Here on Oerth, under the stars, encased in fear, entombed in fire
The final rage of sword and spell and claw and consequences dire
His faithful few, the Knights, had traveled long and walked the reaper’s wire
To meet and fight the sickened one, his beasts, and their abyssal choir
The war on life and good and all will soon be waged and soon be done
Thuriaq may rise at last and shatter here the hateful sun
Yet he did not, we know, because we lived to hear this tale be sung
So listen closely, child, and learn of how the Knights of Spellforge won.
Here on Oerth, where faith is called upon in all except for one.
PROLOGUE
“Bad things brewin’.”
“We knew that.”
“Just sayin’.” Mallick spat on the ground. The wind blew the wheatstalks all to one side, where they fought with one another in a rippling pattern. The wind was very uneasy tonight. The moon was far too large, and it loomed over them all like a man’s face over a fishbowl. It gave Mallick Hucrele the most repellent feeling. He shifted his axe to his other hand and waited.
“Stop fidgeting,” Helmut grunted. The fur-clad northman frowned at Mallick in the moonlight. “You’re irritating Helmut. Helmut must remain focused so that he might drive the giant back into the ground when it arises.”
Mallick huffed. “Helmut must think he’s a great deal more powerful than he is to believe he can any chance of defeating Perysion the Ululating Horror.”
“Shut up, the both of you.” The small dwarven woman in black sharpened her knives against a whetstone, stopping only to glare at the two bickering men. “You’re like children.”
Mallick slumped against a tree and let some of the breath in his lungs escape. It frosted in the air as he mumbled. “I’m sorry. Just nerves, is all.”
Helmut shifted his weight. “Helmut is sorry as well. He is only troubled by the terror we will face. What will it resemble, again, small one?”
Figfim the Great adjusted his glasses on the tip of his large gnomish nose and squinted. “I am Figfim, not ‘small one’. And Perysion will be a towering mass of tentacles and eye stalks, if the scrolls are to be believed.” He bent over the scrolls again, studying the monster foretold to rise on this night in this portion of the world. “It will reave and devour, leaving only death in its wake. What troubles me most is this final passage:
’And his kind will mark the way of the rising beast.’”
“What does that mean?” Mallick asked.
“I’ll tell you what it means,” Figfim sighed. “It means, if I’m not mistaken, that Perysion is one of many monsters to come to our plane tonight, and act as heralds for a greater evil.”
“What?”
“Perysion the Ululating Horror is a pawn. Something worse is rising tonight.”
The dwarven woman shivered and sheathed her knives. “Moradin help us. What can this greater evil be?”
“I have no idea, Runhilde,” the gnome replied. “I only hope someone is there to fight it, as we are here to fight its herald.”
Helmut drew his sword and tested its blade with his thumb for the twentieth time. “Someone will.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“It is simple. We live in a world of heroes.”
They quieted and listened to the wind blow as they waited for their titan to rise.
SESSION 56
5th of Suns’ebb
THE END
“Gorgoldand,” Dartan gasped. “That’s him. Quickly, shatter the mirror.”
“It doesn’t break,” Edge grunted as he bashed his fists against the looking glass. In its reflection, they saw Gorgoldand, the emaciated wizard, chained to the wall. His once-proud white beard was matted and filthy.
“You must solve the puzzle,” the skull chattered behind them. “Yes, that is the way.”
Broldek turned on it. “For a thing that claims to not remember anything, you certainly do know everything about this place that may lead us to a sorry end. This stinks of a trap. It was too easy. I don’t trust you.”
The skull floated there. Its feminine voice sounded hurt. “Why do you attack me? I can only recall small things, one at a time. I don’t know why I know about the Gauntlet. I don’t enjoy knowing everything but the solutions to your puzzles, and I am troubled to know you do not trust me. What harm can I do?”
Dartan put a hand on Broldek’s shoulder. “Leave Bree alone.”
The troll turned. “But…” He stopped when he saw the look in Dartan’s steely eyes. “Dartan, don’t be a fool. It’s not your friend.”
“Maybe she isn’t. Not really. I’ll be the judge, and until she gives us reason to believe she’s on Crow’s side, don’t do a thing against her.”
“Dartan, this doesn’t…”
“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Dartan’s eyes flashed, and the muscles beneath his brow twitched. The message was clear, and Broldek backed down, though he felt something crawling inside his gut.
“Thank you, my old friend,” Bree said. “What of the mirror?”
Dartan sighed and looked at it again. “Tirianisporitius. I don’t suppose you know the solution to this do you?”
“No. I wish I did.”
Kizzlorn was studying the fallen skeletal warriors. She took a key from one’s neck and added it to the others. “Eye. Eye… the letter I. Two flowers of the same kind.”
“Irises,” Edge said. “They’re Irises.”
“Hmm. You can spell ‘Iris’ twice with the letters in ‘Tirianisporitius’. Take them away, and you have… ‘Tanpotiu’. Take away an I for an ‘Eye’ and you have ‘Tanpotu’.”
Myramus rolled his eyes. “Nonsense words. What fun.”
Snooky curled his tail thoughtfully as he sat on the ground.
Not nonsense. It’s a command word. It will allow us into the mirror.
“Nonsense, like I said,” the canine angel huffed impatiently.
Menerous couldn’t help himself. “Oh, stop it you two. You fight like dogs and cats.” He giggled to himself.
“I, brother, am a hound archon, a celestial servant of our lord Pelor.”
And I am a polymorphed pseudodragon.
“Well,” Menerous said. “That put me in my place.”
Tanpotu… Tan… Pot! That’s it, the other skeleton had a pot on his breastplate. Snooky jumped up into Kizzlorn’s arms, and she kissed his fuzzy little head.
“Tanu,” Kizz said, and the mirror flashed. They stepped through the mirror’s glass toward Gorgoldand, and the mirror shimmered like a rippling pond in their wake.
“Gorgoldand,” Dartan called to the chained form as they entered the room where he was imprisoned.
He looked up at them. “No.” The mirror behind them froze as the last of the Knights left it. The chains fell from the old man’s wrists, and he stood. He changed. He became something larger. A huge cloaked form, vaguely female, with hands that trembled as the last of the illusion melted from them, revealing hideous clawed hands with orange-gold fur. “It’s an honest mistake, though,” the voice croaked menacingly as it pulled its cowl back. “It must be the resemblance.” The sneering thing’s face was a hideous combination of an ogre’s broad face and sparse golden dragonscales. The eyes were a cruel yellow-orange, and seemingly lit from within. Large fangs were set in the grinning jaw. The ears were bat wing-shaped, webbed crescents of gold jutting from an ogre’s matted hide.
Snooky hissed in horror. Dartan and Kizzlorn gasped, and Myramus held up Starfire. Broldek drew his sword and readied to fight. “Where is he?”
“Elsewhere. Safe. I am Glamgorthea, and I am pleased to bring you your end, here in the Gauntlet.”
“You’re half dragon,” Edge said, with his fists at the ready. At Kizzlorn’s command he would unleash his fury.
“Yes,” she chuckled.
Snooky growled.
You’re his daughter.
“Yes.”
Dartan’s sword was prepared to stab the thing through the heart. “Gorgoldand had no daughter.”
