It took Garett twice as long as usual to reach the High Market Square. The square had been cleared of people, but refuse lay scattered everywhere. Relatively speaking, it was almost quiet in the marketplace. The platform where the day’s speeches had been made stood like a lonely ghost in the empty center. Garett turned away from it and headed for the barracks infirmary in the Grand Citadel.
Six sentries stood guard duty at the Citadel’s gate, preventing anyone who was not on official business from entering. The guards saluted when they saw him approaching and opened the doors just wide enough for him to enter.
He found Burge awake and chatting with an off-duty watchman in the infirmary. As Garett walked through the door, Burge saw him and quickly shoved a metal wine flask out of sight. The covers slid down a bit as he did so. The white bandages around his chest showed just over the top of his sheets. “How are you feeling?” the captain inquired of his friend.
Burge put on a grin, lifted his arms, and clapped his hands together over his head. The movement put an obvious strain on his chest muscles, but Burge didn’t flinch. “Fine, Cap’n,” he answered jovially. “Come on in an’ sit.” “Can’t,” Garett answered. “Just going on duty. But I wanted to see how you were first.”
“Fine, Cap’n,” Burge assured him, repeating himself. His grin turned into a full-fledged smile as he nodded his head. “Just great. Don’t worry about me.”
Garett put on a grin himself as he turned to leave, but he hesitated just long enough to watch from the corner of his eyes as Burge pulled out the wine flask, took a quick sip, and passed it to his partner.
Why did Burge hate his elven blood so much? Garett wondered as he left his friend. A human could almost envy such a heritage. Better sight, better hearing, and a much faster rate of healing. All those things came to him through his nonhuman father. Garett couldn’t remember the last time he had worked a case or walked a patrol without Burge by his side, but in all those nights, all those conversations, Burge had never so much as mentioned his father’s name. Did he even know it?
Blossom and Rudi were waiting for Garett in his office. One of them had lit his lamps, but left it to him to perform his ritual replenishing of their oil reservoirs. “We’ve doubled patrols in all quarters,” Blossom told him as he went about the task. “So far, we’ve recorded one hundred seventy-two arrests, mostly on drunk and disorderly or fighting charges. I’ve ordered update reports from all the watch houses every two hours.” She leaned back against the door and swung her blond braid over one shoulder.
“Good,” Garett answered as he refilled the last lamp. “But we’re going to visit the watch houses ourselves. An unannounced inspection, if you will. I want to see, personally, that everyone’s on their toes. That goes for the patrols in the streets as well. I don ’ t want to find any watchmen celebrating on duty.”
“Where do we start?” Rudi asked, sitting casually in his usual chair beside the door. Sometimes, Garett thought he should have the little sergeant’s name engraved on it.
“In the Garden Quarter,” Garett answered. “It’s closest. Then the High Quarter watch house. After that, we’ll work our way southward.”
“By the way,” Blossom said, without moving from her place by the door, “you should know that not everyone out there is celebrating. There was a near riot this afternoon at Greyhawk University when word began to spread that Rankin Fasterace had some boneheaded rent plan to present before the Directorate.”
Garett made a face. Sorvesh Kharn would be delighted by that news, he thought. In fact, now that he considered it, he wondered if it was Sorvesh’s thieves who had spread such word. “Any arrests?” he asked.
Blossom shook her head. “In a rare fit of good sense, Korbian Arthuran realized those who were most upset were people who had lost their homes in the fire. He said they’d suffered enough, and once things were calmed down again, he ordered the release, without charge, of anyone we’d picked up.”
Garett made another face. That didn’t sound like Korbian at all. It did sound like Ellon Thigpen attempting to win the gratitude of his people by demonstrating leniency and understanding toward the rioters.
“Korbian wasn’t all sunshine and flowers about it, though,” Rudi added, wearing a malicious smirk. “Because of the trouble, His Benevolence missed a party hosted by the Directorate for Kentellen Mar this afternoon.”
“Well, Kentellen didn’t show up, either,” Garett told them offhandedly as he headed to the door and beckoned for them to follow. “Maybe he needed a rest after his long vacation.”
