A handful of yokels were pleading for their lives amid the smoking ruins of their thorp. As much to their own amazement as to that of the members of his company, Obmi signaled that the survivors were to be given quarter. One of the men either didn't see the signal, or else he simply chose to ignore it. Sneering, he thrust his sword into a little girl.
That was a mistake: A heavy hammer suddenly flashed through the air, and it struck the man's head with a sound reminiscent of a ripe melon hitting a stone floor. Shards of skull and bits of brain flew away with the hammer as the headless body flopped and jerked on the trampled, bloody earth.
Obmi caught the hammer as it returned to him and looked around at the scattered company. All were busily gathering up their booty, sheathing weapons, mounting up and readying for departure. Without comment or sign, the taciturn dwarf leader of the band slung the gory warhammer around the pommel of his saddle and rode out. His small stallion cantered away, leaving the sacked community on the edge of the Welkwood behind to the south. An uneven stream of other riders hastened after Obmi. There was no order to their march, but the weaker gave the stronger wide berth. Only two others rode near the dwarf.
Although he was hunted from the Crystalmist Mountains to Keoland, Obmi was virtually unknown to the reavers who followed him now. Keak and Gleed were the only ones in the group who were familiar with the jolly-looking, close-mouthed mountain dwarf, having accompanied Obmi for several years now. Keak was a tall, skinny high elf, fratricidal and murderous, adept with both spell and sword. Gleed, an aged-seeming gnome, was likewise a rogue and outlaw able to spin illusion or slit purse with equal skill. The lanky elf rode a gaunt horse, while the wizened gnome sat atop his own mount in a houdalike saddle. Keak was still snickering over the fate of the disobedient brigand and trying to get the squinty-eyed gnome to share his mirth.
"… and did you see his face when the hammer flew near?" Keak paused to cackle with glee at the thought. "It took him full in his sneering mouth, wiping that look away as cleanly as his teeth, face, and head! Heh, heh, heh!"
"Something less permanent might have done as well," was Gleed's only comment in reply. The gnome then spoke sharply to his ugly, jug-headed mount, and the horse responded by increasing its pace to draw alongside the long-maned stallion ridden by the dwarf.
Keak likewise brought his animal to a faster gait, drawing up to ride at Obmi's left. "Most nobly done, Lord Obmi, most nobly!" he said to the ruddy-cheeked leader. "I was just sharing my admiration with the good gnome – but he seems less impressed with our leader's skill and authority than I," he finished, breaking into his usual cackle.
"Bah!" said Gleed. "Nobody cares what a crazy elf thinks about whether or not some useless man is brained."
Obmi's eyes twinkled as he looked from one to the other of his henchmen. "They need sport," he said, "and they need lessons, too. I give them both. Today there is no doubt who rules this company." As he said the last, Obmi's merry gaze traveled from Keak to Gleed. Both understood the message, for elf and gnome had seen the jolly countenance of the dwarf wreathed in smiles as he wrought the most malign deeds upon foes and disobedient friends alike. Obmi had power, and both of his lieutenants feared him. To provoke Obmi was to invite death.
"Fetch Red Bowman for me, Gleed," the dwarf said. "Keak, you move back too. Ride with your ilk. Make sure they remain steadfast."
Both of Obmi's henchmen muttered acquiescence and turned their mounts. Red Bowman was the leader of the score of humans who rode with the band, the remnants of a company of brigands that had numbered over fifty when they joined the demi-humans. Although the expedition had taken a heavy toll upon their number, the survivors were wealthy, and there was no grumbling or thought of desertion among them – none apparent, anyway. The wizened gnome shrugged and slowed his steed to a walk so that the others would catch up with him. Keak wheeled his gaunt horse around and rode back to where a half-score of various types of elves and half-elves rode together in a bunch. Near them were a handful of dwarves and gnomes riding ponies.
Keak took a position between the two groups and cackled, "Enough sport for you, lads?"
"When the hell do we get to someplace where we can have some real fun?" retorted one of the wild elves.
"Where the hell are we going, anyway?" asked one of the dwarves.
Laughing raucously, Keak told both lots that they should engage in anatomically impossible acts, but then he continued. "We'll be coming to our destination soon enough, and then the boss will collect the big money. Your share'll make you rich for life!"
"I should live so long!" shouted the single high elfin the company.
"Keee, keee, khee!" snorted the lieutenant. "You won't if you keep talking like that… but, then, all the more for the rest of us!" The group looked blackly at the skinny, cackling elf, but then many of them grinned at the prospect of a larger share of treasure. The half-elf closed his mouth and kept it shut under Keak's wild glare. "Now, that's better. I'd say that tonight we'll be camping outdoors again, but tomorrow we should hit Hill Road and spend the night in Hommlet – good food and drink at the inn there, lads!"
"We'll take it all, and the women too!" agreed one of the riders.
"In a pig's ass you will, Stubbin," replied the stick-thin elf. "Obmi'tl want no such business close to Verbobonc. We are to pass as quietly through the border as possible, and that means we act like goody-goodies there."
Stubbin, a broad-shouldered mountain dwarf, made a rude gesture at Keak in reply, but he did not argue. If Keak said that (he boss wanted no trouble, then Stubbin had no desire to cross him. Obmi was one mean dwarf, and nobody to screw around with.
Nothing that saw them cared to molest so ugly a group as this company was, and just as predicted, they rode into the village of Hommlet at evening the next day. The Inn of the Welcome Wench, accustomed to accommodating caravans, easily housed their number. There were suspicious looks, but no one questioned their money. Horses were fed and rested while the company dined heartily and slept in soft beds. Next morning, Obmi haggled with a pair of traders for provisions and a half-dozen fresh horses. Then the company continued northward. They were watched by hard-eyed men-at-arms serving the local lord, but nobody cared to delay their departure.
