“How are you doing this?” the manager asked.
“I just listen to the cubes, and throw them when they sound right,” Kestrel answered.
There was a round of laughter at the table, then the others at the table grew silent, as the manager reached down and picked the cubes off the surface.
“I should have just let you go eat lunch, shouldn’t I?” he grinned. “It would have cost me much less money.
“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out another set of cubes. “See what these sound like.”
There were immediate protests around the table from the other gamblers, but none from Kestrel. He knew that whatever was happening was the work of supernatural forces, and he didn’t think it could be stopped by the man’s mortal efforts. He held up his hand to silence the crowd, and, as if he was a prophet, they instantly quieted down. Kestrel placed a stack of coins at the random spot that looked right, and began to shake the new cubes in the cup. Others were putting down bets hurriedly, but not nearly as many as before, worried as they were that the change in the cubes had changed Kestrel’s luck.
He closed his eyes and listened to the wooden squares convulsing inside the shaking cup, and when he heard the musical tone, he released his hand, his eyes still closed, and listened to the silence of the people at the table as the colorful wooden cubes flew through the air, hit the table, and rattled towards their final resting spots.
Kestrel’s eyes popped open as he heard a thunderous round of applause. He looked down at the table and saw more stacks of coins being pushed away by the man in the vest, as someone who worked for the gambling hall came up and whispered in the manager’s ear.
“This table is closed,” the manager said. “All cube games are finished for the rest of the day.”
There were shouts and groans and complaints all around the table, and the two guards from the front door were suddenly on the scene to provide enforcement.
“One more throw,” Kestrel said suddenly. “Just give me one more throw.”
The manager looked at him, ready to deny his request, then seemed to suddenly change his mind. “I’ll give you one more throw on two conditions,” he answered.
“I accept,” Kestrel agreed immediately.
“Don’t you want to hear the conditions?” the manager asked with a grin.
“Very well,” Kestrel agreed. He knew it didn’t matter; his success was the work of a goddess, a guaranteed victory. He knew he was going to win, and he realized now what his winning would bring him, a more satisfying victory than any other victory the gambling hall had ever witnessed.
“The first condition is that you bet all your winnings on this roll — winner take all,” the manager said.
Kestrel had heard the phrase before, but hadn’t realized there was a literal meaning to it.
“Agreed,” he said. He took the topmost chip off his stack, and put it down at the far end of the color chart. “That represents everything I have here.”
“And you role only four cubes,” the manager added.
The crowd broke into screams of outrage.
“Agreed,” Kestrel said.
The crowd was silent with shock, and the manager’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed to slit of cynical wisdom. “It was your money for a little while,” he said.
Kestrel picked up four of the wooden squares, and handed the other to the man in the vest. He placed the squares in the cup, and waited momentarily to see if anyone else was going to bet on him. There were no other gamblers for this challenge, facing these odds. It was now a competition of one versus one.
Kestrel began to shake the cup, and listen to the wooden squares bounce around. He shook them for five seconds, then ten, then fifteen.
“Are you going to roll and lose, or just stand there all day?” the manager asked.
Kestrel closed his eyes in response, and listened. He listened for five more seconds, until he heard the magical tone again, the sound of Fortune calling the squares out of the cup. He released his hand, and heard the wooden pieces hit the table once, and then there was no other sound. The cubes were silent, the manager was silent, and even the crowd around him was profoundly silent, other than the sounds of shuffling feet and bodies as observers strained to see what the results on the table were.
Kestrel opened his eyes, and looked down on the table. The four dice were stacked atop one another, forming a column in the middle of the table surface.
“The gods are helping him,” someone muttered.
“I’ll take my winnings,” Kestrel said to the manager, looking over at the man.
The manager’s face was ashen, and his eyes were now the ones that were closed. He was facing an impossibility, and could not comprehend what had happened.
“I want to have my winnings. I’m ready to leave now,” Kestrel said more loudly, as a buzz began to build around them.
“I cannot pay. We do not have that much,” the manager answered.
“I have a proposal,” Kestrel instantly replied. “One that I’m sure you’ll accept.”
“What offer?” the manager’s eyes were open, and he was looking at Kestrel with new hope, frantically seeking some way to escape ruin.
“Give me two golds, and the two elven slaves — right now — and I will leave your gambling hall with the accounts paid off,” Kestrel answered.
“Two golds and two slaves?” the manager replied, incredulously repeating the offer.
“Yes, but I want it all right now,” Kestrel said. “Or I want ownership of the entire hall.”
The manager motioned to one of the bodyguards, then pointed at the elves as he spoke in a low tone. The guard immediately began to push through the crowd, as all those around tried to understand what was happening.
“This is what the goddess wants,” Kestrel told the manager, without revealing which goddess he meant.
The body guard came slowly back, leading the two elves by a chain attached to their waists.
“Here are your two slaves,” the manager said, taking the end of the chain, and passing it to Kestrel. “And here,” he reached onto the table and pulled two golds, “are your two golds.
