City of Hawks gtr-3

by Gary Gygax

  The one-eyed man granted that with a small nod, but waved Gord back to his seat and called for calmness. “You have done deeds of derring-do, rescued ladies, fought battles large and small, and undertaken many a perilous venture without flinching. Your skills have grown, and you now bear both great magical accoutrements and a seemingly charmed life. Think you that there are many such as you? Do you truly believe that the amulets and weapons and the like which you so blithely accept as part of your existence are commonly held by mortal men? And as to your luck, what can be said? There has been some aid, granted, but how much? How many times would an end have come to other men, ones not so endowed, who were in your place?”

  “Hmm… There is possibly something in your words,” Gord allowed. “Pray go on, and let me think on this matter as you speak.”

  “Very generous, your grand grace,” Gellor replied with heavy sarcasm. He was not offended, simply getting in a small jibe as is often customary between comrades. “I am a man in that game, as well you know, as is Greenleaf. We joined it because of instruction, but both of us remain in it because of choice. There is something in you, Gord, which gives us hope. Perhaps one day you will find some clue to unlock the mystery of your past, to discover the significance of that ancient coffer and its unimpressive contents. I know not.

  “What I do know, though, is that wherever you go, you leave in your wake turmoil and change. The machinations of nobles are foundered by your presence, wars are won, great evil sent howling back to the lower planes, and Information suddenly surfaces that is vital to all. Don’t you find that passing strange?”

  “I hadn’t thought on it.”

  “No, you’ve been too busy pursuing wenches, playing boyish pranks, pilfering jewels of incredible worth, and playing at being a mysterious nemesis here in this city! Don’t mistake my words-I am not faulting you. You have done all these things from necessity and it was most natural, all things considered. My question is. Will you now turn your talents to a more meaningful end?”

  That gave him pause. In truth, Gord had again become jaded with life as a rogue in the city; he was rather bored with playing at being the cat burglar, the rake, the carefree wanderer. Even though he could not determine the origin of his life, he did have a growing desire to make it a meaningful one nevertheless. Simply being a thief of utmost skill wasn’t the answer, as far as the young man was concerned. He had merely been doing something at which he excelled until something better was presented. He said that to Gellor, and the man reacted in a surprising way.

  “Presented? You say that seriously? Do you expect fate to come ambling along and proffer something better to you on a silken cushion?! I am speechless! Perhaps I overestimated you. As an urchin you didn’t await anything-you seized opportunities with talons of wisdom far beyond your circumstances. At every turn you acted to better your position, gain, and grow. Now, as youth passes into full-blown manhood, at the very threshold of your prime, you tell me you are content to dally while you await a finer moment?”

  “Well… that isn’t put exactly right,” Gord said somewhat defensively. “I am ready now to answer your call.”

  “Ready to answer, but not going forth to seek the foe. It is as I said,” Gellor retorted. “Only you can determine your purpose and find meaning. Use your talents to a better purpose, I say!”

  “You say much, but still too little! Just what higher goal do you direct me toward, sage?”

  Gellor sat back, harrumphing. He had gotten so caught up in his lecture, as a father might scold an errant son, that he had gone too far. “Well, ahh, yes, yes indeed. It is time I got to that. I am not going to offer firm direction, of course. That would pressure, suggest far more wisdom than I possess. Still, I can offer you at least an inkling, and it should suit your own desires, too.”

  “Well?” Gord’s tone was rather cold, his expression distant.

  “It seems that you are not the only one unsure of who and what you are, my friend. As I have inferred, I believe that you are on the field of play, and eventually the attention of the dark players will rest full upon you. If we-and you-gain knowledge first, then you have every opportunity of not merely avoiding being en prise, but being able to move to oppose evil. To do so, you must know yourself. That might or might not mean learning of your infancy, your parents, and all. Whether or not you find out these things, knowing yourself is a worthy aspiration…”

  “You avoid the issue, beg the question, and skirt the point,” Gord said as if voicing a rejoinder. “I am a profligate, and you are about to direct me on a wiser course, I believe.”

