[Greyhawk Adventures 01] - Saga of Old City

by Gary Gygax - (ebook by Undead)

  “In contrast, Evaleigh is aware that her own heritage must be limited to those children she herself bears. They must be cared for, nourished in mind and body, so that they thrive and grow to adulthood. That is how women gain their continuance, and it is quite the opposite of males!”

  “But—”

  “But me no buts, Gord. Your sweet Evaleigh did no more than any maid would do under like circumstances. She did no wrong by acquiescing to wedlock with one of like station and the comfort of being sovereign Baroness of Ratik. You would never lead such a life as will her devoted husband, and that is the sort of life she knows and desires. Had she gone off with you it would have been argument and unhappiness. You seek adventure, she the opposite. Eventually, you would have gone off and never returned, and then where would Evaleigh and your children have turned?”

  “Children again? Why always that subject? None might have come.”

  “And what if your bastard will one day rule Ratik?” Gellor shot back, but then softened his voice and continued. “Come now, Gord, enough of this banter. Let’s examine the bribes given us by the deceitful Count Blemu whilst I still have this cursed ocular in place!”

  “What means ocular?” queried Gord.

  “This globe here,” said Gellor, suppressing a smile as he tapped his left eyeball with his forefinger.

  Gord recoiled at the sight of the nailed digit rapping against tender eye, but as there was no apparent pain or flinch on Gellor’s part, Gord’s reaction abruptly turned to bewilderment.

  “You tap your pupil and feel nothing?” said the young thief quizzically.

  “Of course not! It is a magical sphere, enchanted to appear to be nothing more than my own eye, but it is far different and quite difficult to get used to—or to wear for long periods, as it boggles my brain.”

  Scrutiny revealed nothing magical to Gord, merely a clear gray eye. “You jest. Give me the truth, Gellor!”

  “No jest at all,” said Gellor, and with that he reached up and popped the orb out of its socket. A wave of nausea washed over Gord as he watched the process and saw the eye now in Gellor’s palm.

  “Now I must put it back,” continued Gellor, “so we can see our gifts in true sight. But at least your nagging doubts are silenced,” he added. And Gord had to admit that that was true.

  After peering closely at his and Gord’s neck-chains, Gellor remarked that they were of good craftsmanship, with nothing noteworthy save that the gemstones set in his own were not of the highest quality—Count Blemu had not given as great a bribe as it first seemed.

  Their gift blades were then laid out for inspection through the strange and enchanted ocular. Gord watched in fascination as Gellor went through his routine of perusal, first looking from a distance, then at each weapon separately. He informed his young friend that there were strange runes graven on the blade of the shortsword, and then after his minute inspection was over Gellor put both blades aside and in a moment was the Gellor of old, eye patch and grin included, relaxing and further explaining what he had discovered.

  “Well, Gord,” he began, “I am surprised at these swords. Magicked weapons are not exactly uncommon, but…” He allowed the rest of this statement to drift off as he considered possible implications. He picked up the scabbard containing the weapon Gord had been given and asked, “Did the constable tell you anything about your blade?”

  “He claimed it to be a specially forged alloy of steel and adamantite, difficult to break or dull, which would pierce dragon hide or armor. I think that was the whole of it.”

  “It is that indeed,” Gellor confirmed. “Enchantments have been laid upon it to cause it to strike true and bite deep. It seems to have been made for elvenkind and sheds no glow of dweomer when employed, though the glyphs state that you may have its power to see your foes clearly,” and with that Gellor tossed the scabbarded weapon to Gord.

  “Perhaps you’ll be able to determine what those signs and sigils portend when the sunlight is bright enough for you to detect them,” he continued. “I could not make them out exactly, and the powers of the blade are unknown to me. I am puzzled where the count got it—and why he bestowed it upon you, for it seems to be a very special weapon.”

  “Probably he failed to recognize it as anything more than a small sword with some minor magics placed upon it,” speculated Gord.

  “He and his court enchanter both? That is possible, I suppose… and it is well known that Dunstan himself greatly prefers the broadsword.”

