Night Arrant (18 page)

Gord tried to find an opportunity to request that he and his companion be given permission to leave Rel Mord immediately, but King Archbold held up his hand just as Gord opened his mouth.

"You are dismissed. Be in attendance at the High Revel three days hence, where We will also bestow royal thanks to confirm the honors given by Our subject. Lord Fizziak." With that, the pair of guards swung the doors of the small audience chamber wide, and the two young adventurers bowed and backed out of the room.

"Now what, my clever friend?" Chert demanded.

"What else save my original plan, which you did not like?" asked his friend sweetly but with a hint of superiority.

Hie brawny hillman stared hard at Gord for a long moment, then nodded once in agreement. "As you wish." And so saying. Chert lashed out a beefy fist so fast that even the nimble young thief was unable to dodge its force. Whack! The sound caused guards to start and stare, while a trio of passersby uttered oaths of surprise.

Gord rolled and made his collision with the corridor wall sound far worse than it was. Then, as the big barbarian advanced as if to finish the affair, Gord sprang erect with dagger in hand. "That was your death warrant, churl," he said, and as he hissed the threat, the young adventurer crouched menacingly, his long dagger poised to stab or disembowel.

The altercation was immediately broken up by alert guards in great number. Gord demanded satisfaction for the insult, and Chert likewise claimed the right to restoration of his honor.

"There shall be no duel, nor any personal combat of honor, fought without royal leave, and His August Supremacy is seldom inclined to grant such on short notice," a richly robed official drawled.

"Now what the hells do we do?" the barbarian stooped and whispered into Gord's ear.

"No plotting to avoid the Royal Strictures!" The official was stern now. "Guards, see that these two 'guests' are confined in separate chambers until further notice — and watch them constantly, or your heads are forfeit!"

Eventually it was King Archbold himself who solved their dilemma. The monarch brought the two miscreants into his presence again. Informants had delved into the matter, and the king knew all — even the nature of Gord's and Chert's recent activities in Greyhawk and elsewhere.

"It seems, gentlemen," King Archbold said with a stern countenance, "that you have brought yourselves to a pass that bodes nothing good for you — or My Royal Court."

Chert stood looking at the polished marble floor at his feet, mumbling half-articulate apologies. Gord was also taken aback and could think of nothing to say. The king sat regally and stared, visage set, eyes unforgiving. This silence on Archbold's part finally prompted the young thief.

"Your August Supremacy is renowned as a fair and just king — some say the most righteous in the Flanaess. I beg your permission to state our case."

"Speak."

Gord told the Nyrondel monarch the gist of things, leaving out whatever he could that was incriminating, ending the monologue with a simple request. "All we seek to do, August Supremacy, is to quietly leave Rel Mord prior to the coming nuptials and return to our home in Greyhawk."

"This is a matter of no difficulty, but what shall we do to right the things you two have discommoded? That is another matter. Quodilde might prove difficult. . . ." Archbold said reflectively.

"Beg pardon, your lordship, but she might prove even more difficult if we stay, for I have no intention in the hells of fulfilling that crone's desires!"

All was quiet for a while until, just as the two really began to lose heart, the king spoke again in a conspiratorial tone.

"Our best interests and obligations are far-reaching, and it just might be that I have thought of a means that will relieve you of your burdens and Nyrond of its own. Attend most carefully, and be prepared to take yet more solemn vows and oaths if this is agreed to by you both."

No more than an hour later, the two adventurers were within sight of the sprawling, clifllike walls of Greyhawk.

"Magical transport has its advantages." Gord said with delight. "If I had such power I could pillage a treasure from distant jakif and be home in the wink of a cat's eye!"

The gigantic hillman spat disgustedly. "Riding a good horse, or even going on shanks' mare," he said, shaking one of his massive legs for emphasis, "is far better than such reeky and dangerous means of travel. I hate this spell-working worse than I hate city-bred fops!"

"Let us use our feet now, and if we hie with vigor, we'll be home in an hour or two."

"With a burden to carry, once we arrive, too," Chert grumbled as he strode along. "One quest after another - I like not this city life!"

"Burden? Quest? Ha, my burly barbarian complainer, no problem at all! We have the exciting prospect of a mission, that's all!"

