, as time was of the utmost, we returned to this mundane plane to set matters on the correct course here…"

"The Second Key – from where did you get it?" Iuz interrupted.

"This?" Iggwilv feigned a negligent disdain for the oddly twisted shape of dull metal and lusterless crystals of dusky hue she still held. "It radiated a dim aura which was discernible to us when we melded our powers and considered it," Iggwilv told the cambion. "So we changed ourselves and went unnoticed to where it was. It was a simple matter to take it and bring it here. Once possessed, its power is such that only a major combination could prevent we two from doing as we wished!"

"Did a dwarf called Obmi bear it?"

"That one was heading directly for a large group of puissant elves – the snot-nosed servants of that upstart Mordenkainen. How that silly trickster howled when we took the prize before his own dogs could snap it up…"

"And the dwarf?"

Iggwilv smiled and gestured to Zuggtmoy. The demoness reached into the low bodice of her gown and withdrew a large, exceptionally ugly toad. "This is the very same dwarf you spoke of – Obmi? No matter, toads are such dear little things that I had to have him! They love to sit on my fungi, you know," the demoness concluded as she tapped the cowering batrachian on its warty head.

"So be it," Iuz said with a shrug. "He failed – or nearly so. If you wish him as a pet, he is yours until you tire of him."

The Queen of Fungi laughed a delightful little laugh and replaced the toad within her bosom. "You are so thoughtful, dear Iuz."

"It is nothing," the cambion said with forced generosity.

Iggwilv interrupted them. "Come, come, my dears, let us get to matters of import. My little Iuz has a kingdom to expand. There are plans to make. But first there must be a triumphal procession and festival here in Dorakaa! The populace must know of our coming, of the new power of the land, and of its new status as arbiter of all!"

Iuz groaned inwardly, cursing Iggwilv carefully in a corner of his mind that was well shielded from any possible prying by magic. Now, the cambion thought, I understand why Graz'zt imprisoned her in a dismal plane within the Abyss! Iggwilv, it was certain, would not settle for a role of silent helper in matters of state – or any other matters. In tandem with Zuggtmoy – and the two seemed to have become virtual sisters – they would never allow him his prerogatives, nor a moment's peace.

"Pay attention, Iuz!" Iggwilv said with a scolding tone that didn't fit her charming beauty at all. "You were always a daydreaming little do-nothing as a youngling, but that won't be the case anymore!"

"Yes, Iuz, do attend our words," added Zuggtmoy. "If we are to rule a fitting state here on this silly little world, you must be able to do your part, so pay attention!"

Iggwilv took the opportunity to berate him for his poor choices in selecting members for the three groups of six who served him. "It is just as well that Ormuz and the one called Patch chose to die in battle! Had they dared return, their deaths would have been longer and less handsome! Know you that the one dealt with lackeys of Nerull, whilst the other sought to make a pact with your father?"

Iuz shook his head, for he could not speak.

"And those miserable little nothings who sought to terrorize the northern stretch of the Vesve. All they managed to do was stir up an organized force, which slew them and their horde. Now all the forest is lost to us, for between the woods-folk, Mordenkainen, and the dirty elves there, it will be unsafe to venture amidst that forest for some time!"

Both Rudduj and Bee were dead, too? The impact struck Iuz like a cold slap. He gritted his needle-sharp teeth and asked pleasantly, "What would you do?"

"Teach that minion of yours, Halga, her proper place first!" Zuggtmoy said with a grating voice.

"Then we will assist you in the selection of replacements," Iggwilv added.

It took several days for Gord to manage the walk back to where his friends waited. The wounds from spell and hammer were worse than he had thought. Changing into his feline form seemed to help. It also avoided the carnivores drawn to the scene of the battle by the smell of blood and death. By the time Gord came to the camp where Gellor, Chert, and the boys waited, he was nearly at full strength again, and feeling fit. His comrades cheered him when Gord walked in, but the expression his worn face bore quickly dampened their joy.

"The news is bad, then?" Gellor asked.

