There Ain't No Justice - #137
The Sorcerer's Familiar, by Tal Meta
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        "Is this the man?" the younger man asked the older, who had just
dropped into the seat across from him. Both regarded a smallish man, dressed
in rough clothes, who kneaded his hat under their gaze.
        "Aye, milord, that's the one you wanted."  the older man, clearly a
warrior, gestured at their guest with his dagger, before using it to skewer a
bit of cheese off the platter before him.

        The younger of the two, Faricus, levelled his gaze at the man, and
lifted a gilded monocle to his eye. "He's got several spells on him, Garmon.
Didn't I tell you to have Armam dispel anything on him before you brought him
to me?"
        "Armam tried, milord. Says the spells are remarkably resistant to
being dispelled, and even trying to do so caused several of the spells in the
lad's aura to discharge, wrecking his workshop. The ones that are left he
says are innocuous enough to be left intact; protective in nature only."

        Farcius rose, and walked over to their guest, who continued to
crumple his hat in his hands under the gazes of his hosts."Name?" he asked.
        "Arlen Griss, of Nulb, your grace. 'ow can I be of service to such as
yourself?" Arlen's hat, long distressed by his nervous pulling upon it,
finally tore softly, punctuating his question.
        Farcius reached for the torn hat, which began to mend itself in his
hands. "You worked for the man known as Vincent Cordoba, who came to Nulb two
summers past, is that correct?"
        "Yes, your grace. 'e took me on as his manservant, he did." Taking
his hat back from Farcius, he made a great show of marveling at the repairs
the young mage had wrought without so much as a gesture. [There's power in
this one], he thought to himself.[I'd best be wary, for my master's sake.]

        "And you were present with your master, this Vincent, within the
ruined temple south of Nulb this last month, when the seals were broken?"
Farcius asked, pressing in against Arlen's  'personal space'.
        "Y-yes, your grace, I was there when it happened. I could descibe the
blokes responsible, if you'd like, but my master said they'd passed beyond
the Veil, if you know what I mean."
        "Beyond the Veil?" Farcius mumbled, more to himself than to Arlen,
before continuing, "No, for the moment, we're more interested in your master.
How exactly did you come to be in his service, Mr. Griss?"

        "Well, your grace, it was two summers ago, just like you said. I was
living at the Waterside, my farm having burned down early in Coldeven of that
same year. 'e just came in one night, speaking broken Common, and asking
Rents' if he could play in return for a place near the fire. Ten seconds
after he started to play, Rents' told him yes.
        'e played like no bard or minstrel I'd ever heard; what he were doing
in a jerkwater like Nulb I couldn't fathom. Nearly the whole town turned out
to hear him that first night, and he played nearly till sun-up. Funny, but by
the end of the night, he spoke Common nearly as well as anyone in the place,
even though he still had the accent he'd come in with." Arlen could feel
himself just blabbering, but couldn't stop himself. [Subtle bastard! It must
have been on the wine.] Arlen thought, [I wonder if I can break whatever
spell he's got me in?]
        "Played like that for nearly a week, then started taking a couple of
nights off to see the countryside, or so he said. Rents' said he was welcome
to play the Waterside any time he wanted, even reserved him a room. After two
weeks, he came up to me after a set, saying that he needed a guide, and a
permanent place to stay. Offered to get my place fixed up again, if I'd let
him use it as a base. I agreed.
        I'd heard the tales... every kid has. Vincent assured me they weren't
genies, nor demons; just his magic, and some local spirits he'd managed to
befriend. Took maybe a day or so, and my stead was almost good as new. He'd
just sit there and play, and things I'd never seen but only heard about come
shufflin' out of the woods and fields to do his bidding. Brownies... ain't
nobody seen brownies near Nulb in almost a score of years, but there's three
of 'em, working to put together what's left of my favorite chair. Did a damn
fine job of it, too.
        About a two days after we moved in, two chaps ride up to my place in
the dead of night. One I'd seen before; Lareth would come to Nulb sometimes,
surrounded by a bunch of  'is black cloaked fire-eyes, to meet folk at
Skole's place. The other one, Derek, I'd never seen, but Vincent clearly knew
him from somewhere. They talked for a bit, then Lareth rode off, and a while
later Vincent and Derek rode off on their own."

