D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch

by Robin Wayne Bailey

  Garett straightened, but the image of the sword continued to hold his attention. “You’re giving this to me?” he asked.

  “I cannot give it to you,” Mordenkainen answered sternly. “That would be help, and I am forbidden to help. If you want it, you will have to go get it yourself. I have merely told you where to find it.” Then his voice softened a bit, and his gaze took on a kindly glint. “But you are sensitive, Garett Starlen, though you don’t realize it. That is why you felt me observing you from afar. That is why you feel the force that threatens your city. If you have the courage to go and claim it, you and this sword will serve each other well.”

  “I’ve never been to the Mist Marsh,” Garett said quietly, rubbing his chin. Already he was making a list of the things he would need for the journey. He turned to ask a question of Mordenkainen, but the wizard was beside him no more. Garett looked around and spied his host by the wall facing the sea. As he moved to join the old man, Mordenkainen climbed up on the wall, spread his arms, and issued a sharp whistle.

  “Stay back,” Mordenkainen warned as Garett came to the wall. “I’ve done all I can. You must help yourself now, and help Greyhawk.”

  A dark, solitary cloud hanging in the sky far down the coastline suddenly changed shape, elongated, and sprouted wings, a long, sweeping tail, and a sinewy neck. It turned toward the tower as Mordenkainen whistled again.

  “A cloud dragon!” Garett muttered in disbelief. Such creatures were almost never seen by the eyes of men, preferring as they did, to spend their time in their favorite disguise. A herd of them might fill the sky on a warm summer day, and humans would never know it. But now Garett had seen one. It turned its head only briefly and regarded the watch commander with a disinterested, faceted gaze as Mordenkainen stepped from the top of the tower and settled himself comfortably upon the beast’s neck.

  “Good luck to you, Garett Starlen,” Mordenkainen called. Then he touched the cloud dragon’s neck. It turned and swept off across the sea, cut a wide arc across the star-dazzled sky, and flew down the coastline.

  One by one, the braziers burned out until the emerald glow from Guardian’s image in the crystal ball was the only light. Even that began to fade, and Garett found himself standing in darkness. He looked around nervously, thinking of the wooden steps he had to take to leave the tower, wishing for a torch, a lantern, anything.

  One by one, Oerth’s two moons faded, and, impossibly, one by one, the stars did as well, until the darkness was complete and utter.

  Garett turned around and around, confused, uncertain where to go.

  Garett woke with a start, sweating and disoriented,

  back in his apartment. He sat up in his bed, the

  sheet slithering down about his waist. A cooling breeze blew across his chest through the open shutters. His heart still hammered against his ribs, and his breaths were short and rapid.

  “That must have been some dream.”

  Garett turned toward the voice. Sorvesh Kharn, well-dressed in leather trousers and a black lace-up tunic of fine linen weave, sat in a chair by the door, his booted feet propped up on one of Garett’s trunks. The master of thieves had a small, jeweled dagger out, and he cleaned his nails idly by the light of a candle, which he must have lit. The light glistened in his oiled beard and in his hair, which was blacker than night itself and pulled back in a braid so tight that Garett thought it had to hurt his face.

  “How did you get in here?” Garett muttered angrily, wrapping the sheet about his waist as he rose from the bed. He glanced toward the place by his pillow where he usually

  kept his sword. It wasn’t there. Then, remembering, he glanced toward his table, where he’d left it.

  Sorvesh Kharn put on a smirk as he continued to clean and pare his nails. “Oh, come now, Captain. Let’s not begin with insults.”

  Garett admitted to himself it was a stupid question. Sorvesh Kharn hadn’t risen to the leadership of his guild by letting little things like locks stand in his way. The point of that small dagger had probably fitted quite easily into the keyhole on his apartment door. It would have been no obstacle at all to Kharn. And the fact that he had done it so silently and made himself at home while Garett slept was further testament to his skills.

  “How long have you been here?” Garett asked suspiciously as he went to his table and took up the white robe he had placed there after his bath. He unwound the sheet from his waist, tossed it back on the bed, and slipped into the robe, using its folds to mask his movements as he surreptitiously loosened his sword in its sheath. Just in case.