“Maybe someone warned him about the directors’ boring parties,” Blossom muttered.
They moved out of the Citadel, across the square, and into the streets. Together, clad in their bright scarlet cloaks, they made quite an eye-catching trio. Rudi, on Garett’s right, was as short as Blossom, on his left, was tall. No doubt they were an odd sight as they walked along, and even the most drunken celebrants made way for them.
The Garden Quarter boasted a higher class of restaurants and taverns than the River Quarter, but, like the River Quarter, all the establishments were overflowing. So, too, were the gambling houses, where the spin of the wheels and the clatter of dice could sometimes be heard between shouts of triumph or despair.
Minstrels and mimes and storytellers worked every corner, and the Beggars’ Union was out in force, milking the crowd with their canes and crutches and eye-patches and tales of woe. A good tale of woe from a clever beggar could, after all, be just as entertaining as any minstrel’s whiny song. Why not pay a common for it? Tonight, at least, it was all part of the festivities.
A pair of watchmen came up Amaryllis Street. Garett, Blossom, and Rudi waited at the corner of Amaryllis and Rose Avenue as they approached. The two guards dragged a sour-faced man between them. Their prisoner was well dressed. His trousers were blue velvet tucked into expensive leather boots, and his shirt was of gold damask with silver buttons down the front. He clutched a rumpled velvet cap in one fist. The gray plume that extruded from it was bent at an improper angle.
“Evening to you both, Strevit and Deeve,” Garett said, greeting the watchmen by name as they reached the intersection. He eyed their captive carefully. There was a familiar look about him. Garett couldn’t recall the little man’s name, but remembered that he owned a shop over on Ladanum Road, from which he sold fine dishes, table cutlery, and imported pottery. “What have we here?”
“Wedger, a merchant,” Strevit answered, frowning down at his prisoner. As Strevit turned to look at Wedger, the streetlight showed the red mark of a fist on the watchman’s cheekbone. “Charged with drunkenness and starting a fight at the Silver Ferret.”
“And with striking an officer of the watch,” Deeve added, grinning at his partner.
Strevit’s frown only deepened. “Little fool caught me off guard,” he said defensively. “He’s half my size. Who’d have thought he’d try it?”
Wedger looked up sullenly. “They cheated me!” he cried. “Their wheels are crooked!” Then he lapsed into silence again.
“That’s wine for you,” Blossom answered Strevit with a shrug. “The smaller they are, the more they drink. The more they drink, the bigger they think they are.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you a woman’s place was in the kitchen?” Rudi replied, taking personal slight at her remark. “But, then, I guess they don’t make kitchens big enough for you, do they?”
“Take him to the watch house,” Garett instructed, interrupting Blossom and Rudi before their constant needling could go any farther. “We’re headed there ourselves.” They resumed their walk up Rose Avenue, headed for Wharf Street, the only road in the Garden Quarter that wasn’t named after a flower or an herb, shrub, or tree. The watch house was located near the Cargo Gate in the heart of the busiest part of the Garden Quarter.
“What’s that?” Blossom asked, stopping abruptly to stare northeastward.
Garett had caught it, too, just out of the corner of his
eye. “A lightning flash,” he answered. “Look at those clouds. We’ll have rain again tonight.”
Another bolt lit up the sky even as they watched. “Never seen a lightning bolt shoot upward like that,” Strevit muttered doubtfully as he scratched his stubbled chin with his free hand. Even Wedger the merchant looked up to see.
“I don’t mean to be an alarmist,” Rudi commented in a low voice as a third bolt raked the night. “But notice where it seems to be coming from?”
“Iuz!” Garett cried, employing the chaotic god’s name in a rare curse as he started running with Rudi and Blossom at his heels. “The wizards’ guildhall!”
“Get out of here, and don’t let me see your ugly face again!” Strevit shouted as he pushed Wedger away. Then he and Deeve went running, too, leaving the drunken merchant in the dirt to wonder at his good luck.
A huge throng had gathered, attracted by the display, their numbers choking Wizards’ Row, the wide street that led to the front gate of the wizards’ keep. Every time a rippling bolt shot upward, the crowd gasped with pleasure and appreciation, clapped their hands, and called for more.
