all about my joss-piece!” With that he shoved his chair back, tugged off the tooled leather boot from his left foot, and tipped the thing upside down over his hand. He placed a worn electrum coin on top of the others, pushed the stack into the pot, and said offhandedly, “My play, I suppose….”
The knight’s seventh tile was black, and the last of the sigils in the stack-a great coup indeed! “My tableau now displays the Arch-Mage, bettering His Reverence Vronstein’s Allied Host,” announced Sir Margus, “and your five towers as well, baron-unless you can best it with that single plaque you have yet undisclosed.”
The face of Lord Dolph turned nearly purple, and he sputtered as he reached for the tile.
“Now you, sir, hold, sir, I say!” the Velunese knight commanded. “You have belittled me without stint since this game began. You have tested my temper, my purse, and my spirit. Now let us test yours. I have no coin left, but here upon my finger is a ring of bright gold with the fair green of a cat’s-eye chrysoberyl peering forth-a family treasure of value both sentimental and otherwise. Though it is worth far more, let us say it has the value of a mere three orbs. If you have mettle, sir, you will accept this additional stake ere you turn your final tile.”
No noble could turn from such a challenge, though Lord Dolph would doubtless never forgive the challenger. He glared with open hatred at the young Velunese. “You say it has greater value? Then so be it. I wager three plates, not three orbs, against it!”
“Turn your tile then, baron, and may the better man win.”
The plaque bore the grinning face of the thief. Baron Dolph had lost.
Later, in a lavish suite at the Villa Noblesse, three young people were laughing and drinking, toasting the occasion with heady, sparkling violet wine from Ulek’s southern region. A pile of gold discs, platinum rectangles, and electrum coins were arrayed as a centerpiece.
“You’re absolutely crazy, Gord!” said the curvaceous 1e-line. “I thought I’d faint when you couldn’t meet the baron’s extra stakes…. And then the ring-marvelous!”
“Marvelous? Perhaps,” interjected the tall blond youth called Sunray. “Yet I must know how you thought you’d turn that sigil!”
“I cheated,” Gord said without inflection.
“What?” cried Teline, laughing and reaching over to hug him. “How could you have cheated? The silly Madame Bell-dray dealt the plaques!”
“I’m good. No one saw me, but I changed the last plaque dealt to me for one I chose-the black sigil.”
“With the guildmaster at the table?”
“Oh, so what, Teline?” Sunray chimed in. “Big deal. Everyone was watching the coins tossed into the pot.” It was obvious that Sunray was trying to steal the limelight from Gord-Margus, jealous of his success and the attention it gained him from their female companion.
“But, even so, how did he know that Lord Dolph didn’t have the fifth tower?” Teline demanded, addressing Sunray and then looking to Gord.
Gord smiled his most boyish grin at her and simply said, “I didn’t.”
Chapter 9
It had been more than two years now since Gord had left the university and come to the northern portion of Grey-hawk, moving back and forth from High to Garden Quarter as his whim, or opportunity, dictated. In one guise or another, Gord had plied his profession as thief among the most wealthy and powerful citizens of the city without a qualm. Never once had he been detected, although suspicion occasionally had forced him to retire one persona and assume a new one.
By choosing carefully and striking infrequently, he had kept the officials of the city guessing as to what was going on. A great many of his operations had been so well-conceived and well-executed that the victims were left unaware that they had been swindled, cheated, or robbed. The game earlier this week, for instance: Three orbs could support a man modestly for a year, and Gord had virtually stolen more than ten times that much from the other players.
Teline, Sunray, and Gord were part of an active, loosely associated group who plied the arts and crafts of thievery without license from the Guild or acknowledgment of the Guild’s authority. It should go without saying that no portion of their illicit gains crossed the palms of the Guild leaders, and thus no funds from these operations came into the coffers of the city and its officials.
Thievery was at best a dangerous profession, for despite the influence of the Guild and the implicit sanction of its actions,by the officials of Greyhawk, the laws were still the laws. A thief caught in the act was subject to a range of punishment going from bondage all the way to execution in various horrible ways. However, members of the Guild were safe from prosecution so long as they avoided discovery on the job, reported their activities afterward, and paid their tithe. Disgruntled citizens seeking retribution had little recourse against the Guild, save personal challenge or the hiring of an assassin. Vendettas involving the Thieves’ Guild were not healthy pursuits.
Outside the Guild, however, a thief had no protection. In fact, both victim and Guild, with the full cooperation of the city, sought to bring such “criminals” to “justice.” Of course, this just made things more exciting for the rebellious thieves who elected to operate outside all boundaries.
Most of the non-Guild activity was not robbery or burglary, although there was enough of that. The majority of these operations were of the sort that Gord had just enacted, involving impersonation, cheating, fraud, and the like. Few such swindles were detected, and few of those detected were talked about, but there was still plenty of heat upon the swindlers from both the Guild and the law-enforcement arm of Grey-hawk. The perpetrators were actively sought, their fences hunted, their accessories held as guilty as the actual perpetrators. This made the group a tightly knit fraternity-cautious, clever, and close-mouthed. Some operated only in the upper sector of the New City, some only in the lower, rougher districts, but all were aware of each other, by reputation at least. Gord’s favorite pseudonym was The Grand Count-a title that played on his size, his impersonation of noblemen, and the size of his gains-although lately he had been partial to his newly developed masquerade as one Sir Margus. In point of fact, the take from gambling was small compared to the profit from many of his other operations, and the proceeds from his recent triumph were enough to support Gord and his two associated thieves for no more than a month, living in the high style they favored.
Gord had changed but little since the day he’d quitted the pursuit of knowledge and resumed his profession. By then, at the age of sixteen, he had grown to some five and one-half feet in height, and his skinny frame had filled out with lean muscle. His beard had been heavy and dark then too, and his voice surprisingly deep for one with such slight build. His skill at disguise and acting enabled him to appear younger or older as he desired. Now, Gord could be a lad of fifteen or sixteen, or a young man in his early twenties, according to need.
Ever since his first introduction to disciplined physical exercise, he had grasped its vital importance to his continued success, and Gord never abandoned the routine of workouts and rigorous effort. And he had made an effort to keep improving himself in other ways as well, gaining instruction and information from whatever source was available. Gord was a quick study and a good student in all ways. His gray eyes showed that he took things seriously, and that he had purpose. He was never satisfied that he had learned enough about some subject, although he understood that he must sometimes abandon one course in order to examine another more fully.
Of all his studies in Clerkburg, Gord had most hated to give up the weapon work. Returning for regular sessions to the university district would have been impossible; but, of course, there were other weaponmasters in Greyhawk, so Gord had managed to continue his learning. The problem was that each change of identity required a change of tutor. Appearances might deceive, but never fighting style. Any swordmaster who had engaged in weaponplay with Gord would recognize his style blindfolded, in a manner of speaking. That he would soon run out of instructors bothered Gord not a little.
Teline had not committed herself to either Sunray or himself, and that bothered Gord far more. His concern came from the friction it caused between them as much as from his desire for her, and that was the truth. Gord had pondered the situation at length. There were plenty of other beautiful and talented women in Greyhawk. He wanted Teline, but if she chose Sunray over him, that would be an acceptable turn of fate, and he could look elsewhere for companionship.
It seemed that feline enjoyed the rivalry too much to make a choice, however, and the resulting strain upon
