The stink of rotting flesh was so great that Gord was unable to tell if ghouls or lions or both were nearby. The adit to the small cavern was a natural passage, some fault that bent and jogged in a crazy manner as it wormed its way through the strata of shadow-rock. After what seemed an eternity of plodding progress, the young adventurer finally reached the surface of the Plane of Shadows. It was alight with strange silvers and pearl hues, now that it was not awash with the monochromatic gray-whiteness of Twilight or cloaked by the gloom of Snuffdark. In short, although even at its best this was a world of somber tones, it seemed to the young adventurer that he had just emerged into the bright sun and blue sky of a spring morning on Oerth.
“You live, lord!” The roared greeting came from Hotbreath. The big cat actually bounded to Gord and placed his massive forepaws upon the young man’s shoulders, nearly toppling him over in the process.
“You are much too heavy!” Gord managed to gasp, laughing in joy as he shoved the lion off and stood panting. “I am glad you too have survived!” Man and lion spoke together for a moment, Gord relating the struggle against Imprimus, and the dark-maned Hotbreath telling how ghouls and shadowkin had both come to attack him and his comrades when the murk of Snuffdark began to lift.
“That is why we left, Gord,” the big male growled.
“We know by instinct and inner feelings too when the gloom of the time is passing. When it Was gone and you did not appear, we thought you dead. We are no match for such as that one, the gloam you call Imprimus, so we sought escape, having done all we could to bring harm to the evil ones.”
Holding fast to the torn and bloodied mane, Gord said earnestly, “You did so much, friend-you and your pride, Smokemane and his too!-that there is naught I can say to adequately convey my thanks. Shadowking too will know of the sacrifices and service of your kind, and perhaps there will be peace and an end to the animosity between him and the lions of shadow hereafter. Now I must go and seek the lord of this plane, for if I remain here much longer, I know that never again will I be able to return to my own world.”
“We too must seek our places. Smokemane’s pride must be cared for-some females and cubs remain still, you know. They will now join mine until one of his sons is grown and able to form a new pride to hunt over the territory of his father and those who sired his line. As for Shadowking, what he thinks of our kind is of no import If he seeks us for sport, we will in turn hunt for him and his. To our liege, though, please do commend us. Speak well of shadow-lions to the Mastercat, and we will always be your friends.”
After an exchange of final words, the lions went away, some limping, all bearing signs from the great battle they had fought. Gord also displayed his wounds, as it were, as he slowly wended his way through the weird realm of shadow, again seeking the lord of the plane.
It would be a long, difficult trek, but the young thief meant to locate the Chiaroscuro Palace once again. Even if there was but scant hope that Shadowking would be In residence, it was the only chance he had of escaping to the world he called his own. Glowing brand of crystal upon his shoulder, Gord plodded with measured steps over the shifting surface of Shadowrealm, determined to win through or expire in the trying.
Chapter 24
At long last, he saw spires rising on the horizon. The palace of the ruler of shadows came into view, drifting toward him as would a ship carried by a slow current.
As it came nearer, Gord stepped toward it, allowing the little island of shadows he had stood upon to slide away from him. By angling in the direction of the huge structure, he was able to arrive at the gate of the great fortress before too much more time had passed.
Even by consciously disbelieving what he saw, Gord could detect no retainers on the battlements, no heralds to alert those within of his approach. The gates of the Chiaroscuro Palace were shut fast. But as Gord came and stood before them, the mouth of a carven face upon one of these valves opened, and a toneless voice asked, “Who stands before the forbidden entrance to the Keep of Shadowking?”
“Only I,” the young man said with resignation, fighting off a feeling of boundless despair, “Gord, a wayfarer, come too late…”
Another of the wooden visages opened its mouth. “Enter, Gord, and any others who are with you. Our sovereign bids you welcome. Go to the Vault of Veils immediately.”
It took him only a little time to go to the place the magically animated face of wood had instructed him to seek. As he approached the featureless door to the chamber, the portal swung open just as the great gates to the Chiaroscuro Palace had done for him. As soon as he had stepped all the way into the room, the door banged shut and Gord was utterly alone in a space illuminated only by the pale radiance of his sword of crystal.
Suddenly the place was awash with the hues of shadow and even faint pastel colors as well. The transparent form of Shadowking appeared in the king’s seat, and spoke.
“I have left this for you, Prince Gord, against your return. That you are seeing and hearing this means you have triumphed, and your victory is mine! I thank you most sincerely. And I name you Prince of Shadows, Duke of Shades, and evil ones must now bend their knee to me and you and all my other noble vassals. Yet you are no actual vassal; the title is but meant to honor you.
“When you laid low the duskdrake, the shock of that malign one’s parting was felt throughout all the realm. Then I grew hopeful, for one able to deal with that fell creature might indeed find and slay Imprimus before Snuffdark’s lifting. Because of this renewed hope, and knowing that your sword’s potent talisman was destroyed in the annihilation of the duskdrake, I sought out the best prize in my treasury. In the shadows they are greatest, but even in sun or midnight blackness they are most potent.”
As the illusion uttered those words, a flat, metallic gonging sounded, and a small case appeared before Gord. He looked inside and found it full of little, round seeds. “They are shadow seeds, Gord,” the phantasm said. “Use them to create a thicket of umbral sort. Each curtain lasts but an hour, but a pinch of the stuff suffices.”
It was a splendid gift, especially for one who practiced the craft of thievery. Gord smiled slightly as he tucked the parcel carefully into his tunic’s inner pocket. The image of Shadowking was still before him, but now the phantasmal voice had paused as though waiting for a response.
Gord did not mean to sound unappreciative of the gift, but there was really only one thing on his mind, and it was that question that he blurted out: “How am I to escape from here?” Then, remembering that he spoke to naught but an illusion, the young man sighed and hung his head in weary dejection.
“By my dweomered sight, noble Gord,” the phantasm went on, “I saw you at the end. At the lich-fiend’s death, my forces surged, and before my eyes you recovered something which was bestowed to you by your sire when you were but an infant, a babe too young to know. The nine black sapphires in that necklace are your means of returning to your world, prince. This, then, is my…”
Gord was dumbfounded. Had the illusion actually heard his plea? He opened his mouth to say something, but the phantasm of the king did not pause to give him a chance.
“…final gift to you. Free the ebon stars from their prisoning metal. As there are nine dispositions, nine and ninety principal states of existence, so too there are nine gems in your inheritance. Place eight circling one, think of your own place, and there you shall be. Ere you do this, Gord, there is one caution I must give you. As the power of the nine stones grants you leave to pass on to where you Will, the sapphires will return to their origin, that place which was the home of your sire, and they will be gone from your ken until you yourself again find them.