“It’s a fireworks show!” Blossom shouted in Garett’s ear, trying to make herself heard over the noise. “Just part of the celebration!”
Garett shook his head vigorously. “When did you ever hear of a mage wasting his power on such ostentation?” The crowd watched, wide-eyed with expectation, a sea of faces all turned upward. Then a collective sigh rose as a searing bolt of red crackled upward. Try as he might, Garett could force his way no closer to the guildhall. Worse, the masses were packing in behind him, too. Soon he would be trapped in the crowd.
Suddenly, a bolt shot downward, a blue-white tongue of energy that struck the highest tower of the guildhall and hurled a shower of glowing fragments into the air. The sound of the blast was barely audible over the excited gasps and cries and hand-clapping from the crowd.
“Think it’s still a part of the celebration, leaf-brain?” Rudi asked with a smirk to Blossom.
“What the hell is going on up there?” Deeve exclaimed, grabbing Garett’s sleeve as he leaned closer. “An explosion like that—people could get hurt!”
But Garett’s attention was riveted on the top of the tower, where a tall, slender figure in flowing white robes was climbing on top of the broken battlements. He glowed with a beatific, sourceless light, and the wind whipped his garments as he drew himself erect and stretched his hands toward the sky.
Garett had no doubt that it was Prestelan Sun himself.
Scarlet lightning flowed from the mage’s right hand, and immediately a second bolt followed from his left. For an instant, the sky lit up as bright as day as the two intersected and exploded. In that same instant, a different bolt lanced downward, straight for the lone figure on the top of the tower, but something stopped it. In the explosion, Garett thought he saw a faint green flickering of an arc, seemingly just a piece of light, that shielded Prestelan Sun.
The wind wailed in response. Prestelan Sun’s robes became an enemy as he stood upon the tower, and with a shrug he cast them off. The wind seized the garments, and they blew away like white, spastic birds, tossed on the currents.
The image was not lost on Garett. “Listen!” he said sharply to his comrades. “Do you hear them?”
“What?” Blossom said.
“Hear what?” Strevit echoed.
The crowd had quieted somewhat, waiting in anticipation of the next display.
“The birds!” Garett answered, staring overhead. “Listen to them!”
They flew overhead, circling, tiny shadows against the clouds and the darkness. Thousands of crows and other birds, all screeching and calling.
“So what?” Deeve shouted. “The show’s up there!”
Another bolt of energy raced up from Prestelan Sun’s hands, and again the arcing emerald barrier erupted, protecting him from an answering bolt. The clouds reflected the lightning, and the sky turned a dazzling color as another furious tongue licked upward.
Garett stared hard through the bright glow. The tension roared in his head and his heart hammered as his gaze swept the sky above Prestelan Sun and he waited for the next answering bolt. He intended to see the wizard’s foe this time, even if he had to burn out his eyes to do it!
A bolt of purest blue speared downward. Prestelan Sun did not hesitate this time, but thrust out his arms and spread his fingers, hurling a flurry of lightning bolts against the clouds, and once again the world flashed an eye-aching white. But Garett did not flinch or shield his vision this time, but forced his eyes to remain wide, though the light stabbed his brain. When he cried out, though, it was not from pain.
A huge black bird, ravenlike in form but fantastically large, soared on the air high above Prestelan Sun. Its wing-span was as wide as any cargo ship in the river, and the plumage on its breast glistened with the reflection of the fire its talons hurled. Even as Garett watched, an upward-thrusting bolt singed its left wing, and the feathers smoked. But the beast gyred away. Then, folding its wings in close to its body, it plummeted again, one claw extended. The talon flung lightning, smashing its energy uselessly against the wizard’s emerald shield as the bird pulled out of its dive and swept away to circle and attack again.
“Can you see it?” Garett shouted, grasping Blossom by the arm and pulling her face close to his. He pointed upward with a finger. “Watch there, when the lightning flashes. You have to catch it in a flash. Don’t blink!”
Blossom strained to see, and so did the other watchmen. At the next exchange, Blossom’s mouth fell open. “My gods!” she uttered in stunned amazement.
