Sea of Death (9 page)

The snow-skinned demon left the private chamber with dignity, as Graz'zt turned his attention to the dark elf. She had launched into an explanation of her plans to emerge victorious in the coming contest, and the demon king was listening to her speech with pleasure.

The king's daily checks with Vuron produced no results, and the monarch grew more and more agitated. Many days later, Graz'zt angrily summoned Vuron to another audience in the shielded little place. This delay is unconscionable, steward!" the black demon thundered. "Explain yourself to Us, or there will be punishment meted out!"

"May it please your Abyssal majesty," the Lord Steward intoned formally to Graz'zt as he bowed from the waist. The demon king nodded but made no suggestion that Vuron be seated. Eclavdra observed the exchange from her own divan next to the royal one. After a short pause, Vuron stood straight and spoke.

"After great thought and most careful planning, My liege, I have just this day finished devising a plan which will meet your majesty's needs. It is very simple, yet very complex. In all, My lord king, it will give you the advantage over the others."

"Advantage? What of surety?"

"Surety, King Graz'zt, must be bestowed by one far more powerful than I. The advantage of surprise, that of precaution, and those of special equipment I can offer… but no more."

Instead of flying into a rage as he seemed about to do, Graz'zt glared at the albino demon for a moment. Then he relaxed and smiled. "Your words, Vuron, bring sense into mind as usual. We take your meaning and appreciate it. Relate your plan."

"Eclavdra, well cloaked and protected, will depart from the free city of Dyvers. There is a temple of yours, lord king, in that city, and it will be possible to transport your high priestess to the catacombs beneath that place without arousing undue suspicion. Even the risk to her is slight, for those who opposed you are not concerned – pardon, lord – with your leaving your plane."

Graz'zt scowled at this, and Eclavdra openly sneered. That will put me many days behind that toad, Obmi!" she snapped. "Spies report that he rode from Molag a week ago!"

Ignoring her outburst, Vuron went on calmly. "With her will be an escort of half-drow able to tolerate the sunlight they will be exposed to for so long a period of time as the journey will take. Her lieutenants will be two able cavaliers with high skill in the art of dweomercraefting. The six additional guards will be half-drow also – an assassin of dire prowess, a thief with fighting skill, and four with only warrior training, but doughty nonetheless."

"The rules Iggwilv laid down allowed a full dozen to escort me!"

"Yes, priestess, and others will later join the group. After the party reaches Ket, six of the strongest barbarian horsemen of the Yollites will enlist. These horsemen will meet you in Hlupallu, at a secret rendezvous there. They will serve to further protect the expedition, and guide it, through Yoll and the Barren Plains to the Ashen Desert."

"Nonsense!" Graz'zt said, standing in fury and pointing menacingly at his steward. "You counsel a sure loss. The group will be seen, watched, dogged, delayed, and thwarted! At best it will arrive well after Zuggtmoy's jackal has gained the City Out of Mind and departed!"

"I know that, King Graz'zt," the albino demon replied without emotion. There was a moment of shocked silence; then the towering Graz'zt began to advance toward Vuron with a terrible look in his eyes. The pale demon seemed paler, but he did not flinch. "But Eclavdra will not be in the group, My liege. That is the beauty of the whole plan."

The demon king drew erect, rocked back on his heels, and stared at Vuron. Then he boomed forth a deep laugh. "I should have never doubted your cunning and duplicity, good Vuron! Say on."

The Great Cavern of the Drow, lord, is open to Eclavdra's entrance by magical means. There we will send her. From there she shall go up into the world. There is an entrance to the underworld near Ghastoor, is there not?" The query was directed at the dark elf, and when Graz'zt's quizzical gaze followed that of the albino demon, Eclavdra nodded her head to confirm that there was such a place. There, My king, her true escort will be waiting. Tough, obedient camel-riding warriors of the Barren Plains, along with two rogues who have robbed the dead in the Ashen Desert beyond. One is a spell-worker, the other a thief of highly resourceful sort. While our enemies watch the false Eclavdra and feel content to be well ahead of her, the real one will be delving into the City Out of Mind to gain the Final Key as your prize, My king."

