Gord had changed but little since the day he’d quitted the pursuit of knowledge and resumed his profession. By then, at the age of sixteen, he had grown to some five and one-half feet in height, and his skinny frame had filled out with lean muscle. His beard had been heavy and dark then too, and his voice surprisingly deep for one with such slight build. His skill at disguise and acting enabled him to appear younger or older as he desired. Now, Gord could be a lad of fifteen or sixteen, or a young man in his early twenties, according to need.
Ever since his first introduction to disciplined physical exercise, he had grasped its vital importance to his continued success, and Gord never abandoned the routine of workouts and rigorous effort. And he had made an effort to keep improving himself in other ways as well, gaining instruction and information from whatever source was available. Gord was a quick study and a good student in all ways. His gray eyes showed that he took things seriously, and that he had purpose. He was never satisfied that he had learned enough about some subject, although he understood that he must sometimes abandon one course in order to examine another more fully.
Of all his studies in Clerkburg, Gord had most hated to give up the weapon work. Returning for regular sessions to the university district would have been impossible; but, of course, there were other weaponmasters in Greyhawk, so Gord had managed to continue his learning. The problem was that each change of identity required a change of tutor. Appearances might deceive, but never fighting style. Any swordmaster who had engaged in weaponplay with Gord would recognize his style blindfolded, in a manner of speaking. That he would soon run out of instructors bothered Gord not a little.
Teline had not committed herself to either Sunray or himself, and that bothered Gord far more. His concern came from the friction it caused between them as much as from his desire for her, and that was the truth. Gord had pondered the situation at length. There were plenty of other beautiful and talented women in Greyhawk. He wanted Teline, but if she chose Sunray over him, that would be an acceptable turn of fate, and he could look elsewhere for companionship.
It seemed that feline enjoyed the rivalry too much to make a choice, however, and the resulting strain upon the two young men was eroding the mutually beneficial relationship they had all enjoyed in the past. The three of them used to do everything together, but now either Sunray or Gord was alone half the time. Gord planned capers for himself and Teline, and Sunray likewise developed adventures that left Gord on the outside. Gord had been left alone on this night, actually, and had been none too pleased with the fact. Thus, he acted a bit rashly in once again donning his Sir Margus guise and venturing forth to see what delights the night might hold.
No linkboy was needed to light the streets in High Quarter. Cressets and lamps hung from its buildings made the streets bright enough. No escort was necessary either, for the broad thoroughfares were well-patrolled by the Watch and observed by many private guards in addition. Gord had no need for either torchbearer or protector, having grown up in the darkness and danger of the Old City’s worst sections, but as a Velunese knight of few years and unknown capabilities visiting the metropolis of Greyhawk, he would have been obliged to have them for show had the quarter been anything other than it was. He determined to stay within the warmly illuminated avenues of the place, and to stray neither into its more dimly lit, seductive byways nor beyond its boundaries. With him, as always, was the small sword of finest craftsmanship, which he had disguised with gold wire and gewgaws to appear the trapping of a dandy rather than a weapon, and his familiar old dagger and knife. The former, also embellished, hung at his right hip; the latter was nestled out of sight in his boot. His purse contained a total of five orbs value, in various types of coin-enough for fun and sportive gaming. The remainder of his winnings, and the rest of other successes too, was cleverly hidden as usual. Not even Sunray or Teline knew where he secreted this wealth. Damn them both! He would have his amusement without further thought of either.
Avoiding the Patricians’ Club, the establishment in which he’d outfoxed Lord Dolph, he walked away from The Citadel toward the less prosperous section where High and Garden Quarters met. There was more excitement to be had there, and less risk posing as a Velunese. It was unlikely that he’d run into anyone thereabouts who knew Sir Margus. He strolled toward the door of the Nymph and Satyr, selected it as a good place to begin, and in a minute was seated and quaffing his first tankard, casually observing the clientele.
“Sir Margus, how pleasant to find you here!” The voice from just behind his shoulder startled Gord, for he usually detected any nearby presence-a sixth sense, almost. He turned hurriedly to cover his confusion. It was Arentol, and the guildmaster was smiling slightly.
“I was just speaking of your marvelous success the other evening,” he said. “Allow me to introduce my associate to you, for he was fascinated by the tale.” Arentol turned and beckoned. From the shadow of a nearby pillar stepped someone Gord knew well.
“Master San of Warwell, may I present Sir Margus of the noble Velunese House of Leewes. Sir Margus, Master San.”
Gord kept his eyes fixed on his old friend’s face, but San never showed a hint of recognition. Blandly, San responded, “An honor indeed, sir,” and gave a slight bow.
Arentol was not finished. “Come and join us at our table, please! We two are poor company, but we offer fine drink and a willing ear for your stories of far Veluna and your travels.” The guildmaster was all warmth and smiles as he touched Gord’s arm and gestured in the direction of his table across the room.
“It will be my distinct pleasure, Honorable Guildmaster-and master… San? Yes. Yes, by all means!” said Gord with equal friendliness, moving with them. “Let us share a cup or two, and I shall gladly tell you all about my wonderful homeland and the exciting adventures I have experienced since leaving that fair place.” Gord gave both fellows an ingenuous smile. “Serving maid!” he cried out as they reached the table. “We need your ministrations here!”
If the Lord of Greyhawk’s head thief thought to test Gord on his knowledge of Veluna and the lands around, he had not reckoned with that worthy’s previous schooling. While Gord had never been more than a mile beyond the walls that encircled the city, he had spent many hours reading history, studying geography, and hearing lectures on such faraway places. Perhaps Arentol thought San’s smiles were due to the elaborate lengths Gord went to in the near-monolog that ensued, or perhaps he attributed the cheerfulness to the young man’s ability to storytell. Gord knew that his old chum was secretly laughing deep inside as Gord related, nearly word for word, what both had heard from a particularly dry and windy professor. Gord intermixed a bit of his own fanciful creations withal, but the context was unmistakable.
Finally, after nearly two hours, and many draughts of the most expensive liquor the establishment offered, Arentol broke in. “And that ring on your finger? As I recall, you said it was a valuable family heirloom when you wagered it at the game.”
“Ring?” Gord allowed his gaze to move idly to the piece of jewelry on his finger as his mind raced. He had underestimated the guildmaster. A mistake.
“You mean this?” he said, holding up the chrysoberyl and moving it slightly so that the large green cat’s-eye winked back and forth in the light. “Great Pholtus, no! This trantlum is no family treasure, I mean.” Gord used his utmost duplicity to make the whole sound like indifferent and demeaning speech.