  “Leave off. I am properly rebuked, and I apologize. Will you truly hear this now?”

  Softening a bit, Gord agreed. “Of course. It’s just difficult for me to withstand such words as you have said. Remember, dear companion, that I had no such counsel when I was babe, stripling, or youth.”

  Gord had no pity for himself in his voice, and Gellor didn’t insult him with a display of pity for him either. Life was what it was for each individual fortunate enough to live it. The man continued to explain.

  “In the course of our observations and delvings-not mine, but the activities of those greater than I, in whose service I act-both evil and other interferences plagued our purpose. You, my friend, have a most mysterious skein! With care and skill, some small services were performed by means of dweomers and direct interactions. Those greater ones sought the same answers you seek even now, and they met with blanks. There is a slight something, possibly a matter of no import, but just perhaps something germane. It was detected in a scrying to foresee. That foreseeing was altered in your benefit, but I suddenly recalled something which made me come here to see you.”

  Now the young man stood and began to pace back and forth in excitement. “You have a clue as to my parents? My home? What? I will venture into the pits of the Nine Hells, the Abyss, or the greatest sink of the nether realm of Hades for such information!”

  “Nothing so definite, nor requiring such danger, Gord. Those who probed uncovered something which even they paid no heed to, and it is only my own strange ability to recall things which prompted my visit. Have you any memories at all of your infancy?”

  “Not actually… just what old Leena related. It was she who told me that the box, there, was my only inheritance, but this only after I discovered it by accident one day. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but she was cruel and possessive about it. She would keep it hidden away from me and try to torture me by saying she’d burned it to keep warm, sold it for food money, and suchlike. Poor old crazy woman. How do you suppose I came into her care?”

  Gellor nodded sympathetically. “From what you’ve said, Gord, she was a sad one indeed. She saved that little coffer, though, and you have it. Now that you’ve showed it to me, I have realized that it is what I recall seeing! The connection was a difficult one, else long ago I’d have told you. In the vision I saw the box was unmarred, magnificent, and within it were nine great black sapphires!”

  “You’re certain you saw that same container, this very box?” Gord demanded, picking up the worn, scuffed coffer and thrusting it under the one-eyed man’s gaze.

  In answer, Gellor lifted his black leather eyepatch and viewed the battered wooden box with his enchanted orb, a magical eyeball of gemstone that empowered him to see close up, far away, and things invisible or hidden even by ether or astral vibration as well. When Gellor employed the device, neither illusionary concealment nor any other magical cloaking could prevail against its inspection.

  “The very same, Gord. I think, with care and skill, it could be restored to the very state it was in when I saw it in the scrying.”

  “Nine black sapphires?…”

  “Star sapphires of purest ebon, they were, I recall distinctly because of the circumstances.”

  Setting the box aside, Gord demanded, “What exactly were those… circumstances?”

  Gellor had wanted to examine the box more carefully, to thoroughly inspec
t it to see if some additional clue could be discovered, but his young friend’s insistence would brook no more delays. “In a scrying of the sort done by those of great power, Gord, even as the present and future unravel, a shadowing of the past manifests itself as well. Those trained in the arts can easily ignore such scenes at will, for following them wastes precious time, time better spent discovering future probabilities. I am no master of dweomers, and my attention was often distracted by the phantoms of your past-the actual and that which might have been as well. In one of the adjunctive shadowings, my friend, I saw a plump and happy child. He played at the feet of a lovely woman, and among his playthings were that box there and its contents. The infant was you, Gord, and the box held the stones-gems which you poured out and replaced gleefully.”

  “So… and the woman?”

  “Who knows? She was none I have ever seen. Was there a beautiful lady ever around? Can you recall?”

  “No… Would there had been,” Gord said ruefully. “That one must have been exceptional and wealthy beyond belief to allow an infant to make playtoys of gems!”

