by Jeff Kish
“I thought you were here to talk runoids,” he retorts, his voice weathered and gruff. “Given you’re not my type, you won’t hold my attention long.”
Ospif jumps in front of Fire, suddenly emboldened. “Master Luk, it is such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read all your treatises and historical references. Your work on runoids is unmatched!”
Era is annoyed that Ospif seized the first audience, especially seeing as he was just in favor of a retreat.
Still, the old rune expert lets out a deep laugh. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Are you possibly a student of the Three Pillars Academy?”
“I am,” he boasts. “I work under Dean Marris, who has expanded on your work considerably since you last visited our fair kingdom.”
Luk’s attitude sours. “That moronic Marris? If he has ‘expanded’ on anything, he’s still years behind where I’ve taken my research.”
Ospif is aghast. “D-Dean Marris is our Academy’s foremost-”
“Your dean is a stooge,” Luk asserts as he casually shuffles his cards. “I hope that doesn’t hurt your fragile Valvoran feelings.”
“I’m sick of this,” Fire says, squeezing herself back to the front. “I need information, and the idiot behind me wants to talk runes.”
“Runoids,” Luk corrects. “There’s a distinct difference.”
“Actually,” Era interjects, “I want to talk about runics.”
Luk’s expression takes an immediate shift. He snaps his fingers and signals to his guards, who prod the remaining stragglers from the room. The Krypta boss folds his hands and leans forward on the card table. “That is a most interesting word, son. Where did you learn it?”
Era wasn’t prepared for such a direct question. “Ummm… Someone told me about them.”
“Uh huh,” he says, eyeing Era’s sideways cloak. “And what is it you’d like to know about runics?”
Suddenly facing an onslaught of anxiety, he takes a calming breath and asks, “What… What is a runic, exactly?”
“You know of runics, but you don’t know what they are? And you’re also Valvoran…” He chews on his cheek as his gaze pierces Era for many awkward moments before leaning back in his chair and vigorously shuffling his deck of cards. “Tell you what. You’ve captured my attention, but I’m not about to divulge information for free.”
Fire is prepared for the remark. “I think we have an offer that will interest you.”
“No, no,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I have enough money. I want a game.”
The entire group is stunned. “A game?” Jem exclaims.
“Yes, a game. With him,” he says, pointing at Era.
Era scratches his head. “Well, at least it’s not a date this time.”
Fire isn’t amused. “What’s your catch?”
“Catch?” he scoffs. “I’m an entertainment addict, my dear. You give me a good show and I’ll open up like a book.” With that, he takes a swig from his flask and gasps his delight.
“So this is the great rune expert,” Jem derides. “A drunk gambler.”
He abruptly stops shuffling. “Look, missy, I’ve devoted most my life to research. The most I have to show for it is this,” he says harshly, gesturing toward Ospif. “Socially inept scholars chasing me down or competing with me for meaningless academic accolades. Not that I don’t enjoy the attention, but…” Twirling his hand in the air, he continues, “You saw the crowds, the women when you walked in. Money and power rule this world. Academic pursuits are nothing more than a weak man’s desperation to muster significance.”
“How dare you!” Ospif blurts. “And to think this is coming from the foremost authority on runoids!”
“That fact should give weight to my words.”
“But the Academy has done plenty to improve our way of life,” Ospif argues. “We find new ways to program runes to make tasks easier, or to extend resources to barren regions. It is a noble pursuit!”
“You think a ‘noble pursuit’ is what gets your dean out of bed every day?” Luk challenges. “That oaf wants to best my work by making some great discovery because he’ll never have my power, my money, or my connections. It’s the only facet of his life which could possibly achieve anything, and he views Academy stooges like you as pawns in his game.”
“I am not a-”
“How many hours of research have you done for him? And for what? A prestigious education that means nothing outside academic circles.” He takes another drink and adds, “Apparently he’s doing something right as a puppet master, having his loyal piggy come snorting me out from across the border.”