"I'd prefer the prospect of revelry and sloth," the hillman intoned glumly.

Gord laughed. "You have had enough of revels for some time. Chert! Let's plan for some action as we walk — it's more funds we need, not funning with bawds! Let me see that ruby. ..."

At that the barbarian had to shake his head sadly. Their purses were indeed nearly as flat as the mud-banks of the Selintan River. He dug out the gem and handed it to his comrade. The stone was flawed, of course.

Gord saw the barbarian ruefully feeling his broad girdle. "It is always a matter of quickly gained, speedily lost when it comes to riches, hillman. Now this new undertaking that Archbold has proposed for us might prove to bring us sums so vast that we can . .."

Chert had his head cocked attentively as he and the young thief trudged along the Hillway Road toward the city. Who, watching and overhearing the pair, could doubt that the hope bound in the breast of youth was unquenchable and bright? Fortunately, no such eavesdroppers existed, for the discussion involved most nefarious activities.

The Five Dragon Bowl

"DIGGWELL BIFFSON IS THE NAME. Do call me Biff, though. If you please. Your Faithfulness."

"Diggwell? Yes, I recall. That is a fine, upstanding name amongst halflings of the Welkwood region, unless I am mistaken. ..."

"No. no. You are quite correct," the gray-clad halfling assured him. "I hail from that very place."

"Why go by so odd a name as Biff then, my good halfling?" the cleric asked earnestly. "You should proudly bear the name of your famous ancestors."-

The small fellow squirmed at that, trying to think of how he could get this man off the subject. "To be blunt sir, there were so many Diggwells, Dugwalls, Diggerlys, Diggdeeps. Diggsons, and so forth in my family — and I had so many aunts and uncles, not to mention cousins, that I couldn't keep track of them — that my own mother named me Biff, and so it has been since I was but a tiny tot of twelve!"

Satisfied at that, the clergyman went on to the subject that Biff feared he would. "Coming from a fine area and upstanding folk, why is it you follow such a low calling? Consider carefully the end it would surely lead to, my boy!"

The halfling was older than Poztif, who was a cleric of some repute and a staunch supporter of weal and order. But Biff didnt feel any older. Years were one matter, wisdom and maturity another. He looked down, shuffled his feet, and then looked up brightly. "You see, Good Poztif, it was the desire of my friend and mentor, the lordly Melf, that I take up the profession of thievery so as to assist him in ways his prowess with sword and spell were unable to accomplish!"

Shaking his head in amazement and sadness at the elven condition that would encourage dishonest behavior in a halfling, Poztif grasped the small fellow's hand, saying, "Dig — Biff. I mean — I hope that our association will be a useful and pious experience from which I will gain humility and understanding and you a change of heart. Let us off!"

Biff nodded, withdrew his hand quickly to make a sign to ward off ill-omened occurrences, and trotted after the long-legged cleric. "I too wish to make our enterprise all it should be — just as our liege lords, Tenser the Arch-Mage and Melf of the Green Arrow, have instructed us."

Poztif grunted at that, for it seemed the halfling was rebutting his piety and efforts. Well, it would be a challenge to accomplish both the task required of him by the mage and his own hopes of salvation for the strayed Biff. Poztif relished the prospect.

Elsewhere, an ill-matched duo walked slowly along Hundred Step Street toward a rendezvous neither desired. A hulking, six-foot, eight-inch tall hillman from the distant East paced beside a dark-haired young thief from Old City's slums who was just five and a half feet tall — in boots.

Chert and Gord had recently returned from an altogether unpleasant adventure. They were arguing heatedly as they went neither actually coming right out and accusing, but each blaming the other fellow for their predicament.

"You led us into that damn little alley," the barbarian said, spitting his words in vehement disgust.

"And you were all in favor of it at the time," Gord retorted.

Chert shrugged and then scowled down at the small thief. "But I agreed to follow your superb plan to get us out of Rel Mord, didnt i?"

"And we got out, too, didn't we?" Gord shot back with heavy sarcasm and a look that bespoke volumes about the stupidity of a certain giant who walked beside him.

