City of Hawks

Chapter 10

Dillor was a river rat-a nasty scavenger who lurked along the banks of the Selintan. looking for anything worth taking. Greyhawk was built on hills and ridges, just as most cities of its sort were. The various drains that lay beneath the place eventually ran down into the waterways that virtually surrounded the walled city. Some few drained into Bubbly Mire and the Grey Run, but most came out on the western side of the city. Dillor haunted these places, searching through the various effluences for valuables. It was a filthy and vile existence, but it kept Dillor alive, and he didn’t actually mind the work at all.

“That’s gold!” he exclaimed aloud as he peered into the mouth of a broad drain. The illumination was dim Inside, but the setting sun glinted off something yellow and shiny. The drain was barred, of course, but the object was just on the other side of the great metal poles that prevented entrance beneath the city. “Dillor, you’ve finally struck it rich!” he babbled, clambering through the shallow outflow and debris to get to the object.

After using his hooked pole to drive off a half-dozen rats and get right up to the outside of the bars, Dillor saw that the glittering object was indeed a piece of gold-and it was set with a gem, too. It was on the bony finger of a partially eaten corpse. Nearly eaten, more like it, and soon to be finished by rats, beetles, and the rest, but not before Dillor jerked free a skeletal digit and the ring attached to it. He snared the golden object with the hook on the end of his pole, thrust the ring onto his own dirty finger, and set off quickly to find a buyer.

He couldn’t know that the bit of jewelry he now sported had recently been in the possession of a hired killer who had taken it from the corpse of yet another assassin. Because its most recent former owner had no need of immediate cash, he had kept it for quite some time and on occasion sported it on his hand, even though it fit his finger rather loosely. He had been in the process of escaping from a botched assassination attempt while wearing it. In his haste to flee, the wearer had tried to push the ring farther back onto his finger as it began to slip off. His attention divided, the fellow had slipped and fallen. His head struck a corner of the ledge above the subterranean duct he had just climbed down into, and that was enough to cause his drowning. That incident had happened but two days before.

“What’s this worth to ya?” Dillor asked the Rhennee bargeman.

The dark-skinned water-gypsy whistled in surprise at what he saw. “Where’d you get that, Dild?”

He hated to be called that. Dild was a contraction of his nickname, and Dillor didn’t like it at all. “Call me Dillor! That’s my name, and you’ll call me that if you want to buy the ring from me!”

“Sure, sure, Dild… Dillor, I mean. Come on ze barge, an’ we’ll talk.”

Eventually they agreed that the Rhennee would give him five hundred zees for it, payment to be made in copper commons and silver nobles. Dillor knew that having coins of greater value, such as luckies, would not only attract unwanted attention to him but also be hard to change in the places he meant to frequent shortly.

“Done,” the Rhennee said with a grin. The dark man rummaged around in a low cabinet and drew out a box. It was filled with an assortment of money-bronze, copper, and a sprinkling of silver. “I got only five nobles, so you’ll have to take the rest in commons, Dild. Got a bag to load ’em een?”

The dirty gypsy had dared to call him that again. Suddenly it struck Dillor that he could have even more than five hundred. He could have both the ring and more money than that easily. He and the river-man were alone…

“Ah, yeah. Sure thing, Streebul. I got a poke here,” he said, reaching inside his filthy jerkin.

Dillor was not very smart, and he telegraphed his intention to the wise and wary Rhennee even before his fingers had closed around the worn haft of the heavy, broad-bladed knife he kept hidden inside his clothing. Streebul was on his feet in an instant, his own dagger out and in motion even as the clumsy river rat dragged his own blade out in his “surprise” move. Dillor was stabbed twice before he even knew it. “You eediot!” the gypsy bargeman hissed. “Don’t you know you’re a dead man?”

The thick blade struck wildly, cutting Streebul’s cheek. “Yaagh!” was all Dillor could manage to say. Then he groaned and grunted as the bargeman’s dirk went home again and yet again. Those were the last sounds that Dillor ever made.

“Well,” Streebul said as he wiped the cut on his cheek with a rag, “Dildo, you always were a poor one at bargaining.” At that the bargeman laughed wildly. “Giving a lousy life for a leetle cut ain’t half bad, but you threw in the reeng to boot!”

A few months later Streebul was killed by a wagon-gypsy. They were arguing over whether the Rhennee or the Attloi were the true folk, and the bargeman was too slow with his weapon. Naturally, the victorious Attloi gypsy took the gold ring set with its precious stone as part of the rightful spoils of his victory.

