Gord The Rogue - Night Arrant Part 10

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the hags ceased their brawling and sprang to their feet, scratched and disheveled.

Amid a flood of vile comments directed at each other, all four of the former combatants demanded to know what was going on. Meanwhile, seeing things as they actually were, most of the patrons of the tavern screamed and fled, faces ashen,55 legs rubbery. Only Zimp and a trio of the staunchest outlaws remained, hands on weapons, hovering near the way out, torn between duty to their masters and a desire to run in panic from the horrors they saw.

"Now see what youVe done!" the ancient crone cried. The whole night is ruined, totally ruined." the witch finished in a whine.

"Shut up," Chert said without force.

Gord was watching the hags and not liking what he saw. The crones were coming in the pair's direction, with murder in their eyes. Worse still, several other hags and witches were coming downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. "Time to get down to business," Gord said matter-of-factly to his hostage. "Have all your friends sit on the floor, hands under their b.u.ms, or it's all over for you right now!"

"Do as he says, girls," the crone cackled. "Sit on your hands while this pretty lad and I exchange a few words."

Grumbling, the hags and witches complied, making rude remarks about both Gord and his captive as they did so. Pinkus. meanwhile, clambered out from under the table where he had taken shelter during the brawl. Despite the sheepish manner in which he did so, the ehjure still managed to give Gord a withering look.

"You sit on your thumbs too, Pinkus!" Chert ordered, "or Brool and I will lower your vanity by a foot of ugly head!" As he said this. Chert hefted the 140.

huge axe menacingly. Pinkus snarled but sat.

"What are you here for, anyway?" the head witch queried. "Maybe we can work something out."

He didn't trust this crone as far as he could toss the bulging body of the mountainous ogre-magus, but this was one h.e.l.l of a tight spot. Gord lowered his weapons and said, "All right, let's cut out the forceful c.r.a.p and have a serious conference on this whole matter."

The ancient witch c.o.c.ked her head and peered birdlike at him with her beady, black eyes. Then she nodded at the young thief. "It's a deal. m*boy," she screeched so that all a.s.sembled could hear. "You and I will go upstairs and get this straight,"

she added with a salacious cackle.

In a shower of catcalls and ribald comments, Gord and the witch marched to the staircase, the crone clutching his arm smugly. As they pa.s.sed the hags. Gord heard the annis say, "Come here. Pinky, you big hunk! No sense in letting them have all the fun!" There was a squawk from the ogreling and a string of expletives from the bat-faced night hag. Then, mercifully, Gord and the crone ascended the steps and the sounds were cut off by the door of the room they entered.

"That'll hold 'em," the witch murmured as she slammed the portal.

"What the devil are you doing?" Gord demanded, reaching for his weapons again.

"Calm down, sonny," the old woman said soothingly. "It won't do to let that gaggle of trollops think we ain't doing what we ain't doing - and that's so. After all, a girl's got to have some pride," she finished with a sniff.

"Well, the only reason we're here is to see if we can come to a deal, so let's get to it," Gord said crossly.

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"Ah, rejection doesn't get any easier with age, now does it?" The old crone mused sadly. "Ah, well," she sighed and poured two stiff drinks into a pair of pewter goblets on the sideboard, took a swig from each to demonstrate neither was drugged or poisoned, and then dropped glumly down on the bed. Gord sat stiffly on a three-legged stool. Ignoring the proffered drink she held in front of him. After all. she was a witch; there were many poisons she could use to do away with a mortal that would not affect her in the least. The witch shrugged when Gord failed to reach out for the drink and then quickly downed the contents of both goblets. "They call It White lightning' on the plane where the stuff's made," the crone said with an appreciative sigh after draining her vessel. Then she continued in another vein.

"So, why don't we begin by addressing the question of why you and your chums have ruined our little scam here?"

"We had no choice," Gord said quickly. "We're under enthrallment and geas, and we had to come here."

