"What? What are you doing here?" Xestrazy sputtered. The man was livid as he turned for a moment to eye Ageelia suspiciously.
"Watch out, you fool!" the girl screamed at him. "Can't you see he has his sword drawn?"
Gord laughed louder at this. "My dear friends, why the hysterics?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I merely thought to take a bracing little voyage to clear my unusually muddled brain this morn — something I drank, perhaps. How charming to encounter you here, too!"
Xestrazy drew a long, slender sword from beneath his cloak. Its curious shape told Gord it was some form of yataghan, with a needle point and wickedly sharp inner-edged cutting surface. The dark-faced Malik made no reply to Gord's taunting, nor did he look again at Ageelia. With economy of motion and no hint of fear. Xestrazy sprang up out of the low portion of the barge to confront the challenge. "You should have stayed sleeping, you stupid boy. Now I shall have to slay you."
As he spoke the man lunged, his foot stamping down to add force to his thrust. Gord managed to jump back, barely avoiding being skewered as the yataghan shot forth a foot farther than Gord thought possible. "You are a long-armed ape, old man!" he said with a laugh he didn't feel. "But you are so slow and predictable, too. Try this!"
Suddenly Gord was armed with both shortsword and dagger, and he whirled in to press a flurry of cuts and thrusts upon the taller adversary with the longer blade. Had the dagger not been in his left hand to serve as a parrying weapon, Gord would have been killed in the hot action that followed. The dark Bakluni was fast and a superb swordsman. In moments Gord was bleeding from several slight wounds, while Xestrazy had not a scratch upon him. Gord retreated, calming himself, and using all of his concentration now. Clearly, he could expect no help from the captain and the crew of the barge; several seamen had been drawn by the commotion but were remaining a judiciously safe distance away from the combatants. Gord realized this would be a long fencing match, and he would need every ounce of energy, every trick he knew, if he hoped to win.
"Not bad for a youth," Xestrazy said from between clenched teeth. His face was set with a look of confidence as the Bakluni again advanced. After several passes where neither man scored a hit on the other, Gord finally managed to pink the taller fellow. The wound was slight, but it was in his sword arm. Ageelia stopped calling encouragement to Xestrazy when that happened, but she resumed her urging soon enough after he spoke to Gord.
Ignoring her comments, Gord concentrated and attacked again. "And this?" he shouted as he moved into a lunge that he believed would catch the dark Malik unprepared. Instead, the tall Bakluni managed to twist aside so that the short, straight brand pierced nothing more than his baggy tunic. Xestrazy smiled broadly and laughed, revealing gleaming white teeth as he did so. His left hand shot out and gripped Gord's right arm with the strength of a vise. The yataghan rose, hesitated, then fell.
Ageelia cried aloud.
Xestrazy glared at his foe, looking down at the young thief with hate-filled eyes. They stood this way for several heartbeats. Blood ran from Gord's side where the yataghan had slashed it, but the wound was a minor one. The majority of the rapidly spreading pool of blood that now stained the deck of the barge came from the body of Xestrazy.
"How . . . ?" Xestrazy asked in a small, choked voice.
"You thought mail would save you from the long fang of my dagger?" Gord asked with a little laugh of his own. "Ah, but the blade is enchanted and bites through steel as easily as if it were butter. You were as good as dead when you first grabbed me and held me fast."
The paling Baklunlsh mountebank looked slowly down at his chest Gord's dagger had entered his body below the navel and cut upward to the breastbone, from where its point had pierced the man's heart. Chunks of silvery mail showed through rent tunic and blood. Without further word or gesture, Xestrazy fell dead at Gord's feet.
"This one would have been a boon companion under different circumstances," Gord mused aloud as he tried to catch his breath. Then a scream split the air.
Ageelia, witnessing the death of her lover and reacting in panic, grabbed the leather case filled with the ill-gotten coins. What she thought to do, Gord could not imagine. As he stood and watched for what seemed like minutes but was actually only a few seconds, she ran to the side of the barge, which was now in mid-channel. In one steady, swift motion, she flung her burden overboard and then attempted to leap after it. But the case struck the edge of the raised side, teetered, and then fell overboard. In the process, Ageelia's foot was caught in the long strap handle that held the container shut. The strap pulled tight around her ankle and pulled her into the water as the case fell, and the coins within it served as an anchor.
"No!" Gord screamed in agony, stumbling to where the girl had gone into the water. He thought he could make out the stream of Ageelia's long, black hair disappearing into the depths of the Gray Run just as the valves of the dam swung open and the barge shot forward in the rush of the water.
Some of the crewmen and the captain of the vessel now approached Gord. "What was that all about? Is your wound mortal?" the captain asked the injured thief.
"This? Nay, it is but a cutting of the flesh which will heal in a week, leaving naught but a slight scar as a trophy." Gord answered as he pressed a torn piece of the dead man's cloak to his side to stanch the flow of blood. "As to what happened, it was a matter of honor grown out of hand. The woman was the cause, and she has been served accordingly by powers greater than mine."
The captain shrugged and said nothing in reply. He gestured, and the crew members turned and headed back to their duties.
"Here," said Gord to the blank-faced master of the barge. Take this silver noble for your trouble, and drop me ashore at Longgate or the great South-gate Quay. I care not which."
The bargeman nodded and turned away to oversee his charge. Thus, he failed to see Gord staring back at the waters of the Gray Run with tears trickling down his face. It would be long and even longer still before that countenance would know laughter again.
Cat or Pigeon?
IN THE SOUTH CENTRAL PART of Greyhawk, at a point where the Halls District abuts the area called Clerksburg, there can be found a number of theaters and halls where plays and musical performances are staged on a regular basis. Surrounding these centers of culture are houses providing food, inns of good quality, saloons, and taverns where one can eat, drink, socialize and be further entertained before and after the staged performances.
In an out-of-the-way area where the maze of lanes, side streets, and alleys take the bon vivant away from the busy thoroughfare, there are cellars and cabarets where performers, artists, intellectuals, and other sorts of nonconformists gather. Many students can be found in such places, for the colleges are but a little way from this sector. Batwing Lane is one of these byways, and in a small cul-de-sac, just off the narrow passage between the tall buildings that loom over the lane like canyon walls, is a flight of steps, eight to be exact leading to a tunnel.
An oddly shaped wheel with varying scenes depicted around it hangs above a door in semi-darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Those ascending these steps after having been exposed to bright daylight must have sharp eyes to be able to discern the markings on this strange advertisement. An unusually keen observer, after having viewed it several times, would note that the sign's octagonal sides are periodically rotated in a clockwise fashion. The tunnel beyond the display leads to a cellar bistro named The Turning Wheel. It is at this location that one of Greyhawk's most infamous citizens unwittingly begins an adventure that will find him, before its completion, the principal participant in a dangerous mission on behalf of the city he loves above all others.