        Growing bold, Arlen reached for a goblet from the table, and took a
long pull. [Bastard lives well, at least] he thought to himself, [maybe if I
can get out of this alive I can get a bottle of this in the bargain!] His
thirst quenched, he continued.
        "A day goes by, then two. Third morning, Derek rides back, Vincent
across the back of his horse, bloody and looking far too pale. We get him
back inside, and Derek tells me to keep giving him water while he goes off
for help. Comes back an a few hours later with Lareth and a half dozen of his
fire-eyes, who lock me in my own cellar while their master does his work.
        Later that night, after they've left, Derek finally finds me down
there and apologizes. Explains that Vincent made some enemies, and that
Lareth didn't want them using my eyes to find them. Didn't make much sense to
me at the time, but I would learn only too soon what Derek was talking about.
        Next few months went by fairly peaceful.Vincent took over the attic
of my stead for his private quarters, and he'd stay up there, most nights.
Maybe once a week we'd ride into town and he'd play a night at the Waterside,
for old times sake, he'd say. 'e'd talk to himself, quite a bit, and
sometimes I could almost hear voices talking back to him. All kinds of
critters began showing up and lurking about. Vincent would look them over,
keeping some, and discarding others. Turns out he'd always had a snake about
him, and soon thereafter I had to leave food out for a local fox and the
biggest raven I'd ever seen.
        About a year after Vincent first came along, we, that is, Vincent,
Derek, and I, we rode out to the ruined temple south of Nulb. I'd always
heard whispers around town that it was still active, but it was always
hearsay, you know, somebody's brother's friend says, and stuff like that.
Sure enough, there was about a half dozen carts being led up along one wall,
an around 20 guys in blackened chainmail unloading supplies into one of the
towers.
        I look over, and Vincent gets all tense in his saddle. He makes a
croaking sound, points at the temple, and suddenly inside the walls there's
this curtain of white fire, that stretches out and forms this big oval shape.
The guys in mail stop unloading the caravan and rush over to the oval, and
three figures just walk out of it, like it was a door or something. They're
wearing some kind of armor like nothing I'd ever seen, elaborately worked
with grinning faces, octagons, and spikes. I can hear the temple's guards
shouting something, then the three figures draw these greatswords and just
wade into them swinging."

        Arlen thrusts his goblet at Garmon, who grumbles, but fills it from
the bottle on the table before him."Thank you sir," Arlen continues, ignoring
Garmon's icy stare, "Now, where was I?"
        Pulling up a stool, Arlen sits and takes another drink of wine before
continuing. "Now, your grace, I'm no warrior, but I've seen my share of
fights living in a place like Nulb. These new fellers, I later learned,
worship some demon called Mabelrode, who likes swords and swordmanship.
Anyway, them fellers, or them swords of theirs, are powerful, like they cut
through chain armor like cloth. One blow, even a glancing one, is enough to
bring down what are clearly able-bodied men used to fighting. In less than a
minute, the three of them are looking at the bodies of fifteen dead, the
other five wise enough to retreat.
        I see Vincent look over at Derek, and nod. Vincent turns all red in
the face, clenches and unclenches his fist, and the oval fades, leaving the
three knights (for what else could they be?) holding the inner courtyard of
the Temple. He nods again, and we ride back to my house without another word,
like nothing has happened, and Vincent closes himself up in my attic, sets
himself to chanting, and doesn't stir for the next day and a half.
        About a week later, we ride back, and at about the same time of day,
the oval opens, and now eight of those knights step back into it; several
more come back across leading almost fifty peasants, but they ain't like the
locals; a couple have skins redder than any Flan, and one or two got skin
like the dead, all blue and pale, but obviously healthy. They're met by some
folks dressed in black chainmail, who I figure are from the temple. They take
half, while the rest are led off into the hills towards Nulb."

        Farcius interrupts, asking "This was the first time you'd seen the
Mabbies? Did you ever hear Vincent say where they were from?"
        "No, you grace, but I had the chance to hear them talk several times
later on, and some of them had an accent like Vincent had when he arrived.
I'd wager they were from his homeland, wherever that might be. He never
talked of such things, leastwise not to me." Arlen took a moment to finish
his wine, and risked a bite of cheese, as well.