"I fear the worst," said Gord morosely. "Obmi escaped despite all I could do. The vile dwarf is perhaps in the hands of the archmage Mordenkainen, for that one brought a horde of the enemy to battle and routed the humanoids – so Melf said. That one was there, too. I saw him and owe him much…"

They talked long then, Gord telling of his pursuit of Obmi, his feigned service to the demon Graz'zt, and the desperate attempt to prevent the dwarf from fleeing to Iuz with the Second Key. They marveled at his slaying Keak at the very moment the crazed mage had turned the young man into a stone statue by his magic, and agreed that Melf had done a great service in restoring Gord to natural life.

"You might have done worse," Chert said, slapping his friend on the back and hugging him warmly. "To have rid the world of the likes of Keak is a service to all!"

After a bit more discussion, they shared a meager supper and retired. There was much to do now. It was time to get from the forest as swiftly as possible, and get word to those who waited as to what events had taken place. Perhaps it was already known, but the probability of the passage into the hands of the cambion of that instrument of Evil was of utmost urgency to relate. They slept uneasily and rose before dawn.

It was a relatively swift and easy journey. There were none of the evil creatures lurking in the Vesve, although they encountered a cautious group of armed woodsmen and later a small band of wild elves roaming through the trees seeking any enemies who might still be hiding there. Both companies were suspicious of the five at first, but then gave them much honor and respect for their part in what had occurred. Gord made a point of telling both the chief of the wood-dwellers and the elven leader that the dwarf Obmi had borne an object of evil power toward the realm of Iuz. That news, he knew, would soon spread throughout the forest. Thus they made their way toward the south, and soon they were near to Tusham again.

That evening the two lads averred that they had no desire to ever dwell in that village again. Both were anxious to remain with their three newfound friends.

"We will be most useful – won't we, Shad?" Thatch had assured the doubtful Gellor. "In return for taking us along and teaching us about weapons and the rest, we'll cook and clean up, and care for your gear most thoroughly."

"That we will," chimed in little Shadow. "And we'll never get in the way, either."

"How will you keep up once we're out of the forest?" asked Chert. That put a damper on both boys' plans, but only for a moment.

"I think we can manage," said Shad earnestly to his bigger comrade, "if they'll allow us to put our gear on their horses."

"Right!" Thatch said, understanding his friend's direction. "We can trot all day as long as we don't have to tote all that stuff, too!"

Chert laughed, for he had no intention of making these two lads run behind their horses. The barbarian had already decided that both boys would make sound warriors and hunters with proper training and guidance, and he would see they got it. When they arrived at Tusham tomorrow, Chert had plans to find a pair of small horses for them to ride, and he'd see them properly accoutered in the process – they would earn their gear and keep through service.

The bard had no such intentions, for his duty was to return to his homeland and report there to his liege lord. Unwilling to deflate their hopes, and unaware of Chert's resolve, Gellor merely grunted noncommittally and let the whole thing pass.

"Master Gord, what do you say?" Shad begged.

Having no desire to teach these boys the dark ways of thieving and swindling in the crowded city, Gord shrugged the pleading query off. "Who can say what will come to pass, lads? I am no lover of battles, nor am I much skilled at the hunt… Let us see what we shall see."

The brawny hillman was disappointed at his comrade's response to the entreaties of the two. "Come now," he admonished Gord. "This is not the way to repay the loyalty of these lads! Of course you can remain with us, boys," he said to the two.

Happy and satisfied, the pair rolled up for sleep, and the men soon took their example. If they were to make Tusham on the morrow, they would have to start early and keep up a good pace.

They had not gone far the next morning when the horses began to behave abnormally. The animals began snorting and rolling their eyes nervously, and it was difficult to keep them from bolting. Thus alerted, the three men loosened their weapons and sought signs of some beast or enemy that might be near, but there were none to be seen.

"This is odd," Gellor said. "I'd have sworn that the animals scented something, but there is no sound nor trace of any predator or lurking humanoid."

