"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?"

The annis, easily as tall as Pinkus, shoved the night hag aside with a snarl. "Find your own lover, you pruneface!" she screeched as she clutched the ogreling's arm possessively.

The night hag flexed her clawed hands and spat. "I'm sick of your pretensions, you bitchy old beanpole! it's time for you and I to get a few things straight!" At that, Auntie Scroddy grabbed Pinkus's other arm and yanked him toward her with surprising strength.

"Don't let that floozy push you around, Ugweelal" said one of the green hags to the annis.

"Mind your own business, Brinlugi, you bitch!" the other green hag said, taking up the cause of the night hag.

Gord took the opportunity to dash over to where Chert was stumbling around in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to do something useful — such as groping one of the serving wenches he imagined to be temptingly nearby. Gord took hold of him and shouted, "Follow me quickly! This place is a den of hags and witches!" Chert obeyed meekly, and the young thief led him through the mess of overturned tables and chairs, benches and milling bodies. The pair had almost made it to the exit when their progress was stopped.

"Not so fast, boys," a cracked, scratchy voice ordered. "If you take one more step toward the door I’ll turn you both into frogbeasts!" The speaker was a witch, human in form but ugly nonetheless.

"What's a frogbeast?" Chert asked.

"A thing created by the wizard Denimarkz,", the crone supplied helpfully.

"Huh?" the barbarian said.

"Shut up and let's go," Gord urged.

"You're asking for it!" screeched the black-clad witch.

With that, Chert lowered his head and moved. Gord held him back. The crone was standing inside the doorway making threatening passes with her hands and squinting balefully at both young men. "Give it up, Chert," his friend advised. "It looks like we're trapped."

"That's more like it" the witch said with a smile that displayed her lone tooth. "Now turn around, and we'll go to someplace private where we can have a little chat. Just as the two of them turned, the altercation between Auntie Scroddy and Ugweela escalated. They were no longer screaming insults at one another; the two were suddenly mixing it up like a pair of furious alley cats. This was enough to bring the two green hags to blows as well. As all of them fell into a scratching, clawing, biting tangle, the witch's attention was distracted just long enough to allow Gord to perform a back-flip. He landed beside the startled witch, his weapons out in an instant.

"Now it's your turn, darling!" he cried, with his sword across her throat and his dagger pressed to her side. "One move, and you're dead meat!" in fact, she smelled pretty much like she was dead already, but Gord tried to ignore the odor.

"Don't be hasty now, my boy!" the crone said, mustering as much sweetness as she could. "I'm sure you and I can reach an arrangement ..."

"Cancel the darkness — and be quick," Gord ordered harshly, "or I’ll slice your throat and skewer your shriveled liverl"

"How can I do that?" the witch asked with real concern in her tone. "If I make any motions you'll kill me, but I have to move to dispel the magic!"

"Go ahead," Gord said with suspicion, "but one false move and I’ll wet my blades with your black blood!"

In a moment the deed was done, and the room was again brightly illuminated by lamps and flre-light. As the magically induced blackness was lifted, the hags ceased their brawling and sprang to their feet, scratched and disheveled. Amid a flood of vile comments directed at each other, all four of the former combatants demanded to know what was going on. Meanwhile, seeing things as they actually were, most of the patrons of the tavern screamed and fled, faces ashen, legs rubbery. Only Zimp and a trio of the staunchest outlaws remained, hands on weapons, hovering near the way out, torn between duty to their masters and a desire to run in panic from the horrors they saw.

"Now see what you’ve done!" the ancient crone cried. The whole night is ruined, totally ruined." the witch finished in a whine.

"Shut up," Chert said without force.

Gord was watching the hags and not liking what he saw. The crones were coming in the pair's direction, with murder in their eyes. Worse still, several other hags and witches were coming downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. "Time to get down to business," Gord said matter-of-factly to his hostage. "Have all your friends sit on the floor, hands under their bums, or it's all over for you right now!"

"Do as he says, girls," the crone cackled. "Sit on your hands while this pretty lad and I exchange a few words."

Grumbling, the hags and witches complied, making rude remarks about both Gord and his captive as they did so. Pinkus. meanwhile, clambered out from under the table where he had taken shelter during the brawl. Despite the sheepish manner in which he did so, the ehjure still managed to give Gord a withering look.

"You sit on your thumbs too, Pinkus!" Chert ordered, "or Brool and I will lower your vanity by a foot of ugly head!" As he said this. Chert hefted the huge axe menacingly. Pinkus snarled but sat.

"What are you here for, anyway?" the head witch queried. "Maybe we can work something out."

He didn't trust this crone as far as he could toss the bulging body of the mountainous ogre-magus, but this was one hell of a tight spot. Gord lowered his weapons and said, "All right, let's cut out the forceful crap and have a serious conference on this whole matter."

The ancient witch cocked her head and peered birdlike at him with her beady, black eyes. Then she nodded at the young thief. "It's a deal, m’boy," she screeched so that all assembled could hear. "You and I will go upstairs and get this straight," she added with a salacious cackle.

In a shower of catcalls and ribald comments, Gord and the witch marched to the staircase, the crone clutching his arm smugly. As they passed the hags, Gord heard the annis say, "Come here, Pinky, you big hunk! No sense in letting them have all the fun!" There was a squawk from the ogreling and a string of expletives from the bat-faced night hag. Then, mercifully, Gord and the crone ascended the steps and the sounds were cut off by the door of the room they entered.

"That'll hold 'em," the witch murmured as she slammed the portal.

"What the devil are you doing?" Gord demanded, reaching for his weapons again.

"Calm down, sonny," the old woman said soothingly. "It won't do to let that gaggle of trollops think we ain't doing what we ain't doing — and that's so. After all, a girl's got to have some pride," she finished with a sniff.

"Well, the only reason we're here is to see if we can come to a deal, so let's get to it," Gord said crossly.

"Ah, rejection doesn't get any easier with age, now does it?" The old crone mused sadly. "Ah, well," she sighed and poured two stiff drinks into a pair of pewter goblets on the sideboard, took a swig from each to demonstrate neither was drugged or poisoned, and then dropped glumly down on the bed. Gord sat stiffly on a three-legged stool. Ignoring the proffered drink she held in front of him. After all, she was a witch; there were many poisons she could use to do away with a mortal that would not affect her in the least. The witch shrugged when Gord failed to reach out for the drink and then quickly downed the contents of both goblets. "They call it White lightning' on the plane where the stuff's made," the crone said with an appreciative sigh after draining her vessel. Then she continued in another vein. "So, why don't we begin by addressing the question of why you and your chums have ruined our little scam here?"