"How can there be two of me?" Eclavdra asked with a carefully neutral tone. "Surely a simulacrum will be detected."

There you are correct, High Priestess of Graz'zt. When you are well away, safely within your home-world's deep Cavern, we will bring forth a clone."

"But… a clone will-"

"Be done away with before difficulty befalls you, drow priestess. When the enemy fails, I will see to it that your duplicate does not remain to dispute with you which has the right to exist."

The plan is accepted, lord steward," said the ebon demon prince. "We are pleased!"

Vuron smiled a small, careful smile. Thank you, majesty. There is just a bit more. To make certain none recognize her, your servant and champion Eclavdra will be given an oil of special dweomer. It will lighten her skin so as to make it no darker than that of the nomads of the steppes. The splendid armor and weapons of her people betray no aura, but in the radiation of the open sky, and without the rays of the Cavern, the metal becomes less. Another solution I have alchemically prepared will serve to stop the decaying process for weeks, if not months. She will make her journey armed with un-detectable protections. The elixir will even protect cloth, so she may utilize draw clothing as well."

"Now I am truly delighted with you, Lord Vuron, My faithful advisor."

Again a small smile played across the white features of the demon's narrow visage, a small expression of satisfaction that Eclavdra alone saw as he bowed humbly to Graz'zt at the compliment. "Also, my lord, there are a few trantles which I have gathered for the use of your champion. A decanter which spills forth water when needed, a magical mask to allow your high priestess to breathe and move freely as if dust or water were air to the lungs, and an assortment of other items which might prove useful to her in fulfilling your command."

"What perils and hazards do you envision, Vuron?" the demon king asked, pulling his steward down to sit beside him on his royal couch. Vuron answered at length, with interjections coming frequently from Graz'zt. After some time, the black-skinned demon glanced up and noted Eclavdra sitting petulantly, barely concealing her annoyance.

"You will depart tomorrow, Eclavdra. You will return to your chambers now and rest. I will see you on the morrow. There is much I would yet discuss this night with Vuron, and there is nothing you can contribute to this discourse."

Eclavdra was clever to hide her shame and fury. Bowing, she quickly obeyed King Graz'zt's command and departed. Her triumph would come, and then Vuron would be cursing.

"SALAAM, STRANGER. May I have permission to enter your camp?"

Gord had been aware of the nomad's approach for some time. He was but one of three riders who had walked their horses to a bowshot's distance, dropped the reins, and split into three. There was a warrior on either flank even now, just beyond the range of the firelight. The third was just inside the circle of illumination from the small blaze the young adventurer had kindled to cook the grouse he had brought down with his sling at twilight. Gord called back casually, "Of course you may come closer, and so can the two who lurk to either hand."

The nomad laughed at that, for the Ourmi, as he surely was from his accent, had not even bothered to look up from the fowl he was eating. "You must have the eyes and ears of a cat, stranger! Come, my brothers," he called to those beyond the light. "We have the hospitality of this one's fire!"

"I do not like those who creep up on lone wayfarers," Gord said as the fellow approached.

"One must be cautious on the plains," the man replied with no hint of apology in his voice.

"That is true, Okmani," the young thief said as he eyed the swarthy-featured man in the firelight. His striped robe of green and gray, the leatherwork of girdle and boots, and the big sword across his back identified the man as from the Okman tribes, which held the area north of the Yolspur Tors.

The nomad seemed surprised that Gord knew his people. "Does the fame of the Okmanl stretch all the way to the Ourmi kingdoms, then?"

"Robbers and muggers are recognized throughout the whole of Oerth," Gord noted dryly. "And tell your… brothers… to stop skulking out there and come openly into my camp, or I'll have no choice but to kill you all here and now."

