by Aaron Crash
Robert drifted on over to the bar. The bartender was a good-looking woman, with hair so blonde it looked white. She gave him an easy smile, which made her gray-blue eyes, the color of storm clouds, twinkle. She wore a tight yellow dress with a very Western feel, from the pattern of black lines to the mother-of-pearl buttons that closed up the front, but not all of the front. Her cleavage was a heavenly valley offering earthly delights.
Robert ordered a scotch and soda.
Frank lifted his glass. “Hey, you must be Robert Stains. Mind if I call you Bob?”
“No, Frank, you’ll call me Robert.”
The man smiled wolfishly through his beard. “Fine, Robert. Are you feeling lucky?”
The truth settled into Robert. “No, friend. I haven’t felt lucky in a long, long time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE WHITE-BLONDE BARTENDER in her yellow cowboy dress drifted from the lounge, into the poker room, and then back, making sure the players had food and drinks. It wouldn’t matter what they ate since Joe Whipp was smoking his Churchill. And if he got through that long cigar, he had another one in his pocket.
Frank Sport joined Joe in the nicotine fest by smoking menthol Pall Malls one after another. He shook Steven’s hand when they first met and thanked him for killing Roy Right. Frank had been a Magician for the Sin Cities Prime back in the day. Supposedly.
Steven had to give credit where credit was due. “Tessa Ross killed Roy in the end, but I’d like to think I helped a little.”
He did take note of the name tag on Frank’s mechanic shirt... Lucky. As in Foris Foranna, the lucky one. That was Collidium toying with him. Frank Sport was as cheap as he was obvious, and Steven wasn’t going to jump on the bait.
Rhakshor Khat simply ignored Steven, not talking to him and not making eye contact.
Both the Indian Dragonlord and Bob Wayne drank beer that the bartender, Felicia, drew from a tap in the other room.
Wayne lifted his glass to Rhakshor. “Here’s to Rocky Mountain spring water, rotting grains of all kinds, and some yeast.”
The barest smile drifted across Rhakshor Khat’s face.
It was dealer’s choice, no limit, but Steven wasn’t there to play cards or to win more money. He had all the money he could ever spend. Sitting there, he made more from both the Icharaam Energy Generators and the Icharaam’s Promise Centers than he could in the game.
Steven did find the game interesting. Watching his foster father chat, fold, and win, over and over, was fun in and of itself. He was ever the professional, friendly but focused, and lethal if you let your guard down. He was in his element, like an alpha predator on the savannah, and there was real joy on his face. Joe Whipp had been born to drink and throw cards.
Bob Wayne simply liked the comradery, and in some ways, it felt like a bachelor party, since the fathers of two of Steven’s wives were at the table.
Watching Robert Stains get drunk was also entertaining. The chubby bureaucrat sat on Steven’s left. Stains leaned in. “You hated those fucking calls with me, didn’t you?”
The two had both folded, so they could ignore the game.
“Yeah, Bob,” Steven said, “I did. I had a demonic army to face. Now? I wouldn’t mind them, but that’s really more of Bud Novak’s responsibility.”
Stains growled, “That little prick loved calling me Bob Stains. You had a good laugh at me all right. It’s Robert, you know. I want to be called Robert Stains.”
“Fine, Robert.” Steven could see how small this man was, myopic, and how losing his job must’ve stung. He hadn’t even been fired—he’d been gelded, placated with money and put aside.
The man’s bloodshot eyes never left Steven. The lights were on, but no one was home. It was clear Stains wanted to say something to him, but he wasn’t getting the words out.
Steven figured he might try and help. “With all the changes, Robert, you’re more important than ever. You have humans around the world having to deal with Dragonsouls for the first time. I hope you can get over what happened to you.”
“What you did to me,” Stains snarled. “You had me fired.”
Steven had figured he’d fight with his foster father, not fucking Bob Stains. Steven wasn’t about to back down. “We did, Robert. It wasn’t a good fit. Bud and Buster get along far better. These things happen.”
“Not to me,” the bureaucrat hissed.