“Now please, I’d like for you to leave us,” he told Kestrel.
The two slaves were looking at Kestrel with just a flicker of curiosity in their otherwise downtrodden faces.
“Do they speak the human language?” he asked.
“A few words. They understand the whip very well,” the manager answered.
Kestrel felt his anger start to erupt, but then forced himself to stay calm. “Come with me,” he tugged on the chain, and walked away from the table, heading straight towards the doors, as conversations exploded among the witnesses to the extraordinary events he had created. He went straight out the door, stopped at the locker and retrieved his weapons, then turned to his left and started walking back towards the blacksmith shop.
The elves were behind him, alert now to something unusual, but unsure of what it was. They drew attention of passersby as they hobbled along on their severed feet — they were rarely seen, conquered examples of the distant, legendary elven race. Kestrel trudged on, and urged the elves on by gently tugging their chain from time-to-time, eager to get them out of the city and back to the blacksmith shop.
“Master,” one of them called, but Kestrel paid no attention, not realizing at first that the title was meant for him.
“Master, drink,” the other elf spoke, and Kestrel understood finally that he was being called master by the two elves, men who had been proud fighters in the elven guard until they were caught and broken by the humans.
They were past the busiest part of the city, and Kestrel stopped. He pulled the water skin off his hip, unstopped it, and handed it to the first elf, who looked at him in surprise that the new human master would share his own water supply. Kestrel stepped in close to the two, and spoke in a low voice, one that no one else would hear, as he spoke in the Elvish language.
“I am y
our friend and will take you to freedom. Remain calm, and do not act surprised until we are away from the city,” he said. “Stay silent until I tell you otherwise,” he added, then stepped back.
Both heads jerked up and both sets of eyes stared at him in astonishment and concern, a spark of alert awareness suddenly apparent. Kestrel placed his finger to his mouth, then started walking again, leading them on the way out of bondage.
The pace was slow, but by late afternoon the blacksmith shop was in sight, and Kestrel led his two slaves into the yard. The stable boy took one look at the two elves, then dropped his bucket of water and went dashing into the shop. Moments later the blacksmith came out of his shop with a grim look on his face.
“What’s this about?” he asked, as the two elves stood off to Kestrel’s side and watch the faces of the two humans.
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe in slavery. I found these two were slaves at a gambling house, so I bought them, and now I’m going to take them to their own land and set them free,” Kestrel answered. “I need your help; I’d like for you to take the shackles off them.”
The blacksmith looked at the elves, then looked at Kestrel. “They’re elves, you know,” he finally said.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Kestrel said. “All I know is that they walk and breath and talk and think, and the gods didn’t intend for them to be slaves.”
“I’ll do it, but it will cost you,” the blacksmith agreed.
Kestrel pulled out the two golds the gambling hall manager had given him. “Here. I assume that’s enough?” he tossed them.
The blacksmith caught the coins, looked at them sitting in his palm, then looked up at Kestrel. “You’re different from folks around here, aren’t you?” he said.
“You have no idea,” Kestrel said with a smile. He turned to the elves and spoke to them in their own language. “This smith will break the chains and bonds. When that is done, we will leave this place and go to Firheng. Stay calm, and when we are away from all this, I will explain.”
The two elves gaped at him, then one replied. “We will do as you ask, Master.”
“You speak their language, do you?” the smith asked.
“Enough to be understood,” Kestrel agreed. “Set them free, and here’s your staff back, by the way,” he turned over the lent staff he had carried into the town.
“I’ll have them free in an hour. You’re overpaying five times the cost for this, you know,” the smith reached for and took the chain, so that he could lead the elves to his tools.
“Then feed them and give them decent clothes too, if you have any,” Kestrel said. “I’m going to run an errand. I’ll be back in an hour for my staff, my horse, and my elves.
“I’ll be back soon. Go with the smith,” he added in Elvish to the slaves, then walked towards the city and out of sight of the observers in the yard.
“Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry,” he called three time, reaching out with voice, heart and mind to summon his sprite friend, as he hid behind a small barn.
“Kestrel-elf, what place have you called me to in such chilly weather?” Dewberry appeared and asked.
“This is the land of the humans, a place called Green Water,” Kestrel answered. “I have a favor to ask.”
“You have two formal favors left to request; this shall be one of them,” Dewberry told him. “What would you have me do?”
“I have found two elves here, who have been held as slaves by humans, badly hurt and mistreated. I ask that this evening either you carry all three of us to the healing spring so that they may be made better, or that you bring some of the water of that spring back to me,” Kestrel answered.
“It would take many sprites to carry three elves, and that would take much effort. But you know I cannot touch the water myself to fill a bucket or skin to bring it back to you,” she said. “I’ll fall asleep. Is there something else we can do?”
Kestrel thought through the problems. “What if you just held the strap of a water skin and dipped it in the water, so that you never touched the water or the skin, but just the strap?” he suggested.