“I am not a swine, you blathering-”
Era places his hand on Ospif’s shoulder. “Let it go.”
Luk smirks. “Hey, it’s not like you’re the only tool being used to another’s benefit. Look around this kajoni! These guests exist for my enjoyment, just as I exist for the enjoyment of the Krypta bosses above me. We’re all being used by someone for a purpose. Such is our value in life.”
Jem abruptly slams the table. “You’re wrong. A person’s value isn’t weighed by what they can offer, Mister Luk.”
“See, now this is my kind of woman,” he declares. “Strong-willed, even if wrong.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You sought me out because of the value I can bring you. You lot,” he says, circling his finger, “surely you’re not traveling together out of obligation. Each of you brings a certain value to one another. Without that, would you be together?”
“In some cases, that’s true,” Jem admits, “but don’t devalue our bonds.”
“Your bonds?” he asks with a snicker. “So which one of these young stallions’ hearts have you bewitched?”
“Excuse me?”
“Please tell me it isn’t the obnoxious one.”
Aghast, Jem stutters, “N-Neither one! We can have strong bonds without-”
“Then you’re naïve,” he states. “You’re either using them or being used by them. Probably both.”
His words seem to have an effect on Jem. “That’s not true,” she weakly retorts.
“We’re each only as relevant as we are useful.” Eyeing Era, he adds, “Some of us really only have one function in life.”
Undaunted, Era meets his gaze. “What’s this game you want me to play?”
“Ever seen a deck of cards?” asks the gambler as he splits the deck with his fingers.
“Sure,” Era says, basing his answer on the fact that he saw them on the way in.
“The third great Haran banned gambling from his kingdom. Did you know that?” he asks. “Sacrificed a lucrative source of taxation out of some high and mighty sense of morality. You’re two generations removed from this ecstasy.”
“Gambling is atrocious and victimizing,” Ospif zealously sneers. “Our good kings have chosen the welfare of their subjects over greed. Something you Allerians couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Spoken like a true tool of the state,” Luk grumbles. “You should really shut up. You’re killing my good mood.” He fans the cards in front of Era and explains, “The deck consists of four elements, and each element has numbered cards, one through ten. The eleventh and highest card for each group is the elemental derivative. Need I explain derivatives?”
Era shakes his head. “I’ve had enough education on elements to last a lifetime.”
He gathers the cards and continues shuffling. “The name of the game is ‘Call the Odds’, and the rules are simple. We split the deck, leaving half face-down on the table. We each get half the remainder.”
“So twenty-two on the table, eleven cards each…” Era mumbles, tracking aloud.
“Good thing you can count, because this here is a game of numbers,” Luk replies. “We take turns betting about the facedown card sitting atop the deck, whether it’s more than or less than a certain value. We then reveal it to see if the caller is right. Got that?”
“Ummm… I think so?”
He plants the deck face-down. “For example, I call that it’s less than six. You bet it’s less than five. I call you on the bet, and…” He flips it over, revealing a one of earth. “You win the hand. We go until one of us loses all his money, or until the deck is expired.”
“The game is luck!” Jem exclaims.
“Perhaps so, but you can sway fortune to your side,” Luk coyly says, again shuffling the deck. “I see the eleven cards in my hand, I see the cards that have turned up already, and I see how my opponent is betting.” He points to his head and claims, “It’s a battle of minds. A game of odds.”
“You mentioned betting,” Fire says.
“Yes, I did,” he says as he reclines. “Each time we make a call, we put money into the pot.”
“And the entry fee?”
“Five thousand ault to enter.”
“Heck no!” Jem shouts. “Didn’t you say you had enough money?”
Fire is taken aback as well. “That’s too much. We’ll play for one thousand.”
“Then get out of my kajoni,” he grunts with a hand wave. “If the information I have isn’t worth a measly five thousand ault, it’s not worth divulging.”
