Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (22 page)

           
Kellin displayed his teeth in an
undiluted grin, then gestured with a sweep of one eloquent hand.

           
"Sit you down, my lord of the
Midden, and we shall see precisely what power there is to be won."

           
By the time Kellin had won some of
Luce's jewels and Luce a portion of Kellin's gold, even Teague had joined the
crowd surrounding the table. No one paid him the slightest attention, including
the prince he was commanded to protect.

           
Sweat stippled Kellin's upper lip.
Except for the cracked door and holes broken in daub-and-wattle walls, the
small room was mostly airless. Now that so many had moved in close to watch,
ringing the table, he could not draw a single breath without inhaling also the
stench of the tavern and the overriding stink of wool- and grime-swathed men
who had not bathed since summer.

           
Kellin impatiently wiped the
dampness from his face with the edge of his hand, knowing his nervousness came
as much from belated acknowledgment of Luce's dicing skills as the closeness of
the room. He had always been good himself, but Luce was better.

           
The luck has turned. Kellin tossed
back a swallow of usca from his third flask, trying to diffuse the nagging
sense of trepidation. Luck favors Luce, not me—and we are nearly through my
coin.

           
Left were two silver pieces and a
handful of coppers, pitiful remainders of Kellin's once-plump purse. Though he
had briefly owned a few of Luce's jewels, the giant had easily won them back
and more, including the lone ruby.

           
That is where my luck went. Kellin
eyed The bloody glint in Luce's pile. He has it now.

           
Luce slapped one meaty hand down
across the table, scattering the dice and the last few coins of the current
wager. Dark eyes glittered. "Enough," he said. "Put up the rest
of it, all of it—it's time for the final wager."

           
To buy time, Kellin assessed him.
The big man had consumed cup after cup of usca, but nothing of it showed in
eyes or manner. There was no indication Luce was any less sober than when the
wine-girl first approached him, only a fixed desire to begin the final pattern
of the dance.

           
Kellin inhaled slowly and deeply,
trying to clear his head. An unexpected desperation made him nervous and
irritable, doubling the effects of his over-indulgence in usca. His belly was
unsettled as well as his spirit. He could not bear the knowledge he might well
lose Blais' knife. He had only risked the weapon because he had been certain of
keeping it.

           
Luce smiled for the first time.
Behind him, Kellin heard the murmuring of the Homanans. Their anticipation was
clearer, as was their absolute faith in Luce's ability. Kellin found it
particularly annoying.

           
He shoved all that remained of his
wealth into the center of the table, mingling it with jewels, coins, and dice,
then challenged Luce in silence.

           
The big man laughed. "All, is
it?" He flicked onto the pile a glittering diamond. "Worth more than
yours." he said off-handedly, "but I'll have it back anyway."
Then, with abject contempt, he jabbed a hand toward Kellin. "Your throw.
Boy."

           
The insult stung, as it was
intended, but not so much after all. To Luce, he was a boy, for the man was
much older—but something else was far more imperative than answering a gibe at
his youth and inexperience.

           
If I could win this throw. I could
yet string out the game a while and avoid offering the knife. Teeth set
tightly, Kellin scooped up the six ivory dice.

           
Carved markings denoted their value.
He threw, and counted the values before the dice stopped rolling. Leijhana
tu'sai— Relief crowded out the desperation in Kellin's belly. Sweat dried on
his face. He maintained a neutral expression only with great effort, and only
because he knew it would annoy Luce. "Your throw," he said
negligently, relaxing on his stool. Inwardly jubilant, he waited. The crowd
around the table stirred; only one value could beat the total on Kellin's dice,
and it was not easily accomplished.

           
Luce grunted and grabbed the dice.
His mouth moved silently as he whispered something and shook the cubes in his
hand.

           
A body shifted behind Kellin,
breaking his concentration. A voice said irritably: "Don't push!"

           
Kellin ignored it, watching Luce
entreat the dice to fall his way, but within a moment the body pressed close
again, brushing his shoulder. Kellin leaned forward in an attempt to escape the
crowding. If they take no care, they will upset the table—

           
And they did so just as Luce threw.
A body fell into Kellin, who was in turn shoved against the table. Coins,
jewels, and dice spilled, showering the rush-littered Hoor.

           
Even as Kellin, swearing, rose to
avoid over-turned usca, he recognized the miscreant. The expression in Teague's
eyes was one of calculation and satisfaction, not regret or anger, though he
voiced a sharp protest against the man who had caused him to fall.

           
For only a moment Kellin's curiosity
roused.

           
Then he turned back to Luce, who
cursed savagely and dropped to his knees, scrabbling for dice. Others were on
the floor also, gathering coin and gemstones.

           
How many will make their way into
purses and pockets? And then Kellin reflected that probably none would; Luce's
hold over the men was too strong. A copper here and there might disappear, but
nothing of significance.

           
Luce came up from the floor, broad
face dark in anger. A malignancy glittered in near-black eyes.

           
"The dice," he grated.
"I have them all, but one."

           
Teague held it aloft. "I have
it." His smile was odd as he tossed the cube in his left hand; the right
lingered very near his knife.

           
Luce thrust out a hand. "Give
it here."

           
"I think not." Teague had
discarded his truculence and sloppy posture. He looked directly at Kellin.
"The die is weighted improperly. You have been cheated."

