by Gary Gygax
“Madam!” Tapper sputtered, red-faced. Clyde was too angry to even manage a sputter, and the Beggar-master, Thadeus, better known as Chinkers, had great difficulty controlling his ire as well. If Risteria spoke thus of thievery, what would she say of thiggery? The very thought of her sharp tongue dissecting his profession made the plump fellow wince.
“Who here is so perfect?” It was Bru, speaking for them all, who asked that. The wizardess opened her mouth to reply, but the big, bearded man pressed on. “The Balance makes no such value Judgments, lady, so by what right do you place your craft-or that of Zarten-above any other? There is no answer, lady, for there is no right. Neither you nor I may sit in judgment of Gord, or of those above us who directed our actions in this regard. We did as we were asked because we accept the guidance of the Enlightened. Shall I now contact them and state your dissent?”
The wizardess’ face grew pale. “No, Master Bru, I think that will be quite unnecessary. I must apologize to you all for losing my composure and not checking my speech. It’s just that I thought the boy had so much promise…”
“And still does-or has even more so!” It was Clyde, finally able to voice his opinion. That one is a man now-and never has a finer practitioner of the art of thievery existed, to my knowledge! As a stripling he outshined most adults. Full grown, Gord must be a match for the masters of the guilds both east and west. Why, In a decade or two his name might be legend amongst all who-”
“Who know of the rankings of speculation and depredation,” the priest filled in. “Yet we aren’t here to discuss Cord’s merits, either-and it needn’t be said that I happen to side with Lady Risteria in regard to deploring thievery, on grounds too self-evident to go into here.”
“Get on with it, man!” Markham was beginning to grow weary of this conclave. Bickering should be reserved for trading and kept out of council. His look said that plainly enough.
“Of course, of course,” ahemed Zarten. “I suppose I assisted the lad’s course by supplying him with the lightstone, after all… To the point, then. Good lady mage, please intelligence us on young Gord’s whereabouts and likely prospects now. You mentioned that he was part of a band of gypsy folk, as I recall.”
“Quite right,” Lady Risteria said. “When I was notified of this meeting, I took the trouble to scry out the subject, and thereafter I sought advice arcane from certain powers favorably attuned to me.” She paused to allow comment, but not one of the six others present spoke, so the wizardess resumed her account.
“Gord is a very able young man, of that there is no doubt. Since leaving our city he has grown in skill, both at his… craft, and with the weapons of warfare as well. The Attloi he now accompanies are artful instructors, and young Gord practices diligently at gymnastics and acrobatics, rope walking, tumbling, the whole useless lot common to jugglers, wandering performers, and the rest of the gypsy lot who employ such feats to further their own-”
“Ahem!”
The loud clearing of his throat and the accompanying look from Markham sufficed to put Risteria back on track again. “…livelihood,” she finished, doing her best to remain unruffled. “It seems he will become more able than ever to succeed, yet there are many dangers ahead for Gord, and many clouded areas. Someone, something, a power perhaps, still interposes itself if his skein is examined too closely.”
“I too encountered such interference, lady,” Zarten said solemnly. “I think it was no evil one who interfered, though. I cannot be sure, of course, for I dared not pry too strongly,” the cleric added for the benefit of the others. “It seemed evident that he will be in peril often. One of ours should be near just in case.”
“And that is why we are met here this very hour,” the bearded leader of the council said. “Your words are well. taken. Before nightfall I will be departing Greyhawk, and I will pass along the opinion of this group to those above me. Is that the voice of us all, then? Gord should have full attention in the near future because of impending peril?”
Nods of assent to this came from Tapper, Clyde, Markham, and Chinkers. “I concur,” said Lady Risteria. The priest spoke last, saying, “It would seem to be the most prudent course for the Balance, assuming that he is still considered to be important to future events-for Gord does go into danger, of that there can be no question.”
“Then that is the message I shall give to my superiors,” Bru said, concluding the meeting.
