“Nice to see a new face,” the oldest man at the table offered. “May I offer you two a drink?”
“I'd not want to impose.” Isira smiled.
“It's no trouble, please, allow me the honor of serving such beauty.”
“What he means is put on your best leather boots,” One of the other men offered with a wry smile.
“Hmph.”
Isira chuckled, sliding her hands over Leslie's shoulders and massaging them lightly. Leslie took several deep breaths, trying to refocus her mind against the strange magical haze in the room.
“Are you quite all right?”
“Fine, fine. . . I think I may have had too much to drink upstairs,” Leslie lied.
“Oh, heavens! You poor thing, how could you drink that swill?”
Isira cut in with a gentle laugh, resting her chin on Leslie's skull. “Sometimes we do strange things for the sake of our own amusement, but what a lovely sight it can make!”
A gaggle of polite chuckles and good natured ribbing followed, but Leslie barely heard it as she was dealt her hand. It occurred to her she hadn't placed her bet and so she set a stack of chips out.
Silence filled the room.
Leslie noticed that everyone had some kind of bauble on display-- most of them golden trinkets. With a swift apology she produced one of the coins Keiter had given her and set it down. The silence turned into a soft gasp--
There was no way she could smooth it over, so she didn't even try: “So I suppose this is what it feels like to be the cobbler's apprentice who doesn't know how to nail a shoe and winds up driving it into the wearer's heel. . .”
“You play a dangerous game, miss.” The Drinker said softly. “Playing with Nightshade usually doesn't end well for anyone involved.”
Leslie frowned. “I'm out of things to play, then, and the game hasn't even started.”
“It's okay,” the dealer smiled politely. He had the same hazy far away expression of the man upstairs, even though he was maybe half the age. “Dragon's gold or not, it's welcome here all the same.”
“I'm not taking that with me if I win!” One of the men to her left said. “It brings nothing but trouble!”
“Then focus on losing,” the Drinker said with a laugh. “We've a game to play.”
It took Leslie a lot to focus herself enough to play the first hand but after six more she actually wound up with more than she lost and eventually pushed the two caravan goers out of the running. The dealer called a short break after they left to replenish his cards and clean the table-- a process which involved actual cleaning that swept away the lingering trace of magical energies from the winnings.
During the break Leslie and Isira were commiserating in a corner over a glass of cherry flavored water. Leslie massaged her temples waiting for her turn with the glass. The bartender was polite enough to give them space at least. “What's with this place?”
Isira downed the rest of her whiskey and poured herself another. “Hm?”
“My head is swimming. . .”
“Oh, that.” She pouted her lips. “I imagine that's your sensitivity to magic growing.”
“I never used to be--”
“Or you didn't think you were because you'd never encountered any.”
“Okay, sure, but what's the deal with it? Can we make it stop? I've drunk myself blind and felt less clouded. . .”
Isira arched a brow at her, “You drank yourself blind?”
“Yeah, it was five year habit.” She tried for a smile that felt more like a grimace.
“That's horrible.” The goddess scoffed even as she offered a light hearted smile. “Maybe you should try a drink or two, then. Barkeep! Whiskey for my friend if you please?” When the bartender set the drink on the bar, Isira slid it over to with a grin. “Go on.”
“So no black humor?” Leslie frowned. “I was kidding, I really don't drink.”
“That's a shame,” Isira plucked the glass and downed the drink. She didn't even flinch. “I enjoy a good licker.”
The two women stared at one another, Leslie pondered the meaning of her patron's words but rather than dwell on them, she looked for something to sate her curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”
“Else, you mean?”
“Else, yeah. . . .can I ask what was up with the door man? Did you know him or something?”
“You noticed that,” She said mater-of-fact. “Suffice it to say Elisandra and I never saw eye to eye, Her followers are well aware of that fact.” Isira downed another drink.
“Elisandra? Isn't-- She's the uh. . . .the Guide? I heard someone mention Her in passing forever ago.”
“Close enough.” Isira pounded another down as if it was water. “She had very specific opinions about Her own role when it came to things. Her cherubs are even worse.”
Leslie could hear the faint undertone of loss in the goddess's voice, as though she was memorializing a friend She no longer looked up to but resented. She was just about to comment on it the dealer called her over to continue the game. Regretfully, Leslie wandered back.
Six more hands passed with the dealer taking a heavy loss, Leslie's confidence surged as she finally patterned out how the deck was going to feed cards-- not so easy considering there were five decks in play by her estimation.
She bet high, she gave the appearance she was playing recklessly and pretended to be affected by the alcohol she hadn't touched. It wasn't just being able to see, it wasn't the winning or the draw of magic any more; she had a goddess hanging off her shoulder, urging her on with every card they laid down. She had this entire thing wrapped tight around her finger.
