Dragon (S)Layers: The Paladin Gambit

by Tammy Silverwolf

  “B--” Her voice died when Isira threw open the doors on a bustling lobby; card games, dice, multi-colored wheels-- all of it flanked a massive central carpet depicting a cat's paw. A stage ringed the entire length of the pit with twirling women showing off more skin than most whores did in a day of working. The air was choked with the smells of lust and alcohol, and cheap beef. It set Leslie's mouth watering. Hunger pangs wiped away her concern and for just a moment she considered approaching the bar.

  Isira sauntered in at a lead, ignoring the man's pointed look her way. She lead them to the bar, past the caravan crew. A couple made attempts to cop a feel and some part of Leslie actually derived some sort of thrill from the contact. Even the thought that attention was being paid to her was a new and vaguely unfamiliar feeling.

  It was still creepy, but it was more attention that she'd received in years. She glanced back. Sure enough, she was getting eyed. Maybe even a cougar could be considered attractive in a place like this. “Heh.”

  “What can I do for you, miss?” The bartender cut off her musings. Leslie looked to see his attention was focused on her rather than Isira who'd parked Herself on a stool a few feet away. “We have--”

  “Food. Do you have any food?” Leslie fished in her purse for the gold. “I could eat a rabbit, lucky foot and all.”

  “Rabbit, then? Think we can do that--”

  “Just- whatever you've got ready to go.” She slapped down one of the coins. “Some water too, please.”

  The bartender's brows furrowed as he examined her coin, then glanced at her. A sudden uneasiness came over him but he gave her a polite smile. “Steak and water for the grey eyed beauty. As you wish, ma'am.” With that, he went into the back room and a younger girl took his place, no older than twelve with a bow tied in her hair. She smiled up at Leslie, holding up both hands with her dress sliding down her forearms.

  Leslie arched a brow.

  The girl turned her hands one way and the other to show them empty, then she made a quick motion with her left, her right. She spread her hands and laid them on the bar, sliding them together and gently raising them to reveal three stacks of wooden red chips-- about sixty in all. She must have assumed the gold was meant for the tables and her meal. Leslie grinned and tipped the girl a few from the stack.

  Even if she didn't get her gold back, it was worth it just to see her smile. Leslie had plenty to spare and Isira seemed to think this was the right course of action. . . Even if She had already started assuming Leslie would just follow Her blindly. As she saddled a stool next to Isira she turned over one of the chips, frowning.

  Isira laid her hand on Leslie's shoulder, “You're putting too much thought into this.”

  “That's not helping,” she glanced at the goddess. “You--” How much could she really afford to say? Would she upset the one being capable of taking her eyesight away again? Hell, was she even in the right to question powers greater than herself? She was, dammit. “I can't thank you enough for—”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  Isira nodded to the bartender who was returning from the back room with her food and drink. Leslie took them with a smile and immediately started tearing into the steak, downing it with hearty swigs of water; liquid perfection by any other name couldn't have been as sweet. To her surprise, Isira waited for her to sate her weak little needs. She even offered a polite smile at Leslie's dubious look.

  “So you probably have some questions.” The ravishing beauty leaned towards Her paladin, Her hand sliding down the mortal's back, cupping her hip in a way that suggested questions weren't the only thing on Her mind.

  Leslie lowered her voice so as not to sound insane in case no one else could see the goddess. “Yeah. Questions. . . . Why're we here?”

  “I told you. To get your armor.”

  “But-- why would it be here? This place is buzzing with magic, isn't it?” She frowned a bit, noticing for the first time that her perception had dulled slightly, her mind felt vaguely muddled and thinking was a little harder than it should have been. “I can feel it. Something's not right here.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “So are you going to tell me about it or do I have to guess?”

  Isira raised a brow at her, scooted nearer and pressed Her body close. “Think of this place like a vault, not something I'm particularly fond of, but I suppose We all have our eccentricities.”

  “We?”

  “Hm? I suppose you'd call them immortals, but it seems a far cry from what We actually are.” Isira flashed a catty grin. “Time has a way of distancing you from the every day mundanities of life and even sometimes from life itself. You start looking for something to occupy your interest. . .” Isira's gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary and she gave Leslie a quick squeeze. “Don't be offended, dear. I'd never hurt you.”

  Leslie cradled her mug, suddenly aware of just how insignificant she really was. She'd been given the miracle of sight again only to serve Isira's ends, it hadn't been an act of mercy or some fleeting divine grace, it was a calculated decision; she was a tool. She glanced at the goddess.

  Isira was smiling a little.