  “Set aside the value of the stones for the moment. Think on this: To have been shown thus, those nine black star sapphires must have been yours, a part of your inheritance or a gift. The woman was what was meant for your childhood, a governess or protectress, I am unable to differentiate. The stones were a vital portion of what had been meant for you as well.” Gellor looked steadily at the young man. “Do you have the slightest recollection of those precious gemstones? Any memory at all?”

  “None! But perhaps if I saw them, held them, something would return. Do you know where they are now?”

  Without answering, Gellor sat back and sipped the wine from his nearly empty goblet. “What memories does your ring evoke?”

  “This?” Gord held it up. The setting in the piece of jewelry held a deep green emerald with a star pattern in it that made it look like a cat’s eye. From its hardness he had at first taken it for a chrysoberyl, but then he decided it was far too green and deep for such a stone. Only an emerald of the corundum sort could be as lovely as that. “No memories. I gained it from a stupid man, a thief and manslayer, when I was just a boy. I thought I’d told you of that.”

  “No matter. I have a clue as to the whereabouts of the nine stones, and that is of import, no?”

  “Yes! Out with it, man!”

  With a long sigh, Gellor admitted his frustration. “I made inquiries here in Greyhawk as soon as I arrived. Rare specimens such as that have a way of being kept track of by gem merchants, jewelers, and those with a lust for their likes. It seems that I was but a few weeks too late in coming-blame my failure to associate the two images of the box, if you will.” Gord interjected his assurance that he could never affix any blame, rather only approbation for the ability to see the one in the other, so disparate were the two forms and so tenuous the one-eyed man’s connection to either.

  Thank you. Anyway, the nine are still together, it seems. They could be no other gems, for even a single black star sapphire is as rare as compassion in the heart of a hag! They are part of a necklace now-a thing of astonishing beauty, made of wrought platinum and also set with diamonds, I’m told. The piece was brought to Greyhawk a month ago by a trader from the Wild Coast. He claimed that the necklace had come from far to the west, and the merchants viewing it said the workmanship was so fine that they dared not doubt the fellow’s statement.

  “A work of that sort is never openly advertised for sale. The necklace was viewed privately for some few days, and then the trader auctioned it off in the company of a select private group of individuals who typically have interest in rare gems, jewelry, and works of art. It was sold to the agent of a powerful foreigner, a lord from Dyvers, evidently. Although the purchasing agent left Greyhawk only a few days ago, you can be certain that the necklace went off long before that-say three weeks past, A known dealer in such precious commodities doesn’t travel with funds, or with purchases either. Thieves and brigands would soon have all. and him dead.”

  It was all Gord could do to restrain himself from pulling his friend out of his chair and hugging him. “And the name of the buyer?”

  “Neither the buyer nor the man he bought for are known. That’s hardly surprising. The agent is known hereabouts as Demming, or Sharpeye Demming. The descriptions I have heard could fit any man of middling height, common features, and average age. You can wager with assurance that the name he uses elsewhere will be different from his alias here. There is nothing else.”

  “Then let’s be satisfied at that! Dyvers is not quite as large a city as Greyhawk, and hiding in the place is one with a clue I seek. We can ferret out him and the stones in no time at all!”

  “I hate to say this, Gord, but what makes you suppose the man will be in Dyvers? If he is an active trader, and one seeking to earn a living, he’ll be off again by now, looking for such things in other cities-and the whole of the Flanaess is a large place to disappear in.”

  After pondering that for a moment, the young man inclined his head in agreement with Gellor’s statement. “Yes, there is merit to what you say. The necklace, however, is not at all likely to be making its way about the lands of the west, east, north, and south. In fact, such a treasure will be locked up safe in a special place-that I know from experience!” Gord exclaimed with a roguish grin.

  “Except…” Gord added with a gleam in his eye, “when such a thing is brought forth for others to envy and admire. A necklace of this sort will grace the throat of some gorgeous courtesan ere long, if not already. Thus its owner shows off a pair of prized possessions at the same time… Oh, yes, Gellor, my boon friend! We shall have them soon!” Gord paused, snapped his fingers, sprang up, and began to bustle about the apartment.

