Dragon's Bluff

14

In a hushed voice, Ulin told Notwen what he intended to do. The gnome bobbed his head in understanding and, as instructed, drifted off to melt into the background.

Ulin removed the pink spectacles. He checked the layers of his sashed belt to be certain the small packets were still there and easy to reach, then he took his mug and sauntered over to the table to watch the card game.

The men were playing a variation of Bounty Hunter, a high stakes game that involved skill and a high measure of luck. Silently, Ulin placed himself where he could see Kethril’s cards and his hands, and where, if Kethril paid attention to his peripheral vision, he could be seen by the gambler.

Ulin watched the game through a number of hands until he began to understand how it was played. He also noticed Lucy’s father won steadily. The man seemed to have an innate knowledge of when to bet and when to fold. He played carefully, planning each move in advance. His opponents played hard, trying to beat him, betting more and more heavily as the game progressed, and their faces turned redder and more annoyed every time the “bounty” of coins and trinkets moved to Kethril’s pile. Ulin also noticed that Kethril rarely touched his mug, while the others drank a steady stream of torquil. He was a cool player, without a doubt.

Finally, a rotund Khur in dark robes slammed his palms on the table to end his play and stamped off to find a more accommodating game. The other one grimly held his seat and passed the cards to Kethril for a new game. A third player saw the empty chairs and came to join them.

The gambler cocked his head slightly to see Ulin. A brown eye twinkled at him from under a black arched brow. “There’s one chair left. Are you going to play or just gawk?”

Ulin gave a shrug, pulled out a fat bag of coins, and plopped it on the table with a solid chunk. “I don’t know this game. Could you tell me the rules?” He took the chair vacated by the Khur and pulled up to the table beside Kethril.

The other Khur smirked. Here was his chance to recoup some of his losses. The new man, an old mercenary by the look of the scars on his face and the knotted muscles under his leather vest, helped himself to the pitcher of torquil and shoved the pitcher over to Ulin. “Help yerself,” he grunted.

Kethril said nothing. His features were set in an expression of casual interest that revealed nothing.

Close beside him now, Ulin could see him better in the dim light. Even in his disguise he was tall, slim in the waist, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built. He wore a tunic, an embroidered vest, and long, tight-fitting pants all of rich and expensive fabrics. His hands were long and his fingers moved like those of a highly practiced wizard as he shuffled the cards, cut the deck, and began to deal seven cards to each player. As soon as the cards were dealt, he put the rest of the pack in a pile in the center of the table and turned one face up.

“Four suits in this deck: Leaves, winds, swords, and moons. Mage cards are high, ones are low. Fates are wild. We’ll play a copper a point for one hand so you can see how to bet, then we’ll shift back to silver.”

Ulin nodded. It didn’t really matter. He had never had the time or the desire to learn how to play cards well, and he usually had abysmal luck. The important part was to get into the game. They played the first hand, and as he expected, Ulin lost a few coppers. The mercenary added the meager pot to his dwindling pile and swigged down another mug of torquil. The second Khur sank into a drunken gloom.

The game continued. Gradually, the riverboat filled as night drew on. Ulin was vaguely aware of the background din of loud, indistinct voices, the rattle of crockery and bottles, and the stamp of boots on the sawdust floor. In the far corner, a worn-looking girl took the place of the lute player and played listlessly on a lap harp, singing songs no one listened to. The air grew thick and very warm. A few more lamps were lit.

Every once in a while Ulin looked up and caught a glimpse of Notwen leaning into a shadowy corner and watching the activity at the game table. The game was progressing as Ulin hoped. He and the other two were losing heavily, while Kethril continued to win. He noticed a pattern in the hands that Kethril dealt. The three playing would win a few paltry bounties to keep them interested, then Kethril would win big. Ulin felt like a fish on the line of a master angler. Although he couldn’t swear to it, he guessed Lucy’s father was cheating somehow, but his hands and fingers moved so skillfully that it was impossible to catch every move.

The mercenary watched the cards like a hawk and dealt his turn with ferocity, as if he could intimidate the cards into showing him some mercy. The Khur grew more sour and morose with every hand.