“That he knew of. I’m afraid it’s a long story, but the short of it is that mother took advantages of his frailties and drugged an ale one night at the Foamy Head tavern in Poddleton, long, long ago. Let’s just say mother always claimed he’d never acknowledge me, because he wouldn’t remember fathering me.” She laughed.
“Lies!” Dartan plunged his sword forward, but Glamgorthea raised her hand and sent him rocketing backward to smash against a wall. He crumpled to the ground, and his sword landed with a clang.
“Hard truths. Mother was interested in creating a new breed of ogre-mage beasts with the blood of dragons. I was- shall I say- an experiment. I was raised to follow her plans and breed a superior race of ogres… but I had ideas of my own, and decided to go my own way the day I ripped her throat out.”
Kizzlorn slowly put Snooky into her backpack, to free her hands for spellcasting. “What is this way?”
“I found and joined my brother, Crow, who had deliciously evil ideas of his own. Profane in every way. Gloriously evil and calculating, he is, and more powerful than even I am. He said I could have you to destroy while he worked on freeing Thuriaq. He should be done soon.”
Dartan stood, shakily, wiping blood from his mouth. His sword’s blade scraped on the stone as he picked it up. “He is evil, isn’t he? Evil, brilliant, and vain.”
She raised her hand again, and it started to glow bright green. “Yes. Oh yes.”
“You know what the problem is with evil, brilliant, and VAIN archvillains?”
“Tell me, Godless.”
“They want to see their enemies’ faces as they are destroyed.”
“Yes, so?”
“Crow knows we can beat you.”
“What?” She laughed.
“You said it yourself: Evil… gloriously evil and calculating. He told you to meet us here so that you could kill us, but he will want to see us die, laughing over us, having had the final word. He isn’t here.”
She furrowed her brow. “So what?”
“So- he lied to you. You’re but one more monster in our way, and he knows your power isn’t great enough to stop us completely. He WANTS us to reach the end, so that we can fail there- and only there.” Her lips parted, and her teeth bared. She trembled, and her fury and fear were plain on her face. Dartan continued to slowly walk toward her. “Evil, brilliant, and vain archvillains do not share their glories. They only use their lackeys, and discard them when they’ve outlived their usefulness. How does it feel to realize you’re a henchman? A simple cog in a large machine. That must hurt.” She growled, eyes wide, and slowly lowered her arm. She seemed to deflate as she gave in to despair. "We are meant to beat you." Tears squeezed from her eyes, and she shook with rage.
“There is an alternative,” Broldek said. “Join us, and add to our strength. We will save the world, and you will have revenge on your brother.” She stared at them. “There is no other way. Join us or we fight you now, and you will die a pawn in Crow’s scheme.” She sobbed, paused, then nodded. She was broken and she knew it.
“Good,” Kizzlorn said. “Where is he?”
“Below. There is a lower level, and there is a passage to Thuriaq’s gate.”
Myramus stepped forward. “Kneel, Glamgorthea, and renounce your evils. Swear to Pelor that you will not turn on us once our mission is done, and that you will mean Gorgoldand or the people of Greyhawk no further ill. Swear it.”
“I… I do. I renounce evil, in Pelor’s name.” She kneeled on the floor and bowed her head in misery. “I do so swear that I will abandon wickedness, and not turn on you when Crow is defeated. Nor will I attempt to destroy my father. I will join the light. Oh, I… ahuh ahuh huh…” She wept into her hands.
“Pelor has heard your plea, child, and will judge you.” He raised his sword. “Right now.” He brought Starfire down through her neck, severing her head and killing her instantly. Her hulking body disappeared in a flash of white light, and then she was no more.
Bree the floating skull’s jaw dropped open in amazement, and Myramus sheathed his sword. “I must say, Snooky old chap, that worked marvelously.”
Thank you. While Glamgorthea had extolled the virtues of Crow’s plan, Snooky had telepathically spoken to the Knights and suggested that Dartan shake her confidence by pointing out that Crow had betrayed her. Then, Myramus would strike her down in her moment of greatest weakness.
I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d go through with it, Myramus, Snooky said.
Killing her as she pledged an oath to Pelor. It doesn’t seem sporting.
“A painless death and a deathbed conversion. We don’t have the convenience of taking her at her word, so I ended her life here. We did ourselves- and her- a world of good.”
What if she were telling the truth, though?
“Then Pelor will know it and judge her truly, as I told her. Her soul may well have been saved. For now, though, we have things to do, and we couldn’t be bothered to worry about her. You were right.”
I’m glad to hear it. Shall we move on?
“Let’s.”
They left through the now-funtioning mirror. Kizzlorn scratched Snooky behind his ears as they went. “Good thinking, Snooky. I’m glad you’re here.” The pseudodragon purred in her arms as they made their way downward, back through the Gauntlet.
When they reached the first floor again, Edge and the Maximus brothers began searching the walls and floors. Snooky got out and sniffed around, looking for ways downward to the lower level Glamgorthea had spoken of.
The skull floated close to Dartan as they waited. “Thank you for your help. The troll might have smashed me in his rage.”
The warrior shook his head. “Broldek may be big and stinky, but he’s really very level-headed. At best I think he was trying to intimidate you.”
The skull teetered in midair, nodding.
Dartan took a breath to speak. He paused, then said “Bree.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember anything about death? I mean, I know you can’t recall much about your life… but… ”
“Oh.” The skull floated in the air silently for a moment. “I do. I remember death. You’ve been dead before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m resurrected before long, always. I’ve never died and stayed dead. What’s it like?”
Bree spoke quietly. “Cold. Cold and empty.”
This surprised Dartan. “What?”
“There’s just the grave and you. You’re barely aware you exist, but you do know that you’re cold, alone, and you’ll never again see any of the people you ever cared about. Just cold, wet gravedirt, moss, and a kind of half-dreaming despair.”
“You were a cleric of Ehlonna. Why would a god allow its servants to rot in their graves? It doesn’t make sense. There’s a heaven for people like you.”
“No. There’s no heaven. Gods don’t care… I learned that after I died. When you’re of no more use to the god, the god throws you aside like the husk you are.”
Dartan’s jaw clenched tightly. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s true. Gods use mortals for their faith, to gain power. When you get to the other side, all you find you’ve ever prayed for were empty promises… because who can hold gods accountable?”
Shaking his head, Dartan said “No, that can’t be right… my wife…”
“Is dead. Pelor used her and then she died. She lies in her grave now, only knowing that you aren’t there, and that she is very, very cold. I’m sorry Dartan.”
“What about Myramus and Menerous? They’re proof that Pelor loves his followers. They’d been dead for quite some time.”
“What are they proof of? They look and talk like your old friends, certainly, but do you know that they are? Can you PROVE they’re who they say they are, if Pelor wants you to believe they’re the brothers Maximus?” Dartan sat silently, thinking. Bree went on. “Gods don’t care. One way or the other you’re going to spend an eternity only in the Oerth, only in despair, ever.“
Dartan got up and walked away, facing the wall where the others could not see. He felt his eyes stinging and his throat closing up.
Don’t cry, you old fool, he told himself.
