Gary Gygax - City of Hawks

Moving faster than he should have considering his condition, Gord bounded to the sarcophagus where Imprimus had been spending his dormant period. As soon as he thrust the sword inside the coffin, he saw it. The necklace was laid out in a neat circle near the head of the box. as though Imprimus had been using it for a pillow. Even as he thought about the horrible thing that had until recently possessed them, and what else they probably had been through during the last many years, Gord felt a shudder of pleasure and awe as he lifted the necklace and viewed the nine black gems in their settings. Pleasure, awe… but not really recognition, and certainly not recollection. They were his — somehow he knew that-but he did not know how or why.

Gord gently rolled up the necklace and tucked it into a side pocket of the pouch that hung at his belt. Suppressing his emotions, he told himself that there was time later to ponder what to do with his prize; right now he still had to worry about making his way back out of this awful place.

The outer cave was dark. The strange lamp had burned out during his battle with the greater ghouls and the awful gloam-creature. Gord did not care, because the crystal blade illuminated his path. Each step was painful. The attacks of the vampiric lich had hurt him in both body and in soul. Gord felt tired and weak, and he hurt from the wounds inflicted by talons and teeth. It would be long before Gord recovered from the effects of this battle, and he knew it.

With steps that lagged more and more all the time, he traversed the length of the narrow tunnel and crawled eventually out into the cave where Imprimus had fed his ghoul and ghulaz hounds the leavings from his table-the bloodless corpses of those shadowfolk drained by his insatiable need for blood and lust for stolen life energy.

“Smokemane! Hotbreath!” No lion answered the call. Then Gord saw there were lions in the place, but they were dead. Some combat had occurred here during the time he was confronting Imprimus. The evidence showed that ghouls had returned, and gloams as well, for several of them lay torn and mangled among the half-dozen of the big cats who had died in the fighting with Imprimus’ minions. One was the huge old Smokemane, but of the other big lion, or the three missing lionesses there was no trace.

Taking a moment, Gord went to each of the slain cats, touching them tenderly, one by one. “Goodbye, friend and ally. May your journey through the infinite be forever peaceful and serene,” he murmured to each in turn. Then, the crystal sword shedding its pale light to show him the way, Gord left the charnel cave and followed the route that the fleeing ghouls had taken when he and his escort had first entered the place.

The stink of rotting flesh was so great that Gord was unable to tell if ghouls or lions or both were nearby. The adit to the small cavern was a natural passage, some fault that bent and jogged in a crazy manner as it wormed its way through the strata of shadow-rock. After what seemed an eternity of plodding progress, the young adventurer finally reached the surface of the Plane of Shadows. It was alight with strange silvers and pearl hues, now that it was not awash with the monochromatic gray-whiteness of Twilight or cloaked by the gloom of Snuffdark. In short, although even at its best this was a world of somber tones, it seemed to the young adventurer that he had just emerged into the bright sun and blue sky of a spring morning on Oerth.

“You live, lord!” The roared greeting came from Hotbreath. The big cat actually bounded to Gord and placed his massive forepaws upon the young man’s shoulders, nearly toppling him over in the process.

“You are much too heavy!” Gord managed to gasp, laughing in joy as he shoved the lion off and stood panting. “I am glad you too have survived!” Man and lion spoke together for a moment, Gord relating the struggle against Imprimus, and the dark-maned Hotbreath telling how ghouls and shadowkin had both come to attack him and his comrades when the murk of Snuffdark began to lift.

“That is why we left, Gord,” the big male growled.

“We know by instinct and inner feelings too when the gloom of the time is passing. When it Was gone and you did not appear, we thought you dead. We are no match for such as that one, the gloam you call Imprimus, so we sought escape, having done all we could to bring harm to the evil ones.”

Holding fast to the torn and bloodied mane, Gord said earnestly, “You did so much, friend-you and your pride, Smokemane and his too! — that there is naught I can say to adequately convey my thanks. Shadowking too will know of the sacrifices and service of your kind, and perhaps there will be peace and an end to the animosity between him and the lions of shadow hereafter. Now I must go and seek the lord of this plane, for if I remain here much longer, I know that never again will I be able to return to my own world.”

“We too must seek our places. Smokemane’s pride must be cared for-some females and cubs remain still, you know. They will now join mine until one of his sons is grown and able to form a new pride to hunt over the territory of his father and those who sired his line. As for Shadowking, what he thinks of our kind is of no import If he seeks us for sport, we will in turn hunt for him and his. To our liege, though, please do commend us. Speak well of shadow-lions to the Mastercat, and we will always be your friends.”

After an exchange of final words, the lions went away, some limping, all bearing signs from the great battle they had fought. Gord also displayed his wounds, as it were, as he slowly wended his way through the weird realm of shadow, again seeking the lord of the plane.

It would be a long, difficult trek, but the young thief meant to locate the Chiaroscuro Palace once again. Even if there was but scant hope that Shadowking would be In residence, it was the only chance he had of escaping to the world he called his own. Glowing brand of crystal upon his shoulder, Gord plodded with measured steps over the shifting surface of Shadowrealm, determined to win through or expire in the trying.

At long last, he saw spires rising on the horizon. The palace of the ruler of shadows came into view, drifting toward him as would a ship carried by a slow current.

As it came nearer, Gord stepped toward it, allowing the little island of shadows he had stood upon to slide away from him. By angling in the direction of the huge structure, he was able to arrive at the gate of the great fortress before too much more time had passed.

Even by consciously disbelieving what he saw, Gord could detect no retainers on the battlements, no heralds to alert those within of his approach. The gates of the Chiaroscuro Palace were shut fast. But as Gord came and stood before them, the mouth of a carven face upon one of these valves opened, and a toneless voice asked, “Who stands before the forbidden entrance to the Keep of Shadowking?”

“Only I,” the young man said with resignation, fighting off a feeling of boundless despair, “Gord, a wayfarer, come too late…”

Another of the wooden visages opened its mouth. “Enter, Gord, and any others who are with you. Our sovereign bids you welcome. Go to the Vault of Veils immediately.”

It took him only a little time to go to the place the magically animated face of wood had instructed him to seek. As he approached the featureless door to the chamber, the portal swung open just as the great gates to the Chiaroscuro Palace had done for him. As soon as he had stepped all the way into the room, the door banged shut and Gord was utterly alone in a space illuminated only by the pale radiance of his sword of crystal.

Suddenly the place was awash with the hues of shadow and even faint pastel colors as well. The transparent form of Shadowking appeared in the king’s seat, and spoke.