"You are either a great warrior, gray-eyes, or a stupid braggart," the Okmani said. He looked Gord over, noting the sword and dagger he wore, and the lance that lay nearby. The small man's movements were smooth and precise. He used economy in all he did, and his bearing was that of one who had no fear at all. "Come now, as I told you," he said to his comrades. "Our host is a paragon of warriors, and we will be safe camping here tonight."

Gord stared at the nomad. The fellow seemed to admire Gord's casual demeanor and self-assurance in the face of three potential foemen. "I am called Gord," he said to the Okmani.

"Hail, Gord-the-Ourmi. I am Eflam. These are my fellow warriors, Hukkasin and Ushtwer," he added as two similarly garbed and armed men came hesitantly into the circle of soft firelight.

"Be not shy, boys," Gord said without smiling. "Sit, all of you. There is but half the bird I roasted left, but you may have it if you hunger. With it, you will eat of this bread and flavor it with my salt."

The other two hesitated to accept the offering, but Eflam grinned and took a piece of the flat loaf Gord had produced. The Okmani smiled, sprinkled a pinch of salt atop it and swallowed the piece in a gulp. "You too!" he managed to say through a mouth crammed with bread. As Hukkasin and Ushtwer did the same, gobbling the stuff hungrily, the Okmani warrior swallowed, then grinned again and said admiringly to Gord, "So you know that my people honor the customs of those who dwell in the dry lands. You are indeed a most unusual man, even if you are an outlander. I like not calling you Gord, though. It has too foreign a sound for one so well versed in the ways of true folk. I will call you Pharzool, our name for the gray-striped cats who hunt the hills of Okmanistan."

Gord shrugged indifferently. The two other nomads clapped their hands and cried agreement, however. "He sees and hears like a pharzool!" said Ushtwer. That one is as fierce as such hunters – Eflam, you name him well!"

Then the four men settled down to conversation and a bit of bragging. When Gord mentioned the Al-babur, all the Okmani scowled. These were hereditary enemies of their tribe. Then Eflam, the brightest of the three and their natural leader, laughed. "We Okmani are very perceptive, too," he said. "You are adopted by the Al-babur – the Tribes of the Tiger, do you see?" Gord shook his head.

"We have named you as a cat!" Eflam exclaimed. "The tiger-folk have no merit in their adoption. I now make you a brother warrior of the Okmani, Pharzool!" All three then jumped up and pounded the young adventurer on the back. Gord, although he did not wish to belittle the privilege just bestowed upon him, could not help wondering why these tribes were so free with their pronouncements of brotherhood – first the Al-babur, and now these Okmani. He was just about to say something to this effect, when he found out what "brotherhood" meant in the Okmani sense of the word.

"You have nothing much to give us as presents for this honor," Ushtwer said as he eyed Gord's fine stallion. The horse laid back its ears at the approach of the nomad, and then it snorted and bared its teeth. Ushtwer took a cautious step backward.

"Don't worry, brother," Hukkasin said to Ushtwer. "Tomorrow we will find a caravan to plunder or wild horses to capture. Then will our new brother, Pharzool the Generous, bestow his gifts of appreciation upon us."

"I have a much better idea," Gord said loudly to be sure that he had the full attention of all three Okmani warriors. "In gratitude for your generosity in making me a fellow warrior of your worthy tribe, I will give you all a lesson in the weapon play of my people." With that the young man was on his feet, and his hands displayed long dagger and short sword. Not having seen him draw either blade, the nomads made signs against magic.

"There is no need for any gifts, brother," Eflam assured the small, gray-eyed man who stood poised before him. "We have sufficient honor in sharing your food and camp and in counting you amongst the ranks of the Men of Okman!" Both Hukkasin and Ushtwer seemed to agree very much with that statement. They stopped sweating when Gord put his weapons away and sat down again. Then they began sharing stories, and kept that up until they set-tied down to spend the night around Gord's fire.

