Gord fairly danced, torn between the desire to get as far away as possible and the strong urge to never desert a comrade-in-arms in time of trouble.
"Hurry, dammit!" he nagged as the sound of a mob grew louder. Maust and who knew who else, had probably whipped a group of locals into a frenzy. They'd soon be coming into the gangway in search of the fugitives.
Scrabbling sounds came from nearby. Then the woman cried, "Got it! Stop your silly fretting, Gord, and lead us out of here!"
Seconds later, lanterns and torches illuminated the narrow passage. Somebody shouted that they saw blood, but of the two who were the quarry, there was no sign save that. The group of pursuers stormed around the neighborhood chasing shadows for nearly an hour more before The Watch broke them up, sending bits and clusters of the mob this way and that. Maust was arrested for disorderly conduct after soundly pummeling a member of The Watch who had kicked the scholar in the rear in an attempt to get him moving. Maust, who was already in pain from the wound Gord had inflicted earlier, turned on the unfortunate fellow and pelted him with his fists.. The students threw an impromptu celebration thereafter, but there was no rioting.
"What now, Gord?"
The young adventurer shrugged, still uncertain of Summer. They had retrieved his clothing and sword after successfully escaping the angry mob. It was a simple matter for Gord to lead the woman safety from the University District to the last sure place of refuge he had. They had gone through the maze of underground tunnels, sewers, and ancient forgotten buildings upon which the new cily of Greyhawk stood, to get to Old City. Now they rested in a tiny cellar apartment that Gord had set aside as a hiding place after he first returned to Greyhawk well over a year ago. "Perhaps you should find a place to stay, Summer. There's no reason for you to be involved in this mess any further."
The woman looked hurt. "I’ve already risked my life. I've helped you get information you needed. I'm probably being hunted by Maust and his boys and the killer too. Now you tell me I'm on my own?"
She looked like she was close to tears. Gord stepped close to her and embraced her buxom form. "Hey! That isn't what I meant at all, Summer. I was trying to keep you from further danger, but I suppose I was mistaken. It would be too dangerous out there if you were alone. Stay and we'll work out what's to be done next."
Summer hugged him happily. Thanks, Gord," she said gratefully, and then she kissed him.
Gord assumed the caress would amount to no more than a gesture of alliance, but Summer's lips responded with fervor to his gentle insistence to continue the kiss. For the first time since his brief affair with Ageelia, Gord felt the passion within him beginning to stir. The young rogue rewarded the woman's favorable reaction to his continued probing with a strong embrace and then, gently lowering her to the goatskin couch, he began to run his " hands over the soft curves that were well-defined even beneath two layers of garments.
"Is this the time for-" the woman started to ask. Gord's fingers worked their way down the length of her body and her sentence was cut off by her own sharp intake of breath. After that all bets were off!
Summer returned his exploratory actions with appreciable skill. The couple was sprawled out on the couch. Summer on top, laughing. They teased and wrestled each other, neither in any hurry to consummate the encounter.
After several hours, although the pair on the couch would have guessed mere minutes, their bodies began to thrash about with a frenzy. There was nothing gentle about the way Gord handled the woman now. Soon only murmurings and gasped words were heard.
"I guess we're partners in this now," Summer giggled, coquettishly twirling a strand of blonde hair around one finger.
"What can I say?" Gord responded. "But just remember, I did try to keep you out of it!"
"I'd never dream of trying to keep you out of it!"
"That's. . never mind. This is serious. I'm the next target for extinction by some unknown killer who destroys the very soul of his victims when he murders them! Now you're probably marked, too."
"What are you going to do? Can you figure out who's doing this?"
Gord sat up and fumbled around until he found a scrap of paper and a stick of pressed charcoal. He scribbled several words before answering. "Summer, I think I know who is involved. I don't know how and why, but I'll find that out soon enough."
"Don't keep me in suspense, love, tell me!" she begged.
"No, not just yet. First I’m going to take a little trip across town to look up an old associate. Then I’ll have the answers I lack now. When I do, I’ll tell you everything."
"How about letting me go along? I’m pretty handy in a tight situation, you know."
"That's fair truth, woman," he replied, with appreciation on several levels. "However, this little jaunt won't require any dweomer casting. Just plain old work common to the craft of thievery. You stay here and wait. Don't go out for any reason. I'll be back before mid-morning."
The old associate Gord referred to was an old assassin named Albin. Gord quickly traveled across town and entered Albin's apartment with ease. After surprising the man, quickly overtaking him and trussing him up, Gord stood leaning on his sword, a look of determination plainly written across his fiace.
Albin was no hero. He might be able to bring death to others casually, but where his own demise was concerned, Albin was far more deliberate. "The orders came from the top, the very top. That's all I was told. I do what I’m told. Gord, you should know that," he finished in a whine.
"Sure, Albin, and you attend services every Gods-day like your mommy told you when you were just a nipper," Gord retorted in a voice heavy with sarcasm. He knew the old devil too well.
"Come on, Gord," the assassin wheedled. "We've known each other for a long time. I would never set you up or even finger you. All I knew was that a mark had been set up, and that everyone would make a big score."
"What about the murders? As a master of the council, you must have been informed," Gord said as he leaned on his sword. The weapon didn't actually threaten him, but the killer knew that the young man holding it would not hesitate to run its sharp-edged length through his gut if he thought Albin was stringing him along with lies. Albin didn't like that thought at all.
"What I said about that before is gospel, Gord. I can't tell you anything else."
"Okay. You're lucky, old chap. I believe you so I’ll allow you to live. See you around, Albin."
"Don't leave me here tied up! They'll know when they find me. You know what'll happen then. . "
"Take your chances, chump. You should have thought of who you were playing with before you joined the assassination game. Bye!",
Next came someone from the distant past. Albin had given Gord enough to enable him to find who he was looking for without any problems. As if reliving past actions, Gord was back in the Enclave, not far from the dwelling of the dead fence, Basil. Among the trade buildings he looked for a tall, rectangular one set back off the arteries, as if a storehouse. There was just enough light from the false dawn's milky paling to discover the place desired. It was of old brick and quarried limestone. Weathered and deserted-looking.
Gord rubbed his palms together briskly and began to climb. He pressed himself against the rough surface, becoming one with the stones and bricks. Fingertips here, boot there, always three firm holds before moving upward. The roof projected about three feet from the wall. That didn't bother Gord in the least. Keeping a firm hold, he reached up and back with his right arm. His fingers felt the edge, slid around, located a rough, steady place along the edge above. He let go with his left hand and feet, swinging by one arm fifty feet above the pavement, the wind whipping his cloak in a flapping streamer, almost as if he had wings. With his left hand Gord explored until he found another secure hold. Then he pulled himself up to the steeply pitched slate roof.