Gord was anxiously awaiting the second interview, as it were, with the seneschal, when he heard a sharp rapping at the huge slab of rosewood that closed his antechamber from the hall without. Gord jumped up, took a step, then stood still and composed himself. “Enter, please,” he said loudly.
The thick door with its gleaming panels of fine-grained wood swung inward, and through the portal stepped not Lord Lowen but Rexfelis himself. His face was graven, his eyes unsmiling. “You assaulted one of my own blood,” he said heavily.
“That is correct,” Gord replied.
“Have you any excuse?”
“None, Lord Rexfelis.”
“Do you plead for mercy?”
“No, Lord, that I will not stoop to. I have made my peace with Lord Lurajal, and I have settled my own thoughts as well. I am ready to accept your judgment squarely.”
“It is this,” the Lord of Cats said slowly. “You accepted a challenge from one who unjustly interfered in an affair not his own, you fought all too well, and then spared the instigator and his lot too, if I am a judge of such matters. Your conduct was correct, noble, and above reproach. Nonetheless, you did bodily harm to one of my blood, so I must mete out a fair punishment,” the Master of Cats said as he fixed his gaze upon the young adventurer.
Gord managed to return the look without wavering. “Which is?”
“You will offer apologies to all concerned-Lurajal, Raug, even Lady Tirrip. They will accept them, I will see to that. Then all of you will accompany me to my audience hall. There I will hold the ceremony necessary to make you an officer of my lands, a knight more or less, to put it into human terms.”
Gord was thunderstruck “I… I… It is a most undeserved honor, Lord Rexfelis,” he managed to stammer. “But… but why?”
“Lord Lowen pointed out that as long as you are here, you are likely to be at odds with Lord Raug and his lot-silly stuff, but typical of immature toms, I know. He suggested the honor, and I could not deny the sense in it. After all, there is no insult or injury when a peer accepts a challenge from another-even if that other be of royal lineage.”
Gord dropped to one knee, speaking his thanks freely. “It is a most royal and generous favor-”
“Up, up. Enough of that! Think you that I am unaware of your honors elsewhere? Your actions in Greyhawk have been of mixed sort, often dubious, but are you not also an honored member of that city now?”
“Well, yes, I suppose…”
“No supposing about it, sir, none at all. Think you not that we lords speak not with each other? Those of Balance commend you. He of All Shadows more than that! Well, now you have noble status on fully three planes, my fine young sir thief! Material, Shadow, and Catsreach all-you have justly deserved respect on all three. I am not to be outdone!”
In fact, Rexfelis was not to be outdone. When the apologies were finished, he personally led the train into the chamber where a ceremony full of pomp and ritual was duly conducted by various officials and presided over by Rexfelis. From his own hand he bestowed the honor upon Gord, making the young man a Leopard Guardian, Lone Chevalier Sentinel, Duke of Catsreach, Protector of All Felines, and so on and so forth.
When it was all finished, however, Tirrip and Raug and their coterie left with scarcely a word. With them went several others with whom Gord was virtually unacquainted, although he had seen them around and spoken briefly and formally with one or another on occasion. He shook his head, wondering what the outcome of all this would be.
Lurajal stood close by. He placed his hand on the young thief’s shoulder in comradely fashion. “Congratulations, Lord Gord,” he said with hearty warmth. “I bear no grudge, you know; I would call myself your friend, if you would take no offense.”
“Offense? Why, no, quite the contrary,” Gord said with a smile, and he extended his hand.
Lurajal shook it vigorously. “Then friends we are! You’ll need all you can get now, I think,” the fellow added. “Both tigers-long-toothed and short-are ranged against you, so too the ancient ones of liondom and the lions of the mountains. Old Lowen will take no such stance, but his sprat will certainly troupe with those others, Lynxkind is not in attendance, nor is the Royal House of Leopards-save that you hold honorary grant to a position therein. That will probably mean their support, should their number ever come to this court again. Thus fully five are certainly ranged against you, Gord.”
“Five what?”
“Five of the nine Royal Houses. There are three noble ones as well-Domesticus, Ocelotus, and Jaguarundis, my distant kin. The primordial demesnes belong to House Smilodon and Paleoleo. The ancestral fiefs are Tiger, Lion, Jaguar, and Catamount. Last, but not least, are the estates of Leopard, Cheetah, and Lynx. Each is ruled by a royal scion of our liege, Catlord Rexfelis.”
“I see…”
“And so much for lessons, my friend,” Lurajal said under his breath. “Here comes Lord Sergetta and his lady. Welcome them warmly, for he is the Prince of Cheetahs-you need all the support you can get.” So it went. In the end, the only ones who showed their friendship were Lord Lurajal and the lords of the cheetahs. Those of the house of Lynxkind arrived late and did stay at the festivities, but made no formal introduction of themselves.
It was like a game to Lurajal. The Lord of Jaguars was strong, honest, and sincere. He loved the intrigue; this was evident and plain to see. In short, Gord thought, his friend was a staunch ally but no sage, to put it kindly. Plain to see, it was Lurajal and Gord alone against the faction of Raug and Tirrip. The noble Sergettas were friendly, but not directly aligned. Lord Lowen was neutral, as were the nobles of the last of the nine houses. Some faction! Some intrigue!
“I would see my own land again,” Gord finally said aloud one day.
“What, Oerth? That place is a pesthole!”
“True enough, at least in part,” Gord admitted to his friend, “but it is a broad and many-faceted place. If the factions of one place are bothersome to you, you need simply ride somewhere else in the Flanaess or even beyond.”
Lurajal was unconvinced. “There is virtually no end to this plane of our liege lord’s-my plane, and yours now too, Gord!”
The young man smiled at Lurajal and then tilted his head slightly. “It is not home.”
Lurajal didn’t have a reply for that. Eventually he met Rexfelis at an opportune moment and mentioned to the Catlord the difficulties he and Gord were having. “Yes, prince,” he said in reply to the golden-eyed noble’s statements. “I am all too aware of the growing unease in my court which the hotheads are creating with their petty squabbles and grudges. It is time for you to return to your personal fief-only a short interlude, Lurajal, rest assured.”
“What of Gord, sire?”
Rexfelis gave the Prince of Jaguars his best smile. “You are so stout and true a one. Put you on a track and you will not swerve, will you?”
“Never, my liege!”
“Just so. Gord too is like that, in his own fashion. That is why you two are boon companions. Well, as to him, I have spoken with… old associates of mine, shall we say. They have some interest in him and his employment.”
“Is he to be bound over as if he were some serf or apprentice?”
“No, not at all,” Rexfelis laughed, reassuring the honest-faced fellow as he expressed his mirth. “Think of it as a sort of noble service for a just and worthy cause. After all, Gord does grow bored and restless here. He himself fans the flames of the antagonism between my kin because it gives him something to keep his interest. It is an unconscious thing, I am sure, but effective nonetheless.”
“Well…”
“Yes. It is well. You shall be off to attend to your domain for a time, and I shall personally accompany your friend, Gord, on the first portion of the journey that lies in store for him.”