  Gord snapped his fingers as his memory sharpened. “Sir Mellard mentioned that the blade was taken from some adversary in the fighting on the northern border,” he told Gellor.

  “Interesting, but it tells us nothing but that some mercenary, bandit, or humanoid scum picked it from a corpse elsewhere,” Gellor commented.

  “What of the sword given you, Gellor?” inquired Gord as he put aside his weapon for further study next day.

  “In a bit,” said Gellor through a yawn. “Using that eye for such intense work wearies me. Stand the first watch, captain, while your general dozes.” Several minutes later, after Gellor had settled himself for rest, he spoke again briefly.

  “My weapon is another odd one, my friend, and I am uncertain as to the details of its power and purpose, just as I know not all about the one you have there. One thing I discern is that it claims to be invisible, when used, to all save its wielder… but let us discover the truth of that claim on the morrow,” he concluded sleepily. Almost immediately thereafter, Gellor began snoring. Gord strapped on his new sword, more from pride than the suspicion that he would need it, and began his sentry duty.

  They had made no fire, as they sought to attract no attention to themselves. Gord moved silently away from the small hollow and began his vigil, occasionally moving his position, for drowsiness crept upon him if he stayed still too long, and always remaining quiet and shadow-wrapped.

  Perhaps he did doze for a moment—for the next thing he knew, his sword slapped into his hand, unbidden! Gord’s eyes flew open and met the unwinking gaze of a pair of feral yellow ones watching him from not thirty feet distant.

  Oddly, the night seemed to have changed, for Gord could see the terrain in starker relief than he had ever experienced before. In fact, Gord noted that the lupine form from which the yellow glare emanated was brighter than the bush under which it crouched, watching him. It suddenly came upon Gord that his vision now detected heat just as if it were light. That was the seeing of many sorts of demi-humans, and he now had this ability! The sword he grasped in readiness was the answer, of course.

  The wolflike creature began to creep ahead almost imperceptibly, and at this Gord quickly drew his long dagger with his left hand. The young man’s rapid unsheathing of that weapon and his tense crouch caused the watcher to flatten its partially raised form and shift itself backward. There was virtually no sound, and the beast seemed to believe itself hidden from Gord’s sight. As it was, Gord could see what happened next even though the tall grass and brush obscured much of his new visual ability.

  After withdrawing to a position behind the bush, the creature stood on its hind legs—and its form shifted, rapidly changing into that of a female, with short hair, unclad as far as Gord could tell from where he crouched. Just as Gord was about to slip forward and investigate this weird phenomenon, the female-like creature broke into a soft, lilting song. The low, sweet strains of this melody stole over Gord and prevented his moving.

  No, not prevented, he thought, analyzing his changed purpose; the song simply made him wish to stay still so he could listen without anything interfering with his concentration. It was a most wonderful air. He could not quite understand its words, but they promised gentle love and contentment. If he could listen but a little longer, Gord knew that he would understand the lyrics and gain something he had truly desired all his life.

  The singing grew no louder, but the naked singer came slowly toward him, moving silently, smiling, and now crooning to him with a voic
e that promised paradise. This approach caused the sword he had allowed to droop to suddenly rise without any desire on Gord’s part. The blade leapt upward, tip pointing toward the naked breast advancing upon it, the handle sending unpleasant burning through Gord’s hand and along the very nerves of his arm. He tried to drop the weapon, but instead of relaxing their hold, his disobedient fingers grasped it tighter, and the tingling became a sharp pain.

  Gord shook his head to clear the sudden onrush of the sensation upon his brain, and as he did so, the sound of the singing changed. He no longer felt lulled by it, his body was not relaxed and heavy, and his mind no longer found unguessed meanings and total joy in the melody. Gord again moved into a crouch, weapon on guard before him.

