"What have I to do with that? Stop threatening me, or allow me to arm myself and I'll gladly oblige you in a contest of honor."

Gord grudgingly accorded the fellow courage in addition to the respect he had already mentally given to Kesterin's quickness. Neither, however, mattered a jot now. "Not a chance. You will speak all you know about the matter of Xestrazy, Ageelia, Basil, and myself now. If you don't, there will be no need for you to flee Greyhawk to avoid the killer who seeks you, for I'll do the job before he can!"

Kesterin grew very pale at that. "You know I am a marked man, then ... as are you, Gord," the fellow added. With urgent sincerity, Kesterin said, "Come, Gord the hunted thief, set aside whatever course you follow now and leave the city with me tomorrow. I have means and a sure way to pass undetected. Once well away I will give you half of the money I have, if you wish, and you can go your own way. I care nothing for killers and dead men. I mean to live!"

"Then stop babbling of other things, and tell me all you know of the plot, or I vow I’ll send you on a journey to the other planes here and now."

"You are a fool," Kesterin said with a shrug, "but if you choose to ignore my offer and die, that is your affair. A waste, but what the hell?" The man made a wry face and began telling what he knew.

"Basil was approached by a man calling himself Raynald. Basil didn't tell me much, you know. From what I overheard, though, and from Basil's comments, I think that the Thieves Guild and the Assassins Guild were both bent on defrauding someone — you, I suppose — and there was more to the plan, too. Basil wasn't sure about the latter, but he suspected that the whole hoodwinking operation was only a part of something bigger. He said they needed lots of cash in a hurry."

"Lots of cash," Gord mused. "What would they need lots of cash for?"

"Basil said they needed to buy the services of some very influential people — that much he did pick up from snatches of conversation he overheard," Kesterin offered.

"Anything else?"

"That's truly all I know."

"You never saw anyone other than this Raynald?"

"No. He and Basil were the only ones."

Gord was stymied. Then he demanded, "What did Raynald took like?"

A distant look came into Kesterin's eyes. "I only saw him once, and let me tell you I was jealous! Raynald is as beautiful as a demigod, I'll tell you. His hair is bright yellow, and his body is wonderful! He's taller than I even, and his smile is enough to set your heart pitter-patting. I warned Basil—"

"Were his eyes greenish?" Gord demanded.

"Well. . . yes, sort of. I'd call them hazel."

Gord was silent for a moment. Then he asked.

"What were the professor and the other fat man doing in here a while ago? Are they part of this?"

"No — at least I hope not!" Kesterin said.

"Then what was their business here?"

"They're just personal friends — you know, a man cant have too many— "

"Never mind! I'm sorry I asked!" Gord snapped, and then he suddenly remembered something. "His left arm — did Raynald have a curved scar on his left forearm?"

Just then there were shouts and cries from below. The bedlam caused Gord to turn involuntarily to see if someone would come through the door. Kesterin took the opportunity to act. In the moment that Gord's distraction allowed, the fellow grabbed his sword and had it drawn before the young adventurer could prevent it. Backing away from Gord's dagger, sword before him, Kesterin grinned and said, "Enough of this cross-examination now, Gord dearest. You have all I know. I'm going to leave this place now. Will you come with?"

Gord shook his head, grim-faced. "The scar?"

Kesterin slung his cloak over his shoulders one-handed. "Perhaps. ... I don't really recall," he replied as he grabbed a pair of saddlebags with his left hand and headed for the shuttered window. "I'm glad you don't want to fight, Gord. It would be a pity to damage your good looks. Perhaps we'll meet again under more friendly conditions. Until then, try to stay alive." As he fumbled the shutters open and went through the opening, he added, "And do blow a kiss to that dirty old Maust from me!" Then Kesterin was gone, laughing, into the night.

It would have been easy for Gord to pursue him, but the young thief didn't bother. He'd learned everything the fellow knew, probably, and Summer might be in desperate straits downstairs. Why he should worry about someone who had given him so much difficulty, a woman he had only met minutes ago, Gord didn't know. She had gone to help him, and she had done something helpful indeed. He had never thought to have time for such extensive questioning of Kesterin. Now he'd repay her.

A short dash brought Gord into the common room. The place was a shambles. Maust and several of his henchmen were threatening Summer with drawn swords. Summer was backed into a corner, a short wand of bone pointed threateningly at the men, so that they were reluctant to attack. The standoff would end as soon as one gathered sufficient courage to rush in. When that happened, the woman would certainty be slain. The rest of the room, meanwhile, was in a wild turmoil. A half-dozen patrons brawled in the wreckage, while an hysterically laughing mercenary watched two of his comrades fending off dogs that winked in and put of existence. The barkeep stood rigidly watching this whole confused scene, as a berobed scholar sat playing with his fingers before the statue-like barman, asking if the immobile fellow would like to see some "tricks." The assessment took but moments, then Gord leaped into action. Literally.

"Ungh!"

The man Gord landed on fell from the force of the heels driven into his shoulders. The fellow was large, but he collapsed, and the fall knocked his breath from him with a whooshing sound. The sword he was trying to swing spun from his grasp, and Gord grabbed the blade in mid-air. In a single, smooth motion, the young adventurer threw himself upward in a back-flip, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and landed behind the four men threatening Summer. He was just in time, for one was yelling and stepping toward the woman.

There was no time to think, Gord acted instinctively. With a quick toss, he sent the long sword between the fellow's legs, kicked the nearest man in the ankle, and jabbed his dagger into the rump of Maust As one man tripped, another hopped in pain, and Maust howled in indignity at the outrage just perpetrated upon his posterior, Gord shot through the gap his furious activity had just created, grabbed the blonde spell-caster by one arm, and headed pell-mell for the exit.

"Wait! Let me nail them with my wa—"

"Run, blast it! Gord shouted at her. Jerking Summer along despite her protests, Gord managed to get them both out the front door of the inn of the Seven Quills. Dragging her still, Gord and Summer bulled through a gathering throng of students and other folk attracted by the noise. "Come on. hurry!" he urged as he towed her into a dark, narrow passage between two buildings. "I can't see!"

"Neither can I." Gord said, "but it's better than being caught!"

Just then he smacked into a wall, for the passage turned at right angles. Gord rebounded and Summer tried to catch him. Both fell in a heap, the young thief landing atop the woman.

"I’ve dropped my wand," she cried in despair.

"Oh shit! Forget it We have to get out of here." Gord said, struggling to his feet and wiping his forehead where a trickle of blood ran into his eye.

Summer was on her hands and knees, desperately feeling around the dirty pavement for the lost wand. "The hells, you say!" she shot back grimly. "I'm not going anywhere until I find my wand!"

Gord fairly danced, torn between the desire to get as far away as possible and the strong urge to never desert a comrade-in-arms in time of trouble.