[Greyhawk Adventures 01] - Saga of Old City

by Gary Gygax - (ebook by Undead)

  Gord and the gypsies arrived at the outskirts of Caporna some three weeks after they had left the vicinity of Radigast City. In a few days the festival that opened the event would be under way, and everyone in the train was busy preparing for the upcoming demands. Having nothing of the like to concern himself with, Gord took the opportunity to improve his horsemanship while seeing a bit of the countryside.

  He had pretty well covered the area around Caporna, and spent a goodly amount of time within the town proper as well, when he discovered another encampment of wagonfolk. Their practice astounded the young man, for they were tumblers and acrobats. From the smallest child to the gray-bearded lord of the train, each and every one had some contribution to make to a breathtaking performance.

  After an awestruck Gord stood gawking at their rehearsal for a time, one of their number came up to him and suggested that Gord move on. Free shows were not a part of their offering, the man told Gord rather curtly, and he’d soon be able to view their wonders properly during the fair. Having dressed himself in clothing other than that worn by the Rhennee, Gord was not particularly recognizable as an adopted member of the folk, nor could anyone seeing him have guessed that he was a master beggar—or had at least been one once.

  Gord conveyed his respect to the man in the patois of the wagonfolk, and topped it off with the secret signs of both beggars and thieves. The muscular performer who had appeared to shoo away a nonpaying spectator now served as his emissary to the leader of the group, and soon Gord was being given warm greetings and cool wine.

  After bidding adieu to his traveling companions of the last few weeks, and paying a bit too much for the mount he had selected from them, Gord shifted from one camp of gypsies to another. He was determined to learn more of the feats he had seen performed. Although he had revealed himself as an adopted member of the bargefolk, these Rhennee were quick enough to drop their prejudices and accept Gord—it did not hurt a bit that he had gifted the “lord” of the encampment with fine wine from Caporna. Gord offered to teach the gypsies some of his skills in thievery in return for the instruction he would receive in the arts of acrobatics. There was little time for such interplay during the hustle and bustle of the fair, but when the festivities concluded at Goodmonth’s commencement, Gord would be taught, and would himself instruct, as the band moved on in its travels.

  Having nothing specific to do during the fair did not keep Gord from enjoying himself. In fact, he thought it a great joke, stealing from the thieves of Caporna! The weeks of Fairetime passed swiftly, and although he had little teaching during this time, Gord managed to pick up some skills just by watching, for he was already quite accomplished at climbing and balance—prerequisites for successful thievery of the more subtle sort. Thus encouraged, he spent more time in town and devised a scheme he was certain would reap dividends.

  He again posed as a rich, somewhat foolish, young fop. He allowed himself to be set up for a swindling operation that the Caporna thieves put into action, thinking him an easy mark. He had passed himself off as a connoisseur of art and a collector of statuettes and objects of similar nature. He was tested with the offer of a dubious piece, as he knew he would be, and dashed the hopes of the swindlers who had been expecting an easy profit by disdainfully rejecting the “valuable” item.

  Then, as Gord had also anticipated, the swindlers tried to get the better of him with the old bait-and-switch routine. The thieves took him to an “exclusive shop,” which Gord recognized immediately as a phony set-up filled with goods from the storehouses of the thieves and whatever fence was also in on this scam. Gord readily waxed enthusiastic over several of the splendid pieces they had, but then he was hustled out—no sense in making a hasty purchase, or so his “friends” recommended. They promised to meet him again the next day, and they would return to the warehouse to make final decisions—by which time, Gord knew, cheap duplicates would be ready to pack in boxes.

  But there was no waiting till the morrow. That night Gord entered the shop from the roof, aided by several of his new gypsy friends. He regretted having to kill a guard, but that was part of the business…. Gord stayed out of Caporna altogether after that night, and he appeared only as a Rhennee man when he went anywhere beyond the gypsies’ camp.

  The gypsy train that left at the end of the great fair held far more wealth in its wagons than anyone would have expected, and Gord—the one the acrobats had to thank for this new affluence—rode along as their leader’s right-hand man.

