Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  "Neither can I." Gord said, "but it's better than being caught!"

  Just then he smacked into a wall, for the passage turned at right angles. Gord rebounded and Summer tried to catch him. Both fell in a heap, the young thief landing atop the woman.

  "I’ve dropped my wand," she cried in despair.

  "Oh shit! Forget it We have to get out of here." Gord said, struggling to his feet and wiping his forehead where a trickle of blood ran into his eye.

  Summer was on her hands and knees, desperately feeling around the dirty pavement for the lost wand. "The hells, you say!" she shot back grimly. "I'm not going anywhere until I find my wand!"

  Gord fairly danced, torn between the desire to get as far away as possible and the strong urge to never desert a comrade-in-arms in time of trouble.

  "Hurry, dammit!" he nagged as the sound of a mob grew louder. Maust and who knew who else, had probably whipped a group of locals into a frenzy. They'd soon be coming into the gangway in search of the fugitives.

  Scrabbling sounds came from nearby. Then the woman cried, "Got it! Stop your silly fretting, Gord, and lead us out of here!"

  Seconds later, lanterns and torches illuminated the narrow passage. Somebody shouted that they saw blood, but of the two who were the quarry, there was no sign save that. The group of pursuers stormed around the neighborhood chasing shadows for nearly an hour more before The Watch broke them up, sending bits and clusters of the mob this way and that. Maust was arrested for disorderly conduct after soundly pummeling a member of The Watch who had kicked the scholar in the rear in an attempt to get him moving. Maust, who was already in pain from the wound Gord had inflicted earlier, turned on the unfortunate fellow and pelted him with his fists.. The students threw an impromptu celebration thereafter, but there was no rioting.

  "What now, Gord?"

  The young adventurer shrugged, still uncertain of Summer. They had retrieved his clothing and sword after successfully escaping the angry mob. It was a simple matter for Gord to lead the woman safety from the University District to the last sure place of refuge he had. They had gone through the maze of underground tunnels, sewers, and ancient forgotten buildings upon which the new cily of Greyhawk stood, to get to Old City. Now they rested in a tiny cellar apartment that Gord had set aside as a hiding place after he first returned to Greyhawk well over a year ago. "Perhaps you should find a place to stay, Summer. There's no reason for you to be involved in this mess any further."

  The woman looked hurt. "I’ve already risked my life. I've helped you get information you needed. I'm probably being hunted by Maust and his boys and the killer too. Now you tell me I'm on my own?"

  She looked like she was close to tears. Gord stepped close to her and embraced her buxom form. "Hey! That isn't what I meant at all, Summer. I was trying to keep you from further danger, but I suppose I was mistaken. It would be too dangerous out there if you were alone. Stay and we'll work out what's to be done next."

  Summer hugged him happily. Thanks, Gord," she said gratefully, and then she kissed him.

  Gord assumed the caress would amount to no more than a gesture of alliance, but Summer's lips responded with fervor to his gentle insistence to continue the kiss. For the first time since his brief affair with Ageelia, Gord felt the passion within him beginning to stir. The young rogue rewarded the woman's favorable reaction to his continued probing with a strong embrace and then, gently lowering her to the goatskin couch, he began to run his " hands over the soft curves that were well-defined even beneath two layers of garments.

  "Is this the time for—" the woman started to ask. Gord's fingers worked their way down the length of her body and her sentence was cut off by her own sharp intake of breath. After that all bets were off!

  Summer returned his exploratory actions with appreciable skill. The couple was sprawled out on the couch. Summer on top, laughing. They teased and wrestled each other, neither in any hurry to consummate the encounter.

  After several hours, although the pair on the couch would have guessed mere minutes, their bodies began to thrash about with a frenzy. There was nothing gentle about the way Gord handled the woman now. Soon only murmurings and gasped words were heard.

  "I guess we're partners in this now," Summer giggled, coquettishly twirling a strand of blonde hair around one finger.

  "What can I say?" Gord responded. "But just remember, I did try to keep you out of it!"

  "I'd never dream of trying to keep you out of it!"