At about that time Gord awakened. He had had a bad dream, and the sudden jolting of the wagon brought him out of it abruptly and thankfully. Wiping the sweat from his face, the young thief went to the back of the vehicle and swung open the little door at its end. It was no feat to jump out and run along beside the slowly moving wagon. His two friends were on their steeds up ahead someplace, and Gord would seek them out now. Soon camp would be made for the night, and he wanted to see what plans were afoot for the evening.
“Hey, Channos! Elo! Wait for me!” The two young Attloi gypsies had been his friends, and instructors of a sort too, since last summer. It was early spring now, and Gord was no longer a pupil. If anything, he could show the two of them a trick or two at acrobatics, but boon companions they were still.
“Where have you been hiding?” Elo demanded as he turned his horse in Gord’s direction.
Channos was less patient than that. “Hurry up! Get your horse and join us. We won’t wait, you know! There’s an inn at Karrish, the village just ahead. If we don’t get there soon, the rest of the men will be there to get the best pickings before us!” With that Channos rode off and Elo followed him, leaving Gord to run back for his own mount and catch up as best he could.
Perhaps the two thought the village’s only inn was a splendid place to be. In a sense it was, considering the long distance their band of wagons had traveled before coming to such a place, and the relative quality of similar places found in this part of the Flanaess. Gord, however, comparing it to the many establishments he had patronized from Greyhawk to Radigast City and beyond, found it disappointing. Even the girls here were plain or lacked vivacity, or both. Although the folk here kept a sharp eye on the visitors, they at least seemed ready enough to accept their temporary presence, Gord noticed.
Even his two friends seemed deflated after spending a time drinking at the place. “These women have no life in them,” Channos observed at large.
“Shall I start a fight?” big Elo asked, a smile lighting his face.
“No,” Gord said, grabbing the bigger man and steering him toward the exit. “Come on, Channos. The three of us have some thinking to do.”
Hardly a fortnight later Gord rode away from the Attloi encampment in the vast prairies where the gypsies spent the summer raising, training, and selling horses. With him went his two friends, Channos and Elo. All three were heading northward to see if perhaps they couldn’t find excitement and riches in a kingdom none of them had ever been to before.
Elsewhere, some distance away, a very important man was concerning himself with the young thief. “How closely can you monitor him?” the one-eyed man asked.
Three hooded figures, unbleached linen cowls shadowing their faces, sat in tall-backed chairs. The central one spoke in reply to the one-eyed man’s query. “He seems to be unwatched by any others… at this time, at least, so we are able to follow him closely, Lord Gellor. We watch now, and will do so later too. You are needed.”
“There is trouble, then?”
“Always, constantly. This young man Gord is a difficult subject!”
“Show me, please, the course you have foreseen. I will do my utmost to serve as you direct. Enlightened Ones.”
The air shimmered as the three figures made small gestures in unison. A transparent set of images appeared in the air, as if the one-eyed Gellor were viewing a faint mirage or a ghostly vision. He knew it was neither, but rather what he saw before him was a projection of the future of the youth, a series of scenes that flashed past rapidly, an hour’s time but a minute, with sudden blurs where th
e trio of Enlightened Ones caused the events to go by even faster. At one point Gellor called “stop” without thinking. The three made the images halt and didn’t go on again until the one-eyed man politely, and rather sheepishly, asked them to.
Suddenly the vivid images faded into shadows, and the scene vanished. “What’s this?” Gellor gasped.
The three figures rose jerkily, crying out together.
Gellor was shocked. “Have I done something?”
“No, faithful agent, it is not you who has caused this distress,” one of the three said as all of them sat down again. The one-eyed man was surprised to note it was the leftmost figure, not the central one, who had spoken.
“It is some agency, a force to be reckoned with, which so discommoded us,” the rightmost of the trio continued to explain.