Chert balled a meaty fist but restrained his impulse. "And look where it got us, you little dolt!" he said between clenched teeth while waving the fist he did not really intend to use in front of Gord's face.

"Oh stop bitching." the young thief said in disgust "So we have to do a little favor to repay the chap who bailed us out. What's the difference? It's just another job. The halfling seems clever, and the cleric has laid a sound plan."

"I'll tell you the difference — your idea stunk and would have landed us in prison for the rest of our lives, unless our enemies managed to have us assassinated or Quodilde got you first! When the king got wind of what was actually going on we were meat on the table, that's what! if he hadn't owed a favor, and we hadn't agreed to repay it for him through our cooperation, where would we be? I'll tell you where — in Archbold's deepest dungeon, that's where!" Chert's nostrils flared as he spoke with intense fury.

"Well, we're not in any dungeon. And what we agreed to is in accord with our usual activities. The mission is beneficial."

"To those whom we must serve." Chert noted as he stomped down one of the long tiers that gave the street its name.

Gord was hard pressed to reply to that in normal circumstances he and the huge hillman would reap all the rewards from an undertaking of this nature. Now they were to serve and assist others, and the payment they received would be dictated by another. "At least we'll have the assistance of others, so our risk will be much less than usual," said the thief. "In this undertaking we do need help."

"Such cattle crap!" growled Chert. "You know damned well that you and I will end up doing everything, the others will take the treasure, and we'll get a handful of coppers and a pat on the head for risking our lives. After this, I'll never allow myself to be cozened into another of your hoddy-peaked schemes, Gord. Hereafter you are on your own!"

That was sufficient to have started the young thief off on a tirade of his own, but just then they clumped down the last of the steps and turned onto the Avenue of the Bells. The place they were to meet their associates was but a short distance away. There was no time for an angry brawl now.

"Ill be very happy to have my fists discuss this matter with yours at a little later date, if you like, but right now we have some business to discuss with two others." Gord cautioned his friend.

"Hey, pal. Just name the time and the place and my fists will be happy to be there!" Chert agreed wholeheartedly.

The Silver Castle inn was one of the better such establishments in Greyhawk. Because it was located near the city's Administrative Center, the Artisans' District, and the large religious community as well, the inn housed a varied clientele who, diverse as they were in beliefs and backgrounds, had one thing in common — they were all well-to-do.

"And this is a terrible place to meet, too!"

"Get a hold on your tongue now, Chert," Gord said with a conciliatory tone and a sense of urgency. "We can't allow others to see we are at odds in this situation. While the two who are aiding us are supposedly of benign sort, we must be careful nonetheless. I know nothing of those who are behind this thing save what the Nyrondel told us. And I put no trust in royalty!"

"For once, little man, I agree." the barbarian said sourly but thereafter clamped his mouth shut in a determined line and ducked his head to enter the inn.

Both young adventurers were dressed in their best garments. If the giant was surprising in his size and ruggedness, his clothing was such that the major domo of the inn bowed greetings and muttered vague compliments at the honor of their gracing his inn with their custom. Gord and Chert displayed finery and wealth more typical of aristocratic establishments of the High and Garden Quarters of Greyhawk, and the fellow was determined to take no chances with such a pair.

"What might I do for your noble selves?" the man inquired unctuously.

Gord quickly stepped before his big companion. "We are here to stay — this night and perhaps longer if accommodations are to our satisfaction. Your finest suite, and quickly!"

"Of course, sirs. Shall I have a lackey fetch your equippage?"

"There is none to be fetched," Gord sneered as he eyed the major domo with disdain. "What we require we purchase, discarding soiled apparel for the use of those who cannot afford fresh clothing daily — and on the morrow we will need clothiers immediately after we break our fast. Do see to it"

"We have the Grand Tower, your worships." the major domo ventured hesitantly, not sure if these extravagant-sounding young men were really what they seemed, or swindlers of some sort attempting to dupe the Silver Castle. Such was not unknown or unusual at a place such as this.

Without an obvious show of coins, Gord managed to display a handful of platinum plates before discovering a gold orb in his purse. Chert had refused to pitch in the money to pull off this ruse, so Gord had been forced to dip into his private funds. He handed the golden coin to the apprehensive manager with a small sigh of resignation.