The new owner of the ring made it all the way to central Urnst before a group of particularly fierce brigands attacked the train of wagons he was with. A pitched battle was fought, and the Attloi made the raiders pay dearly. In the end, however, all the gypsies were either killed or carried off as slaves. The captain of the outlaw band took the ring as part of his share of the spoils.

“Why’n hells name we heddin’ norf?”

“Shut yer flappin’ lips, Dogteeth,” Renfil Leed said without bothering to look at his lieutenant. “Even that fool should be able to tell when things were too hot for them. The duke’s horsemen are after us, and I’m goin’ to head for quieter places and easier pickin’s.”

There was no argument, of course. The captain was too tough, too mean to contest with-at least for now. He brought Dogteeth and his troop of seventy or eighty bandits through border provinces and wild lands in a long sweep that went through parts of both the Duchy and County of Urnst, then along the contested strip that ran between the Pale, Nyrond, and County Urnst. From there it was an easy swing into the safety of the Bandit Kingdoms, where the brigands could rest and their leader could plan fresh forays.

Disaster struck when the company was raiding in the Shield Lands. Leed and his surviving men were forced to flee westward, and a tribe of humanoids ambushed them there. The humans were eaten and their possessions either discarded or used to adorn the trappings of the great goblins that had killed and eaten the bandits who had previously possessed the articles. A heavy ring of gold set with a strange green stone now decorated the braided sidelocks of the tribal chieftain.

When the head of that humanoid monster was taken by a knight of Furyondy some time later, he salvaged the ring and took it for his own. Not-long thereafter the warrior was bested in a joust with a knight errant who. had challenged him. To redeem his armor, weapons, and steed, the Furyondian paid over all his other wealth, including the ring.

Eventually the wandering knight who now possessed the gem-set ring took service with a marcher lord. Nothing untoward happened to him thereafter, although he did eventually lose the ring to a dwarf with whom he was gambling.

After roaming the mountains for a long period, the dwarf passed along the Kron Hills, heading eastward in search of a lost gold mine said to be there. He found the mine, but in his avarice, the dwarf entered the place incautiously. A great she-bear was denned therein, and she had two cubs to protect. The dwarf died quickly, and the bear devoured him, ring and all.

Hunters from the estate of a lord of Dyvers took the old brown bear when she came into their preserve. The animal had been driven there by swarms of humanoids who had moved into her territory and forced the bear away by their presence. The hunters shot her with arrows as the she-bear was held at bay by their hounds. One of these men discovered a ring lodged in the creature’s stomach. After washing it clean, the fellow donned it happily, considering himself a rich and lucky man.

The lord of the manor who employed him was not inclined toward mercy. When he caught the huntsman dallying with his daughter, the noble had the unfortunate fellow hanged without ado. Not wishing to soil his hands, the lord told the executioner that whatever the criminal possessed was his by way of payment for his work. So, the executioner got the ring along with some other, petty items.

In time the executioner took service in Dyvers proper, since the officials there were offering a good stipend for a headsman and torturer. When the fellow was discovered taking bribes to free certain political prisoners, he was himself sent to the block. His ring was seized and placed in the city treasury.

A spy who had just returned from a particularly successful mission was allowed to take the ring as a bonus for his services. In due course the agent went to Greyhawk on behalf of the Lord Mayor’s secret police, masquerading as an ally of that city. His true identity was discovered, and the Lord Mayor of Grey-hawk hired the Assassins’ Guild to deal with him. After all, it wouldn’t do to have the city’s own agents involved, for that breach of etiquette might precipitate serious difficulties between Dyvers and Greyhawk. Possessions found on the victim were always part of the payment for services rendered, so the assassin who did in the spy happily added the ring to his fee.

In this way, after a half-score years and several thousand miles of traveling, the ring had come full circle back to Greyhawk. Not one of the men or other creatures who had owned it in the meantime had ever found it worthwhile. To call the ring ill-omened was to be kind, only not one of those who gained it knew of its nature, for the previous owner wasn’t around to inform the next, or else didn’t actually know. It made no difference either way. Eladon the assassin would not have blenched even had he heard of the ring’s history. He liked the stone’s color and the way it appeared to wink in the right light.