"They certainly act as if they smell something most dire," Chert said. "My nose is keen enough, but I scent nothing. Gord, if you used that cat's nose of yours…"

"Not this time!" the young thief said to his later regret. "I'll not be taking a different shape before an audience of gaping churls!" Gellor almost used his own power to take animal form himself so as to see what made the steeds so uneasy, but there was no time, for even as he contemplated it, ail three horses bolted. Thatch and Shadow were riding while Gord and Chert walked. They had just switched, and the animals seemed to have calmed somewhat. Then, without any warning, they took to galloping. The bard had no choice but to try to regain control of his horse, then catch those of the lads and rein them in as well. In seconds he was out of sight, and the two young adventurers were left standing in startled uncertainty. This, in turn, was shattered by a horrible sound that came rushing toward them from the woods nearby.

"Boar!" Chert roared in warning, lowering his spear as he said it.

There was a crashing, and a bristling form rushed toward them. The thing was larger than a wisent and had tusks as long as a man's forearm! Its rush bowled over a sapling, and the earth shook under the impact of its huge, cloven hooves. Gord had time to think that a boar larger than an auroch was impossible – and then it was upon them.

Chert's aim was true, but the point of his spear barely scraped the creature's chest. There was a loud report as the spear shaft splintered, and then the animal was past. The barbarian had been knocked backward by the onslaught, and he lay stunned and bleeding against the base of a tree.

As the monstrous boar rushed upon him, Gord had sprung aside, jabbing it automatically with the spear he had gained from the enemy. The metal of the weapon was enchanted, but it only tore a shallow gash along the creature's flank as it went past. That was sufficient to make it bellow in rage.-The huge swine weighed a ton and more, Gord guessed, yet it stopped its mad charge and turned more quickly than the young thief would have imagined possible. Then it paused for a second, its little eyes glowing with both rage and a cunning that was more disturbing than its fearful tusks and impossible bulk. Gord shuddered but kept the magical spear aimed squarely at the monster's head.

"Come on, pig! I have steel for you to eat."

The boar shook its barrel-sized head, sending a spray of foam flying. The huge mouth opened… and the thing spoke!

"That twig you wave so bravely will serve only to pin your own ass, manling," it snarled, and with that it came again.

The thing went from stillness to full charge in a step, and it was all Gord could manage to leap out of its path and avoid the razor-edged tusks with which it meant to cut him to pieces. He was unhurt, but there had been no chance to so much as take a poke at the monster with his spear.

The boar-thing had halted its rush again and stood with its terrible little eyes locked on Gord. "It is good to have a test," it said in its thick, grunting voice. "I had thought never to find one of you as agile as a monkey," and it laughed a slobbering, squealing laugh that made Gord's blood run cold. Sensing an advantage, the devil-boar rushed again at that very moment. Its charge caught Gord this time, one tusk leaving a bloody trail across his chest and arm as it went past. It whirled and tried again, but this time Gord was too quick, and the monstrous thing thundered past harmlessly.

There was no chance to strike it, but now Gord was beginning to time the thing's rushes. The gigantic boar watched him again, running its prehensile tongue over its one bloody tusk while it did so.

"Yes," it said as much to itself as to Gord, "I will drink all of your blood, little man, before I devour your flesh." There was more promise in the tone than threat.

That tongue belonged to no pig. "What are you, boar-thing? It is clear you are no swine, were-type or otherwise."

"You'll never tell it, but know that I am what humans call a rakshasa – not one of the weaklings which are so known to your ilk, but a true one of my kind. I am come from the Nine Hells to feast and bring woe to all here on this plane you call Oerth," it rumbled in its hideous voice.

Gord spat at it, striking it full in one of its mean fiery eyes. "I am happy to know that, pighead, for I have never killed one of your sort before!" He spoke with confidence he did not feel, and hoped that nothing betrayed the fear that was inside him.

