Night Arrant (14 page)

"Boo!" Pinkus barked in the nobleman's ear, and grinned to show his huge teeth as the startled fellow's eyes popped open.

"Yeow!" Maheal shrieked, trying to jump up and run away at the same time. This resulted in a comical heap, with the ogreling and Maheal in a tangle, for all the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe had managed to do was to bound upright and then flop upon the ogre-magus. Pinkus attempted to throw the offending form from his person, and Maheal struggled desperately to get free. The problem was that these efforts seemed to make the two more inextricably entangled than ever. Screams, growls, and other less identifiable sounds emerged from the pile. The captive bandits sniggered and jeered, until Gord ordered them into the frey to assist. Although he was enjoying the spectacle, he feared that the fainthearted Maheal would suffer bodily harm soon unless the pair was untangled.

When they finally managed to straighten things out, Maheal's plum-colored doublet was shredded, and his particolored hose of citrine and puce were ruined. Calling down terrible curses upon everyone in general and Pinkus in particular, the nobleman trudged off with the group. Gord had determined that Lord Maheal would go afoot hereafter, for when horsed, he was always riding away.

There was nothing of value at the outlaw hideout, although they found a fair amount of cold game to eat and enough horses to provide mounts for all of the prisoners. Gord located the slim tomes that contained the writings of the now-deceased spell-user. These books he had tucked away without informing anyone, for he knew that such works had considerable value to certain persons. They didn't linger at the camp, because the effects of the enthrallment made the quartet restless and irritable.

To assure the cooperation of the outlaws, Gord made the twelve of them swear a blood-curdling oath of fealty to their captors as Pinkus looked on with a leering expression of awful sort on his ugly visage. Having Chert nearby with his huge axe was definitely a big plus, and it didn't hurt when the young rogue proclaimed that all of the loot taken from the group would be divided among the survivors who were faithful to their new leaders until the end of their quest.

The former bandits eagerly vowed to serve as men-at-arms for their new masters, casting doubtful looks at both the ogre-magus and Lord Maheal as they did so. Gord made it clear that these new henchmen were to seek direction principally from either Chert or himself. That done, they were again on the trail, Maheal now seated atop his steed once more but this time neatly surrounded by the pack of newly created soldiery.

The Gnatmarsh came all too soon, but despite the swarms of hungry insects and the hazards of trekking through the mire, the party pressed ever deeper into the morass. The former bandits complained less than either Lord Maheal or the ogrish Pinkus. Gord suspected that the bestowing of all the loot taken from them and their former associates was only a part of the reason for this behavior. This suspicion was confirmed shortly.

"Not makin' much speed." a bandit named Zimp said to the young thief.

"Considering this miserable mud." Gord replied, "I think a league a day is exceptional time."

Zimp scratched his beard with dirty fingers — at this point everyone was mud-encrusted, even the meticulous Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. Although Zimp was acknowledged by the others as their noncommissioned officer, more or less, the outlaw wasn't quite sure of his relationship to Gord yet The young adventurer wanted him to understand that he could speak up without fear. "It's right amazin', sir, the way you and Master Chert is makln’ a beeline, as they say, straight toward Grimalkinsham. Ain't none o' us ever seen the likes before!"

"Grimalkinsham? Beeline? Are you telling me you and your men know where we're headed?"

Zimp peered hard at Gord to see if he was angry. When it was clear that he was only surprised. Zimp said. "Me an' the boys have been in an' out o’ this here marsh a few times, and Grimalkinsham ain't a bad place a'tall to spend time in — specialty when things roundabout get hot, so to speak."

"Tell me more, sergeant." Gord said with a grim expression on his face.

Beaming back in relief, Zimp nodded enthusiastically. "First, cap'n, we got to get outta this mess and foller the causeway. ... I mean I’ll be a-gittin’ a sergeant's share o' treasure?"

"Yes indeed! Show me the causeway."

A little later the party was wending its way along a relatively dry track that snaked here and there through the marsh. They avoided the bottomless pools, willow thickets, and who knew what else, covering ground at a far more rapid rate and without the mud. Only the swarms of insects reminded them of their presence in the dreaded morass of Gnatmarsh.

"Beware goin' beyond this here hummock 'til nighttime," Zimp told Gord. "That there catoblepas will get us sure otherwise," he added laconically.

"Catoblepas? Here?"