  Chapter 13

  As the horseman’s steed topped a low rise and galloped into a clearing bathed in moonlight, several quarrels buzzed and hummed past mount and rider. The man crouched lower, and his horse seemed to jump ahead with a burst of new speed. In seconds they were lost in the thick shadows of the trees beyond. A dozen steel-capped warriors followed the fleeing rider through the moonlit meadow and likewise disappeared in the darkness beyond.

  Then the pounding of hooves faded into the night, and the place was peaceful again. Insects resumed their chorus, and the rustling of small animals making their nocturnal rounds could be heard by a careful listener. Nearby, a giant owl voiced its deep, mournful hooting. A moment later, the shrill cry of captured prey split the serenity for an instant.

  Fortunately for Gord, he was not being hunted by such sure predators as the denizens of the forest were, and he managed to elude his pursuers in the dense woodlands. Both he and his stallion were very tired, but Gord knew they must press on through most of the night, so that when the sun rose, those tracking him would not find their quarry nearby. Dismounted, careful to be as silent as possible, the young outlaw led his steed southwest, going ever deeper into the heart of the Nutherwood.

  Utilizing rocky ground, a small rivulet that fed into the Yol to the north, and every other device he could think of to throw off the soldiers who dogged him, Gord plodded onward. Sometime after midnight, he finally came to a dingle where he decided to camp. The stallion fell to grazing immediately as Gord unsaddled the tired animal and flopped down himself, exhausted. He dozed until first light and then was up and moving again.

  Gord walked the horse until they found a place to drink. There, he refreshed himself with a quick splash, ate a handful of iron rations, and topped his breakfast off with a bunch of the peppery watercress that grew in the stream. Feeling far better, he mounted and urged the stallion into a trot. Perhaps today he would finally lose his pursuers permanently.

  The troop of soldiers chasing him were servants of His Faithfulness, the Canon of Redmod, a town of no particular note near the heartland of the Theocracy of the Pale. When Gord had left Redmod, he had wanted simply to put as much distance between that place and himself as his courser could manage. He had not dreamed that the Canon would send his minions on so long a chase, for it was now nearly two weeks since his departure, and the soldiers were hounding him still. Gord wondered if their doggedness was because of the golden reliquary he had taken from the cleric’s temple, or whether it was because of his familiarity with His Faithfulness’ daughter, Light—she had shown him a few things, all right. No matter either way. Whatever their motivation, the outcome would be the same if he were caught by the troop of avenging riders.

  As he rode, Gord recalled the events of the past few months. From the Great Bend area, the gypsies had taken their horses southward. The train had passed slowly through County Urnst during the month of Harvester, celebrated Brewfest at Trigot, and then crossed the Franz River just above the city of Galesford. Autumn was spent moving on southward again through the Kingdom of Nyrond, past Woodwych, to the land between the Duntide River and the Celadon Forest where they wintered near the town of Beetu. During this whole time, Gord had been given intensive training in the art of acrobatics, and soon he was tumbling, leaping, vaulting, and even walking the taut-rope with the best of the apprentices. Of course, during this same period he was in turn teaching his adopted family members the fine points of his own crafts. While the wagonfolk were as able as their wat
er-loving kin in performing minor pilferage and thievery, Gord was instructing them on a far higher level, and they were apt pupils.

  With the end of Fireseek’s chill, the wagons began rolling northward again, making for the Flinty Hills, far distant, before going on to Midmeadow for Growfest, from there to be bound for the annual fair at Radigast City. It was at Mid-meadow that Gord parted company with the train, but not with all of his Rhennee friends. Two adventuresome young Rhennee accompanied him on a foray into the Theocracy, the threesome bent on relieving the prosperous Palish of some of their material treasures.

