“What?” Kestrel was taken by surprise. He looked at the man, standing at the table, holding a cup in his hands. There were others at the table watching too.
“If you’re going to stand at the table, you need to put your money down,” the gambler said. “I’m getting ready to toss, and I’m hot! Put some money down on me,” he nodded to the table below, an intricate checkerboard of colors, shapes and numbers.
Embarrassed, Kestrel reached for his purse. He didn’t have a lot of money with him, but he’d spent nothing so far. Other than the caps on his staff, he had no other planned expenditures. He pulled out the first unseen coin his fingers grasped in his purse, and looked at the numerous small piles of coins atop squares on the left side of the table. In bewilderment he placed his coin on an empty square next to the others.
“An optimist, eh?” the man with the cup in his hand commented. He shook the cup, his hands holding the open end closed, then flung his hand away as he threw its contents down on the table.
Kestrel looked up to see that the slaves were hobbling around, distributing food from their platter to a pair of tables on the other side of the hall. He looked back down, and saw that there were five small wooden cubes on the table.
“You lucky son of a doxy!” the cupholder shouted to Kestrel. “You got the purple!”
Kestrel felt someone pound his back in congratulations, and a tall stack of coins was pushed towards him. He examined the cubes on the table again, and saw that all five had a purple surface facing upward.
“Here,” the cupholder pressed the leather container towards him, as the others at the table stared at Kestrel with smiles. “You’re so lucky, you throw the squares!”
“I don’t really know the rules,” Kestrel protested.
“You don’t have to know anything; you just have to be lucky!” the only woman at the table screeched at him as her partner draped his arm possessively over her shoulder.
“What do I do?” Kestrel asked as the other man released the leather cup, leaving it in Kestrel’s possession.
“Pick up the squares, pick your bet, let everyone else pick their bet, then throw them,” the former explained.
Kestrel looked at the silent man who wore a vest, the one who had pushed the coins towards him. The man nodded discretely, and Kestrel reached for the wooden cubes. He glanced over at the working slaves, who seemed to still be occupied with their duties, then took a pair of coins from his pile and put them on two different squares.
He watched as others placed their bets, then he shook the cup and released the wooden squares. They five cubes flew out of the cup, spinning and revealing their varied colors and symbols as they flew, then hit the table and each other and bounced against the restraining wall, before coming to settle in place. The others at the table gave a great whoop, and the man in the vest began to push forward coins to match several of the bets, including one of Kestrel’s.
The shouts attracted others to come over, and as Kestrel pulled his new pile of coins in and picked up the cubes, a buzz of chatter surrounded him as news of his luck was transmitted.
He placed a small pile of chips on a spot at random, and then watched as other coins quickly fell around it in a pattern he couldn’t figure out. All eyes went to his hands, and he began to shake the cup, listening to the wooden pieces within randomly clatter against each other, until he heard a peculiar chiming clack. He released his hand, and the stream of squares poured from the cup and onto the table top. Kestrel knew, as soon as the first wooden block hit the table, he knew he had somehow won again. When the cubes finished knocking each other against the table top and finally came to rest, there was another loud cry of triumph, as multiple hands thumped him on the back and hugged his shoulders, while a woman leaned in to kiss him.
The man in the vest looked at Kestrel with an unfathomable warning in his eyes, then began to push more coins towards the players’ bets. He raised a hand with two fingers extended, and another man in a vest carried over a heavy box of additional coins, and laid it down in front of the man who distributed the winnings. Kestrel saw the manager who had blocked his path walking over towards the table, and he took a look over at the enslaved elves. The two men were still working, he saw, so he reached for the cubes, and realized that more gamblers were arriving at his table to take advantage of his lucky streak.
Kestrel looked at the table top, placed another bet, and the whole process began again under the watchful eye of the new arrivals, both those who gambled, and those who worked in the gambling house. Kestrel’s bet and those of the other gamblers won again, and Kestrel belatedly realized that the money the gamblers won was money that the gambling hall lost. Another box of coins was carried to the table, and more gamblers surrounded the prime attraction. A glance at the elves showed that many other tables were emptied as Kestrel drew in people looking to ride his luck.
“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 your 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.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 01 - The Healing Spring Page 31
