City of Hawks (30 page)

Soon, despite all hopes to the contrary, Infestix knew that the tripartite relic would be conjoined, the dweomers destroyed, and Tharizdun freed. It could never be otherwise. Evil was stronger than Balance, more powerful than Good. It held no interfering ethical beliefs, suffered no qualms. In the end it must prevail.

“It goes to the demons, master!”

Infestix turned and exited the chamber in silence.

“Are we beaten?” The leader of the Eight asked that quietly, unbelievingly.

Virulex stared at the group with unwavering gaze, his dead-black eyes unwinking. “Never! Watch on, but interfere not-especially as to any foreseeing with respect to the relic or those who serve the Balance. Our master warned us well, I know. Believe! There can be but one final result.” With that, Infestix’s steward too left the scrying room.

The Eight Diseased Ones, the nobles of Hades, remained at their post, watching and waiting. So many sides contesting, so many forces arrayed, so many players and pieces. Even the super-powerful intellects of those mighty ones of daemonkind had difficulty seeing all, and assessing what they viewed. Still, they knew and believed.

“A pawn has just been taken,” one of the eight observed tonelessly.

Another nodded. “It was the auraless one, the one the master said would die.”

“I cannot find a trace of him,” the first speaker observed. “To what end did he go?”

“To annihilation,” the other said unemotionally. “Where else? Otherwise there would be a trace, the shadow of the cord.”

“Of course,” the first said. Being the least of the Eight, it was his duty to observe the least important of events. The assurance from one of greater status was sufficient. Besides, he had commented on the occurrence, and it had been noted. The explanation of it supplied by Pneumonias set the burden squarely on that one’s decayed head. That was doubly satisfying. “The martinets of the hells do have their uses,” he finally commented to the seven others. “If we can’t intervene directly, at least the devils can serve.”

“Of course. Infestix has commanded it,” the greatest of the Eight said. Then they returned full attention to the scrying, and silence reigned in the purple-washed hall.

At various other places, on other planes and in secluded places, men and more-than-men observed events in much the same fashion. So many watchers, so many energies flowing, such cross purposes were involved that there was a swirling vortex soon. It seemed to come naturally enough, and was so slowly and gently formed that it went all but unnoticed.

The surge of magical currents was not disruptive; rather, the energy vortex that was generated grew as more and more attention was focused on the material plane and distorted perspectives there. It did so in so subtle a fashion as to be virtually undetectable. What demons, daemons, and devils saw was different from the observances of the denizens of the planes of light, those powers that sought for good, weal, and justice.

So too was different the view of the ones who believed in all as part of a whole, those who understood that without evil no good could be known, that without darkness light was not truly comprehensible, was not true. Perhaps this was more real than the other views, or perhaps the great ones of Balance saw more because they had fewer preconceptions, no sacrosanctities that had to remain inflexible as judgment points upon which information must founder if not in agreement. In any case, those beings were suddenly aware of what had occurred.

“How is the vortex come?” asked a demiurge.

“The flow and surge, the fluxes…?”

“The energies form the vortex,” the being observed to the ancient human archimage who had replied to his query, “but I am not certain that they formed in and of themselves. Observe how there are ghosts and distortions present. What is actually occurring, what has happened, and what will happen are unreadable in the force of the swirl.”

The arch-wizard pondered that for a long period. “There are two unknowns then, lord. The first is the cause of the distortion; the second, the actualities masked by it.”

“Exactly, my old companion. Succinctly put. I fear we may only guess at either.”

Other members of the Balance, hierophant priests and other humans as well as beings similar to the demiurge, then proposed a number of possibilities and posed certain questions as well. The great worker for wholeness finally spoke after each, in turn, had stated the conditions as perceived individually. “We all concur, then, that some force unknown is a likely cause of the shaping of energies, although coincidence can be ruled out. We must, therefore, continue to act as if coincidence was indeed the sole cause of the vortex.”

“We will continue to play off demons against the combined Evils?”

“That is correct. Moreover, our agents on Oerth will continue to work toward the foiling of the plots of Hades with respect to all matters save one.”

“What is that one exception, lord?” the venerable archimage asked.

“We can no longer accept events as they seem. It has been our belief that a final struggle is occurring. Perhaps that is so, but I now see that it is but true in part. We must resist the evil ones, for if they combine and succeed in their aims, then light will be no more. With its loss, so too must we all perish.”

“Speak on, please.”

“It seems possible that we are less than we imagined. Beyond us, beyond the lord of Evil and powers of Good, unbeknownst to the masters of Order and the forces of Chaos, a greater one might be laboring.”

“For or against us, lord?”