        "Vincent and Derek ride back to my stead, and Vincent bids me to see
what's going on in town. I ride in just as the auction is getting under way -
a slave auction, right in the middle of the square! Most of the bidders I
recognize from Skole's place, but there's a few folk all swaddled in cloaks,
and more Rhennee than I've ever seen in town at one time.
        Bidding seems brisk, but I ain't got no money nor no room for no
slaves, so I buy what supplies we need in town, and hightail it back to my
place.
        I get back and Vincent is talking to this woman I ain't never seen
before, and between the two of 'em is an oval like I seen at the Temple, only
lots smaller. Ain't none of my business, so I don't linger overmuch, 'cept to
notice that the group of people they're discussing includes a 5' tall duck
(!) waving a sword and wearing a backpack, like it was people, or something.
        She don't stay for dinner, but Derek, he gets all gussied up like
some nobleman and rides off towards the north, Greyhawk City Vincent tells
me, and I don't see him again till the end of things."

        Shifting on his chair, Arlen takes a bite from a turkey leg, and
drains his cup of wine, motioning the still glowering Garmon to refill it.
"Maybe a week after that, Vincent tells me to pack up whatever I need for a
trip, and we ride off towards the Temple again.
        We ride out to the Temple, set loose the horses, and Vincent makes me
stand real still. 'Accept this', he tells me, and he does something, and I
suddenly feel queer all over, and I notice that Vincent looks, well, it's
hard to look at him. My eyes, it's like they can see him but don't want to,
and I thinks to myself 'this must be what invisibility looks like'. We march
across the Temple courtyard, brazen as anything, right past the guards. We
enter one of the broken towers, go in one of the rooms in the back, and
Vincent opens this trap door. Down we go, twisting and turning, eventually
coming out in a room with this big green lizard in it, but Vincent flicks his
finger at it and it pops like a soap bubble.
        We went down some halls, until we came to a chamber where a bunch of
black-robed priests seem to have been waiting for us. Vincent and them go on
to each other in some language I don't know, and eventually one of 'em, a
young lass (and quite a comely lass, I'll add) shows me to where my master
and I would be staying.
        I don't see my master much that next week,  but I keep our quarters
up in his absence. The lass, Muleen by name, she came to see me once or twice
on more personal business, but other than that I don't have much truck with
the folk in the Temple." 

        Squirming on his seat, Arlen looks at Farcius and asks "Pardon me
your lordship, but could I borrow your privvy? It was a long ride, locked in
your carriage, and my bladder is like to burst soon."
        "Certainly." Reaching for a cord near the door, Farcius gives it a
pull and shortly a guardsman pokes his head in the door. "Beluth, take Arlen
here to the privvy, and mind you he does not fall in. When he's finished,
fetch him directly back here, understand?"
        Nodding his understanding, the guard takes Arlen in tow. Turning his
attention back to Garmon, Farcius asks "So what do you think of his story so
far, my old friend?"
        "He shows every sign of being under the effects of the spellwine, but
he might well be faking it. I've been watching him; he knows there's spells
on him, and he's looking for ways to break them. While he's telling what he
knows, he's leaving things out... like his master teaching him sorcery, I'd
wager." Garmon drinks from his own cup, sparingly, and raises an eyebrow at
Farcius. "I'd feel better if Armam had been able to break the spells
encircling him".
        "If my opinion of this Vincent is correct, neither I nor Armam would
have much luck. Rary might do better, but I'm not ready to share this with
him, not yet..." Farcius broke off as Beluth returned with Arlen.

        "I trust you've attended to business, friend Arlen?" Farcius asked,
indicating with a sweep of his hand for him to resume his seat.
        "Yes your grace. Now, what else were you interested in knowing?"
        "What was happening, in the Temple, before the end, of course"
        "Well you grace, that's a complicated tale, all in and of itself...."
Arlen reached for another glass of wine, before continuing on.

        "We spent several months down on what seemed to be the lowest level
of the Temple; Vincent seemed to have made contact with the highest ranking
priests in the place. Four other orders existed beneath them, and the fifth
kept them in line by playing them each against the other. 
        I had a hard time following where the lines of power flowed, as I was
usually excluded from the meetings where such things were discussed, but I
gathered that the Earth Temple had allied itself with the Mabbies, who were
secretly playing them off against the Fire Temple.
        Water and Air were nominally loyal to the Undertemple, but everyne
seemed to expect that something big was coming. Vincent and the Undertemple
spent a lot of time monitoring the progress of the group I'd seen inside that
oval at my stead; they lost the duck, but picked up two women and a man.
Vincent seemed little concerned that his lady-friend was slain by them, but
he had her body retrieved and had the priests of the Undertemple bring her
back to life. 
        I don't know if something went wrong with the raising, but the next
time I saw her she were a centaur! I knew better'n to ask my master, who
seemed pleased enough to have her counsel, but she looked upset about
something most of the time."

