by Simon Hawke
“But which tower?” asked the cleric. “The one at the east wing? Or the west?”
“Perhaps it doesn’t make a difference,” said the dwarf fighter.
“Perhaps it does,” the cleric replied. “It is not yet sundown,” said the templar, “so we are still safe from the undead. And we have fastened the iron gate and bolted the heavy wooden door. If, by some chance, there are any undead within the house, they will not be about yet. We still have some time to search. We could split up and check both towers to see which would be the more secure. And I have brought more torches with me,” she added quickly.
The gamemaster nodded, indicating that was accepted.
“Very well then, I shall elect to check the east tower,” said the dwarf fighter.
“You are stronger and more able than I,” the cleric said. “I will go with you.”
“And I will examine the west tower,” said the templar, “after giving you two a torch to take with you.”
“Very well,” the gamemaster said. “You have split up. You take the winding stairs and ascend to the upper floors. The templar takes the corridor leading to the tower in the west wing, while the cleric and the dwarf fighter take the opposite corridor, leading to the tower on the other side. Simultaneously, you arrive at the tower entrances, which have heavy wooden doors.”
The gamemaster paused.
“We listen at the doors very carefully,” the templar said.
“You hear nothing,” said the gamemaster.
“We check for hidden traps again, as we saw the thief do,” said the cleric.
“You find none,” said the gamemaster.
They tried to think of various things that they could do to determine if there was anything dangerous on the other side of the doors, but the gamemaster replied the same way each time. Finally, the doors were opened, and they went through. The gamemaster told them that they encountered winding stairs leading up to the tower rooms. They exercised all possible caution going up them, checking for traps, stairs that might collapse underneath them, every possible trick they thought the gamemaster might throw at them, but meanwhile, Sorak realized that they were using up whatever daylight still remained to them. And he knew that when they reached the rooms at the tops of the towers, the sun would have gone down.
There were, of course, undead in the towers. The players fled from them, but the entire house was full of undead who had been lying in the other rooms, waiting for the night. The cleric protested that no magic had been detected, and the undead were animated by magic. True, the gamemaster replied, unperturbed, but the cleric had only cast a detect magic spell on the front door. Besides, the magic that animated the undead did not come into play until after sundown, and the cleric had not bothered to detect magic again after the first time.
With each encounter, dice were rolled, scores were checked, and one by one, the players died. Finally, only the templar remained, and she made it all the way to the front door, only to discover that the bolt they had managed to force through with so much difficulty would not open for her. And the undead were closing in by the dozens. She rolled to see if she would be able to open the bolt before they reached her. She rolled low, and her character died.
Exasperated, the player who had assumed the character of a templar glanced at Sorak and Valsavis, pointed at them, then turned to the gamemaster. “What about them?” she demanded. “You haven’t said what happens to them!”
The gamemaster merely shrugged. “Very well. They entered the tavern, locked the heavy wooden door from the inside, and spent an uneventful night listening to the undead howling in the streets. Eventually, they fell asleep and when they woke up, it was morning.”
“That’s it?” the templar said with disbelief.
“They chose wisely,” was all the gamemaster said in reply.
“Gith’s blood!” the templar swore in frustration. “This is a stupid game!”
She threw down her dice and left the table.
“We seem to have an empty chair,” the gamemaster announced, calmly, glancing at the onlookers.
“I will join the game,” Ryana said as she sat down.
The other two players elected to remain. They paid ten ceramics apiece for the privilege of creating new characters and remaining in the game, though they lost not only their previous wagers, but all of their experience points as well, since their characters had died. As new characters, they were now starting out afresh, as was Ryana.
The dwarf fighter unimaginatively chose to remain a dwarf fighter. He was now simply a different dwarf fighter, and he had to roll to determine the strengths and abilities of his new character. He came off rather worse than he had the first time, which did not please him at all, and he continued to play in a surly mood.
The cleric decided to become a thief this time. She rolled, and her new character turned out to have better strengths and abilities than her last one. She seemed happier about this, even though she had lost heavily with her wagers as a cleric.
“And what character class will you choose?” the gamemaster asked Ryana.
“I will be a priestess,” said Ryana.
“You mean a templar,” said the gamemaster.
“No, I mean a priestess,” she replied firmly. “I could never be a defiler, not even in a harmless game.”
“Ah,” said the gamemaster, nodding. “I see. Well, I suppose that is permissible. But you shall not have any strengths and abilities beyond those listed in the cleric class.”
“That is acceptable to me,” Ryana said. She rolled. She came out with the highest scores of all. The game continued.
This time, the dwarf fighter and the new thief paid closer attention to what Sorak and Valsavis chose to do. The gamemaster continued to spin out the adventure for them. As they moved through the city, searching for the fabled lost treasure, they encountered one trap after another. They encountered a nest of deadly crystal spiders. They were faced with banshees, who could go abroad during the day. They had to fight rival treasure seekers and fire drakes and elementals. With each encounter, however, the Guardian probed the gamemaster’s mind and determined what awaited them, and each time Sorak made the wisest choice. And on those occasions when no safe choice was available, the Guardian gave the dice a small assist when Sorak rolled, and he emerged from the encounters unscathed and successful in his wagers every time.