  The adventure had begun well enough. Equipped as they were with the finest mounts from the gypsy herd, the three were soon far away from Midmeadow and well into the Pale. Here they robbed an incautious merchant traveling a back road, there a wealthy tradesman. In the towns, they used more subtle arts to relieve their victims of excess coinage, and in such places Gord and his fellows also utilized their acrobatic skills to perform daring feats of burglary. The Palish were not, however, much impressed with such applications of the profession of thievery, holding the activity in disrepute and giving no license to any association or guild that allowed such practice. Therefore, the trio stayed but a little time in any one place.

  The blending of the races here, Oeridian and Flan, with a bit of blond Suel cropping up here and there, made the Palish a robust and handsome folk. Although their bent was such that they tended toward propriety and soberness, and tenaciously adhered to the teachings of Pholtus, the Palish did have their moments of levity and celebration, too. They were intelligent, industrious, and tough. All told, Gord found them interesting, if a bit dull, but they were also quite prosperous and tended to be easy marks, for there were few thieves among them. Stealing was punishable by death. Then again, so were most other honorable pastimes—such as seduction.

  The threesome spent a few days in the town of Ogburg—a city, actually, for it had well over 10,000 inhabitants, although it was an unsophisticated place at best. They then put the peaks of the Rakers behind them and rode north and west along the road to Wintershiven, for their purses were full for the moment. The capital city of the Theocracy was too sober a place, however, and from there the three had traveled southward again, ending up in Redmod. There Gord and his two companions settled down for rest, relaxation, and whatever revelry they could find.

  Despite the veil of devoted service they wore, the local populace was ready enough for surreptitious activities of the frivolous and licentious sort, as the small but active bawdy district soon demonstrated to the newcomers. Wild young men with silver to spend were welcome indeed, and soon the three of them were minor celebrities. The lionization did go to their heads a bit, Gord admitted to himself in reflection, so that they became incautious in their talk. While they did not actually tell anyone that they planned to rob the temple, they did plenty of bragging about how rich they soon would be. What transpired after they broke into the strongroom of the place and made off with the treasury that the Canon had so rigorously extorted from the faithful was not surprising, reflected Gord, considering their carelessness.

  Beautiful Light had been the key to the success of the heist, of course, and Gord thought that her fury at being left behind when they made off with the loot was probably the major spur to the pursuit, which even now continued. He had promised to take the Canon’s daughter along when they left Redmod, and so she had told Gord all about the location of the treasure, and about the magical protections that warded the amassed contributions, which, once pilfered, would enable them to journey elsewhere in high style.

  How could she really have thought that three hard-riding thieves could carry along a soft female? Her presence would have made their capture certain within a day or two, for someone other than she could have described the trio to the angry Canon and his men-at-arms, and they would be as conspicuous as could be if they tried to travel with a female.

  Gord was certain that Light had described him as completely as anyone could have, and that spurred him on. He had no means of disguise at hand, so his only recourse was to get clear of the Pale as rapidly as possible. This he had been seeking to do for days now, but the cursed soldiers trailing him made it difficult indeed!

  The three had split up as soon as they discovered that a company of horsemen was in hot pursuit. All that resulted from this move was a division of the troop following into three separate squadrons. Each group was a dozen or more strong, and each man was equipped with lance, crossbow, and shield. Gord never considered an attempt to thin their numbers by ambush, for what chance did he have against such soldiers? Certainly, a well-spun bullet from his sling might have some effect, but retributive missiles and close pursuit would make such attack the height of folly. Evading them and outdistancing them were utmost in Gord’s mind. Evidently, his pursuers desired quite the opposite.

  As the terrain began to be cut by gullies and the landscape rolled downward toward the Yol River ahead, Gord turned on a more southerly course and spurred his horse to a canter so as to avoid being caught against the water. From what he had heard about this forest, Gord was none too comfortable traveling within its depths. The place was reputed to hide all sorts of nasty creatures and humanoid brigands, not to mention the bandits said to infest the woodland. Perhaps these tales were the stuff used to keep small children at home, however, for the horsemen on his tail had not hesitated in following when he had plunged into the trees, and a day of traveling amidst the forest had not brought him face to face with anything more fearsome than a smallish bear and many small animals of the sort one would expect to encounter in such a setting.

