“My lord?” It was the lovely shadow-woman again, smiling up at him uncertainly as she arose from a full curtsey. Gord nodded, and she spoke on. “I am discourteous, but I fear that the king orders me thus. Rather than dancing, His Gloominess commands your presence in the Vault of Veils. Such an audience during this festive time is unheard of,” she added with a hint of awe. “You should be ashamed for misleading a lady so.”
Gord could only smile ambiguously at that. Whatever the reason for it being granted, he did desire an audience with the Shadowking. Even though the monarch had anticipated him, the need remained. “Sometimes, sweet lady, necessity demands that we not always appear as we are, or say all that pertains.”
The phantom smiled and nodded at his words, a look of relief on her pretty features. “Oh yes, of such I am most aware. Lord… Gord?” She made it almost a question and gave a whisper of tinkling laughter at the rhyme. “I should not have felt deceived because you pretended low rank, I know. It was just that I felt drawn by some… no matter, craving your indulgence. I chatter so that I am mortified. This is my first festival as Court Duplitrix, and so many notables make me feel inadequate.”
“You shall prove quite worthy of the position, I am sure,” Gord said, not really having any notion as to what the duties of a duplitrix were-other than carrying messages and gathering up guests and depositing them in other places.
“Here is the entrance to the privy audience, noble Gord. My thanks for being so gracious to me,” she said. “If you need further… ministration, ask for Lady Sabina.”
The dark door before which he stood remained shut. It had no handle, no grill to speak through. Should he knock? Inappropriate. He wished he had asked Sabina about what would be happening, but it was too late for that now. Gord folded his arms and stood waiting in the hall-like alcove off the great ballroom. He could be patient. Both lions sat, likewise awaiting the next move. Minutes passed. No person or thing came their way. Sounds only told Gord that a revel was in progress; save for music and whispery voices, laughter and strange singing, he and the shadow-cats might have been in a world alone. Then the door swung suddenly open to expose its half-foot thickness and the fact that no handle existed on its inner side either.
“Enter.” The command was hollow and unhuman.
The Vault of Veils was a double-diamond-shaped room of smallish proportion, although its V-shaped ceiling was twenty feet high. Veils did, in fact, hang everywhere in the place. Gossamer things depending to canopy the room, screen its walls, and divide its eight points. Each cloth was as fine as spiderweb, as sheer as smoke. That such were not to hide anything from view was evident, but Gord felt certain that some purpose for these trappings existed. In the center of the stone chamber was a table that mimicked the room’s shape. Fifteen seats there were, set evenly around the oddly shaped surface. One was darker, mistier than the rest. In it was a very tall, thinnish man of aristocratic bearing and arrogant visage.
“You may seat yourself anywhere… after you pay homage,” the pearly-skinned monarch of shadow said through thin lips as dark as night. His mouth smiled then, but his ashen eyes, the same color as his hair, were as hard as iron.
Gord bent a knee and bowed his head slightly. The gesture was enough to show respect, too little by far) to demonstrate humility. This Shadowking set Gord’s nerves on edge and made his hackles rise. “My thanks, Gracious Lord of Shadows,” he managed to say without any rancor evident. “You are most kind to allow me to see Your Umbrageous Majesty.”
That almost made the fellow start, Gord saw. “It was you who destroyed one of my adumbrates!”
Shadowking said accusingly. “How do you explain that?”
From a place opposite the shadowlord, Gord smiled gently, patting the head of Smokemane as the lion rested at the young adventurer’s side. “I did not come here to explain, majesty. Suffice to say that the monstrosity dared to attack me after being offensive.”
“So, you dare to actually challenge Me in Mine Own Palace! Imprimus said you were meat for the table of the executioner!”
This was all wrong. In a moment the monarch of this plane would be consigning him to whatever passed for dungeons in the realm of shadows, there to await whatever fate was prescribed for criminals in this realm. Based on what he had learned from the folk in Dunswych, this was not the kind of treatment he expected or deserved. There could be only one answer…
Gord rose to his feet and spat out a single word. “Deception!” He meant that he thought the Shadow-king was being deceived, but as he jumped erect and spoke, something wavered before his eyes. The tall, pearl-complected monarch had changed to a smutty form, a hunched gloam.
“Ho, ho, ho!” A new figure had entered the room and was behind Gord. The laughter was soft but somehow conveyed heartiness and force at the same time. “You have failed, Imprimus. This one saw through your pose. Be a good sport and toddle off now to plot my overthrow or something equally useless, there’s a good gloam!”
Gord turned and saw a replica of the man who had been speaking with him from across the table, only this one didn’t strike a wrong note within him, and the smile he now displayed was real. Now Gord made a more humble obeisance, and stood with head inclined until the true Shadowking had ushered the masquerading gloam from the chamber and taken the seat that Imprimus had usurped. “Your Umbrageous Majesty,” Gord said.
“Gord, wayfarer. I welcome you as a worthy subject of My Realm. Do excuse the silly joke. The gloams are amusing, but their schemes and pranks can be tiresome. Now, My time during Twilight is most limited, so I ask you to hand it over, and then you may have your run of the palace.”
The king’s request certainly meant only one thing. “I must wear a blazon upon my cloak announcing what I bear,” Gord thought. Then, speaking firmly, he addressed the Shadowking. “Your majesty, your kind acceptance of my unbidden entrance into your realm is most generous. Know, however, that I came unwillingly as well. I must humbly decline your acceptance-that of myself as a subject of Shadowrealm-for I am of Oerth and am vassal to no one.”
The Shadowking looked annoyed at Gord’s words. “Oh? By your two pets, there, I assume you have ties to the Mastercat. Be aware, mortal, that I rule here. Your present state does not allow you a choice of liege lords, does it? As your king, I now instruct you to give to Me what is Mine. This audience is concluded.”
Gord rose at that, bowing slightly. The two shadow-lions came to their feet likewise, soft growls sounding deep within their massive chests. “Do you claim the scale of the dragon I wear? My sword? What is it that your majesty asks of me?” Gord asked in feigned confusion.
“Don’t try to play cat-and-mouse with me, whelp of the Mastercat! Hand over Shadowfire or face my wrath!”
“The gem is yours, lord…” Gord replied smoothly. But as the Shadowking smiled, he added, “as soon as you restore my memories to my mind and my body to my own plane.”
“You… you… dare make demands of Me?”
“I crave your pardon, Gloomy Majesty. By no means would I be so foolish as to require anything from so royal a lord as you-unless such generosity and favor were given freely, such as in exchange for some service to your majesty and the realm.”
“It is a trifling matter for me to take it from you.”
“Undoubtedly so. Your might is fabled, Lord of Shadows.”
“Shadowfire. Hold it forth.”