        Arlen paused for a moment, while Garmon fills his glass yet again,
though this time he favors the simmering man-at-arms with a small grin and a
wink. Garmon catches only a flash of what he thinks is some sort of a mark on
the peasant's eyelid, but the moment is too brief for him to be sure. 

        "It was late spring when the end began. Vincent began meeting with
Derek regularly, and they spoke often of the troupe they had been watching
for so long. My master would often set me to watching his scrying pool, and I
would have to summon him anytime they got near certain people or places. It
seemed that they had finally arrived on our world.
        They were, to say the least, your Lordship, a varied group. The
leader seemed to be an olven priest of Corellon, and another was at least
half-olven, some sort of mage, I think. Two men, one a sorcerer like
yourself, another seemed to be a soldier of some kind. The last member was
some sort of cute bear-like creature, with a limp, who often seemed to speak
to voices only it could hear. Two women accompanied the olve and the
half-olve, but they seemed to be mere followers, not true members of the
company.
        One night they were encamped, somewhere near Nulb, actually, when the
bear-thing got all excited and suddenly there was this woman in the camp, out
of thin air. The half-olve seemed to know her, but what got my master all
excited was the sword they gave her. Real ornate pommel, but hardly
exceptional, I thought."

        Arlen took another turkey leg from the table, and after swallowing a
few bites, continued. 
        "Vincent and the others, the black robed priests, had many meetings
after that night, one time they even had the leader of the Mabbies sit in on
one, and it looked as if an alliance had been made between the major forces
in the area.
        At one point, the group passed right through Nulb, and seemed to
recognize the danger the Mabbies represented. But they pressed north to
Greyhawk, which seemed to annoy my master. In the City, Vincent had Derek
frame them for the murder of an archmage, Fredarus Park I believe his name
was, then he arranged to get the two the guard had under arrest released, and
was going to have them recaptured, but they slipped from his grasp.
        It took him several hours to find them again, and when he did, he
gathered together the entire leadership of the Black robes, the centaur, and
several others in the temple and seemed to exhaust themselves in order to
teleport several giants and 3 companies of mercenaries right on top of their
camp. 
        He began to spend almost all of his time guiding this group in the
direction of the temple, herding them like sheep, using soldiers or illusions
when and where he had to. Sometimes he'd give the forces from Greyhawk who
were tracking the escaped prisoners a helping hand, but once they seemed to
be committed to returning, he led the Guards away with false leads.
        Once they were on the temple grounds proper, he scaled back his
interference, as they seemed very frightened of the temple. Took them most of
a day to work their way inside, even though the troops had been ordered to
let them in. But my master soon found it necessary to guide them again as
they fell afoul of the forces of the Earth Temple."

        "As soon as they left the upper works of the temple and began to
explore the lower, the Mabbies, who had sworn to aid our side, turned on us,
and sought to play their old allies in the Earth and Fire temples against
each other, leaving them to claim the sword everyone seemed to be interested
in. At one point, while the Earth and Fire temples were busy slugging it out
in one corner of the place, the Mabbies and the leadership of the Air temple
captured the woman who fell out of the air a few weeks earlier and brought
her out to the main entrance, where the First Seal was located.
        For a captive, she seemed fairly eager to assist them in their work.
As she shattered the Seal with the sword, my master struck the Mabbies and
the Air priests with his spells, giving the girl's companions a chance to
rescue her. They pulled back to a storage room that was technically in Fire
temple territory, but actually lay within the Black robe's control. My master
worked his illusions among them again, causing them to work their way ever
lower into the complex."

        Arlen paused to watch Faricus pace the end of the room. "How did the
forces within the temple relate to one another? Who was allied to whom?"

