City of Hawks

A hierophant seemed unsure. “Could this anomaly not exist in a multiversal probability?”

“Probability is not as intense an infinity as that,” the demiurge said. “What of Balance were it so? There would be none, and we would be false.”

“Unless something above, something greater, existed,” the archimage filled in. “Then a singular force of lesser nature might indeed exist. If the greater was its counterpoise, but one perhaps more attuned to wholeness, then we would be the instrumentality it would employ.”

“It is certain that those of light are not marshalled in unity,” the chief of the hierophants noted in concurrence. “But if what you say is so, there are inescapable conclusions as to the greater one. It is no more potent than the darkest evil, and it moves blindly. We are not directed!”

“Fie!” The great worker was adamant. “Probability might allow a complete unbalancing, and the unknown power might have to struggle against unintelligent energies as well as the rest. Who can say? However, what makes you, any of you, believe that we are not directed? Perhaps this direction is not evident to us, but we ca

When the demiurge finished, the other chief ones of Balance spoke. With agreement and understanding reached, the many members of the group returned to their own places. There was always much to do, perpetual ministrations that would be eternal… or so they hoped.

While high and low scried and schemed, while those of Balance pondered, Gord rode away from his foster city in company with the druid-warrior Green-leaf. These pieces in the game being played moved at the direction of the Balance, but of course with free will and chance playing their own roles in the game. There were combats and battles, journeys and discoveries, elven friends and humanoid foes.

In the end those neutral to the ethos of Good and Evil, of chaos and order, missed their goals, failed in their missions. The gibbering hordes of demonkind won the prize, and Gord lost his own life. Infestix himself came upon Oerth in his Death form, great demons too took material form and interfered with human activities. But in the end it seemed that demons prevailed over all other forces, Evil was torn in twain, and Good and all the rest benefited thereby-all save those who were quick no longer and benefited naught from anything mortal.

Again Gord died, and was revivified. Only magic allowed both this saving and his first one to occur. His ring, he learned, was powerfully dweomered to save him from death up to nine times, so that seven reincarnations remained. For that he was grateful. Concurrently, Gord knew his part in the game, understood the play, and thus moved from least pawn to something greater.

If each soldierlike piece in the imaginary game was assigned a promotion value, the least would be that pawn that represented all pawns, and the greatest soldier would be that pawn representing the kinglike piece of a given side. Through his victories over those evil ones who had fought him, Gord had moved successively from one sort of pawn to another, becoming more potentially powerful, more centrally placed on the playing field, each time he so triumphed. At last he reached the end of his long trek across the checkered grounds of the struggle.

In the likening of the various forces’ agents to chess pieces-pieces and pawns in a vaster game than conventional chess-Gord had reached the last rank and become a piece of some considerable power. He could be considered to have the abilities of a knight combined with the so-called hopping bishop, the ship of Earth’s ancient Chatranj or Chatturanga chess. He controlled not a single space Immediately around him, and his range was most limited considering the size of the vast board of the contest. Yet of the sixteen squares that were each one removed from his actual position, he could command fully twelve, and vault over any man who intervened. Gord was a powerful minor piece now. He comprehended not only his role but the game at large as well, so he was doubly dangerous to his adversaries.

Chapter 26

“And thus the events of the past few years have been spun out,” Rexfelis, Lord of All Cats, said, looking squarely at Gord.

“You played no part in these?” the young man asked doubtfully.

The Catlord shrugged. “Some, but not directly. The rings I made and dweomered so long ago have certainly had some effect on the course of things, I suppose…”

“Mine and the eight others, you mean? I know how my own ring can change me from man to leopard, allows me to see and perceive as a cat does, and has spared me from death and worse twice now. Yet I do not understand why it works as it does for me, and I do not appreciate the part of the other rings, nor for that matter the reason for you making them.”

“That is a matter for another time. I may be superhuman, Gord; by standards of men, I am a powerful being. Still, I have limitations and am subject to many shortcomings. I have need to learn much before I am prepared to discuss the rings. Some I know already, and more I will learn soon, I think. The time is not far off, my young protege, when you and I will again speak of the rings-and I think of the matter of your heritage, too.”

“You know of that?” Gord shot up, as if propelled from a catapult, from the couch on which he had been reclining. “Tell me!”

The long, sinewy fingers of the Catlord squeezed the young man’s shoulders reassuringly as his hands pressed Gord back upon the seat. “Be at ease. I have nothing but suspicions at this time. When we speak of rings, then we will also discuss the mysteries which surround you, Gord. As I said, I have no divine knowledge to impart. Just as you, I too must seek and find, study and learn, gather intelligence and analyze information.

“I have suspicions, suppositions based on you, but that is all they are. Your weird is masked, Gord. We have spoken of that before. Some facts I have discovered, but most of these are already known to you as well. You are more than you were, would you not say so?”

Gord nodded at that and would have replied, but Rexfelis was not finished.

“I am not much concerned,” the Lord of Cats continued, “with affairs of men or the powers dwelling on other planes. I am disinterested more than uninterested. Those who seek equilibrium are similar to me, but they also actively meddle in things when one side or another seems to be tipping the balance toward itself. You have served the Balance and will do so in the future. In fact, you might just be the very fulcrum of things to come.”

“You speak in riddles as always, Lord Rexfelis. What must I do to get straight answers from you?” Gord asked crossly. He was still agitated, and this was plainly shown by his expression, voice, and tense body. In fact, the young man resembled an angry cat confronting another one, ready to spring at the least provocation.

“You must not presume upon my friendship,” the Lord of Cats remarked, turning his back upon his guest. He walked over to where a sideboard held a tall ewer of kumis and poured himself a goblet of the fermented milk. He turned, drank, and then spoke to Gord again.