The spittle and the taunting brought the monster rushing again, and this time Gord not only avoided its attack but stuck the spear well into its rear ham as it went past. This caused the devil-pig to emit another ear-hammering squeal. Now it gnashed its jaws hideously and slavered and foamed as it did so. Eyes fixed on the young man who stood before it with a gore-tipped spear, the thing advanced slowly. It needed no run to gut this puny opponent with its curved tusks.

There was a sound of angry hornets and a meaty thunking sound came at its conclusion. Chert, with his leg streaming blood and a great bump showing redly on his head, had regained consciousness and attacked while the monster's attention was fixed on Gord. His broad-bladed axe, Brool, was buried in the creature's bristling shoulder! The barbarian gave a heave, his hugely muscled arms straining to free the imbedded weapon. Incredibly, the rakshasa seemed to shrug the blow off. The axe came free, but Chert lost his grip as the boar-thing jerked toward him. Gord had no choice. If he did not distract the monster, it would tear his friend to pieces.

The devil-boar was intending to do just that. It spun on its splayed hooves and began its rush toward Chert. The barbarian was scrambling madly to retrieve his fallen axe, and he would never be able to get clear before the thing had him! Gord lunged, striking just behind the creature's massive rib-cage, hoping that the spear would sink into its lungs or heart. Despite this attack, the monster savaged Chert terribly before it turned total with the one who had dealt it such a wound.

"That brings your death," it rumbled through its bloody mouth. It was bleeding from its wounds, but it seemed no slower or weaker than before. It began to stalk Gord slowly, as if playing cat-and-mouse with the young adventurer.

Although his friend was unmoving, Gord doubted that the demon-boar had had time to finish the hardy barbarian with its terrible attack. Gord kept away from it, still taunting the thing and jabbing at its eyes with the spear. He knew he couldn't keep the game up much longer, however, for a single misstep and it would be upon him in a second. Gord wished he could somehow assume his leopard form – then he would show the blundering pig what a fight to the death was all about. It was impossible. He could certainly escape by vaulting into the trees, but that would allow the monster time to kill, even devour, Chert. Gord had to stand, man versus devil.

It nearly had him the next moment, as a fallen branch caught his foot for just a split-second. The thing lunged, but as it did so another spear flew through the air and struck it on its wounded shoulder. The weapon bounced harmlessly off, but it saved Gord's life. Gellor had come back.

"Gellor, stay back!" Gord shouted urgently to the bard. "It is a devil-pig, just as the villagers claimed!"

The one-eyed man had removed his eyepatch, Gord noted, and his long-bladed sword was in hand. "I see it, Gord," the bard said loudly. "It is a small and stinking little thing hiding within that great blubbery body!"

Gord jabbed and struck home on the distracted creature, and it gave a bellowing squeal of pain at the attack. The spear had bitten deeply into the rakshasa's jowl, slicing the skin there in such a manner as to reveal its teeth where its flesh had been cut away. That was sufficient to make it completely ignore the newcomer and concentrate all of its savagery on Gord. It came at a trot, and there was nowhere for the young thief to go this time. Praying, he placed the butt of his weapon against the ground, pointing its tip at the monster's heart, bracing himself as he did so. Gellor did his best to divert the rakshasa. He ran forward, sword extended for use as a spear, and yelling mightily as he came. This failed to make the monster waver.

With a squealing that spewed bloody drops ahead of its charge, the devil-boar came forward in an instant. The sound it made as the rigid spear struck its chest and drove into its body was more terrible than any the bard had ever heard. Just as a true boar filled with killing lust would have done, this creature came forward, disregarding the spear that had mortally wounded it. Its charge carried it to where Gord stood, and the tusks and teeth tore through chest and throat in a welter of fountaining blood. The spear went through the monster's whole body – heart, innards, all. As it killed the man before it, the thing itself died.

The horror of the scene froze Gellor for a second, and as he stood transfixed, the rakshasa seemed to deflate. Black blood poured from mouth and wounds as its legs stiffened and kicked in death. The spear was protruding from its chest and rear, but of the man it had just killed so horribly, there was no trace save a pool of red.