Sea of Death (6 page)

As he recuperated, Gord experienced nothing but comfort and pleasure, and he was tempted not to leave. After all that had befallen him, it was no wonder that he wished to linger in the strange but peaceful domain of Rexfelis and his cats. There were felines of all sorts there – subjects of the Cat-lord? Perhaps. But if subjects these animals and others were, they served willingly and from respect. Gord himself was a werepanther of sorts, for the ring he wore also empowered him to take the form of a black leopard whenever he chose. For all of the ring's benefits, Rexfelis never demanded anything of Gord. Homage was freely given and majestically received by the Catlord. In addition to the attraction of the fascinating nature and beauty of this realm, Gord was tempted to stay for another reason… and her name was Tirrip.

She was a human, yet she was a tiger. She explained to Gord that on her own world the dominant species was of the latter sort, and that only here, with Rexfelis, could her folk take both human or feline form at will. Gord didn't care that she wasn't really a human. He loved this strange female, and he and Tirrip had spent uncounted days and nights together. They roamed the place in cat bodies or in human ones, as they felt at the moment. He hoped that their idyll would never end… but it did, of course. One day Tirrip told him sadly that she had to return to her own world, for a reason she would not reveal. There was discussion – argumerit on his part, actually – but that could not alter things. She left a few days later, and afterward Gord felt more alone than ever before, even more than when he had been sentenced to the workhouse in the Old City of Greyhawk for theft when he was still a very small boy.

After seeing Gord mope around for too long a time, Rexfelis summoned the young man to join him in his private area of the seemingly endless villa that served as court and home for the Catlord and who knew how many cats of all sorts. Stroking a sleek, black tomcat, the Master of Cats said, "I am journeying to Oerth soon, Gord, to the town of Bardillingham. Will you come?"

Gord was perplexed. "Bardillingham? That name is unfamiliar. In what land does the town lie?"

"Have you been here so long that you forget your own world, Gord?" Rexfelis laughingly asked the dark-haired young man.

Gord wasn't quite certain how to take that remark. It seemed like a jest, but then again he had to admit to himself that perhaps he had tarried in the Catlord's lair too long. "No, Catmaster," he said carefully in reply. "I fear that my real knowledge of the Flanaess is confined to that bit I have traveled in and what I read about other parts in books when I was a youngster at college."

"Little portion of the Flanaess? Come, come, my boy. From all I have heard, you have covered a good bit of eastern Oerik. It is not surprising that you know nothing of Bardillingham, though," Rexfelis went on. "It isn't much of a town and lies in a place most folk are ignorant of. The community boasts scarcely three thousand inhabitants, and it lies deep within the land governed by the Demiurge Basiliv. You might know the place as the Vale of the Archimage."

The Flanaess was named for the old race originally dwelling in the heart of the continent of Oerik, one of the four great land masses of Oerth.

The Flan nation was ages gone, although Flan peoples still inhabited the continent, some still relatively unmixed with the other races that had eventually settled the Flanaess and carved their kingdoms and states thereon. Having wandered the east as a gypsylike entertainer and later as an adventurer, Gord had seen some of this territory, and then more of it when he had sought the Middle Key. The Vale of the Archimage, however, was a near-fabulous place, or so he had thought, supposedly lying somewhere in the mountains that separated the Baklunish states of the west from the Oeridian and Suel nations of the east. For all of his travels, Gord had been no farther west than Veluna, and Rexfelis's definite words about the Vale of the Archimage were music to his ears.

"You mean there is such a place?"

"Yes, my friend, there certainly is… and a Bardillingham town, too. The headwaters of the Chaban River rise in the Barring Mountains range, form a series of deep, cold lakes, and have carved a great, lush valley in the eons since this watercourse began flowing. This is the Vale of the Archimage – at least, so it is named on those maps that show anything there at all. The so-called Archimage is actually a Demiurge, and his name is Basiliv. I have business with him."

"Bardillingham?"

"That is the only real community in the whole of the valley. There are some scattered villages and hamlets, but little else. The town is rather dreary."

"I have read a few things about the Vale of the Archimage," said Gord. "Whether the tales are fanciful or not, it is said that strangers are… most unwelcome there."