At last the mood at the table took the turn Ulin hoped for. The mercenary slapped down a Mage of Winds on a particularly large bounty, and his lips split in a thin grin. The Khur groaned, and his head dropped into his hands, but before the mercenary could claim his prize, Kethril shook his head in mock sympathy and slowly laid out a Shinare, a goddess of wealth card.

A howl rose from the mercenary. “You son of Hiddukel! You thieving—!” He flung his cards down and hurled himself across the table at Kethril.

In the ensuing tussle, Ulin took advantage of the distraction to withdraw a small packet from his sash, sprinkle the contents over the coins remaining in his bag and give the bag a quick shake. For good measure, he dumped the remaining fine gray powder into the pitcher of torquil as he swept it out of harm’s way.

“Gently, sir, gently,” he chided, setting the pitcher aside. He caught the mercenary by the shoulders and hauled him off Kethril and the mess of coins and cards on the table. While his back was to Lucy’s father, Ulin slid two cards surreptitiously into his belt. The mercenary was too drunk to put up a real fight, and he slumped back into his chair looking murderous.

“Feddor, my friend, you are tired and your cards are atrocious tonight.” Kethril suggested gently. “Wouldn’t you rather try again some other night?”

“Piss on you,” the mercenary snarled. “One more game, gambler. Your luck can’t be that good.”

Kethril turned to Ulin and offered him a knowing, man-to-man look of approval as Ulin straightened up the mess on the table, poured torquil into everyone’s mugs, and picked up the cards to deal the next hand. When the cards were dealt, Ulin looked at his and allowed himself a sound of satisfaction. While the Khur and the mercenary watched avidly, he dumped his remaining coins out of the bag and onto the pitifully small pile of coins in front of him.

Kethril leaned over and punched him jovially on the arm. “You play well, young man, and without rancor. A true games master never allows emotion or anger to get in the way of his play.”

“We shall see,” Ulin muttered aside. He laid the first card down, a paltry two of leaves. The others quickly followed suit.

It didn’t take long for Ulin to lose most of his money. His luck was worse than normal, and he intentionally made mistakes that allowed the other men, especially Kethril, to win his coins. He began to scowl and to move in clipped, angry gestures. Sweat gathered on his face from the thick, hot air in the room, but since it added to his appearance of agitation, he made no effort to mop his skin. The air made everyone thirsty, too, so even Kethril drank deeply from the pitcher of torquil.

The minutes ticked by while the game progressed to its end. Ulin watched each man intently and waited for the first sign that his powder was taking effect. At every opportunity he wiped his own fingers on his pant’s leg. Then Kethril shook his head. He frowned and held his cards at arm’s length as if he could not focus on them.

Ulin shot a look at Notwen and barely nodded. The gnome’s face answered with such a look of mischievous anticipation that Ulin had to fight back a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Notwen slip a pitcher of beer off a table when no one was paying attention and make his way toward their corner. It was his turn to play, so Ulin held his opponents’ attention by frowning at his cards, tapping his last few coins with a fingernail, and making the most of a pretended internal debate. Finally, he tossed in the last of his silver coins. “Three silvers for the Prince of Thieves,” he said.

The others looked at him oddly. “The Prince of what?” Feddor mumbled.

“Wrong game, my young friend,” Kethril said lightly. “That’s Dragon’s Bluff.”

All at once a small figure tripped over something on the floor and fell forward beside Kethril. The wet, warm contents of the pitcher slopped over the gambler’s lap in a frothy wave.

Kethril sprang to his feet, a curse on his lips. As he did so, Ulin also rose, and with a deft movement, he transferred the two cards in his sash to the table in front of Lucy’s father.

The Khur and the mercenary were too inebriated to see the blurred motion of Ulin’s hand, but they did not miss the sight of the two cards fluttering down to the tabletop in front of Kethril as if they had just fallen from his vest. Their eyes bulged in fury.

“I knew it!” Feddor bellowed at the top of his lungs. “You’re cheating!” He lunged to his feet, or tried to. His head lolled over his shoulders alarmingly, and he staggered sideways into the Khur. The Khur pushed him away and climbed to his feet, then his face turned blank, his eyes rolled into his head, and he pitched forward onto the table, scattering coins and cards in every direction. The table collapsed under his weight.

