From the circles it flew, it was watching the ship, but that also meant me. That the creatures were being controlled in some unknown manner was becoming more obvious. I believed they provided the power for the mage’s magic to work like the true-dragon provided Damon his small-magic abilities, only it took far more of them to provide the same amount of Essence.
The thought of Damon and his small-magic always made me smile. I remembered the cocky young royal who bored me with his childish tales of how he would someday defeat all the enemies of Dire by commanding the great generals. At my signal, Damon had drawn the moisture from the outside of a bottle of wine and concentrated it on the material of the boy’s satin pants, at the groin, so it looked like he’d peed himself. As quickly as he noticed, the dull meeting was over.
Once, Damon had made a young royal, one who believed himself a great dancer, trip at a ball to the delight of every observer in Crestfallen. There had also been a girl my age who had tried to move in a boy I liked, and Damon had forced her to spill wine down her front. He’d performed such acts to protect and help me since our first meeting, often with hilarious outcomes. I felt the grin growing and tried to restrain it.
I missed him! And his sister, my best friend.
I felt as if the circumstances of becoming an adult were closing in and the fingers of them were tightening around my neck. They started to squeeze. I felt faint. And then, as if I was a child that sat again on my father’s knee as he instructed me in how to properly behave like a princess, I drew a deep breath, steeled my mind, and prepared to meet whatever challenges came my way.
CHAPTER THREE
Damon
As the morning star found its way above the eastern horizon and escorted the sun above the peaks of the far mountains, the Slave-Master and I were still playing the same game of blocks with my freedom at stake.
He said, “Why are you called Damon?”
“I am an orphan, along with my sister. That is the name she used for me, so it is now mine.” I contemplated my next move at the game of blocks quietly, my eyes never leaving the assembled blocks on the small table in front of us.
“Do you speak the language of Kaon?”
“No.”
“A damon in our language is a minor demon or irreverent god. It is a clever being who often appears unexpectedly and uses nasty tricks to have his way. A trickster. Is that who you are, Damon? A trickster who does horrid things to have his own way.”
Instead of instantly denying it as my impulse suggested, I gave it some thought. The first thing that came to mind was that everyone encountered who spoke Kaon would think of me in that way. Perhaps until arriving back on the shores of Dire, I should change my name and be called by another, one more respectful. It was something to think about but not now. His revelation had already distracted me from the game, which was probably his intention. His definition might even be a lie to disrupt my winning streak while I fretted. I snapped sternly, “The name fits.”
He laughed in a way that made me wonder if he was teasing about the name or if Damon meant what he said. I didn’t trust him at all. I’d have to ask one of his guards what the word meant and hoped the Slave-Master hadn’t instructed them to agree with is definition in advance to trick me.
Everyone else, including his almost naked women and muscular guards, were asleep. The Slave-Master was a formidable and determined player, bluffing only enough to keep me honest. The equal piles of coins he’d originally distributed had ebbed and flowed across the board all night. Once, near midnight, he’d had me almost broke, but two sixes on my tiles had won a small pot for me, then another larger pot followed, and eventually, I had most of the coins moving my way as the tide of the game shifted to me.
Then, the tide changed again, and the coins returned to his side. Part of that was my fault. I’d wagered too much on a middling pair of fives. His stack grew to twice the size of mine, but as luck is fickle, the next hand had three threes dealt to me, a winner most of the time. I raised his bet, and he called. A portion of his pile returned to my side. We were nearly even again.
The night had passed without much talking. The Slave-Master was used to winning, and he was a fierce competitor. I chided him about losing, and his eyes became flat, his attention redoubled, and he won three hands in a row. I shut up.
He yawned and said, “Will you trust me to keep our piles in my keeping until we can continue our game tonight? You can count them to make sure you have the same amount when we continue to play the game this evening. Right now, I need some sleep.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then, you can place the money into two purses and keep them on your body if you lack trust in me.” He didn’t sound offended.
I used the same flat tone as him. “No.”
“No? What the hell do you mean, no?” he screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the camp.
I raised my eyes to meet his and said softly, “I understand that I am your slave outside of this game. Within the game, you agreed to play dead-man’s rules. That means we don’t stop until one of us wins and the other is out of coins. If you wish to forfeit the game, please say so and accept you are the loser and that I have earned my freedom.”
His face grew red with anger. He slammed a fist down. “I didn’t expect the damn game to last all night. I can’t stay awake. Besides, we have to move the camp and prisoners today. There is a lot of walking before we reach the slave houses in the city of Prager.”
I fixed him with my best stare and refused to flinch or stand. To make my position clear, I slowly dealt the next hand and examined my tiles as if interested. When I met his gaze again, I said piously, “Yet you expect me to go out there in the desert sun and march in leg-irons all day after being awake all night, and then play my best game against you tonight? Hell, you’ll probably ride in the shade on top of a wagon with all these pillows and carpets where you will sleep the day away. Then you will play when I’m so tired I can’t stand upright without help. No.”
He had the decency to look chagrined because I was right.
I continued, “Send your guards and slaves on ahead, if you want, but if you try to quit or suspend this game, you had better kill me now because if you do not, I’ll spread the word to every kingdom that has a scribe to read what I’ll tell them about you. The Slave-Master of Kaon is a cheat at blocks and does not keep his word. Never gamble with him and spread the word to everyone you know.”
He drew in a huge breath and allowed it to escape as a low whistle. “At this rate, the game could go on for days.”
“You should have thought of that before accepting the rules.” I wouldn’t allow him to wiggle free. A hundred times during the night I’d been tempted to use magic to change the spots on the tiles and had resisted. Adding or removing one spot would have given me the game a dozen times over, yet I’d held off to be fair. I hadn’t found him cheating once, and I could honestly say the same for me. We were perfectly matched.
Besides, he knew nothing of my sister and her pet dragon waiting to swoop in a rescue me—which meant he was overmatched. With her help, I could go free at any time, but he didn’t know it. However, there was the integrity of the game to consider. I would beat him fairly.