"Yep," Zimp confirmed with determination and then asked, "Ever see un?"

Gord shook his head back and forth and signaled for those following behind to halt.

"Me neither." said Zimp, "and I don't rightly care to, either, sir. It basks in the sun all day, I’m told, then snoozes the dark away. When twilight comes we got t' hurry quick as Tifly Tumbleskln, as they say. That'll get us inta Grimalkinsham afore full dark."

"You mean we have to travel several miles in a mere hour?" Gord asked the outlaw doubtfully.

"Yessir! Who'd want to be on this here track at night? Lessen he was partial to green hags, spooks, and that lot, o'course." Zimp replied, casting an unbelieving glance at his commander.

"Right you are, Sergeant Zimp. Glad we agree there!" Gord said quickly, dismounting and signaling the others to do the same. "Now, as there's a bit of a wait before the sun starts to set. tell me all you know about Grimalkinsham. I hear the place is crawling with witches."

Zimp waved off that observation. "Grimalkinsham is a tad on the tough side, that's sartin," the former bandit said sagely, "but there be no more witches there than in most places."

"How can you be sure of that?" Gord asked, securing his horse to one tree and then sitting down under another a few feet away.

Zimp followed suit before answering the young rogue. "That's an easy un. cap'n," Zimp said with a smile. "I been to the village four, mebee five times. Ain't once seen a lass over thirty, nor a wench that wasn't a looker"

Just then Lord Maheal, who had refused to dismount, interrupted them. "Come along, you fellows! This is no time to be discussing such rude matters — we have a quest to complete!" The narcissistic nobleman managed to add the last few words with sneering accusation, despite the fact that it was he who had been continually trying to dodge the whole affair. Gord gave Maheal a look that failed to convey just how much disgust the young thief was feeling toward the troublesome Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. The cad, who had managed to outfit himself in reasonably fresh clothing he had taken from his seemingly endless store of garments, was a nauseating spectacle. He was decked out in a belted paisley smock of watered silk, high buskins of fawn color, and a deep brown, feathered velvet cap, which complemented the cummerbund that cinched the smock to his waist.

"Why don't you go on ahead?" Gord suggested, winking at Zimp. "The sergeant tells me the village offers excellent accommodations."

"What?! Risk the life of a noble? Utter nonsense! You two louts forge ahead now, and I shall lead the main party after, as is proper. Come along now, let's get cracking!"

Zimp spat, and Gord looked twice but saw no sign of jesting in the nobleman. Maheal was serious! Such temerity, unblushing at that, brought a grudging respect to Gord's heart. What a fine confidence man and swindler this lordling would have made, had he received proper training as a child. Well, no help for that now. Things were as they were. Gord rose to his feet and walked over to the would-be commander. The look in the young thiefs eyes showed that he was in no mood for nonsense. The Szek of Dohou-Yohpe squirmed a bit in the saddle.

"Maheal" — Gord distinctly enunciated each syllable of his name — "I'm only going to tell you this once. Then, if you still insist on being a pompous ass, I’m going to mess up your frilly clothes and smear mud all over your pretty face!" Maheal's face turned a bright shade of crimson. Gord reached up and took the horse's reins from Maheal's now-clammy hands. He then motioned for the humiliated nobleman to step down off his horse and waited while Maheal obediently complied. Then Gord continued. "Now, I want you to stop trying to play commander and get back with the rest!" The young nobleman opened his mouth to argue, but Gord cut him off. "Now! Or should I turn you over to Plinkus for disciplining?"

Maheal hastened to do as he was told but called back angrily over his shoulder as he walked away, "You'll be sorry for this, churl, when things are set aright!" Then he strutted back to where the others rested, pompously straightening his garments and dusting his hands as if he had just performed an heroic feat.

Thanks to Zimp and several of the other former brigands, they negotiated the rest of the way to Grimalklnsham before full dark and without incident. The place lay in the center of a scrubby woodland, but at least the area was dry. The village consisted of forty or fifty huts and hovels sprawled around a score of more substantial buildings. Half of the larger structures were taverns, gaming houses, and inns. It seemed that this place did a brisk business with rogues and outlaws. Totems and ringed stone pillars encircled the community. Gord could just make out some of the marks in the fading light. The symbols were meant to keep certain horrible things out He hoped that these wards were efficacious.

