City of Hawks

“All is done?” It was his apprentice, Halferd, who spoke.

Wa

“Yes. Both parents are gone away for a time, and there is much to be done if I am to fulfill my oath. First, I must arrange for the nurse who is to have care of the babe.”

“I’ll fetch her for you straight away, Master Wan-no,” Halferd murmured deferentially as he stepped toward the exit from the room.

“No.”

Halferd’s heart sank at that short utterance. Did the crusty old bastard suspect him of something?

“Yes, Master Wa

“You don’t know who I have decided upon to be the infant’s maid,” the hollow-eyed mage said as he began to fuss over the circle of runic inscriptions chalked on the floor around the cradle where the princeling slept. In fact, Wa

“Of course, master,” Halferd answered quickly. “May I ask who you have selected?”

“You may not,” Wa

His lips pressed into a tight line, Halferd bobbed his head just as if he were an apprentice lad, not the able sorcerer he actually was. “I will complete a threefold warding, master, and stand alertly on guard until you return.”

Wa

Hawks? The man really is begi

When Wa

Halferd tightened his grip on the ebon-hued wood. “I carry out my duty to guard the babe,” he said, letting his eyes meet Wa

Then something seemed to alert Wa

Wa

“I see,” Wa

Halferd coughed and shuffled his feet. He didn’t hand the twisted length of ancient yew to Wa

Coldness suddenly flowed through the mage’s veins. Here was vile treachery unmasked! Wa

Smiling slightly, Wa

“Place my staff most gently upon the floor, boy,” the mage commanded, “and then I will permit you to speak.” He saw Halferd break into a sweat and begin trembling slightly.

“No!” Halferd shouted, but at the same time he started lowering the staff. Then he began to shake more, and his body was wracked by a fit of coughing and gasping. He tried to talk, but explosive bursts of air and desperate indrawings of breath between the hacking coughs prevented meaningful speech.

This was very odd, Wa

Too late indeed… As Wa

“That’s done him!” The voice was jubilant, harsh.

“Shut up, you silly blaster, and do the same for the sprat!” the other man ordered. The bigger and meaner-looking of the pair held a long, wavy-bladed dirk whose metal glinted with an ugly purple sheen where it wasn’t smeared with bright red blood. The man he spoke to was slighter and uglier. Both were clad in deep gray and wore felt-soled boots. Any resident of the city could have identified them instantly-assassins of the guild. Denizens of either the lowest dives of Greyhawk or of its high places might have been able to do more than tell one what they were; these were two of the greatest assassins in the whole city. Alburt, known by some as Goodarm, was the dirk-wielding leader of the pair. He spoke to Slono Spotless, held in only slightly less awe than Alburt himself by those who knew of them.