  “How soon can you be ready to go, Gellor? It won’t take me an hour to put my gear together. Allow me twice that long to settle a few other matters, and then I’m horsed and away!”

  Gellor stood then too, walked over, and gripped the young man firmly by his shoulders. “All of us, you know, are not quite as free and unencumbered as you are, my boy. You propose a journey of a week in length, and possibly three times that long nosing around in Dyvers thereafter. If I could accompany you, I would, and I would that I could! There are other things for me to see to, however-duties which I can neither neglect nor pass off onto another’s shoulders. I leave tomorrow on a coaster, and I’ll be gone on various business for at least a month. Perhaps when those affairs are tended to, I’ll be at liberty.”

  Gord was disappointed but determined. “It would be better with you, Gellor. But with or without, I am setting off for the west road this very day! When will we meet again?”

  “This is something neither of us can know, but I will return here as soon as I am able-two months at the outside.”

  “If I’m not returned by then, I’ll never be back,” the young man said with a confident laugh. “Look for me here or at the Chessmen Tavern-now, isn’t that a fitting place!”

  Gellor stayed on as his young friend went about gathering and packing. They exchanged only a few words for the better part of an hour, and then Gord addressed the one-eyed man when his packing was almost done. “You’ll find your way all right until your vessel departs?”

  “But of course,” the one-eyed man said with a chuckle. “That’s something I’ve managed alone quite well for many more years than you’ve seen. Now be on your way as quick as you like, and don’t waste any concerns about hospitality. This is a matter which cannot be ignored in favor of small talk and pleasantries, now, isn’t it?”

  “Thanks, Gellor. You are a good friend in all respects. I shall expect to see that bright eye of yours again in a few weeks. Farewell!”

  Gord picked up his gear, and the two men clumped hastily down the long flights of narrow stairs and out into the afternoon’s waning. The one-eyed man went off to find a comfortable place to spend the night near the docks, while Gord finished up a few errands and then made
for the stable not far from his lodgings. The dust from his cantering mount made a golden plume in the last rays of the setting sun as he left Greyhawk behind on his way to Dyvers.

  Chapter 17

  The city of Dyvers was like Greyhawk in many respects, but the differences were significant. Dyvers was older, not quite so large in area or population, more crowded with strangers. The buildings were different, squarer, the towers squatty with even thicker walls than those of Gord’s home city. The place had no new and old cities; Dyvers was one municipality. It had slums and poor sections, but none so bad as Greyhawk’s, just as its finer portions were not so grand as those of its rival to the east.

  The hilltop villas and mansions of Greyhawk looked out over the snaking waters of the Selintan. In Dyvers, similar palatial structures had vistas of the Velverdyva River or the endless-seeming expanse of the Nyr Dyv. Beautiful and ugly were intermixed, poor and rich, just as in great cities everywhere, Gord supposed.

  His journey here had been rapid and relatively uneventful. After arriving in Dyvers, Gord had spent a day simply relaxing and refreshing himself. He chose a middle-priced inn near the middle of the city where most of the clientele seemed of middling sort. It was drab, dull, and quiet-just the place he wanted for his coming work.

  Being an able scholar was a boon indeed. It didn’t take long for Gord to locate a seller of books and maps, and there he found a fairly accurate map of the city. He retired to his room to commit the map to memory, using key features as landmarks. That night, his second at the inn, he ventured forth and began making the rounds of taverns and inns frequented by the wealthier folk who dwelled in Dyvers or came regularly to the city to do business. That excursion gained him nothing, but Gord wasn’t discouraged. He had expected nothing, even though it was worth the chance anyway.

  The detective work required several sets of new clothing and extensive drinking and frequenting of various high-class establishments of many sorts to accomplish fully. A slim lead was obtained here, a possibly false name there. There were only a handful of people in the whole of Dyvers able to afford a costly piece of jewelry of the sort Gord was looking for, and of those, most wouldn’t have agents traveling around to find specific pieces.