Gary Gygax: City of Hawks

Now it was Gord’s turn to be puzzled. He helped Lurajal sit upright, then assisted the man to his feet a moment later when he indicated he was ready to stand. “Now,” Gord said, “what is this about not fearing injury or death?”

Managing a painful chuckle, Lurajal accepted Gord’s shoulder as a prop as the two walked slowly back toward the Catlord’s home. “I thought all denizens of this place were aware of the special prerogatives held by the descendants of Lord Rexfelis.”

“Well, I for one am not aware, although I am by no means a denizen of the Catlord’s realm.”

“Nor I, actually, although someday that may be otherwise. At the death of my own sire some few months back, I was called here by our liege so as to become acquainted with the place and its nobles and such.”

“And that gives you Immortality?”

Lurajal made another series of chucklings and gaspings. Between the pain of laughing and the attempts to suppress it to avoid the pain and so as to not offend Gord with it either, he had a difficult time of it for a while, so the two had traveled a fair distance farther before the golden-eyed fellow was able to explain again.

“I am not immortal, not at all. But I can heal rapidly enough-even without your help I’d have been able to drag myself back here by nightfall and be well in a day. And if I should meet death I am revived and made quick again-”

“Because of your cat’s-eye ring?”

It was again Lurajal’s turn for astonishment. “How do you know of mine own royal ring?” He stared at Gord for a second, then at his own unadorned fingers, then spotted the ring Gord wore. “It is remarkably similar to what you wear,” he said slowly, “only its jewel is of a different, finer sort.”

“Oh…”

“How came you to know of the ring?” Lurajal was not going to let that question pass.

“I think Tirrip might have mentioned it,” Gord suggested, not wishing to lie directly.

“That is a possibility. She too has one, of course, being of royal lineage also.” He seemed satisfied, and went on. “As to having new life bestowed, no, it is not the ring. The benison, as well as the gift of healing, is bestowed directly by Lord Rexfelis when he accepts one as one of his heirs. Tirrip, myself, Lowen, and the rest all have such a gift. It is a wonder that she didn’t mention that fact to you,” Lurajal concluded.

“About the rings…” Gord said suggestively, hoping that the fellow would be willing to discuss them further. However, before Lurajal could say more, a hail came from the buildings ahead. Lord Lowen, the seneschal, came hurrying out to meet them with four stout retainers, men who resembled the blond-maned castellan but were of less noble bearing and of slightly smaller stature as well.

“See that Lord Lurajal is comfortable in his own chambers,” the seneschal commanded after a cursory appraisal of the two. “Then report back to me.” The four bustled about to assist Lurajal, then off all five went as ordered. That ended Gord’s hopes of learning more about Rexfelis’ special rings.

“Now, Master-Sir Gord, I suppose-it wouldn’t do to have princelings brawling with common folk, would it?” the big man harrumphed. “I think you need to have some rest and time alone to reflect yourself. Please go to your quarters, and I will have some refreshments brought there directly.”

“Of course, Lord Lowen.”

“Splendid. I will speak with my liege of the matter. When that is done I will come and tell you what sentence you might expect, or what judgment is to be handed down.”

Gord was anxiously awaiting the second interview, as it were, with the seneschal, when he heard a sharp rapping at the huge slab of rosewood that closed his antechamber from the hall without. Gord jumped up, took a step, then stood still and composed himself. “Enter, please,” he said loudly.

The thick door with its gleaming panels of fine-grained wood swung inward, and through the portal stepped not Lord Lowen but Rexfelis himself. His face was graven, his eyes unsmiling. “You assaulted one of my own blood,” he said heavily.

“That is correct,” Gord replied.

“Have you any excuse?”

“None, Lord Rexfelis.”

“Do you plead for mercy?”

“No, Lord, that I will not stoop to. I have made my peace with Lord Lurajal, and I have settled my own thoughts as well. I am ready to accept your judgment squarely.”

“It is this,” the Lord of Cats said slowly. “You accepted a challenge from one who unjustly interfered in an affair not his own, you fought all too well, and then spared the instigator and his lot too, if I am a judge of such matters. Your conduct was correct, noble, and above reproach. Nonetheless, you did bodily harm to one of my blood, so I must mete out a fair punishment,” the Master of Cats said as he fixed his gaze upon the young adventurer.

Gord managed to return the look without wavering. “Which is?”

“You will offer apologies to all concerned-Lurajal, Raug, even Lady Tirrip. They will accept them, I will see to that. Then all of you will accompany me to my audience hall. There I will hold the ceremony necessary to make you an officer of my lands, a knight more or less, to put it into human terms.”

Gord was thunderstruck “I… I… It is a most undeserved honor, Lord Rexfelis,” he managed to stammer. “But… but why?”

“Lord Lowen pointed out that as long as you are here, you are likely to be at odds with Lord Raug and his lot-silly stuff, but typical of immature toms, I know. He suggested the honor, and I could not deny the sense in it. After all, there is no insult or injury when a peer accepts a challenge from another-even if that other be of royal lineage.”

Gord dropped to one knee, speaking his thanks freely. “It is a most royal and generous favor-”

“Up, up. Enough of that! Think you that I am unaware of your honors elsewhere? Your actions in Greyhawk have been of mixed sort, often dubious, but are you not also an honored member of that city now?”

“Well, yes, I suppose…”

“No supposing about it, sir, none at all. Think you not that we lords speak not with each other? Those of Balance commend you. He of All Shadows more than that! Well, now you have noble status on fully three planes, my fine young sir thief! Material, Shadow, and Catsreach all-you have justly deserved respect on all three. I am not to be outdone!”

In fact, Rexfelis was not to be outdone. When the apologies were finished, he personally led the train into the chamber where a ceremony full of pomp and ritual was duly conducted by various officials and presided over by Rexfelis. From his own hand he bestowed the honor upon Gord, making the young man a Leopard Guardian, Lone Chevalier Sentinel, Duke of Catsreach, Protector of All Felines, and so on and so forth.

When it was all finished, however, Tirrip and Raug and their coterie left with scarcely a word. With them went several others with whom Gord was virtually unacquainted, although he had seen them around and spoken briefly and formally with one or another on occasion. He shook his head, wondering what the outcome of all this would be.

Lurajal stood close by. He placed his hand on the young thief’s shoulder in comradely fashion. “Congratulations, Lord Gord,” he said with hearty warmth. “I bear no grudge, you know; I would call myself your friend, if you would take no offense.”

“Offense? Why, no, quite the contrary,” Gord said with a smile, and he extended his hand.

Lurajal shook it vigorously. “Then friends we are! You’ll need all you can get now, I think,” the fellow added. “Both tigers-long-toothed and short-are ranged against you, so too the ancient ones of liondom and the lions of the mountains. Old Lowen will take no such stance, but his sprat will certainly troupe with those others, Lynxkind is not in attendance, nor is the Royal House of Leopards-save that you hold honorary grant to a position therein. That will probably mean their support, should their number ever come to this court again. Thus fully five are certainly ranged against you, Gord.”