Both of the young adventurers had guffawed at the sight presented by the errant ogre-magus as he returned. It was made funnier still by anticipation, since the desertion of Pinkus had prompted Maheal to do the same. No sooner had the ogre-magus been out of sight than the Nyrondel nobleman had airily waved a cerise-gloved hand at the two adventurers and said. "Well, so much for all this nonsense — I'm off for Dohou-Yohpe. The grand count will forgive me after a time. Imagine — sending his own flesh and blood off on such a dangerous missionl"
Chert had only stared in distaste at Maheal, but Gord tried to reason with him. "Remember what Good Priest Boffly told us. If you try to shirk your duty, there'll be unpleasant consequences!"
"Nonsense! I am a Peer of the Realm, and no one would dare to inflict such ills upon my noble person!" So saying. Maheal had reined his steed around and galloped off to the northeast.
It was only minutes after Pinkus came back that they heard the sound of another horse approaching. There was Maheal, all right, reeling in his saddle and crying out piteously. At first Gord and Chert laughed, but then they could not help but feel compassion. They helped the feebly moving noble from his mount and laid him carefully down. To have lasted as long as the ogreling under the pangs of enthrallment and geas brought new respect for Maheal in the hearts of both humans. Later, the Nyrondel told them he had passed out from the pain. That, and his combination of whining and continued attempts to break the dweomer sent all high regard from them. It was clear that the young noble was a fool, a coward, and a dolt. They were, however, stuck with him — and Pinkus as well.
"Is it the curse of that benighted artifact we stole from Nerull's temple?" Chert asked crossly, accusation lurking behind the query.
"With the situation as it is," Gord replied, eyeing the foppish Maheal and the ehjure sulking along beside each other, "I'm not certain that this so-called test is anything other than retribution," he admitted grudgingly to the hulking barbarian. "Nonetheless, I am determined to turn the tables and get both our just compensation and revenge!"
"Compensation?" the young nobleman echoed.
"Revenge?" Pinkus growled as he glared at the three humans.
"Curdling curds of catoblepas crap!" Chert expostulated as he turned away and rode off to scout ahead for possible trouble. Gord, suffering from boredom and tired of the company he and his barbarian friend were currently compelled to keep, fervently wished he could go with him, but the young thief knew that it would be most ill-advised to leave Pinkus and Maheal alone together. Hunching his shoulders, Gord resigned himself to a long trek with the ogre and the whiner. It seemed like days before the hillman returned, although he was gone but a few hours.
When a small company of bandits attacked them from the rear the next day, everyone but Maheal welcomed the encounter as a pleasant diversion. The outlaws evidently had a minor spell-weaver in tow, for their assault was preceded by a streak of sizzling fire that impacted squarely upon the ogre-magus. Whatever differences he and his less-civilized kin who dwelled on Oerth had, resistance to magic was certainly one no one in the party would find objectionable. The spell was most likely meant to create a fiery globe to incinerate the group, but when it came in contact with Pinkus, the flames fizzled and went out. The magic-user who cast the spell had no opportunity to attempt further harm.
Where a hot, glowing streak had been a split second before, there now existed a line of pale blue. Icicles appeared along it and fell tinkling to earth in the same moment. A muffled shriek came from a clump of flash-frozen brush, and Gord could see crystalline flakes of snow gently descending on the area. Although the spell-slinger was thereby put out of commission, his associates pressed the attack. As Gord, Chert, and the ogre-magus turned to stand their ground against the outlaws, Maheal spurred his horse on ahead, leaving his traveling companions for behind.
"Mind the arrows!" the barbarian shouted as a dozen barbed missiles buzzed near.
Gord screamed a wild oath as if in reply. One shaft grazed his horse, and several others had come close enough to hear, but the young thief was unscathed. "Surrender or die!" he shouted as he struck right and left at the startled bandits crouching amidst the newly frozen brush.
Chert and the ogre-magus were likewise laying about them with vigor. In fact, as soon as Pinkus was among the outlaws, he threw his huge body from the back of his destrier, sweeping up a trio of brigands as he crashed to the ground. While the hulking hillman whirled his axe, Brool, in bloody arcs, Pinkus discarded outlaws' broken bodies left, up, right, and down as if a cyclone had struck in the midst of these hapless ambushers. It was all over in a few minutes.
"Who is your captain?" Gord demanded of the dozen prisoners.
"Cob the Crazed — but he lies dead there," one wounded outlaw managed to reply.
Chert, meanwhile, was chipping the ice from the frozen corpse of the spell-caster who had foolishly. sent his dweomer at the ogre-magus. It seemed that a backlash had occurred when the spell struck Pinkus, and an opposite effect had been inflicted upon the sender, who was caught off guard and did not act fast enough to avoid it. The fellow's surprised gaze looked blankly forth from a globe of slowly melting ice several feet thick. The barbarian, who thought that the dead Cob might be carrying something worth salvaging, was using his axe to whittle the stuff away to speed the natural process.
"Don't eat those bodies, Pinkus!" Gord called to the ogre-magus. The ogreling growled and grumbled but left off his prodding of the dead bandits and smacking of his lips. Gord wasn't certain if he had been doing this to further intimidate their captives, or whether the ehjure had actually been planning to eat one or more of their fallen attackers. Whatever the case, the effect upon the survivors was amazing.
"Please keep him away from us," the spokesman for the prisoners pleaded to Gord. "We'll tell you anything you want — just keep him from us!"
"Gather up all the valuables, then," Gord ordered, "and be certain that your own wealth is in the pile. If I find so much as an iron drab has been held back. I'll give the offender to Pinkus for his next meal!"
The ogre-magus clicked his fangs fiercely and rolled his goggling eyes. There was a mad scramble to comply, each outlaw attempting to be the first to divest himself of his money and valuables.
"Get the stuff from the bodies too!" Chert shouted, and another rush ensued. Meanwhile, the barbarian had whittled the ice down to where the sun would soon complete the work, so he rested on his axe and watched the captives with a flinty gaze. It took little urging for them to complete the task and meekly return to a huddled group near the two humans.
"What a pitiful treasure!'' Gord said with disgust. There, on a worn and dirty cloak, was the sum of the wealth the brigands had possessed. No more than a hundred coins, and nothing larger than a copper common in the lot. There were a few pieces of cheap jewelry and one silver-studied belt. "No wonder they sought to rob wayfarers. Even a Medeglan pilgrim would be likely to enrich such a poor lot as this!"
"Now can we eat?" Pinkus asked hopefully.
"Cut it out now, pal. If we eat them, we won't be able to enlist them on our quest I think that would be putting them to much better use, don't you? After all. you don't want to have to deal with indigestion in addition to whatever else we might encounter, now do you?" Gord asked condescendingly. Pinkus looked disappointed, but he nodded agreement. Gord turned to the dozen or so survivors of Crazed Cob's corps. "Bury your comrades, and leave a place for the magic-user, too." Meanwhile Chert had finally broken the ice, so to speak, and the body of the sorcerer could now be searched.