You knew this all along. Since Heironeous abandoned you, you’ve known you had no one to count on but yourself. The universe is empty while the gods eat us like apples, throwing the cores away when they’re done. He felt sick. He leaned on the wall and breathed.
Bree could be lying. It might not even be Bree. It certainly sounded like her, though… and it confirmed for him what Dartan had privately believed for years.
Gods are bastards.
He took out the letter he’d been given. Myramus had said it was from his wife. He opened it with shaking hands and read again.
Dearest Husband
My beloved. I miss you so. Even here in the rays of the sun, in Pelor’s blessing, I feel sadness in that we are not together. I do not yet have your arms to hold me again, and even in the thrall of bliss, it makes me feel incomplete. The only thing I could ask for in heaven is you… because this is not heaven without you.
It will never be heaven unless you come here. It is for this reason that I am sending this letter down to you with Myramus. I see you, every day, choking on anger… feeling only pain and rage. You needn’t feel this way about my death. I died for the Shining One. I knew what I was getting into. You felt betrayed that Pelor had let me die, and you shut him out. You’re dooming yourself, my husband. Your anger for losing me will cost you an eternity with me in the end. You must let go of your feelings and give yourself to Pelor’s grace. It is the only way we can be together. Without faith, you will die and your soul will wink out like a candle. Open your heart to Pelor, however, and your soul will shine like the sun itself. You will feel His love, and when you die, we will be complete. Nova and Blaze will join us when it is their time and we will be a family again. Please, it is the only way.
You will play an important part in the coming war. You may not survive it. I beg you. If you ever loved me, swear yourself to Pelor and let his hand guide you.
In the name of the Shining One
I remain your devoted and loving wife
~Arlen
“Dartan, are you deaf?”
Dartan looked up, blinking. “What?”
Kizzlorn sighed. “I said we’ve found the way down. Come on.”
“Yes. Of course.” He refolded the letter and placed it inside his pack. The letter had been a beaming thing of hope only moments before, but now doubt clouded his heart. He didn’t know why he was believing Bree. The talking skull of a long-dead childhood friend is nothing to take the word of… yet it had told him what he had held to be true for a long time. He felt his arms and legs grow heavy with sorrow. He felt like sitting down and giving up. What was the point of carrying on? His armor clung to him like so much dead weight.
No, he thought.
This cannot be. If there’s even the most remote chance that this will bring me to my wife when I die, I must take it. I must. Dartan breathed deeply and prayed to Pelor.
I believe, he thought.
I believe in you and let you into my soul. Please show me my wife was right. I am a tired old man who has been wrong about most things. I only want to be with her. Pelor, take me as your servant and fill me with your light.
He paused at the top of the trapdoor, looking down on his friends who were descending the ladder beneath him, ignorant of his problems. He waited. Nothing. There was no change. He didn’t feel light and love flow into him. He cursed himself for a fool and stifled the sob he felt building in his chest. Dartan put a foot upon the top rung and began climbing down the ladder.
Bree was right, the Godless thought.
I knew it.
He climbed down, stone-faced, suffocating the urge to weep. Weeping was for weaker men. He was Dartan, and he’d only confirmed what he’d known all along.
“I’ve got a question,” Edge announced. “Why is Crow leading us to him, when he’s busy with the rite to free the beast? Won’t he be too busy to fight?”
“He assumes he’ll kill us, then free Thuriaq,” Dartan said.
“But… why leave his only known accomplice behind to die? He should know that no one mage has had any luck standing against us.”
“He must have some plan.”
“Or he really can beat us one-on-one.”
“No chance,” Kizzlorn said. “I toppled one of his precious titans with one spell. One man will go down easily, no matter how powerful he thinks he is at spellcasting.”
Dartan added “Which is why he’ll have a plan. He’s too smart.”
The ladder ended and they dropped down to a horizontal passageway which led north for about twenty feet before sloping down in a clockwise direction. They readied their weapons and started walking.
Broldek snarled under his breath. “Anything you’d care to tell us about this area, ‘Bree’?”
“My memory… remains foggy. Do take care, though.” The troll did not seem comforted.
After turning the corner, the passageway began a steep slope downwards, curving off to the right. The corridor is roughly rectangular in shape with rounded edges along the floor and ceiling. There was a glint of metal along the left side of the wall, about fifteen feet down the passageway. “Oh, I like the look of this,” Broldek muttered.
“Calm down,” Edge said. “I’ll have a look.” He skirted away, keeping to the shadows, avoiding obvious places to step, warily looking about as he went.
The hulking troll shrugged. “Sorry. Just… nerves. You know.”
Edge came back. “Doors, along the left side of the corridor, all the way down. There’s one every twenty feet or so.”
Kizzlorn nodded. “What’s behind the doors?” Edge opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and turned bright red. Kizzlorn looked up and saw that the barred window looking into the door was at least five feet off the ground… far too high for the little halfling to see into. “Oh. My apologies, Edge, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
Menerous snickered. “You could ride on my shoulders…”
Myramus turned on him. “Brother, that is not kind. Mocking another’s physical disabilities. And from YOU, a big fat oaf.”
The portly Maximus brother frowned. “I’m not fat! I’m a little large. Mother always said that I was just made large so that I could hug better.”
“Yes, and in the meantime, you barely fit down this corridor. Shall I smear you with some oil of slipperiness, brother, so you can squeeze through this hallway safely?”
“I’ll not stand here and be insulted by a dog-faced stupid-head!” Menerous lunged, and the Maximus brothers were soon rolling on the floor, wrestling and shouting names.
“Stop it, both of you,” Dartan said. He looked down in disgust on Pelor’s champions. “Get up.”
The brothers stood, brushing themselves off. Myramus laughed. “I apologize, brother!”
“Apology accepted, brother!” They bumped fists together, grinning.
A voice came from down the hallway. “Is… is someone there?” The Knights froze and listened. “Please… help…”
“Keep talking,” Kizzlorn said. “Lead us to you.” They began to walk quickly towards the voice. It seemed to be coming from behind one of the iron doors further down the corridor.
“Please,” the voice said. Its owner sounded piteous and frail. “So cold. Please.”
“We’re coming!” Kizzlorn moved quicker and got to the door, pressing her face close to the window to look inside. “Who are…” she stopped and whispered “Oh, no…”
“What is it?” Edge asked.
“An empty room.” The cobbles beneath her feet gave way to her weight and sank down about two inches. A muted clicking noise was heard, and the sounds of large, hidden mechanics shifting boomed all the way up the corridor they’d walked down.
Edge yelled through his clenched teeth. “TRAP!!” They began running from the rumbling sound, coming from the way they’d come. Behind them, something monstrously large was grinding its way down the thin hallway. Edge, who was at the rear of the group, looked back to see a gigantic stone wheel rolling down at them, gaining speed. There was no space at either side for even him to hide. At the top of the twenty-foot high wheel, however, there was maybe five feet of clearance between it and the ceiling. He saw cobwebs whip back as it passed them, violently displacing the air in the corridor.