“Yet we suffered no real harm,” the central figure noted. “It was a demand for personal privacy, perhaps, but not an attack. The youth himself could never do such a thing, so we must conclude that he has other… friends.”
Gellor wanted more of an explanation, but did not press for it. He supposed that more than privacy could be involved, much more, and the force displayed could be either good or ill. Then he was drawn from his introspection by a question from the central figure. What did Gellor intend to do?
“Alert the local lord to the fact that there are bandits in his hunting preserve,” the one-eyed man replied. “The danger to Gord there is mortal unless some agency intervenes, I think,” he explained, recalling what he had seen. “That change leaves but a single likely course open, so thereafter I’m off for the realms of brigandry. I’ll position myself so as to encounter Gord there and keep my most watchful eye on him.”
Did a slight rocking on the part of the Enlightened Ones indicate they appreciated his little joke? After a couple of moments, the central figure spoke again.
“We will not scry any more now, nor will we employ any agent whose power is such as to attract notice. A black wind has just swept through the aether-it came from the void and sends eddies even here. Go swiftly. Lord Gellor. We will contact you again as needed.”
“Thank you, Enlightened Ones. I will serve as instructed and await further instructions as I proceed,” the one-eyed man said with a slight bow. Then Gellor turned and strode from the chamber and away into the night. He didn’t bother to look behind, for he knew that the place he had been in was no longer there. That was the way of the Enlightened Ones.
He had much to do, many affairs to attend to in a short time. Several crowned heads employed him as an agent, and he served them well and faithfully, to the limit prescribed by his greater duty to the Balance. That gave him perfect cover, of course. When Gellor departed at first light on the morrow it would be on business of state. Elsewhere Gellor would be recognized too, and accepted as a member in good standing of groups and organizations of less savory sort. Being a spy and agent was like that, and in truth the one-eyed man enjoyed his duty.
Several weeks later, in a dirty little town in the heart of the Bandit Kingdoms, Gellor finally met Gord. It was the beginning of a long and adventure-filled friendship.
Chapter 16
“I never thought to see you here!”
The exclamation of the young thief was filled with joy, for before him stood his friend and sometimes mentor, Gellor. “How did you find me here? No, never mind that. Come In! You can tell me everything after you’ve had a chance to sit comfortably.”
The one-eyed man smiled and clasped Gord’s arm in greeting. “It is good to meet again, eh?” As his young host led the way, he entered the suite of rooms and took a seat on a divan while Gord busied himself getting wine and goblets. The place was well and comfortably furnished but showed no trace of riches. On the contrary, it showed ample means of only average sort. The young fellow was no fool. Gellor knew that Gord could well have taken a villa and filled it with lavish trappings, lived luxuriously, and reveled. But that would have attracted attention and brought certain downfall.
“What are you doing here in Greyhawk? I thought you’d be roaming the east, doing important things at the behest of dukes and kings!”
His face betraying nothing, Gellor replied, “Perhaps I’m doing just that, Master Gord… Or perhaps there are greater lords than that directing me.”
“You are here on some affair of state or another, then?”
“Let’s just say I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pay my respects to an old friend,” Gellor said with a warm smile. Before Gord could ask more questions, his comrade hastened on. “Since you left the east, things there have settled down into a boring state of mundane sort. During such a lull I deemed it possible to enjoy a bit of holiday, so here I am in Greyhawk.”
“I don’t believe a word of that,” Gord countered, pouring them both brimming goblets of wine. He handed one to Gellor and after both men had drunk, the young man went on. “Has it to do with the demon we slew? The evil relic called the Middle Key? Some war about to break out hereabouts? Come on, you one-eyed fox, tell me!”
“No, and yes. Possibly, and absolutely not… I am not being frivolous, Gord. Who of us can say? Neither you nor I are capable of ordering events or determining fate.” Gellor looked at his young friend, and it was evident from the expression on his face that the man’s explanation would never do. Gellor sighed and took another drink of wine. It was excellent stuff, a prime vintage of golden Keoish, and he savored it, allowing it to lave his tongue, roll on his palate, and slowly make its way on down so as to enable him to enjoy the full aftertaste as well.