Obmi was even more silent than usual, and he appeared haggard, as if a night spent in a feather bed was worse for him than one spent rolled in a blanket on the ground. Only the wicked dwarf knew the true cause of his condition. As he had slept, ebon tendrils had stolen into his brain – long, slender tentacles as insubstantial as fog yet strong as steel. The tendrils thickened and grew barbs that hurt cruelly, bringing him instantly awake and making him aware of what was happening, Iuz was in contact, and his master was not pleased with Obmi's performance! The dwarf grovelled mentally as the rasping voice of the cambion spoke through the tendrils directly to his brain.
"Little fool!" Iuz shrieked mentally. "Your stupid meandering and pillaging has left so broad and easy a trail that even idiot puppets can follow! Do you have… it?" At this question, Obmi thought of the misshapen object he guarded so carefully. He did so without meaning to, but Iuz instantly caught the thought. "Good! Now I shall not have to waste a useful tool – you will live for a while yet, Obmi!"
Quivering in fear and rage, the dwarf sent a mental message in reply, while carefully masking the thoughts that lurked deeper within his mind. "Thank you, Lord of Evil, for your generosity. I am your servant to do with what you will…"
"Enough!" interrupted Iuz. "I must hurry, for some great cloud is gathering, and in moments this contact will be broken. I can not see what is around you, but it is dangerous – powerful! Good lies nearby, but some friendly force as well, I think, for this force is obscured and hidden. Perhaps it is a trap set by those righteous weaklings who seek to oppose me… No matter.
"Listen carefully, and do not fail me. Leave immediately, but do so without commotion. Go to Verbobonc, being careful to be open and seemingly carefree. Once well beyond the town, leave an obvious trail to the northeast, doing what you have done previously – robbing, murdering, raping, burning. It must seem that you are on your way to Molag, understand?"
"I understand, Lord," thought Obmi in reply.
The wisps within the dwarfs brain sent tingling pleasure through Obmi's body. "Excellent, my faithful servant! Do well, and your reward will be all you can ask" – and suddenly the tendrils were barbed and painful again – "but if you fail, such pain as this will seem a blissful reprieve from the torment you shall suffer! Now, stop cringing and attend my final instructions.
"Leave those clods who serve you to their fate. Divide when you reach the Att River. Send them on toward the lands of the Hierarchs, but you ride for your life northward. Enter the Vesve, and I will have an army there to greet you. This force will convey you in triumph to me in Dorakaa."
"But, Lord Iuz, how am I to convince them to…" Obmi let the mental question trail off, for the tendrils were gone from his brain. He could sense that he was alone within his head. Hatred mixed with fear poured from the dwarfs mind, helping him to blank out the headache that the contact had caused. He said aloud, "Damn you, Iuz, for the pig-bastard you are! Someday I, Obmi the Wily, shall become ruler of your realm, and you will cringe before me in abject terror at the fate I will bestow upon you!" Then, not wasting further effort on his hatred, the dwarf began to lay his plans for accomplishing the orders of the cambion, Iuz.
Ten days later, the company turned on the train of pilgrims and merchants they had been accompanying, some as travelers, others purporting to be guards. Treachery and surprise enabled Obmi to succeed with surprising ease, and only three of his number were lost in the process. The company was near the crossroads that made the area important. A well-repaired road ran east and west, from Furyondy to Veluna City, while another ran southward from Littleberg to Verbobonc. The site was perfect, of course.
"Take everything of value, Gleed, and lead the men toward Dyvers. At the main fork, take the Willip Road. Your destination is Molag!"
The gnome stared at Obmi in surprise. "Molag? What business have we with the Hierarchs?" he asked.
"They will receive us happily, and pay for our services and information. Am I to be questioned further?" As he posed his question, Obmi placed his hand on his hammer. Gleed shook his head, but there was doubt in the gnome's squinting eyes as Obmi went on. "Keak and I will take the useless steeds and lay a false trail toward the north. You make sure that your trail is well covered by using only the road as long as possible. We'll lead any pursuit as far as Littleberg, lose ourselves there, and then come cross-country to join you… let us say Boulder-ford on the Veng River, fifty leagues north of Willip." Gleed thought a moment, then nodded. The gnome had mentally pictured the route and arrived at the conclusion that the two routes were of about equal length and would conjoin at the ford, just as Obmi had suggested.
"An excellent plan, Master Obmi! The loot…"
Obmi shrugged his massive shoulders, feigning resignation. "For once I have to trust you fully, gnome. I must travel quickly and cleverly to lay the false trail, then be able to disappear. All the goods, even the silver and gold, must go with your group. I am charging you with safe keeping of the spoils until I rejoin the company – fail me, and I swear I will hunt you down and slay you!"
At that Gleed grinned, then quickly replaced the look with one of sober acquiescence. "Your orders, Obmi, are always faithfully followed by your servant, Gleed. Never fear, we shall be at the Boulderford as commanded. Give us two weeks." The dwarf scratched his beard, staring at Gleed as he did so, a mixture of doubt and consideration playing across his leathery countenance. Finally he nodded. " Let us say two and a half weeks – eighteen days – so that unexpected delays are covered. If you are not there within the allotted time, I shall seek you out," Obmi concluded with a threatening tone.
"Eighteen days, Master. I will be there!"
The gnome went off then to gather the company, while Obmi sought out the skinny Keak. This was almost too easy, thanks to the greed of the gnome, Obmi thought as he smiled merrily to himself.