mirth-and Gord knew there was no reason for him to shrug. In desperation, he sought out his arch-enemy one day when Estrella was busy elsewhere.
“You won, Zoltan,” said Gord.
“How well I know that, Gord.”
“I don’t wish to be your enemy, Zoltan. Let us put this behind us and be friends.”
Zoltan did shrug then. “That you did me two great favors is true. You spared my life when it was yours for the taking. And you made it worth living by ridding me of Estrella. I would kiss you if I could, but our custom dictates I must now be your foe. However, you need never worry that I shall again try to kill you, friend Gord, because if I did, that bitch would be mine again!” His darkly tanned face split into a huge laugh at that, head thrown back, white teeth showing.
“You are a funny bastard, aren’t you, Zoltan?”
That only made him laugh harder. Gord walked away, while Zoltan fell over on the ground, holding his sides, tears streaming down the sides of his face, lost in helpless gales of mirth. So much for that idea.
Yanoh eventually came up with another suggestion, one that appealed more to Gord than his friend’s first idea had. If Gord caught his woman in a compromising position with another of the tribe, he could either demand a duel with the fellow, or else he could insist that the violator take the woman and pay him silver in compensation. How in the devil Gord could manage to find anyone foolish enough to want to have anything to do with the shrewish Estrella was his problem, but there was the solution.
Again fate stepped in and took a hand. Three barges filled with a clan who came only infrequently to this spot arrived the next morning. Wonder of wonders! They contained quite a few handsome young bucks who had never met Estrella, nor heard of her evidently, for they cautiously but frequently shot her concupiscent looks. Gord was careful not to let on that he was noticing. Whatever he did, he did not wish to have to fight yet another duel over her! But he did not want to appear totally unconcerned, so he made a point of glaring at her vigilantly from time to time when she was not, at the moment, involved in flirtation. Estrella, in turn, smiled and winked back at several of the new young men any time she thought Gord was unaware of her.
That night, as the assembled families sat around the evening fires, singing and dancing as usual, Gord pretended to drink much wine. As he grew more boisterous and seemingly in his cups, Estrella encouraged him to drink more and have fun. After an appropriate interval, Gord got up, swaying in his best drunken imitation, and stumbled and staggered off to the bushes to sleep. The sounds of crashing, followed by loud snores, gave Estrella all the incentive she needed. She quickly moved to where she could talk with the newcomers, especially the handsome young ones.
Gord got up from his berth in the bushes and moved silently to the edge of the clearing, from where he could observe everything. After a short time, one of the newcomers strolled off into the foliage. Minutes later Estrella, trying to move inconspicuously, left the group and took the same path.
That was all Gord needed to see. He made his reappearance, went straight to where Miklos and Yanoh were seated, and whispered something to both of them. They rose and went off with Gord in the same direction Estrella had taken. After creeping carefully through the underbrush for a couple of minutes, the three of them caught Estrella and her lover in the act.
Gord was outraged. He shouted and stormed. Estrella let out a scream, then began to weep and wail. The young Rhennee was pale in the moonlight, for he had heard that Gord was a renowned fighter, and he undoubtedly thought that he would soon demand a duel to the death over the violation of the beautiful Estrella. The young fellow’s family gathered quickly, and his “lord” conversed softly with Miklos, talking about the time and place for the fight.
“This is too much!” cried Gord, putting an end to all the talk about fighting. “Never will I cast eyes upon you again, woman!” he spat at Estrella.
Then he turned abruptly to the fellow and added in an almost offhand tone, “Well, where is my silver?”
A couple of days later, richer by twenty-five nobles and the lack of a woman, Gord was aboard Miklos’ barge, which was heading along the coast of Nyr Dyv with two other barges. They were bound for Leukish, then Radigast City, and whatever lay beyond. Gord was finally going to see something more of the world besides water.