"Let's begin at the beginning, sonny, and go until the end comes," the witch said shortly. "I don't like this whole business anymore than you do - unless maybe you'd56 like the two of us to get it on!"

"No, thanks. I'll settle for spending the time explaining," Gord countered. "Here's the story." The young thief spent the next hour relating the details of their adventure from Weird Way to Castle Flzziak, "b.u.g.g.e.r that old b.a.s.t.a.r.d Boffly, and his crony Phompton, too!" the witch said vehemently. "By the way, the name's Quodilde," she said, extending her hand. Gord took it cautiously. The witch continued. "They set you boys up - and the grand count and the king, too, or else I ain't got warts!"

"But the test-"

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"Nothing more than a farce," the crone nearly screamed. "A nasty, mean way to get back at me for my having cleverly outwitted that pious old fart and his s.e.xy old faker pal the last couple of times weVe had a contest, so to speak! You don't have a prayer of succeeding, unless ..." Her voice trailed off.

Gord was confused. "You know Good Priest Boffly and Court Wizard Phompton well enough to engage in. ah, contests?"

"Know 'em? We grew up together, the three of us did, about a hundred years back!

That namby-pamby Boffly decided to follow the straight and narrow, as they say.

Matched his spine and mind, hee, hee. hee! Old Phompy, why, he never was any great shakes at spinning a dweomer, either. I always wondered how he managed to flummox the grand count into appointing him Court Wizard. But then again, those Fizziaks were never known for their brains."

"What are we to do then?" Gord asked the witch earnestly.

Quodilde drew Gord closer and began to speak rapidly in a low tone. The young thief nodded now and again, then slapped his knee and gave a loud laugh. "That's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "How can we repay you?"

Realizing a potential error of serious magnitude, Gord drew back, but the witch only cackled lewdly and said, "No time for that now. handsome. You and your chums have to set things aright here, then get back to castle Fizziak to prove you pa.s.sed their silly test. Maybe you and I can get together some other time."

"Errr . . . I'tt be sure and drop in if I'm ever in the neighborhood again." Gord volunteered.

"That'll do." Quodilde said with a leer. "You know, I could apply a little geas of my own to make certain of it...."

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"No need for that!" Gord said quickly. "We'd just be wasting valuable time. The sooner we get going, the sooner Boffly and Phompton will get what's coming to them!

You are anxious to see that happen, aren't you?"

"Let's get going!" the witch cackled excitedly. "But you'd better make sure . .."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry!" Gord said quickly.

Quodilde gave him what she imagined to be a sensuous look. "You seem to be an honest sort," she said. "And anyway, no one can resist my charm forever. IVe got all the time in the world to wait for you to show up and pay your debt!" And at that the crone cackled madly, sending s.h.i.+vers up and down the young rogue's spine.

The witch cast a spell and suddenly an ancient coffer appeared on the table before her. She rummaged around in the old trunk until she found the three objects she was looking for. After handing them to Gord, she took him by the arm and steered him downstairs.

Chert and the former bandits were standing uncomfortably by the front door, weapons drawn and ready, surrounded by seemingly beautiful girls who mocked them and urged the employment of other sorts of weapons than those of steel. From the looks on the men's faces, it was evident that they were having a hard time believing that these lovely la.s.ses were actually magically gulsed witches and hags attempting to lure them to a most terrible fate. Plnkus sat alone at a small corner table, pouting. He had been unable or unwilling to choose one of his two admirers over the other, and he was now being shunned by both of the hags. Gord and the rest of the humans saw them as stunning-looking doxies, but Pinkus, thanks to his innate ogrish powers of resistance to magic, still saw their true forms and 144.

l.u.s.ted and lamented. Gord had to laugh.57 "Let's go, lads," the young thief called merrily to his comrades when he managed to regain his breath and composure. "Our quest is done, and we must now hie back to Castle Fizzlak and the grand count!"

