When Oreus returned to Eskemar he was greeted as soon as he entered the city by his father, Terchin. He immediately dismounted from the wagon, retrieved his pack, and waved his comrade Tesslihm on, promising to meet up with him later. Terchin was beaming with joy as he sauntered up to Oreus, and before he could get a word out Terchin already had his arms about him.
“It’s been a long time, son. I’m so glad you are back. I’m sure you will have much to tell me, eh? But let’s go home.”
Oreus had a lot of questions for his father – probably more questions than his father had for him. Tesslihm had filled him in on the major changes that had transpired while he was away: how there had been civil unrest in the city, an attempted coup by some scheming malefactors, and how the ruling council of the leading families had ultimately been replaced by a triad, one of whose members, improbably enough, was his own father. But for now, he was content to be back and get the feel of the city again. He had to acclimate himself first; he expected that Eskemar would be a bit different than what he remembered, and he was curious to see if he could identify those changes.
His father took him over to a pair of fine horses flanked by a pair of mounted guards on each side. After getting him settled upon one Terchin got on his own, and accompanied by the soldiers they began to ride up the main boulevard.
“Honor guard,” said Terchin, nodding at the riders. “More as a display than for protection. Helps clear the way, raises visibility, conditions the people to the new state of affairs. You would be surprised how much legitimacy you can garner by just making a show of authority.”
Oreus looked at his father with curiosity. He had never heard him converse in such a way before. Then he noticed that they were beginning to ride past where he would expect to turn to go home.
“Father, what –“
“Ah yes, I should have explained. We live in the Inner City, now. I still own the old place, of course, but the affairs of state require me to be at the center of things. I’ve got a nice room picked out for you though, you’ll love it.” Then Terchin’s boisterous mood lessened somewhat. “It’s a lot to take in, lad, I know. But your sister is enjoying it immensely.”
Oreus snorted. “She would.” And Terchin laughed.
The next evening Terchin and Oreus were dining together. By now they were each caught up with the other’s exploits, and they basked in a glow of mutual admiration, creating a treasured moment that most fathers wait years to experience. Not for the first time, Terchin was beginning to wax nostalgic for the rigors of the road. He wondered how his son found the travel and the different rhythms of that more nomadic life, and if they were to his liking. After a gulp of ale, he inquired as to what sort of things Oreus did when out socializing, or sitting around the campfire at the end of the day.
“Did you play any games of chance while you were away?”
“I threw dice in a few places to pass the time, but didn’t really have anything to wager,” Oreus said. This was not quite true. There were two occasions where he did have some money – which he then quickly lost, leaving him with nothing to wager anymore, as well as a hard lesson about personal finance. But Oreus figured he didn’t need to bore his father with those sorts of details.
“That is probably a good thing,” said Terchin. “Many men have lost more than they could afford, carried away by the thrill of betting and overconfidence in their own ability or luck. Still, a man should be able to play cards. It’s a skill that can come in handy. It’s a fine way to ‘get in’ with a group of strangers. In some places, not being able to play sets you apart from your fellows and isolates you. Besides, it’s a useful way to size people up. Watching them, noting how they make decisions or attempt to deceive you – that is the kind of information that is good to know. Being able to read someone is an important skill for all sorts of endeavors. Besides,” Terchin grinned, “it’s pretty fun, too – provided you can win once in a while, of course.”
“I was thinking we could visit a gaming den,” he continued. “There’s but one in the Inner City – primarily there to spare the aristocrats from having to rub elbows with the unwashed, and not accessible to common denizens. It has its drawbacks, but they have the best drinks and comeliest serving girls by far - and you don’t have to worry about being knifed if a game goes awry. What do you say?”
“What if we get cheated?” Oreus had heard many tales from embittered gamblers about bets they had lost but shouldn’t have, due to marked or duplicate cards, collusion between other players, or sleight of hand trickery from a shady dealer. He did not know if all of them were true, but some of them must have been, he reasoned.
“Boy, you think the people there would risk getting caught cheating one of the rulers of Eskemar? By the gods, I would almost like to see the fellow who would hazard such an attempt!”
Oreus smiled. “I guess I’m still not used to how things are different now that you are in charge.”