  "That's . . . never mind. This is serious. I'm the next target for extinction by some unknown killer who destroys the very soul of his victims when he murders them! Now you're probably marked, too."

  "What are you going to do? Can you figure out who's doing this?"

  Gord sat up and fumbled around until he found a scrap of paper and a stick of pressed charcoal. He scribbled several words before answering. "Summer, I think I know who is involved. I don't know how and why, but I'll find that out soon enough."

  "Don't keep me in suspense, love, tell me!" she begged.

  "No, not just yet. First I’m going to take a little trip across town to look up an old associate. Then I’ll have the answers I lack now. When I do, I’ll tell you everything."

  "How about letting me go along? I’m pretty handy in a tight situation, you know."

  "That's fair truth, woman," he replied, with appreciation on several levels. "However, this little jaunt won't require any dweomer casting. Just plain old work common to the craft of thievery. You stay here and wait. Don't go out for any reason. I'll be back before mid-morning."

  The old associate Gord referred to was an old assassin named Albin. Gord quickly traveled across town and entered Albin's apartment with ease. After surprising the man, quickly overtaking him and trussing him up, Gord stood leaning on his sword, a look of determination plainly written across his fiace.

  Albin was no hero. He might be able to bring death to others casually, but where his own demise was concerned, Albin was far more deliberate. "The orders came from the top, the very top. That's all I was told. I do what I’m told. Gord, you should know that," he finished in a whine.

  "Sure, Albin, and you attend services every Gods-day like your mommy told you when you were just a nipper," Gord retorted in a voice heavy with sarcasm. He knew the old devil too well.

  "Come on, Gord," the assassin wheedled. "We've known each other for a long time. I would never set you up or even finger you. All I knew was that a mark had been set up, and that everyone would make a big score."

  "What about the murders? As a master of the council, you must have been informed," Gord said as he leaned on his sword. The weapon didn't actually threaten him, but the killer knew that the young man holding it would not hesitate to run its sharp-edged length through his gut if he thought Albin was stringing him along with lies. Albin didn't like that thought at all.

  "What I said about that before is gospel, Gord. I can't tell you anything else."

  "Okay. You're lucky, old chap. I believe you so I’ll allow you to live. See you around, Albin."

  "Don't leave me here tied up! They'll know when they find me. You know what'll happen then. . . ."

  "Take your chances, chump. You should have thought of who you were playing with before you joined the assassination game. Bye!" ,

  Next came someone from the distant past. Albin had given Gord enough to enable him to find who he was looking for without any problems. As if reliving past actions, Gord was back in the Enclave, not far from the dwelling of the dead fence, Basil. Among the trade buildings he looked for a tall, rectangular one set back off the arteries, as if a storehouse. There was just enough light from the false dawn's milky paling to discover the place desired. It was of old brick and quarried limestone. Weathered and deserted-looking.

  Gord rubbed his palms together briskly and began to climb. He pressed himself against the rough surface, becoming one with the stones and bricks. Fingertips here, boot there, always three firm holds before moving up
ward. The roof projected about three feet from the wall. That didn't bother Gord in the least. Keeping a firm hold, he reached up and back with his right arm. His fingers felt the edge, slid around, located a rough, steady place along the edge above. He let go with his left hand and feet, swinging by one arm fifty feet above the pavement, the wind whipping his cloak in a flapping streamer, almost as if he had wings. With his left hand Gord explored until he found another secure hold. Then he pulled himself up to the steeply pitched slate roof.

  Now came the most difficult part, for the slates were not firm, and he had to press flattened palms and squirm upward with shoulders, chest, belly and thighs. His feet were used more to check any slip than to propel him up the slope. Bits of slate slipped but none fell. As difficult as the last part of the climb was, Gord managed it rather quickly and without mishap.

  The slanting roof ended abruptly. It surrounded a shaft about twenty or so feet deep. Around this shaft were windows and doors. The upper two stories of the building housed a penthouse of sorts, sheltered from view. There was a little garden in the depression and Gord could hear the splash and tinkle of a fountain playing in the darkness yet unpierced by the coming sun. There was more splashing, and what sounded almost like a soft hooting, several giggles, and a man's laugh. Gord didn't hesitate. Grabbing the inner edge of the roof, he somersaulted, slowing the tumble by holding on a moment, then plummeted down the remaining distance into the enclosed garden.