  “So you get what you want either way.”

  “I tend to,” She said without any modesty. “But what I want tends to be the well being of others. Like you. You may find it hard to believe, but I loved watching you cry in my arms-- it made me feel alive again.”

  “I don't like being used--”

  “I've been nothing but upfront with you, young lady. Don't get self-righteous on me, everything you do is for a good purpose and I'll have no harm come to you if it's within my power to prevent it. We're partners in an endeavor that will spread freedom to millions of lives-- the world will never be the same because you came this way, and I. . . .will be a footnote to your magnanimous glory.”

  Leslie went quiet, staring openly at her goddess, wondering how much she could actually believe. It occurred to her she really didn't care-- even being here like this beat the hell out of sitting in her house staring into the darkness. And yet. . . something felt wrong about this entire situation.

  Not for the first time, Isira laid her hand on the older woman's shoulder and, with a soft smile, whispered. “I want you to see and do what I cannot. . . .I need you. We all need you.”

  “W- Why? I'm no one special.”

  “You are to me or I wouldn't have come to you.” Those bright eyes swirled, teasing, inviting. Timeless. Dangerous. “Now let's make this a time to remember.”

  “What happens if--” Isira stopped her with a finger to her lips.

  “Failure happens, don't be afraid of it. But right now, in this moment, I need my paladin.”

  Leslie blinked. “I-- W- What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to play a game of cards.” She said simply.

  “Oh, is that all?” Leslie turned her gaze away feeling like she was going to throw up.

  #

  Leslie walked a circuit around the lobby to see what games were being played before she chose a Blackjack table with an older man behind the cards and a couple caravan workers parked on its stools. It was messy with smatterings of chips and cards splayed widely, several mugs punctuated the scarred wood deck and no one seemed terribly sober.

  It was probably the best she had any right to hope for given the situation.

  When she took a seat the dealer gave her a polite smile. Not the wolf smile she'd expect from someone tasked with emptying peoples' pockets, but rather a polite one. She returned the smile, stealing a glance at the rule sheet tacked up beside him. Not knowing what else she could do to stall and sensing Isira's gaze upon her, Leslie slid the two chip 'buy in' in front of her spot and waited for him to finish the current hand.

  As if from nowhere-- and it really was from the ether, Leslie surmised-- Isira loped from the corner of her vision and invited Herself to sit at the last stool. “May I take this seat? I promised my friend I'd be there for moral support. It's he
r first time playing with such high stakes.” She smiled to the older man. Every eye in the house suddenly turned to Her and Leslie was sure not all of them were kind-- Isira outclassed any of the prostitutes working here and She wore even less than they did but She wore it infinitely better than they could've hoped to.

  To his credit, the dealer didn't even break stride as he finished out the current hand by rote and gave the ravishing goddess the same polite smile he'd given Leslie. “Make yourself at home, the buy in is two chips.”

  The men on her right none too subtly ogled Her and then, to Leslie's surprise, actually started to murmur about what they would like to do to her. Leslie drew in a breath, closed her eyes and let it out in a long sigh. A brief flicker of indignation sparked deep inside but she let it go. She was here for a higher purpose, after all--

  And it wasn't the first time she'd heard that kind of talk.

  Being blind had taught her a lot about being invisible, when it was appropriate and when it was best to hide among groups. This was the former. Head down, watch the deck and pray. As if by reflex Isira slid an arm around her shoulder as the dealer drew cards for all of them.

  Counting cards was like starting a knitting project in the middle of the garment, as it had been explained to her by her husband. He'd tried to make the connection so they'd have some kind of common ground to start from; she'd gone along with it to keep the peace, but when his card had been drawn and hers along with it, she'd found herself bitter and angry at the very idea of gambling. . .

  Now? How could she have said no to her goddess? The very being who'd given her sight again, asked only that she try and had accepted, hell, embraced her failings? Leslie dampened her lips as her first card was laid out-- a seven of hearts. The men at the table received a two of clubs, six of diamonds, two of diamonds and a three of hearts.

  Leslie racked her brain for what she could remember of David's lessons. Sevens, eights and nines had no value in a count, two through six added to it, face cards removed from the count and so did aces, so the starting tally was four. Without knowing how many decks were in play, she could only guess what the actual count was, but even guessing there were two decks, that still left her with a positive two count. . .

  When the second card came, Leslie frowned. Another two of diamonds.

  Definitely two decks, then. At least. She glanced at Isira out of the corner of her vision to see the goddess looking at the cards with mild disinterest, but something in Her demeanor had shifted-- surely She'd seen people do this a million times before, but something in Her gaze held curiosity and maybe-- just maybe-- amusement.

