"Who commands them?" asked Gord with an urgency that he couldn't conceal. It was, after all a tight spot they were in. Despite confidence, great inner powers, armor, weapons, the task at hand was monumental. To wrest a Theorpart from its wielder was sufficient to make any great champion blench. When tens of thousands of hostile demon guards were added to the equation, the task became something on the order of incredible impossibility. Impossible and incredible, that is, until one factored in the rest of the disparate components. Courflamme's true powers were still unknown, but Gord thought that they were sufficient to overmatch a single Theorpart. They had already proved that a thousand great demon-brutes and demon-beasts could not overwhelm them. Gellor's magic from the kanteel and the work of his own sword were sufficient to withstand assault — for a time, at least.

Now fortune had thrown Leda and the Eye of Deception into the equation. By herself, the gorgeous little drow priestess was the equal of most demons. Perhaps even one of the princes might demur at facing Leda in single combat, Gord mused. She too had grown stronger during the time they had been in separate worlds. Just as he was unreadable when he held Courflamme, so too was Leda. Perhaps it was an effect of the Eye; he wasn't sure. Gord only knew that her innermost force was shielded from any probing, and that shielding was strong — very, very strong! If Leda would employ the artifact she held on their behalf, perhaps the three of them could actually manage to openly confront an entire horde of demonkind and defeat them all. Perhaps. ... It was a big "if", and Gord preferred to add to the weight of their force in as many ways as possible to ensure success immediately. Faltering and failure initially would mean the enemy would have warning, time to prepare, and heart to resist more strongly.

"The Abat-dolor have nine lords over them," Leda said without looking directly at Gord. "There is also a great one who rules the nine. . . ."

"The Abat-dolor?" Gellor asked. "I cannot recall ever learning of such demons as that race."

"Graz'zt is one," Leda finally admitted.

Chapter 7

THE SOULLESS SOUNDING PIERCED the very heart of iyondagur, to the place where the ruler of the realm dwelled. When Leda informed him and Gellor of what the Abat-dolor were, what their heritage was, Gord didn't hesitate longer. Taking the dark elfs arm and motioning to Gellor, the young champion stepped out of the channel and onto the tier of the ebon race of humanlike demons. "I will take the lead in any discourse," Gord told his companions. "Follow what I say — especially you, my love. These demons will know who you are, I think."

"Oh yes, that they will," Leda confirmed. "Elazalag holds great enmity for my . . . King Graz'zt."

Gord shrugged, then smiled thinly. "So much the better, I think." They emerged from the distorted passage just then and found themselves squarely in the middle of a great plaza. "And what is this?" he asked Leda as he peered around at the frowning facades of hewn stone blocks that hedged the irregularly shaped area. -

"This is the outer courtyard of Elazalag"s fortress, Gord. The Sounding conveys only important visitors or great foes to iyondagur. The leader of the Abatdolor clans desires to welcome either properly."

"I see the committee of greetings," Gellor noted dryly as squads of obsidian-skinned demons suddenly sprang into view along the parapets that topped the walls of the square.

The Abat-dolor much resembled humankind, or drow, although these demons were taller than elves or men. It was difficult to tell at a distance, but Gord estimated that each of the guards was seven or eight feet tall. The metallic sheen of polished red bronze highlighted each indIvidual soldier around the battlements. Helm, cuirass, and a full panoply of plate armor bedecked each of these warriors of the Abyss. Most were armed as would be human soldiers, with swords, spears, and thick-stocked arbalests. Some, though, were manning dark tubes, things that they swiveled to point at the three intruders in their midst, while others of these cylinders were being aimed at the air above them.

"The guards will not attack until ordered," Leda assured her companions, noting the worried looks both men wore as they observed the warlike preparations surrounding them.

"What manner of arms are those long pipes?" the bard asked.

"Weapons of great potency and last resort," Leda supplied. "Those tubes discharge things taken from the antisphere. Gaining such material is dangerous and costly, so Elazalag herself will order the release, and then only in extremis. The stuff is deadly. If we are caught by a stream of it, we will be destroyed in a great implosion as the negative stuff drains us away to nothingness."

Gord was as interested in her statement about the ruler of iyondagur being female as he was in Leda's explanation of the powers of the tubes. Before he could inquire further, though, there was a booming noise as if iron rods were being pounded on a hollow floor of wood, and immediately thereafter came a raucous hooting as if multitoned horns of deep timbre and high tone were sounded, en masse, and by the lungs of giants. The very stones shook at the blasts, and thinking was near impossible. No sound could be heard above the noise. Then a deeper grumbling roar managed to penetrate the horns' cacophony. Gord turned and saw a massive portcullis being raised simultaneously with the lowering of what could only be a solid stone drawbridge.

"These demons are most rapid in their preparations," Gellor said. His voice sounded loudly in the now still square. "And now comes the herald!"

Through the opening in the walls around them rode a massive Abat-dolor. He was astride a demonbeast, a parody of a horse, a steed with eight thick legs and with a muzzle spiked as that of a black rhinoceros. "I thought the hippokeres was a savage monster. . . ." Gord said in uncertain voice.

"That it is," Leda replied. "Even these demons are able to capture and tame but a few of the smaller of their sort. They are demon-beasts which inhabit the tiers lower down."

"And the rider?"

"Elazalag"s herald and chief warrior, the Lord Nisroch, Gord. They are uncertain of who and what we are, I see," she added in a near-whisper. "The Nine Chevaliers accompany Nisroch. and the great chariot behind them bears Princess Elazalag herself." She was about to say something further, but the stentorian bellow of the demon-herald's voice cut Leda short.

"Upon your bellies in fear of lethal Elazalag and her rage!" commanded the bellowing herald. Gellor inclined his upper body a fraction. Leda smiled as she cast her head slightly downward, as if to conceal her mirth. Gord stood absolutely still. Nisroch seemed not to notice the failure on the part of all three to obey. Instead the big demon went on with his bellowing. "Helpless sacrifices to our ruler's displeasure, you have the space of a hundred beats of your heart to state your last words. You, drow bitch who yaps at Graz'zt's heels! Cry out why you give yourself and the lives of the human and . . ." The herald trailed off for but a split-second, confused at what to call Gord. He was quick to pick up again, saying ". . . the little cockroach trembling behind a mask of dweomers."

Before Leda could respond in any fashion, Gord strode one pace forward. "I, cockroach though I am, speak for all three here." There was mockery in his tone, a Jape at the vaunted herald of the princess of the Abat-dolor for his obvious inability to discern Just who and what Gord was. "You address my associates as Lord and Lady, demon, and 'Sir' will suffice for me. We have come to offer you the opportunity of defeating your foes."

As if that were a cue, the spike-encrusted chariot of black adamantite came up with a rumble and a clank the three monstrous hippokeres drawing it snarling and snorting as the iron chains that controlled them were yanked back to force star-pointed bits into the beasts' metal-hard mouths. Riding alone in the vehicle was a smaller, elegantly armored female Abat-dolor, quite beautiful as far as Gord could tell, what with the coif of dark chainmail and adamantite helmet shielding much of the demon princess's face from view, just as the hard plates of that metal hid her form. She was smaller than the herald or the guards, but still the demoness was fully seven feet tall, and her voice sounded nearly as loud as that of Nisroch. "Liar and spy! I claim your life for my own!" The contralto voice of Elazalag rang out over the hushed space.