Gary Gugax - Night Arrant

"Evaleigh!" the young thief exclaimed, spinning around in a full circle so as to face the demon again, now with his sword and dagger in hand.

At the same time there appeared before Chert a trio of armored men, Aerdians Toy their dress and armor, cavaliers by bearing and words. "We guard the Overking's jewels, and no filthy barbarian from the Flinty Hills can take them from us!" the middle one boomed, drawing a bastard sword as he spoke. His companions did likewise, but then two other hulking figures, both only slightly smaller than Chert himself, stepped forward to oppose them. It was to be an even contest: three axes against three swords, barbarian hillmen fighting armored knights of Aerdi. Wild-looking, buxom women cheered on Chert and his two fellow hillmen, while sneering nobles in regal finery sat behind their cavaliers and urged them to slay their foes. A pack of shaggy hounds snarled and snapped at leather-mailed war-dogs belonging to the civilized foemen. whose pavilions showed banners of many hues and various devices. Around these tents swirled a battle between a swarm of hillmen with bows, spears, and axes who sought to overcome a well-formed company of uniformed footmen protecting a squadron of mounted cavaliers. Both sides seemed to be calling for reinforcements, and wild shouts, trumpets, and bellowing warhoms sounded in the distance.

"Stop! Are you demented?!"

Somehow the shout managed to draw Gord's attention from his life-and-death battle with the horrible demon. He spun to see who was speaking thus. Chert, too. left off his battle with the plated knight in an attempt to determine who would dare to interfere with this contest. Both young adventurers stared at Eneever Zig, who glanced back at them. The three were alone.

"Look at me. Listen to me," the wizard ordered tonelessly.

"Wha-"

"No. Do not speak, just listen. Both of you were creating things with your thoughts — thoughts you were not to have! All of those phantoms are gone now, but they can return, and they can do real damage if your minds give them form, substance, and power. This place is a deathtrap for the unwary and the untrained; undisciplined minds have no hope of survival. Thank your lucky stars that I am with you. Now," Eneever Zig said, looking at each in turn, "can you count?"

"Of course," Gord said with irritation.

"Can you?" Chert shot back, equally offended.

"Excellent! Thief, you count backward from one thousand. Hillman, you count as high as you can, use your fingers for all I care, and start again at the beginning when you can go no farther — and both of you do your counting silently!"

The wizard seated himself in his strange chair again as the two young adventurers complied with his instructions. Zig's face was a study of concentration, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, hands locked on the arms of his seat. Gord was still counting backward when he noticed a faint rocking motion underfoot. "Seven hundred seventy and nine. . seven hundred seventy and eight," he murmured under his breath as he carefully looked around to find the cause of the tremors. It took several moments, but then he finally comprehended the situation. They were on the vast, moss-covered back, of the largest turtle ever known. The monster was slowly plodding through the swirling void toward some unguessable destination.

While still counting in his mind, Gord managed to query the wizard. "This great turtle — why ponder it into existence?"

"Cease your jabbering and clear your mind of all save the numbers you count," Eneever Zig said without looking at Gord. "There is a lake we must cross, so this terrapin will take us there, for he senses water."

"Fourteen … ah … fifteen — water?" Chert asked aloud. Just after he spoke, Gord noticed a distinct difference in the motion underfoot. "A critter this size will need a big, big pond," the barbarian said with a chortle.

Zig nearly turned purple with rage. "You idiot!" he spat, and then he managed to control himself. The black, lightning-shot cloud that had formed over Chert's head vanished, and the turtle's back solidified again. "Do you think, you bumbling barbarian," Eneever began, obviously having to make an effort to keep his rage under control, "that it would be possible for you to keep your stupid thoughts to yourself?"

"Sure, but can I share a few intelligent ones with you?" Chert spat back sarcastically.

"Just count!" Eneever screeched the command.

"Ya know, Gord, I think he'd be a lot better company if only- "

"Don't think!" Both Gord and the wizard yelled at once.

"Okay, okay. You don't need to tell me twice," Chert said in a highly offended tone of voice. He resumed his counting.

A seemingly long time later Gord again sensed a change in motion. This time, the young thief noticed, they had reached the verge of the formless Realm of Thought and were embarked on a vast expanse of true water, the monstrous turtle swimming stoically upon its placid surface. Unfortunately, Chert had noticed the change too.

"Hey! What if this old mossback decides to dive-"

"Oh, no! Stop- "

It was too late. Even as Eneever Zig attempted to right the situation, the big hillman's thoughts took over. A simple, strong thought proved more powerful than the mental images from the complicated mind set of the wizard. The three found themselves immersed, sinking. Then they were just as suddenly afloat again, each riding an air-filled bladder as if mounted on a horse. The wizard was choking and muttering curses. The water around them began to bubble, and a dark shape began to rise toward them from far beneath the surface.

"That doesn't look like our turtle," Chert observed with consternation in his voice.

"Hopping Hells!" Gord shouted, tipping in his precarious seat upon the floating bag as he saw a terrible sea monster coming at them with jaws agape. Bladders vanished instantly, and all three were sitting instead on a huge square of solid iron. Of course it sank.

Eneever Zig quickly set his mind on an image of a wooden platform, and the three were soon floating on it. The raft was big and its deck was awash, but at least the three were not dunked a second time. Both the iron slab and the ravening monster of the deeps had vanished. Gord, feeling confident now, envisioned a solid line of wooden planks surrounding the edges of the raft, a boxlike work to keep the water from lapping across the planks underfoot. The latter he imagined as dry as he thought of the bulwarks. Sure enough, they were now floating in a huge, rectangular tray, garments dripping on a dry deck of solid oak.

"Not bad." Eneever Zig admitted grudgingly, "but both of you go back to counting again. I'll see that we get across."

Giant seahorses, yoked as a team, appeared and began hauling the boxy barge ahead. "Not bad yourself," Gord returned the compliment. But before Eneever had a chance to acknowledge it, mermaids of most beautiful face and form appeared on the backs of the creatures.

"Who did that?" the wizard demanded angrily, for the burdened seahorses could now barely make headway.

Chert looked sheepish. "Sorry," he said, "but those things made me remember the stories i'd heard-"

"Just count," Zig said with resignation.

"One. ." the barbarian said, and the mermaids were gone.

A rocky cliff was now visible, and a wide beach of black sand could be seen before the precipice. The seahorses were hauling them toward this place with strong motion. In a few minutes the three would be clear of the Realm of Thought and heading toward Eneever Zig's goal — whatever that was. The wizard was elated, and he exclaimed with satisfaction, "Only a handful of assorted monsters stand between us and the Ebon Well now! Be ready to fight stoutly when we land, for I believe that Bocheiris, the fish-bodied daemon, will be lurking near the tunnel we approach."