The dealer reshuffled the deck, twice, but Leslie was already sitting beside most of the betting pool and the competition was dropping quickly. The Drinker was the next to bow out when he had no more heart to lose his baubles. He was a gracious loser, though, offering everyone at the table a round of drinks once the game was concluded.
Isira leaned close and placed Her chin on her minion's shoulder. Leslie could still feel the tug of Her interest and desire, warmed by alcohol, pulling at her soul. Almost as if Isira was hoping she'd lose. But that wasn't right, was it? Surely She didn't drag Leslie out here for the sake of a joke. . .
But then, what was she supposed to be learning from this?
“And dealer folds. . . The lady wins again.”
“Mrrrrr.” Isira purred, looking up at the dealer. “First to bet, first to bed, hm?”
“Or,” a voice rumbled from the darkest part of the room; a deep baritone that sounded faintly gravely and a little groggy. “Mayhap the lady enjoys a cheat, daring against hope it's my odds she'll beat.”
Isira tensed slightly. Leslie felt a flare of a new magical presence enter her periphery-- a sharp, hot tang that warmed her senses like a pepper and felt every bit as powerful as the goddess beside her. Unlike Isira's sultry invitation, though, this new presence was exotic and potentially dangerous.
“Ah, but that would be rather boring and rude!” Isira said cheerfully. “Were she willing to cheat, it woudln't reflect very kindly with her otherwise pure attitude.”
A rumbling chuckle resonated within the room. “The table is closed-- the woman may stay. You” the voice seemed to be addressing the man at the table as well as the staff, “may go.”
Only the gambler seemed interested in protesting: “Now see here, that necklace belong to my grandmother-- I would win it back--”
“You would do no such thing. You've not won a hand all night, I've tolerated your presence because it amused me but the night is over and it's time you left.”
“But--”
“Be so kind as to excuse yourself, young man. It's not polite to overstay your welcome.” Isira said coolly. She flashed a smile at his glare. Instead of leaving, though he grabbed the entire deck of cards, he swept them into a bundle and started to shuffle them. “What are you doing?”
The man grabbed the stool next to Leslie, his steely eyes boring into her. �
��Give me the chance to win it back, then I'll go and you will never hear from me again--”
“No.” The rumbling voice said firmly from the embrace of shadow. “Unless you wish to tempt my ire, I suggest you take this opportunity to leave.”
“But, my--” was as far as he got. He looked to the sound of the voice and his eyes widened. Leslie didn't have a chance to see what'd cause his reaction before she was trying to catch him from falling off his stool. He slipped from her hands and bolted for the stairs leaving her confused.
“Bye, have a great time!” Isira said lazily, turning to the shadow. “So then there were two.”
“Two by three, if you were to challenge me, will we add the cards and divide the suits, and see that your luck isn't blind at its roots?” The rumbling voice eased closer to the veil of shadow, echoing in Leslie's chest. “But do you think you've it in you, mortal? I am not so easily deceived by your reckless betting and your false drunken chortle.”
Leslie squinted against the gloom, trying add a face to the millions of visages her mind was conjuring up for the person in the shade. They were shorter than the average human male, maybe up to her chest, but that kind of resonating voice sounded as if it belonged to someone much more powerful than it had any right to be. She licked her lips, stole a quick glance at Isira and then said the first thing that came to mind. “The poet calls, raises, folds and bluffs, but. . . uh. . . Stuff?”
Silence.
“Great job, brain.” Leslie pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, I'm not a poet. I don't pretend to be, but I came here looking for-” she felt Isira's presence press on her like a bookcase falling down. In seconds she couldn't speak, so powerful was the goddess's influence over her own mind. From some distant part of her own subconscious, she heard her own voice say: Looking for a good game! Seems I found it, even if my wordplay by comparison can be quite tame.” Isira capped the display of power off with a glance and eased back until Leslie was herself again.
She barely had time to feel out her own senses once more-- the process felt like extremities gaining their feeling after being numb-- before the inky darkness slid back to reveal the speaker and, the seamstress guessed, the casino's host.
“Oh. Shit. . .”
Chapter 3: Things Unexpected
“There are three lessons I would wish the world to start learning before asking anything of those who answered the siren's call of a deity, and in my delusional, naive mind those would be taught from an early age; humility, respect and pity.
Clerics must die to even have the opportunity to become servants of their god-- which is why so many temples have what even an army would consider an insane rate of attrition-- yet, usually by direction of their god or the senior clergy, they give themselves to the world to spread their patron's message. Unfortunately this unending life of servitude is not predicated in the same way one learns a trade. There are no training periods, there is no retirement and most clerics die unacknowledged and forgotten long after their friends and family have already passed away.
