“I would see my own land again,” Gord finally said aloud one day.
“What, Oerth? That place is a pesthole!”
“True enough, at least in part,” Gord admitted to his friend, “but it is a broad and many-faceted place. If the factions of one place are bothersome to you, you need simply ride somewhere else in the Flanaess or even beyond.”
Lurajal was unconvinced. “There is virtually no end to this plane of our liege lord’s-my plane, and yours now too, Gord!”
The young man smiled at Lurajal and then tilted his head slightly. “It is not home.”
Lurajal didn’t have a reply for that. Eventually he met Rexfelis at an opportune moment and mentioned to the Catlord the difficulties he and Gord were having. “Yes, prince,” he said in reply to the golden-eyed noble’s statements. “I am all too aware of the growing unease in my court which the hotheads are creating with their petty squabbles and grudges. It is time for you to return to your personal fief-only a short interlude, Lurajal, rest assured.”
“What of Gord, sire?”
Rexfelis gave the Prince of Jaguars his best smile. “You are so stout and true a one. Put you on a track and you will not swerve, will you?”
“Never, my liege!”
“Just so. Gord too is like that, in his own fashion. That is why you two are boon companions. Well, as to him, I have spoken with… old associates of mine, shall we say. They have some interest in him and his employment.”
“Is he to be bound over as if he were some serf or apprentice?”
“No, not at all,” Rexfelis laughed, reassuring the honest-faced fellow as he expressed his mirth. “Think of it as a sort of noble service for a just and worthy cause. After all, Gord does grow bored and restless here. He himself fans the flames of the antagonism between my kin because it gives him something to keep his interest. It is an unconscious thing, I am sure, but effective nonetheless.”
“Well…”
“Yes. It is well. You shall be off to attend to your domain for a time, and I shall personally accompany your friend, Gord, on the first portion of the journey that lies in store for him.”
“It is not an exile, then? Only a brave and bold service?”
The Catlord was grave. “That, dear Lurajal, is it exactly.”
As the young lord left, Rexfelis added under his breath, “No exile at all-unless Death has his way.”
Chapter 28
While demons schemed in the Abyss and the masters of the pits of Hades machinated with their diabolical allies, the fates worked as they would. First one side moved in the cosmic chess game, then another; sometimes many sides moved multiple pieces simultaneously. The vast board was complex, confusing, unenlightening.
What had seemed an unassailable position for one force crumbled under a flanking attack. The attackers were demoniacal, the losing force responsible to Infestix. The only problem for the Abyss was that in usual circumstances each of its pieces, every pawn, worked as it alone saw fit. It was highly unusual, but effective, that on this occasion many of the pieces of demonkind worked in concert-and it was also singular that Hades failed to note this compromise.
Perhaps even the massive intellects of beings such as the daemonlords and the dukes of the Nine Hells were incapable of grasping the whole of play, intent as they were upon clearing the way for their most powerful piece, a man which might be likened to a combined king, queen, knight, and giraffe of Great Chess. No other side had such a figure, so such a failure was somewhat understandable. If freed to move, this piece would command so many spaces that nothing would stand before its power, no opposing man would be able to approach with impunity.
Even as their position crumbled, however, the great intellects of Evil worked, and the way became less congested. It could not be long now before the violet-hued forces of Hades, with their blood-red allies from the hells, successfully fought off the others-black, white, gray, blue, golden yellow, tawny. Only the green pieces and pawns, those affiliated with the Balance, were positioned correctly… and there were but a few of those men left on the field.
Green, in its exposed and surrounded central position, seemed the weakest. In truth, it had suffered many losses. But the men of paler shades of vert-chartreuse, aqua green, light emerald-as well as those of olive hue, bottle green, and the other deeper shades of that middle color, were now free to move to confront their foes. With no threat from elsewhere, the whole of their forces could be used against the dark hordes. The bright, verdant men of Balance were being supported by shadowy green and emerald, by greenish citrine legions and dusky olive.
“We are being outmaneuvered!” The cry of rage came from one of the Eight Diseased Ones. The other seven bent closer to the scrying basin, peering with their lifeless eyes to observe what their associate had seen. “Inform the Master,” the chief of the Eight commanded one of his fellows. “I will see that this brashness does not go unpunished.”
Another of the Diseased Ones tried to object. “Lord Infestix ordered us not to interfere…”
He was silenced by a glare and a rejoinder from the leader. “If I do not act immediately, we will lose a major piece and our foremost position!” In fact, the hordes of Death did hold their own for a time, but then the deep ebon forces of the demon princes moved, and all was undone. Hades’ right flank was en prise, and the Abyss struck to assure its capture.
“What is this?” Infestix saw what had happened and was appalled. The greatest of the eight servitors was made least, and he who had dared to object was elevated to chief. The overlord of daemons would have done worse to the offender, but the situation was too critical, and Infestix knew that he needed all of his lieutenants if he was to triumph.
“Errors, unforgivable misjudgments, stupid blunders have been made. Yet we have by no means lost this contest. Be reassured. Work diligently. Spare no one, least of all yourselves,” he told the Eight. “The opening game has ended, but the middle portion is just beginning. We will move cleverly now, take our positions, marshal our forces, and lay our traps. When the ending phase comes, I will suddenly open to reveal our true strength, and then only the deepest purple will remain in play.”
“Traps, Master of Death?”
“Yes, traps. Traps, and a sacrificed place or two, I think Ask no more questions!” The grim overlord of the pits left them pondering his words. He alone knew exactly what moves he would make.
The major ones of demonkind fought and squabbled, sending their pawns of dull black, darkest sepia, or glistening jet here and there. The minor ones of their host imitated their masters’ methodology, doing as they themselves willed, and the position of the demons was fraught with chaos. Their power and numbers were such, though, that the inky hordes of the Abyss spread like a stain over much of the field, and the demoniacal lords rejoiced.
Iuz the dreaded cambion exulted, for he had obtained the citadel position and had two great queens to strengthen his safehold. Graz’zt rallied disparate men and brought demon pawns by the legion to the field. Others of his ilk quarreled with one another or contested with men of other stamp-gold or blue, white or gray, orange or hellish red. It was the battle and the killing that mattered. The emerald army was not worth bothering with, not when there were so many others of greater size and fiercer powers to attack. Black was moving, its advance unstoppable, and the pleasures of mopping up would wait. The violet ones, the pompous men of purplish hue, were already pulling back, entrenching, shivering in dread anticipation of the end of this marvelous, slaughter-filled game.