Kethril just stood there, his eyes glazed, his expression dumbfounded.

“Grab the coins,” Ulin hissed to Notwen, and he tossed him the empty coin bag.

“You!” the mercenary continued. “You filthy Khur! You thieving scum!”

Heads turned, and people stopped what they were doing to watch the fun. Feddor took a wild swing at Kethril’s head, misjudged the distance, and staggered forward into the gambler. He kicked Kethril instead, and Kethril punched him. Both men went down in a wild tangle.

Cheers rose up around them. Ulin stayed back long enough for the two men to land a few punches. By the time he intervened the fight had lost almost all momentum through alcohol and drug-induced exhaustion. He leaned over, grabbed a fistful of Kethril’s embroidered vest, and hauled the man out of the mess. Feddor, lying on his back by the table, protested weakly, but he didn’t move even when Notwen scrambled over him carrying the bag fat with coins.

Ulin saw movement through the crowd and realized the guards were coming to break up the fight. Hurrying, he dragged Kethril to his feet and pulled his arm across his shoulders. “Let’s go. You’ve had enough fun for one evening,” he said loudly.

The gambler glared at him blearily. His neat, fastidiously clean clothes were covered with sawdust, dirt, and dark patches of spilled beer. The eye patch had slipped, exposing a bloodshot eye, and the other eye was beginning to swell. “Who are you?” he groaned.

Ulin smiled wickedly and did not answer. He held the man’s arm tighter and twisted it behind Kethril’s back as the gambler started to struggle. He dragged Lucy’s father forward through the crowd toward the door. Patrons laughed and made ribald comments about the drunken state of the filthy Khur.

Two guards suddenly blocked Ulin’s way. “What’s going on here?” one demanded. Short swords appeared in their hands.

“You’re a little late,” Ulin remarked. He kept his voice casual and his expression inoffensive. “My companion here had a disagreement with Feddor over there. It’s over, and I’m taking him to sleep it off.”

“And who are you? We’ve never seen you here before,” said the second guard.

“Of course you have. I’ve been here for hours.”

The guards looked confused. In a moment the bartender came through the press of customers to join them. “This Khur is a good customer of mine,” he declared to Ulin. “I don’t want him in no trouble. What are you doing with him?”

“I’m his future son-in-law,” Ulin replied in all honesty. “His daughter sent me to find him. She’s the new sheriff of Flotsam.” A sudden surge of pride at those words took him by surprise. He savored its flavor.

“The sorceress that killed all those draconians?” the bartender asked, impressed. “And you will take him home like that?”

Ulin shrugged. “He would not come before. Would you, honored father?”

The gambler made no reply—not that he could. He had passed out completely, and his entire weight sagged against Ulin’s side, causing the younger man to stagger.

Ulin was beginning to feel dizzy himself from the small amount of powder he had handled on the coins. It was time to go before Notwen was forced to deal with two large unconscious men.

“Need some help?” one of the guards offered.

Relieved, Ulin transferred some of Kethril to the guard, and together they hauled him out the door. Notwen scooted ahead and made it back to the boat in time to light a lantern and fire up the boiler. He was waiting when Ulin and the guard carried Kethril onto the boat and dumped him on the deck. After commenting on the odd little boat, the guard accepted Ulin’s generous tip and headed jauntily back to the Golden Carp.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Ulin scooped out a pail of river water and plunged his hands in. “Wash your hands quickly,” he told Notwen. “That powder is potent.”

The gnome obliged, and for good measure he dumped the bag of copper, gold, and silver coins in the water and washed those, too. “What is this powder? How did you get it on the coins so fast?”

Ulin dumped the used water and scooped out another, which he poured over his head to help counter-act the dizziness that still swirled in his brain. “I may be a lousy card player, but I was a good mage, and I learned a few tricks from my uncle Raistlin.” He didn’t realize the significance of what he’d said until he shook his head and opened his eyes to see Notwen staring at him with bulging eyes.

