Simon Hawke - The Nomad

With each encounter, dice were rolled, scores were checked, and one by one, the players died. Finally, only the templar remained, and she made it all the way to the front door, only to discover that the bolt they had managed to force through with so much difficulty would not open for her. And the undead were closing in by the dozens. She rolled to see if she would be able to open the bolt before they reached her. She rolled low, and her character died.

Exasperated, the player who had assumed the character of a templar glanced at Sorak and Valsavis, pointed at them, then turned to the gamemaster. “What about them?” she demanded. “You haven’t said what happens to them!”

The gamemaster merely shrugged. “Very well. They entered the tavern, locked the heavy wooden door from the inside, and spent an uneventful night listening to the undead howling in the streets. Eventually, they fell asleep and when they woke up, it was morning.”

“That’s it?” the templar said with disbelief. “They chose wisely,” was all the gamemaster said in reply.

“Gith’s blood!” the templar swore in frustration. “This is a stupid game!”

She threw down her dice and left the table.

“We seem to have an empty chair,” the gamemaster announced, calmly, glancing at the onlookers.

“I will join the game,” Ryana said as she sat down.

The other two players elected to remain. They paid ten ceramics apiece for the privilege of creating new characters and remaining in the game, though they lost not only their previous wagers, but all of their experience points as well, since their characters had died. As new characters, they were now starting out afresh, as was Ryana.

The dwarf fighter unimaginatively chose to remain a dwarf fighter. He was now simply a different dwarf fighter, and he had to roll to determine the strengths and abilities of his new character. He came off rather worse than he had the first time, which did not please him at all, and he continued to play in a surly mood.

The cleric decided to become a thief this time. She rolled, and her new character turned out to have better strengths and abilities than her last one. She seemed happier about this, even though she had lost heavily with her wagers as a cleric.

“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.