"What do you see, spell-binder?" The demand was sharp, and the dweomercraefter addressed in such a tone disliked it. It was an affront. The man answered anyway.
"Something clouds my vision. A power prevents location. Master Viper."
"Devils rot your brain! What use are your incantations and paraphernalia if you can't so much as locate a simple object but a few miles distant?"
The mage showed no expression on his gray visage as he replied. "I did tell you that the spider was within the city."
"Such prowess! What fool does not know that Blackcat lurks within Greyhawk? Fagh! I must know exactly where the skulking little cat hides!" Viper, the assassin, glared at the spell-user for a moment as if expecting the fellow to suddenly confess he knew the information.
"Magic has its limits," was all the man said.
Viper turned on his heel. "Keep on, Yormodrin. Do not stop your casting until you can supply me at least some clue, or the guild shall soon be in need of a new worker of spells." How could this fool not be able to discover the location of so simple a thing as a spider locked fast in amber? The stone-eyed assassin wondered this as he left the place and headed for the streets of the Low Quarter to see if he could uncover any information himself. Lord Gasgol was furious at the loss of his own personal treasure, and that fury threatened everyone, even Viper himself. Fortunately, the assassin had been with the lord mayor when the loss was reported by a trembling lackey sent by the syndicate's frightened leader. Viper had immediately gone to the individual responsible for safekeeping of the loot and questioned him thoroughly. Of all he learned, only one bit was of any use.
The jewelry could easily be broken up and sold; of that there was no doubt. Viper held no hope of ever discovering the whereabouts of the stuff, for it would be scattered far and wide as loose stones, remounted in different settings, the original settings melted down for the value of the metal. One piece of it was unique and describable, however. That was the key to finding and eliminating Blackcat once and for all. There was a piece of cabochon-cut amber containing a spider — a spider of purple hue with a flamelike pattern upon its underbelly. That description was sufficient to trace the amber gem anywhere. In time it would turn up, he hoped. At least if it should come up in Greyhawk, Viper would know about it within an hour. But he didn't want to sit around and wait for that to happen. Time was something he didn't have!
Viper had immediately sought out the chief mage of the Assassins Guild. The first result was dismal, but perhaps something would come up soon. Viper had a good feeling inside, the same sort of tingling he felt just before he plunged home a long, envenomed needle or slowly tightened a knotted cord around a victim's soft throat.
He spent the next several hours searching for any clues or information leading to the whereabouts of the elusive thief. But the malevolent Viper discovered absolutely nothing. No help from beggars, no word from whores, not a hint from swindlers and gamblers . . . and not even Viper dared to question the mysterious gypsy folk of the city too closely. Momentarily defeated and in the foulest of moods, the dreaded assassin sat down to brood for a while before heading back to his quarters. A couple of minutes later a big, black rat suddenly ran up to him, skittered up his leg. and sat on his shoulder. The chittering squeak of its voice went directly into the tall assassin's ear.
"Mastrrr sezz come fasst."
The rodent was gone in a flash even as the assassin moved. Viper wasn't at a loss, however. He recognized the creature as Yormodrin's familiar. So the dweomercraefter had managed to get something with his enchantments after all! Viper quickened his pace.
"Well?" Viper stood before the mage. It was now hours since he had begun his search for Blackcat, and deep twilight was sinking over the city.
"You will pay me amply for my services?" Yormodrin decided it was time he was given the respect due to one of his important station.
Viper's flat eyes showed nothing. "You will be paid in full if you can tell me what I want to know."
"I would have the spider encased in the amber. It is an ancient tails— er, token, which suits my humors, let us say."
"Say anything you wish, fool, but tell me where the thing is now!"
"You agree that the amber is mine, then?" the spell-worker demanded.
The tall, reptilian assassin moved closer to Tor-modrin. "I will personally place it into your grasping palm, that I swear. Now, where is it?"
The spell-user smiled slightly. "It lies just to the east. It is within an old building near the wall that divides the Foreign Quarter from the Craftsmen's Ward." The mage didn't bother to explain to his questioner that the effort involved in locating the amber-encased spider had been monumental. Lesser spell-casters, scrying, and much more had been required to locate the object, even though it had been but a few miles distant and within the city.
