He was, however, reluctant to part with Guardian for any reason.
Sorvesh Kharn saw his hesitation. “You came to me, Captain,” he noted. “So you must trust me.”
“I will wear your blindfold,” Garett answered firmly. “But I didn’t demand your weapons when you came to my apartment, and I won’t surrender my sword to any man. You must give what you ask for—trust.”
Sorvesh Kharn smiled and whispered something to the man at his right side. The apprentice ran back up the stairs and disappeared inside. “I like you, Captain,” Sorvesh stated. “You have the courage so many of our city leaders lack.”
The apprentice returned to his master’s side with a strip of white cloth, and Garett dismounted. Without saying more, he allowed them to cover his eyes. He gave his right hand to the apprentice to lead him, while he wrapped his other around the hilt of Guardian to ensure nobody tried to take it.
“Trust, Captain,” he heard Sorvesh whisper with a trace of amusement.
Garett heard someone leading his horse away as the apprentice guided him carefully up the steps. By the dimming of the tiny amount of light that leaked through the cloth on his eyes, and by the smooth tile upon which he suddenly tread, he knew that he was inside. Almost immediately, the apprentice stopped him, then began to turn him around and around. When he stopped again, Garett was thoroughly disoriented.
They led him up a flight of steps, then down another. It might have been the same stairs, for all Garett knew. The floor actually seemed to rise at an incline at one place. They steered him around a comer, and around another corner. Through the blindfold, the light brightened and dimmed.
At last, someone removed his blindfold, and the watch captain found himself in a room whose opulence surpassed anything he had ever seen in Greyhawk. The carpets were blue and red silk, and blue velvet tapestries hung upon the walls. Small sculptures and lavishly decorated vases stood upon slender pedestals and upon tables made of highly polished roanwood. Beautiful paintings stood on display easels in the room’s corners, their frames glittering with gold. Two cushioned couches, one of plushest black velvet, the other of rich black leather, faced each other in the center of the room. It was a room to make the nobility of the city envious. And, Garett reminded himself, probably all stolen.
The door closed softly behind him, and the watch captain found himself alone with Sorvesh Kharn. Despite the awe he felt at such richness, Garett forced himself to get to business. “Just how many thieves do you command, Sorvesh?” Garett asked, realizing that the master of thieves would never give him a true answer to that question.
Sorvesh Kharn inclined his head thoughtfully and steered Garett toward the couches, where they sat, Sorvesh on the leather and Garett on the black velvet. Garett ran his palm over the material, savoring the feel of its incredible texture.
Sorvesh watched him carefully. “Why would you ask?” he queried, a polite dodge.
Garett leaned forward intently, placing his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. “Because I have come,” Garett said carefully, applying his hook, “to make you Mayor of Greyhawk.”
A short time later, Garett rode up High Street to the palace of the lord mayor. “I have come to make you mayor,” he said when a servant led him into Ellon Thigpen’s private office.
Ellon gave him a puzzled look. “I am already mayor,” he answered.
“Ah,” Garett said, holding up a finger. “Not officially until tomorrow at noon. And there is a plot against you tonight.”
Ellon Thigpen paled. Then he leaned forward nervously in his chair to listen.
Hooked.
For some time Garett waited in the garden of Axen Kilgaren’s home before the master of assassins came to him,
“’¥ou should know,” Axen said before Garett could speak, “that Kael was not a sanctioned kill. Someone has attempted to make it look like a guild job, but it wasn’t. I kept quiet at the meeting this morning only because it got you your job back, Captain, and you are good for Greyhawk.” His dark brows furrowed suddenly, and his voice dropped a note. “I won’t try to find out who did the deed. However, if the name of the murderer should ever defile my ears, I will be forced to act. I hope it was none of your friends.”
Garett studied Axen Kilgaren. Despite the fact that Kilgaren was an assassin—one of the deadliest killers in the city—Garett liked the man. There was an honesty and a directness about him. He wished that he could tell this man the truth about his suspicions, but he didn’t dare. Kentellen Mar had too many supporters on the Directorate, and he didn’t know where Axen stood.
