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“Odd,” commented the Guildmaster, “I’d have sworn that you said it was a treasure. No matter…. But if it is no family heirloom, wherefrom came it?”
“Aha! You’re on to it, clever fellow. It is worth a bit of coin, and it does mean much to me. You guessed at the tale, so now I shall relate it for you!”
At first the guildmaster seemed interested, but after several minutes of preamble, he began to shift restlessly in his seat. He politely suggested that Gord get to the point. Gord assured him he was doing that, and then the young man went on to tell of a meeting with a devious gypsy and his band of sullen cutthroats, how they had tried to first dupe, then overwhelm him, and how he had finally slain the leader in single combat, thus gaining the ring.
At this, Arentol grumbled softly and abruptly excused himself to go to the jakes. After letting a couple of minutes pass in silence, San spoke.
“You’ve put him off, Gord,” he murmured with his flagon held before his mouth. “He’s suspicious of you now, and he’ll never stop until he finds out for sure, one way or another, whether you are who you claim to be.”
San cast a glance over his shoulder, checking to see if Arentol was on his way back to the table, while he waited for a response. Clearly nervous for himself as well as for his friend of old, he faced Gord again and with sad eyes gave him a last, whispered piece of advice. “You’d best get out of Greyhawk-while you can!”
Gord smiled but drained his cup instead of replying. The guildmaster returned, and within moments thereafter Sir Margus graciously took his leave.
Teline found the note first and read it aloud to Sunray: “My dear friends, I am so sorry I must leave without proper farewell, but a messenger from my family has brought me news that I am urgently required in Veluna. Do visit if you ever should come there! Your most loving servant, Margus.”
“What is this shit?” demanded Sunray.
Teline looked up from the note, her face contorted in anger. “The bastard has skipped with everything!” she shrieked.
That was a lie. Gord had left a pair of luckies next to the note.
Chapter 10
“Furl that sodomized sail, you mudsucking shitfoot!” The captain was not one to mince words, especially in the middle of a vicious storm.
“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Gord replied, tearing at the flapping canvas. He was near to being blown off the barge by the combined force of wind and sail, nearly blinded by the sheets of driven rain, and exhausted, but he obeyed as well as he could.
“Well, move your blasted buns then! How in hell can I save us all from visitin’ the bottom with the likes of you crewin’ this tub?!”
Gord had the sail in hand now, and several others of the Rhe
“Avast there, you blasters!” Gord heard the captain shouting in a bellow that managed to defeat the howl of the storm. “We need that gaff sail to keep her headed-” and then a shrieking blast of wind tore away the rest of the sentence.
Finished with the securing of the lug sail, he and the others hurried to the hatchway and ducked below deck. Gord didn’t envy the man on the tiller, the watch, or the captain during times like these. Conditions in the cramped, pitching below-deck area weren’t wonderful, but at least it was warm and dry.
After he left his farewell note at the Villa Noblesse, Gord had headed for the River Quarter. Without conscious effort, he took precautions so that his journey would go u
It had been easy to locate a Rhe
The barge had sailed that same day, beating slowly up the Selintan River, headed for the ports of call of the Nyr Dyv and beyond. Going upriver on such a craft was easy, if somewhat tedious. The barge was some six paces or so wide and not quite four times as long. Although it had a shallow draft, less than a fathom unless heavily loaded, so as to enable it to navigate shallow waters and be easily beached, it was equipped with a pair of side keels that were lowered to stabilize the craft when it sailed in deeper waters. The freeboard was quite high, and the rails planked stoutly for protection. The roundish bottom was planked over, as was the beck, to provide a secure space for cargo and crew, the latter being the “family” of the captain. The master, being “lord” of the barge, dwelt in an abovedeck cabin abaft.
Smaller versions of this sort of barge had but a single mast. This Gord had observed during his stay with the Rhe
Eventually they had left the banks of the Selintan behind and sailed out onto the deep blue of the Lake of Unknown Depths. When they left the green shores of the river astern, Gord had seen the crew getting out their armament. From below came scorpions, heavy crossbows, and jugs of lamp oil. The scorpions, huge crossbowlike engines designed to propel heavy missiles as large as lances nearly two furlongs, were set into their sockets at bow and stern. The normal crossbows were stowed near swivels mounted on the scantlings, or planked side rails. Missiles for both were likewise kept in side lockers against the time of their need. Finally, the oil pots were secured in netting along both starboard and port beams. One of the crewmen had informed Gord that the oil would be used in emergencies only-such as when some sea monster attacked and could not be driven off by any other means. The oil would be dumped upon the attacking creature, and in the surrounding water, and a torch set to all. The fire risk to the barge was obvious to even so green a lakefarer as Gord.
At first the Nyr Dyv’s azure waters had been as calm as a tranquil pool. Gord had not known how fortunate he had been then. Cursing the lack of wind, he had taken his turn rowing, unaware of the possible alternatives. When the wind began gusting next day, he had first thought himself blessed, but by that evening the heavy pitching and rolling of the barge had made him awfully, terribly sick. The night had been sheer torture, but next morning was worse. The wind howled around him at near gale force. The cold was acute, which caused him to shiver and made him feel even worse.
As bad as Gord felt, it occurred to him that the vessel seemed to be even sicker then he was. Its rigging shrieked as sails and lanyards were stressed to their limits. The barge tossed, and seemed likely to founder at any moment. Then Gord stopped thinking about his own misery as the storm struck in full force and the wind got even stronger. He had to do so many things that he forgot his seasickness.