Strevit made a holy warding sign. “In Celestian’s name!”
“We’re in the stew for sure,” Rudi muttered.
Again lightning shot into the sky, and the crowd roared furiously with appreciation, oblivious to the battle being fought. Garett strained to follow the bird, feeling helpless, but once more, he thought, Prestelan Sun had singed the creature. The wizard’s green shield ignited and blocked the answering blast.
The giant bird wheeled about to attack, revealed, if one knew where to look, in the reflection in the clouds. It screamed this time as it plummeted toward Prestelan Sun. But this time, its bolt did not fly at the wizard or his shield. It smote the tower itself at the midpoint, exploding stone, filling the air with dust and stone fragments.
The tower trembled, and Prestelan Sun seemed to hesitate. The bird did not wait to turn. As it climbed away, it hurled another blast, again striking the tower. Prestelan Sun teetered and flung out his arms for balance. His answering bolt missed by a wide mark.
The crowd grew tense and quiet as the explosion echoed over their heads. At last, they seemed to sense that this was not a show for their amusement, not a part of the city’s celebration. They stirred uneasily, all eyes staring toward the tower.
“If this mob panics,” Blossom whispered worriedly in Garett’s ear, “it’s going to be hell.”
Garett didn’t answer. He watched as the great bird began what he knew would be its final dive. It had admitted the strength of Prestelan’s shield, but found another avenue of attack. He admired its strategy even as the horror of it gripped him. The creature swept downward in a rush. At the apex of its dive, it released its strongest attack yet. The bolt struck the tower with thundering force. Too late, Prestelan Sun fired back. Stone shattered and showered outward. The tower shivered and groaned and collapsed in a great gush of dust and fragments. Prestelan Sun opened his mouth in a soundless cry of despair and was engulfed.
The crowd, too, trembled. For a fearful instant, Garett thought they would turn in panic and flee, lest the destruction overtake them. Hundreds would be crushed or injured in the flight. But it was only an appreciative, stunned silence that followed. Then the crowd erupted in wild applause.
Blossom, with Burge out of commission, you’ll be the officer in charge of tomorrow night’s watch.” Garett, Blossom, and Rudi stood in the center of the Gr
and Citadel’s courtyard. Except for a pair of off-duty watchmen unable to sleep, who leaned against the outside of the barracks and chatted in low voices, they were alone. They hadn’t completed their inspection tour of the watch houses. After events at the wizards’ guildhall, Garett had insisted on returning straight to the Citadel.
“Why, Captain?” Blossom answered in surprise. “ou planning to go somewhere?”
She had meant it as a frivolous question, but Garett nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And if I’m not back by tomorrow night, you’ll have to cover for me again.”
“Just where do you intend to go?” Rudi asked quietly. “You haven’t missed a night walking watch in all the time I’ve known you. Not so much as a single night off.”
“Then I’m entitled, don’t you think?” Garett snapped gruffly. But he wasn’t really angry with Rudi. He kept thinking of Prestelan Sun’s magical shield, the way it had glowed with a pure emerald light when the great bird’s lightning struck it. In his dream, the sword, Guardian, had shimmered with that same glow. Mordenkainen had told him where to find it. He was sure now it wasn’t a dream. At least not entirely a dream. “The Mist Marsh,” he said, relenting. He clapped Rudi on the shoulder in friendly fashion. “I have to go to the Mist Marsh.”
“Then I’m going with you,” Rudi replied without asking the why or the wherefore. If his captain was going, he was going, too. For him, it was as simple as that.
“Count me in,” Blossom said. “If you’re looking for something, three pairs of eyes will be better than two. And if you run into trouble, my sword arm’s a damn sight better.” “Yes, the sewer rats tremble when they see you coming,” Rudi answered with a roll of his eyes.
Garett considered it. Both Rudi and Blossom were able comrades. He might indeed find the sword more quickly with their help. He stared off toward the barracks. “Do you think Burge is well enough to hold the fort?” he asked, turning to Rudi, who had last visited Burge in the infirmary.
D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch Page 19