“Raistlin was your uncle? The finest, most mysterious archmage in Krynn was your uncle? Then you must be a—”

“A Majere, yes,” Ulin finished for him. “But not here. In this realm I am only Ulin from Solace.”

Notwen drew a long shivery breath. “Oh, yes, of course. No one shall hear of it from me, but … wow. Sheriff Lucy must be something special if she is going to marry you.”

Ulin chewed his lip and rubbed his aching temples. “I’m thinking it is the other way around.”

They poled the Second Thoughts away from the bank and pointed her bow downstream. While Notwen steered, Ulin dragged Kethril over to the side and tied his hands to the rail. He searched the man’s clothes from collar to boots and pulled out an array of small weapons, loaded dice, a few odd coins, and a well-worn medallion of white gold bearing an image of a man with two faces. Ulin felt the telltale tingle of magic from the medallion, and he smiled with certain relish while he removed the medallion from Kethril’s neck.

The transformation happened immediately. The dark hair and beard faded to dark blond grizzled with gray, the skin lightened to a well-worn tan, and the craggy features smoothed into a handsome visage with a long, straight nose and a broad upper lip. The sleeping man did not move a muscle as Ulin tossed the medallion, the weapons, and the dice overboard.

The night was quite dark, for there was no moon and a new ceiling of cloud obscured the sky. Far to the northwest, lightning flickered in sheets through a dense bank of darkness. The wind had died to a breathless stillness that hung heavy on the muggy air and did nothing to discourage the hordes of mosquitoes. As long as the paddleboat chugged down the river, the numbers of biters stayed tolerable, but the moment the boat stopped at the mouth of the marsh, clouds of insects moved in. Ulin and Notwen debated the wisdom of navigating through the maze of sandbars and twisting channels at night, then decided against it. They did not know the channels well enough to risk the passage. They moored the boat in a backwater and closed the shutters and door of the cabin. Ulin took pity on Kethril and moved him into the meager shelter of the cabin and covered him with a blanket. The cabin was hot and stuffy and not entirely insect-proof, but it was better than sleeping in a cloud of blood-sucking, stinging mosquitoes.

Near dawn, a brief thunderstorm moved through in a gust of wind and a few rumbles of thunder. The rain pounded on the roof of the cabin for about half an hour before it moved on to blow itself out over the bay. By the time it left, the mosquitoes had sought refuge elsewhere, and a rising sun slowly bleached away the night.

Ulin and Notwen got underway early, for they wanted to stop at Dead Pirate’s Cove for supplies and more fuel. With luck and some good weather, they hoped to be back in Flotsam late the next day, two days at the latest.

The morning was fresh and still pleasant after the rain, and the river’s current ran toward the bay as the tide swept out to sea. Kethril showed a few reluctant signs of consciousness, so Ulin dragged him back into the sunshine and tied him to the railing.

He tied the last knot and was straightening when Kethril’s eyes peeled open and revealed irises as green and vivid as Lucy’s. The gambler squinted up at Ulin. “You have ruined my reputation at the Golden Carp,” he said in slow, painfully enunciated words.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Ulin said cheerfully. “From what I’ve heard of your reputation, there was nothing there to ruin.”

The man groaned and tried to move, only to discover his hands were tied. He stared blearily around at the marsh and the boat and finally leveled a glare back at Ulin. “Where am I? And what is that infernal racket?”

Ulin squatted beside him. “You are on the Second Thoughts, bound for Flotsam. That racket is the engine. If you really want to know more about it, I’ll send Notwen the gnome around to tell you all about it.”

“A gnome!” Kethril moaned. “Oh, gods, spare me. My head is fit to burst. That chatterbox would finish me off.” He paused and blinked a few times as if assessing what Ulin had told him. “Why am I here? What is the meaning of tying me up like this?”

“I agreed to bring your body back and I will. Dead or alive is up to you.”

“My body back. Why? What are you, a bounty hunter?” Abruptly he stopped. Ulin, carefully watching his face, saw the light of realization spread into his eyes. “Of course,” Kethril breathed. “Last night, on the boat. Someone mentioned my daughter. What is she doing in Flotsam?” The full ramifications of his predicament exploded in his clearing mind, and the shock waves twisted his features into a mask of despair. “Oh, departed gods, I don’t believe this!” he shouted. “Flotsam! They’ll kill me!”