  Then his hand brushed against his coin purse. Its strings were pulled tight. Frowning, he opened it and poured the contents into his palm. All his money was there. So were the five amethyst crystals. He glanced around the room. Nothing was disturbed.

  Sorvesh Kharn rose to his feet. “Really, Captain,” he scolded. “I haven’t rifled a mere purse in years.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that,” Garett answered distractedly as he returned the crystals and coins to his purse. He slowly turned and surveyed the room. Everything was as it should have been. He went to his window and leaned out. Sounds of celebration could be heard in the distance, from the direction of the Strip. The weak sun, a pale white ball that barely penetrated the heavy cloud cover, hung just above the western rooftops. But it had been deep night at Mor-denkainen’s tower.

  “It was a dream, then,” he muttered to himself. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head.

  He turned back to Sorvesh Kharn. “How long did you say you’ve been here?”

  The master of thieves shrugged as he put away the dagger, slamming it into a small sheath on his wrist and tugging the sleeve down to conceal it. “Perhaps half an hour,” he answered. “I thought it best to let you sleep.”

  Garett tried to put the dream from his mind. He scrutinized Sorvesh Kharn with a frown. If the man had one dagger up his sleeve, how many other weapons was he carrying ? There was the large knife on his belt; that one was obvious. At least one more, probably two, in those high boots. Kharn was a large man, especially for a thief, but his speed and reflexes were legendary through Greyhawk, as were his rages and temper tantrums.

  ‘"You seem in a much better mood than the last time we met,” Garett observed cynically as he folded his arms upon his chest and leaned back casually against his table.

  Sorvesh Kharn waved a hand nonchalantly. “Directorate meetings,” he answered disdainfully. “They can tax one’s patience, can’t they?” He put on a weak smile and added with an apologetic air, “I was overwrought.” The smile vanished just as quickly as it had formed, and Kharn’s gaze took on a harder edge. “But only because of the incompetence demonstrated by Thigpen and his lapdog supporters. I noticed that you, Captain, seemed as irritated with them as I.” Garett closed his eyes briefly and hung his head. He was in no mood for this, but he knew he had to move carefully. Kharn was an ambitious man, and such were always dangerous. There could only be one reason why he had come to Moonshadow Lane. Somehow, he had decided that Garett fit into his ambitions. The watch captain saw it in his eyes, recognized it in the buddy-buddy tone of his voice.

  “I’m only the night watch captain,” Garett answered cautiously. “I have a job to do.”

  Sorvesh Kharn nodded. “And they are impeding your progress,” the master of thieves agreed sympathetically with just the right amount of anger added for effect. “Do

  you realize that just this afternoon, Rankin Fasterace insisted on a rent of one common per head per day for those who were burned out of their homes in the Halls and are living in the college dormitories and gymnasiums?” Garett’s frown deepened. “I didn’t even know there was a Directorate meeting today.”

  Sorvesh Kharn sat back down in the chair and propped his feet up on the trunk again. “It was a mere formality, a party, actually, to welcome Kentellen Mar. But to everyone’s annoyance, Kentellen didn’t show up. And things—” Sorvesh looked thoughtful, t
hen shrugged. “— shall we say, degenerated into business.”

  “Excuse me,” Garett interrupted. “What do you mean Kentellen didn’t show up? He didn’t enter the city?” Sorvesh Kharn rocked the chair back on its rear legs and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Entered the city—now there’s an interesting expression. Occupied it, some would say. Rode right up the Processional with his entire caravan, about fifty followers and some little orphan boy at his side. He made quite a show of it, too. 'You’d have thought Greyhawk had crowned him king.”

  Garett ignored Sorvesh’s sarcasm. Kentellen Mar was finally home. The streets would be chaotic tonight with revelers and party-goers. For the next five nights, until the investiture on the day of the summer solstice, the streets would be full of celebrants.