  The naked singer ceased the melody at this, seeing that it was not having the desired effect. She was just beyond the reach of his sword’s thrust, and Gord could see her visage clearly. It was wild-looking and beautiful, but as he looked upon it, her lips drew back into a grimace of hatred and ferocity, and small, sharp teeth were revealed by this snarl. She sprang at Gord, changing into lupine form even as her body launched itself toward him. The sword’s blade was suddenly limned with a faint silvery gleam, and Gord caught the leaping form upon the weapon’s point, using it to both wound and deflect the rush of the attacker. The creature, now a huge wolf, howled with terrible pain, rolled several times after striking the ground beside Gord, and then dashed away uttering mournful yowls.

  Gellor was next to him within seconds after this last had happened, his own longsword unsheathed, but the naked steel was unnecessary. The wolfwere, as Gellor called it, was certainly not likely to return this night. Nevertheless, the older man took guard duty thereafter, his magicked ocular back in place, while Gord slept an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter 24

  The stone halls and burrows of the Gnomeking’s domain gave Gord a touch of claustrophobia—but not because they were barely tall enough for him to walk through; indeed, some of the chambers were quite large. Rather, the surrounding rock reminded him too much of his former prison in Blemu’s deep dungeon, and also of his flight with Evaleigh through the warren of passages beneath the palace at Stoink.

  The little, gnarly demi-humans were friendly enough, and even kind to him. The Gnomeking, Warren apHiller, gave the two humans not only an audience, but a banquet. It was obvious that he knew Gellor from times past, and the king and the one-eyed man soon closeted themselves, covering in private (as Gellor later told Gord) the affairs that were to be relayed to Rel Mord.

  Despite the friendliness of the gnomes, Gord was pleased when his friend told him that they would stay no longer than the three days that courtesy demanded, and thereafter they would move on. The grottoes and giant badgers of the gnome kingdom were interesting but for a short time. Even more intriguing to Gord were the gems displayed by these folk, but as a guest he could not ply his professional skills to acquire any of the valuables. Yes, three days was quite enough time to spend with the gnomes.

  Instead of heading westward toward Rel Mord when they departed, Gellor said they must go south to the area of Innspa first. Rel Mord could wait, for according to the Gnomeking there was something brewing in the vast reaches of the Adri Forest that needed looking into. The prospect of action excited Gord, and he cheerfully agreed to accompany his friend on this mission, volunteering to do whatever he could to aid Gellor.

  They rode through the hills, making excellent time with help from gnomes and hillmen they encountered, coupled with Gellor’s knowledge of the area. Gord was quite surprised to see several large contingents of armed gnomes, as well as some hillmen warbands, marching northward. Gellor told him that Gnomeking Warren had sent out a call the very day the two of them had arrived, and the forces he was gathering would join the troops Nyrond had sent into the Blemu Hills. The ruler of the gnomes of the Flinty Hills desired to reestablish his kinsmen in the Blemus once again, while avenging the slaughter of those clans of the small demi-humans who had dwelt there before the hordes of orcs, gnolls, and others overran the hills. The tough warbands of hillmen would return home after lending their aid, but most of the gnomes would resettle in the northern uplands verged by the Teesar.

  With such armed might aswarm, the Flinty Hills were a safe place to be in, for no hostile humanoids or monsters dared to show themselves while soldiers marched everywhere within these tors and vales. In a couple of days the two adventurers descended from the mounds of the Flinties and took a road that ran parallel to the highlands. This was the very route that Gord had decided would not carry him and Evaleigh toward Knurl, and he was gratified to find out now that his decision about the road had been correct. Now he and Gellor followed its course to Innspa some fifty leagues distant.

  As befitted the second part of its name, the town was a place of bubbling springs—some cold, some hot, and many of both oddly colored or imbued with strange odors. While a few of these were open and common, most were contained within some edifice or another. Besides these baths and centers that promised various sorts of invigoration, cures, and whatnot, the walled place had more hostels, taverns, and inns than any community Gord had ever experienced—hence the first part of its name. The place also boasted more than a half-hundred religious buildings, ranging from small shrines to large temples and great cathedrals.