“That should work; you are such a bright boy! Do you have a water skin for me?” she asked, satisfied with Kestrel’s solution.
“I didn’t bring one with me, but come to me when the moon rises tonight, and I’ll have a skin or two ready,” he assured her.
“Where is Jonson?” he asked the small blue figure.
“Busy,” Dewberry said petulantly. “Ever since the honeymoon ended, he’s always busy. I get so bored sometimes.”
“Where is your human lover, or your elf lover?” she asked in return.
“I have no lover that I can call my own,” Kestrel replied, “not yet.
“Or wait!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember the elf woman we took to the spring with us? Alicia?”
“The one you undressed and laid with in the pool? I don’t know what the two of you did while we slept the wonderful sleep in the water,” she added.
“We didn’t do anything improper,” Kestrel insisted. “But that’s not the point,” he tried to redirect the conversation. “And besides, she’s married to an officer, and she betrayed me,” he re-interrupted himself.
“Do you love her?” Dewberry asked, reclining in the air and resting her head on her fists in a pose that Kestrel found fetching.
“How could Jonson stay away from anyone who looks as endearing as you do right now?” he asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said emphatically. “I wish you would ask him that!
“But you haven’t answered my question,” she said.
“We are on friendly terms, but I do not love her,” Kestrel said.
“But the point is, she has several skins of water from the healing spring. If you can go to her right now and tell her that I have two injured elves who need the water, she could give you a skin, nice and dried and sealed, that you could bring to me right now,” he directed. “Her name is Alicia,” he reminded her.
“You want me to expose myself to this elf woman for you?” Dewberry asked.
“She’s already seen you,” Kestrel pointed out. “She’s seen you without clothes; you’ve seen her without clothes. This will be a surprise at first for her, but not a shock. She won’t scream like Merilla did.”
“Which of us do you like better without clothes? You’ve seen me, the elf, and the human — which of us is most beautiful?” she seemed sincere in her question.
Kestrel paused and looked at Dewberry, realizing that she had a serious interest in his answer, that she needed to feel her beauty affirmed. Her groom’s choice to ignore her was hurting her, he could tell. “You are the bluest,” he grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him, “and blue is my favorite color. So you are the most beautiful to me. If you weren’t already married, I might try to ravish you myself right now!”
“I knew it!” Dewberry said triumphantly. “You did unclothe me the first time we met, simply out of desire!” She darted in close to him, grabbed his face with both her hands, and kissed him soundly upon the lips.
“I’ll go to the less beautiful Alicia, tell her that her beauty pales in comparison to my own, and ask for a skin of healing water,” Dewberry recited her plan.
“Wait! Wait,” Kestrel hastily interjected. “First, tell her that I have two wounded elves who need help, then ask for the skin of water. Then, after you have the water, then you can tell her that you are most beautiful to me.”
“Okay, Kestrel, elf lover-friend, that is what I will do. Then I will bring the water back to you. Then I will go tell Jonson that you are madly in love with me,” she listed her objectives and disappeared within seconds.
Kestrel sat down against the side of the barn, closed his eyes, and smiled at the memory of Dewberry’s infectious good humor and enthusiasm. He sat silently as the minutes passed, then opened his eyes when Dewberry called his name.
She stood on the ground before him, at eye level as he sat, and proudly held a ski
n out before her.
“She was glad to see me visit, once she got over the fright,” Dewberry narrated. “She was worried that you needed the skin, and wanted to come take care of you herself, but I explained that you were fine, and that this water was for other elves you had met.
“So she gave me a skin, and told me to tell you that she is thinking about you,” Dewberry continued, then gave a devilish grin. “That’s when I told her that you had selected me as more beautiful than her or the human! She scowled, and said, ‘Go away blue pest! Don’t come back for his sake any more’, and so I came back here!
“It was a triumph!” Dewberry concluded.
“Yes it was,” Kestrel agreed, reaching for the water skin. He stood up. “I have to go treat my men,” he told her. “And you need to go tell Jonson about your conquests today.”
“I will, friend Kestrel. Thank you so much for cheering me up today!” Dewberry said brightly, and then disappeared.
Kestrel strolled back to the smithy, water skin hanging from his hand, and entered the building to find one elf already unshackled, and the other nearly so. “Here, have a drink of this,” Kestrel instructed them in Elvish, handing the skin over as the smith looked up at the strange language.
“I’ll tell my boy to get some food for your slaves,” the smith said, “as soon as I finish this,” he grunted the last word as he swung his hammer to strike a link in the shackle around one of the ankles of the elf at the anvil.
There was a mighty crack, and the shackle fell away. The smith motioned for the elf to switch locations of his feet, and the still shackled leg rose to the anvil in place of the freed one. The smith placed the chisel on the link he selected to break, then lifted the hammer and swung it to a crashing explosion, removing that shackle as well, so that the chains fell from the elf, and both former slaves were free.
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