Paladins have it marginally better. Marginally.”
Etesa Blain, Paladin of the Dreamer, Alaecon
Letters from the Gods Volume 2
The creature that stepped out of the shadow was indeed up to Leslie's chest level; he had a powerful chest with vaguely humanoid facial features and a feline body protected by folded feathery wings the color of ivory. His deep brown fur and sun kissed human skin only added to his air of otherworldly exoticism. Compounding this creature, this sphinx's visage were the lines of his face that made him seem more human than he should have.
A sphinx. A real sphinx! Leslie's heart clench as she stared at the creature. Then she saw the sphinx's paws-- his dagger-like claws flexed out as he padded into the room lazily and swiftly retracted before he took his rightful place at the dealer's stool. With surprising dexterity he piled up the cards into a deck and started to work them over masterfully. “You play a dangerous game, girl. Fortunately for you I am not inhumane, but at my table we do not bet with gold and pearl, lives are won and lost at the fall of the cards-- do you still wish to remain?”
The proud feline creature gave her a smug grin as he cut the deck several times, never taking his eyes off her. Isira's presence pressed on her a little but it was reassuring more than imposing. Leslie had the backing of a goddess. One that believed in her. With a slight uneasiness, she picked up a piece of draconic gold and slid it forward. “What do you say to a friendly warm up, first?”
He scoffed, offended. “You bring Nightshade to my velvet and have the nerve to ask me for leniency? I am no mere mortal, girl, do not be so foolish to think I'd take it even on the remotest chance I lost.” He set the deck between them and held it down with a massive paw. “Gaze, mortal and know that mine will be the face that seals your fate. Smiling as I take from you what I wish. . .” He let up on it.
“Okay, first all--” Leslie reached for the deck. “T-- That's incredibly, incredibly, creepy.” She shuffled the cards anew, not doing anything to hide her concern. Whether it was true or not, she still played what she hoped would be her first wildcard. “Don't think I didn't see you stacking the high cards on top-- you're going to call me a cheat with an act like that?”
“How dare--” He started. Leslie just happened to be that much quicker, though, she slung three cards from the deck, face up to the table. Of course she'd slipped them from various places in the deck, but if he couldn't tell, she sure wasn't about to. A lifetime of sewing had made her hands agile, but fear of being devoured and gods given confidence made her brave enough to try it. The cards came up as the ace of hearts, three of clubs and king of spades.
Isira giggled and clapped a couple times. “Now, that's very untoward!”
The exotic sphinx narrowed his eyes at Leslie and for a moment she saw not just the flicker of ageless power in those feline irises, but the subtle kind of amusement that novelty brought. Despite possibly being centuries old his human upper body could have passed for someone in his thirties-- the strong jaw and well cut muscles certainly helped that illusion. Then there was his laugh.
It was sharp and kind of higher pitched, but friendly and lingering, almost infectious. He laughed from a place of real amusement and it made him seem somehow more human. “Very well! Two hands for gold neither of us will spend-- by which game to be I leave to you as a courtesy.”
“Now hold on--” Leslie glanced at Isira, wondering how much she could push without the goddess trying to take her over again. She chose caution over trying to be fancy. “What kind of stakes are we actually talking about here?”
The proud creature let his gaze linger on the little mortal, smug satisfaction crossing his tanned features. “We will play to your strengths, naturally! I'm nothing if not magnanimous, you need not bet anything you're not prepared to give up. . .”
Leslie frowned as she rolled the piece of magic onyx around in her palm. Some part of her could feel the wispy smoke like nature of whatever magic the stone contained. It molded around her fingers this way and that as if looking for release by her touch and when Leslie acknowledged it she could feel it push that much more to be free of the stone. Unfortunately no answers were forthcoming.
A glance to Isira for some sort of guidance was met with a placid, glazed smile. The brilliant eyes that looked back at her were amused at their own private joke, likely at Leslie's expense. No, she was on her own with this. “So,” she ventured. “do you mean to have me in a maid outfit and cat ears cleaning your casino? It seems to me like you have enough whor-- uh-- employees to keep things clean.” She set the deck between them. “Let's play blackjack.”
He swept up the cards with a flourish of his clawed hand. “It seems to me like we have our first offer, then! Dispensing with the 'warm up' and straight to the game, I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid of a little shame. . .” He flicked a card to her deftly, holding her gaze the entire time, daring her challenge. With surprising grace he turned over ano
ther card for her-- the king of spades.
Dragon (S)Layers: The Paladin Gambit Page 5
