would be too dangerous out there if you were alone. Stay and we'll work out what's to be done next.'
Summer hugged him happily. Thanks, Gord,' she said gratefully, and then she kissed him.
Gord assumed the caress would amount to no more than a gesture of alliance, but Summer's lips responded with fervor to his gentle insistence to continue the kiss. For the first time since his brief affair with Ageelia, Gord felt the passion within him beginning to stir. The young rogue rewarded the woman's favorable reaction to his continued probing with a strong embrace and then, gently lowering her to the goatskin couch, he began to run his ' hands over the soft curves that were well-defined even beneath two layers of garments.
'Is this the time for-' the woman started to ask. Gord's fingers worked their way down the length of her body and her sentence was cut off by her own sharp intake of breath. After that all bets were off!
Summer returned his exploratory actions with appreciable skill. The couple was sprawled out on the couch. Summer on top, laughing. They teased and wrestled each other, neither in any hurry to consummate the encounter.
After several hours, although the pair on the couch would have guessed mere minutes, their bodies began to thrash about with a frenzy. There was nothing gentle about the way Gord handled the woman now. Soon only murmurings and gasped words were heard.
'I guess we're partners in this now,' Summer giggled, coquettishly twirling a strand of blonde hair around one finger.
'What can I say?' Gord responded. 'But just remember, I did try to keep you out of it!'
'I'd never dream of trying to keep you out of it!'
'That's. . never mind. This is serious. I'm the next target for extinction by some unknown killer who destroys the very soul of his victims when he murders them! Now you're probably marked, too.'
'What are you going to do? Can you figure out who's doing this?'
Gord sat up and fumbled around until he found a scrap of paper and a stick of pressed charcoal. He scribbled several words before answering. 'Summer, I think I know who is involved. I don't know how and why, but I'll find that out soon enough.'
'Don't keep me in suspense, love, tell me!' she begged.
'No, not just yet. First I’m going to take a little trip across town to look up an old associate. Then I’ll have the answers I lack now. When I do, I’ll tell you everything.'
'How about letting me go along? I’m pretty handy in a tight situation, you know.'
'That's fair truth, woman,' he replied, with appreciation on several levels. 'However, this little jaunt won't require any dweomer casting. Just plain old work common to the craft of thievery. You stay here and wait. Don't go out for any reason. I'll be back before mid-morning.'
The old associate Gord referred to was an old assassin named Albin. Gord quickly traveled across town and entered Albin's apartment with ease. After surprising the man, quickly overtaking him and trussing him up, Gord stood leaning on his sword, a look of determination plainly written across his fiace.
Albin was no hero. He might be able to bring death to others casually, but where his own demise was concerned, Albin was far more deliberate. 'The orders came from the top, the very top. That's all I was told. I do what I’m told. Gord, you should know that,' he finished in a whine.
'Sure, Albin, and you attend services every Gods-day like your mommy told you when you were just a nipper,' Gord retorted in a voice heavy with sarcasm. He knew the old devil too well.
'Come on, Gord,' the assassin wheedled. 'We've known each other for a long time. I would never set you up or even finger you. All I knew was that a mark had been set up, and that everyone would make a big score.'
'What about the murders? As a master of the council, you must have been informed,' Gord said as he leaned on his sword. The weapon didn't actually threaten him, but the killer knew that the young man holding it would not hesitate to run its sharp-edged length through his gut if he thought Albin was stringing him along with lies. Albin didn't like that thought at all.
'What I said about that before is gospel, Gord. I can't tell you anything else.'
'Okay. You're lucky, old chap. I believe you so I’ll allow you to live. See you around, Albin.'
'Don't leave me here tied up! They'll know when they find me. You know what'll happen then. . '
'Take your chances, chump. You should have thought of who you were playing with before you joined the assassination game. Bye!',
Next came someone from the distant past. Albin had given Gord enough to enable him to find who he was looking for without any problems. As if reliving past actions, Gord was back in the Enclave, not far from the dwelling of the dead fence, Basil. Among the trade buildings he looked for a tall, rectangular one set back off the arteries, as if a storehouse. There was just enough light from the false dawn's milky paling to discover the place desired. It was of old brick and quarried limestone. Weathered and deserted-looking.
Gord rubbed his palms together briskly and began to climb. He pressed himself against the rough surface, becoming one with the stones and bricks. Fingertips here, boot there, always three firm holds before moving upward. The roof projected about three feet from the wall. That didn't bother Gord in the least. Keeping a firm hold, he reached up and back with his right arm. His fingers felt the edge, slid around, located a rough, steady place along the edge above. He let go with his left hand and feet, swinging by one arm fifty feet above the pavement, the wind whipping his cloak in a flapping streamer, almost as if he had wings. With his left hand Gord explored until he found another secure hold. Then he pulled himself up to the steeply pitched slate roof.
Now came the most difficult part, for the slates were not firm, and he had to press flattened palms and squirm upward with shoulders, chest, belly and thighs. His feet were used more to check any slip than to propel him up the slope. Bits of slate slipped but none fell. As difficult as the last part of the climb was, Gord managed it rather quickly and without mishap.
The slanting roof ended abruptly. It surrounded a shaft about twenty or so feet deep. Around this shaft were windows and doors. The upper two stories of the building housed a penthouse of sorts, sheltered from view. There was a little garden in the depression and Gord could hear the splash and tinkle of a fountain playing in the darkness yet unpierced by the coming sun. There was more splashing, and what sounded almost like a soft hooting, several giggles, and a man's laugh. Gord didn't hesitate. Grabbing the inner edge of the roof, he somersaulted, slowing the tumble by holding on a moment, then plummeted down the remaining distance into the enclosed garden.
The soft thud of his landing and the sound of his roll and slapping contact coming erect alerted the man depositing himself in the fountain's pool. He jumped out, trying to reach his sword, the two girls with him shrieking and getting in his way as they reacted to the noise and the man's evident fear. 'Who the hells dares to enter here uninvited?' the man blustered in a deep voice as he managed to get his weapon in hand.
'I thought it acceptable to drop in on an old associate, Sunray. … Or do you prefer to be called Raynald these days?'
'Gord? How did you escape the Prae. ..' His question died for he could think of nothing to cover the slip.
'Don't concern yourself. Sunny-boy. Lies won't save you, I know the whole rotten truth,' Gord lied, sure that Sunray would have no way of knowing any differently. 'I’ve come to even the score.'
'That's a laugh, you cheap little rogue,' the tall, handsome man said without humor. 'You just got what was coming to you — or you will soon. You couldn't take me before, and you're no better now. 'You're dead if you try to get away, and if you stay I’ll kill you!'
Now it was Gord's turn to mock, but his laughter was real. 'A blowhard and a braggart still, Raynald! You were a worse thief than I always. A fumble-fingered, blabber-mouthed egoist. Worst of all for you. Sunny-boy, you can't use a sword worth shit'
The taller man backed toward an open door fading into the penthouse. The doxies who had been entertaining him had disappeared through it as the two antagonists fenced with words. Raynald now seemed intent on retreating there himself.
'Running inside won't save your fat ass,' Gord said, sliding forward rapidly, eyes never leaving his opponent.
Raynald never replied. He turned and dashed into the doorway, pulling a drape across the opening. Gord followed in leaps and bounds as a cat moves. With a slash of his dagger, the drapery was gone. Gord then crouched low, instinctively. A buzzing above his head made him glad he did. The crossbow bolt's wind ruffled his dark hair in passing.
Still low, the young thief dashed inside, moving quickly to the right, for the bolt seemed to have come from the left. Such a weapon took too long to reload, and Gord knew that his enemy would be waiting with sword once