The halfling quickly made a choice and dropped to the ground. His foot swept out in an arc and clipped Kizzlorn in the ankles, causing her to fall backwards with a cry. He spun completely around and stood, and she fell neatly into his arms. Edge may have been a few inches under four feet tall, but his strength was mighty and his courage true. He crouched briefly and leaped up into the air, towards the stone wheel. Kizzlorn screamed as they passed through the empty space between it and the ceiling. With a twist and a bend, they landed on the other side as it continued to roll down their friends.
Edge put Kizzlorn down and cupped a hand to his mouth. “THERE’S ROOM AT THE TOP! FLY OVER, OR JUMP, HOVER, SOMETHING!”
Kizzlorn, Edge, and Snooky watched as Bree the skull floated over the lumbering thing. Then, Broldek’s face and arms appeared at the top of the wheel. He looked like he might make it, then he landed… on the wheel. His arms clutched at it and his mouth was shaped like an O, and then he was gone. The stone wheel shuddered, and it left behind it a vast, very flat puddle of viscous black goo. It twitched as it gleamed in the torchlight.
On the other side of the wheel, Dartan and the Maximus brothers were running out of time. The brothers’ wings had melted away after they’d landed on Oerth, so they couldn’t fly over as Bree had. They were each running while wearing armor, and the wheel was closing in. “To me,” Myramus yelled, stopping in the center of the corridor. He pulled out Starfire and it shone in the darkness. The others clutched closely to him and he used his sword to create a passage through the stone wheel as it passed over them.
It had been a grand plan, for something at such short notice, but what Myramus hadn’t known, what none of them knew, was that the wheel wasn’t solid. It couldn’t be, for the beholders to levitate it into place, so Crow had made it hollow and filled it with an alternate substance in the event that it be broken or pierced, as it was just now.
As the wheel passed over them and the glaring sword made the space for them to stand in, the liquid green slime center of the wheel was released and it gushed out at them, to their horror. The pure sunlight emitted from Myramus’ sword Starfire burned it to ash as it neared them. The wheel passed by and rolled away, smashing at some unknown end of the spiraling corridor some way down. The trembling three stood frozen. It was only by luck that Starfire had happened to save them from the slime, and the near-death experience left them shaken. It would have eaten through their weapons, armor, and their very bodies in moments.
“This,” Myramus said, “Is a good sword. Thank you Pelor.” He kissed it and resheathed it.
Menerous clapped a hand on Dartan’s shoulder and said “The Shining One is merciful, eh?”
Dartan shook off the friendly hand and composed himself. He glowered at Menerous for a moment, then walked back up to Kizzlorn and Edge. “That was very close,” he said.
Myramus, behind them, began to scrape the black paste that was Broldek into a small sack. He was regenerating quickly, but he was by no means in a good mood. The paste formed a mouth. “Hurt,” it groaned. “Ow.” His potions and breakables were smashed beyond repair, but Broldek himself was only momentarily injured. He’d be back to his old self within the hour.
“Curse me for walking us into such a trap,” Kizz muttered.
Edge put a hand on hers and looked up at her. “You didn’t know,” he said. It was supposed to be comforting. She replied by clearing her throat and pulling away. “Anyway. It won’t happen again.”
“Is someone there?” a quavering voice called from the cell beside them. The iron door’s window showed only darkness beyond. No one approached it to look within.
“I’m not falling for this again, Crow,” Kizzlorn said, mostly to herself.
Everyone jumped when a face shot up at the window and bony hands reached out for them. “Please,” it said. “Please, get me out of here!” It was a girl. Not a day older than seventeen, by the look. She might have been pretty, but her eyes writhed in her sockets like trapped animals and her cheeks were pale and gaunt. Her hands scrabbled at the iron surface of the door as she called to them. “Get me out. Out.”
Edge examined the entrance to the door before anyone was allowed to step there. When he was convinced there was no trap there, Kizzlorn stepped forward. “Who are you?” she said warily.
Bree floated close and said “Don’t be fooled.”
The girl said “B. Beckamy. My name. Beckamy. Out.”
“Why are you here?”
“Please, let me out. Out. Now, please.”
“We’re not letting you out until we’re convinced you’re not here to hurt us. Now tell us what we ask of you.”
The girl sobbed and said “I’m here for food. I’m his food. He drinks. Drinks me. His food. Out.” Kizzlorn saw the wretched marks at the left side of her neck, where something had bitten her, many, many times. “Says I’m food. He says I’m food.” She started crying desperately, pulling at her cheeks with her nails.
“Easy, easy. We’ll let you out. Edge?”
“Don’t,” Bree’s skull warned. “This one is not what she seems. This one stinks of death. Do you smell it?”
Kizzlorn considered for a moment. “Menerous, is she evil?”
The angel closed his eyes for a moment and said “I can’t tell. There’s a field on this door. It blocks my telling whether or not she’s evil, or undead. She could be either, or both.”
“I’m not,” the girl moaned as tears rolled down her face. “I’m not.”
Bree growled. “She is. Leave her.”
“Everyone back,” Kizzlorn said. “Be ready. Edge, open the door.” Edge went to work.
The floating skull said “Are you mad? She’ll kill you all! Don’t you know not to free attractive women you meet in dungeons? She’s a monster!”
“We don’t know not to take the company of talking skulls of dead friends,” Kizzlorn observed. “Shut up.” The skull floated back, sullenly.
The door was opened and Edge jumped back. The battle-ready Knights watched as Beckamy collapsed onto the corridor floor before them. She was dangerously thin, wearing filthy rags spotted with dried blood. She crawled forward weakly, then lay still, breathing shallowly.
“She’s not evil,” Menerous said, kneeling by her. “And she’s not undead. She is, however, dying. We must help her. Brother!” Myramus came near, and together they healed the girl’s wounds and nourished her with potions and water. Her mind, though, was still shattered.
“Muh. Get out. We have to get out. Go home. No more food.”
“Where do you live? We’ll take you there.”
“P. Poddleton. Take me to my father.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” Edge said. He caught Kizzlorn’s disapproving glare and blushed again. “By that I mean, this is a good thing, but have we the time, Mistress Kizzlorn? And will we be amply repaid for our services?” He didn’t catch himself in time to stop from saying that, and he bit his tongue, cursing himself.
“We will take her. It will take a few moments. Broldek is still healing, besides,” she said coldly to Edge. “Come.”
Together they teleported to the mouth of the Gauntlet, then again to the center of Poddleton, where the girl was returned to her grieving family. “Becka?” her father called. “BECKA!!” He wrapped his arms around his daughter and wept. The hysterical family hardly noticed the Knights at all until Beckamy introduced them. “You have our undying thanks,” her father said. “I thought my girl had been surely doomed at the hand of that monster. A vampire, did you know? Wretched thing! It’s plagued our town for too long, but we are too weak from its attacks to fight back!” He made a fist and shook it angrily.
“A vampire, you say,” Myramus murmured.
“Yes. Unholy thing. Wears all black, comes into town as he pleases and plucks our children from their beds. He is far too powerful for us to fight. All our defenses have been for naught. He is ungodly fast, and he wields the powers of the shadow.”
“All in black,” Kizzlorn said. “Supremely powerful. Alone.” The father nodded and she turned to the others. “Gods, could Crow be a vampire?”
“It might explain a lot,” Dartan said.
“Yes… Crow. A vampire. Damn!”