“Looks like that’s not the case.” Steven stood up. He wanted to stretch his legs, and he wanted to talk to Collidium. It was pretty clear it wasn’t any of the men at the table, not even Frank “Lucky” Sport.
He went to the bar where Felicia stood, on her phone, texting.
“It’s a good dodge,” he said to the woman.
She shut off her phone and stuck it into the side of her bra, out of sight in her cleavage. “Can I get you something, Mr. Drokharis?”
She was pretty, with sparkly makeup on her face, pink lips, and just the barest bit of eyeshadow. Her eyes were the color of summer thunderstorms.
“I’d like the truth,” Steven said. “About all of this. Either you’re Collidium, or you’re his puppet.”
“A puppet?” Felicia put two shot glasses on the counter. She then set a bottle of Macallan M on the bar top. “So who is pulling my strings, Mr. Drokharis?”
“I’d like to know,” Steven said.
The woman nodded. “I’d like to know too.” She laughed. “Do you mind buying me a drink, Steven? Can I call you Steven?”
“I don’t care,” he answered. “And sure, I’ll buy the bottle.”
“The last bottle of The Macallan M was sold at an auction in Hong Kong for over six hundred thousand dollars. Aged in Spanish oak, this whiskey is over seventy-five years old.” She poured them two glasses. “Right now, children are starving to death. Right now, someone is doing a desperate thing for five dollars. And here we are...”
“And here we are,” Steven agreed. “I’m doing my best to change things.”
The woman raised the shot glass. “Let’s toast to luck and skill.”
Steven lifted his glass. “To luck and skill.”
The game behind him had frozen, and he figured the entire universe might have stopped, because he had found the lost king... or queen, as the case may be.
They clinked the glasses together. She shot hers back, while he sipped his. Might as well enjoy it, since it was ridiculously expensive. The smooth, powerful liquor warmed him. Not bad. He could get used to this whiskey business.
“So which do you think it was?” she asked. “Luck or skill?”
“Which part?” Steven asked. “Getting revenge on the dragons who murdered my family? Conquering America and wiping out the last of the Dragonknights? Or killing Zothora?”
“All of it,” Felicia said. She was quick to pour herself another drink.
“You answer the question first,” Steven said.
She smiled. “I’d have to really think. My rise to power was a long fucking time ago.”
“On Aqualyra?” he asked.
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Sure. I always liked Aqualyra, though there are better elves on better worlds out there... more interesting, but, oh, that’s cruel. Aqualyra will always be special to me. It was one of my first seed planets. I didn’t seed your world, though, this Earth place. I wouldn’t have created this fucking chaos.” She shot back her whiskey and smiled. “It’s fun—the yeast excretions muddy the neurochemicals of this woman’s thought sparks. Very fun.”
“What do you mean seed planets?” Steven felt Sabina’s presence in his thoughts, as well as Heridan’s, and both were ready to bring in the troops. They could wait. This was important. Steven had the idea that they needed all the information they could get to end the Collidium threat.
She looked into his eyes. “I like these humans and their board games. There are so many! Twilight Imperium, Settlers of Catan, the Cones of Dunshire. I wonder why they buy so many games when they have so little time to play them.” She
cuddled the shot glass against her chest. “For some, the gamers like setting up the board as much as they like playing the actual game. The monkeys do enjoy their rituals. It gives them the illusion of control.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, Steven, I did, the second one, but not the first.” Her eyes went far away. “Both bad luck and being unskilled can get you dead. Death. No more life. The eternal stillness. The eternal silence. I had life, I choose to live, and I maneuvered through fortune and learned until I had learned too much. Now, the real threat is boredom and suicide.” She brightened. “But I have you, Steven Drokharis, and I have my other games, but I’m still haunted by the idea of luck or skill. Rahaab should’ve killed you, you know. But he was afraid, bored, and suicidal. Still, he really did want you dead. It was only a miracle you survived him. That bit of luck made countless worlds lucky.”
“Why didn’t you play Zothora’s game?” Steven asked.
“Who says I didn’t?” Felicia waggled her eyebrows. “That’s a bad answer. Do you know how big the universe is? There are fifty billion suns in your little milky galaxy. How many planets are around each of them? How many galaxies in your universe? How many universes on the Stair? On the Stair I met a man who wasn’t there.”