“I don’t know how many men you have,” Garett said. “But you must arm them all and put them in the streets tonight. It could make you mayor.”
Axen Kilgaren sneered. “I don’t want to be mayor.” “Listen to me anyway,” Garett continued, unruffled. It didn’t surprise him that Axen didn’t want the office. That fact only heightened Garett’s respect for the man, and he had a different hook to apply. It was only slightly different, but it was the right one for Axen. “And listen closely. There’s a plot, and I know how much you love this city.”
Raenei and Kule burned like huge white jewels over the city of Greyhawk. Their frosty radiance washed out all but the brightest stars, and the air itself seemed to glow with a milky luminescence.
In the streets, the madness of celebration had reached a peak. There was no place in the city where the noise and music did not reach. Venders hawked quick foods, wines, and beers, for which they charged exorbitant rates. Mimes and minstrels and prestidigitators performed on every corner for huge crowds of gawkers. The watch houses in all quarters were overflowing with petty arrests, and offenders were returned to the streets as soon as their names were logged.
Garett watched it all from horseback in an alley just off Horseshoe Road, which was the boundary between the River Quarter and the Foreign Quarter. Burge, Blossom, and Rudi waited with him. They wore helmets and heavy chain mail under their uniforms. Rudi wore a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. It was the order of the night that
every watchman was so armored.
Garett scanned the streets for signs of trouble, not knowing from which direction to expect it, but sure that it would come. He watched faces, looking for any suspicious out-lander. He noted knives and clubs, which were legal, and kept a sharp eye out for any cloak or loose garment that might conceal a sword.
“The Directorate will have your head if nothing comes of this, Captain,” Blossom said in a low voice.
That was certainly true. If he had guessed wrong, his trickery would be obvious to all by morning. The mayor would feel he’d been made a fool of. Garett had convinced Ellon to call out the entire garrison to protect his house and his person, and to search the High Quarter and Garden Quarter for a terrorist team of assassins from the Shield Lands. That put three hundred and fifty men on alert in the two most strategic quarters of the city. The same story had convinced Korbian Arthuran to assign fully half of the day shift watchmen to tonight’s duty.
Sorvesh Kharn would be angry, too, and would feel he’d been made a fool of. No matter that Garett had secretly opened the barracks armory to provide his thieves with good swords. Sorvesh wanted to be a hero, to be the man who saved the city from a desperate nighttime attack from a force that had found a way in through the sewers. Every man he commanded was secreted near the gratings, waiting and watching.
Axen Kilgaren might take it in stride. Then again, he might not. It was impossible to predict anything about that man.
There were others whom Garett would have to answer to as well. He had gone to the Temple of Pholtus and given veiled warnings to its patriarch about trouble tonight from the priests of Trithereon, and immediately given the same warnings to Trithereon priests about the Pholtus Temple. The enmity between those two rivals was old and strong, and he knew with certainty that both sides would be well
armed and watchful this night.
At the Temple of St.
Cuthbert he had taken tea with its patriarch and casually complained about the number of dirty outlanders who were swarming within Greyhawk’s walls. An appeal to the old man’s prejudice was all it took to win assurances that when Cuthbert’s adherents walked the streets tonight they would keep their cudgels handy.
In short, Garett had spent the day making Greyhawk into a tinder box. Now he was waiting for the spark.
Lieutenant Graybo and four watchmen suddenly appeared at the mouth of the alley. Korbian Arthuran had been too busy or to disinterested to name a new permanent commander to take charge of the River Quarter watch house, so Graybo still held the post. He approached Garett and looked up. “The sewer grating on River Street is still locked,” he reported quietly, “and the mechanism appears untouched.”
“So is the grating back down this alley,” Garett answered. “But keep checking them. Check every grating. And if you spot any of Sorvesh’s thieves lurking in the shadows, don’t give them away. Remember, for this one night, they’re working with us.”
