"And I," replied the bard, slowly bringing a longsword up.

A rapid exchange of attacks took place. The feints and parries amazed the onlookers, for such swordplay was rare. The typical mode was to slash, chop, and cut with only an occasional and often fortuitous thrust or parry. Gellor had the longer blade, and he was very fast and clever. Gord's shortsword was quicker in response, however, held as it was by the young thief. In addition, Gord was so agile and fast on his feet that there was much fencing before either opponent managed to touch the other The match would go to whoever managed to hit the other five times. Gellor finally won with a score of five to four

"That was well done," said Gord as he clapped his comrade on the back. His breathing was easy, and only a light sheen of perspiration showed that the young adventurer had been exerting himself.

Gellor drew a deep breath. "For one supposedly skilled in arts other than weapon play, you show remarkable ability. You seem far better than the last time I saw you ply your blade," the bard said almost ruefully as he mopped sweat from his brow with a linen square.

"You'd have slain me easily enough were the contest actual," Gord replied, passing the whole matter off. "Let's wash the grime from these trials from ourselves and find something to eat. I'm famished!"

That suggestion met with general approval, and everyone went off to refresh themselves. Gord, Chert, and Gellor found their clothing clean and ready for wear, it having been seen to by the servants while they had been at sport. They had a surprisingly fine meal in a small, flower-filled atrium. Chert managed to clear every dish of its contents before finally admitting surfeit. Eventually each went off to his own apartment to doze.

"Up, lazybones!" It was Tirrip, looking lovely in a flowering gown of deep green piqued out with golden piping. "There is a sing about to be held, and you must come."

Gord followed and was soon in a high-raftered hall that was filled with felines. Tirrip's friends were there in human form, and there were a number of other people. The young thief wasn't certain about the true form of any of them, but they seemed friendly enough when he was introduced – Gellor and Chert were there ahead of him and already in conversation – Chert with his new comrade Raug and a pair of women unknown to Gord, while Gellor spoke with several others including a white-haired man with pale skin and colorless eyes.

"…Lord Lowen the seneschal; Lowen, this is Master Gord," Tirrip concluded the introduction.

"My pleasure, Gord, and do dispense with the formalities; call me Lowen, please." When the young thief inclined his head in acknowledgement, the seneschal went on. "Your associate here, Gellor, has told me a little of your adventures and how you came here, and I am eager to hear more. Our liege was in too big a hurry to be elsewhere to give me much information about the unexpected arrival of guests such as yourselves."

Gord gave a brief and lucid account of their adventure, omitting all details that pertained to the Second Key of the Artifact of All Evil. He was interrupted often, though, by the quick-witted seneschal, who asked pointed questions required to explain some detail or other. Gellor helped him to manage the virtual interrogation, disguised as it was by polite conversational tone. Lowen seemed altogether too sharp not to detect the gaps in the whole, but he did not ask direct questions about the reason for the party to be where they were, seeming to accept the vague references to political and military matters as sufficient.

" Now that is a lovely ring!" Lowen exclaimed as Gord was describing an encounter with gestures.

"What? Oh, this chrysoberyl? It is nothing," Gord said with seeming modesty as he lowered his left arm to remove the ring from sight.

"Nothing? It is hardly a trantle!" the seneschal said. "A cat's-eye stone is most prized here, of course," he laughed. "That one has an aura of power about it which is unmistakable to such as myself… May I ask how you came by it?"

There was no polite way to avoid this direct inquiry, so Gord simply told Lowen the truth; he'd taken it from a dead thief when he was but a lad. He also added that he was not aware of any special dweomer borne by the ring. The seneschal seemed satisfied, and the matter was dropped. Just then the sing began.

What followed seemed to Gord to be the worst attempt at music he had ever heard. There was endless screeching and yowling, accompanied by basso growls and falsetto howls. It was, in fact, a massed caterwauling performed by feline and were-feline throats from housecat to tiger-were. The cathedral-ceilinged hall was filled with creatures who seemed to find this wonderful, but the three humans came near to clapping their hands over their ears and fleeing. After a time, though, the general chorus broke up, groups going here and there to continue the festivity in discrete company, more or less.

"Let's walk in the garden," Tirrip suggested.

Gord found that a fine idea, despite the occasional clumps of yowling "singers" that were there. Eventually even these serenades were ceased, and the remainder of the night was pleasant indeed.

Chapter 19

Three days later their host returned from whatever business he had been about. The Catlord said nothing about his affairs, and the three men who were his guests dared not make impolite inquiry. They had been well cared for and comfortable. The enforced inactivity galled them, however, and all were itching to be back on the trail of the artifact they sought so desperately. Gellor broached the matter of their return, and the Master Cat said that the matter would be accomplished to their satisfaction in due course.

"Prepare your gear," he told them, "and be ready for departure soon. Please be so kind as to see to Gord's things too, for I would speak to him for a bit before you take your leave."

Puzzled, Gord watched Chert and the one-eyed bard depart for their quarters. What could the Catlord wish to talk to him about? Granted, they had met once before, but that matter had been satisfactorily settled to both his and Gord's evident benefit. This matter was of another sort, and only the Master Cat knew, but Gord would soon learn of it, he reflected.

"Your thoughts are plain, Gord." The comment startled the young adventurer from his pondering, but the dark-haired man spoke on, ignoring this. "Don't be surprised at such stuff as that. You wonder what I am at, and I'll be blunt and plain. Your mission is known to me, and I approve. No active part will I take, but I will give you some information that may assist you in your coming adventures."

"You are aware of the Second Key?"

"Yes, as well as the First and the Third – and what they will do if ever joined," the Catlord said somberly. "It is now time for me to tell you about that ring you have worn for some years. You asked once, and I spoke not, for it is one that I myself made long ago. There are eight others like it, but that is something altogether different. Are you now aware of any of its benefits?"

Gord nodded slowly. "I think it enabled me to see clearly through intervening clouds, with vision unnaturally sharp and close… but that is all."

"The dweomer of the ring includes such vision, and the seeing of light not normal for the human eye as well. Even the sharpest-eyed cat sees not as clearly as you when you employ the power of that ring. That is but a minor benison which it conveys. It has a principal power. It saves your life, but only if you are attuned to it. You are, somehow, and this is most surprising to me. It was not meant for humans."

"Not meant for humans?" Gord repeated stupidly, unable to comprehend this.

"Nevertheless, it worked. That, Gord, is how you managed to twist that banishment spell as you did. The casting would never have affected one so powerful and well-shielded as The Reaper when he ventures upon the Prime Material Plane. The ring expended a portion of its dweomer and brought you and your friends here. Now there are eight usages remaining, for all know a cat has nine lives."