  Sorvesh Kharn folded his arms over his chest and gazed out the window, where the sun was slowly going down. “Personally,” he grumbled. “I find it appalling that so much attention is being paid to Kentellen Mar and so little to all these murders.”

  “And that would be different if you were mayor,” Garett said bluntly.

  Sorvesh Kharn gave him a sharp look, realizing he’d been seen through. He set the chair down on all four legs and rose stiffly. “I see you are no fool, Captain Starlen,” he said coldly. “Forgive me for mistaking you for one. Yes, things would be different. The best mayors this city has ever had have all come from the Thieves’ Guild.” He jabbed the air with a finger. “I tell you this. I would not be charging rent for floor space in public buildings to homeless, burned-out families. Apparently, it takes a professional thief to know the stupidity of robbing a poor man who has nothing.”

  Garett was surprised by Kharn’s sensitivity to that particular issue, and he could not deny that he shared Kharn’s contempt for the idea. But he didn’t trust the master of thieves, and he wondered if it was honest outrage or just a plank in a new campaign platform. It would make a powerful issue with which to attack Ellon Thigpen if Kharn took the matter before the masses.

  “Tell me,” Garett said, abruptly changing the subject. “Ydu have eyes and ears all over this city, especially in Old Town. What do you know about these murders?”

  Sorvesh Kharn gritted his teeth, and his right hand curled into a fist. “If I knew any more than you, Captain, I would tell it.” His eyes flashed angrily as he turned toward the light of the candle. The room was growing darker as the weak sun vanished and night closed in. “I am feeling a certain—pressure, shall we say—from Old Towners. They look to me and to the guild to take care of them.”

  Sorvesh Kharn swallowed and relaxed a bit as he stroked his beard with the fingers of one hand. “But perhaps I can help you with another matter.” He gave Garett a long look from the corner of his eyes. “Two of my men tried to break into the wizards’ guildhall last night.”

  Garett leaned forward with interest, reading the tension in Kharn’s body. No one, in his knowledge, had attempted such a thing. It was impossible to successfully break into the guildhall of the wizards. The magical wards and protections were too many and too powerful.

  “They have not been seen or heard from since,” Kharn added pointedly.

  “Prestelan would have turned them over to the City

  Watch,” Garett explained. Kharn knew that as well as he did, though.

  The master of thieves leaned against the door and tilted his head. “As you said, I have eyes and ears everywhere. The thieves were not turned over to the watch. They went over that black wall and—” He made a little gesture in the air, pinching his fingers together and opening them suddenly. “Poof. Vanished, 'ifou should know that I sent them myself. No one has gone into or come out of the guildhall for several days. There isn’t a wizard in the streets. Not even their dwarvish porters answer the gates if anyone knocks. Prestelan Sun himself has not been seen.”

  “So you decided to take the opportunity to see what you could pilfer,” Garett concluded sarcastically.

  Sorvesh glared disdainfully, his dark features looking almost demonic in the ruddy candle glow. “I asked forgiveness for treating you like a fool earlier, Captain,” he said coolly. “Don’t mistake me for one.” His words hung momentarily in the air like a threat before he continued. “I sent them in expecting them to be caught and turned over to the watch. I would have bribed their way out of any jail time, believe me. But I thought there was a chance they would see something or someone that would provide a clue as to what was going on there.” He paused then moved away from the candle, into the shadows. “You’re a competent man, Starlen. It can’t have escaped your attention that our best seers are dead, our wizards are vanished, and the nonhuman races have skipped town faster than mice at a cat convention. There has to be a connection.”

  Garett regarded Sorvesh Kharn with the first glimmerings of new respect. The man was shrewd as well as observant. “Have any of the other directors figured that out yet?” he asked.

  Sorvesh Kharn smiled. “Why, Captain, is that a sneer I hear in your voice?”

  Garett kept his face impassive and gave no answer. He wasn’t ready to play Kharn’s game yet. He would say nothing overt against the directors.

