Dance of Demons (2 page)

Gord shrugged and asked about something else instead of replying. "Do you now speak mind to mind?"

"No," the troubador responded with a puzzled expression. "What made you ask that?"

"Well," his friend explained. "I was wondering how you happened to be alone and waiting for me in such short order. I was just informed of the meeting, you see."

"Something awakened me, and I knew instinctively that we were needed — at least, I think I knew. . . ."

"Right," Gord replied laconically. "Welcome to the brotherhood, as they say," he added as he looked at the one-eyed man, giving him a nod in lieu of a formal bow. When his companion peered back quizzically, the dark-haired champion responded, "You haven't made a sound since I asked you about mental communication!"

"Congratulations, both of you." Another mindvoice entered the unspoken dialogue. "Now if you would stop blasting your chit-chat throughout the place, the rest of us can get on with our discussion here," the mental voice of Rexfelis added without sarcasm.

Both men looked abashed, causing a pair of strolling guards to stare after them with momentary uncertainty. Had they been strangers, or even wellknown visitors, they would have been stopped and held for questioning. Instead, the guards snapped into salute and kept their own counsel regarding the odd expressions on the faces of prince and noble hero. Those of such exalted station were simply above the understanding of others, their reasoning must have gone.

"Better that we speak aloud," Gellor said when they were out of earshot of the armed sentries.

"Much better," Gord muttered. "I hate being a child again," he added. As if understanding fully what his friend referred to, the grizzled troubador merely nodded and sighed. Gord could well understand that too, for the feeling in Gellor must be compounded due to his greater number of years. Wondering carefully to himself about whether or not familiarity with enspellments eased the shock of such a new situation. Gord led the way into the secluded room where the leaders of the coalition representing neutrality and equilibrium held conclave.

Formalities were dispensed with. All present knew full well who was who and what particular status was due from and to each respectively. None of that mattered at this time. All of those in the council understood that if events went on unchecked, the present course would lead to their extinction as powers, perhaps extinction in literal terms as well. The chamber was packed with the greatest powers of neutrality — eighteen with actual deityhood, twice that number of quasideities and other personages. Gord and Gellor were informally greeted, and discussion began immediately. Champion and hero were at the very least regarded as peers of these great ones. Perhaps they were above all, at least for the time being.

The three Hierophants addressed Gord and Gellor initially. "You have spent the interval well, we think" they stated in unison. The multitoned chorus sounded strange to Gord's ears even after hearing them speak thus so many times. "Through the years you two have devoted yourselves to Nature, to the betterment of all," the trio went on, directing the remark more toward the troubador than Gord, despite the fact that it was the latter who was championing their cause now. That seemed to make Gellor uncomfortable, but his comrade took no notice of the preferment shown. It was, after all, natural for the speakers to defer to the elder of the pair. "Our gift of welcoming is that of the mind. Three powers each have you now — speech by thought, movement by mind of your body to any place you can imagine, and the ability to become mentally invisible so that no other mind can find yours."

"Those are generous gifts, exalted ones. Gellor and I thank you," Gord told the Hierophants as they looked first at the one-eyed bard, then directly at him.

Then came a series of other similar presentations. The affair was both a ceremony of elevation and a briefing and arming of a force being assigned to fight the enemy. The honors and powers were given to allow the two the utmost chance of success — success on behalf of the lords present and all those who opposed Evil. And there was more to it than even that. The whole issue now included the continued existence of vitality in the multiverse.

The Shadowking gave both men shadow armor. It was seemingly insubstantial stuff, weighing nothing, interfering with no motion or act; yet the umbrate cuirass and gorget, the greaves and brassards were as impenetrable as plate of enchanted adamantite in all conditions except total darkness or glaring, shadowless light. With this armor and the other protections each of the two heroes wore — magical rings giving proof against attacks and magic spells, shirts of mail dweomered by elven wizards, and all the rest — the most puissant of devils or demons would find it near impossible to strike either man with weapons.