Terchin chuckled. “I have almost half a mind to call our visit an official inspection, but I don’t want to cause any waves and kill the mood there. But it seems one of us three should visit the place, and neither Melanthus nor Merril will ever do that. Ah, the burdens of leadership!”
A scant hour later Terchin and Oreus stood before the door to the gaming den.
“Letressa’s Nether Region” was a rather bawdy name, but technically it was accurate, as the establishment was located in the cellar of an old former manse. The edifice had been vacated by its original family, who a generation ago had constructed more luxurious and impressive quarters a few blocks away. The main floor, which had once seen banquets and balls, had been converted to a concert venue for intimate performances but was vacant this evening.
Despite being in a space originally intended for storage, the place was sumptuously appointed and its humble past was skillfully concealed. The walls were decorated with brightly colored frescoes of frolicking nymphs and fauns. Sconces of polished silver bathed the proceedings in a cheerful glow. The vaulted ceiling was covered in gold leaf and the supporting pillars were faced with polychromatic tiles forming intricate patterns. Shallow windows of tinted glass up near the ceiling along the exterior foundation wall were cranked open, offering some much-needed ventilation from the street level just above their heads. It had been a sultry day, the first one of the year, and the air in the cellar was heavy and damp.
The chamber was thick with the smoke of incense and tobacco and other more exotic substances: drugs that reputedly heightened awareness, revived flagging spirits or made prolonged effort possible far into the night. A blue haze hung in the air and stung the eyes of Oreus as he and his father descended the stairs from the street, where they were greeted obsequiously by a ma?tre d' who admitted them with an effusive bow.
“Come on, let’s get you in a game,” said Terchin. He put a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder and they walked into the bustling gambling den.
There were about a dozen tables laid out before them, each hosting a game of some sort. Men and a few women besides, all bedecked in gleaming finery were intent on game boards, cards, tokens, and dice. Players had small stacks of shining coins at the ready, and piles grew and diminished quickly as fortunes waxed and waned during the course of play.
Toward the rear, next to a swinging door where a stream of scurrying servants issued to distribute drinks and refreshments, was a trio of musicians. The sound of pipe, lute and tambourine created a jaunty backdrop to bolster the activities, injecting an air of merriment into a pastime that many participants seemed to take quite seriously. An ambient hum was composed of a chorus of genteel murmurs, occasionally punctuated by oaths of frustration or cries of delight as emotions got the better of absorbed players.
Terchin took his time looking the place over, sidling up to first this table, then that. Eventually, he noticed in the corner to his left a table with a quartet of young men playing a card game run by a man of rather singular appearance. He was a trim, compact fellow, clad in a dark suit of velvet accented with purple swirls at the collar and shoulders. His tawny face was serene but for eyes that darted about, registering the appearance of everything. Long jet-black hair was tied in a ponytail behind his head, and he had a matching oiled beard that was braided and ended in multiple gold ringlets. Dark eyebrows and an impassive forehead sat over widely-set copper eyes and a narrow aquiline nose. His hands were always moving and seemed independent of the rest of his body. While they watched he adroitly shuffled a deck of cards and began dealing them to the players like missiles that sped towards their targets.
“Ah,” Terchin said to Oreus, gesturing to the group, ”this might be just the table for you.”
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Terchin unobtrusively looked over the shoulders of two of the young aristocrats at the table. He turned back to Oreus and took him aside to a space that was relatively empty. “They are playing some variant of ‘the Game of Fate’,” he said in a low voice.
“I’ve heard of it,” said Oreus, “but don’t know much about it.”
“There are three suits in a deck of cards – white, red and black,” Terchin explained. “Within each suit are ranks of cards, subdivided into groups called ‘Cosmos, Man and Nature’. The game is supposed to symbolize the struggle of man against the natural world and the forces of the universe. But I don’t know all the metaphysical trappings underpinning it.” He shrugged.
“Anyway, within a given suit a ‘cosmos’ card outranks a ‘man’ card, but a ‘man’ card outranks a ‘nature’ card. So within white, the White Star is worth more than the White Tower, which in turn is worth more than a White Lion. But if the nature card comes from a different suit, then it is worth more than a man card. The ‘lone man’ cannot stand against the world, get it? So the Red Dragon is worth more than the Black Galleas, and a Black Stallion is worth more than a White Maiden.”