  Near sunset Gord led his steed through the shallow verge of a nasty-looking marsh that spread out to the west as far as he could see. Just as the swollen crimson orb of the sun sank below the horizon, he came out of the morass, remounted, and rapidly rode due south. This left the dangerous lowland far behind by the time full darkness swathed the trees in gloom. There would be no way for those who still might be at his heels to locate where he had left the marsh until daylight came. Gord dismounted and walked on warily, alert for danger, seeking a sheltered spot to sleep.

  A gleam of flickering yellow light alerted him that there were others ahead. Gord dropped his stallion’s reins on the ground, patted the animal’s neck, and told it in a whisper to remain silent until he came back. The courser seemed to understand, for it whickered softly, nodded its great head, and fell to searching for green growth amidst the tree roots.

  Gord crept stealthily toward the firelight. It was quite difficult to move silently, for the forest floor was covered with a scattering of dead leaves and dry twigs hidden by new growth, but Gord was adept at stealth. Only the faintest of sounds marked his approach to the source of the illumination. He was soon close enough to see that there were two small bonfires, and by their dancing light Gord noted that some two dozen men—bandits, judging by their dress and weapons—were scattered in the glen, preparing their food and readying for the night. They were a scurvy lot in motley armor and garb drawn from all nations and races, it seemed, for Gord saw several orcish and elvish half-breeds among them.

  On the far side of the encampment were six or eight horses. There were piles of goods near them, so Gord figured that the animals were used to carry captured spoils. This band must be returning to their base of operations, for the heap of stuff near the horses was sufficient to burden them all. Gord stayed in a crouch and began to creep slowly backward, for he had seen enough. Then a heavy weight fell upon his back, pinning him to the ground, and a sharp spearpoint pressed against his neck.

  “Don’t move!” a rough voice hissed. “One sound and you’re dead!”

  Chapter 14

  Gord stood weaponless before the bandit chieftain, guarded by the pair of sentries who had spotted him. Capturing him had been easy, and the two were smirking. Easy pickings were appreciated by their ilk, and Gord had furnished them with a surprising amount of loot. Evidently he had been spotted whe
n he first approached the encampment, and while two of the sentries crept up on him, another pair backtracked and found Gord’s horse. The gold reliquary, a heap of coins, and his weapons were displayed on a cloak, his too, spread at the bandit leader’s feet.

  “Why were you spying on us?” the big outlaw demanded.

  “To survive, one must be alert,” said Gord evenly. “I was not spying, save to alert myself of any possible threat to my survival.”

  “Well, chum, one didn’t make much of a job of it, did one?” The bandit was mocking him, and Gord silently vowed that he would turn the tables at first opportunity. Then the man must have noted a defiance in his captive’s eyes, for after a second he added, “A tough little one, ain’t you?”

  With that, he stirred the pile of coins before him with the toe of his dirty boot, grinning down on Gord all the while, hand on his sword hilt. Gord stared back but kept his gaze expressionless and neutral.

  “Good!” the leader boomed. “I like guys with spunk. Tell you what I’m gonna do. I lost some good men this raid, so the company is short-handed. If you can handle yourself, instead of killing you I’ll enlist you.” The fellow paused and stared hard at Gord. Gord looked back but said nothing.

  “Okay, smartass. First you wrestle with Bogodor,” said the chieftain, pointing at a hulking brute Gord could see out of the corner of his eye, “and if you survive that, you can have at Finn over there with quarterstaves.” There were catcalls and sniggers from the assembled bandits at that. The chieftain laughed a bit too, but then shouted for silence and continued.

  “You don’t really have to beat ’em—just survive. I’m givin’ you a break, but only because I’m short-handed. We’re a fair bunch here, so if you make the grade, I’ll even give you one share of the loot here and you can keep your sword and knife.” The bandit’s tone was magnanimous—but if he expected Gord to thank him, the chieftain was wrong.