The father’s brow furrowed. “Crow, did you say? I don’t know the creature’s true name, but it’s an elf… Calls himself Nightwalker. Tall, thin, with a longbow and not a devil’s care for all the good in the world. ”
“Erasmus,” Dartan grumbled as they left the village. “I was wondering where he’s been.”
Kizzlorn thought for a moment and gave him a look. “Who is this ‘Erasmus’?”
“Do you remember when I told you about Jamison’s corruption? How there were two of us who spontaneously turned evil, and turned on us? Jamison was the first… Erasmus was the other. He was alive at the time… vampire hunter. Archer. Deadly. Could shoot a tossed pebble from the air at a hundred paces.”
“And he escaped?”
“Helped Jamison attack us, then fled. Never heard from him again. I looked for him, for a time, before I met my wife. Never found a thing.”
Myramus sniffled. “Now the vampire hunter is a vampire, and has joined the side of darkness.”
“Hmm,” Broldek murmured. The troll was mostly regenerated now, and only needed to regrow a few patches of skin. His face was half-covered, but the other half was an inky black mess of troll blood and twitching, glistening muscles. His yellow, unlidded eye glared about at everyone. It was most unpleasant to look at. “There’s an odd poetry in that.”
“That’s not poetry,” Myramus replied sharply. “It’s a sickening blot on your world’s history, and it will be stamped out with the rest.”
Dartan frowned at the hound archon. “’Your’ world?”
“Yes. The mortal realm ceased to be mine when I died. I’m merely here to help you defend it. Mine is the sun-blessed cirrus meadow of heaven.”
“By Pelor’s light, we will return there soon,” Menerous said piously.
“By Pelor’s light,” Myramus agreed.
Dartan spat. “There’s for Pelor’s light. Take us back to the Gauntlet, we’ve got work to do.”
They teleported. Back in the curving and circular hallway, there were no more cries of distress to be heard. Bree the skull waited here for them. “Let me guess,” she said coldly. “You returned the girl to her grateful parents. She sobbed and hugged them, and didn’t leap for anyone’s throats at any time.”
“That’s right,” Kizzlorn replied. “It would appear that you lied to us. I don’t think even Dartan doubts your treachery now.”
“Fools. Why would she attack now, with you there? She waited until you left, and is now probably feasting on the blood of her family. She was made undead and unclean, and you released her, wasting precious time in the bargain.”
Myramus drew Starfire. “I’ve had a bellyful of this skull. You’re not helpful in the least, lest ‘helpful’ means leading us into traps and ignorance of the truth.”
“Not helpful, am I?” The skull shouted indignantly. “I got you this far. I gave you the clues. I don’t know why I’m here, but I do know that I remember my childhood friend. Dartan, can you have forgotten our time together, growing up? Can you have forgotten our time playing with stick-swords and pretend wands? How can you let them destroy me?”
“I…” Dartan the Godless paused and thought. “It cannot be said that I truly trust you, but I do believe we should let you live.”
“That is enough, I suppose,” she said with a hurt voice. “In time perhaps you will come to understand my worth. For example… I can tell you that the way lies through the door at the end of the hallway.” They turned and looked down the hall, seeing a large stone door. It had a number of keyholes. “There’s a hole for every key you’ve taken. They will open the door. It is trapped with a spell, but I’m certain your thief will be able to deactivate it.”
“I’m not a thief,” Edge said. He cautiously moved up to the door and examined it. After a moment, he said “She’s right. Lightning trap. Tough to spot.” He dismantled it.
Kizzlorn knotted her brow and glanced at the skull. “All right. What’s beyond that door, then?”
“Everything. It’s coming quickly to me now… This is the gate to Thuriaq’s prison door. The room where Crow is laboring to release the fiend. He is accompanied by his minions. I think he will be done soon…”
Kizz turned to the others. “Okay. We have to trust to this. Let’s form a quick strategy and move in, taking down what we can as fast as possible. Myramus, you move in quickly with that sword of yours. Broldek and Dartan, follow him, stay hidden from any spells or missile fire, and crack some skulls when you get close enough. Edge, try to dart in and stick to the shadows. Menerous, you and I will try to provide them with distracting targets, under protection of shield spells in the rear. Lots of lights and sound, understand?” Menerous nodded. “Does anyone have anything to say?”
The Knights drew their weapons and readied. “May the hand of Pelor guide us,” Myramus said. “May the Shining One lend his grace to us in this, our deadliest hour.”
Dartan laughed. “May your Shining One choke on the souls he devours.” The Maximus brothers looked hurt at this, but didn’t answer.
Broldek smiled. “I’ve got nothin’ to say. Let’s go in there and start swinging, for the good of the land.”
Snooky said
I just want you all to know how proud my master would be, if he could see you now. If the gods are good he will be able to tell you this himself, in a few moments.
Edge’s ears were red. He cursed softly. “Hell with it. Kizzlorn… for good luck.” He jumped up and planted a quick, gentle kiss on her lips. “And because I might not live to do it later.” He turned away in his embarrassment.
Kizz stared after him, shocked. She’d known of the halfling’s feelings for her, but she never thought he’d dare to be so bold. She opened her mouth to say something scathing for the offense, but decided against it. Instead, she collected herself and said “May our swords and spells strike true. Let’s go.”
They placed each of the keys in a hole, and turned them. When the last key was turned, the door clicked. Myramus kicked the door in and they ran inside.
What happened next was unexpected, even for the Knights, who were expecting something bizarre and deadly. An arrow took Myramus in the arm from the moment he was exposed to the room. He cried out and Starfire clattered to the ground. Then, the whole party was awash in bright blue flame. Laughter came to their ears as they scrambled into the room, burning, looking for cover and watching for oncoming attacks.
“Welcome!” a voice called. It sounded like the hissing of a knife being scraped along a block of ice. Another
twang! noise was heard, and an arrow thunked into a chink in Dartan’s armor, where his breastplate and shoulder plate met. The Godless grunted through clenched teeth and looked for somewhere to hide. There was no place to run to. The room they’d entered was a vast hall with far walls, high ceilings, no furniture or cover to hide behind whatsoever… it was a perfect spot for a master archer. Erasmus Nightwalker stood at the far end of the hall, behind a waist-high stone wall. He was firing arrows at them at an incredible speed. Menerous took an arrow in the belly and he shouted, more in surprise than pain.
“FIGHT! MOVE IN AND FIGHT!” Kizzlorn was holding an arm back to hurl a fireball spell. “HIT THEM HAR-“ her words caught in her throat when she saw the figure standing behind Erasmus. A tall, thin wraith of a man wearing white dragonhide armor and a skull for a mask. A vast crimson cape hung from his shoulders and his bony hands clutched a powerful broadsword. “Vek,” Kizz whispered, the wind taken out of her. The spell in her hand fizzled away as her concentration blew apart like leaves before a gale.
Vek, oh gods, Vek, he’s back and he’s on their side HE’S ON THEIR SIDE… She watched in horror as he walked forward, brandishing his sword.
Dartan ran forward to meet it and an arrow struck him in the kneecap. The force of the arrow’s flight punctured his armor and plunged into the tensed ligament beneath. He didn’t scream as he stumbled. “DARTAN, THAT’S VEK, LOOK OUT-“ Vek raised his sword and swung it down against Dartan, who blocked the blow, kneeling on the ground in a spreading pool of blood.
