“All right, Gord, I shall be a little more specific-otherwise, I’ll never have sufficient peace to properly quaff the remainder of this superb wine you’ve so foolishly provided to me.”
Taking the hint, Gord put bottle to glass and filled Gellor’s goblet again. “How long has it been since you and I met?”
“More than a year-two, near enough. From that question, I take it you have needed no special amusements to pass the time here in Greyhawk…”
“That’s so, although I do seek some diversion now and again. Chert-surely you remember him?-went off to find more action and adventure many months ago, though it seems but yesterday. I’ve kept occupied, shall we say, here and about, making a modest living this way and that. But the sameness cloys, Gellor. Have you come with some momentous quest for me?” When the one-eyed man shrugged and shook his head in tentative fashion, Gord’s interest was even more piqued, if that was possible.
“Well, don’t just sit there supping on my wine and being as silent as a stone! You’ll not lure me into more discussion of my own affairs until you recount your own.”
“The druid Greenleaf is more concerned with the minions of the Abyss and malign relics of power than I am. Save your questions for that one,” Gellor said with a smile. He knew that he wasn’t fooling Gord in the least with his disclaimer, but he wished to direct the conversation to other matters. “Do you think often of your heritage?” he asked after a slight pause.
The young man was serious now. “Too frequently, old friend. It causes me pain, so I gain surcease through action and hazard. There is no one to answer my queries. It is a riddle with no answer. Yet, I find myself going over the matter again and again…” Gord’s voice trailed off, his gaze resting on the small box that, as far as he knew, was the only possible clue he had to his past, his parents, his heritage.
“That is one of the reasons why I am come here, Gord. Perhaps there is someone, something, to provide at least a partial answer to your questions.” Gord opened his mouth at that, but Gellor cut him off before he could speak. “No, wait, don’t interrupt me now. You’ve been at me as a mosquito on fair flesh, and now I’ll speak-only do open another bottle of that wonderful vintage!” Gord complied readily, and the one-eyed man returned to his tale.
“It is a fact, Gord, although one unknown to you until this very minute, I presume, that you have been the subject of some considerable attention. Greater ones than you and I have watched and wondered. Imagine a game of Archchess…” He paused to look at the young man, and Gord nodded. He was an avid gamester, and he knew the sort of contest Gellor was using for his analogy. “Think of it as a three-sided competition, though, and not two or four. Consider also that the pieces and pawns are sometimes of unknown color and shape.”
“You infer that the players do not always recognize the allegiance and powers of the men on their game board?”
“Exactly! And it would be appropriate to liken you to such a man on the field of play. What is the blazon on your coat? What rank do you hide?”
Gord waved his hand in denigration. “I am a passably good thief and swordsman. A boon companion, I trust, and a willing adventurer after prizes or against dark foes, but a playing piece in the big game? No, not I-and even were that so, I would be a pawn of lowest station at best!”
“Perhaps that is so, perhaps not,” Gellor countered. “Yet you are-or were, anyway-observed by malign ones as well as those of other stances. I think that you alone can determine whether or not you are in play, and if so whether as a pawn or a greater piece. That, my friend, is tied to your past, I think.”
“You speak in riddles more abstruse than that which is bound up in my own origin, Gellor,” Gord shot back with agitation, rising to his feet. “I can answer your riddle as soon as I find a solution to my own, but I cannot gain even a hint of the latter, so the former shall forever remain unfathomable!”
The one-eyed man granted that with a small nod, but waved Gord back to his seat and called for calmness. “You have done deeds of derring-do, rescued ladies, fought battles large and small, and undertaken many a perilous venture without flinching. Your skills have grown, and you now bear both great magical accoutrements and a seemingly charmed life. Think you that there are many such as you? Do you truly believe that the amulets and weapons and the like which you so blithely accept as part of your existence are commonly held by mortal men? And as to your luck, what can be said? There has been some aid, granted, but how much? How many times would an end have come to other men, ones not so endowed, who were in your place?”
“Hmm… There is possibly something in your words,” Gord allowed. “Pray go on, and let me think on this matter as you speak.”
“Very generous, your grand grace,” Gellor replied with heavy sarcasm. He was not offended, simply getting in a small jibe as is often customary between comrades. “I am a man in that game, as well you know, as is Greenleaf. We joined it because of instruction, but both of us remain in it because of choice. There is something in you, Gord, which gives us hope. Perhaps one day you will find some clue to unlock the mystery of your past, to discover the significance of that ancient coffer and its unimpressive contents. I know not.
“What I do know, though, is that wherever you go, you leave in your wake turmoil and change. The machinations of nobles are foundered by your presence, wars are won, great evil sent howling back to the lower planes, and Information suddenly surfaces that is vital to all. Don’t you find that passing strange?”
“I hadn’t thought on it.”
“No, you’ve been too busy pursuing wenches, playing boyish pranks, pilfering jewels of incredible worth, and playing at being a mysterious nemesis here in this city! Don’t mistake my words-I am not faulting you. You have done all these things from necessity and it was most natural, all things considered. My question is. Will you now turn your talents to a more meaningful end?”
That gave him pause. In truth, Gord had again become jaded with life as a rogue in the city; he was rather bored with playing at being the cat burglar, the rake, the carefree wanderer. Even though he could not determine the origin of his life, he did have a growing desire to make it a meaningful one nevertheless. Simply being a thief of utmost skill wasn’t the answer, as far as the young man was concerned. He had merely been doing something at which he excelled until something better was presented. He said that to Gellor, and the man reacted in a surprising way.
“Presented? You say that seriously? Do you expect fate to come ambling along and proffer something better to you on a silken cushion?! I am speechless! Perhaps I overestimated you. As an urchin you didn’t await anything-you seized opportunities with talons of wisdom far beyond your circumstances. At every turn you acted to better your position, gain, and grow. Now, as youth passes into full-blown manhood, at the very threshold of your prime, you tell me you are content to dally while you await a finer moment?”
“Well… that isn’t put exactly right,” Gord said somewhat defensively. “I am ready now to answer your call.”
“Ready to answer, but not going forth to seek the foe. It is as I said,” Gellor retorted. “Only you can determine your purpose and find meaning. Use your talents to a better purpose, I say!”
“You say much, but still too little! Just what higher goal do you direct me toward, sage?”
Gellor sat back, harrumphing. He had gotten so caught up in his lecture, as a father might scold an errant son, that he had gone too far. “Well, ahh, yes, yes indeed. It is time I got to that. I am not going to offer firm direction, of course. That would pressure, suggest far more wisdom than I possess. Still, I can offer you at least an inkling, and it should suit your own desires, too.”