Ulin rose to his feet and said coldly, “Probably.” He turned on his heel and went to help Notwen with the boat.

With the aid of the tide, the Second Thoughts pushed her way through the marsh and paddled down the main channel toward the cove. Ulin thought the river seemed quiet and strangely empty of boats or people for midmorning. There was no one in sight, and even the marsh birds seemed subdued. He went to stand by the bow and shaded his eyes with his hand to scan the shore and look for the distant settlement.

The old shipwrecks and rickety buildings were still out of sight behind a low hill when Notwen called to Ulin, “There’s smoke over there.”

Both Ulin and Kethril turned their heads and saw thick gray smoke billowing into the sky from somewhere behind the hill. “That’s from the Cove,” said Kethril worriedly. He straightened and pulled until he worked himself to his knees, then he peered ahead, his entire body tense.

The paddleboat steamed slowly past the hill, around a gentle curve, and entered the open water. Dead Pirate’s Cove came into view. Ulin and Kethril strained to see the town and what trouble there might be. The first thing they saw were two fishing boats burning on the water.

“The gods speed us,” Kethril gasped first. “Get us out of here! Hurry!” he bellowed to Notwen. “It’s ghagglers.”

Notwen squeaked in alarm and threw the engine into full steam. Ulin had only brief glimpses of the burning settlement, of bodies in the sand, and worst of all, of people herded onto the dock at weapon’s point by large, two-legged monsters. Those glimpses were all he needed. His mouth dry, he dashed into the cabin, belted on his sword, and threw more fuel on the boiler fire. Ghagglers, he thought, fear burning in his belly. Cruel, blood-thirsty, and utterly without mercy, the sea species of sligs were the terror of the marine waters. Why, oh, why did they have to stumble on this place?

“Cut me loose!” he heard Kethril shout. “Cut me loose!” Ulin did not hesitate. There was no chance even Kethril Torkay would try to jump ship with the feared sea-sligs close by, and he needed all the help he could get. He dashed outside, sliced the rope binding the gambler’s hands, and thrust an oar at him.

Kethril looked over Ulin’s shoulder and turned pale. “They’re coming after us.” He struggled to his feet. “Bloody fiends. They must be desperate to be so close to shore.”

“Go, go, go!” Ulin yelled to Notwen.

The gnome leaned on the wheel to turn the boat away from the cove. The engine rumbled and steamed, and the paddlewheel thrashed like a mill wheel gone mad. Ulin grabbed another oar and paddled from the bow as fast as he was able.

But they were too late. Only a fully rigged clipper could outrun a pack of ghagglers on the hunt in shallow water. Ulin glanced down once and stifled a cry. A dark, gray-green body flashed through the water like a porpoise and disappeared under the boat.

“Notwen, get out of sight!” Ulin screamed.

Clawed, horny hands grabbed the gunwales and three hideous faces peered over the edge at Kethril and Ulin. Kethril flattened one with an oar, but a fourth reared out of the water and snatched the oar from his hand. Ulin drew his sword. He brought the blade arching down on the hands of a sea-slig and knocked it screeching back into the water. Two more swiftly slithered up the sides of the boat and tried to crawl over the rail.

Without warning a horrendous sound slammed across the deck. Startled ghagglers ducked back into the water, and both men stumbled back from the edge of the deck. Steam poured from the cabin as the paddlewheel groaned to a halt. Like a kite broken loose from its string, the Second Thoughts sheered sideways from its course and began to drift with the wind across the bay.

The unexpected and abrupt change in movement threw Ulin and Kethril off balance. As they struggled upright, Ulin saw something brown flash through the air toward Lucy’s father. He lunged forward to grab him when a similar something dropped over his own head and entangled his arms. A net as strong as steel and reeking of decay was jerked around his body. Tiny barbed hooks sank into his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he was pulled off his feet. He saw Kethril collapse under another net, and he saw the man’s body yanked off the boat into the water. A tremendous wrench knocked the air from his lungs. Before he could draw another breath, Ulin was pulled off the boat, and the warm, salty water closed over his face.