Sorak smiled. “I can see why you have been made an officer,” he said. “But tell me, why should I avoid the Crystal Spider? What sort of place is it?”
“A gaming house,” said Zalcor. “The most notorious in all of Tyr.”
Sorak frowned. “What is a gaming house?”
Zalcor rolled his eyes. “If you do not know, then believe me, it is the last place on Athas you should be. It is a house of recreation, or at least that is what they call it, where games of chance are played for money, and other diversions are offered to those with the means to pay for them.”
“Games of chance?”
“Where have you lived all this time?” asked Zalcor, with amazement.
“In the Ringing Mountains,” Sorak said, seeing no reason why he should tell him.
“The Ringing Mountains? But, there are no villages up there, not even a small settlement, except for...” His voice trailed off. He shook his head. “No, that would be impossible. You are male.”
“You were telling me about games of chance,” said Sorak.
“Forget about it,” Zalcor told him. “You might win a few small wagers, but the odds will turn on you, for they always favor the house. Nor are the games always honest ones. If you were a gambler, I would merely caution you, but as you know nothing of such things, then I urge you most strongly to stay out of that damned place. You would lose everything you have, and like as not be knocked on the head or drugged and lose your sword, as well. A blade such as yours would fetch a high price in the elven market. You would stand about as much chance of surviving in there as I would in a den of tigones.”
“I see,” said Sorak.
Zalcor sighed resignedly. “You are going anyway.”
He shook his head. “I can see that. Well, do not say I did not warn you. Remember, that is the elven market district, and the guard does not trouble to patrol there often. We barely have enough men to keep the crime down in the warrens. If you go there, you are on your own.”
“I thank you for your advice, Captain,” Sorak said. “I shall consider it.”
“But you probably won’t take it.” Zalcor shrugged. “Suit yourself. I just hope you live long enough to collect whatever reward the council decides to give you, for it is probably all you will take home with you from Tyr.”
He rejoined his men, and they turned to march back to the central market district. Sorak stared up at the dilapidated inn for a long moment, then gazed down the street, looking toward the gaming house.
“Why ask for trouble?” Eyron said. “You heard what the captain said. We stand to lose everything we have.”
“On the other hand,” said Sorak, “we might also win.”
“Zalcor said the games are not always honest,” Eyron added.
“True, he did say that,” Sorak replied. “However, we have certain advantages in that regard, do we not, Guardian?”
“I could detect dishonesty,” she said, “and we will not find the Veiled Alliance by sitting in a room, alone.”
“My thoughts, precisely,” Sorak said. “And if the city guard does not patrol the elven market district, then what better place to find them?”
“I want to go!” Kivara said. “It sounds like fun!”
“It sounds dangerous, to me,” said Eyron.
The others kept their peace, leaving Sorak to decide. He thought about it only for a moment, then started walking toward the Crystal Spider.
Approaching the gates, Sorak ignored the beggars, who whined pitifully and held out their hands toward him, and he ignored the women who posed and beckoned to him. Instead, he walked purposefully toward the gaming house, wondering what he would find inside.
The half-elf gatekeeper’s eyes grew wide when he saw Tigra. “Stop!” he said, quickly retreating behind the safety of the gate. “You cannot bring that wildcat in here!”
“He will harm no one,” Sorak said. “Am I to take your word?” the gatekeeper replied. “Forget it. The beast stays outside.”
“Tigra goes everywhere with me,” said Sorak. “Well, it isn’t coming in here!”
“I have money.” Sorak jingled his purse. “You could have the entire city treasury for all I care. You are still not coming in with that creature!”
“What seems to be the trouble, Ankor?” asked a sultry, female voice from the shadows behind the gatekeeper. Sorak saw a cloaked and hooded figure approaching from the inner courtyard.
“No trouble, my lady, merely a herdsman trying to get in with his beast,” the half-elf gatekeeper replied. “Beast? What sort of beast?” The cloaked figure approached the gate and looked through. “Great dragon! Is that a tigone?”
“He is my friend,” said Sorak, perceiving by the gatekeeper’s attitude that this woman was in some position of authority here. “I have raised him from a cub, and he obeys me implicitly. He would not harm anyone, I assure you, unless someone attempts to harm me.”
She pulled back her hood and stepped up to the gate to get a better look at Sorak. He, in turn, got a better look at her, and saw that she was a striking, half-elf female, as tall as he was, with long, lustrous, black hair framing her face and cascading down her shoulders, emerald-green eyes, and delicate, sharply pronounced features. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, and she gave a tentative sniff, after which her eyes grew wider still.
“Halfling and elf?” she said, with astonishment.
“Yes, I am an elfling,” said Sorak.
“But... elves and halflings are enemies! I have never heard of elves and halflings mating. I did not even know they could!”
“It would seem that I am proof they can,” Sorak replied wryly.
“How fascinating! You must tell me more,” she said. “Ankor, let him in.”
“But... my lady...” the gatekeeper protested.
“Let him in, I said.” Her voice was like a whip crack, and the gatekeeper obeyed at once, keeping the iron gate between himself and Tigra as he swung it open.
“You are certain you can control the tigone?” she asked.
“Quite certain.”
“You had best be,” she replied, looking at Tigra warily. “Otherwise, I shall have the creature killed and hold you responsible for any damage it may cause to my establishment.”
“You are the owner, then?”
“Yes. I am called Krysta.”
Sorak smiled. “The crystal spider?”
She smiled back and took his arm as they walked down the paved pathway leading through the courtyard to the entrance of the gaming house. “What are you called, elfling?”
“Sorak.”
She raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “And do you?”
“Always walk alone? Not entirely. I have Tigra.”
Tigra,” she said, and the beast looked up at her. “It knows its name,” she said.
“Tigones are psionic cats,” said Sorak. “They are intelligent and quite perceptive. Tigra can read my thoughts.”
“How interesting. A shame he cannot speak, for I would ask him what you are thinking now.”
“I am thinking that I was cautioned against coming here,” said Sorak.
“Indeed? By whom?”
“By a captain in the city guard.”
“Would his name, by any chance, be Zalcor?” Krysta asked.
“Yes, you know him?”
She laughed. “I have been arrested by him on numerous occasions in the past. I have known Zalcor since he was a mere guardsman, but he does not condescend to visit me these days.”
“Why not?”
“As a captain in the city guard, he must keep up appearances. It would not do to have him paying regular visits to my gaming house, even if those visits were entirely innocent and in the line of duty. People might suspect that I was bribing him. The city guard is also rather overextended these days. It is all they can do to keep the mobs under control in the market district and the warrens. No one of great importance resides in the elven market, so they tend to look the other way in this part of the city. Part of the reason I have my establishment here.”