           
"A lie,” Luce thundered.

           
Teague tossed the cube to Kellin.
"What say you?"

           
Frowning, Kellin rolled the smooth
ivory in his fingers. It felt normal enough. The ploy could well be Teague's
way of rescuing him from a difficult situation.

           
He flashed a glance at the guardsman
and saw nothing but a cool, poised patience. Nothing at all indicated Teague
might be lying.

           
Kellin considered. A second test of
the cube divulged a faint roughness at one rounded corner, but that could come from
years of tavern use rather than purposeful weighting.

           
"A lie," Luce declared.
"Give it here."

           
Kellin stared back. "You deny
the charge."

           
"I do!"

           
"Then you will have no
objection if we test it." Kellin kicked aside bits and pieces of soiled
rushes.

           
He grimaced in distaste as he knelt
down on the packed earthen floor. It was a vulnerable position, with Luce
towering over him, but he assumed it with as much nonchalance as he could
muster. He dared not hesitate now, not before the ring of hostile faces.

           
"A lie," Luce repeated.

           
Kellin draped one forearm across a
doubled knee. He gripped the die loosely in his right hand.

           
"If it is a fair roll, you
shall have the knife." He saw it in Teague's hand, emerald eyes
glittering.

           
"Otherwise, your remaining
thumb is forfeit."

           
Luce breathed audibly. "Throw
it, then."

           
Kellin opened his fingers and
dropped the cube.

           
It bounced, rattled, then stilled.

           
"You see?" Luce declared.

           
Kellin smiled. "Patience is not
your virtue." He retrieved the die. "If the identical value shows
four more times, I think there will be no question—"

           
Luce bellowed an order.

           
Kellin uncoiled from the floor and
caught the knife easily as Teague slapped it into his hand.

           
The blade rested against Luce's
massive belly, forestalling any attack by others. "I offer you two
things," Kellin said clearly. "First, your life; I have no desire to
gut you here. It would only add to the stench." He showed the big man his
teeth.

           
"The other is the answer to
your question. You see, I got this knife—" he pressed the tip more firmly
against Luce's belly above the bronze buckle, "—in a sacred ritual. Few
Homanans know about it; only one has witnessed it. His name was Carillon."
Jubilation welled up in Kellin's spirit. He had risked himself, and won.
"It is the custom to exchange knives when a Cheysuli liege man swears
blood-oath to serve the Prince of Homana."

           
Luce's disbelief and fury began as a
belly-deep growl and rose to a full-throated roar. "Prince—"

           
Kellin cut it off with a firmer
pressure against the heavy belly. "Cheysuli as well, Homanan. Tahlmorra
lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu." He laughed, delighted to see the
comprehension in Luce's face. "Now, perhaps we should discuss your
thumb."

           
"Gut me, then!" Luce
roared, and brought his knee up sharply.

           
The knife did not by much beat the
knee to its target, but Kellin's thrust was almost immediately rendered
ineffective. He intended to sheath the steel in Luce's belly, but the man's
upthrust knee, driving home with speed and accuracy, deprived Kellin of
everything except a burst of incredible pain, and the knowledge—even as he
collapsed—that he had made a deadly mistake.

           
—never hesitate— But he had. Now he
lay writhing on the filthy floor of a dirtier tavern, wondering if he would survive
long enough to find out if he could bed a woman again.

           
He had cut Luce, perhaps deeply, but
not deeply enough to kill; he heard the man shouting orders to his
confederates. Hands closed on Kellin even as he groaned and tried to swallow
the usca that threatened to exit his body. Bile burned in the back of his
throat.

           
Teague. Somewhere. But they were two
against too many.

           
For a fleeting moment Kellin wished
he had not been so adamant about posting the remaining watchdogs outside, but
there was no time for recriminations. He had lost his knife on the floor and
had only his wits and skills with which to save his life.

           
Hands dragged him upright. Kellin
wanted very badly to lie down again, but he dared not if he were to preserve
his life. So he tapped the pain, used the pain as a goad. and channeled it into
a weapon.

           
He tore loose of the hands holding
him, jabbing with elbows and stomping with booted feet. One man he butted so
firmly beneath the chin that teeth crunched. Something sharp sliced across his
outflung hands, grated across knuckles; a second knife jabbed him in the back.
But its tip fouled on the heavy winter doublet as he spun away.

           
Kellin lashed out with a boot and
smashed a knee, then jammed an elbow into the man's face as he doubled over.
Blood spurted as the nose broke, spraying Kellin as well as the Homanan.

           
Teague. Near, he knew; he could hear
the guardsman swearing by the name of the Mujhar. Kellin hoped Teague was armed
with more than oaths.

           
If I could find the door—

           
A table was shoved into his path.
Kellin braced, then swung up onto it, kicked out again, caught one man's jaw
flush. The head snapped back on its neck. The man tell limply even as another
replaced him.

           
Someone slashed at his leg. Kellin
leapt high into the air and avoided the knife, but as he came down again the
flimsy table collapsed. In a spray of shattered wood and curses, Kellin went
down with it-Something blunt dug into his spine as he rolled.

           
Wood, not blade—

           
"Mine!" Luce roared.
"He's mine to kill!"