That bit of news delighted Chert and the men-at-arms. Zimp boomed out, "H'ray for Cap'n Gord! I knew he'd do it!" The other outlaws stared at Quodilde, shook their heads, gazed at Gord admiringly, and raised a hurrah.

Chert pounded Gord on the back. "Nice going, paL Sometimes you're rather useful to have around."

Blus.h.i.+ng and sputtering in a mixture of embarra.s.sment and outrage at all of this praise, Gord was pushed by the witch and pulled by his companions toward the open door. Plnkus had already stumped through It and was heading off in high dudgeon.

Just as the young thief was about to be forced out, however, he realized that something was amiss.

"Walt!" he shouted, and the shoving and tugging stopped. "Where is Lord Maheal? We can't go off without him."

Amid cnes of "b.u.g.g.e.r the fop! Who needs 'im?" and "Let him earn his keep here as a b.u.mboy," Gord walked back into the tavern. "Where's the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe?" he demanded of Quodilde.

"Roasted if I know," she replied laconically.

"Oh, no! I forgot all about him! 1 saw him going above with a tart a while-" Chert volunteered.

Gord, whose look was one of absolute horror, did not wait for Chert to finish his sentence. He took, the stairs three at a time, his comrades all pounding after him.

In a moment they found a room with a closed door and burst In without knocking.

"Awk!" said Lord Maheal, hastily drawing on his underdrawers.

"Eeek!" screamed a sultry, feminine voice as sat- 145.

In sheets were pulled quickly over a raven-tressed face of exquisite beauty.

"That's a witch or hag!" Gord shouted at the furious n.o.bleman.

"Nonsense!" he retorted hotly while scurrying to don hose and doublet.

"Double nonsense," Quodilde added. "That happens to be my own dear daughter Dulicia who, despite my half of her parentage, is neither witch nor hag!" So saying, she jerked the bedclothes down to reveal the girl's pale and lovely face.

Tour d- d- daughter?" Maheal stammered, his face turning ghastly pale.

"How dare you carry on with a dullard like that?" the witch demanded. Ignoring him and addressing her offspring.

"Dullard?" Maheal puffed with weak indignation. He was still terrified, but of course could not let the insult pa.s.s.

"But, Mother dearest, I am in love with Lord Maheal! From the moment I saw him I knew he was the man for me," the delicious young beauty replied In pleading tones.

"No accounting for some people's taste," Chert whispered to Gord.

"Maybe she is more like her mother when she wakes up In the morning than she is the beauty we. see before us now," Gord whispered back. Jabbing his friend in the side with an elbow. The two of them shook with suppressed laughter.

"Besides, he promised to marry me!" Quodilde's daughter whined.

Quodilde was rocked back on her heels. "Marry you? He promised to marry you?! Now that's wonderful news indeed, my sweet little flower!"

"Many?" the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe echoed. But before he could say another word, Quodilde spun 146.

around to face him, her beady eyes expressing unmistakable menace.

"You know it, you smell-smock jackanapes! If the word of a n.o.bleman of the House of Fizziak isn't sufficient - and the grand count shall hear about that, I a.s.sure you - then perhaps the sting of my own powers will be enough to make you hold to your troth." she concluded with a hiss as she took a step toward the trembling Maheal.

"Nay, nay! Contain thine ire, good witch! Of certs I mean to keep my pledge to ...

to marry your daughter." he ended lamely, swallowing hard and nearly choking.

"It's settled then," Quodilde said matter-of-fact-ly. "The bans will be posted next week, and the wedding will take place in Rel Mord in one month's time. Oh, my sweet little daughter," she said, turning once again to the happily bouncing girl, "he does not deserve such a treasure, but I am sure he will do everything possible to58 make you happy!"

The look she shot over her shoulder at Lord Maheal left no doubt about the intended consequences if he failed to do just that, and the Nyrondel n.o.bleman shook even more than before as he nodded a dumb affirmation of the statement.