Appreciating his guest’s savoring of the refreshment, Gord remained silent while Gellor relaxed and enjoyed, but he never took his eyes from the man. He was clearly waiting for more of an explanation, and would not waver until he got it, and Gellor was aware of both of those facts.
“All right, Gord, I shall be a little more specific-otherwise, I’ll never have sufficient peace to properly quaff the remainder of this superb wine you’ve so foolishly provided to me.”
Taking the hint, Gord put bottle to glass and filled Gellor’s goblet again. “How long has it been since you and I met?”
“More than a year-two, near enough. From that question, I take it you have needed no special amusements to pass the time here in Greyhawk…”
“That’s so, although I do seek some diversion now and again. Chert-surely you remember him? — went off to find more action and adventure many months ago, though it seems but yesterday. I’ve kept occupied, shall we say, here and about, making a modest living this way and that. But the sameness cloys, Gellor. Have you come with some momentous quest for me?” When the one-eyed man shrugged and shook his head in tentative fashion, Gord’s interest was even more piqued, if that was possible.
“Well, don’t just sit there supping on my wine and being as silent as a stone! You’ll not lure me into more discussion of my own affairs until you recount your own.”
“The druid Greenleaf is more concerned with the minions of the Abyss and malign relics of power than I am. Save your questions for that one,” Gellor said with a smile. He knew that he wasn’t fooling Gord in the least with his disclaimer, but he wished to direct the conversation to other matters. “Do you think often of your heritage?” he asked after a slight pause.
The young man was serious now. “Too frequently, old friend. It causes me pain, so I gain surcease through action and hazard. There is no one to answer my queries. It is a riddle with no answer. Yet, I find myself going over the matter again and again…” Gord’s voice trailed off, his gaze resting on the small box that, as far as he knew, was the only possible clue he had to his past, his parents, his heritage.
“That is one of the reasons why I am come here, Gord. Perhaps there is someone, something, to provide at least a partial answer to your questions.” Gord opened his mouth at that, but Gellor cut him off before he could speak. “No, wait, don’t interrupt me now. You’ve been at me as a mosquito on fair flesh, and now I’ll speak-only
do open another bottle of that wonderful vintage!” Gord complied readily, and the one-eyed man returned to his tale.
“It is a fact, Gord, although one unknown to you until this very minute, I presume, that you have been the subject of some considerable attention. Greater ones than you and I have watched and wondered. Imagine a game of Archchess…” He paused to look at the young man, and Gord nodded. He was an avid gamester, and he knew the sort of contest Gellor was using for his analogy. “Think of it as a three-sided competition, though, and not two or four. Consider also that the pieces and pawns are sometimes of unknown color and shape.”
“You infer that the players do not always recognize the allegiance and powers of the men on their game board?”
“Exactly! And it would be appropriate to liken you to such a man on the field of play. What is the blazon on your coat? What rank do you hide?”
Gord waved his hand in denigration. “I am a passably good thief and swordsman. A boon companion, I trust, and a willing adventurer after prizes or against dark foes, but a playing piece in the big game? No, not I-and even were that so, I would be a pawn of lowest station at best!”
“Perhaps that is so, perhaps not,” Gellor countered. “Yet you are-or were, anyway-observed by malign ones as well as those of other stances. I think that you alone can determine whether or not you are in play, and if so whether as a pawn or a greater piece. That, my friend, is tied to your past, I think.”
“You speak in riddles more abstruse than that which is bound up in my own origin, Gellor,” Gord shot back with agitation, rising to his feet. “I can answer your riddle as soon as I find a solution to my own, but I cannot gain even a hint of the latter, so the former shall forever remain unfathomable!”