“No,” Dartan said as he counterattacked. His sword stuck straight through the undead’s chest and drove him back two paces, pushing all the way in to the hilt. “It’s Metus.” The death knight’s eyes glowed sickly red in his skull as he bore down on the warrior.
Edge was quicker. He bounded across the room in two leaps and ran up the wall, dodging arrows as he did. He flipped to the ground and landed on the balls of his feet, behind Metus. He prepared a devastating wyvern fist attack, that would surely shatter the thing’s brittle ribs… but he froze, then screamed. He fell to the ground clutching his head in agony.
Broldek was stepping forward, one foot at a time, holding his greatsword with one hand and trying vainly with the other to beat out the flames that enveloped him. The troll inferno walked slowly and surely towards the cloaked figure at Erasmus’ right side, who continued to cover him with fire from afar. A jet of flame shot from Crow’s hands, never once ceasing to bathe Broldek in fire, and the troll never once ceased walking forward to kill him.
“Milady!” Menerous coughed. Three arrows were stuck in him. “They were ready for us. They knew our strategy. We must pull…” as his mouth formed the word
back, an arrow plunged into his eye socket and he choked once, then fell, and lay dead.
“BROTHER!!!” Myramus leaned down to pick up his sword with his other hand. It was invaluable to him, and one of the party’s greatest assets in combat. The sword skittered out of his reach, however, and flew away, to slap into a waiting hand. Crow held it, smiling. With his right hand he covered Broldek in flame, and his left held Starfire. On his right hand was a glittering gold ring- one of many- this one marked with dozens of tiny gems in all colors. It was a Ring of Dragon Madness, and it was crippling Edge’s senses.
“Fall down,” Crow said, bemused, to Broldek. The troll took two more steps, then one, then paused, and dropped his greatsword. He crumpled to the ground, a smoldering husk.
Kizzlorn cast spell after spell from the rear of the room, watching her friends lose. Dartan was quickly being driven under by Metus’ sword blows. Edge was screaming, both nostrils bleeding slow rivers. Myramus ran forward in rage, barely thinking of how to attack. Erasmus let him come within five feet before he shot him through the throat with a particularly barbed arrow. “No,” Kizzlorn sobbed. “We were close.”
“You were!” Crow said. “Sadly, you made the mistake of allowing us to see your every weakness before you arrived. I’m afraid we had help. Erasmus, cripple her and show her what I mean.” As quickly as that, two arrows thunked into her arms, and she screamed, falling to her knees. Something floated past her shoulder. She looked up, and through the tears she saw Bree fly over to Erasmus, who clutched it from behind and made it speak, as a puppet might.
“Thank you so very much for believing in me, Dartan,” he said mockingly through the skull. “I guess you’ve still got some blind faith left in you, eh? Also, thanks for letting me study the weak points in your armor through the corpse of a childhood friend. That was kind of you.”
Dartan, dying from a dozen wounds, bared his teeth and forced one leg up from kneeling. He caught Metus’ sword in a gauntleted hand. It cut him deeply, but he ignored the pain and ripped it from the death knight’s grasp, then smashed him in the face with its pommel. He stood shakily, dropping the sword. “You fiend,” he wheezed. “I hate you.”
“Hate’s all you ever do, Dartan. Be a good sport and lie down, won’t you?” Erasmus put an arrow through Dartan’s chest, but he didn’t fall. He walked forward as Erasmus fired shot after shot into him.
“Kill you. Gonna… kill you.” Dartan reached up and snapped an arrow off, gripping it in his fist. He rained blood on the ground as he walked. He stumbled up to Erasmus and yelled, plunging the arrow through the large iron circle he wore, into his chest. The vampire stood and smiled at him. Dartan looked down and saw that the arrow’s broken tip protruded from his back, but did not pierce his flesh. The arrow had disappeared through the iron ring, which acted as some kind of gate, allowing the arrow to pass harmlessly through his body. Dartan stared in horror, and died there. He fell down.
Metus had found his footing and raised his sword to kill Edge. The halfling’s legs kicked weakly, and he looked at Kizzlorn over the blood and bodies. “I love you,” he said before he was killed.
Kizzlorn’s head lolled against her chest as she cried. Her shoulders shook from the sobs, and she made no sound. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on her arms where the arrows had struck her. They mingled with the blood. She closed her eyes and wept as she heard Crow’s boots step closer to her. She looked up at him. Her chin trembled.
He looked down and smiled sadly. “Dartan said it himself, a few hours ago. ‘He WANTS us to reach the end, so that we can fail there- and only there.’ True enough. Now that you’re here, you’ll make a fine welcome home gift for father. Erasmus, bring the mirror.”
Kizzlorn saw Erasmus carry a gilded mirror from behind the stone wall. In its reflection was a tired looking old man with a white beard, frozen in time. He set it at the front of the room, overlooking the bodies of all the Knights. Kizzlorn also saw that the very far wall, where her enemies had attacked from, had a large circle made of milky white orbs half-embedded in the stone. Only one orb was missing. Six orbs lined the wall, one was absent from a hemispherical keyhole. The gate of Thuriaq, with six of the keys in place.
Crow circled Kizzlorn, listening to her pained breathing. “You came to die, and die you did. Very well, I might add. That Dartan doesn’t go down without one hell of a fight, does he? Thuriaq will rise, in a moment,” he pulled from his sleeve the seventh orb. It shimmered in the torchlight. “and he will smite the world. Then, when it is done, I will wake him and he will fall from his mirror, to see that his brave young heroes died trying to save it all. He’ll rush to the surface of Oerth, some distance overhead, and see the black ash of the landscape. Nothing alive. Everything dead.”
“Dead,” Erasmus smiled.
”Dead,” Metus croaked.
“Then his heart will break and I will have won. I will come to him and destroy him. It will be easy… there will be no fight in him. Then, I can kill myself and be done, having done the vilest deed ever known.”
He walked to the back wall, holding the orb. “This has been a long time coming, Kizzlorn, and I must say it’s been incredible. I’m only sorry you and your friends won’t be alive to see the world die.” He placed the orb in the seventh hole and all seven lit up, glowing brightly, white-hot. They flushed yellow, then red, then stopped glowing and turned black. A crack smote the center of the ring and a deep rumbling was heard in the ground.
“It is done. Several hundred of the fiercest imprisoned titans are now free. Thuriaq is released. He will rise some miles outside of Greyhawk, from where he is imprisoned. We must go and watch. Have you anything final to say?” Crow, Erasmus, and Metus watched her.
She broke. The last sob went from her, and her head hung down. She mumbled “Just kill me. Please, kill me.”
Crow waved a hand. “Erasmus?” He raised his bow and put an arrow through her head. “Come, gentlemen. We’ve got the end of everything to enjoy. Let’s be off.” The black wizard teleported them away.
The Knights of Spellforge Keep all lay dead. The room was silent. In a moment, something rustled. Snooky the cat slowly crept from Kizzlorn’s knapsack. He’d heard everything, and was in the absolute blackest despair the little pseudodragon had ever known. It was all he could do to approach Gorgoldand’s mirror and weep, silently begging forgiveness for failing him in the end.