“Forget this,” Jem scowls.
She starts to storm out, but Era grabs her by the shoulder and glances to Fire. “Can we afford this?”
“Era, you’re an idiot!” Jem shouts. “He’s hustling us.”
“But he has what I need,” Era says. “I’ll play his game.”
“His game gives you a fifty-fifty chance of winning,” she argues, “and that’s generous considering it’s you.”
“I’d give him two percent,” Fire contends. To Luk, she says, “I have something you’ll enjoy more than this pointless entertainment, so let’s drop the game and-”
“Pointless?” he interrupts. “That’s two offenses for you, gaunt girl. Three and you’re out the door. Now, can we play our match or will you further fall from my good graces?”
In frustration, Fire bites her tongue and snatches her coin purse. She counts out the coins and tosses them on the table. “Fine, play your game.”
Luk motions to one of his men, who scoops up the money and exits the room. “You’ll be given fifty creuls for easier betting. That’s a hundred-ault coin,” he explains. “Any questions before we begin?”
Era takes a seat opposite the runoid expert. “I’ve got my strategy. Let’s get started.” Jem and Fire exchange a worried glance as Luk’s lackey returns with change for each player.
“High card starts,” the expert says as he tosses a card Era’s way. The novice flips it over to find a seven of earth, and Luk reveals a three of air. As he brings the cards in, he adds, “Bets must rise within each round, and we’ll restrict betting to increments of a hundred to keep things simple.”
“I understand,” Era says, maintaining his focus. “What if we play through all the cards with no winner?”
“Astute question. Normally that isn’t an issue, but in that scenario the player with the bigger stack of coins wins the whole pot.” Luk finishes dealing and expertly arranges the cards in his hand. The one-handed amateur, on the other hand, studies each one close to his chest before placing it on the table face-down. Once done, he attempts to arrange them in a meaningful way.
“Anytime, kid,” the master gambler gripes. “I can tell you’re gimped under that cloak, but let’s get this moving.”
Era looks through his cards one last time and finally says, “Less than… seven.”
“And your bet?” Luk asks impatiently.
Era shoves all his coins forward. “Five thousand ault.”
“WHAT?” Fire and Jem shout in unison.
Era winces. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got a plan!”
“What exactly is your plan?” Jem screams.
“You said it yourself! I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of winning, right?” he counters. “If this game goes on too long, I’ll lose. So I’ll take fifty percent.”
Fire leans close and growls, “Change the bet NOW.”
“The bet has been made,” Luk interjects. “And I call.”
He reaches for the deck, but Era says, “Hey, put your coins in.”
“What coins?”
“You called me!”
“Do you understand what ‘call’ means?” he asks in disdain.
Era crosses his arms in contempt. “Clearly I don’t.”
“It means your bet is made, as is mine.”
Era looks to the table. “But you haven’t put any coins in.”
“Precisely. My bet is zero.”
The color drains from Era’s face. “W-Wait a minute… that means…”
Luk flips over the top card, revealing a ten of air. Jem stomps the ground in frustration, and Fire shivers with contempt. Era sits in stunned silence as one of Luk’s guards collects the coins.
With a flippant hand wave, Luk bellows, “Get out of here! What a disappointment, to think I was looking forward to a good game.”
“Hey, you got me on a technicality!” Era argues.
“Your strategy is what sickens me. Fifty percent? Did you even want to win?”
Fire grabs Era and yanks him to his feet. “Move,” she growls, and he stumbles out of the way. She sits and motions toward the lackey. “Give those coins back. I’m playing.”
“Get out of here,” Luk says. “I have no interest in playing with you. I only wanted to play the gimp.”
“Why just him?” Fire challenges.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re all amateurs. You don’t have the luck or skill necessary to compete,” he says.
“Then prove it,” she says, chucking five thousand-ault coins at him. “Embarrass me.”
