Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 1 - Anubis Murders by Gary Gygax Page B
Authors: Gary Gygax
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going to pack up for immediate disembarkation?"
It was practical advice. The wizard-priest excused himself to see if there was anything he needed to do to assist the girl, and the three men of Lyonnesse likewise attended to gathering up their few possessions. Caer-Mabd was a thriving town of almost a hundred thousand people, the largest port in the country and second largest population center after the capital. Camelough lay a little over forty miles distant—a day's hard ride by horseback, and two days walk or travel by cart or wagon, though the fast coaches made it in one day because their teams went almost as swiftly as a single man on horseback.
Only a few minutes after the anchors had been dropped, the party was quickly whisked to shore and away from the port in a fast-moving coach.
"It is too bad," Rachelle remarked to her mentor. "I would like to see a little of Caer-Mabd, and I know you are always curious about strange cities. Is this matter so pressing that we couldn't spend even an hour or two? Some of the shops I glimpsed displayed very interesting wares."
He turned and stared at her, his hawk-like nose raised for a moment as if pointing at the girl. She looked only slightly haggard from the voyage—a surprising thing for one so poor a seafarer. "I can thank the bard for that," he said. Rachelle gave him a puzzled look. "I am merely noting how well you managed the long days aboard the ship on our journey here. Aldriss worked minor miracles . . . but that is not a response to your query. The Behon is our employer, in a manner of speaking. He desires our immediate presence in Camelough, so we go hence to that place. I, too, would normally enjoy a day or two seeing sights. Perhaps on our return. Would you like that?"
"Very much." She smiled. "Perhaps we can find a native to guide us."
"Have you anybody special in mind?"
Rachelle smiled again. "Let's wait until the prospect is actual," she sweetly told her hawk-faced associate. Then she turned and looked out the window as the coach bounced along toward the royal seat of the great kingdom of Lyonnesse.
The Behon and Tallesian were silent and tense. It was evident that the nearer they came to Camelough the more worried they became. Even the bard was nearly silent, only occasionally humming under his breath as he stared into nothingness or gazed out at the scenery rolling by. These three were definitely part of the affair, and the one calling himself the Master of Jackals meant to exact his demands in the city for which they were heading.
Jackals are basically nothing but moderately clever animals, Inhetep thought. Cunning, perhaps smarter than a typical dog or wolf, but never close to a human. The information garnered from witnesses in Ys, however, seemed to point to jackals—far bigger specimens, creatures the size of enormous wolves, which behaved with almost human intelligence. Then there were the supposed sea-jackals. Why all that showy business? After all, in the end it simply came down to a flawed summoning of the air elemental, so that instead a demon came and slew the so-styled Haut Omniurge.
Frontonac had actually gone to Egypt once. Setne recalled meeting him in Innu. That was thirty years ago now. More. The priest-mage had then been but a fledging practitioner, studying the laws of dweomercraefting. The Bretton had been a respected, if dark, invocator even then, and the half-dozen candidates studying to become kheri-heb had been brought out to hear him speak on the subject of the Pandemonium and the command of negative heka. It was a great demon, indeed, that could kill the master sorcerer Frontonac with such ease. Greater still the one who managed to cause it to come rather than a prince of aerial nature! Skandia, the hyperborean lands, the Hansa masters, Livestonia, Ys, and now Lyonnesse. Save for the realm of Norge and empty Lappia, its path might appear to be a circle drawn round a point—Brabant, Flanders, Albion, or further north . . .
It was practical advice. The wizard-priest excused himself to see if there was anything he needed to do to assist the girl, and the three men of Lyonnesse likewise attended to gathering up their few possessions. Caer-Mabd was a thriving town of almost a hundred thousand people, the largest port in the country and second largest population center after the capital. Camelough lay a little over forty miles distant—a day's hard ride by horseback, and two days walk or travel by cart or wagon, though the fast coaches made it in one day because their teams went almost as swiftly as a single man on horseback.
Only a few minutes after the anchors had been dropped, the party was quickly whisked to shore and away from the port in a fast-moving coach.
"It is too bad," Rachelle remarked to her mentor. "I would like to see a little of Caer-Mabd, and I know you are always curious about strange cities. Is this matter so pressing that we couldn't spend even an hour or two? Some of the shops I glimpsed displayed very interesting wares."
He turned and stared at her, his hawk-like nose raised for a moment as if pointing at the girl. She looked only slightly haggard from the voyage—a surprising thing for one so poor a seafarer. "I can thank the bard for that," he said. Rachelle gave him a puzzled look. "I am merely noting how well you managed the long days aboard the ship on our journey here. Aldriss worked minor miracles . . . but that is not a response to your query. The Behon is our employer, in a manner of speaking. He desires our immediate presence in Camelough, so we go hence to that place. I, too, would normally enjoy a day or two seeing sights. Perhaps on our return. Would you like that?"
"Very much." She smiled. "Perhaps we can find a native to guide us."
"Have you anybody special in mind?"
Rachelle smiled again. "Let's wait until the prospect is actual," she sweetly told her hawk-faced associate. Then she turned and looked out the window as the coach bounced along toward the royal seat of the great kingdom of Lyonnesse.
The Behon and Tallesian were silent and tense. It was evident that the nearer they came to Camelough the more worried they became. Even the bard was nearly silent, only occasionally humming under his breath as he stared into nothingness or gazed out at the scenery rolling by. These three were definitely part of the affair, and the one calling himself the Master of Jackals meant to exact his demands in the city for which they were heading.
Jackals are basically nothing but moderately clever animals, Inhetep thought. Cunning, perhaps smarter than a typical dog or wolf, but never close to a human. The information garnered from witnesses in Ys, however, seemed to point to jackals—far bigger specimens, creatures the size of enormous wolves, which behaved with almost human intelligence. Then there were the supposed sea-jackals. Why all that showy business? After all, in the end it simply came down to a flawed summoning of the air elemental, so that instead a demon came and slew the so-styled Haut Omniurge.
Frontonac had actually gone to Egypt once. Setne recalled meeting him in Innu. That was thirty years ago now. More. The priest-mage had then been but a fledging practitioner, studying the laws of dweomercraefting. The Bretton had been a respected, if dark, invocator even then, and the half-dozen candidates studying to become kheri-heb had been brought out to hear him speak on the subject of the Pandemonium and the command of negative heka. It was a great demon, indeed, that could kill the master sorcerer Frontonac with such ease. Greater still the one who managed to cause it to come rather than a prince of aerial nature! Skandia, the hyperborean lands, the Hansa masters, Livestonia, Ys, and now Lyonnesse. Save for the realm of Norge and empty Lappia, its path might appear to be a circle drawn round a point—Brabant, Flanders, Albion, or further north . . .
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