The work of finding and aiding the wounded, burying the dead, and clearing the battlefield went on all the next day. Freed from his duties, the elven fighter-mage Melf toured the area to observe at first hand the whole of what had been accomplished by the defeat of the horde of Iuz. There was much loot, but his lieutenants would see that his share was properly allotted, for the elves who had fought under his command had performed heroically. In fact, Melf had personally slain several ogres and a troll as well, after having spent all of his magical power against the enemy.
At the trampled place where paths met, Melf discovered a stone statue of a man. Crushed beneath this toppled lith was a barely recognizable elf… It took only a moment to carefully remove the statue. Melf was incredibly strong, and he did the work alone. Then he emptied his canteen upon the stony form to wash away the stains somewhat. Finally he searched the stiff corpse that had been Keak the renegade elven mage, finding no clues as to Obmi's whereabouts, but keeping several items of possible use discovered in the process. That done, he rounded up a few soldiers to stand guard over the statue, telling them to remain on duty until he could return.
"… be damned to hell!" Gord cried, jerking his dagger and sword free. Then he started and stared. No enemy stood before him! It was day, and he had just pulled his blades from nothing but air!
"Relax, Gord," a familiar voice said from behind. "All is well."
He tried to turn with catlike speed, ready for any new enemy, but instead Gord managed only a creaky and doddering step and nearly fell to the ground. His limbs felt like stone and his head ached fearfully. Every time his heart beat there was a pounding in his ears and a throbbing pain in his brain. "What's wrong?" he said aloud to himself.
Melf, at a distance where any initial swing with sword or dagger would not harm him, spoke to Gord again. "Move slowly, and do not attempt anything strenuous for the next few hours. You've just been returned from a stone statue to flesh and blood again, and your systems are in need of some time to restore themselves."
"Then Keak managed to escape…" Gord said softly. "Look there, beside that tree. You skewered that crazy bastard fairly before he managed to petrify you. That's of no import at this time, though. Tell me, what became of Keak's master, the dwarf Obmi?"
Gord sat down on the hard-packed earth and told Melf all that had occurred last night. These details filled in a picture that the elf was all too sorry to view.
"The filthy little bugger has certainly gotten away again – and at least a full day's start, too!" fumed Melf. "Perhaps there's still a chance. I'll tell Lord Mordenkainen of this, and he may be able to find Obmi and gain the Second Key yet!"
At that moment Gord was feeling awful – sick and dizzy and too weary to care what became of the artifact. Melf started to leave, then stopped, peering into the sky to the north where a huge black cloud had suddenly gathered.
"Either that's a bad omen, or I am no mage!" – he exclaimed. "I mislike that, Gord… Look at the shape of that cloud. What does it resemble?"
"I don't know," Gord replied, trying to focus his bleary eyes. "Maybe it's a giant toadstool with a pointy lump atop it. Hmmrn… the lump rather looks tike an old crone in a tall hat, doesn't it?"
There was no reply. Gord stopped his useless peering at the cloud, looking instead for Melf, but the fighter-mage had gone.
"Without a goodbye, or giving me a chance to properly thank him," Gord mused, "he just vanishes. I am beginning to think that all elves are flighty, if not as mad as Keak was!" He groaned and struggled erect unsteadily. Remembering the spear, he tottered amid the nearby trees, and a moment later reappeared on the pathway. He walked unsteadily with the help of the spear, and his clothing was dirty, but nonetheless, Gord was making his way southward in the direction his comrade awaited.
Behind him, unnoticed, the black cloud grew denser still, settled to the ground, and then wafted away as quickly as it had gathered.
Chapter 30
"Something dampens our powers, Lord of Evil," the mage Vayne explained nervously as Iuz strode into the scrying chamber atop one of the greater towers in his dreadful palace. "If the others were here, I am certain we could get through, but with nothing but petty little weaklings to assist me, I can do nothing," the magic-user whined in his fearful, nasal voice.
"Stop that," the cambion said without looking at the anxious man who scuttled a pace behind him. Iuz was in his massive demoniac form, and his long legs propelled the corpulent mass of his red-skinned body along at a pace that Vayne found difficult and undignified to keep up with. The cambion liked that, for the whining spell-binder had to come flapping after him or else risk his displeasure. Iuz stopped before a massive vessel of beaten copper and brass. The inky stuff within it was dead black. The surface should have reflected an iridescent sheen. Strange!
"You see Lo – "
"Silence!" Iuz bellowed, and Vayne nearly collapsed in fear at the command.
"Why is it so dark in here?" the cambion demanded.
It had suddenly grown particularly gloomy in the chamber, and the shaking magic-user hastened to a nearby window to find the cause. "There is a great mass of clouds overhead, Lord Iuz, as black as I have ever seen! Perhaps some enemies send weather-magic against us…"
His master wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his words, so Vayne allowed his sentence to trail off. Iuz was still at the great scrying basin, peering into the thing fixedly.
"Little man, I feel that some event of great import is about to occur. It is of favorable sort, I am certain. Be gone when I cease my speech, and I am enough talking!"
This statement was punctuated by the slam of the chamber door. Iuz smiled an eerie, evil smile, and then he concentrated on the liquid. Instead of growing lighter, the absolute blackness of the surface increased, as if the stuff was absorbing what little illumination fell on it. The cambion bent closer, then leaped back with undignified haste.
The oily liquid in the massive pool erupted in a geyser that struck the ceiling almost twenty feet above its surface. As the droplets pattered down throughout the room, a pair of women appeared. Before Iuz's startled gaze stood Iggwilv, his mother, and Zuggtmoy, Demoness Lady of Fungi. Between them, grasped by both, was die Second Key!
"For one who calls himself the Eldritch Lord of Evil, – you look rather startled – 'thunderstruck' is the word! Weren't you expecting us?" Iggwilv said, and as she asked the question she smirked at the figure beside her.
Zuggtmoy the demoness smirked back at the crone who was possibly the oldest and most powerful human ever known, then smiled broadly at the cambion. "Iuz, my love, it has been too long!"
Recovering his lost dignity, Iuz drew himself up to his full height and spoke with firm tones. "Both of you, assume a more pleasing form immediately. But first, you may hand Me that which you have brought."
Iggwilv shook her head. "Not so fast, my prodigal. Is that any way for a devoted son to speak to his Dear Mother?" Even as she uttered this admonition, the ancient crone, one who had appeared a parody of every child's nightmare of a wicked witch, changed. Her features flowed and changed as her body grew and straightened. Scraggly, gray locks became flowing tresses of hair like spun gold, and face and form matched the radiance of this golden head.
"You brought me forth by accident, and you have been more a mother in the breach than the office, Iggwilv. Cease your foolery and deliver my prize to me," die cambion added with what could have been petulance.
Zuggtmoy too had altered from a horrid harridan to a breathtaking beauty. As voluptuous as her companion, Zuggtmoy's assumed form was as dark as Iggwilv's was golden. As this occurred, the demoness swayed across the intervening distance between them and threw her arms around Iuz. "Greet your lover properly!" she demanded in sultry fashion. "And you too, Wilva, come and join us, do!"