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 protégé, 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.
“I am fond of you personally, and you have a role which is important. But I am not sure if I like what you might do, nor do I believe that I will be pleased much by what is to come. Do not again speak to me so, Gord the Unknown, Gord the Rogue—not unless you are prepared to accept my enmity and accept a challenge from me.”
That was unthinkable. The young man knew very well that although he could best any of those minions of the Catlord that surrounded him, Gord was certainly no match for Rexfelis in any respect—save perhaps at swordplay, and even that was doubtful. Furthermore, Gord had no desire to quarrel with this being, a lord who had most certainly given him more than any other personage, human or otherwise.
“I beg your forgiveness, Lord of Cats,” Gord said with humility. “I allowed my heart to rule my head, and my frustration to wag my tongue. I ask your pardon, and I shall not so offend again.”
Rexfelis smiled, a cat’s unfathomable smile. “You have it, even though I am quite positive you will offend me in the future.”
“Future, lord? You speak of that most often, yet you also say that you are not able to have my rede. You see my point?”
“Yes. Of course. In that I am somewhat remiss. I meant to speak to you as to exactly what I am certain of. Please have some refreshment, relax, and I will do so now.”
Gord complied with difficulty. For some time now, the young adventurer had suspected that something lay behind Rexfelis’ unexpected appearances and seemingly casual interest in his affairs. This meeting confirmed Gord’s suspicions. As the Catlord began speaking, the young adventurer composed himself as well as he could so as to absorb every word. Rexfelis told him that the interaction between himself and Gord had occurred with seeming coincidence, but the Catlord was himself uneasy about that, for seldom did he relate to humans as had happened with Gord. Therefore, Rexfelis had begun some investigation of things.
“You are entangled with me, Gord, with the Balance, with demons, and even with the foul Infestix. It was no accident, I think, that he himself came to slay you in his avatar of Nerull. It was foreordained, just as your coming here was written. Because of the tangling, and the interference, I can see but little more of your skein, my young friend. Be comforted, though, for if I cannot, it is most improb
able that any other can either, including your greatest enemies, demon, daemon, or devil.
“Think on it. The hells sent a great minion of theirs to slay you, the bestial pig-thing which you slew and which in turn seemingly did for you. They could not foresee the result!”
“Nerull failed for the same reason, then?”
“Correct, Gord. None but yourself can see what is written for you—perhaps even you can’t pierce the veils, but possibly you will. You must try, if you can.”
“Of dweomers and scrying I know nothing,” the young man commented. “But if it seems possible, I will try…. Can you tell me nothing more than that?”
Rexfelis sighed, nodding slowly. “You must know all, mustn’t you? Curiosity, Gord, killed the cat!” Both laughed at that, and then the Catlord resumed speaking. “A bad joke, really. I have seen that you will have more trials, perilous journeys, tests, and duels to the death—hardly unusual stuff for an adventurer such as you, young fellow! And first you will have to face those of my own folk who mean to test you. I fear that you are not uniformly liked here….”
“That’s no surprise,” Gord interjected. “Some of your cat-folk here are haughty and overbearing to the point of annoyance. I have brought one or two of them down a peg.”
“Yes,” the Catlord observed dryly, “that you have. Thereafter, Gord, you will be tested mentally and physically by those of Evil, as well as by nature itself. If you somehow survive that, and I mean the survival of mind and ethics as well as pure physical survival, it seems that you must return to the City of Grey-hawk one last time.”
That puzzled the young thief. “Must return? One last time? What I do is my own will, and Greyhawk is my only home. I shall go there or not as I choose, and it will be more than once, I trow!”
“Do you now? You are no more free to do as you would than am I—less so, in fact. Let that be. Perhaps it is a changeable condition. Whatever you think, I did foresee that you would return to Grey-hawk but once more, and that only to repay some past debt. The debt I cannot get the rede of, but it seemed to be one not directly connected to you. I mention that,” the Lord of Cats added, “because there was an inkling in the foreseeing.”
“Of what?” Gord asked quietly.
“Of a vendetta. That settling of old scores was tied to your past, your family, I think. There was something stranger still. So unsettling that I hesitate to mention it”
Gord was again tense and filled with the unease of foreboding. “I do not mean to press you, lord, but I request with all respect that you convey the remainder of your knowledge on this subject to me.”
“Of course,” Rexfelis said. “Having gone this far, I could not very well do otherwise. The matter of vengeance seemed to go beyond Greyhawk, well beyond. It came here, back to me somehow, but I am not sure how. I am not concerned, but I am. It is puzzling, disconcerting to me, I admit!”
“Then that is it?”
“No, Gord, not quite. Your quest, for want of a better word, might go beyond that. There were breaks, other paths, but it seemed there was one line which was stronger than all but one other. It led to the lowest depths, to the realms of darkest Evil, to Nerull and beyond.”
That made the young man pale. “What of the other, stronger line, lord?” he inquired uncertainly.
“That led to indecision, inactivity, and a horrible death.”
“Then I am doomed no matter what, it seems…. I have no hope!”
