“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 son 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.