  Kharn gave an amused shrug. “Axen Kilgaren is an intelligent man,” he said meaningfully. “As for the others, they can’t see their feet for Kentellen Mar’s backside.” Garett drew a slow breath, his mind working furiously, wondering how much he could trust Sorvesh Kharn. And yet he seemed to have a genuine interest in solving this rash of murders, even if it was only to gain a political edge. Garett wondered if he could turn that to his own advantage.

  “Are you willing to work with me on this?” he found himself tentatively asking the master of thieves.

  Sorvesh Kharn didn’t nod or say anything, but he regarded Garett intently.

  “With all these celebrations,” Garett continued, low voiced, “my men are going to be overextended the next few nights. Something is happening in the sewers under Greyhawk, something connected with all these murders. Something that I think involves the Horned Society.”

  “Yes, yes,” Kharn said impatiently, frowning. “You made that pitch at yesterday’s meeting.”

  “And you were less than attentive,” Garett reminded him sharply. “But now you have your own evidence that something odd is happening at the wizards’ guildhall. How much more farfetched is this?”

  Kharn looked askance and shrugged. “What are you suggesting?” he asked.

  “'You have men at your command, men with skill at stealth and concealment.”

  Kharn gave him a doubtful look. “You want me to send them into the sewers?”

  Garett shook his head. “I want you to plant them at every sewer grate and opening in the city. And I want them out of sight. Tell them to watch and listen only. These Old Town murders—these sacrifices—have all taken place in the sewers. I want to know who goes down there and who comes up, and I want to know where they go afterward.” Garett stood up and regarded Sorvesh Kharn evenly. “Will you do

  that?”

  Kharn thought about it, then nodded. “That much I’ll do.” He glanced away and stared at the candle flame. Its orange glow lit his face, shadowing the deep sockets of his eyes, creating a masking effect. “But what will you do for me, Captain?”

  Garett didn’t hesitate with his answer. “I’ll make sure you get proper credit when we catch the murderer. I’m sure you’ll find a way to turn that to your advantage.”

  Sorvesh Kharn smiled. “You know, of course, that when I’m mayor I’ll need a new captain-general?”

  Garett didn’t get a chance to decline. Before he could express his distaste for the idea, a knock sounded on his door. Sorvesh Kharn turned suddenly, jerked it open, caught Almi by her old wrist, and pulled her close. In the same smooth motion, he planted a big kiss squarely on her lips. “It’s all right, madam,” he said when he released her. “As you can see, Captain Garett is awake.” He stepped back with a gallant bow so Almi could see her tenant.

  A brig
ht smile of surprise lit up the old woman’s face. “Who cares?” she answered. “If you need a room, sir, I’m sure I can arrange to throw him out. He’s quite a bother to an old woman like me, you know.”

  “I’m sure, madam,” Kharn answered sympathetically. “But I’m quite well entrenched in other quarters.”

  “Well, I guess I’d better bring him some supper then and send him on his way,” Almi replied with melodramatic disappointment. “Bread and gravy, again, Captain?” she called to Garett.

  “Thank you,” Garett said, and Almi, smart enough to realize she’d interrupted, made a polite exit.

  “I will be in touch, Captain Starlen,” Sorvesh Kharn said. Then he, too, slipped out the door, closing it without a sound.

  Alone, Garett gave a small sigh and tried to collect his thoughts. Had he made a mistake, involving Sorvesh Kharn in this? He was sure Korbian Arthuran would have a fit if he found out. Neither would Ellon Thigpen be pleased.

  He leaned back on the table again, and his hand brushed his coin purse. He’d almost forgotten it, but now the dream came rushing back upon him. He poured the amethysts out onto his palm again. They glittered in the candlelight, casting little pools of purple reflection on his skin. Just a dream, he told himself. Mordtnkainen, the tower, the cloud dragon, all of it. The sword. Just a dream.

  He put the crystals back in the purse and picked up the candle and used it to light the lamp that hung overhead. The room brightened considerably, and he began to dress.

  The clouds had not broken by nightfall. No stars shone in the sky. Both of Oerth’s moons were obscured. None of the revelers seemed to care. They danced in the streets, drank in the alleys. Like moths attracted by the streetlights, they filled the Processional from one end of Greyhawk to the other.