Above, in the world of men, the ground shook. Thunder rumbled everywhere. Lightning forked over Greyhawk, and the air smelled like blood. In a field where nothing ever grew, the dirt churned and smoked. The trees nearby burst into flame, and the clouds overhead boiled. A monster the size of a castle clawed its way up from the ground. Its lungs thundered like titanic bellows working a pit of coals the size of a lake. Thuriaq raised his black horns into the sky and smelled the night air. The Tarrasque opened its jaws and screamed.
Kizzlorn’s eyes fluttered and opened.
She inhaled deeply, then coughed the dust from her lungs. She sat up. Discarded arrows and blood lay all about the floor, but she was unharmed, and glowing white. The glow faded, and left. Her last memories came to her and she looked about for Crow, eyes wide. The fear and pain of her dying moments came home to her, and she was haunted. Worst was the end, when she had broken. Spirits are hardy things, and Kizzlorn’s among the most defiant on Oerth, but the sorceress found herself empty inside when all she met was death at the end of the quest.
Death, she thought.
I died… I remember. I did. why am I here now?
She looked around again, this time seeing the mirror with the frozen dragon wizard within. She saw all of her friends dead on the ground… save for Dartan, who was sitting with his back to the wall, reading a piece of paper. He looked up at her. Snooky sat in his lap. “Dartan,” Kizz gasped. “What happened? Why are we alive?”
His eyes went back to his paper. He seemed oddly numbed, she noticed. The paper was the note he’d been given, supposedly from his wife. “It was all a lie. She was lying the whole time,” he said quietly.
“Who? Your wife?”
“No… Bree.” He looked back at her, eyes wide and hands trembling. “Bree was lying about it all.”
“What…” She shook her head and tried to come to her senses. She repeated herself. “Dartan, why are we alive?”
“The soul-beings. When we defeated Ashardalon. The glowing soul-beings came and gave us a gift. ‘Should you die… you will be reborn, immediately, at full strength. Then shall the gift be spent, and you will live on’ We forgot about it. Crow didn’t even know. Now we’re back.” He folded the paper, placed it in his belt-pouch, and stood. Snooky jumped from his lap as he rose and ran to Kizzlorn, who hugged him fiercely.
“We’re back,” Kizz said.
Nearby, Edge shuddered as he gasped and coughed, glowing white as Kizz had, and Dartan before her. He sat up and touched the place on his chest where Metus had stabbed him through. The skin was whole. “What… Kizzlorn, we… Where? Oh gods…”
Broldek’s corpse began to glow, and the blackened crust fell away from him in a rain of ash as he shifted. His entire body was whole again, and he awoke with the same confusion the others had. Kizzlorn comforted the two as best she could, and explained why they yet lived. Like herself and Dartan, they’d forgotten all about the gift of the Soul Children in the Bastion.
Now, they stood and noticed that Myramus and Menerous- who had, of course, not been along for that adventure- were still laying dead on the ground. As only the two of them had the ability to resurrect the dead, none of the living Knights had any means to bring them back… the brothers Maximus would have to remain dead for the time being. Time, of course, was of the essence… Thuriaq was awake, and walking the Oerth above. They could feel the tremblings beneath their feet, even from here.
“What now,” Kizzlorn asked nervously.
“The mirror,” Snooky said. “Gorgoldand. We must free him.”
They all looked at the tall mirror, and the white-bearded man frozen within. Kizzlorn approached the mirror and touched the glass. “Yes. How do we free him?”
“Jamison freed Acessiwal by shattering his mirror, some time ago,” Dartan said as he drew his sword. “Stand back.” The others crowded behind him, and Dartan swung his sword into the mirror.
What they didn’t know was that a protective spell had been placed on this mirror. Crow knew Gorgoldand’s imprisonment was worth insuring, so he’d likened the mirror’s hardness to a crystal shard, and hidden that shard deep within a dark place in the world. So long as the shard came to no ill, the mirror would be nearly impossible to destroy. No one knew where it was, and no one cared, as long as no one even knew it existed. When Crow had conquered the Oerth, he would recover the crystal and destroy it, thus allowing him to free Gorgoldand and fulfill his evil plans.
What Crow didn’t know was that only an hour before, a small group of adventurers had come upon the shard and mistaken it for long-lost treasure. Grumbar, Horacio, and Meepo had delved deeply into a cavern, believing Crow to have been there some years past, based on the testimony of a nearby villager. They’d fought and slain many foul creatures, and in the end found the crystal shard.
Meepo’s eyes had grown large with greed. “Ooooh, shiiiiiny!”
“Shut up, that’s mine,” Grumbar had said. “I was the one that beat the big monster.”
“You don’t eeven know what kind of monstair eet was,” Horacio’d argued. “Let me have eet!”
They’d fought over the shard, and it was passed quickly from hand to hand. Meepo had bitten Grumbar’s ankle, who’d screeched and dropped the crystal, which was caught by Horacio, who was tackled by the other two. This went on for some time, until the combative compatriots discovered that in the fray, they’d smashed the crystal to dust from their roughhousing.
“Oh, NO!” Grumbar had cried out. “The treasure!”
Meepo sat on the ground and wept. “We, the Impossibly Invincible Knights of Kobold Fury and Kitchen Mastery and Bread, set out to beat up bad things on night when bad things rise. What good have we done? We fight over treasure, not kill many beasties, and Meepo get splinter.”
Grumbar then picked the kobold up and hugged him. “It’s alright. We did good, I think.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Remember that goblin you killed? He was fierce! I think you may have helped save the world tonight.”
Horacio rolled his eyes. “You two are patheteek.” Then, the fighting had started anew amongst the Impossibly Invincible Knights of Kobold Fury and Kitchen Mastery and Bread. May their tale someday be told…
Now, in the cavern beneath the Oerth where the Knights stood around Gorgoldand’s mirror, Dartan’s sword connected with the glass. It burst apart into glittering fragments that seemed to light the air with a thousand tiny stars for just a second. The glass crashed to the stone floor and Gorgoldand fell to the ground. He breathed and lay still as the dust settled about him.
Snooky jumped out of Kizzlorn’s arms and approached his master.
Gorgoldand. Welcome back.
The old man turned his head slowly and looked at the cat. “Who?” he said as his mind came back to life from over two decades of being trapped in the mirror. He reached out and petted his old friend. “Snooky. What… where am I? I don’t remember a thing.” He looked up and saw the Knights. Surprise showed on his face. “Dartan? Is that you? You look so old.” He sat up and the cat curled in his arms happily.
“I’m still not as wizened as you, old man, “ Dartan said with a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you.”
Kizzlorn knelt by Gorgoldand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. My name is Kizzlorn Spellforge. I have come a long way to see you. We all have.” She gestured back towards her friends. “This is Edge, and the big one there is Broldek.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” Gorgoldand said, sounding tired. “What has happened? The recent past is a cloud in my mind.”