"Can you show me exactly where it lies? What guards the thing? Tell me!"
Yormodrin had a haughty expression as he stood and beckoned the tall assassin to follow. The mage entered a small, darkened alcove and gestured over a basin of porphyry filled with sepia-stained oil. At his hand's pass, the liquid rippled and opalescent hues played over the surface. Then the colors coalesced and formed a picture. It was a hawk's-eye view of the city. The scene wheeled and changed, as if the viewer were actually flying over Greyhawk. From the green of the Park, over the massive buildings of the Halls District, past the trade establishments, and to the Craftsmen's Ward, the picture upon the liquid's dark surface flowed. Then the view changed, sweeping downward to scarcely a few feet above the rooftops. There was the south wall of the Old City, there the tall, narrow structures of the artisans' sector. One particular building came into focus, then only its uppermost portion from a side view. A window ledge, a narrow, dirty window, and a plain room dimly discernible beyond the dusty pane. The center of the room's scene was a small table upon which a pouch of black leather rested. At this instant the oily liquid bubbled and its roiling surface showed no more.
"Satisfied, Viper?" Yormodrin's tone was smug.
"Very," the assassin said as he suddenly thrust a pair of specially prepared hedgehog quills into the unbelieving eyes of the mage. "The poison will take a few minutes to work. I am so sorry, Yormodrin, that I am unable to stay and watch the exquisiteness of your agony. Work before pleasure has always been the curse of the ambitious," Viper called over his shoulder as he left the mage's sanctum. If Yormodrin heard it wasn't apparent. He was moaning and screaming, writhing as death overcame him upon the smudged sigils of his floor.
A thin, rasping giggle brought the murderer to an abrupt halt. A wickedly curved blade glinting suddenly in his hand. Viper spun around to locate the witness to what had just occurred.
"Don't worry, man." an evil, high-pitched voice shrilled. "You have just done me a great service, and none shall be the wiser as to what happened here."
A small thing, a demonling of some sort, was perched on the lintel of the alcove, in a place where Viper thought he had seen a rat out of the corner of his eye just a second or two earlier. "What are you saying, imp?"
The creature's face contorted in rage. "Don't call me imp, turdheaded human!" the thing screeched. "With Yormodrin's soul safely abyssed, I shall be a full-fledged demon soon."
Viper spat and turned away. This was nothing.
"Wait, man!"
"I need no familiar, demonling. Why do you babble so?"
The thing leaped down and stood before the tall assassin proudly. "I have information, man-called-Viper. You give me the amber talisman, and I will tell you what it is I know."
"There is no need for me to know anything further, runtling," Viper countered. "And if there was. I could force the information from you."
"Ass!" the horrible thing rasped back. "Don't-fool yourself. Go away without what I know, and you will fail."
Viper gave the creature a threatening look. The demonling didn't flinch. "All right, it's a deal," he said coldly. "But I don't have the amber — yet."
"Sign this, man," the demon-to-be said, producing a scrap of sooty vellum. "With your own blood, of course. It is an agreement to hand over the amber spider when you gain it."
"If I do so?"
"My knowledge will be your gain. Besides, I will send you help, too."
That statement piqued Viper's curiosity, but he did not reveal his eagerness to learn about the help. "You make too much of the affair. It is a simple matter for one such as I to kill a thief, even so clever a burglar as this Blackcat has been."
The little monster shook its vile-looking head. "Not so," he piped back with a nasty leer that displayed the dozens of needlelike teeth in its mouth. "The one you seek is more powerful than you know, and my soon-to-be-dead master withheld something from you,"
"What?"
"That is my bargaining point, man! I'll tell you what for the gift of the talisman."
Viper sneered again. "And the assistance?"
"Simply insurance. If you fail, I don't get the spider, turdhead. That's ample reason for me to be willing to have certain servants assist."
"Come then, quasidemon," Viper said, naming the demonling for what it was for the first time.
