Chapter 11
“What do you mean, I can’t give her back?” Gord said with surprise, but in a low voice. “I didn’t want her in the first place.”
“It would be a mortal insult to Zoltan, Estrella, and the Rhennee code,” Yanoh told him. “Every hand would be turned against you if you did.”
“But I don’t want Estrella—not that she isn’t desirable!” Gord hastened to add, casting a glance toward where his prize sat a few paces away. “Why can’t I just make a present of her to Zoltan? I could say that I… I’ve taken a holy vow of celibacy—no women allowed!”
“Stop talking like an outsider, brother Gord of the Rhennee. We have no such silly thing as celibacy amongst the True Folk.”
Gord tried another tack. “Zoltan will be my enemy forever unless I return her to him.”
“Poo!” Yanoh sniffed. “He’s your sworn enemy for life now, that much is true. It would be a good insult to cast Estrella back at him, but that would not soothe Zoltan—and it would bring everyone else down on your head as well. Wait! I have it.”
“Have what?” Gord asked, finding it hard to keep the volume and tone of his voice under control.
“The solution, stupid. You can solve the problem easily. Do you have silver? You’ll need at least fifty silver pieces to do it.”
“Dammit, Yanoh! Do what?”
“Get rid of Estrella and let Zoltan know that you think he is worse than pig shit. All you have to do is kill her. The silver will pay off her family, and—”
At that, Gord was up and gone. He strode over to where Estrella was sitting, took her arm to help her up, kissed her, and marched the beaming Rhennee girl off toward the barge of his “family.” This brought a cheer from the assemblage of onlookers, at least those who weren’t too drunk by then. Gord resigned himself to his fate: he now had a woman whether he wanted one or not. Zoltan, meanwhile, stood in the background glaring daggers at both. Somehow, thought Gord, the fellow betrayed something more than hatred, however. Was that a hint of relief he saw in those sullen eyes?
Completing repairs and finishing the celebration took another week. The six barges at Caverncliff Cove were joined by several others in the interim, and most of the original ones left within a few days. As surely as if directed by the fates, the first new barge to arrive bore none other than Adaz, his friend from his earlier days with the Rhennee. She was now mature and more lovely than Gord’s remembrance of her. She was delighted to see him too, at first.
“Gord, you have grown so big and strong and handsome!” Adaz cried when they first met. She ran her hand over his muscular arm.
Gord flushed at that and murmured vaguely about having had to do much growing up. “And you, Adaz, you… you… are as beautiful as ever,” he finished somewhat lamely.
“Thank you, Gord. I know that you mean it, too. Why else would you have come all the way from Greyhawk just to find me?”
They talked a bit, casually, as Adaz linked her arm in his and steered him toward the community encampment. It was all downhill, in a manner of speaking, after that. When she saw Estrella and learned of the fight with Zoltan, she shunned Gord entirely. That made him sad and furious at the same time.
“Don’t worry,” Yanoh reassured him. “As soon as you become a chief man in the tribe and you have your own barge, then you can have as many women as you can keep!”
Worst of all, Estrella was a nag and a bitch. She was pretty, but the constant whining tone in her voice drove Gord mad. At every opportunity she was after him to get her presents—jewelry, clothing, any number of things she must have—all of it, she assured him, to enhance Gord’s status, of course. When she wasn’t on that tack, Estrella was urging him to get rid of Zoltan, challenge Miklos for lordship of the barge, take her to some rich town, and so on and so on and so on. If she caught him looking at Adaz or any of the other young girls, or even thought he might wish to look, she would verbally abuse him or physically attack him, scratching, biting, hitting, and kicking him until he had to subdue her.
“Beat her more frequently,” Miklos advised sagely.
Gord was certain that Zoltan was somewhere nearby laughing. Every time he looked up from a scene with Estrella, he saw the fellow’s back as he walked away. Zoltan’s shoulders were either shrugging or shaking with mirth—and Gord knew there was no reason for him to shrug. In desperation, he sought out his arch-enemy one day when Estrella was busy elsewhere.
“You won, Zoltan,” said Gord.
“How well I know that, Gord.”