"Good," the ancient head witch of Grimalkin-sham said with pleasure. "Now you can all be on your way. I'm certain your renowned uncle. Lord Fizziak, will wish to meet your bride-to-be as soon as possible. Get up, girl, and get your pretty a.r.s.e moving!

We haven't got all night!"

An escort of a dozen trolls, provided by Quodilde and enspelled to protect the group they were accompanying, made the return through the Gnat- 147.

marsh a rapid trip, if uncomfortable for the other travelers. Nothing worse than the loathsome human-olds cared to trouble their pa.s.sage, certainly. In no time at all they bade the insect-infested mora.s.s and the accompanying trolls adieu, and then they headed for Castle Fizziak at a swift pace, guarded by the ex-bandits and whatever dweomer Quodilde the witch of Grimalkinsham had placed over them as an aegis.

The ogre-magus was silent and stony-faced. Lord Maheal altered between exuberance at having lived through the quest and despair over his coming nuptials. Both Gord and Chert kept a close watch on the n.o.bleman, however, as did the newly created men-at-arms, so he had no opportunity to attempt escape. As they rode, Gord informed the others about the witch Quodilde's revelations and the plan he had agreed upon with her. "I think the best part of this 'quest* is about to begin!" Chert exclaimed happily. The others heartily agreed. Even Maheal's mood seemed to brighten a bit.

The whole party arrived safe and sound back at the mighty fortress of the grand count in short order. The major domo met them at the gates of the castle and brought them directly to the Grand Count of Fizziak without ado.

"You have returned, nephew," Lord Fizziak said dryly. "Therefore I a.s.sume that you have somehow managed to succeed despite the odds against it. You have found new respect In my eyes." He gazed won-deringly at Maheal.

"It's all his fault!" the young Szek said, pointing an accusing finger at Gord.

This puzzled the count. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Maheal didn't catch the tone of his uncle's voice, for he was filled with nothing but his own problems.

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This knave. Dear Nuncle. made me do the whole terrible thing - from the awful ride, to the filthy swamp, to agreeing to many this common trull!"

That was too much for the gray-bearded grand count. "Just a moment," he said in a steely tone before the n.o.bleman could relate more in his whining voice. "We will hear this from Master Gord of Grey-hawk - alone!"

"But, Uncle, this lying knave is a rogue and a scoundrel! He'll- "

"Out!"

Armored guardsmen appeared to carry out the command. They had to drag the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe bodily from the chamber, as he kicked and pleaded to no avail. Chert, Pinkus, and the others went quietly.

Gord bowed when Lord Fizziak demanded an accounting of events. In rapid succession he related Just what had taken place, stage by stage, as the four went to Gnatmarsh, fought the bandits, made men-at-arms of those who surrendered, and so forth. He did not mention the ongoing rivalry between the witch, Quodilde, and Ftzziak's priest and wizard. Neither did Gord bring up what the witch had given him, except to present a small, crystal flask. As he finished his tale, he brought the flask forth with a flourish, saying. "And this, your ill.u.s.trious lords.h.i.+p, is a special gift from Witch Quodilde. She a.s.sures you it will resolve all questions regarding succession to heads.h.i.+p of Fizziak."

"Quaff a small portion." the grand count commanded. He watched Gord with an unwavering gaze as the young thief complied. After several minutes without any apparent iU effects. Lord Fizziak took the flask and tucked it into his girdle.

"Well done, Master Gord. I know what Quodilde is aiming at by this - I only doubted her sincerity, as her daughter 149.

CORD THE ROGUE.59 Is about to many that doltish nephew of mine, you know. I suspected that the old bag might have designs of greatness for Dulicia. but I should have known better.

Quodilde is too keen of wit to try to place a dullard or a frothbraln upon the seat of this grand county."

Gord nodded, not fully understanding but wise enough to know when to remain silent.

The grand count then asked, "The test - have you and your a.s.sociates completed all that was demanded?"