“Who can say? Neither? That seems a reasonable suggestion. That power does as it does toward an end which is yet hidden from us. It is logical to continue as we have been, but to observe carefully as well. There is a strong probability that what will occur is far beyond the scope we have previously considered.”

“I believe you are on to something there, lord,” said the arch-wizard suddenly. His vigor and animation were those of a schoolboy as he went on. “There is no Balance if things are as we perceive them to be. Consider, sirs, the misshaping of things if all save the benighted must forever strive to prevent one of their number to ascend over the multiverse! Is there such a one in the ranks of the upper beings? Do we have such a champion? Those answers are self-evident, and if the question is put with respect to chaos, to law, the answer is the same. None exists save in the depths of Evil.”

A hierophant seemed unsure. “Could this anomaly not exist in a multiversal probability?”

“Probability is not as intense an infinity as that,” the demiurge said. “What of Balance were it so? There would be none, and we would be false.”

“Unless something above, something greater, existed,” the archimage filled in. “Then a singular force of lesser nature might indeed exist. If the greater was its counterpoise, but one perhaps more attuned to wholeness, then we would be the instrumentality it would employ.”

“It is certain that those of light are not marshalled in unity,” the chief of the hierophants noted in concurrence. “But if what you say is so, there are inescapable conclusions as to the greater one. It is no more potent than the darkest evil, and it moves blindly. We are not directed!”

“Fie!” The great worker was adamant. “Probability might allow a complete unbalancing, and the unknown power might have to struggle against unintelligent energies as well as the rest. Who can say? However, what makes you, any of you, believe that we are not directed? Perhaps this direction is not evident to us, but we cannot, therefore, presume that it does not exist. We must each continue on as we purpose, but with an attitude of acceptance of new Information as valid until disproven. We will work our own plans, seek the end we desire, until such time as inescapable evidence directs us otherwise. This will be done, though, with the ever-present knowledge that what we suppose, what darkness strives for, what ancient powers are being unearthed at this time, and the results of the struggle which is foreordained might well be but facets of some greater whole which we do not yet perceive.”

When the demiurge finished, the other chief ones of Balance spoke. With agreement and understanding reached, the many members of the group returned to their own places. There was always much to do, perpetual ministrations that would be eternal… or so they hoped.

While high and low scried and schemed, while those of Balance pondered, Gord rode away from his foster city in company with the druid-warrior Green-leaf. These pieces in the game being played moved at the direction of the Balance, but of course with free will and chance playing their own roles in the game. There were combats and battles, journeys and discoveries, elven friends and humanoid foes.

In the end those neutral to the ethos of Good and Evil, of chaos and order, missed their goals, failed in their missions. The gibbering hordes of demonkind won the prize, and Gord lost his own life. Infestix himself came upon Oerth in his Death form, great demons too took material form and interfered with human activities. But in the end it seemed that demons prevailed over all other forces, Evil was torn in twain, and Good and all the rest benefited thereby-all save those who were quick no longer and benefited naught from anything mortal.

Again Gord died, and was revivified. Only magic allowed both this saving and his first one to occur. His ring, he learned, was powerfully dweomered to save him from death up to nine times, so that seven reincarnations remained. For that he was grateful. Concurrently, Gord knew his part in the game, understood the play, and thus moved from least pawn to something greater.

If each soldierlike piece in the imaginary game was assigned a promotion value, the least would be that pawn that represented all pawns, and the greatest soldier would be that pawn representing the kinglike piece of a given side. Through his victories over those evil ones who had fought him, Gord had moved successively from one sort of pawn to another, becoming more potentially powerful, more centrally placed on the playing field, each time he so triumphed. At last he reached the end of his long trek across the checkered grounds of the struggle.

In the likening of the various forces’ agents to chess pieces-pieces and pawns in a vaster game than conventional chess-Gord had reached the last rank and become a piece of some considerable power. He could be considered to have the abilities of a knight combined with the so-called hopping bishop, the ship of Earth’s ancient Chatranj or Chatturanga chess. He controlled not a single space Immediately around him, and his range was most limited considering the size of the vast board of the contest. Yet of the sixteen squares that were each one removed from his actual position, he could command fully twelve, and vault over any man who intervened. Gord was a powerful minor piece now. He comprehended not only his role but the game at large as well, so he was doubly dangerous to his adversaries.

“And thus the events of the past few years have been spun out,” Rexfelis, Lord of All Cats, said, looking squarely at Gord.

“You played no part in these?” the young man asked doubtfully.