"You'll be welcome enough if you should care to come along," Rexfelis purred reassuringly. "I, of course, am no stranger at all, and whomever I bring with me is accorded acceptance and respect. Besides, Basiliv has asked to meet you."

This last statement made Gord very uneasy. The reputation of this secluded land and its ruler was anything but amiable. And why would the Catlord be discussing him with Demiurge Basiliv in the first place? Gord didn't think he wanted to know, so he suggested to Rexfelis another course. "Hmmm," he murmured, pretending to consider the matter carefully. "Perhaps another time, Master Cat, for I have things to attend to in Greyhawk soon now. Perhaps thereafter I can travel westward and pay my respects to the Demiurge. Meanwhile, could you not simply transport me back to my home city?"

Rexfelis laughed softly. "Diplomatic, very diplomatic! I would indeed fulfill your request if I could, Gord," the Catlord said with a sincere smile, "but many powers weave and interlock over the Flanaess now, as they have done for some time past. All is not well there, you know – but I suppose you do not need to concern yourself with such matters any more. To give you a short answer, though, I am able to send you back to Oerth via the terminus that Basiliv's force keeps open and operative. You must go there if you wish to return to your world. But you can feel at home here, too, Gord. You may spend all of your life here if you wish, for you are now certainly of my own ilk," the Master Cat added warmly.

His heart sinking, Gord asked, "Cannot one of your power go where he wills?"

"I? Yes indeed. I can go where I desire. You would not survive the rigors of such a work, however. Would you use another of those precious lives – only to end up back here where you started?"

"Pray, Catlord, tell me what is going on," Gord asked him earnestly.

"Time here is different," Rexfelis explained. "Sometimes a day here is a month long, by Oerth reckoning, while the obverse might prove true before or later. The months and months you have lingered here have been moving less rapidly on Oerth. Evil still strives to gain that tool which you have sought a part of. Many of the demons of the Abyss have united, melding their powers. They contend with the Hells and all others of evil, and in such warfare we all profit. Who can object if demon slaughters devil? Those great ones from the higher planes take a hand also, and strange twists and fluxes abound in the multiverse. It is quite impossible to use planar travel without expending great power, and even then there is risk. Established gates are now watched, traps are set, misdirection abounds. Basiliv is strong enough to maintain an unwarped gate. In this matter I assist him, naturally. Even the Demiurge is not strong enough by himself to hold against the ones now bestirring themselves."

Gord had no reason to doubt the truth of these words – or any others the Catlord spoke, for that matter. Still, he could not be entirely convinced that the course laid before him was the best one for him to follow. But after some more discussion and still with reluctance in his heart, Gord agreed to go with Rexfelis to the Vale of the Archimage.

Bardillingham was a plain and unattractive town. At least, that's the way Gord perceived it in comparison to places such as Greyhawk, Dyvers, Rel Mord, and even Wintershiven. Contrary to what he had read and heard about the Vale of the Archimage, these people seemed neither hostile nor secretive, and their town was anything but glamorous and lavish. The officials of Bardillingham received them with ceremony. The earl who resided in the nearby castle did them honor, and Gord was surprised to be included not just as the Catlord's guest but as some minor personage in his own right. Despite all the pomp and circumstance, he found the whole place uninteresting. After almost three days spent walking the corridors of the castle and the streets of Bardillingham, Gord was bored and impatient.

"When will I find out why I am here?" he asked Rexfelis in as polite a tone as he could muster.

That will come soon enough," said the Catlord. "In another day or so, Basiliv will be seeing us."

The next day, as Gord and Rexfelis were strolling through the town, the Catlord brought them both to the front steps of an unimposing stone building in the center of town, a site they had not yet visited. Gord had a feeling that their audience was about to take place – but could this be where the Demiurge held court? The place was barely large enough to contain a town bureau, let alone the sovereign of the land! When Gord made a remark to this effect, Rexfelis merely laughed and reassured his young charge that wonders were abundant in the strange realm ruled by Basiliv.

Once they were inside the building, Gord realized the truth of those words. Somehow, the interior of the place was as large as the largest palace Gord had ever heard of. He presumed that some mighty dweomer allowed a vast space to be contained within the small shell of the building. This was such a contrast to the drab and ordinary appearance of the rest of the town that Gord could not contain his wonderment. Rexfelis, of course, was considerably less impressed.

