assassins I know and questioning them — painfully if necessary.'
'And then?'
'If I draw a blank there, too, I think I’ll simply try to get out of Greyhawk before my time is tip. There is a connection, though. Raynald was scared, begging. He didn't lie when he told me that he knew everything about the scam run on me and the whole series of murders. There are powers and planes involved — I know that!'
Summer seemed taken aback at the last assertion. 'What do you mean? Is this some struggle for supremacy between thieves and assassins? I think it so too. Gord, but neither side would dare invoke any of the lower planes for such a contest. That would surely alert the oligarchs and bring ruin upon the contending parties.'
'What makes you think this is so petty a quarrel? If great clerics of evil are involved — those of Asmodeus, for example — and are leagued with some powerful organization outside Greyhawk, then the guilds or guild involved are only instruments in some larger scheme.'
'That sounds pretty far-fetched. Six murders and a deception worked on a rogue thief. You are building castles of sand to stave off an invasion of wind!'
'I saw the ruby mark of Asmodeus on Raynald's breast'
'So he worshipped the arch-fiend? Many of his sort do,' the woman said with flat practicality. You should be seeking a murderer, not looking for convoluted machinations of monumental proportions. Your life is at stake, Gord!'
The young thief looked unconvinced. 'If I am right, the whole city — and more — is at stake here. Perhaps I am an addlepated fool, but I must follow my hunch.'
'All right,' Summer said with resignation. 'How am I to help?'
'Raynald was near the top in the organization of assassins. How else would he have had access to the information he spoke of?'
'He could have been lying, you know,' Summer offered softly.
'I don't think so. Anyway, there are thieves helping, but I am sure that the whole show is being run by the guildmaster of assassins under the direction of the chief priest of the cult of Asmodeus.' Summer gave a sign to ward off diabolical attention. Gord ignored the implication and went on. 'If my inquiries prove fruitless, and I have to get clear of here, I’ll leave a complete rundown on what I've learned. . and what I suspect. The Praefecture will keep that sort of bone in its teeth, and one way or another the truth will come out then!'
'You still haven't told me what to do to help you.'
Gord took her slender hands in his, pressed them together, and then kissed her gently. 'Summer, I want you taking no more risks than are necessary. As a magus you are adept at scribery. Stay here and write a full report of what has occurred so far, including what I suspect. We'll need such a document right or wrong. Pen, ink, and parchment are in that drawer,' Gord added, pointing to a compartment in an old traveling desk standing nearby. Summer seemed unconvinced. 'But- '
'No buts! If I succeed in discovering the truth, I'll come back to get you and the written report. If I fail to return by the third hour after dawn, then you must see the papers get to Magistrate Vatman. I'll have sent another message too … If I’m able. . before disappearing.'
'If you do flee, Gord. where can I meet you? I can't bear the thought of never seeing you again!'
'I’ve thought of that too, but don't worry. If I am alive, I'll be at a place called the inn of the Brothers of One and a Score, a small drinking house just west of the village of Gawkes Mere. Ask for a man known as Hop the Savant. He'll lead you to where I hide. Come at once though. Summer, for I’ll not linger so near Greyhawk for more than one or two days.'
As the blonde spell-worker sat down with pen and parchment, Gord slung his sword, donned his cape of dark blue velvet, and departed.
As soon as the young man went through the door and shut it behind him, Summer slipped a curious ring onto her finger and disappeared from sight. Invisible, cloaked in total silence, she followed Gord through the underground tunnels and up onto the deserted streets beyond. She followed him still, going undetected behind him while he traversed a broad thoroughfare, went up a narrow lane, and then stepped out onto a busy street leading to the Foreign Quarter. From her vantage point at the mouth of the lane. Summer observed a squad of gray-clad soldiers marching toward him. Gord appeared uncertain as to what to do; then he turned and started back for the lane from where Summer watched invisibly. But before he could come near, a pair of officers with red tabards and twice as many sergeants came out of a doorway and were upon him.
'You are under arrest, Gord the thief.' one officer said sternly. 'Come with us now! Magistrate Vatman has changed his mind.'
