Now that he thought about it, this seemed a far more reasonable way to guard a shadow-palace-not with openly visible sentries, but with gloomy, hidden wards. Shadows cloaked, obscured. They were the stuff of nothingness, yet shadows could mask substance. They aided and betrayed and were everywhere and nowhere at once. They were the stuff of illusion… Of course!
Having hit on the likely solution, Gord determined to accept nothing his eyes told him, and he paused and peered upward at the tall facade of the sprawling place. What he saw made his mind reel for an instant The palace was not so grand and ornate as it had seemed. More a stronghold than a whimsical mansion-the court of a warrior, not the palace of a poet and dreamer. Pillars and columns were actually armed soldiers, stone bartizans were actually great, griffonlike guardians of Inky feathers and pearly beaks, perched to plummet upon unwelcome visitors.
Gord pretended to have something in his eye, going through a series of blinkings and rubbings as he scanned what he could. “Do you see any creatures on the battlements? Warriors on the parapets?”
Neither cat responded, although both of the massive lions had swung their maned heads this way and that as Gord had continued to pause and seemingly remove a speck from his eye. The silence confirmed his assumption. Shadowking masked his palace in illusion; layer upon layer was possible, in fact. The young thief determined to do his utmost to penetrate the veils and discover the true nature of the Lord of Shadowrealm and his chiaroscuro stronghold. “Come, my friends,” Gord said jauntily. “Let us pay our respects to the King of Shadow.” Then he ascended the translucent steps of whorled agate, the huge, maned lions pacing him on either hand.
A shadowy figure in swarthy and insubstantial-seeming robes of voluminous sort was standing against a great pillar of stone, a veined column of polished marble that stretched the height of five men to support the arched ceiling of the long antechamber. When Gord and his lion guard neared the silvery doors at the end of the hall, the figure spoke, but the voice seemed to issue from a marble statue forming part of the opposite support. “A noble man, unproclaimed by bearing or device, save for two male lions as guard and escort!”
The lions shifted their eyes toward the statue, so effective was the ventriloquism of the magical major domo who announced them. The metal valves parted instantly at the words, swinging silently and smoothly inward to reveal a seemingly boundless space beyond. Were those real stars? Mool’s ivory disc, too? No, the phantasm was penetrable when Gord concentrated. The chamber was huge, no question, the ceiling of its dome no less than sixty feet above, but it was no more than a massive room in a mighty palace despite the design of Shadowking to have guests see it otherwise.
“For revelers to be welcomed at Twilight-tide,” a soft voice said sweetly, “they must provide their name and nature. Prithee, my lord, favor me with this dear information so that I may proclaim it first to our sovereign.”
Gord saw a darkly beautiful woman, one he judged to be a phantom lady of the court by her dress and demeanor. “An honor and privilege, m’lady. You may state that Gord, High Citizen of Greyhawk of Oerth, has come to pay his respects to the Shadow-king,” he told her, trying not to overtly stare as he sought to determine her real nature.
“As you wish, honorable gentleman,” the lovely lady of shadow replied, switching honorifics smoothly and giving a tiny and appropriate curtsey suited to Gord’s announced status. “But I must say you are too modest,” she added with a fluttering of long, sable eyelashes. “Your bearing and manner proclaim far more of you than the humble rank you claim aloud, and no simple citizen of a free city anywhere comes accompanied by pridemasters as guards.”
A game of words was afoot, so Gord rephrased his status, but played it down instead of exalting it, which would have given the woman more information than she deserved. “Very well. Let us change it then. Say that Gord, a wanderer and rogue, comes to call.”
The woman started a full obeisance, having anticipated something more glorious than she was told. Then, flustered, she halted, recovered herself, and hurried off into the throng populating the ceremonial hall to report her news. Gord smiled to himself. Illusion could be countered with misdirection and simple truth as well. Those who sought to delude were more often confounded by plain speaking and obvious realities than the stuff of which they were masters. Odd, however, that this inquisitress was as she seemed. A lesson, he supposed, to not expect everything to be masked. A subtlety used by the Lord of Shadows that would not be lost upon him.
“Gord, a worthy personage, accompanied by two pridemasters of our realm,” a hushed but pervasive voice intoned. Eyes suddenly turned toward him, and Gord felt a trifle uncomfortable. The company he saw watching him and the two lions included the creatures he knew as adumbrates, plus what were surely gloams with shadowkin retainers trailing after, all interspersed with phantoms, fuligi, shades, murklings, spirits, and humans too. There! That was a small company of draw! Gray-skinned dwarf beside deep-brown gnome, and a smattering of humanoids of unusual sort-beings who recalled to Gord’s mind the ehjure Pinkus, a memorable creature who had accompanied him long ago on another adventure involving illusion and deception.
A square fellow with jutting brows over a broad, honest face approached them with a swaggering gait. “Hello, Gord. You haven’t any idea who I am, I know, but I’ve heard tell of you!” Then the man turned away, and was about to head elsewhere when he turned back and winked a merry eye. “Don’t worry-I’ll not say a word…” and with that the crowd swallowed him up. Shrugging helplessly, Gord stood uncertain as the strains of a strange melody suddenly were struck up, and the place began to become aswirl with dancing couples.
“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.