“Talk about your marriage made in the Abyss,” Graybo muttered, turning to look toward the street as a group of celebrants gave a loud whoop and passed by. “What happened back there?” he called sharply to his men at the alley’s mouth.
“Couple o’ Nyrondians thought they’d step back here an’ give themselves a quiet relief,” one of the watchmen answered with a snort. “I turned ’em properly around.”
Garett looked down as the huge lieutenant turned back to face him. “Keep them on their toes, Graybo,” he cautioned.
“They’re good men, Captain,” Graybo assured him. “Just a little high-spirited, what with all the celebration going on.”
Garett nodded understanding, and Graybo rejoined his
men and led them up the street.
“Do you think it was wise to take him into your confidence?” Rudi asked. “I mean, to tell him everything?”
Garett had debated that himself, but the River Quarter was one of the largest in the city, and tonight, one of the most congested. He trusted Gray bo, and the old soldier was nobody’s fool. More importantly, he had discovered that the other watchmen in the quarter trusted Gray bo, too. That would matter if Graybo had to rally them quickly.
Garett beckoned and led his comrades out of the alley. The crowds on Horseshoe Road forced them to go slowly, but not as slowly as if they had been on foot. People just naturally moved out of a horse’s way when they would not for a man.
As they left Horseshoe Road and entered the Petit Bazaar, which was a smaller version of the High Market, full of booths and small tent shops that even now were open and catering to the throngs of celebrants, the going became even slower. A pair of blue-cloaked escorts from the private Guild of Night Watchmen accompanied a laughing old lady, a noblewoman or a merchant’s wife, who was definitely in the wrong part of town but obviously enjoying herself. She passed close enough to reach out and pat the horses’ noses, but didn’t.
Rudi leaned from his saddle, frowning. “Captain,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and at the same time still be heard over the noise of celebration. “I could swear I saw a sword under that Night Watchman’s cloak.”
Garett nodded. “That’s likely,” he admitted. “I armed them, too.”
Blossom gave a sigh. “I find myself hoping the Horned Society really does have an army hiding in the sewers,” she admitted. “Otherwise, they’re going to hang you for sure in the morning.”
“I’m not sure it’s an army,” Garett conceded as they made their way across the bazaar.
“You’re not sure of much,” Burge reminded him.
They rode a short distance up Craftsman’s Way and into the Artisans’ Quarter. The smells of tanners’ stains and cloth dyes, of potters’ clay and sawed wood, lingered in the air. Garett had grown up in the Artisans’ Quarter, and the odors brought back old memories. He and his group turned up a dark side street called Weavers’ Way. In the middle of the road was another sewer grate.
Burge swung out of the saddle to check the lock on the grate. He slipped his fingers through the narrow bars, grabbed hold, and gave it a tug. “Secure, Cap’n,” he called as he returned to his horse.
Garett was convinced that the invaders would come up from the sewers. He had found the altar and the painted symbols of a Horned Society sect down there. Something in those dark depths had killed two of his men and wounded Burge, though the half-elf had recovered quickly. Five Old Town residents had also died down there.
Burge mounted up again, and they made their way to their next destination.
It was quieter in the shadow of the Black Wail, probably because there were fewer taverns and restaurants this far south. They stopped a block away from the house of Kentellen Mar, and a watchman stepped out of the shadows to greet them.
“Hello, Strevit,” Garett said quietly. “Any news?”
Strevit shook his head. “I’ve got men hiding in nooks and crannies all the way to the other end of the street, Captain Starlen,” he reported. “But he’s not made a move. No one’s come in. No one’s gone out.” He turned around and stared back at the house. A few lamps burned in the upper windows. Otherwise, the place was dark. “Tell me again how you think he’s a traitor? I just can’t believe it, sir. Not of Kentellen Mar.”
“Keep your voice down, watchman,” Garett cautioned sternly. Strevit’s attitude came as no surprise. Kentellen was the people’s hero, the man of the hour. “No charges have been made yet,” he reminded Strevit. “But he spent a lot of
time during his hunt along the Ritensa River in the Shield Lands. We know that for a fact.”