Luk eyes her with disdain, but he ultimately shrugs and signals for his guard to split the coins again. He shuffles the deck and says, “Make things interesting for me or you’re all out of here. You lead the betting.”
Era watches as Fire angrily takes her cards. “Ummm… Fire, are you sure you should-”
Her icy glare shuts him up, and he remembers she came here with a purpose as well. Luk is her source of information, and she isn’t willing to let him go so easily.
After studying her cards intently, she tosses in her coins and says, “Five hundred says the card is less than eight.”
He eyes her carefully, his eyebrow raised. “Six hundred, less than six.”
She hesitates before offering her response. “I’ll call that.”
Luk flips the card, revealing a four of water. Era kicks the ground, but, as the guard shovels the coins toward his boss, he notices Fire remaining stoically focused on her cards. He swallows hard, feeling like an inept sheep compared to the wolf sitting before him.
“One hundred, greater than seven.”
Fire is surprised by the small bet. “Two hundred says greater than eight.”
“Five hundred, greater than nine,” he says.
Fire counts the growing pot before again checking her cards. Era looks over her shoulder to find three of the four derivatives in her hand, plus a ten. “Call,” she says, still puzzled by his betting.
Luk flips the card, revealing the fourth derivative, lightning. Fire watches the coins go to Luk, only two hundred of which were hers. He beckons for her to start.
Era watches the two play back and forth, engrossed by the nuances of this game. Fire wins a hand before losing two more, but she never appears frazzled. He admires her ability to adapt to such a stressful situation. Strangely, as he looks to her opponent, Luk seems to be studying Fire more than his cards.
“Two hundred, less than five,” Luk announces to start off a new hand.
“Three hundred, less than four,” Fire says.
The experienced gamer flips over the card, revealing a one of air. “Gutsy call,” he says with delight.
Era pumps his fist in excitement. By his count, Luk has only a slight lead over Fire. He’s awestruck by her ability to keep up with such an experienced player, tho
ugh he wonders how well Fire has been able to track the cards that have been played. Still, his ally has a key advantage with the derivatives in-hand. Counting the revealed lightning, she’s playing a smaller deck than Luk.
“You’ve done well so far,” Luk applauds, “but can you carry into the midgame?”
Fire remains characteristically silent, instead selecting her next choice. “Five hundred, less than seven.”
Luk eyes her. “Conservative play? I guess that answers my question.” He tosses coins out and says, “Six hundred, less than five.”
The move catches Fire off her guard; it was the bet she had wanted to make. “Call,” she says.
He flips the card over, revealing a three of water. “You left me to much room,” he says as his guard sweeps the coins.
“Easy to say in hindsight,” Jem grunts.
Luk doesn’t respond, instead opting to find his next pick. Era watches them again go back and forth, but something is changed about Fire’s demeanor. She no longer takes as long to make decisions, and she seems increasingly confident in her calls. Even when Luk wins a thousand-ault pot, she makes her next bet before he can finish stacking the coins.
“Three hundred, higher than six,” Fire says.
For the first time, Luk hesitates. He considers his options before calling, “Five hundred, higher than seven.”
Fire glances to her own pool, counting out thirteen hundred remaining, and Era can tell how badly she wants Luk’s five. She places her cards on the table as she ponders her options, and Era wonders what he would do in this situation. Earlier in the game, a response to such a line would have been without question, but enough cards have been revealed that it is no longer safe to bet. He recalls the cards that have been played, somewhat surprised by his ability to do so. He weighs that against the stakes, and he determines that he would bet. Now drawn in by the deeper strategies, he regrets wasting his opportunity to play the game.
“Six hundred, higher than eight,” she says.
Luk seems oddly satisfied with her decision. “Call.” He flips over an eight.
“For crying out loud!” Jem exclaims. “This game is rigged! To come so close is… ugh!”
“It was no closer than a two,” Fire mumbles.