She smiled. “My mother read poems to me when I was a youngster. I was playing other games, but I so wanted to get to Zothora. Unfortunately, I’m easily distracted, which is a blessing. On Aqualyra, I played with the Ohkreela for a while. Sepho Ckarth and I had some fun burning books. I killed a bunch of dark elves with Vandrus Dree. Good times. Good times. It was fun to murder there, since I’d spent a few thousand years being their great Protector. Or did I lead the Four Protectors? I can’t remember. But I had the spear, and the glaive, and the net, and the tampon, I think Mouse said. I like her.”
Steven could feel the power in this woman, who wasn’t a woman at all. What was this thing? He didn’t know, but he kind of liked listening to her monologue.
“Vandrus Dree figured me out when I took up the Day Glaive. And then, you know the rest. Vandrus Dree put me to sleep. They couldn’t use any of the four relics, or I would’ve woken up. Then? Victory was yours! And Quinnestri failed to remember me. Or did she remember, and I dicked with her memories?”
The woman in the yellow dress wasn’t about to answer that question. “I did like Aqualyra, though. Who wouldn’t? Those elven queens are so dirty. You know that.” She laughed. “Now, that was my answer. But about you? Luck or skill?”
Steven turned. The men were frozen. Joe Whipp was in the process of turning his cards over. Robert Stains was adjusting his iffy toupee. Rhakshor Khat had his glass lifted to his lips. Frank Sport was in the process of exhaling smoke. All were stopped in time. Steven considered the fathers, his own foster father in particular.
He turned back to Collidium in its woman suit. “Oh, just an FYI,” she said. “Joe and Bob W. weren’t in on my little games. I made Bob think he was friends with George Roy Hooker, and that’s why he wanted to meet you at my fake bar. George’s fake bar. Anyway, I also made sure Bob didn’t flake on this poker game. The shelling yesterday shook him up. What a fucking pussy.” Another big grin. “So, what was it, Steven Drokharis? Was it luck or skill? What was the secret to your success?”
Steven was beginning to sour on their conversation. “It wasn’t luck or skill. It was work. I just worked. I didn’t die. I got better. What happened happened, and now I’m here.”
Felicia frowned at him. “So it’s all random? That’s a shitty fucking answer, Steven. And don’t go the ‘grand destiny’ route.”
“I hate the idea of destiny.” Steven took a second to ponder. “What if it’s choice?”
“Go on.”
“I chose to kiss Aria. She chose to back me. Tessa chose to join us, and we chose to have her. I chose to go on that first quest. Yes, I have that whole strong Drokharis bloodline, and I got lucky, especially with Rahaab, but I made the choice to show up and fight. And really, it’s probably all those things.”
Felicia nodded. “Luck. Skill. Choice.”
Steven grinned. “I don’t know. You and I get to drink half-a-million-dollar bottle of whiskey while some kid in Africa starves to death. All of it is shitty. All of it. And sometimes?” He thought of his father, Joe Whipp, and what Bob Wayne had said about him. “Sometimes the world doesn’t give us too many choices, and we’re forced to make a few bad ones.”
The woman was silent.
Steven continued. “I don’t want to play your games, Collidium. And I’m so tired of war. But I’ll fight you if that’s what you want.”
The entity took out a deck of cards and shook them out of their packaging. She shuffled them. “I like that Quinnestri. I’ve known a lot of Lyran queens, biblically speaking, but she is an interesting one. It’s why I grabbed her and took her to another of my game boards. Hwedo showing up? That was lucky. I didn’t see that coming. But you were skilled and saved her. You figured out that game. Good thing you didn’t open any of the wrong doors. Funny, you’ve been worried about big things attacking you. The Avgaar Plague would’ve drowned this world in mucus and diarrhea and none of your magic wouldn’t have done dick to save you.”
Steven was glad he’d gone with his instincts. “And in the Great Salt Flats?”