Morning brought with it a heavy, patchy fog. Gord could make out large features of the landscape, but details were not visible from more than a few hundred yards away. He realized that his special sight did not give him any advantage in this sort of condition, and this worried him, but only briefly. After the group had readied for the day's travel, Eflam suddenly pointed into the distance and began to shout a high, yipping call. The other two Okmani warriors took up this cry, and Gord demanded to know what was the matter. "Nothing is the matter, Pharzool," said Eflam in a vaguely condescending tone. "That line of riders there, see? That is the rest of our group. Soon the other warriors of our tribe will greet you, and we can all ride to ravage the lands of the Yollite dogs!"

The nomads mounted and kicked their mounts into a gallop, not bothering to see if their new brother was following, intent on going to meet their fellow Okmani raiders. Hukkasin, the smallest of the three and the one riding the swiftest horse, took the lead, opening a gap of a few dozen yards between himself and the other two. Gord followed their lead but kept Windeater to a canter, allowing the nomad warriors to stay ahead. A minute later he still could not figure out how many men were approaching through the fog, because they seemed to be riding in close quarters. Then Hukkasin's yip-ping cries turned to another sort of sound, a braying shout, and he reined in his steed.

"Hurry, Pharzool!" Eflam called over his shoulder. "Those are the curs of Yoll before us!" As he spoke, he and his comrade slowed their movement to a trot. Hukkasin had wheeled his horse and was almost back with the rest.

"What made you so sure that these would be your men?" Gord said as he came up near the nomads.

"See the two low ridges on the horizon?" Eflam said, pointing with his head as he fumbled free a small bow from its case on his steed's flank. "The space between them marks a place of rendezvous for the Okmani warriors. The disease-ridden Yollites must have accidentally come through there."

"What now?" the young adventurer asked. The question was voiced in an offhand tone, but as he spoke it Gord pulled his sling from his belt and reached into his pouch for a stone.

Eflam looked resigned as he nocked a broad-headed arrow. "We stand and shoot until they are upon us. Then we fight," and so saying he released the shaft at the charging Yollites.

Gord saw that the other two Okmani had done likewise, so he spun his sling and sent a stone flying forth. A pair of the foemen fell from arrows, and a second later Gord's stone hit a horse. The steed stumbled and sent its rider tumbling, to be trampled beneath the hooves of the other animals.

"Good shot, Pharzool!" Eflam cried. "Give those dogs another such kiss!"

There was no time for that, Gord knew. The Okmani were drawing back their next arrows, but it would take him too long to reload his sling. Gord tucked away that weapon and drew his light lance from its leather sleeve just as another Yollite went down with an Okmani arrow in his chest. Crouched low, his lance aimed, Gord coaxed Windeater into a trot, heading toward the Yollites, The trot changed to a canter and was just opening into a full gallop when he was all but closed with the enemy.

From this close distance, Gord could see what he and the Okmani were up against. The Yoli warriors were armed with scimitars, and many also carried lances similar to the one that Gord plied. They had bow cases too, and as he approached the charging line of enemy warriors Gord supposed they either disdained using missiles against so numerically inferior a foe or else didn't wish to risk wasting arrows. Shooting from a galloping horse was difficult, and few could perform such a feat with accuracy even in clear air. In this fog, it would have been all but impossible to hit a solitary target. There were about a score of the Yoli nomads still – five to one against them, Gord estimated. And now they had fanned out, apparently trying to surround the four of them. Gord was glad to see that they held their positions in this spread-out formation, because that meant he would only have to contend with two or three of the enemy at one time.