“Wrong, most misguided and wrong! There is always hope, young fool! Didn’t I just tell you that I am not perfect? What I saw was only a series of possibilities. Granted, the most probable courses were very plain, but there might be other branches. Again, my seeing is possibly faulty. That we both understand. You alone will be able to decide the exact course you follow. Although some destinies you cannot shun, there are places where you have total freedom of decision. Perhaps, in the end, you are foredoomed, but of that neither you nor I have certain knowledge. Yet there is one certainty. If you deem yourself as good as finished, then you are!”
It was heartening, that last statement, and Gord managed to throw off his depression because of the encouragement. “Thank you, Lord Rexfelis. Although what you have related to me is troublesome—nay, worse than that, even—I appreciate your frankness. Now I will set about things with a different view. Prepare myself mentally and physically too. Whatever comes to me will find me as ready as I can be, and I shall remain alert, watchful. The best course might be very difficult to seek, to follow.”
“You are growing wiser already, my human friend. The words you speak are true always, even when life itself does not hang in the balance. Enough of this now! Here,” the Catlord said with an air of congenial sort, “allow me to serve you more of this excellent kumis. We will drink together as peers, you and I, until both of us are in a merry mood and ready for frisking and frolic!”
“As long as I don’t have to sing much… or listen to very much of the noise which passes for music hereabouts!”
“My feelings are hurt! Welladay,” Rexfelis went on with a mock sigh and forlorn expression, “I shall take no offense and make sure that whatever entertainment eventually follows is to your taste, for I am your host, and a guest must be humored,” he concluded, pouring liquor into Gord’s flagon until the milky stuff overflowed. Without another word, the Catlord quaffed his own beaker of kumis, and Gord needed no encouragement other than that, tossing his own down with equal relish.
Some time later, much later in fact, and after a soulful duet in which Gord actually took the lead in singing, Rexfelis ended the wassail with a grin and a wink.
“Off you go now, Gord. I have things to do, and you need more exciting company too. See that little kitten, Tirrip!” Gord was more than content with that, and so the evening ended.
Chapter 27
Tirrip was a lovely girl. No, she was a beautiful tiger who could take the form of a gorgeous woman. Well, perhaps she was something else, an intelligent being from another plane whose actual form was unknown, but which could be either that of tigress or woman when she was on the plane of the Catlord.
At any rate, Tirrip and Gord were intimate friends, and that had been the cause of some difficulty for the young adventurer. Her cousin, Raug, and several others of his group resented the relationship and disliked him. With effort, Gord had put the matter aside in his mind after several confrontations and contests with Raug and his friends. After all, Tirrip liked them well enough, so Gord set aside his mislike and ignored them studiously.
He was doing just this the day after his audience and drinking bout with Rexfelis, during a stroll with Tirrip. He and the pretty tiger-were walked slowly, hardly noticing or caring where they were, as she listened to the young man recount the matters he and the Catlord had spoken of, until they were suddenly interrupted.
“Hoy! It’s Tirrip! Come with us, cousin! We’re going on a hunt!”
Gord saw Raug and a half-dozen or so others at a little distance. The big fellow had pointedly ignored Gord’s presence, so as Tirrip called and waved a return greeting, the young thief looked away from the group as if they didn’t exist.
“Come on, Gord!” Tirrip said excitedly. “You can take leopard form and come along! Let’s join them!”
“I think not,” Gord replied slowly. “I wouldn’t find the company even slightly amusing. I’m surprised you would….”
“Oh, don’t be a silly dog,” she said, her voice still filled with enthusiasm. “Raug and the others are all right—honestly! I haven’t been out in the wilds hunting in ever so long, Gord. Please, let’s go. It would mean a lot to me, dearest.”
“You run along and join them,” Gord said with a detached tone. “They’re your kith and kin, after all, not mine,” he added with ice in his tone and a disdainful expression. “I’ll manage to amuse myself while you’re gone…. Lady Cheeba has asked me to call upon her several times.”
At that Tirrip spun to face him, her face angry. She brought her hand arou
nd and slapped him on the face so quickly that Gord could not avoid the attack. “You are an insufferable cur!” Tirrip spat. “You’re jealous of my friends and sensitive about your size just because they jape because they’re all much bigger than you!”
Gord stepped back and looked at Tirrip in stony silence. He thought of several retorts, but something made him hold his tongue and remain silent still.
“Very well, Master Nobody!” Tirrip went on. “I shall join them and have fun as I like. I’m sick and tired of having to mope around with you all the time and bored with your talk of quests and heritage and destiny—bored to tears! Who cares about that anyway? The lineage and future of an orphan human lucky enough to have curried a little favor with Lord Rexfelis is fitting for a brief entertainment at a dull party, but It grows wearisome at other times. You are a boor… a churl… a… a nobody!”
“Now, dear lady Tirrip, that was well and nobly said!”
Gord jerked his head around to see who had spoken. While he and Tirrip had been exchanging heated words—while she was berating him, rather, and he had been giving it back to her through chilling stares—Raug and his comrades had approached. Certainly the group had been drawn by the slap and the loudly spoken rebukes she had delivered. The male who had congratulated Tirrip was called Lurajal.
[Gord the Rogue 05] - City of Hawks Page 32