The savants of Oerth, represented by Mordenkainen, could give Gord nothing of benefit to him, but upon Gellor the ancient archwizard bestowed a strange musical instrument. It was a lutelike thing with many additional instruments attached to or forming part of its body. It had been recovered from some lost trove and restored by those great mages with the assistance of Heward, Lord Hugh, one who was most skilled at such things.

Rexfelis too was unable to gift anything further to the champion, but to the troubador he gave what he called "cat's paws," boots and gauntlets that had power of enabling the wearer to land on his feet, climb as a cat, and deliver clawed blows.

There was but little the druids could assist with, for where the two had to venture there was no flora or fauna of natural sort; no sun, moons, planets, or stars, not even the natural elements. Those other priests of Balance, however, could be of some help. They were the channel through which flowed to Gord and Gellor the grants of healing. Immunity from disease and parasite, knowledge of truth, and warding from foes.

Then followed various and sundry other presentments and powers, so that when the last of them were granted, neither of the two companions was quite sure just what they now were and what they could accomplish. "You are somewhat confused," the Hierarchs noted. "We understand. Although you might find it incredible, you may rest assured that we were once thus," the three chorused. "The whole will be assimilated, never fear, in due time."

"There is precious little of that," Mordenkainen snapped. "They need neither your collective anecdotes or my lecturing," he went on. "We must get to the last part of this whole business, and then let the two of them get on with it!"

"Somewhat abrupt, dear old fellow," Keogh, Lord Thomas, said, stepping in to stand between the Hierophants and the archwizard. "I was about to get to the last part anyway, you know."

Mordenkainen made a sour face and twiddled his fingers in a "come on, then" gesture. The master of muses fumbled around inside his robe and finally brought forth a roll of parchment and a rune-worked stick of charcoal. Gord and Gellor peered at the objects, wondering what Lord Thomas was about to do. "He has discovered something at last," the old mage supplied somewhat in sarcasm, seeing their uncertainty. "Tell them! Get on with it!"

"Well," the mystic fellow said, seeming to ignore Mordenkainen with the patience an adult demonstrates with an unruly offspring, "I suppose you, Gord, and you, Gellor, are wondering just what this is all about, my little show here," Thomas spoke as he laid out scroll and stylus. "It is automatic writing, and it comes from an unexpected source. . ."

As he said that, the rime-covered charcoal stick arose, point on parchment, and began slowly to trace out a line of writing upon the pale surface.

"Basiliv here, if only in spirit. Constrained as to energy, what I can relate. Rite of shielding against dweomers follows. M can do that. Gord, beware the conclusion of all Triumph!"

There then followed a series of glyphs and other pictograms, a magical shorthand which filled the remainder of the roll.

"How did you discover this sort of communication was possible?" Gellor inquired.

"We have all been seeking Basiliv, his psyche, for a long time now. I was trying to make notes on new avenues to try when the Demiurge himself took over from me. There's no credit to me," Lord Thomas said modestly.

Gord thought otherwise but remained quiet. He was wondering just what the warning about the "conclusion of all" meant. "Will you be able to restore his spirit and form?" he finally asked the master of muses.

"Doubtful, most doubtful," Mordenkainen interjected. "Especially now that he has revealed to me one of the most potent castings of the Omni Arcana Magna. ..." He trailed off, turning to look over his shoulder at a cohort who had advanced toward the scroll.

"Aha! I suspected as much!" the archmage snapped, covering the writing on the scroll quickly. "You are not mature enough, not ready for such as this. Tenser! Return to your proper place whilst I finish instructing these heroes." He remained steadfast in the face of a glower from not only Tenser but Bigby as well, for that worthy spellcrafter had also slipped in near in order to view the writings from Basiliv.

"Upstarts!" Mordenkainen muttered, then looked at Gord and Gellor. "In a day or two I'll be ready to confer upon you that degree of magical immunity which your own force of being can maintain — possibly only a trifling bit compared to what I myself will undoubtedly be able to retain. No matter, no matter! I have much to do now, so the others can amuse you." With that, the gray-bearded archwizard turned and left the assembly without saying another word to anyone.