“There is a lot to tell, and a very short time to tell it in,” Dartan said. He began talking. He spoke of Jamison’s fall to evil, which of course saddened the wizard greatly. He told of how Gorgoldand had been imprisoned by Jamison in a mirror for over twenty years and hidden, while his fiendish plots developed. He spoke of Thuriaq, the grandest titan, and of how Crow had plotted to raise him just to destroy his adopted father after ruining the Oerth’s life. Finally, he told how they had come to free him, and how the destiny of the entire world rested in tonight’s doings.
It was all briefly summarized for the wizard, and when it was done, the heartbreak on his face was clear. He’d spent his life doing good and raising others to a position where they could do good. The very idea that his beloved son had turned evil, and that the good part of him died, was more terrible than anything they could have told him. His head hung against his chest in despair, and not even Snooky could properly console him.
“Thuriaq, by the gods,” he said. “And my son did it all.”
Kizzlorn put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not your son, now. He’s a dread agent of evil. Your son went to the next world. This ‘Crow’ is merely a poor shadow of what he was. Soon, all will be lost… but it’s not too late. Thuriaq is freed, but it’s never too late.”
Gorgoldand knotted his brow. “You are right, Kizzlorn. I’m glad Dartan had the good sense to take on such sensible companions. It’s never too late. Crow locked up the one thing he knew was a real threat to his plot. The one real threat to the elder Tarrasque, Thuriaq.” He stood up. “That threat was me, and I am released.” Grim hunger burned on his face. He brought the brothers Maximus back to life once more, and they crackled with new energy. The astonished and humbled brothers bade Gorgoldand many thanks, and then spoke their usual introduction, followed by a bopping of fists in the air. The wizard seemed to like their fiery spirit.
“I’ve found something,” Edge called from the low wall where Erasmus had stood. “Over here.” He lifted a large sack.
Myramus said “Edge, who cares? We need to ACT.”
“You’ll care about what’s inside this.”
Gorgoldand walked over and looked inside the sack. “By the gods,” he whispered. “We may well win this yet.” He turned to the others. “Friends! All is not lost. Come!” He took the sack from Edge and held it.
Then, in the vast stone cavern, Gorgoldand changed. Sparkles of magic danced in the air around him. His elderly human form rippled and distorted, and he grew, turning golden in color. Edge jumped back to avoid being squashed as the wizard transformed, growing ever larger. His neck elongated, his arms grew claws, and scales bubbled all over him. His wings folded behind his back, and Gorgoldand the dragon stood before them with orange eyes glowing like torches. He was, by far, the largest dragon any of them had ever seen… save for Dartan and Snooky, of course, who had seen him in his true form before.
I AM GORGOLDAND, MASTER OF DRAGONS, AND I SAY WE ARE NOT DONE. THE TIDES OF WAR ARE UPON US, BUT WE ARE NOT DROWNED. NOT YET! WE WILL FIGHT!!. The Knights screamed their war cries and lifted their weapons.
CLIMB INTO MY ARMS, AND STEEL YOURSELVES. They did as they were told, and Kizzlorn covered them with a protective magic shell. The immense dragon clutched them closely and turned his head upward. He blasted the cavern’s ceiling with magical fire, hotter than any blaze on all of Oerth. The ceiling’s stone melted almost immediately, or became so hot that it shattered to dust from the sudden energy. Then, the dragon coiled his legs and rocketed upwards, shearing through layers of the planet’s crust. He turned the sack upside down and allowed its contents to plummet down beneath them. Even through the crashing the dragon made through the stone, he heard what he had freed from the sack, screeching and fluttering. Bedrock, frozen ground, and soil alike were ripped through easily as the dragon breathed and burrowed upward.
Suddenly, they flew up into the night sky above the Greyhawk countryside. The moon was large and yellow like old bone. Beneath them, dozens of dragons were shooting up from the hole they made. Dragons erupted from the ground like a geyser, and arced up into the air, screaming for freedom. Hundreds of dragons, now, of all different colors. Blue, white, silver, copper, green, black, orange, yellow, purple, steely-gray, and even a few large reds and golds. The dragons of Greyhawk, captured by Crow over the course of two decades, and held prisoner in a sack of mirrors as possible threats against the titans he was freeing all over the world tonight.
None was so large as Gorgoldand.
BROTHERS!! the great gold dragon cried.
HEAR ME! I KNOW YOU ARE CONFUSED. YOU HAVE SPENT TOO LONG IMPRISONED, AND NOW ARE FREE, THIRSTING FOR VENGEANCE AND FIRE. YOU SHALL HAVE IT! ALL OVER THE OERTH, AT THIS MOMENT, YOUR CAPTOR HAS RELEASED HUNDREDS OF TITANS. THURIAQ, HIMSELF, IS FREED.
A large green spoke.
THURIAQ? THE TITANS? GOOD… THEY WILL CRUSH THE HUMANS AND RID US OF THE SQUEALING PINK THINGS THAT IMPRISONED US. I SAY LET THEM HAVE DONE. Several dragons murmured agreement.
NO, Gorgoldand said.
ALL THE HUMANS ARE NOT TO BLAME FOR THE CRIMES OF ONE. THE ONLY WAY TO HAVE TRUE REVENGE ON YOUR CAPTOR IS TO UNDO HIS PLAN!
A magenta dragon stroked his tendril-like whiskers.
WHAT WILL YOU DO, IF WE ARE TO DESTROY THE TITANS?
I WILL TAKE THE FIGHT TO THURIAQ HIMSELF. IF WE DO NOT FIGHT TONIGHT, MY FRIENDS, THE TITANS WILL GROW TOO POWERFUL FOR EVEN US. THEN, THEY WILL OVERRUN US, LEAVING THE ENTIRE WORLD DEAD IN ITS WAKE! I WILL NOT HAVE THIS, NOT HERE, IN THIS WORLD I LOVE! The dragons growled together.
FLY, AND FIND THE TITANS. FIND THEM WHERE THEY RISE, AND FIGHT. THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE- GO! FLY! Gorgoldand flapped his wings, rising before the moon.
TAKE BACK THE WORLD!! FLY!!!
Each dragon roared and flew. The dragons spread outward from the area at a demon’s pace to all the corners of the world. They spewed flame and lightning as they went, looking like shooting stars from the ground as they shot across the night sky.
Gorgoldand himself turned east towards the city of Greyhawk. He put the Knights on his back, who clutched at his back-spines and felt the wind on their faces.
Menerous turned to Menerous. “Pelor is good, brother!”
His brother laughed and they smashed fists together, agreeing. “Pelor is good!”
On the horizon, something huge and black was moving across Greyhawk’s high skyline. Smoke and fire rose from its path. Gorgoldand flew harder, and the wind screamed past their ears as Greyhawk loomed larger. There, they looked upon Thuriaq, the horned demon-god thrown out of hell. It was taller than any building it stood amidst, and its eyes shone pale yellow as it devoured and destroyed.
Erasmus, floating high above the devastation with Crow and Metus, looked westward when his eye caught a glint of something. “What is that?”
Crow glanced up and his eyes flew wide. “No.” He screamed. “NO!!!”
The dragon in the distance screeched and bellowed fire as his wings pumped him on. The Knights of Spellforge Keep were riding Gorgoldand, ready for war, shouting oaths with their weapons held high.
MORE TO COME…