“I don’t wish to be your enemy, Zoltan. Let us put this behind us and be friends.”
Zoltan did shrug then. “That you did me two great favors is true. You spared my life when it was yours for the taking. And you made it worth living by ridding me of Estrella. I would kiss you if I could, but our custom dictates I must now be your foe. However, you need never worry that I shall again try to kill you, friend Gord, because if I did, that bitch would be mine again!” His darkly tanned face split into a huge laugh at that, head thrown back, white teeth showing.
“You are a funny bastard, aren’t you, Zoltan?”
That only made him laugh harder. Gord walked away, while Zoltan fell over on the ground, holding his sides, tears streaming down the sides of his face, lost in helpless gales of mirth. So much for that idea.
Yanoh eventually came up with another suggestion, one that appealed more to Gord than his friend’s first idea had. If Gord caught his woman in a compromising position with another of the tribe, he could either demand a duel with the fellow, or else he could insist that the violator take the woman and pay him silver in compensation. How in the devil Gord could manage to find anyone foolish enough to want to have anything to do with the shrewish Estrella was his problem, but there was the solution.
Again fate stepped in and took a hand. Three barges filled with a clan who came only infrequently to this spot arrived the next morning. Wonder of wonders! They contained quite a few handsome young bucks who had never met Estrella, nor heard of her evidently, for they cautiously but frequently shot her concupiscent looks. Gord was careful not to let on that he was noticing. Whatever he did, he did not wish to have to fight yet another duel over her! But he did not want to appear totally unconcerned, so he made a point of glaring at her vigilantly from time to time when she was not, at the moment, involved in flirtation. Estrella, in turn, smiled and winked back at several of the new young men any time she thought Gord was unaware of her.
That night, as the assembled families sat around the evening fires, singing and dancing as usual, Gord pretended to drink much wine. As he grew more boisterous and seemingly in his cups, Estrella encouraged him to drink more and have fun. After an appropriate interval, Gord got up, swaying in his best drunken imitation, and stumbled and staggered off to the bushes to sleep. The sounds of crashing, followed by loud snores, gave Estrella all the incentive she needed. She quickly moved to where she could talk with the newcomers, especially the handsome young ones.
Gord got up from his berth in the bushes and moved silently to the edge of the clearing, from where he could observe everything. After a short time, one of the newcomers strolled off into the foliage. Minutes later Estrella, trying to move inconspicuously, left the group and took the same path.
That was all Gord needed to see. He made his reappearance, went straight to where Miklos and Yanoh were seated, and whispered something to both of them. They rose and went off with Gord in the same direction Estrella had taken. After creeping carefully through the underbrush for a couple of minutes, the three of them caught Estrella and her lover in the act.
Gord was outraged. He shouted and stormed. Estrella let out a scream, then began to weep and wail. The young Rhennee was pale in the moonlight, for he had heard that Gord was a renowned fighter, and he undoubtedly thought that he would soon demand a duel to the death over the violation of the beautiful Estrella. The young fellow’s family gathered quickly, and his “lord” conversed softly with Miklos, talking about the tim
e and place for the fight.
“This is too much!” cried Gord, putting an end to all the talk about fighting. “Never will I cast eyes upon you again, woman!” he spat at Estrella.
Then he turned abruptly to the fellow and added in an almost offhand tone, “Well, where is my silver?”
A couple of days later, richer by twenty-five nobles and the lack of a woman, Gord was aboard Miklos’ barge, which was heading along the coast of Nyr Dyv with two other barges. They were bound for Leukish, then Radigast City, and whatever lay beyond. Gord was finally going to see something more of the world besides water.
It was a relief to make their first port, Leukish, without having to face anything on the trip more terrible than a pair of playful giant otters who swam near to see them. Since the animals were no threat to them, the bargefolk simply ignored the otters and sailed on. There was little to do but loaf and fish until they arrived at the southeastern end of Nyr Dyv and put into port. Leukish was a small city compared to Greyhawk, even though it was the largest in the Duchy of Urnst and the capital of the place.