"Basiliv seems to be essentially lost from our ken, as it were," the three Hierophants piped. "He was perhaps the one best suited to deal with these times of tribulation, but the rest of us will make do. Unless there are questions you have, there is nothing further for you here." they observed in unison. "Our apologies for the truncated and hasty ceremonies."

"Everyone is either trailing off or abrupt," the troubador said under his breath to Gord. "My head spins and reels with all that has occurred. Anyway," he added as an afterthought, "if you have any inquiries, my friend, fire away, I am quite unable to think of anything to say."

"Thank you, thank you all," Gord said loudly. "I believe it is time Gellor and I returned to our own chambers and become familiar with all the new . . . powers ... we have received."

"An excellent idea, champion," Rexfelis announced. "I will personally escort you both." The others rose, or turned if already standing, and gave a semi-informal farewell before resuming a whispered debate, which Gord suddenly realized must have been going on for some time already. Somewhat in anticipation of the close of the ceremony, the group was already deep in discussion of what each indIvidual or society would now be doing to try to hold things together until the degeneration of conditions could be curtailed, halted, even reversed. Some said that would require Gord's reuniting the terrible relic and the freeing of Ultimate Evil. So another immediate round of how to deal with that sprang up from the others.

Responsibility and reliance, Gord mused, placed a heavy burden upon each and every one of the lords. Rexfelis commented on that to Gord and Gellor as the three of them walked slowly along the corridor outside, saying, "Don't press the issue regarding the Demiurge, Gord. I fear we have lost him forever — at least save for such bits as you Just witnessed."

"Surely the others know this, too?"

"Yes, but it is a terrible blow, and even such as we lords of Balance need to maintain morale. Do you feel much different?" he asked, changing the subject. Rexfelis looked at the gray-eyed man who was his great-grandson and champion of the fight against darkness. Gord shook his head, his confusion clear on his face. He was torn by conflicting realizations: he was quite literally now a powerful lord, and yet he felt much the same as he had when he was a mere stripling. "Exactly. I feel much the same myself at times. The most disturbing part is that Basiliv was taken by an enemy not of the dark forces. But enough of that now! Let's have a slight repast, we three, and I will tell you a few last things you should know."

The Catlord steered his companions to a small, cozy little dining chamber where silent servants set forth a sumptuous array of delicacies on silver trays and plates, poured various liquids into flagons and decanters, and bowed before leaving as silently as they had prepared the refreshments.

"I must admit," Gellor said as he viewed the astounding variety of comestibles before him, "I am still surprised at you, my lord."

"How so, good hero?" Rexfelis rejoined lightly.

"You are king of cats, yet this is much more than cat's fare — and there's not even a solitary mouse!"

Rexfelis laughed heartily as he raised a crystal goblet and sipped the red-gold wine it held. "Thank you, noble Gellor. We need to relax from the cares which would otherwise grind us down. Know you, though, that never will either of you ever be mistaken by your peers?"

"I don't follow you, grandsire," Gord told him.

"With friends, comrades, allies, you may set aside your guards and wards in part. Here, now as we do. But if you do so, any being of power, a greater demon, a major devil, even a plane tar from the higher spheres will instantly see you for what you are."

Gellor stroked his chin in thoughtful acknowledgment. "It is a fair warning, Gord. We must always remember who we are, always be prepared to act in the face of hostility or aggression."

Rexfelis smiled. "Nicely put. Gord is our champion, but the wisdom of years cannot be done without. You, Gellor, are just the right companion for young thinking." He placed his hand upon Gord's forearm and squeezed. "We show little affection, but know that it is within — and pride, too! Would that I had years to spend instructing, counseling, being a friend. We have but scant days. Gord, mark my words and your friend's, too. You are changed, and plainly apparent as above the mortal now."

"I understand, and I have always given Gellor heed."

"Beyond that, remember that you are grown, altered, and henceforth your existence and whereabouts will be traceable," the Catlord said solemnly. "Beyond one or two places of safety, your every movement will be observable. Unless you are careful, your thinking will be noted and possibly read. With the power you now possess comes a whole host of difficulties not heretofore experienced by you."