D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch by Robin Wayne Bailey Read Free Book Online

shrugged as he headed for the door, opened it, and paused there. “All right, then. We’ll all check in early this evenin’ to please our cap’n.” He stepped across the threshold into the hall and turned back again. “you comin’?”
    Garett nodded and answered, “Shortly.”
    Burge made a face. “Uh-huh. I know what that means.”
    He gave another shrug and, without looking back, walked away down the long hall that led from Garett’s door.
    Garett watched his friend’s back until Burge was gone. Then he moved around his desk, settled himself in his chair, and reached for the stack of reports. He let go a small sigh as he read through the first one. The Slum Quarter, at least, had had a quiet night.
    The sun was far above the upper edge of his only window when the captain tossed the last report back onto the desk, leaned back in his chair, and stretched. The breeze blew on his neck as he folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. It was a warm breeze, but still welcome. Any breeze that managed to find a way into the Citadel was always welcome. He rose and went to the window. Leaning there, he looked down and south into the expanse of the High Market Square. A number of people with time to spare meandered about the grounds while clerks and soldiers made their way purposefully in a straight line between the High Market Square and the Citadel’s main entrance.
    How had he come to this? Garett wondered suddenly as he looked out at the city of his birth. Its buildings and streets glittered in the sunlight. The splendid estates of nobles sprawled around him in this section of the High Quarter, all carefully and beautifully kept, and the tall, majestic grove of trees that surrounded the Lord’s Tomb swayed gracefully under the gentle brush of the wind.
    Necropolis, the City of Night, was gone. Greyhawk in the daytime was a matchless pearl.
    Yet he knew that was only the view from the High Quarter. In the Artisans’ Quarter, where his parents had reared him—or, worse, in the Slum Quarter or Thieves’ Quarter— the views were quite different. There, even in the daytime, some of the streets remained dark where the tall, crumbling tenement buildings pressed close together.
    He thought fondly of his parents. His father, Dranh Garett, had been a weaver and merchant of basket goods. Through hard work and long hours, Dranh had managed to provide a good life for his small family and saved enough to give his son an education. Garett had been their only child. Too late in life, his mother, Naria, had attempted to bear a second child, and it had cost both her and the baby their lives. His father never quite recovered from the loss, and took to drink. One night, while Dranh wandered home drunk from the River Quarter, two thugs accosted him on Horseshoe Road, took his purse, and shoved a dagger into his belly. It took Dranh four days to die.
    Garett had been twelve years old. With the help of a family friend, he managed to liquidate all his parent’s assets and belongings and put the money in trust with a reputable moneylender. Keeping only a small sum, he purchased a sword and a horse, a few supplies, and left Greyhawk. At the time, he thought it would be forever.
    He still remembered the feeling that had surged through him on that day when he rode east through the Druid’s Gate into the wide world. He had never in his life been outside the walls of Greyhawk. Despite the grief he felt, a sense of wonder washed over him as the entire world spread before his feet. He rode eastward through the Cairn Hills, stopping long enough to see the incredible gem mines nestled there before pushing on to the Duchy of Urnst.
    In Urnst, he killed his first man, a road agent who tried to steal his horse one night. The man had come upon him in his sleep, tried to slip the line, and ride away. But Garett hadn’t been asleep, just stretched out quietly by his fire.
    Dranh had trained his son to weave baskets, not to fight with a