The half-breed's ugly face had shown delight at such a display of favor. With Obmi suggesting a bit of wine as they talked, the three had stepped into the tent shared by the elf and dwarf. A ring of guards surrounded it, so there was no way for Gord to get close enough to hear more. Belly brushing the ground, he had slunk from the encampment, shifting into leopard form, and loped to the place where his friends waited. The whole story fascinated them, and then they had checked to see if Gord's interpretation of the conversation had been correct. The presence of over half a hundred of the hyena-faced humanoids was ample confirmation. The gnolls prevented further pursuit by all but Gord, for even if the others managed to slip around the widely spread humanoid band, they could well be caught between gnolls and the main body later. Even with Gord's work, there were several hundred still in the main party. If losels and ores deserted in numbers, a hundred men and ores were still too many when backed by the tough dwarf and the spell-caster, Keak. Gord's friends would have to remain behind, for only he could now hope to accomplish the mission.
Gord was still uneasy about changing from man to cat – bashful or ashamed, he wasn't sure which. After the farewell, the young thief moved eastward into the forest, swinging wide to the right-hand side of the pathway. Moving as quietly as any woodsman, Gord made certain that he was several hundred yards off the trail and well away from the observation of his companions; then he allowed the transformation to occur. In a minute a huge black panther stretched itself. The cat yawned almost lazily, flexed its claws, stretched, and then moved like a bolt from an arbelast into the trees.
Seconds later several gnolls moved into the small area left clear by a falling tree. They peered around carefully, their bows and axelike bardiches at the ready, but there was nothing threatening there. One asked another if he had seen something black a moment before. The other grunted a noncommittal reply. The humanoids went on with their scouting, looking for humans to kill.
It was an easy manner to travel as a leopard through the old trees of the Vesve. The ground below was perfect for running, while the thick, interlocking branches above made a highway for a big cat to walk upon. Gord-the-panther – and he now simply thought of both human and animal forms as Gord – elected to stay on the leaf-matted forest floor until he approached the main body of Obmi's band. His panther's sense of smell would give him all the warning he needed when he was near. He allowed his human mind to ride that of the cat, so that the feline part received and sorted out sensory information while the human part gave it identifiers that related to human experience. Odors were the difficult part.
Several times during the next few hours Gord had to scramble madly up a nearby tree in order to avoid other dangerous creatures not accustomed to having a panther intrude on their domain. Not being certain that his immunity to weapons extended to the tusks of a boar or the jaws of a savage brown bear, Gord took flight as the wiser course. He could not run for long periods, but there were many areas where he could safely rest. Luck seemed to ride with him too. He had caught one of the giant squirrels busy eating fungi, made a fast (and delicious) meal of it, and was taking a catnap in the leafy crotch of a galda tree when a dozen bugbears padded past as quietly as great cats.
These giant goblins were heading west and seemed to be no part of the humanoid party still several miles ahead. Gord watched through glowing, green panther eyes as the humanoids passed, and the bugbears never realized he was there. Could these big goblins have actually hurt him? Gord wasn't interested in finding out unless he had to. Another time he was taking a drink from a stream when his feline mind seemed uneasy, so Gord allowed it to have its way without seeking to interpret the cause of the tension. The panther jumped and spat, just avoiding the strike of a huge adder that was lurking at the bank of the watercourse, waiting for unwary prey.
It took the whole day for him to catch up with the collection of humanoids and renegade humans traveling toward the realm of Iuz. The company had halted to rest and forage for food. Gord restrained the cat-urge to attack the losels he saw. He went wide around them and ahead of the humanoids again. No attacks this time, he reasoned. He would see if the dwarf could be lulled into a sense of security and safety, then he would strike.
Then an idea came to him that satisfied both man and panther. He lay in wait and eventually saw a man venture forth to answer the call of nature. Gord wondered why he would go so far from his fellows so close to dark. The brigand drew out a large flask and swigged great gulps of its contents. That explained that. He was a lone drinker who did not care to share his liquor with his associates.
The panther leaped upon the unsuspecting outlaw and tore out his throat before the fellow knew he had been attacked. Gord was appalled at his desire to strike thus, and the panther mind was repulsed at the reek of alcohol and the foul stench of the man. They compromised. Panther carried corpse into a tree and hid it, and man assumed the guise of brigand, using the fellow's cloak as a disguise.
As he returned to his own form it suddenly occurred to Gord that the shape-shift ing was no longer a dreaded thing. The day of integration between cat and man had been beneficial. It made him realize that he had thought in cat-fashion, or as close as a human could come to thinking thus, as long as he could remember. Certainly, when he walked slender lines, balanced on roof ridges, and ran along eaves he was feline, just as his burglar appellation, Blackcat, attested. He could now shift from man to cat and back without hesitation or reservation. There was no sense of ill or unnaturalness in so doing. This made Gord glad, for he had no choice in the matter anyway.
As Gord walked into the encampment, he was surprised at the disordered nature of affairs. When he had spied upon it previously, the dwarven leader had kept order and discipline. But this time Obmi had allowed things to slip. The place was in chaos.
"Whazzup, pal?" a drunken bandit asked as he staggered past Gord to relieve himself against a nearby tree.
"Ah… nothin', pal… Got any sauce?"
The fellow leered at Gord, patted a half-full skin slung around his shoulder, and slurred, "Yep, but I ain't sharin' it unless ya got some ta split with yer ol' pal!" And he emphasized just who the "ol’ pal" was by striking himself hard enough on the chest to send himself stumbling backward a couple of steps.
"Say, I don't rec'nizeya… Waz yer name, anyway?" he said, then laughed at his own joke. "Ya get it? Anyway!" He reeled and laughed more. "I sure wish I could get some, an' I'll take it anyway. Arr, har, har!"
"What?" asked the young thief, confused.
"Who gives a pinch o' coon-crap anyway, Anyway? I be Tick, an' damned happy to meet a man who's got balls enough to admit he'll get it anyway. What outfit ya with, Anyway?"
Gord relaxed. This sot was so stupid with booze that he had asked a question and interpreted it as Gord's name. The dolt was calling him "Anyway" thinking it was his name… Gord realized that this very drunken fellow was his ticket into the camp without questions being asked. Gord handed him the flask he had taken from his earlier victim, watching to see if the brigand called Tick would recognize it. Tick merely took it and swilled brandy.
"Grea' stuff! Both Galley and Pegger got bottles, too… Hey, ya seen ol' Pegger 'round here? He wen' out to take a dump, an I'll bet the wild hogs ate 'im. Ahar, har, arrh!"
"Nah, I ain't seen neither of them," Gord said. "How come the camp is so relaxed tonight? Yesterday it was all that spit-and-polish bit, and now old Obmi's let up on us. You know why?"