It was a relief to make their first port, Leukish, without having to face anything on the trip more terrible than a pair of playful giant otters who swam near to see them. Since the animals were no threat to them, the bargefolk simply ignored the otters and sailed on. There was little to do but loaf and fish until they arrived at the southeastern end of Nyr Dyv and put into port. Leukish was a small city compared to Greyhawk, even though it was the largest in the Duchy of Urnst and the capital of the place.
Urnst was a place of rolling green hills, at least based on what Gord had seen from the barge as it passed along the shoreline. The city of Leukish was nestled amidst the surrounding hills, although the section farthest from the port area was built on a low plateau so that it dominated the wide valley around it. The people did not look much different from those in Greyhawk, being a mixture of Oeridians and Suloise, although they dressed quite oddly. Gord thought the long trousers were inferior to the hose typically worn in his home city, and the plaids and checks that the Urnstmen sported seemed either plain or gaudy, depending on the hues and arrangements. Architecture was strange here, too, for the buildings all seemed tall and narrow, with pointy arches and square towers. Columns and pillars were everywhere. Roofs were steeply peaked, as were the tower caps. All in all, he could hardly wait to get into the place and find out just how different it was.
Miklos warned him that the Urnstmen were not fond of Rhennee folk. There had been some trouble in the past, with the Urnstmen claiming that the bargefolk practiced piracy, sneak-raiding, and worse. Some actual battles had been fought, but the whole thing had sort of blown over during the past year. The Duke had troubles elsewhere, and the Rhennee had no wish to try conducting a war with the Duchy.
Gord was instructed that, whatever the circumstances, he should be careful, cautious, and polite during his stay in this territory. He mustn’t be caught stealing. Kidnapping was forbidden. Seduction was frowned upon. Gord asked if there was anything else.
“Yes,” the bargefolk captain replied. “Give me those silver nobles you extorted from the foolish young fellow who relieved you of Estrella.”
“What! Why?” Gord demanded. “Why should I? The cash is mine!”
“I am your family lord,” Miklos countered. “Besides, I have no money of my own.”
“How could you be penniless?” Gord was truly at a loss.
Miklos stared at the deck. “All the money your family owned was lost betting on Zoltan,” he confessed.
The gate guards eyed Gord most suspiciously, asked him a couple of questions in oddly stilted Common, and then allowed him to pass into Leukish. The city was bustling with activity, and Gord simply drifted with the traffic, studying everything he saw. Soon he arrived in a rectangular marketplace filled with carts and booths. His practiced eye noted that there were no discernible thieves loitering about-although some may have been working; of that he could not be sure. The people here were mostly Urnstmen, with a smattering of outlanders and demi-humans. The goods were typical of such a faire, ranging from all manner of foodstuffs to clothing and household goods.
Knowing that the interesting items would be at the far end near the largest buildings, Gord went in that direction. Sure enough, there were the metalsmiths. After spending a considerable amount of time examining various dirks and daggers, Gord was quite disappointed. The weapons were finely wrought, but they just weren’t the equal to the blade he had lost during the battle with the sea monster.
The grizzled seller of weapons at the last stall noted Gord’s intensity in examining the poniards, did his best to help by extolling the virtues of each dagger, and then ceased the sales pitch with the following advice:
“You seem, sir, a connoisseur of such blades. These are all excellent dags, but what you seek is not here. I suggest you go to the shop of Hengel. If you can meet his price, you will have your weapon.”
“Where is this Hengel’s establishment?” asked Gord.
Following the directions of the fellow soon brought Gord to the narrow way leading to a close, as it was described to him. There Gord saw a busy smithy and a shop beside it. The forge was working arrowheads, so he passed immediately into the store. A gnarled old dwarf, of great size for one of his sort, was there polishing weapons with an oily cloth.
“Goodag,” he said to Gord. “How to serve a… Rhenneeclad… stranger from… Vild Coste?”
“Greyhawk, actually. I am here for a dagger.”