Valsavis followed his lead, wagering heavily, while Sorak wagered more conservatively. Ryana, too, followed his lead, and did not wager a great deal, but her telekinetic skills enabled her to control the dice every time she rolled, as she had when she had scored so high in her character’s strength and ability.
The other two players died before very long. Others took their places at the table. Eventually, their characters died as well. Some stayed and created new characters, others left to play at other games, but Sorak, Valsavis, and Ryana continued to score well and win their wagers, accumulating more experience points with each encounter. Eventually, they found the legendary “Lost Treasure of Bodach,” but near the end of the game, Sorak realized that the gamemaster had become suspicious of them, and so when there were only three encounters remaining, he “died.”
Ryana followed his lead and died in the next encounter. Valsavis lasted through to the end, despite not having Sorak’s example to follow. Since he had been wagering heavily throughout the game, he walked away from the table with a small fortune. Sorak and Ryana had their winnings, too, which were not affected much by their loss near the end, though they lost on the bonus that their experience points would have awarded them. The gamemaster announced the beginning of another adventure quest as they left the table and headed toward the bar.
“Well—that was certainly a rather interesting sort of game,” Valsavis said.
“You did very well,” Ryana said.
“I would have preferred it if it were the real thing and not simply an imaginary game,” Valsavis said nonchalantly. “That would have been much more stimulating, I
think.”
Sorak gave him a sidelong glance, but did not rise to the bait. As they approached the bar, they suddenly became aware that a number of the burly guards had fallen in behind them.
“Your pardon, gentlemen and lady,” one of them said, “but the manager would deem it an honor if you were to join him for a drink.”
“Certainly,” said Valsavis. “Bring him over.”
“He invites you to join him in his private chambers,” said the guard.
“And what if I said that I prefer to have my drink here, at the bar?” Valsavis asked.
“Then I would assure you that you would find the manager’s private stock of superior quality,” the guard replied.
“Fine,” replied Valsavis, “send some of it over.”
“The manager has impressed upon me the sincerity of his request,” the guard said, “and therefore, I sincerely urge you to accept his gracious invitation.”
“And what if we refuse?” Valsavis said. The guard hesitated slightly. “Sir,” he said in an even tone, “I perceive that you are an able fighting man. Doubtless, you have a wealth of experience in your chosen trade. My salary here is not so great that it makes me relish the prospect of going up against a warrior who, in all probability, is at the very least my equal, and quite possibly my superior in skill. I am also not desirous of seeing other patrons injured inadvertently if such an unpleasantness should come to pass. I ask you, therefore, once again, with utmost humility and respect, to accompany me to the manager’s private chambers, and to note that there are, at this very moment, half a dozen crossbows aimed in your direction, held by the finest elven archers that money can buy. And I can assure you, with no fear of being proven wrong, that each of them can hit a kanna seed at thirty paces with six arrows out of six.” Valsavis raised his eyebrow. “What, only thirty paces?”
“We will go with you,” Sorak said, taking Valsavis gently by the arm. “Won’t we, Valsavis?”
The mercenary glanced at Sorak’s hand upon his arm, then looked up at Sorak’s face. Sorak met his gaze unflinchingly.
“As you wish,” Valsavis said. He gave a slight bow to the guard. “We have decided to accept your employer’s gracious invitation.”
The guard returned the bow without a hint of irony. “My profoundest thanks, good sir. If you would be so kind as to follow me, please?” The guards led their charges to the stairway leading up to the gallery. The crossbows of the archers never wavered from them for an instant. Most of the other patrons were so intent upon their games that they never even noticed, but a few did, and anxiously followed them with their gazes, hoping to see something dramatic. However, they were doomed to disappointment.
The guards ushered them into the manager’s private chamber at the rear of the gallery. The room was brightly lit with oil lamps, and the whitewashed walls were hung with expensive-looking paintings of desert landscapes and village street scenes. There were several plants in large, ceramic containers set about the office, and the oiled, wood-planked floor was covered with an exquisite Drajian rug in muted tones of red and blue and gold. Three handsome, carved agafari chairs were placed in front of the manager’s large and ornate desk, on which there was a glazed ceramic tray holding a cut-glass decanter of wine and three goblets.
The manager of the Desert Palace sat behind his desk, but stood as they came in. He appeared to be in his late middle years, with dark hair liberally streaked with gray, which he wore down to his shoulders. He was clean-shaven, and his features were soft and delicate-looking. He wore a simple black cloth tunic and matching breeches, with no weapons or ornamentation.
“Come in,” he said, in a quiet,’ pleasant voice. “Please, sit down. Allow me to offer you some wine.”
“If you do not mind, I would prefer water,” Sorak said.
The manager raised his eyebrows slightly. “Some water for our guest,” he told a beautiful young serving girl.
“I will accept the wine,” Valsavis said.
“And you, my lady?” asked the manager.