He may have sold out to the Hierarchs ” Rudi interjected.
Strevit shook his head stubbornly. “I still can’t believe it, he said. “But I’ll do my job and keep a sharp eye out. Maybe I’ll be the one to prove you wrong.”
Garett nodded. “I’ll settle for that, watchman.”
The fact that Kentellen’s house was being observed, though, didn’t reassure Garett. A wizard powerful enough to slay five seers and defeat Prestelan Sun and the entire wizards guild would surely have spells to teleport himself anywhere he wanted to go.
Where would he want to go? Garett asked himself.
Let s head for the mayor’s house,” he ordered grimly.
They worked their way northward up side streets, attempting to avoid the largest crowds, and if some citizens were startled by the sight of four fully armored watchmen on horseback, they were too busy with their festivities to make much of it. Through the residential section of the Halls the group went, and past the universities, where Greyhawk’s finest students were trying their best to outdo the excesses of the adults in the River Quarter. As if the alls hadn’t known enough of fire recently, someone had set fire to a wagon in College Square, and scores of drunken youths danced wildly around it, shouting and laughing.
When Garett and his friends reached the Garden Wall, t ey turned westward and headed for the gate. As they followed the wall’s shadow, Burge looked up. The night fairly sparkled with the glint of moonlight off the wings of hundreds of northward-flying birds.
Never seen so many at night before,” he marveled. Garett watched them with an uneasy feeling, recalling t e black feather he’d found in the library of the wizards’ guildhall. The thing that had killed Prestelan Sun had been some kind of bird or bird-shape, too. So, also, had been the creature in the sewers.
The hairs began to prickle on the back of Garett’s neck. He stopped his horse and leaned toward Rudi. “You think you can bring one of those down?” he said.
Rudi looked at him strangely. “Are you serious? If I miss, an arrow’s most likely going to come down in the middle of a crowd.”
But Garett was deadly serious. “Then don’t miss, Sergeant.”
Rudi stared at him but a moment more, then unslung his bow, braced one end of it against his foot in the stirrup, bent it, and slid the string into place. He took an arrow from the quiver on his b
ack and set it against the string. Drawing a deep breath, he aimed upward, pulled back to the corner of his mouth. He held it there, tensed, waiting for his shot. Then, abruptly, he eased off and lowered the bow, trembling.
“It’s too dark,” he insisted. “I’m going to hurt somebody.”
“'bfou can do it, runt,” Blossom urged softly, intending no insult this time. “You picked off a goose with a dagger once. This is easy.”
Rudi raised his bow again. The moonlight caught the tip of the arrow as he drew it back, and frosted the wings of the birds above his head. With his left arm rigid, he held the string at the corner of his lips and waited. And waited. The string hummed suddenly. The arrow flew.
“Got it!” Burge exclaimed, pointing, as Rudi let go a sigh of relief.
A bird plummeted to the street about twenty yards in front of them, where it lay flopping, thrashing with its wings, upon the shaft that impaled its breast. It screamed in a shrill, chirruping voice as it slowly, painfully died. The four watchmen reached it in time to see its final, pitiful twitchings.
When the bird was still, Garett slid from the saddle and went to bend down over it. Then he sprang back, one hand curling around Guardian’s hilt.
“What in the hells?” Burge shouted, leaping down and rushing to his captain’s side. Rudi snatched another arrow from his quiver. Blossom jumped down and caught the reins of the two loose horses as they began to snort and prance.
“Get back!” Garett ordered, pushing Burge away from the bird as it began to change. He drew Guardian. The blade gave an ominous glow, warning of magic.
The bird underwent a slow metamorphosis. The pinfeathers of its outstretched wings began to lengthen and stiffen and took on the semblance of human fingers. The wings themselves began to melt and reform and grow. The small black body rippled suddenly, like a thick liquid, and the feathers gleamed as wet and smooth as tar before they faded away altogether. The tiny, round, staring eyes, as dark as jet, turned pale in the moonlight as the shape continued to shift and swell.
D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch Page 28