Gord slumped noticeably at the statement. A sergeant relieved him of his sword and dagger, and in a moment he was marched away, surrounded by troops in gray and red. 'Poor Gord,' Summer whispered with genuine sorrow in her voice. Then, invisible still, she returned the way she had come to finish her task.
The Mayoral Palace was ablaze with light. So were many of the attendant buildings that flanked it. A special meeting of the oligarchs, rulers of Greyhawk, had been called, and the Citadel was a beehive of activity because of this unusual occurrence. Ranks of gray-uniformed regulars and their officers moved to form a line to receive the incoming masters of the city. Here and there were the black and gold clad members of the Praefecture, hurrying to make certain that all was secure, or to handle special duties.
Various leaders arrived, adorned in rich robes and fur mantles of state, wearing their chains of office. The appearance of a phalanx of black and white colors announced the coming of the general of The Watch. Arentol, Guildmaster of Thieves, arrived in company with Thaddius Jenk, Guildmaster of Assassins. Leaders of the trade, craft and merchant factions had come already. The Chancellor of the University came with the usual group, leaders of the savants, sages, and scholars, plus certain clerics. Other clerics came, and last was the ancient man who was Magistar of the Society of the Magi. All were greeted by the constable, provosts, and His Solemn Authority, Nerof Gasgol, Lord Mayor of Greyhawk, First Oligarch and Keeper of the Citadel.
'I demand to know the reason for all this!' Nerof Gasgol was nearly shouting as he said this.
The candelabra made the High Chamber seem warm and beautiful, with its polished floors of marble, glowing wood, gilt trim, and walls adorned with paintings and pieces of artwork looking regal and filled with import. The long table could seat up to a score. Its inlaid top was mirrorlike, the carved chairs silk-cushioned treasures. Eighteen of these seats were taken by the oligarchs, each with a gold and crystal goblet and a wine ewer before him, each looking to the others in consternation at the statement the Lord Mayor had just uttered. All save a few, that is.
'I speak not only for myself,' Arentol, Guildmaster of Thieves, said as he arose to command all attention. 'I speak for Murtagh your Captain-General, Thaddius jenk, and certain others who do not wish their names used at this time.'
As the leader spoke, Nerof let his eyes roam the circle of faces. A twitch here, a stiffening there, and Gasgol had a fair idea as to just who the guildmaster represented. In bygone years, Nerof Gasgol had himself been Guildmaster of Thieves, but he had long since broadened and grown to concern himself with the greater needs of Greyhawk. Having lost his narrow perspective did not mean he had lost his abilities and keen eyes. His assessment was that Phildorf Gelbbeek, leader of the merchants and the most wealthy man in the city, was with Arentol. So was Archdeacon Elohideus, chief cleric of those who served the Hells. Gasgol was uncertain about it, but he thought Constable Lord Thistleby seemed too tense also.
'Speak then, Oligarch Arentol, for all those for whom you serve as mouthpiece.' He used the insulting term deliberately to see if he could draw the man out as quickly as possible.
'Thank you. sir.' Arentol said with a smooth, mocking tone and a slight bow that failed to conceal his smirk. The slight had only amused him. 'Intelligence has come to me this very day of a terrible series of events here in our beloved city. Fellow oligarchs,' he said, turning so as to look at each in turn, 'these events are of great import, but no word of them came from the Citadel, no warning for us from our palace. Think on that!'
'What are you driving at?' the ancient archmage known to all only as Darksign asked querulously.
'Have patience, I beg you, lords all,' the Guildmaster of Thieves said to the assemblage. 'I'll come quickly enough to the heart of this, but please allow me uninterrupted speech.' Here he stared squarely at the old spell- user. Darksign rubbed his long nose with crabbed fingers, nodding his assent.
'Six murders there have been. Not unusual, you might say. Not so, I would reply. All the acts were unlicensed. Each was done so as to so completely destroy the life of the victim that no spell could evoke any clue as to the murderer, let alone revive the corpse! All save one of the slain were important members of a group