The Catlord shrugged. “Some, but not directly. The rings I made and dweomered so long ago have certainly had some effect on the course of things, I suppose…”

“Mine and the eight others, you mean? I know how my own ring can change me from man to leopard, allows me to see and perceive as a cat does, and has spared me from death and worse twice now. Yet I do not understand why it works as it does for me, and I do not appreciate the part of the other rings, nor for that matter the reason for you making them.”

“That is a matter for another time. I may be superhuman, Gord; by standards of men, I am a powerful being. Still, I have limitations and am subject to many shortcomings. I have need to learn much before I am prepared to discuss the rings. Some I know already, and more I will learn soon, I think. The time is not far off, my young protege, when you and I will again speak of the rings-and I think of the matter of your heritage, too.”

“You know of that?” Gord shot up, as if propelled from a catapult, from the couch on which he had been reclining. “Tell me!”

The long, sinewy fingers of the Catlord squeezed the young man’s shoulders reassuringly as his hands pressed Gord back upon the seat. “Be at ease. I have nothing but suspicions at this time. When we speak of rings, then we will also discuss the mysteries which surround you, Gord. As I said, I have no divine knowledge to impart. Just as you, I too must seek and find, study and learn, gather intelligence and analyze information.

“I have suspicions, suppositions based on you, but that is all they are. Your weird is masked, Gord. We have spoken of that before. Some facts I have discovered, but most of these are already known to you as well. You are more than you were, would you not say so?”

Gord nodded at that and would have replied, but Rexfelis was not finished.

“I am not much concerned,” the Lord of Cats continued, “with affairs of men or the powers dwelling on other planes. I am disinterested more than uninterested. Those who seek equilibrium are similar to me, but they also actively meddle in things when one side or another seems to be tipping the balance toward itself. You have served the Balance and will do so in the future. In fact, you might just be the very fulcrum of things to come.”

“You speak in riddles as always, Lord Rexfelis. What must I do to get straight answers from you?” Gord asked crossly. He was still agitated, and this was plainly shown by his expression, voice, and tense body. In fact, the young man resembled an angry cat confronting another one, ready to spring at the least provocation.

“You must not presume upon my friendship,” the Lord of Cats remarked, turning his back upon his guest. He walked over to where a sideboard held a tall ewer of kumis and poured himself a goblet of the fermented milk. He turned, drank, and then spoke to Gord again.

“I am fond of you personally, and you have a role which is important. But I am not sure if I like what you might do, nor do I believe that I will be pleased much by what is to come. Do not again speak to me so, Gord the Unknown, Gord the Rogue-not unless you are prepared to accept my enmity and accept a challenge from me.”

That was unthinkable. The young man knew very well that although he could best any of those minions of the Catlord that surrounded him, Gord was certainly no match for Rexfelis in any respect-save perhaps at swordplay, and even that was doubtful. Furthermore, Gord had no desire to quarrel with this being, a lord who had most certainly given him more than any other personage, human or otherwise.

“I beg your forgiveness, Lord of Cats,” Gord said with humility. “I allowed my heart to rule my head, and my frustration to wag my tongue. I ask your pardon, and I shall not so offend again.”

Rexfelis smiled, a cat’s unfathomable smile. “You have it, even though I am quite positive you will offend me in the future.”

“Future, lord? You speak of that most often, yet you also say that you are not able to have my rede. You see my point?”

“Yes. Of course. In that I am somewhat remiss. I meant to speak to you as to exactly what I am certain of. Please have some refreshment, relax, and I will do so now.”

Gord complied with difficulty. For some time now, the young adventurer had suspected that something lay behind Rexfelis’ unexpected appearances and seemingly casual interest in his affairs. This meeting confirmed Gord’s suspicions. As the Catlord began speaking, the young adventurer composed himself as well as he could so as to absorb every word. Rexfelis told him that the interaction between himself and Gord had occurred with seeming coincidence, but the Catlord was himself uneasy about that, for seldom did he relate to humans as had happened with Gord. Therefore, Rexfelis had begun some investigation of things.

“You are entangled with me, Gord, with the Balance, with demons, and even with the foul Infestix. It was no accident, I think, that he himself came to slay you in his avatar of Nerull. It was foreordained, just as your coming here was written. Because of the tangling, and the interference, I can see but little more of your skein, my young friend. Be comforted, though, for if I cannot, it is most improbable that any other can either, including your greatest enemies, demon, daemon, or devil.

“Think on it. The hells sent a great minion of theirs to slay you, the bestial pig-thing which you slew and which in turn seemingly did for you. They could not foresee the result!”

“Nerull failed for the same reason, then?”

“Correct, Gord. None but yourself can see what is written for you-perhaps even you can’t pierce the veils, but possibly you will. You must try, if you can.”

