Maheal hastened to do as he was told but called back angrily over his shoulder as he walked away, "You'll be sorry for this, churl, when things are set aright!" Then he strutted back to where the others rested, pompously straightening his garments and dusting his hands as if he had just performed an heroic feat.
Thanks to Zimp and several of the other former brigands, they negotiated the rest of the way to Grimalklnsham before full dark and without incident. The place lay in the center of a scrubby woodland, but at least the area was dry. The village consisted of forty or fifty huts and hovels sprawled around a score of more substantial buildings. Half of the larger structures were taverns, gaming houses, and inns. It seemed that this place did a brisk business with rogues and outlaws. Totems and ringed stone pillars encircled the community. Gord could just make out some of the marks in the fading light. The symbols were meant to keep certain horrible things out He hoped that these wards were efficacious.
A few dogs barked and snarled as they rode into the village, but no other inhabitant of Grimalkin-sham seemed the least bit interested in their arrival. At Zimp's suggestion, they housed themselves at the smallest of the three inns. For the price of a handful of bronze zees and a couple of brass bits, all sixteen of them were able to get good beds. They bathed and ate while the stablehands cared for their horses and fed the animals.
Gord thought it strange, and disappointing, that all of the servants at the inn were men. "Where are the pretty lasses you mentioned. Zimp?"
"No sense mixing our rest with our romps," the outlaw said slyly. "We'll be meetin' plenty o' likely wenches soon enough, and they'll give us a workout you won't believe! This place is a safe haven after such a storm!"
Chert slammed his fist on the table and cried out, "Now here's a stout lad! Let's drink to a lively time this night," he said, and upended the huge flagon of ale he held in his pawlike hand. The outlaws at the long trestle laughed lasciviously and likewise drained their tankards. Only Plinkus and Maheal demurred.
"I find human females ugly in the extreme," the ehjure muttered.
"Consorting with common trulls is beneath my station!" the Nyrondel lordling sniffed haughtily.
Gord, Chert, and the others ignored them. After a few additional rounds of the thick, amber ale, which was brewed somewhere nearby, they decided it was time to explore the village. Gord and Chert had determined that it was excellent cover to do so with a bunch of roistering bandits. Neither had yet been exposed to whatever it was that would trigger the final bit of information they needed. When this occurred, they would know what "the test" was. They both assumed that it would involve the recovery of some prize, possibly the elimination of some evil enemy of the king, and then a return to Castle Fizziak, The place, thing, or person that would cause the dweomered information to spring into their minds was possibly somewhere here in the village called Grimalktnsham. They hoped to discover the answers this very night.
Gord's eyes nearly popped from his head when they entered an establishment called Rosey's. The sign, appropriately sprinkled with rosebuds, didn't half prepare the young adventurer for what awaited inside. There were only a few patrons, all male. But the proprietress and her staff numbered at least a dozen and a half — and greater beauties Gord had never seen gathered together in a single place! He scarcely had time to wonder why the tavern wasn't jammed to the rafters with panting swains. Then a pair of buxom tarts were upon him, offering him drink and companionship, and before Gord knew it he was being led toward the stairs. He was escorted past the huge ehjure, who was holding a tall, willowy woman on his lap. "Hey, Pinkus! I thought you said humans were ugly," Gord playfully taunted.
The ogreling scowled at Gord, retorting, "They are, niggling — but I didn't know that you went for my type!"
Something clicked in Gord's mind. "Your type?" he asked, the horrifying reality of the situation sinking in at last. The two girls tugged on him, trying to pull the young thief away, but Gord would have none of that. Plinkus was pouring wine down his gullet, but Gord didn't let that put him off either. Pulling free of the pair of wenches, he walked over to the ogre's table and peered closely at the big woman sitting on his lap. Pinkus slammed down his tankard and jumped to his feet.
"Get the hell away from my female!" he roared at Gord.
This action rudely precipitated the object of Gord's scrutiny. As the ogre-magus sprang to his feet with intent to do serious bodily harm to the young thief who was ogling the female of his choice, the beautiful young thing struck the floor — and a strange thing happened. The force of the impact caused her form and features to waver and, for a second, the female's true appearance was revealed. Gord caught the transformation out of the corner of his eye. Springing back, he shouted, "The wench is a hag!"
"Of course she is!" screamed the enraged Pinkus as he advanced menacingly upon the young adventurer. "And you can't have her, you filthy human lecher! Go find your own!"
Gord ducked under a wild swing and danced behind the ogre-magus's back, calling to Chert to beware. He saw that there was a bevy of these seeming lovelies surrounding the big barbarian, and Gord suspected that they were not as they appeared at all. Meanwhile, Zimp and a pair of his comrades had rushed over to assist their young captain, thinking that Pinkus was about to make mincemeat of him. Of course, they did not reckon with Gord's incredible agility and acrobatic skills. Roaring and cursing, the ehjure was attempting to lay his taloned hands upon Gord and rend him limb from limb. Pinkus was both tipsy from wine and naturally slow. Gord was neither, and he easily avoided every attack, causing the ogreling to paw the air and charge bull-like into furniture and patrons alike.
In a minute a general brawl was in progress, with wenches forgotten or else taking part in very unladylike fashion. Suddenly the whole room went dark. It was so black that not a single ray of light could be detected.
Gord always carried his enchanted shortsword at his hip, and as soon as the darkness descended, he grasped the hilt and his eyes were empowered to see in the gloom. In addition to the groping and stumbling motions of the patrons, Gord noted that several of the people in the tavern were moving freely and with purpose. In the strange illumination that his blade enabled him to discern, the women were no longer young and beautiful. In fact, many weren't even women at all! In the shelter of the darkness the hags had dispensed with their magical disguises, and the young thief was able to spot a half-dozen crones heading for the stairway. Nearby were a pair of green hags, a shellycoatm an annis, and a leering night hag. Unfortunately, the latter was looking squarely at Gord as he stared in stupefaction at her.
"Well, well, my pretty," the creature cackled at the young thief, "it happens that you have the power to see in this dark, do you? Now what shall old Auntie Scroddy do with such a naughty boy?" Gord waved his sword at her, for she and her associated horrors were coming toward him.
Just then Pinkus, whose natural resistance to magic made the lightless spell useless against him, stepped between these monsters and their victim. "If you want action, baby, forget that little punk and look for a real male!" he boomed, showing his huge tusks in a suggestive smile. At least Gord assumed that was what the ehjure was doing from the tone of his voice.
The night hag simpered and replied, "Oh, you are a smooth talker, handsome, but right now I have to take care of a little business. Can you wait a couple of minutes?"