In celebration of his success in disposing of the spy from Dyvers, and because he had gained so valuable a jewel as he now wore on his finger, Eladon went on a drunk of considerable proportions. He ended up in a bawdyhouse at the end of the Strip, and being what she was, the whore he was with rolled him for his purse and other valuables, for the assassin was too far in his cups by then to resist. Unfortunately for her, she had taken the precaution of bringing along the valuables she had stolen rather than leaving them In the room where she obtained them. This turned out to be a mistake because Red Mel, the doxy’s pimp, caught her trying to sneak the comatose form of Eladon from her crib to a place in the alley.

“Hey, ya stupid bitch! What are you up ta?” he hissed.

She dropped the fellow’s limp legs and ceased trying to drag him along. “He passed out on me, and-”

Smack! Red Mel hit her hard on the side of the head. “Don’t lie to me, not ever, else I’ll give you a second mouth right where your windpipe is. Yer rollin’ ’im, ain’t ya?”

The doxy held her throbbing temple and nodded while her other hand went protectively to the sash at her hip.

“Hand It over,” Red Mel ordered, and the woman did exactly as she was told, loosening the sash and then pulling the man’s purse from where it had been hung on the cloth.

“Wow! You’re one fine worker, Flos,” he said with real admiration as he saw the stack of coins and the ring. Who could have such wealth? Red Mel rolled the drunken man over with his booted foot to get a better look at him. “Shit! This bird is a killer!”

“Whadda ya mean, Red, honey?…” The woman’s voice trailed off as her victim suddenly sat up and stared bleary-eyed at her and her pimp.

“Whass goin’ on here?” Eladon was beginning to recover from his alcoholic stupor, adrenaline starting to surge through his system as he realized that something was very wrong. “You dirty-”

Red Mel used his heavy boot to shut the man up. He kicked him as hard as he could, and Eladon’s head snapped back with a crack. Just to make certain, he felt for a pulse. The assassin was stone dead, his neck broken. “Now, woman,” said Mel in an even tone, “help me get the body to the alley.”

Flos complied without saying a word, glad that the pimp wasn’t angry anymore but worried about what would happen when the body of the assassin was found. “What’ll I say if someone from his guild asks about him?” Her voice was nervous.

“That does it,” Red Mel said, not bothering to answer her until he had pulled the corpse out of sight. He turned then to the whore and smiled. “Don’t worry, Flos, you won’t have to talk to nobody at all.” She looked relieved until the dirk stabbed her. It was in her heart almost instantly, however, so her expression was one of mingled relief and shock when they discovered her body in the morning, next to that of the dead assassin. The crime was of no interest to anyone, not even the Assassins’ Guild. Eladon had not, after all, been on assigned work when he died, so the matter was of nothing more than passing concern, and even that faded when it seemed probable that he and the whore had done for each other in a disagreement of the sort often had between purveyor and client.

Red Mel’s fortunes took an upturn after that. Ladav Idnorsea, one of the greatest members of the Thieves’ Guild, took a liking to him and added Red Mel to his henchmen, which meant that he no longer had to maintain a string of trollops to make a living. For the next year everything went so well that the thief couldn’t believe it. Whatever Ladav Idnorsea set his hand to seemed to turn out right. Even his small portion of the take was sufficient to make Red Mel wealthy, and Mel was soon regarded as a figure to watch in the guild, one destined to rise high in the organization.

One warm night his boss took Red Mel and three others with him to work the Strip. They spotted a likely-looking prospect soon. The mark was a river-man, probably the owner of one of the small ships that carried cargo from the lake to Greyhawk and then took goods from the city on downriver to the lands below. The man was winning big, and he and the two sailors who accompanied him were drinking in proportion to the gains being made on the table. Idnorsea sauntered out, and as he went he signed for Red Mel to follow. After a little time, the thief did as his master indicated without anyone in the place noticing his movement.

“What do you think, Red?”

That was very flattering. Red Mel smiled and replied, “You always pick ’em right, boss. That riverman will be a pushover!”

“I’m not so sure of that, but he’s worth taking.” Idnorsea liked to deflate his henchmen now and then just to make sure they understood who was the top man. He was gratified to see Red Mel wilt at his words. He stared at the man a moment as if weighing his worth. “You and the others can take his two bully-boys, can’t you?”

“With one hand tied behind us,” Red Mel assured him eagerly.