“Of dweomers and scrying I know nothing,” the young man commented. “But if it seems possible, I will try… Can you tell me nothing more than that?”

Rexfelis sighed, nodding slowly. “You must know all, mustn’t you? Curiosity, Gord, killed the cat!” Both laughed at that, and then the Catlord resumed speaking. “A bad joke, really. I have seen that you will have more trials, perilous journeys, tests, and duels to the death-hardly unusual stuff for an adventurer such as you, young fellow! And first you will have to face those of my own folk who mean to test you. I fear that you are not uniformly liked here…”

“That’s no surprise,” Gord interjected. “Some of your cat-folk here are haughty and overbearing to the point of annoyance. I have brought one or two of them down a peg.”

“Yes,” the Catlord observed dryly, “that you have. Thereafter, Gord, you will be tested mentally and physically by those of Evil, as well as by nature itself. If you somehow survive that, and I mean the survival of mind and ethics as well as pure physical survival, it seems that you must return to the City of Grey-hawk one last time.”

That puzzled the young thief. “Must return? One last time? What I do is my own will, and Greyhawk is my only home. I shall go there or not as I choose, and it will be more than once, I trow!”

“Do you now? You are no more free to do as you would than am I-less so, in fact. Let that be. Perhaps it is a changeable condition. Whatever you think, I did foresee that you would return to Grey-hawk but once more, and that only to repay some past debt. The debt I cannot get the rede of, but it seemed to be one not directly connected to you. I mention that,” the Lord of Cats added, “because there was an inkling in the foreseeing.”

“Of what?” Gord asked quietly.

“Of a vendetta. That settling of old scores was tied to your past, your family, I think. There was something stranger still. So unsettling that I hesitate to mention it”

Gord was again tense and filled with the unease of foreboding. “I do not mean to press you, lord, but I request with all respect that you convey the remainder of your knowledge on this subject to me.”

“Of course,” Rexfelis said. “Having gone this far, I could not very well do otherwise. The matter of vengeance seemed to go beyond Greyhawk, well beyond. It came here, back to me somehow, but I am not sure how. I am not concerned, but I am. It is puzzling, disconcerting to me, I admit!”

“Then that is it?”

“No, Gord, not quite. Your quest, for want of a better word, might go beyond that. There were breaks, other paths, but it seemed there was one line which was stronger than all but one other. It led to the lowest depths, to the realms of darkest Evil, to Nerull and beyond.”

That made the young man pale. “What of the other, stronger line, lord?” he inquired uncertainly.

“That led to indecision, inactivity, and a horrible death.”

“Then I am doomed no matter what, it seems… I have no hope!”

“Wrong, most misguided and wrong! There is always hope, young fool! Didn’t I just tell you that I am not perfect? What I saw was only a series of possibilities. Granted, the most probable courses were very plain, but there might be other branches. Again, my seeing is possibly faulty. That we both understand. You alone will be able to decide the exact course you follow. Although some destinies you cannot shun, there are places where you have total freedom of decision. Perhaps, in the end, you are foredoomed, but of that neither you nor I have certain knowledge. Yet there is one certainty. If you deem yourself as good as finished, then you are!”

It was heartening, that last statement, and Gord managed to throw off his depression because of the encouragement. “Thank you, Lord Rexfelis. Although what you have related to me is troublesome-nay, worse than that, even-I appreciate your frankness. Now I will set about things with a different view. Prepare myself mentally and physically too. Whatever comes to me will find me as ready as I can be, and I shall remain alert, watchful. The best course might be very difficult to seek, to follow.”

“You are growing wiser already, my human friend. The words you speak are true always, even when life itself does not hang in the balance. Enough of this now! Here,” the Catlord said with an air of congenial sort, “allow me to serve you more of this excellent kumis. We will drink together as peers, you and I, until both of us are in a merry mood and ready for frisking and frolic!”

“As long as I don’t have to sing much… or listen to very much of the noise which passes for music hereabouts!”

“My feelings are hurt! Welladay,” Rexfelis went on with a mock sigh and forlorn expression, “I shall take no offense and make sure that whatever entertainment eventually follows is to your taste, for I am your host, and a guest must be humored,” he concluded, pouring liquor into Gord’s flagon until the milky stuff overflowed. Without another word, the Catlord quaffed his own beaker of kumis, and Gord needed no encouragement other than that, tossing his own down with equal relish.

Some time later, much later in fact, and after a soulful duet in which Gord actually took the lead in singing, Rexfelis ended the wassail with a grin and a wink.

“Off you go now, Gord. I have things to do, and you need more exciting company too. See that little kitten, Tirrip!” Gord was more than content with that, and so the evening ended.