Urnst was a place of rolling green hills, at least based on what Gord had seen from the barge as it passed along the shoreline. The city of Leukish was nestled amidst the surrounding hills, although the section farthest from the port area was built on a low plateau so that it dominated the wide valley around it. The people did not look much different from those in Greyhawk, being a mixture of Oeridians and Suloise, although they dressed quite oddly. Gord thought the long trousers were inferior to the hose typically worn in his home city, and the plaids and checks that the Urnstmen sported seemed either plain or gaudy, depending on the hues and arrangements. Architecture was strange here, too, for the buildings all seemed tall and narrow, with pointy arches and square towers. Columns and pillars were everywhere. Roofs were steeply peaked, as were the tower caps. All in all, he could hardly wait to get into the place and find out just how different it was.
Miklos warned him that the Urnstmen were not fond of Rhennee folk. There had been some trouble in the past, with the Urnstmen claiming that the bargefolk practiced piracy, sneak-raiding, and worse. Some actual battles had been fought, but the whole thing had sort of blown over during the past year. The Duke had troubles elsewhere, and the Rhennee had no wish to try conducting a war with the Duchy.
Gord was instructed that, whatever the circumstances, he should be careful, cautious, and polite during his stay in this territory. He mustn’t be caught stealing. Kidnapping was forbidden. Seduction was frowned upon. Gord asked if there was anything else.
“Yes,” the bargefolk captain replied. “Give me those silver nobles you extorted from the foolish young fellow who relieved you of Estrella.”
“What! Why?” Gord demanded. “Why should I? The cash is mine!”
“I am your family lord,” Miklos countered. “Besides, I have no money of my own.”
“How could you be penniless?” Gord was truly at a loss.
Miklos stared at the deck. “All the money your family owned was lost betting on Zoltan,” he confessed.
The gate guards eyed Gord most suspiciously, asked him a couple of questions in oddly stilted Common, and then allowed him to pass into Leukish. The city was bustling with activity, and Gord simply drifted with the traffic, studying everything he saw. Soon he arrived in a rectangular marketplace filled with carts and booths. His practiced eye noted that there were no discernible thieves loitering about—although some may have been working; of that he could not be sure. The people here were mostly Urnstmen, with a smattering of outlanders and demi-humans. The goods were typical of such a faire, ranging from all manner of foodstuffs to clothing and household goods.
Knowing that the interesting items would be at the far end near the largest buildings, Gord went in that direction. Sure enough, there were the metalsmiths. After spending a considerable amount of time examining various dirks and daggers, Gord was quite disappointed. The weapons were finely wrought, but they just weren’t the equal to the blade he had lost during the battle with the sea monster.
The grizzled seller of weapons at the last stall noted Gord’s intensity in examining the poniards, did his best to help by extolling the virtues of each dagger, and then ceased the sales pitch with the following advice:
“You seem, sir, a connoisseur of such blades. These are all excellent dags, but what you seek is not here. I suggest you go to the shop of Hengel. If you can meet his price, you will have your weapon.”
“Where is this Hengel’s establishment?” asked Gord.
Following the directions of the fellow soon brought Gord to the narrow way leading to a close, as it was described to him. There Gord saw a busy smithy and a shop beside it. The forge was working arrowheads, so he passed immediately into the store. A gnarled old dwarf, of great size for one of his sort, was there polishing weapons with an oily cloth.
“Goodag,” he said to Gord. “How to serve a… Rhenneeclad… stranger from… Vild Coste?”
“Greyhawk, actually. I am here for a dagger.”
“Yah, sure!” the dwarf exclaimed enthusiastically. “Big, little, long, short, narrow, broad, and more. Ve got dem all. Vhich?”
To simplify the process, Gord launched into a detailed description of his lost dagger. He carefully explained its size, shape, decoration, and balance. When he completed the exposition, the dwarf asked some additional details that surprised Gord, for the fellow was accurate in the suggested conformation and decoration of the weapon.
“Und now der veppon iss… ?”
Gord recounted the tale of the sea serpent’s attack and defeat. At the point where he told about casting his dagger into the monster’s eye, the dwarf shook his head sadly. The blade, he informed Gord, was most certainly a magic one, but a weapon designed for demi-humans, not folk such as Gord. Had he only been able to have one for himself, Hengel said, Gord could have had his pick of the other magicked daggers in his place!