“See to it, then,” the richly clad thief said, adjusting his blue velvet doublet and brushing off his sleeve where he saw a little fleck of dirt. “You get the others and wait across the street. We’ll try to get them between your group and me, so that at least one of us can take them from behind… And leave the captain for me!”

“I’m at your service as always, boss,” said Red Mel as he hurried to get back inside the gambling house and carry out Idnorsea’s instructions.

It was an easy matter to round up the other three and drift back outside. Just as ordered, Red Mel and the others loitered casually across the street from the dive, awaiting developments. Idnorsea knew his trade well. The captain would soon be too drunk to continue gambling, so the four of them would not have to wait long. In fact they didn’t.

“I’ll tap my bladder in yonder passageway,” the riverman said in a loud voice as he and his pair of sailors crossed the half-empty street and passed by Red Mel and the others. Red Mel saw Idnorsea exit the place too, and his master gave him the high sign immediately. He and the boys were to get around to the back of the building and catch the mark while he was pissing. With a quick gesture to his mates, Red Mel entered the structure, a seamy tavern with rooms above and various vices offered in its cellar. Without hindrance the four thieves passed through the barroom, the kitchen, and a storeroom. The little alley beyond was feebly lit by light from windows. The illumination was sufficient for them, however, and Red Mel led them silently and quickly around to the left where the captain and his guards would be relieving themselves.

Hilgar happened to round the corner first, and he let out a yell as the sailor waiting there let the thief have it with his knife. “At ’em!” Red Mel shouted, knowing that the boss would soon come up and take these damned rivermen from the rear. He drew a pair of daggers and suited action to command. The sailors were quicker still, however, and came out to meet the thieves before the latter could bottle them into the gangway. Hilgar managed to grab one of the guards by his leg, and that took the fellow from the fight for the moment. Big Suggill had the other sailor by the throat and was trying to hit him with his cosh, but the riverman was tough, and somehow managed to avoid the blows while slashing the thief badly.

Trant jumped in to help his wounded pal Hilgar, which left Red Mel facing the bull-like captain. “Come on, killbuck,” the riverman taunted. “Have no taste for fightin’, do yer, yer slimy barstid?” Just then Idnorsea came up and ran the dolt through with his sword.

“Great work, boss…” He was going to say more, but something stuck him from behind at that moment and sent Red Mel sprawling. The thief saw Hilgar’s dead eyes staring into his own, while Trant sat atop the sailor who had done for Hilgar, driving his knife into the riverman again and again. The sounds from behind indicated real trouble, though, for the ring of steel on steel meant that others were now involved. Red Mel staggered up, saw Idnorsea and Big Suggill engaged with three sword-wielding men, and did the only logical thing he could do. Leaving his comrades to their fate. Red Mel clapped one hand over his wound and ran off down the passageway leading back to the Strip as fast as he could go.

Two scrawny boys were heading for the passage from the other direction, but Red Mel disregarded them. “The stupid little farts will get quite a lesson there,” he was thinking to himself as he went past the pair. Just in time he noticed that one of the kids had a slender blade and was trying to stick him. Wounded or not, Red Mel was still fast. He caught the arm and almost had the offending knife free from the filthy little bastard’s grip when a bolt of excruciating pain shot through his brain. Too late the thief realized that both of the small boys had weapons, and while he was stopping one, the second had killed him.

“You hurt, San?” The boy who had first tried to stab Red Mel said he was fine. “Good! Then let’s see what this lousy thief has on him,” his friend Gord said to him. The two boys, beggar-thieves in service of the union, quickly frisked the body. Gord found the ring that the thief wore and slipped it easily from the dead man’s finger. A warm tingling shot up his arm when he held the object, but Gord said nothing. Slipping it into his shirt, Gord pointed into the alleyway, where the fight was in its last stages. “Let’s see if there’s more for us to do.”

Events had run their course by the time the lads got to the scene. The riverboat captain and his men, who were not nearly as helpless as they had led the thieves to believe, had killed all but two of their assailants-and since the boys had done for one of the others, they were congratulated and welcomed into the group.

Soon thereafter the two lads were accompanying three sell-swords and a captive thief, a master named Idnorsea, to a place where the prisoner could be secreted for transportation to Theobald’s headquarters. Not one of them was aware of where the ring had originated, how it had come into Greyhawk, left the city, and made a circuit of the Nyr Dyv before returning to the one who should have possessed it always in the first place. Even Gord regarded the thing only as a valuable trophy. It would be years before he knew differently.