Gary Gygax - Dance of Demons

"As you wish, lady," Gellor replied. He made no further comment, and the two labored along in silence through the ever-shifting place that was the shadow world. Creatures of the sphere came to investigate, but not even the most ferocious of dark predators drew near. The three bands, Courflamme, and Gellor's kanteel too, kept all such prowling beasts and hungry monsters at a distance. In a short time the two came upon a community of the phantom-folk who were predominant in Shadowland, and in that village they found rest.

The rings they had gained from the transmutation of the three Theorparts had been used heavily. The energies locked within them were growing weak and erratic, especially since there had been no opportunity to expose them to any realm of Goodness where some restoration of their power could be made through drawing upon the forces there. In Shadowland the bands seemed very strong and bright, but anywhere else their auras would have been pale and dim. Both Leda and Gellor understood this, and both worried as to the result when they utilized the rings yet again to restore Gord to health and vigor. Would the tokens of Weal be drained dxy and become useless?

"We have no option in the matter," Gellor said flatly. "Even if we three are then stripped of our last defense against the enemy, we must bring the champion into consciousness and restore him to strength as well."

Leda agreed for many reasons, of course. After she and the bard had rested and recouped their own energy, they went to work to bring their friend back to them from his comatose state. The bands each wore gave up only a slow trickle of power, but along with the magic each of the two was able to activate without the rings, it was sufficient to bring about a gradual change.

Gord's pallor lessened, and his breathing went from shallow, rattling breaths to deep, normal ones, the sounds of one who is in deep and restful slumber. From there he was further restored, and before long he awakened and was able to speak. "Where. .?"

"In the realms of the shadows, dearest one," Leda answered softly.

"I. . hurt What did this to me? I had the foe at my mercy. …"

"Aye, old friend, that you fairly did!" Gellor said with true heartiness as he recalled the moment of Tharizdun's overthrow there in demonium. "Then the Jackal Graz'zt struck you unawares with the Eye." With few words but stark ones, the troubador recounted the whole of what had happened after Gord had been attacked and made senseless by the force of the evil relic in the demonking's hand.

"We had no help? No succor came from the beings who sent us to the battle in the Abyss?"

Leda shook her silvery tresses, her face clearly depicting her anger. "No. We were deserted there, my love. We were left to die, but Gellor and I were only just able to get you here to the safety in shadows."

"It is a place which the archfiend will easily penetrate," Gord said softly with an edge of warning plain. "We must leave soon."

"As soon as you are strong enough."

"Leda, that might be too long unless some outside force is used. It is time to draw upon the rings again."

Gellor put his calloused hand on Gord's own. "Easy, comrade. The strength of the bands is sorely diminished. I fear there is not enough to bring you to full vigor and keep their magical capacity extant. Dare we drain them dry?"

"We must," Leda ordered.

"No," Gord countermanded. "I can lean upon the force of Courflamme to get by until the rings are recharged."

"And thereafter?" the bard asked with uncertainty.

The answer was simple and given without optimism. "We take whatever measures possible to avoid the last meeting with Tharizdun whilst seeking some last chance to win."

"You mean.. ?"

Gord looked squarely at Leda, even though Gellor had spoken. "It was very nearly all I could manage to face the archfiend last time we fought Unless there is some miraculous intervention, I have no illusions regarding my fate — and so too yours. He will best me with ease, and then the multiverse will sink into unending night"

Thereafter none of them spoke much. They avoided even the phantom-folk who housed and assisted them, preferring not to have to discuss what loomed before them all. Even on the sphere of shadows the struggle was known, and it was no secret that the champion was in residence in the home of the village's elder. Before that word could spread far, Gord. Gellor, and Leda gathered their few belongings, strapped on their weapons, and made their way from the realm of shadows to another place.

The three were careful not to tell anyone their destination.

Frustration was inadequate to describe it. He had been within a hair's breadth of concluding all. and then his foe had somehow managed to get away. Tharizdun grimaced at the very thought. He reached out and grabbed a nearby slave, a female from an ancient race that had devoted itself to his service before mankind had recorded history. But she made no protest, died without outcry or pleading, and this made the archfiend even more agitated. "Is there no satisfaction anywhere?" he shouted. Nearby daemon guards cringed, and that, at least, brought him some gratification.

Just as he had finished his play with the stupid hulk that had been styled Graz'zt and sought his main opponent, the press of his own stupid followers had so obscured the field that Tharizdun had found it necessary to search for several minutes to locate the Champion of Balance. When he had finally sighted the small man, lying senseless and helpless between his two comrades, the commotion caused by routing demon lords had demanded his attention. It took but a brief interval to clear the way, send his chief minions in pursuit of the rebels, and then Tharizdun had again been at liberty to deal finally with the pesty little fellow. Gord.

It had been erroneous to allow anything to interfere with expeditlous dispatch of his adversary. The archfiend mentally flogged himself for not acting, for allowing himself a moment to gloat. The little mortal had been so absolutely defenseless, so completely at his mercyi Then Tharizdun had detected the slow accumulation of a dweomer, a spell growing about the three humans lying prone there on the slowly convulsing surface of Ojukalazogadit. Immediately upon sensing that gathering magic, he had struck, but to no avail. Perhaps something had interfered, although Tharizdun couldn't conceive of anything powerful enough, or foolish enough, to do so. With sure gestures he had summoned a force to bind the three victims in toils of powerlessness and pain. The dweomer fell upon them, yet nothing was bound. The force of his calling merely served to tumble the gnawed skull of the boy from his adversary's pouch.

"That, at least, was worthwhile," Tharizdun said softly to himself. Immediately upon spying the bony thing with its shock of yellow hair, Tharizdun snatched it up and swallowed it on the spot. Consumed it that is, after having changed his head and jaw sufficiently. The boy's head had made a satisfying crunch as he slammed crocodile-huge jaws down upon it The petty spell, cast to keep it as it was. being thus broken, the usefulness of that act was immediately evident to him, too. Spells, powers and means to tap cosmic forces came back to him in a rush as the stuff that had been locked into the child by the Lords of Light spun free and lodged once again in his true consciousness.

"He knew when he faces me that it was the only chance possible," Tharizdun thought, recalling the moment. "Gord was relying mainly on my lack of completeness. perhaps he was correct. . but the demon's act was one of wicked sort, a fitting evil; and it is I alone who am Evil! Could there have been any other result than what eventuated? No, I do not think So!"

To have gained the whole of himself again was worthwhile. To have lost his opportunity to slay Gord at a single, effortless stroke was infuriating. But there were consolations. He had completed his pack and now the three greatest hounds would hunt for and find his three little foes. Then Tharizdun would stride into the final fray without any doubt of its outcome. That was because only one thing could result. Now that he had his full faculties, he would triumph without fear of injury. The sword? That would be undone from a distance prior to actually facing Gord. Tharizdun had planned that contingency even when lacking a portion of his power. Very soon now there would be but one thorn left to extract….