"You seem to be something I may need. I know what you are and how to deal with you. Produce the agreement, and perhaps we can strike a bargain."
Gord was returning home in the wee hours. A little celebrating of his newly improved finances had been in order, but he had actually kept it within reasonable limits — and it was good he had. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sensed something. It was as if eyes were upon him. Despite that, he stopped only for a moment, as if pausing a minute in drunken fatigue, to gather himself for the arduous climb up the many steps to his apartment on the fifth floor. Someone was watching him from above, Gord knew that.
With a long sigh and a bit of tuneless whistling, Gord began plodding up the stairs. He went slowly and made a production of it. Anyone watching would surely believe that he was tipsy, tired, and vulnerable. The short cape he wore hid the drawn dagger clasped firmly in his left fist, while his right hand rested casually on the pommel of his enchanted sword. Because of that, Gord saw clearly enough.
An unusually large rat was scuttling upward, undoubtedly fleeing his approach. Apparently, nothing worse lurked along the way. Whoever was lying in wait must have decided to ambush him when he entered his chambers. How could they have found this place? Gord asked himself. Perhaps it is a common robber, his brain answered. A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind as he ascended the last flight of stairs, but only one conclusion was logical. Very powerful foes had finally located the den of Blackcat, and what happened next would be a matter of life or death.
"Now where's that silly-sodding key?" Gord said loudly in a crooning, drink-slurred voice as he approached the door to his apartment. His ears detected a faint whispering on the other side of the old planks. It was the noise felt-soled boots made as they slid along hard flooring.
"Open up!" Gord shouted as loudly as he could even as both of his feet struck the door near its latch. He rebounded and rolled through the suddenly created opening while the door slammed and shivered as it struck the inside wall. Another figure was likewise somersaulting away. Too bad. Whoever lurked inside had managed to react with incredible swiftness when Gord had kicked the door in.
Two smaller forms hastened to join the first There were three, possibly more, against him alone.
"Fair odds, lads," the young thief laughed confidently as he advanced with his sword and dagger ready. He hoped that his seeming aplomb would put off the attackers one way or another. In truth Gord's heart felt like lead in his chest. This was a desperate situation indeed.
The central figure made a waving motion to both sides of him and the two smaller men slid off to his left and right. "Welcome home, Blackcat." the tall I fellow hissed. "I brought you some special guests." The man issued a sibilant laugh at his little jest."
"Guests? You are mice playing in the cat's lair!"
"Almost, little pussycat, almost," the hissing reply shot back. "Let's say rats, though — with a big serpent to oversee their handling of an offending torn!"
Just then the two men on either side of the assassin made a concerted attack, darting in to stab from left to right. Gord faked left, sprang right, and took the attacker there through chest and stomach with both blades. The rat-faced fellow screamed in pain and tried to get free, but Gord struck again, twice, with the long-bladed dagger, then shoved the corpse around into the path of the other one, who was coming from behind now. This one looked like the brother of the dead attacker, and as he became entangled with the body and fell. Gord made swift work of him so that two forms lay dying and twitching on the oaken floor.
"Most impressive! Those blades you wield are dweomered, too. Our cat has sharp claws."
"Viper!"
"You know me, Blackcat? How curious. In that case I should have guessed your identity long ago, and all of this would be completely unnecessary. You'd have been dead and rotting weeks ago. But I don't recognize you at all, little man."
The speech was almost sufficient to distract his attention, but Gord was too good to be totally taken by any such ruse. The sounds from behind warned him, and he vaulted into a series of springs that placed him farther inside his apartment and well away from the entrance. A quick look showed Gord he had done the right thing. At least a half-dozen of the rat-faced men were where he had been but a second or two before.
"Stay there!" The order came from the lanky assassin and was directed at the rodent-faced henchmen. "I think that it will take a viper, not a pack of rats, to skin this cat."
"You are very confident," Gord said to the assassin as he began to close. "I’ll tiy not to give you too long to regret your mistake. This cat is faster than any adder alive!" So saying, the young thief engaged his tall foeman, and in a series of quick exchanges wounded the man twice without receiving a scratch himself.