"Yoll-Yoll-Yoll!" That sound washed over Gord as he maneuvered to keep the Yollites from getting at his back. He chose a target at the same time the target chose him, and a warrior voicing this strange chant at the top of his lungs lowered his lance and thundered toward Gord. As they closed, Gord swayed quickly in his high saddle to avoid the wavy-bladed lance that threatened to pierce his chest. The point of his own lance took the Yollite in the shoulder – a poor hit. He had been aiming at the heart, but his movement to avoid the foe's weapon had spoiled his own attack. Nevertheless, Gord's hit was sufficient to dismount the Yoli warrior, and then Gord was past the enemy and pivoting Windeater to charge again. Just before he turned back toward the fray, Gord thought he detected another group of riders approaching in the mist, and he instantly feared the worst. If the Yollites they were now engaged with only comprised an advance group, then he and his compatriots were surely doomed. Gord silently resolved to make one more pass through the enemy ranks and do what he could, but then he would turn from the battle and drive Windeater as hard as he could away from this futile cause.

Gord lowered his lance again and charged toward a warrior who was trying to cut down Hukkasin from the flank, hitting the orange and red-garbed nomad full in the side. The blow broke the shaft of Gord's lance, but the young adventurer used the splintered piece of wood to confuse another attacker, hurling it into the fellow's face. Gord drew his short-bladed sword and prepared to take on one more warrior who stood between him and his escape. Just as he began his charge, he heard from behind the sound of pounding hooves and more loud shouts. The second group of men was closing on them – but this time, the war cry was different.

"Yii-yii-yii, Okman!" Into the suddenly confused ranks of the Yoli rode the two dozen and more warriors of the band that Eflam and his men had been expecting. Green-and-gray-striped cloaks intermixed with the flame-colored and reddish-pink checks that adorned the Yoli warriors' clothing.

Although surprised at the arrival of these additional enemies, the Yollites were neither discouraged nor intimidated. They stopped their casual approach to the combat and fought more fiercely now that the odds had suddenly shifted against them – roughly two to one in favor of the Okmani, Gord figured. He exchanged cuts with one rider, then the press separated them, and the young adventurer was engaged with a new opponent. After each man countered several blows, Gord managed to slip under the horsed Yoli's small shield, and his short sword pierced the swarthy nomad's heart.

All of the Okmani were not faring as well as Gord, however. The Yollites had regrouped and were cutting and stabbing furiously. The young adventurer had a moment to wonder what would happen if the fray continued, but then the tide seemed to turn against the Yoli warriors, and a half-dozen of them reeled and fell in as many seconds. As this occurred Gord heard yet more battle cries in the distance, followed by screams that came from the opposite end of the battleground, the area closest to this new group of attackers. He turned to look in that direction and saw that the screams were coming from Okmani warriors being felled by streaking darts of glowing light. Knowing magical missiles when he saw them, Gord instantly flattened himself along Windeater's back. Kneeing the stallion into a trot, he headed away from the approaching knot of newcomers.

A fast glance backward told him that the new group contained a handful of Yollites and a larger number of men dressed in unidentifiable, but non-Yoli, garb. Gord thought he saw a dwarf with these new attackers, but he wasn't certain, and there was no time now to study the onrushing band. Again the young adventurer urged Windeater, this time with both booted heels. The small stallion broke Into a run. In moments the swift courser had carried him away from the melee, heading west. Gord peered over his shoulder. He saw a few striped cloaks fluttering behind fleeing riders; these would be the surviving Okmani, spreading out from their enemies in all directions.

Windeater topped a low rise and pounded down the reverse slope. The young adventurer turned his mount's head slowly toward the left, so that they were now galloping southwest. Gord knew that for a time at least, possible pursuers would be unable to see him, and he meant to stay totally out of sight if he could. In the direction he was riding, the ground fell away to form a long depression between swales of land to either side. Once in the depression, Gord knew that the enemy riders would be unable to see him. Whether the weapon was bow or spell, he had no wish to be a target. Windeater ran on without faltering. They covered fully two leagues, and had long since outrun the fog, before Gord called soothing words to the gallant animal and pulled gently on the reins. The horse fell into an easy canter, and Gord allowed him to remain at that pace.