Collidium/Felicia slapped the cards down and whiffled them together. “You came up with a unique solution, and the players got lucky. There, both luck and skill. As for choice? I made a bad choice in putting the howitzer anywhere near the Creator Destructor. It could be that thing will end us both. We’ll see. That might be a very interesting thing at some point. If he comes and does his creating and destructing that’ll be my bad. But I am a saucy one!” She laughed.
Steven didn’t even crack a smile. “What are you, Collidium? Alpheros? Lyra? Neither? Both? Mulkred?”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Mulkred and his little toy sword.” She changed her voice to mimic him. “‘Oh, look at me, with Excalibur and a grudge ’cause Daddy didn’t love me.’ No, I’m not Mulkred. I’m Foris Foranna, the first king and the lost king.” Her smile was so brilliant and full of bullshit Steven didn’t know if she was lying to him or not. It wasn’t like she could be trusted to give him a straight answer.
“Fine, we’ll say you are a saucy elf king, and you can manipulate reality.”
Her eyes twinkled at him. “You can too, Steven, only a little bit for now, but talk to me in a hundred thousand years. Or a billion. Maybe then you’ll get tired of shtupping your harem, and you’ll find something more interesting to do.”
“With Sabina and Quinnestri around? I don’t see that happening.” Then he did laugh. “So, are we going to fight? Or are you going to leave?”
Another shrug. “We’ll cut the deck. You win, and I go away and leave your little reality alone. If I win, we fight. A real battle royal. I face the grand Steven Drokharis, the messiah who managed to annihilate the shadows of teeth and talon. That would be so very fun.”
“No,” Steven said. “It won’t be fun. You know what’s fun? Suicide. I think you’d have a ball playing that game.”
All amusement disappeared from the woman’s face. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. What keeps me going? I’m curious about the many planets I’ve seeded and the stories all those people are telling each other and to themselves. You, for example, the great story of Steven Drokharis. I didn’t write it, but I am enjoying it.”
One-handed, she cut the deck and showed him her card, a seven of hearts. “Hearts. Because I love the game. You have evenish odds, Steven, of beating me.”
She removed her card and laid it down. She then replaced the deck on the bar.
Steven finished his expensive hooch.
He cut the deck quickly, not thinking, getting about half the remaining cards and then showing them both the result.
The ace of spaces.
“I win,” he said.
“Fucker!” the woman cursed. “Yo
u lucky motherfucker. Over and over, even now. Well, I’m not going to miss this chance. Yes, it’s cheating, but there is no way I’m leaving here without crossing blades with you, as they say.”
Felicia staggered back, gasping, before falling to the floor. “What happened?” she asked in a weepy voice, human once more.
Steven whirled.
Time started for the poker players.
Robert Stains finished his drink. Joe Whipp laid down his cards, a full house, aces over sevens, and that included the ace of spades and the seven of hearts.
Frank Sport flicked away his cigarette and stood up. In his hand was the Day Glaive, a long wooden shaft with golden curved blades on either end. Across his back was what looked like a fishing net. At his side was a bulging leather bag. “I liked being in that Felicia, Stevie. But I’m going to enjoying putting my glaive in you more. Sex jokes. Awkward banter. Is this working for you?”
“I won the game, Collidium.”
“I get to choose, Steven. And I choose to fight. I think what you and I have transcends any kind of game there could ever be, and I was always an elf who liked to cheat.”
“What?” Robert Stains sputtered. “That’s not Frank Sport. That’s George Roy Hooker. From that Wyoming bar. What the hell?”
Collidium’s blade flashed with a golden light, and he changed immediately. He stood across from Steven, bathed in the light of the Day Glaive, dressed in golden armor. He’d cast off his Frank Sport/George Roy Hooker persona.
The figure before Steven was tall, strong, and slender, with long iron-gray hair sweeping back from pointed ears. The elf still had the Glaive, the Net of Stars, and the Sack of Seeds, but he’d changed in every other way. However, he was missing one of the other legendary weapons from Lyran myth.
Steven lifted a hand. A fiery portal opened above the poker table, and Steven caught the Night Lance, hurled to him by Hwedo. There was a reason Collidium had given Umbra such an artifact. Such a weapon on the board would definitely spice things up, and it would give Steven the edge he needed.
He knew why the spear was important.