“I will raise another twenty,” said Sorak without looking at his cards. He dropped the coins into the pot.
“Too rich for me,” said the ceramics merchant, folding his cards and putting them facedown on the table.
“I will match your twenty,” said the caravan trader, his eyes meeting Sorak’s with a level stare, “and raise it twenty more.” The wine merchant folded. The beast trader and the dark-haired noble stayed in, as did Sorak.
“Call,” said Sorak.
The caravan trader smiled as he laid his cards down faceup on the table. “Weep long, my friends,” he said, leaning back smugly in his chair. He had a three and four sorcerers. The beast trader swore softly and threw down his cards.
“That beats me,” said the noble with a sigh, as the caravan trader smiled and reached for the pot.
“Four dragons,” said Sorak. He laid his cards down. The caravan trader jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor.
“Impossible!” he shouted.
“Why?” asked Sorak, calmly gazing up at him.
The other players exchanged nervous glances.
“Indeed,” the noble said. “Why?”
“He slipped it out of his sleeve!” the caravan trader said in an ugly and accusatory tone.
“No, in fact, I slipped it out of the top of your left boot,” said Sorak.
The caravan trader’s eyes grew wide and involuntarily, darted down toward his high, over-the-knee boot.
“The cards you discarded were a six of cups and a two of wands,” said Sorak. “The cards you drew were a dragon of swords and a four of pentacles. That was how you knew it was impossible for me to have four dragons, because the dragon of swords and the four of pentacles were in the top of your left boot, where you concealed them when you made the switch.”
“liar!” shouted the dealer.
Two of the half-giant guards quietly came up behind him.
Sorak glanced at the other players. “If you look inside the top of his left boot, you will find the four of pentacles still hidden there. And inside the top of his right boot, you will find two sorcerers. He began with four, one of each suit.”
“I think we had better check those boots,” the young noble said with a hard look at the caravan trader.
The two half-giants came up behind the caravan trader to grab his arms, but the man moved too quickly for them. He drove his elbow hard into the solar plexus of one half-giant, forcing the wind out of him, and he brought his bootheel down sharply on the instep of the other. As the half-giant cried out in pain, the caravan trader drove a fist into his groin. He had moved so quickly, it had taken no more than an instant, and even as other guards moved in from the across the room, the trader’s iron sword sang free of its scabbard.
Sorak’s own hand darted for his sword hilt, but as his fingers closed around it, he suddenly felt himself falling away. A new presence surged to the fore within him, and Sorak felt the dizzying sensation of spinning away into the darkness. An icy chill suffused his body as the Shade stormed up from the recesses of his subconscious mind.
As the caravan trader brought his blade down with a snarl, aiming a devastating cut at Sorak’s head, the Shade drew Galdra with lightning speed and parried the blow. The iron blade struck the elven steel with a ringing tone and shattered as if it had been made of glass. The trader gaped in astonishment, but recovered quickly and kicked the table over, sending cards and coins and goblets flying as the round table fell over on its side, making an effective shield between him and Sorak. The Shade raised Galdra and brought it down in a sweeping, overhead blow, slicing the entire table in half as if the hard and heavy agafari wood were no more substantial than a piece of cheese.
The caravan trader bolted, but found his way blocked at the door by a squad of armed half-giant and half-elf guards. He swore and turned back toward Sorak.
“Die, half-breed!” he shouted, drawing an obsidian dagger and hurling it at Sorak.
The Shade abruptly ducked back under and the dagger stopped, frozen in midair mere inches from Sorak’s chest as the Guardian came to the fore. Sorak’s eyes glittered as the dagger slowly turned end over end in midair, its point aiming back toward the caravan trader. The man’s jaw dropped in astonishment, and then his amazement turned to panic as the dagger took off toward him like an angry hornet. He turned and tried to run, but the blade buried itself to the hilt between his shoulder blades, and he fell to the floor, sliding across the tile with his momentum. He crashed into a table, knocking it over, and lay there in a tangled, lifeless heap.
There was utter silence in the gaming hall, and then the patrons broke into an undertone of murmuring. Sorak walked over to where the cardsharp’s body lay, and nudged it with his foot. Then he bent down and pulled a card out of the top of the dead man’s boot. It was the four of pentacles. He brought the card over to the other players and showed it to them.
“You may divide the pot amongst yourselves,” he said, “according to how much each of you put in. As for the cardsharp’s share, you may split that up in equal shares.” He turned and scaled the card back toward the body. It landed on the cardsharp’s chest. “Cheats are not tolerated in this house,” he added. “You may take my share of the pot and divide it among you, by way of an apology for your inconvenience.” He signaled one of the serving girls. “Please bring these gentlemen a drink on me,” he said.
“Thank you,” said the wine merchant with a nervous gulp.
The young nobleman stared down at the pieces of the table, then turned his gaze toward Sorak’s sword. “That table was solid agafari wood!” he said, with disbelief. “And you cut it clean in two!”
“My blade is steel, and it has a keen edge,” said Sorak.
“Keen enough to cause an iron sword to shatter?” said the beast trader. “Not even a steel blade could do that. But one that is enchanted could.”
Sorak sheathed his sword and said nothing.
“Who are you?” asked the beast trader.
“My name is Sorak.”
“Yes, so you said when we began to play,” the beast trader replied. “But what are you?”
Sorak gazed at him. “An elfling.”
The beast trader shook his head. “That was not what I meant”
Before Sorak could reply, one of the half-elf guards came up and tapped him on the shoulder. The lady would like to see you,” he said softly.
Sorak glanced up toward the second floor, and saw Krysta looking down at him through the beaded curtain of her office. He nodded and headed toward the stairs. Behind him, the patrons broke into excited conversation about what they had just witnessed.
The door was already open when he came down the hall. The half-elves in the antechamber gazed at him with respectful silence. He went through the curtained archway into Krysta’s office. She stood behind her desk, waiting for him.
“I am sorry for the damage,” he began.
“Never mind that,” Krysta said, coming around the desk. “Let me see your sword.”
He frowned. “My sword?”
“Please.”
He drew it from its scabbard.
“Elven steel,” she said softly. “Please... turn it so I may see the flat of the blade.”
He did as she asked and heard her sharp intake of breath as she read the inscription on the blade. “Galira!” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She looked up at him, eyes wide and awestruck. “I never dreamed...” she began. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“My lady...” said one of the half-elf guards, parting the curtain behind them. “Is it true?”
“It’s true,” she said, gazing at Sorak with an expression of astonishment.
The guard stared at Sorak, then he came into the room, followed by the others.