Gary Gygax - Artifact of Evil

"Bastardling man!" Keak screamed at Gord in a voice mixed with pain and fury. That he had dared to attack him was bad enough, but worse still was the effect of the slight cut. The elven mage had begun a casting, and the sudden pain of the wound on his forehead had spoiled the dweomer. "Now, you feeble fart, I shall give you no mercy!"

Gord ducked low in his saddle, urged his horse ahead, and sent an attack directly at Keak. Obmi was cursing, and his hammer seemed to roar as it passed over Gord's head, ruffling his dark hair. Had Gord not suddenly crouched, the weapon would have struck him full on! His slashing blow struck the elf solidly this time, and the spell-binder gasped in real pain at that. Gord heard the loud whirling of the hammer as it flew back to its wielder's hand. He suddenly realized that dark figures raced past the little drama without bothering to notice what was happening. The call to battle was sounding, and there was no time to spare for a minor roadside dispute.

A string of glowing darts leaped from Keak's outstretched hand, and their impact brought terrible pain to Gord's chest. The rush of agony did not prevent his own attack, however, and the razorlike edge of his shortsword nearly severed the elf s rigid arm. Keak shrieked in pain at this wound, and Gord managed to get close and deliver a double attack with dagger and sword before the mage could cast another spell upon him. Both blades sank home, and the elf reeled in his saddle. Obmi was cursing nearby, but the dwarf was unable to cast his enchanted hammer into the confused melee for fear of hitting Keak.

Flames gushed from Keak's fingertips, searing both Gord and his horse with their licking tongues. The animal screamed and reared, throwing the young thief from its back. Gord tried desperately to hold on, but all he managed to do was pull the spear from its lashings as he fell. This slowed his tumble, and allowed him to land on his feet holding the spear. Sword and dagger were somewhere on the ground. The burned horse was gone into the woods, crashing and blundering its way from the torment it had just suffered. Obmi's whirling hammer struck Gord on the shoulder and sent him lurching toward Keak, who was readying a fresh spell.

Without considering it, Gord stabbed with the long-bladed weapon, managing to put the point well into the elfs thigh. Then he withdrew the spear quickly, threw it flit at the dwarf, and bent to retrieve his sword and poniard from where they had fallen, for the cat's vision he now had enabled him to see both weapons clearly.

The spear flew true, striking Obmi in the chest as he was extending his arm to receive the returning hammer. The metal of his armor saved him, for the steel of the spear's head barely pierced his flesh. The blow caused him to drop the hammer, though, and the dwarf was forced to clamber down from his saddle to recover his prized weapon. As an afterthought Obmi flung the spear toward his adversary, but it went harmlessly past Gord and struck a tree bole.

To prevent the elven spell-caster from his magical work, Gord slapped the flat of his sword blade across the elfs horse with all the force he could. The animal leaped and bucked, kicking wildly when the blow fell, and Keak pitched from its back, just as Gord had been dismounted but a moment previously.

By this time the dwarf had managed to pick up his hammer and climb back atop his horse, and Gord had to dive to avoid taking another blow from the flying weapon. Gord continued the leap as a series of rolls, flipped to his feet, and struck a blow at the elf as he regained his feet. The blade cut through the robe Keak wore and seared the flesh of his skinny body as it passed, but it was no mortal wound. Gord mentally thanked his patron deities for Obmi's decision to leave his other two guards behind as unnecessary encumbrances to his plan. Had those two been here now, the young thief knew, he would have been dead. As it was, things were looking very desperate.

Keak was babbling rapid, unintelligible syllables now, while Obmi kept Gord busy ducking his hurled hammer. Gord decided to try to finish Keak and then see what the dwarf could do one-on-one. He sprang close and thrust both blades full into the thin body of the elf just as Keak was loosing his fell dweomer at his adversary. Keak managed a startled squawk, then lunged limply, suspended from the blades that passed through heart and liver.

Gord made no sound at all, for he and his weapons had been turned to gray stone.

"So much for both of you, then," the dwarf hissed, looking upon the strange tableau with some surprise. "Who would have thought a man such as that one could have done for a mage of your power, Keak?" he mused. "Have you no cackle for me, elf? No, I suppose not, for your foul spirit must be screaming its way to the Abyss even as your dead ears fail to hear my words… But you haven't failed me, Keak! You, and Stoat too, have served me well. My thanks, Stoat, for ridding me of this one who always schemed to usurp me. Keak, you have rid me of one who was bent on my downfall, of that I am sure. Now I leave you, and may you rot for eternity in torment!" So saying, Obmi rode away to the north once again, mimicking the dead elfs maniacal cackling for a time as he went.

A great battle raged in the valley called the Gathering Place by the minions of Iuz. Mordenkainen and his captains had set a careful trap. Had Lord Ormuz brought Obmi to the place immediately, the plan might just have succeeded, for the whole deployment and attack were well done. But Ormuz did not bring Obmi and the Second Key to his grand pavilion in the grassy clearing, and a company of unusually careful scouts in Mordenkainen's force discovered enemies lurking at the western end of the vale. Most of these gnolls had been slain on the spot, but a few managed to escape and raise the alarm. Mordenkainen had no choice but to close the jaws of his hidden array and hope that the prize lay within.

Bands of wild elves and their sylvan kin were thrust along either side of the valley. Wood gnomes accompanied these elves, and all were hated foes of the humanoids. They would neither give nor ask quarter of Iuz's foul troops. At the head of the valley were ranked the soldiers of the archmage — trained units of men and demi-humans well armed with bows and arbalests, pole arms, and the full panoply of war. Scattered throughout these stout companies were many minor spell-casters of both clerical and magical sort, while Mordenkainen stood with the archmage Bigby and the seven other mages and wizards who, with Bigby, formed the Magical Circle of Eight. When Ormuz's camp sounded the alarm, the army of Mordenkainen rolled forth to bring the enemy to battle.

The two arms of the force held fast in the woods, while the main body of the army came marching across the width of the vale toward the humanoids. The flanking companies were growing stronger as the movement occurred, for as the central mass came closer to the foe, they freed flanking units that likewise moved eastward. The long, inverted U-shape of Mordenkainen's array was slowly changing to resemble a small, tipped C-shape, with the open portion along the secret roadway that ran from south to north within the eastern heart of the sprawling Vesve Forest. All this occurred over a period of hours, of course, with much fighting and magical exchange taking place.

Ormuz himself was a potent archmage, and with him was the high cleric called Patch, plus an assemblage of dozens of lesser magic-users, clerics, shamans, and witch doctors — the latter two sorts of spell-workers being of humanoid sort exclusively. At the first onset of Mordenkainen's host, the servants of the vile cambion began casting their spells. They were met and answered by the advancing army, of course. Some terrible losses were initially incurred thus by both sides, but the lesser spell-binders were exhausted or slain, while the greater neutralized each other for a time.