  Once the other cards were dealt out, Leslie drew a shaky breath and tapped her cards. “Hit, please.” The count was reasonably high as it was, which meant she'd probably get a middling card anyway.

  “Another for the lady.” The dealer smoothly laid another card face down beside hers. Two of the others hit as well. She checked her cards; a six. A total of fifteen. Not quite twenty one, but it was close enough.

  “Bust. Fuck.” One of the men said. “Oh, sorry, don't mean to be rude like.” He gave Isira a halfhearted smile. “It's been a long ride.”

  “I'm sure it has! Think nothing of it,” the goddess smiled warmly. “I suspect any ride worth taking is going to be a hard one, but anything is made more bearable when shared with friends, isn't it?”

  The man eyed her a moment and chuckled. “Guess so.” Some of the other men laughed with him. “So how about you, then? Enjoy a hard ride?” As an afterthought he added, “with friends?”

  Leslie stopped paying attention to the banter, even though she could tell Isira's replies were more sultry than they had any right to be. The dealer meanwhile flipped his cards to reveal a strong eighteen and collected everyone's chips. Leslie ran the math quickly from what she could see of everyone's cards and came out with a new count of five across two decks. So five, divided by two and rounded down. Two. So the deck was hot. . .

  This could be good. She stepped up her betting gradually across several more hands until it started sinking again. It wasn't quite second nature, but Leslie managed to hold her own through the hands and get her mental footing for how things were meant to go. It turned out that her husband's teachings hadn't been that far off. When the count was high, bet higher, when it's low be conservative. Simple concept, simple to execute. . . .and it was proving surprisingly successful. Not perfect, but she had managed to keep from losing too much money.

  All the while Isira kept flirting back and forth with the men, always skirting the edge of outright obscene, She commanded their attention and their adoration through most of another six rounds. However by the time Leslie finally managed to get her pace, the goddess threw the entire table for a loop when she produced a ring and set it on the table in front of the dealer.

  “I'd like to speak to someone about this. . .” She smiled.

  The dealer kept going with his cards, not even sparing her a glance. “I'm sorry, miss, chips only at this table.”

  “Take a closer look.”

  He didn't. He finished out the hand and only when everything was settled out did he pick it up. His brow arched slightly and he eyed Leslie. “Are you sure?”

  Leslie, mildly confused, stared for a moment. “Uh, yes? Yes, I am.”

  “I see.” There was something in his inflection that made 'see' almost float from his lips.

  “Do you?”

  The older man turned the ring over a few times, contemplating. He then raised his free hand and set the ring back down between them. Leslie felt the tingle of magic spark from the surface of the polished gold as if someone had turned on a light. For some reason it made her uneasy, it was unnatural. . . .empty somehow. Unquestionably powerful but devoid of anything she'd call a 'soul' like she'd encountered with everyone else who seemed magically active. Even her gold had something going for it, but this was like a hole in reality.

  A few seconds later a young woman with a tray of nuts and a skirt too short to be modest strolled over. “Something wrong, Mac?”

  “Not at all, this young lady--”

  “And my friend.” Isira interjected.

  “Of course, my apologies. Reserve a seat at Table Ten.”

  The young woman beamed. “Sure! Right this way.”

  Leslie glanced at Isira quizzically, but the goddess was already following the girl. Leslie glanced back at the table to see the men watching the two of them-- parts of them, anyway. They followed the servant into the back of the pit, through a velvet curtain and down winding stone stairs that bored right into the heavy rock. It was immediately cooler but by the time they hit the bottom step the air was positively alive with the warmth and taste of summer rain.

  It was magically induced, but it dulled her senses and relaxed her mind somewhat. It was intoxicating, smooth and heady like incense that for the soul. In the middle of the rectangular room was a table with three extraordinarily wealthy looking men sat at it. Two less wealthy, but still privileged men sat at the other side leaving one stool in the middle. By their boots and trousers, they had the look of the caravan guards-- probably its owners. Isira prodded Leslie forward, ignoring her sour look.

  The young dealer gave her an inviting smile, offering a place at the table for next game. A dozen small trinkets lay in the betting pools on the table, all of them had their own distinct magical sense about them, but none of them stood out like Isira's ring.

  The only other item of any note was a strange piece of onyx sitting beside the dealer and silently radiating its own smokey magical signature that seemed to be ignored by everyone but the dealer who seemed to have an intrinsic understanding of what the items were and doled out appropriate value for each of them.