“I would like some water, too,” Ryana said. The serving girl brought a pitcher of cold water and poured for them, then poured a goblet of wine for Valsavis. She served them, and then quickly left the room. The guards remained behind them, standing as impassively as statues.
“You seem to have done quite well in your gaming tonight,” the manager said. Valsavis merely shrugged. “I fear that we lost near the end,” said Sorak. “Yes,” the manager replied. “But only because you chose to lose on purpose. We have had psionicists in here before, you know. Admittedly, most were not as gifted as you are.”
“I am no psionicist,” Valsavis said, frowning. “No,” said the manager, “I do not think you are, good sir. But your friend, here, is. And so, I will wager, is the lady. You are villichi, are you not?” he asked Ryana.
She was surprised. “Most people cannot tell,” she said.
“Yes,” said the manager, nodding, “you do not have the features one normally associates with the sisterhood, but you are unusually tall for a human female, and your physical attributes are… well, rather remarkable. Clearly, you have had a lifetime of intense training. And your mastery of mind over matter is most impressive. My gamemaster was not convinced that you were cheating until five encounters from the conclusion of the game. I must admit that I am rather surprised to find a priestess at the gaming tables, and in such… irregular circumstances… but then that is purely your concern.” He glanced at Sorak. “And as for you, sir, I must confess to unabashed and open admiration. Your skills are astonishingly subtle.”
“What gave me away?” asked Sorak.
“The game itself, my friend,” the manager replied. “We are experienced gamers here in Salt View. We pride ourselves on being the acknowledged masters of our trade. Our games are most carefully designed. No one has ever survived to complete an entire quest adventure. You, sir,” he added, with a glance at Valsavis, “have the distinction of being the very first to have done so. And you managed it by following your friend’s lead and having some good luck at the end. Only a psionicist could have successfully survived as many encounters as your companion did.”
“So?” said Valsavis.
“So it was cheating,” said the manager.
“And I suppose you want your money back,” Valsavis said.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking for it,” said the manager. “You have the look of a man who would not surrender it without a fight. I prefer to avoid violence, myself. I am not a strong man, as you can plainly see, and my guards are more accustomed to dealing with the occasional inebriated trader or disenchanted aristocrat than a seasoned warrior such as yourself. I merely wanted to congratulate you on your winnings—however ill-gotten they may have been—and to inform you that you are welcome to partake of any recreations our fine establishment has to offer for the remainder of the night, completely free of charge. On the sole condition that you avoid the gaming tables.
“My staff has been advised that they are closed to you. Of course, I would not object if you chose to leave and go elsewhere, but you will find that within the hour, every gaming house in Salt View will be alerted to your presence. We have, of course, many interesting diversions here, and you will be free to take advantage of them. You may find our fighting rings of interest, or perhaps our theater, which is superlative. But in any event, I extend to you the hospitality of the Desert Palace for the remainder of the night, and pray that you return our courtesy with courtesy in equal measure.”
“I have no interest in keeping the money I have won unfairly,” Sorak said. “And I can speak for the lady, as well. Valsavis speaks for himself, though we would hope that he follows our example. For our pan, we would be pleased to return all the winnings.”
“In that case, I suppose you may as well have mine, too,” said Valsavis dryly, throwing the heavy purse containing his winnings on the manager’s desk.
The manager frowned slightly. “I must admit, I am puzzled at your willingn
ess to return the money. May I ask why?”
“I was hoping to see how you would try to take it from me,” said Valsavis.
“Somehow, that does not surprise me,” said the manager. Then he glanced at Sorak and raised his eyebrows. “I merely found the game itself of interest,” Sorak said. “I had never seen such an unusual game before.
I worked for a time in a well-known gaming house.
My duties were to expose cheats and cardsharps, and I was merely curious to see how you did so here.” The manager raised his eyebrows. “Had you but asked, my friend, and told me of your credentials and experience, I would have been only too glad to show you. And if you were looking for employment, there would have easier ways of making an impression. Tell me, where did you work before?”
“In Tyr, in a gaming house known as the Crystal Spider.”
“I am familiar with it,” said the manager, nodding. “May I ask your name?”
“It is Sorak.”
“Indeed?” the manager said, with some surprise. “You are the one they call the Nomad?”
Now it was Sorak’s turn to be surprised. “How is it that you know of me?”
“Word travels fast in certain circles,” the manager replied. “And I make it my business to find out about skillful individuals in my profession. You made quite a lasting impression in Tyr, it seems.” He glanced at Sorak’s sword. “I have heard about your sword, as well. A unique weapon in more ways than one, I’m told. If you seek employment, I would be privileged to make you an offer. And I am sure that positions could be found for your companions, as well.”
“Once again, I cannot speak for Valsavis,” Sorak said, “but although I thank you for your generosity, it is not employment that I seek, but merely information.”
“If I am unable to provide it,” said the manager, “I shall endeavor to find someone who can. What is it you wish to know?”
“I would like to know where I can find a druid known as the Silent One,” said Sorak, slipping back to allow the Guardian to probe the manager’s mind. However, it turned out to be entirely unnecessary.