“One what?” Gord inquired.
“Oh,” said the dwarf sadly, “der longtoothed vun you vas telling about.”
Never having heard of a longtoothed one before, Gord found it hard to share the dwarf’s sense of sadness, although he keenly regretted losing the dagger and was excited at the prospect of replacing it.
“I’ll show vat I do haff,” Hengel said. Then he paused in his rush toward a cabinet. “You pay mit gold? Or is der deal to be a trade?” He eyed Gord’s clothing suspiciously as he asked these questions.
Without thinking, Gord reached into his sash and drew out the leather bag in which he kept his wealth. His whole attention was so caught by the weapons that he actually shook the bag’s contents out onto the counter. The dwarf’s eyes fell greedily upon the outpouring, a small pile of platinum and gold, with only a couple of electrum and silver pieces intermixed. Atop all was the cat’s-eye ring.
“Zsoo…” Hengel could hardly tear his gaze from the metal. “You haff much vealth for vun zo young!” He finally managed to look up at Gord, avarice filling his eyes with brightness. “Now I show you all!”
Too late to rectify his mistake, Gord thought. What a fool to display the contents of one’s purse to anyone—let alone a dwarf! There was no help for it now, and he must be ready for anything.
Hengel had the cabinet open and was hastily rummaging around inside it. He turned, arms loaded with parcels wrapped in velvet. He placed all of them on the counter near Gord’s heap of coins, unwrapping each of them quickly but carefully. There were five daggers there, each beautifully fashioned, each in its own sheath.
“You chooz vhich you vant,” the dwarf said, “and I tell you how much.”
Gord bent over and let his eyes play back and forth over the array, not touching any of them right away. While he was so occupied, Hengel scampered to the door, barred it, and dropped its curtain, saying, “No sense in letting anyvun bodder you vhile you is choozing!”
Gord was ready to grab one of the weapons and defend himself against attack, but the dwa
rf merely came back to the counter and stared at the coins. When Gord hefted the first of the blades, it began to glow, and he nearly dropped it in surprise. His exclamation caused Hengel to shift his gaze away from the coins to see what was going on.
“Der longtoothed vun neffer did dat, cause you ain’t a demi-hooman,” the dwarf said matter-of-factly This short explanation completed, the dwarf returned to his loving contemplation of the money, and Gord resumed inspection of the daggers.
He definitely did not like a weapon that shed light when it was drawn—too much attention there, even though Gord could see advantages to such illumination at times. The second blade was of deep black metal, very sharp and deadly looking, but Gord noticed it had a few tiny pits on it. That one he replaced in its sheath, grateful for his keen eyes, and also set aside as undesirable.
Of the three remaining, all but one glowed when held unsheathed. The last weapon he handled had beautiful balance, and it was almost as large as the one he had lost. Gord noted that its blade was covered with silver-inlaid runes, and his hand tingled slightly when he grasped the dagger and held it in fighting position. He tried a few passes with it, imagining an opponent before him.
“Zuch an eye you haff!” Hengel said. “You hold der best uff my daggers!” His deep brown eyes sad above the great brush of beard, Hengel stared solemnly at Gord and added, “It has der dwveemer zo dat it ignores armor und—”
“What’s dwveemer?” interrupted Gord.
“Magick! Shpells und zuch!” the dwarf said a bit crossly. “Don’t be shtoopid!”
Hengel’s accent was getting worse, Gord thought to himself. He meant dweomer, as in dweomercraefter, a spellbinder. The dwarf must be losing his composure because of his fascination with the precious blade in Gord’s hand. “Tell me more about this weapon,” Gord said firmly.
Hengel took it from him and unceremoniously hurled it at the stone floor. Much to Gord’s amazement, the point went in, and the blade buried itself two or three inches deep. The dwarf broke into a faint smile as he beheld Gord’s shocked expression, then said: “Schtone, schteel, vateffer, der blade sees only like it vas flesch! Uff magick protections, is another schtory… but demin or deffil is zlized mit easyness! You haff chust enuff here to buy it, too!”
[Greyhawk Adventures 01] - Saga of Old City Page 11