  The soft thud of his landing and the sound of his roll and slapping contact coming erect alerted the man depositing himself in the fountain's pool. He jumped out, trying to reach his sword, the two girls with him shrieking and getting in his way as they reacted to the noise and the man's evident fear. "Who the hells dares to enter here uninvited?" the man blustered in a deep voice as he managed to get his weapon in hand.

  "I thought it acceptable to drop in on an old associate, Sunray. ... Or do you prefer to be called Raynald these days?"

  "Gord? How did you escape the Prae . . .." His question died for he could think of nothing to cover the slip.

  "Don't concern yourself. Sunny-boy. Lies won't save you, I know the whole rotten truth," Gord lied, sure that Sunray would have no way of knowing any differently. "I’ve come to even the score."

  "That's a laugh, you cheap little rogue," the tall, handsome man said without humor. "You just got what was coming to you — or you will soon. You couldn't take me before, and you're no better now. "You're dead if you try to get away, and if you stay I’ll kill you!"

  Now it was Gord's turn to mock, but his laughter was real. "A blowhard and a braggart still, Raynald! You were a worse thief than I always. A fumble-fingered, blabber-mouthed egoist. Worst of all for you. Sunny-boy, you can't use a sword worth shit"

  The taller man backed toward an open door fading into the penthouse. The doxies who had been entertaining him had disappeared through it as the two antagonists fenced with words. Raynald now seemed intent on retreating there himself.

  "Running inside won't save your fat ass," Gord said, sliding forward rapidly, eyes never leaving his opponent.

  Raynald never replied. He turned and dashed into the doorway, pulling a drape across the opening. Gord followed in leaps and bounds as a cat moves. With a slash of his dagger, the drapery was gone. Gord then crouched low, instinctively. A buzzing above his head made him glad he did. The crossbow bolt's wind ruffled his dark hair in passing.

  Still low, the young thief dashed inside, moving quickly to the right, for the bolt seemed to have come from the left. Such a weapon took too long to reload, and Gord knew that his enemy would be waiting with sword once again. It was a pity that the first rays of the sun were now coloring the cloud-dappled sky overhead with touches of carmine and magenta. In a minute the fiery reds and oranges of full dawn would replace the darker hues. Gord would have no advantage of magical vision in the dark.

  "Now I am ready, mite, to face you on more even terms," Raynald said as he advanced toward Gord. The taller man held his falchion and a second weapon now, a long, dark-bladed misericord as main gauche. "You thought I'd fight unequally armed?" he demanded, using his chin to indicate Gord's own long dagger.

  That moment almost did Gord in, for he was distracted by the gesture and inference of fair play. His eyes went to his dagger for a split-second, and in that time Raynald launched himself into the attack. Gord managed to catch the descending falchion in time to take nothing more than a nick. He managed to parry Raynald's dagger thrust, too. The taller man had the advantage, however, and now he pressed it, forcing Gord to back up and stay in a constant posture of defense.

  "You . . . see . . . weakling . . . runt!" Raynald said as he struck with a flurry of hammering blows and backhand slashes in an attempt to beat Gord's defense down. "I ... told . . . you ... I'd ... aackl"

  Gord had slipped under a backhand sweep of the falchion and struck with his shortsword. The point stabbed into the taller man's thigh before he could step back. There!" Gord shouted as he slashed and cut the returning right arm with his dagger. "A double lesson for a second-rate swordsman. Now save your wind for gasping your last breath." Just then the very tip of Raynald's poniard caught Gord's own right arm, and the scratch thus inflicted burned tike molten fire.

  "A kiss in return!" the bigger man panted, with a wolfish smile and gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

  "You filth!" Gord screamed at him. "You use venom on your dag!"

  "Isn't that tough turds, you whining cheat! You'd have used two weapons to my one — or none, I’ll wager. Now I’m the better armed, and you cry foul. Poor little Gordy," Sunray mocked.