        "Well, your Lordship, as I understood it, the Black robed priests
served some demon, who had built the temple for his own purposes. To disguise
it's center of power, it created the four evil elemental churches to draw
more power to itself without revealing it's own presence. When the temple was
sacked the first time, all of the cults were decimated, and the original
subservience to the Undertemple was lost.
        By the time Vincent arrived, there were no real alliances in the
temple. Each sought to dominate the other, with varying levels of success,
though all still feared the Black robes. The Blacks seemed to accept
Vincent's leadership, once he proved to them that he could pass whatever
wards held their demon lord, though he possessed not the means to free him.
He had become a messenger between the demon and his servants, as well as the
demon's prize pupil."

        Arlen took a final pull on his wineglass, before continuing. "Things
began to move very quickly towards the end, your Lordship. I was not present
at the final reckoning, but what I gathered from Muleen later was that the
woman with the sword was revealed to be some kind of minor demon in the
service of the Mabbies; once she'd been 'manipulated' into breaking the first
three Seals, she turned on her companions and broke the Fourth. The Mabbies
and the Blacks met in a final battle to determine who would be the imprisoned
demon's favored servants, but in the end it was Vincent himself who had the
last laugh. Both sides were cast from the Undertemple, as Vincent alone stood
at the demon's side."

        "And what of the group that your master worked so hard to bring
within?" Farcius asked. "What of them?"

        "Vincent returned them to their world, or so he told me. 'They had
served my purpose, and I wish them well.' were the words he used. He seemed
genuinely sorry to see them go; sometimes I think he considered them friends,
for all that they spoke ill of him. After the others were all gone, Vincent
and those he trusted set about restoring the lower sections of the temple,in
order that it might someday serve as the model for others.
        And that is the tale you have brought me here to tell. Am I free to
go now, your Lordship?"

        Farcius looked at Garmon, and nodded, once. "I'm afraid not, Mr.
Griss. While the decision to obtain you was my own, I, too, have a master
that I serve, and he will want to hear your story first hand. And he is one
of a circle of other mages, who will in all likelihood wish to hear your
story as well. So I am afraid that you will be our guest for an extended
period of time. I assure you, you will not be kept in a dungeon," Farcius's
eyes narrowed as he spoke, and his tone seemed to imply that such
accomodations _could_ be arranged if necessary "instead, you will be my
personal 'guest' here in my tower until such time that we can safely release
you."

        Arlen allowed his shoulders to slump, and carefully wore a look of
resignation on his face. As Garmon moved to take his arm, he closed his eyes
completely and spun to face him. Energy sparked between them, as the symbol
of pain tattooed on Arlen's eyelid discharged, sending the old warrior to the
floor moaning in agony.
        Turning to face Farcius, he began the opening gestures of a spell,
but Farcius beat him to the punch; waves of force spilled from his fingertips
pinning Arlen to the floor. More guards rushed into the room in answer to
Garmon's cries of pain, and they took over control of the prisoner. In short
order Rary himself arrived, and after examinging the bound Arlen for several
minutes, he turned to his senior apprentice with a shocked expression on his
face.

        "What sort of game is this, Farcius? This 'creature' is an
abomination!"

        "I don't understand sir. In what way is he a 'creature'?"

        "Look at him. No, really look at him. See the lines of power
stretching away from him? Where have you seen such lines before?"

        "Well, between a sorcerer and his familiar..."

        "Yes, lad, quite right. But look closer - the power flows in reverse;
he is not the sorcerer, but the familiar. So he cannot be a man, as such a
relationship is not possible. Unless...." Rary reached up onto the highest
shelf of the bookcase behind him and pulled down an old and musty tome. "Did
this Arlen name the demon bound within the Elemental Temple?"

        "No, my lord, he did not. Why?"

        "If my suspicions are correct, the demon's name is Sothaogwa. Do you
see?" he asked, indicating the page the tome was opened to. "According to
Iggwilv, Sothaogwa could be bargained with, to take the wits from a man, and
leave him an animal in all but name. If I am correct, this Vincent of whom he
spoke gave this man's soul over to Sothaogwa, in return for stripping the man
of his wits. It then became a simple ritual to make a familiar of what
remained; giving him eyes and ears and spell support in a package none who
knew the old Arlen would ever suspect."

        "He must be stopped! To commit such a crime against a servant is
beneath contempt!"

        "Stopped he will be, my friend. But at what cost, I wonder...."

...to be continued.



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