". . . and a silver mirror," Gord finished even as he plunged downward. The young thief landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb the shock of the fall, then his entire body balled and he went rolling, striking a file of finely clad fops as if they were ninepins. Gord sprang to his feet, somewhat battered by the unexpected obstacles, reaching for sword and dagger as he came erect He had no idea where he was, and the bedlam around him convinced the young man that there was certainty trouble ahead. He was correct indeed. Gord had a moment to view the remainder of the dweomer's failure to materialize the group in the proper place. It was a stupefying spectacle.

Lord Maheal had landed head first in a great tub of plum pudding borne by four liveried servants. As they dropped the vessel, Maheal, feet kicking wildly, received another thump on the head and then sprawled full-length, bedecked with pudding, while the tub rolled away to crash into a silver cart, utterly ruining the delicate server and tossing its contents, fresh fruits, berries and thick cream, out to roll around and litter the already messy hall floor.

The bellowing ogre had sailed along an arc that sent dozens of noble lords and ladles unceremoniously upon their aristocratic rears before it terminated against a pillar. The sound was solid and meaty as the creature struck the marble post, but he somehow managed to stagger to his feet. Roaring and flailing his massive arms wildly, the monster tried vainly to discover the source of the outrage. This action was more than sufficient to cause a general panic. Velvet-clad courtiers fled screaming in all directions. This simply added to the already chaotic state within the great chamber and prevented the onrushing guardsmen from attacking the ogre. The stupefied creature was no real threat to anyone able to get out of his way. One of his thrashing arms struck the stone pillar, and a fresh bellowing of pain erupted from the ogre's massive chest As he hunched over and nursed the injured member to ease the smarting, Gord sprang into the area and delivered a swift and forceful kick to the monster's exposed rear. The ogre was knocked forward, head first. Again there was a meaty thump as his head struck solid marble. This time the monster stayed down. Feeling triumphant, the young thief spun to see what the fresh noise was all about.

Hissing and baring his fangs, the vampire Plincourt, unable to transform himself into bat form, had fallen from the air where he had suddenly appeared. Plincourt popped onto the scene directly above the upper end of the hall, the place where the king and his attendants, Lord Fizziak, and several noble priests were seated in state. The vampire landed squarely upon the lap of the Most Venerable Quinthup, Chief Cleric of All Nyrond. Reacting instinctively, the vampire sunk his inch-long fangs into the holy man's left thigh, even as the outraged cleric smote Plincourt a tremendous thump with the silver symbol of his exalted state, which he had been holding aloft ceremonially. Both vampire and chief cleric bore expressions of shock and horror at this exchange, but the Holy Father was the first to recover. He quickly proceeded to beat the vampire with his ancient and blessed divine relic while lesser priests surrounding the two hastened to add blessed water and various and sundry other sorts of attacks upon the undead creature. Plincourt, teeth viciously closed upon Quinthup's leg, was brought to a long-deserved end within a matter of moments. But Gord had no time to observe or enjoy the event.

Steel-clad guardsmen had finally managed to get through the wild, screaming press that filled the chamber. The young thief ducked a scything sweep of a halberd, only to be struck squarely on the temple by a chance stroke from the metal-shod butt of a second such weapon. Blackness descended, and the roaring swelled into a velvety silence. EscapingWeird Way had been accomplished, but even narrower confines now hedged them in. It was a sorry pass indeed.

Prisoners soon graced Lord Fizziak's dungeon cells, Gord among them, but he wasn't aware of his sad state for several hours. The king, hastening to get clear of the melee between priest and horrid-visaged vampire, gave a most unroyal bound. His feet came down squarely on top of the spilled fruit, skidded, reached the pool of rich cream laden with butlerfat, and left the floor in a relatively horizontal position. "Whoosh!" his majesty exclaimed as the exalted seat of power struck the marble tiles on the floor.

"I am undone!" wailed Lord Maheal.

"He, too, goes below!" his uncle commanded, glaring at the young Szek. "Perhaps the king will get over this — eventually — but it might require the removal of a few heads from their useless bodies!"

Lord Maheal was carried off after the others, wailing and pleading most piteously. Despite his loud blubbering, however, the foppish nobleman heard the voice of the king plainly enough.

"Heads? Heads, you say? A dozen will not be sufficient to compensate for my losses!" the monarch of Nyrond roared. "Guardsmen, to me! Who knows what further treachery is planned?"

Lord Fizziak hastened to make apologies while swarms of varlets went to work to restore order. Eventually the whole affair was smoothed over to some extent.

The inhabitants of the dungeon were not so fortunate, however, to escape from the confines.

A Revel in Rel Mord

"WHEN I AM RELEASED you'll pay for this." the noble Szek of Dohou-Yohpe blubbered.

His threat was followed by a few derisive laughs and a muttered command to "Sit on it!"

This response so infuriated Lord Maheal that he forgot about his sniveling. Standing straight, arms at his sides and flsts clenched in anger, he glared at his fellow cellmates and loudly proclaimed. "That will make your punishments more painful, you base-born knaves! I will personally lash you soundly before you are beheaded!"

"Shall I shut the pipsqueak up — or do you want to do it, Gord?" Chert asked his comrade.

"If he says another word, you can have what's left of him when I finish," Gord replied, his voice heavy with malice.

Undaunted, the noble Maheal peered from one enemy to the other, an ugly sneer accompanying his words. That's another damning bit! I recall you claimed to be one Master Drogo while that great churl you just called Chert was masquerading as Furd. Such lies are simply more grist for the mill of revenge," Maheal sniffed in haughty conclusion and then, deciding that he was not quite finished yet, turned to face the third of his cellmates and added, "And this . . . thing! How dare mine own dear nuncle incarcerate me with . . . with ... a monster both menacing and ugly!" His final words were sputtered in a fit of near rage.

The object of Maheal's new tirade bared his large fangs and advanced upon the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. The rumbling in his throat and the clutching motions of his long, thick fingers made his intent unquestionable; this ogre was about to tear the abusive nobleman limb from limb. One look was sufficient to convey this message to Lord Maheal as well. He uttered a frightened squawk and darted behind the other two humans.

"Save me, save mel" he whined, dropping to a, crouch and groveling in abject terror.

"Don't do something you'll regret, Pinkus!" Gord cautioned the enraged creature as he situated himself, somewhat reluctantly, between the ogre and the cowering Maheal. Although there were three of them against one, if need be, Gord knew they were probably no match for the monster. It would be best to try to reason with him.

"Are you crazy, Pinkus?" Chert said, dispensing with reason and psychology altogether. "Use that horny lump on top of your shoulders for something other than a battering ram," he added, referring to the creature's immediate reaction to their incarceration a day ago. The ogre-magus had then attempted to smash down the bronzewood door of their dungeon cell by butting it. All the fellow had received for his efforts was a bump on his thick cranium.