  The wash of anger that coursed through his body seemed to lessen the fiery numbness that filled his arm where the poisoned blade had cut it Gord allowed the rage to grow, but he checked it short of the point where it would blind him to his situation. The young thief fought carefully but fiercely, defending, countering, and slowly the feeling returned to his right arm again. "Now, Raynald. we come to the last test!" Gord called to his opponent in cold fury, and he matched the challenge with a combination of attacks that sent the taller man back in panic.

  A hit scored! Another!

  "Rot you. Gord!" Raynald cried in a fury of his own. "How do you resist the venom?" he demanded, for both wounds he had received came from the shortsword wielded by Gord's poison-touched right arm.

  "My anger, you vile snake, countered your rotten venom. The blood flows freely and cleanses the wound." Even as he gave his enemy the truth. Gord laid to with blinding speed and power, sending the falchion flying as his shortsword slashed Sunray's arm in the process. Closing as quickly, Gord pinned the man's poisoned dagger with his own while he pressed his sword to Raynald's belly.

  "Spare me." the taller man pleaded.

  "Why? You would not have granted me mercy!"

  "Because I can tell you the whole plot!"

  "I told you, scoundrel, I already know everything there is to know."

  The man Gord had once known as Sunray nearly whined in his eagerness to save his life. "Not quite everything, I’m sure. There's no way you could know everything. I'm an assassin now, you know." he hurried to explain before Gord cut him off — literally! "And because of that I’m privy to everything. If you grant me my life, I’ll tell you all. Look, Gord, I’ve even got secret papers hidden ..." As he said this Raynald made a move toward something.

  Gord wasn't sure exactly what Sunray had intended to do, because in the next instant the man's head simply vanished!

  "Gods!" Gord exclaimed.

  "Oh, Gord! I saved you!" Summer cried. Thanks be that I managed to get up here quickly," she added, panting.

  "What the devils are you talking about, woman?" the young thief demanded in angry confusion.

  The blonde woman looked stricken. "The poisoned dagger, Gord. I saw him shifting it to strike as he distracted you with his talk. I managed to cast my dweomer just in time. I simply pointed my wand, uttered a certain word that shall remain my secret,
and sent the man's head into another dimension — one in which there is no such thing as air. Your friend here died of suffocation. But better him than you!"

  "What are you talking about? I had everything under control. Summer! Sunray was about to give me—"

  "Sunray was about to give you the point of his terrible blade — right in the intestines!" Summer interrupted.

  "Shit! I had that blade pinned; Sunray couldn't have struck, could he?"

  "He could have, and would have. Gord. Why are you being so difficult? I just saved your life!"

  Summer looked like she was about to cry . . . again. "She seems to do that real well." Gord mused suspiciously to himself. Aloud he said. "How did you find me?"

  "I followed you, of course," she said, now sporting a warm smile. "I didn't think you should take the risk alone. Your scaling of the wall took me by surprise, though. You can climb, Gord! Anyway, I wasn't magically prepared to follow, so I fretted and waited below, wondering what was happening. Suddenly, two shrieking trollops flew out the door I was near. They left it open, so I simply went inside and climbed the stairs until I found you."

  Gord nodded. "Sounds sensible." He decided to change the subject "Let's search this place as quickly as we can. Summer, and then we'll get out of here and back to where I can do some thinking."

  Half an hour later the two were heading back into the Old City. Summer said she had to find a friend in the Foreign Quarter, someone who had books of magic spells, for hers had been left behind in the inn of the Seven Quills. Gord didn't argue. He had things of his own to take care of, and time was running out. Half of his time was gone, and he seemed no closer to learning the truth than he was before. He had obviously lied to Sunray about what he knew. And their search of Raynald's apartment had turned up a blank — almost.

  "I'll see you at dusk at your safe place, Gord." Gord looked Summer in the eyes. "Be careful." He followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight. Then he turned and quickly made his way to the cellar hideout. Changing into garb not typical of the attire he usually wore, and selecting false papers, the young thief headed for the eastern gate of Old City. Sleep would have to wait. Perhaps he’d sleep permanently otherwise.