“I would love it,” she replied, “but I have nothing to wear, and I feel so inferior because of it. A girl must look pretty, you know!” Then Adaz gave him her most appealing glance, and Gord said that perhaps he’d have a gift for her when he picked her up in the morning.
“If it is a nice present, perhaps we won’t have to return tomorrow night,” she said in a sultry voice.
That it would be a nice present, Gord was certain. Returning or not was a matter to be determined by other than Adaz-except rather indirectly. She had better be prepared for quite a day, he mused.
What Gord had in mind was allowing her to exercise her dubious talents as a pilferer while remaining in the background-and using his own abilities. Thanks to the diversion she would provide, Gord should be able to have a field day. It was a cynical thing to do, but why not? He had become a rather cynical fellow, to say the least.
Plotting, Gord strolled off to where he had established his place near the family camp of Miklos.
Bright and early the next morning, he went to where he’d told Adaz to meet him, and sure enough she was there, smiling. He handed her the earrings.
After being careful to keep her out of trouble during the morning, then plying her with wine in the early afternoon, Gord led his unsuspecting decoy into the area of the city where gem merchants had their shops. Although the wares displayed close to where a thief could attempt snatch-and-run tactics were of little value, their glow and glitter were quite spectacular. Adaz was quickly enmeshed in the place, becoming filled with a growing desire to possess some of the beautiful stones that the pair was ogling in the shop windows. They actually entered one place and peered intently at the aquamarines, pearls, topazes, and similar stones there. The place had nothing of really exceptional value, but their visit served to further whet the girl’s appetite for such baubles.
They exited the shop and moved on a few paces, and then Gord told her that he remembered a brief errand he must take care of. Adaz should continue to enjoy herself by viewing the gemstones while Gord was gone for a bit. They could meet again at the end of the lane, only another few hundred feet up, in half an hour. Adaz readily assented.
After walking rapidly away and turning a nearby corner, Gord counted to thirty, slowly, and then retraced his steps in a leisurely fashion. As he again rounded the corner, he saw Adaz entering a fairly large shop halfway down the lane. He continued in her direction in his most leisurely manner, taking special care to remain unnoticed.
From a vantage point across the street, he watched the Rhennee girl examining the contents of the gem merchant’s establishment. It appeared to be a fairly prosperous shop, although not the one he had hoped she would choose. Well, never mind-he would make the best of it. Adaz had been busy in the short time she’d been in the place, Gord noted, as he strolled closer. There were quite a few different stones on the counter, and Adaz was pointing to her earrings and gesturing disdainfully at the loose gems. She was probably demanding to see larger rubies to match those on her ears.
Gord turned partially away from the small glass panes of the shop window, pretending to watch the scattered traffic passing by, perhaps awaiting someone, but surveying the interior of the shop out of the corner of his eye. After another few minutes, Adaz thought she had created a sufficiently confused situation and acted. While she was decrying the terrible quality of the stones she had been shown, the girl used her hidden left hand to take a large spinel. The offended merchant didn’t notice immediately, for by then the two were exchanging rather vile insults. As she marched in mock outrage for the door, however, the man came to his senses and took an inventory with his eyes. Of course he noticed that the spinel was not there, and he voiced an angry shout.
Adaz broke into a run and was outside the place as its owner vaulted over the counter, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Because Gord stood to the right of the door, Adaz scooted left and away as fast as she could, not recognizing him in her haste to make good her theft and escape. Gord stayed planted as the shopkeeper came out and turned left in hot pursuit. It reminded him of his old days in the Slum Quarter, and he chuckled softly to himself. Then he stepped into the shop, drew his dagger, and vaulted the counter.
A large, brawny youth, probably the owner’s son or apprentice, was just coming through the curtain as Gord landed. The sound of Gord’s pommel striking the unsuspecting fellow’s head had a hollow sound, and the blow felled him like a steer at slaughter. Empty head or not, it would be sore for the next few days, thought Gord, but he’s alive. There was no time to fret about that anyway. Every second counted.
As Gord had assumed he would do, the man had taken time to scoop all of his precious merchandise into an iron strongbox and lock it. He had the key with him, of course. The sounds from the lane nearby were growing louder and more frenetic-all was well still, but he would have to hurry.
Gord took his weapon and thrust it against the hard metal of the lock. The point bit as if it were going into soft wood rather than cold iron. After a rapid succession of several such cuts, the lock was useless and the box open. Without bothering to select the better ones, Gord took as many stones as he could stuff into his shirt in a few seconds. Then he recrossed the counter and walked calmly out of the shop, heading away from the brawl going on a few doors down. It seemed that some fishmonger, passing this way on his journey home, had run squarely into the gem merchant. The outrage of the latter at losing the thief who had robbed him was matched by that of the fishmonger, who was demanding to know who would pay for his spilt catch. Passersby took sides, and a near riot was now in full swing. Shutters were being slammed and locked, doors barred. Calls for the Patrol were passing down the streets roundabout. Gord was gone from the turmoil in less than a minute.