A few dogs barked and snarled as they rode into the village, but no other inhabitant of Grimalkin-sham seemed the least bit interested in their arrival. At Zimp's suggestion, they housed themselves at the smallest of the three inns. For the price of a handful of bronze zees and a couple of brass bits, all sixteen of them were able to get good beds. They bathed and ate while the stablehands cared for their horses and fed the animals.

Gord thought it strange, and disappointing, that all of the servants at the inn were men. "Where are the pretty lasses you mentioned. Zimp?"

"No sense mixing our rest with our romps," the outlaw said slyly. "We'll be meetin' plenty o' likely wenches soon enough, and they'll give us a workout you won't believe! This place is a safe haven after such a storm!"

Chert slammed his fist on the table and cried out, "Now here's a stout lad! Let's drink to a lively time this night," he said, and upended the huge flagon of ale he held in his pawlike hand. The outlaws at the long trestle laughed lasciviously and likewise drained their tankards. Only Plinkus and Maheal demurred.

"I find human females ugly in the extreme," the ehjure muttered.

"Consorting with common trulls is beneath my station!" the Nyrondel lordling sniffed haughtily.

Gord, Chert, and the others ignored them. After a few additional rounds of the thick, amber ale, which was brewed somewhere nearby, they decided it was time to explore the village. Gord and Chert had determined that it was excellent cover to do so with a bunch of roistering bandits. Neither had yet been exposed to whatever it was that would trigger the final bit of information they needed. When this occurred, they would know what "the test" was. They both assumed that it would involve the recovery of some prize, possibly the elimination of some evil enemy of the king, and then a return to Castle Fizziak, The place, thing, or person that would cause the dweomered information to spring into their minds was possibly somewhere here in the village called Grimalktnsham. They hoped to discover the answers this very night.

Gord's eyes nearly popped from his head when they entered an establishment called Rosey's. The sign, appropriately sprinkled with rosebuds, didn't half prepare the young adventurer for what awaited inside. There were only a few patrons, all male. But the proprietress and her staff numbered at least a dozen and a half — and greater beauties Gord had never seen gathered together in a single place! He scarcely had time to wonder why the tavern wasn't jammed to the rafters with panting swains. Then a pair of buxom tarts were upon him, offering him drink and companionship, and before Gord knew it he was being led toward the stairs. He was escorted past the huge ehjure, who was holding a tall, willowy woman on his lap. "Hey, Pinkus! I thought you said humans were ugly," Gord playfully taunted.

The ogreling scowled at Gord, retorting, "They are, niggling — but I didn't know that you went for my type!"

Something clicked in Gord's mind. "Your type?" he asked, the horrifying reality of the situation sinking in at last. The two girls tugged on him, trying to pull the young thief away, but Gord would have none of that. Plinkus was pouring wine down his gullet, but Gord didn't let that put him off either. Pulling free of the pair of wenches, he walked over to the ogre's table and peered closely at the big woman sitting on his lap. Pinkus slammed down his tankard and jumped to his feet.

"Get the hell away from my female!" he roared at Gord.

This action rudely precipitated the object of Gord's scrutiny. As the ogre-magus sprang to his feet with intent to do serious bodily harm to the young thief who was ogling the female of his choice, the beautiful young thing struck the floor — and a strange thing happened. The force of the impact caused her form and features to waver and, for a second, the female's true appearance was revealed. Gord caught the transformation out of the corner of his eye. Springing back, he shouted, "The wench is a hag!"

"Of course she is!" screamed the enraged Pinkus as he advanced menacingly upon the young adventurer. "And you can't have her, you filthy human lecher! Go find your own!"

Gord ducked under a wild swing and danced behind the ogre-magus's back, calling to Chert to beware. He saw that there was a bevy of these seeming lovelies surrounding the big barbarian, and Gord suspected that they were not as they appeared at all. Meanwhile, Zimp and a pair of his comrades had rushed over to assist their young captain, thinking that Pinkus was about to make mincemeat of him. Of course, they did not reckon with Gord's incredible agility and acrobatic skills. Roaring and cursing, the ehjure was attempting to lay his taloned hands upon Gord and rend him limb from limb. Pinkus was both tipsy from wine and naturally slow. Gord was neither, and he easily avoided every attack, causing the ogreling to paw the air and charge bull-like into furniture and patrons alike.