“A cosmos card of any suit can be countered by two man cards from a matching suit or beaten if they are both from the same suit as the cosmos card. ‘Strength comes from working together,’ or something along those lines. So the Red Sun can be beaten by the Red Prince and the Red Lady, or matched in value by the Black Gate and Black Manacles. Similarly, it can be equaled by three nature cards from a matching suit – although this is difficult to do.”
“You will be dealt a hand, and as you go around the table everyone will have to play at least one card. The first player will put down a single card that establishes the rank and suit that needs to be beaten. Players can try to beat the card or match its rank by playing any of the cards that they have been dealt. If there is no winner of the round, then the cards stay on the table and a new round begins, each player in turn playing from their remaining cards. Eventually, all the cards are played and the winner collects the wagers made at the beginning of the round.”
Terchin went on for a bit more to expound on some of the finer points of the game, but eventually he decided that Oreus would just have to experience it for himself. They approached the table together and then he nudged Oreus forward. Terchin nodded at the dealer, who regarded the newcomers with a sharp eye as he gathered up the playing cards for a new game.
“Tenzen Twoside is the name,” the man announced with a genial smile. “And ‘Fate’ is the game. Care to join us, young lord? We can easily add one more to this ensemble.” And seemingly out of nowhere, a servant materialized with an additional chair.
The other players looked askance at Oreus, appraising his garments. “You have the coin to buy in, I presume?” said the scion of a wealthy house with more than a hint of haughtiness.
From behind his back, Terchin surreptitiously produced a bulging sack of silver coins and deftly handed it to Oreus without any of the others noticing. Oreus smiled confidently and upended the sack on the table, the coins clinking and coming to rest in an untidy pile. Then he took a seat.
“Excellent,” said Tenzen. “Let us then proceed.” And he dealt out a hand to everyone at the table, including himself.
The game went on for what felt like a long time for Oreus, but Terchin knew better, that dedicated gamblers possessed an almost unnatural tenacity that permitted them to withstand marathon sessions that strained the participants to the limits of human endurance. In fact, such pastimes did indeed often take up a large portion of the night, and only concluded as dawn was breaking. He contented himself with leaning against the nearest pillar, sipping from a goblet that was occasionally refilled by a passing servant as he observed his son’s play.
As a beginner Oreus naturally made mistakes. But sometimes, Terchin reflected, that was the only way to learn. Certainly, some of his own learning had been most effectively done that way. But Oreus recovered quickly from his setbacks. He could see Oreus slowly taking the measure of his peers: the rat-faced one who rubbed his hands together with barely contained excitement when he was dealt a good hand, the sullen red-haired youth who threw his cards down angrily, the pallid blond fop whose eyes narrowed as he weighed his options and the heavy-set young man of stony visage who fancied himself a skilled gambler.
Half of the game was figuring out what cards still needed to be played, and then guessing which player still had them. Oreus did not do a good job concealing his feelings as he looked at each new set of cards he picked up. But he was so new to the game that his reactions were not always reflective of the true state of his fortunes and this saved him more than once, much to the disgust of the others. But while lacking polish, Oreus did make several undeniably inspired plays. He knew when to challenge and when to hold back his best cards, keeping them in reserve to play them at a more fruitful time. This was good; it showed Terchin that his son was developing judgment. And furthermore, it seemed luck was on his side, at least for the moment. This was even better. Terchin half wondered if the dealer had taken a shine to the lad and might be helping him along here and there. There was no way to be sure, but perhaps Tenzen found Oreus refreshing after dealing with entitled and jaded popinjays all day. Oreus was beginning to relish the game, and Terchin felt obliged to give his son’s chair a light nudge with his foot when his son began humming a happy tune as he arranged a hand of cards he had just picked up.
The pile of coins Oreus had started with shrank, grew, shrank again, and then eventually trebled in size as he raked in the wagered money after winning a final round. Two of the other players were cleaned out and by consensus the game was concluded.
“Beginner’s luck,” one of them griped, and with sour expressions the four rose as one and left the table. They did not like to lose and misliked losing to an upstart even less. But they were too circumspect to be more vocal in Terchin’s presence.
Tenzen remained seated at the table with Oreus. He gathered up the cards in a trice and tucked the pack into the breast pocket of his doublet. He held out one hand expectantly.