He went to a tavern and enjoyed himself there. Then Gord headed for the “Down Quarter” of Radigast City, an area where few questions were asked. The previous day, he’d seen a place there he thought would be perfect for his purpose. When his recognition signal was returned, Gord broke into Thieves’ Cant, and soon the keeper of the place agreed to examine Gord’s merchandise.
The two retired toward a back room. Gord examined the entrance carefully before going in, and scrutinized the room itself even more thoroughly for secret doors or floor traps once he was inside, before settling down to the business at hand. All of this made the fence grin, for he appreciated professionalism in those he dealt with. They soon struck an agreeable price. Two of the man’s assistants fetched his money box, he paid Gord, and that was that. Gord had been careful to have the fellow retain a tithe for the local Guild. Whether he paid it or kept it was his business, but Gord would never be in trouble on that score. Guildmasters had a way of learning the truth, and they seldom used spells to gain such information….
With a fresh half-score of orbs, as well as assorted loose change to boot, Gord felt much better. Now he was solvent again! Time to get on with the rest of it. Whistling a merry tune, Gord went out the northernmost gate of the city, rather than the southeastern one, which led to Muddich. Just as darkness was falling he came upon a gypsy wagon, its driver lounging beside it. After a brief conversation, Gord clambered into the vehicle, the driver clucked the team of horses into motion, and the wagon rolled along the road on its way to who knew where.
One week and fifty leagues later, Gord and his new acquaintances were camped in the rich grasslands of the Artonsamay River Valley. These Rhennee-or Attloi, according to the prejudiced view of the bargefolk-were much the same as their lakefaring cousins, only a bit wilder and rougher. In fact, Gord would never have trusted such folk save for the fact that he was an adopted Rhennee, knew their speech, and actually looked similar to these people. Besides, he had paid them well in gems, although of the smallest and least valuable sort, for their help in his scheme and the subsequent conveyance of his person away from Radigast City.
Gord was frankly happy to be away from the water, but he was sore and stiff. Riding a horse was no simple thing, and his lessons were painful. These wagonborne Rhennee were horse breeders, among other occupations such as thievery, tinkering, and entertaining. This wilderness place was one of their grazing areas, and there were a hundred or so horses with the band. The foal crop had been good, and all the animals were in splendid condition. They would be moved to the Great Northern Bend area in another week, and selected horses would be sold at the annual fair and horse market there. That was where Gord planned to leave the gypsy train and seek his fortune elsewhere.
Meanwhile, however, he practiced his riding, played at fencing with the exceptionally able swordsmen of the group, and even learned the use of the crossbow. He had no intention of lugging around one of these small missile weapons favored by the wagonfolk, but Gord decided it would be useful if he knew how to operate a crossbow in a tight situation-such as when the barge had nearly been wrecked by the monstrous creature from the depths of Nyr Dyv.
The journey was unhurried, for they stopped at every village and hamlet to offer services, perform, trade, and occasionally make off with some unguarded livestock or goods. Gord noted that these Rhennee were most prudent in exercising thievery. Since this was a route they regularly traveled, the gypsies were careful to give the inhabitants of their stopping places no reason to feel hostility toward them. They tinkered, traded sharply, sold questionable remedies, and stole only small things. That made them exciting and dark visitors, not threatening ones. When they sang, danced, told fortunes, juggled, made their trained animals perform, and otherwise entertained, a bit of dishonesty could be forgiven. Each rustic felt that it was his or her business to be on guard against minor pilfering and poultry theft when the wagonfolk came. After all, they brought news, excitement, and a virtual carnival with them each time they passed through an area.
The fair was held outside the walled town of Caporna. At Fairetime the town’s six thousand or so inhabitants served as hosts for travelers from all round the place. For the duration of the month-long event the population inside the walls was nearly twice normal, and thousands more camped outside the town.
Gord and the gypsies arrived at the outskirts of Caporna some three weeks after they had left the vicinity of Radigast City. In a few days the festival that opened the event would be under way, and everyone in the train was busy preparing for the upcoming demands. Having nothing of the like to concern himself with, Gord took the opportunity to improve his horsemanship while seeing a bit of the countryside.
He had pretty well covered the area around Caporna, and spent a goodly amount of time within the town proper as well, when he discovered another encampment of wagonfolk. Their practice astounded the young man, for they were tumblers and acrobats. From the smallest child to the gray-bearded lord of the train, each and every one had some contribution to make to a breathtaking performance.