  Although Gord found one or two of the many sorts of waters offered for drinking to be flavorful or refreshing, he had no interest in mineral-bath immersions, geysering showers, steaming, coating with mud, or any other such activities; and his experience with clericism, such as it was, made him shun the places of devotion and worship. All in all, he was very anxious to move on, just as he had been when with the gnomes a fortnight before.

  Fortunately for Gord, Innspa was located just within the edge of the westernmost fringe of the Adri; they were so close to their destination that he suspected they would push on soon. Gellor had a few calls to make in the town and some information to gather, but after a day to rest their coursers and allow them the luxury of stall and grain, the two were pushing into the depths of the timberland.

  The trees grew thickly over the last folds of the Flinties here, but his companion told Gord that soon the forest floor would become level. “Soon” turned out to be nearly three days, but then the terrain proved to be as promised. In the heart of the woodland, the trees were all towering giants. Interlaced branches far above their heads and dead leaves under their feet made travel easy, since little underbrush could grow under such conditions. Gellor spent quite a bit of time pointing out different types of trees and animal signs to the city-bred young thief. Gord knew most of the common trees—oak, maple, ipp, and chestnut, for instance. Hornwood and ash were not so familiar to him, and the roan woods and great yews amazed him. He had heard of the yarpick tree but never seen one, and its long and deadly thorns likewise fascinated him when the two wayfarers came across such a tree growing at the verge of a rocky meadow within the forest.

  Gord was also treated to his first sight of the gigantically antlered deer that roamed the Adri. He and Gellor remained still when they encountered a herd of about a dozen such animals, and the beasts neither charged nor immediately fled. After the herd did bound away, Gellor said that the game within the woodland was plentiful—all sorts of bears, wild boars and sows, elk, deer, wolves, lions and smaller cats too, aurochs and herds of wild cattle, plus the usual variety of smaller sorts of game.

  Although the woodsfolk who lived within the Adri Forest hunted frequently and with much success, they never took more than they needed. Further, Gellor explained, their foresting of certain of the trees was done to provide grassy clearings for grazing and allow new growth as well. This seemed a quite intelligent and civilized way of life to the young thief—but this knowledge in no way prepared him for his first meeting with the forest-dwellers, which came almost immediately thereafter.

  They rode past a meadow and along a game trail that wound eastward. At a widening of this path, an arrow suddenly thu
nked into the bole of a tree beside Gellor, and within seconds men clad in brown and green appeared among the trees all around them. Gord reached instinctively for his sword, but his friend stayed his hand with a gesture just as one of the tall woodsmen stepped forward from the foliage and spoke.

  “Gellor, you old bastard! That shaft came near to skewering your nose, and you never flinched!” he shouted.

  “I trust your aim too well for flinching, Stalker, but you must be getting old, too. I saw you at least two seconds before you loosed that arrow!”

  “What brings you to our fair forest, you miserable minion of the mighty? Hear that there was a hot young dryad new to this place?”

  “Hell, no—I wanted to see if you were really as ugly as I remembered you to be!” the grinning, one-eyed man retorted.

  “Then climb down off that nag and take a look with that one peeper you still got, ’cause when I get through with you, it’ll be swollen shut but good.”

  As Gellor dismounted, Gord did the same, uncertain just what was going to happen. All that took place was a spirited round of hand-clasping and back-thumping between Gellor and the one called Stalker, intermingled with more bad jokes and insults. Then Gord was introduced to the dozen woodsmen headed by Stalker, who all received him warmly. They reminded Gord of the hillfolk that he and Gellor had encountered earlier on their journey—but, to Gord’s mild amazement, these men were even bigger.

  One huge fellow named Chert took an instant liking to the small thief and soon was telling him all about the forest, its folk, and the community. Chert said he was not originally from this portion of the forest, having been born and raised by the hill foresters not distant, but he came to like the more civilized amenities offered in this neck of the woods and had joined up with Stalker’s boys. This information made Gord wonder what the hill foresters were like, for a rougher and tougher lot than these woodsmen he could not imagine.