Terchin leaned forward and murmured into his son’s ear, “It’s convention for the winner to give the dealer five percent of his take.” Slightly abashed at his ignorance, Oreus roughly calculated the proper gratuity and handed it to the man, who bobbed his head in a display of respect and tucked the money into another pocket. He looked at Oreus with approval.
“First time, eh? I travel up and down the Trunk Tollway, hosting games in all the major towns and I tell you this truly: you show some promise.”
Oreus’ cheeks flushed slightly at the unexpected compliment. Terchin took the opportunity to occupy one of the empty seats. “Did better than I did as a novice, though he would be hard put to stand toe to toe with seasoned players.”
“Your son, milord?” Tenzen asked politely.
“Aye,” Terchin replied, letting a note of pride show.
“You did well, lad,” the man said with a wink. “Got the makings of a real gambler, if you play your cards right, hehe,” and he chortled at his own joke. Then he untied a pouch fastened to his belt and drew from it a small lacquered box. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Oreus. “As a token of appreciation, why don’t you accept this brand new deck of playing cards? Maybe you can teach your friends to play and hone your skills.”
“Really?” asked Oreus, gratified an expert had taken an interest in him.
“Certainly,” said Tenzen. “I recommend you start by just dealing yourself several hands, and play each in turn to get a better feel of the tactics involved – anticipating your opponents’ moves, and so on. In a few weeks you’ll be a natural.”
“Thanks, thanks a lot,” replied Oreus with eagerness.
“I think this is probably a good time to call it a night,” said Terchin. He drained his goblet and set it down while Oreus pocketed his take. Tenzen stood and bowed, wishing them a pleasant evening. They sauntered out together, suffused with the contentment that comes from sampling a particular diversion just enough to preserve the novelty of the experience.
Later that night, Oreus sat on his bed with the small box he had been given. An oil lamp on the nightstand next to him still burned. Though it was now midnight, he did not feel tired. The excitement from earlier had not yet dissipated. He opened the box and took out the pack. The stiff freshly-waxed cards gleamed in the glow of the lamp. He was more taken with his gift than his winnings. He admired the engraved illustrations on each card – something he had not had the opportunity to do while he was playing. One by one he laid them out in rows upon the bed.
When he got to the last one in the deck he stared at it curiously. It had a strange, intricate symbol on it, worked in interwoven lines in the black, red and white colors of the suits but set on a gold background. As he focused on it the card began to glow along its edges with a silver light, but an instant later the glow left the card and raced up his arm. Before Oreus could react his entire body radiated a faint glamour that pulsed a few times and then faded away.
Oreus blinked in amazement a few times, then noticed the card was now blank; the symbol had disappeared. He dropped it onto the bed and sat up straight. He felt strange, experiencing an inexplicable sense of agitation.
Oreus felt a restlessness, a rising urgency within him that he could not explain. There was a sudden necessity to leave his chamber, indeed to leave the Inner City, in fact – to depart Eskemar altogether. He felt driven to arise and go forth, out into the wide world - but to where? He walked over to the window of his bedroom and looked out over the city, the soft lambency of street lamps giving hints of the tightly arranged byways below in the Outer City beyond. He turned his head left and right. The pull felt strong to his left. Off in the distance the horizon was black, the stars cut off by the rim of the world. In perhaps six hours the sun would rise there and he would be unable to look directly at its piercing glare. The East – that is where he had to go. All he knew was that he must go east. It was imperative. From whence came this compulsion?
He did not feel that he had the time to consider that in depth. The important thing was to go. He had to leave. The longer he stood motionless the more unsettled he felt. Instinctively Oreus knew that only movement toward his unknown destination could alleviate his mounting distress. Oreus jumped up, got dressed, grabbed some extra garments and several other personal articles and hastily crammed them in his pack, which was still dusty from his previous journey. He scooped up his bag of coins – they would help speed his way, should his progress falter. He may need to purchase a new mount or even book passage on a ship. It was best to be prepared, as his father often said.
And what of his father? No, he was asleep, and Oreus had to go. Had to go now.
Before the hourglass had been turned again Oreus had slipped out of the palazzo, requisitioned a horse from the family stable, and was trotting out of the one gate that remained open all night during times of peace. He rode over the bridge crossing the Serpent River and at the first opportunity made his way east.