After an awestruck Gord stood gawking at their rehearsal for a time, one of their number came up to him and suggested that Gord move on. Free shows were not a part of their offering, the man told Gord rather curtly, and he’d soon be able to view their wonders properly during the fair. Having dressed himself in clothing other than that worn by the Rhennee, Gord was not particularly recognizable as an adopted member of the folk, nor could anyone seeing him have guessed that he was a master beggar-or had at least been one once.
Gord conveyed his respect to the man in the patois of the wagonfolk, and topped it off with the secret signs of both beggars and thieves. The muscular performer who had appeared to shoo away a nonpaying spectator now served as his emissary to the leader of the group, and soon Gord was being given warm greetings and cool wine.
After bidding adieu to his traveling companions of the last few weeks, and paying a bit too much for the mount he had selected from them, Gord shifted from one camp of gypsies to another. He was determined to learn more of the feats he had seen performed. Although he had revealed himself as an adopted member of the bargefolk, these Rhennee were quick enough to drop their prejudices and accept Gord-it did not hurt a bit that he had gifted the “lord” of the encampment with fine wine from Caporna. Gord offered to teach the gypsies some of his skills in thievery in return for the instruction he would receive in the arts of acrobatics. There was little time for such interplay during the hustle and bustle of the fair, but when the festivities concluded at Goodmonth’s commencement, Gord would be taught, and would himself instruct, as the band moved on in its travels.
Having nothing specific to do during the fair did not keep Gord from enjoying himself. In fact, he thought it a great joke, stealing from the thieves of Caporna! The weeks of Fairetime passed swiftly, and although he had little teaching during this time, Gord managed to pick up some skills just by watching, for he was already quite accomplished at climbing and balance-prerequisites for successful thievery of the more subtle sort. Thus encouraged, he spent more time in town and devised a scheme he was certain would reap dividends.
He again posed as a rich, somewhat foolish, young fop. He allowed himself to be set up for a swindling operation that the Caporna thieves put into action, thinking him an easy mark. He had passed himself off as a connoisseur of art and a collector of statuettes and objects of similar nature. He was tested with the offer of a dubious piece, as he knew he would be, and dashed the hopes of the swindlers who had been expecting an easy profit by disdainfully rejecting the “valuable” item.
Then, as Gord had also anticipated, the swindlers tried to get the better of him with the old bait-and-switch routine. The thieves took him to an “exclusive shop,” which Gord recognized immediately as a phony set-up filled with goods from the storehouses of the thieves and whatever fence was also in on this scam. Gord readily waxed enthusiastic over several of the splendid pieces they had, but then he was hustled out-no sense in making a hasty purchase, or so his “friends” recommended. They promised to meet him again the next day, and they would return to the warehouse to make final decisions-by which time, Gord knew, cheap duplicates would be ready to pack in boxes.
But there was no waiting till the morrow. That night Gord entered the shop from the roof, aided by several of his new gypsy friends. He regretted having to kill a guard, but that was part of the business…. Gord stayed out of Caporna altogether after that night, and he appeared only as a Rhennee man when he went anywhere beyond the gypsies’ camp.
The gypsy train that left at the end of the great fair held far more wealth in its wagons than anyone would have expected, and Gord-the one the acrobats had to thank for this new affluence-rode along as their leader’s right-hand man.
Chapter 13
As the horseman’s steed topped a low rise and galloped into a clearing bathed in moonlight, several quarrels buzzed and hummed past mount and rider. The man crouched lower, and his horse seemed to jump ahead with a burst of new speed. In seconds they were lost in the thick shadows of the trees beyond. A dozen steel-capped warriors followed the fleeing rider through the moonlit meadow and likewise disappeared in the darkness beyond.
Then the pounding of hooves faded into the night, and the place was peaceful again. Insects resumed their chorus, and the rustling of small animals making their nocturnal rounds could be heard by a careful listener. Nearby, a giant owl voiced its deep, mournful hooting. A moment later, the shrill cry of captured prey split the serenity for an instant.
Fortunately for Gord, he was not being hunted by such sure predators as the denizens of the forest were, and he managed to elude his pursuers in the dense woodlands. Both he and his stallion were very tired, but Gord knew they must press on through most of the night, so that when the sun rose, those tracking him would not find their quarry nearby. Dismounted, careful to be as silent as possible, the young outlaw led his steed southwest, going ever deeper into the heart of the Nutherwood.
Utilizing rocky ground, a small rivulet that fed into the Yol to the north, and every other device he could think of to throw off the soldiers who dogged him, Gord plodded onward. Sometime after midnight, he finally came to a dingle where he decided to camp. The stallion fell to grazing immediately as Gord unsaddled the tired animal and flopped down himself, exhausted. He dozed until first light and then was up and moving again.
Gord walked the horse until they found a place to drink. There, he refreshed himself with a quick splash, ate a handful of iron rations, and topped his breakfast off with a bunch of the peppery watercress that grew in the stream. Feeling far better, he mounted and urged the stallion into a trot. Perhaps today he would finally lose his pursuers permanently.