"Be not amazed. Others can manage this little trick, too," the Catlord told him. "Did you know, Gord, that when Basiliv is elsewhere, all this is too? Had we come yesterday, we would have found only a small and empty structure." Gord, feeling a bit embarrassed by his awestruck reaction, kept silent as he and the Catlord crossed under the archway that led to Basiliv's audience chamber.

Basiliv, wearing an impassive, businesslike expression, nodded in Gord's direction as if to acknowledge the young man's presence. After exchanging pleasantries with Rexfelis, the Demiurge addressed himself directly to the young adventurer.

"You no longer serve those of the Hierophants and the Cabal."

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and for a few seconds Gord wasn't sure how to reply. The affair of the Middle Key had left him feeling worn and disheartened, believing that he and his comrades had been little more than meaningless pawns in a struggle far beyond their comprehension. When that portion of the Artifact of Ultimate Evil was reported by Rexfelis to be in the possession of Iuz and his horrid associates, Gord had felt less than useless. The young man detested evil, that he was certain of. But he disliked being used, too. During the short silence that hung over the chamber, Gord decided that he would continue to strive against the ascendancy of malign powers as well as he could, but he intended to do so in his own way and as he chose to. He would have knowledge before he entered any new quest, and never again would he contest blindly if he had his way.

Tes, Great Demiurge, I am my own man," Gord said quietly to the waiting Basiliv.

A secret, knowing smile passed between the Demiurge and the Catlord. Neither sought to conceal the exchange. "None of us are actually quite that, young Gord of Greyhawk," Basiliv replied, smiling benignly. "Yet the desire to be one's own is admirable… if actions match ideals!"

Now Gord was truly puzzled. What could this great magic-user be talking about? And why was Rexfelis nodding in agreement? "I am at a loss, My Lord Demiurge, to know how to reply."

"No need. Your life is known to me, Gord. You have come far and accomplished much for one of so tender an age. Thank your progenitors for supplying you with such splendid genes! But let's get down to business, shall we?"

What on Oerth this bizarre spell-worker was speaking of, Gord had no idea. Genes? Perhaps they were some form of guardian genies – he didn't know. And what manner of business Gord and the Demiurge could possibly have between them was totally beyond him. Despite the awesomeness of the two figures he was with, the young man actually began to become annoyed. "It seems that you have the advantage of me, as does the Master of Cats," he said. "I am at a loss, as I already stated. I must know what is going on if I am to do anything at all!"

This brought laughter from both Demiurge and Catlord, and their laughter was both real and friendly. "Seldom does anyone manage to get the advantage of you these days, Master Gord," Basiliv said after composing himself. "Let us depart this too-formal audience hall for my private chambers," and so saying he got up without ceremony.

His guests followed him, and soon all three were seated in a crowded but comfortable study of some sort. Gord didn't recognize much of what lay around him, but there were books, maps, and charts in profusion along with the paraphernalia of dweomercraefting. There were also strange, large seats of padded and most comfortable sort for each of them. Refreshments floated in the air, trays of beverages and tidbits of tasty food that served each of them in turn – Catlord, Gord, and then Basiliv.

"Now, that's better," the Demiurge said contentedly as he leaned back in his chair and sipped the fruity concoction he had selected. "Rexfelis," he went on while looking at Gord, "you told me this one was unusual, but I hadn't appreciated until now just how unusual he might be."

"As always, dear Basiliv, I have a tendency to understate. Let us suppose it is simply a case of blood telling…"

With a shake of his large, black-maned head, Basiliv turned to stare at Rexfelis a moment, shook his head again, and returned his gaze to Gord. "So it is information you must have, is it? I shall now do my best to supply you with just that."

Then the Demiurge related to Gord how he had kept track of events in the past, events surrounding the three portions of the evil device that would awaken the slumbering Tharizdun, Lord of All EMI, the one who would weld demon and devil together and bend the Abyss and the Hells to his vile will. Basiliv said that he knew of the Scarlet Brotherhood's discovery and use of the Initial Key, and that he had done what he could to confuse them so that the middle portion of the artifact would not also fall into their hands.