The troop of soldiers chasing him were servants of His Faithfulness, the Canon of Redmod, a town of no particular note near the heartland of the Theocracy of the Pale. When Gord had left Redmod, he had wanted simply to put as much distance between that place and himself as his courser could manage. He had not dreamed that the Canon would send his minions on so long a chase, for it was now nearly two weeks since his departure, and the soldiers were hounding him still. Gord wondered if their doggedness was because of the golden reliquary he had taken from the cleric’s temple, or whether it was because of his familiarity with His Faithfulness’ daughter, Light-she had shown him a few things, all right. No matter either way. Whatever their motivation, the outcome would be the same if he were caught by the troop of avenging riders.
As he rode, Gord recalled the events of the past few months. From the Great Bend area, the gypsies had taken their horses southward. The train had passed slowly through County Urnst during the month of Harvester, celebrated Brewfest at Trigot, and then crossed the Franz River just above the city of Galesford. Autumn was spent moving on southward again through the Kingdom of Nyrond, past Woodwych, to the land between the Duntide River and the Celadon Forest where they wintered near the town of Beetu. During this whole time, Gord had been given intensive training in the art of acrobatics, and soon he was tumbling, leaping, vaulting, and even walking the taut-rope with the best of the apprentices. Of course, during this same period he was in turn teaching his adopted family members the fine points of his own crafts. While the wagonfolk were as able as their water-loving kin in performing minor pilferage and thievery, Gord was instructing them on a far higher level, and they were apt pupils.
With the end of Fireseek’s chill, the wagons began rolling northward again, making for the Flinty Hills, far distant, before going on to Midmeadow for Growfest, from there to be bound for the annual fair at Radigast City. It was at Mid-meadow that Gord parted company with the train, but not with all of his Rhennee friends. Two adventuresome young Rhennee accompanied him on a foray into the Theocracy, the threesome bent on relieving the prosperous Palish of some of their material treasures.
The adventure had begun well enough. Equipped as they were with the finest mounts from the gypsy herd, the three were soon far away from Midmeadow and well into the Pale. Here they robbed an incautious merchant traveling a back road, there a wealthy tradesman. In the towns, they used more subtle arts to relieve their victims of excess coinage, and in such places Gord and his fellows also utilized their acrobatic skills to perform daring feats of burglary. The Palish were not, however, much impressed with such applications of the profession of thievery, holding the activity in disrepute and giving no license to any association or guild that allowed such practice. Therefore, the trio stayed but a little time in any one place.
The blending of the races here, Oeridian and Flan, with a bit of blond Suel cropping up here and there, made the Palish a robust and handsome folk. Although their bent was such that they tended toward propriety and soberness, and tenaciously adhered to the teachings of Pholtus, the Palish did have their moments of levity and celebration, too. They were intelligent, industrious, and tough. All told, Gord found them interesting, if a bit dull, but they were also quite prosperous and tended to be easy marks, for there were few thieves among them. Stealing was punishable by death. Then again, so were most other honorable pastimes-such as seduction.
The threesome spent a few days in the town of Ogburg-a city, actually, for it had well over 10,000 inhabitants, although it was an unsophisticated place at best. They then put the peaks of the Rakers behind them and rode north and west along the road to Wintershiven, for their purses were full for the moment. The capital city of the Theocracy was too sober a place, however, and from there the three had traveled southward again, ending up in Redmod. There Gord and his two companions settled down for rest, relaxation, and whatever revelry they could find.
Despite the veil of devoted service they wore, the local populace was ready enough for surreptitious activities of the frivolous and licentious sort, as the small but active bawdy district soon demonstrated to the newcomers. Wild young men with silver to spend were welcome indeed, and soon the three of them were minor celebrities. The lionization did go to their heads a bit, Gord admitted to himself in reflection, so that they became incautious in their talk. While they did not actually tell anyone that they planned to rob the temple, they did plenty of bragging about how rich they soon would be. What transpired after they broke into the strongroom of the place and made off with the treasury that the Canon had so rigorously extorted from the faithful was not surprising, reflected Gord, considering their carelessness.
Beautiful Light had been the key to the success of the heist, of course, and Gord thought that her fury at being left behind when they made off with the loot was probably the major spur to the pursuit, which even now continued. He had promised to take the Canon’s daughter along when they left Redmod, and so she had told Gord all about the location of the treasure, and about the magical protections that warded the amassed contributions, which, once pilfered, would enable them to journey elsewhere in high style.
How could she really have thought that three hard-riding thieves could carry along a soft female? Her presence would have made their capture certain within a day or two, for someone other than she could have described the trio to the angry Canon and his men-at-arms, and they would be as conspicuous as could be if they tried to travel with a female.