Gamble King Chapter 33. Nature Calls

The path wound through pine stands that grew denser with each mile, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped itself on the travelers below with wet, vindictive thuds.

Max and his temporary companions had settled into the rhythm of travel, boots crunching through the packed snow, breath forming small clouds that dissipated quickly in the air.

They'd been at it for about two hours now.

"I heard Grimjaw eats people," Dan said, breaking the comfortable silence they'd maintained so far. "When they fail his tests."

Marcus snorted. "That's horseshit. If he ate them, where would the stories come from?"

"Maybe he doesn't eat all of them. Maybe he just nibbles."

"Nibbles?" Marcus's voice climbed with disbelief. "What is he, a bloody rabbit?"

"I'm just saying what I heard."

Bubbles adjusted his pack straps, glancing sideways at Max. "Where exactly did you hear this?"

"My cousin's friend knows a man who got Grimjaw in the sorting three years back," Dan said. "Made it all the way to the hermit's cave. Found bones scattered around the entrance. Human bones."

"And your cousin's friend's man saw these bones personally?" Marcus asked.

"Well, no. He ran away before that. But he heard them rattling in the wind."

"Bones don't rattle in the wind unless they're hanging from something," Bubbles observed. "Were they hanging from something?"

Dan frowned, clearly not having considered this detail. "Maybe."

Max listened with half his attention while the other half churned over what Jormund had told him earlier. A squire named Aldric the Wise had somehow defeated Grimjaw twenty-one years ago. The description had been specific: hair standing on end, clothes burned in odd patterns, the smell of lightning but wrong somehow. Sweet and metallic.

The boy had died in the process, burnt out from the inside. But he'd managed to leave Grimjaw unconscious for three days.

Magic. Had to be magic.

"My father says Grimjaw was a knight once," Marcus said. "Before whatever he did to get exiled. Means he knows proper swordwork."

"What did he do?" Dan asked.

"Nobody talks about it. Must've been something particularly nasty."

Max's fingers absently touched the leather satchel where he'd tucked his notes from Oberyn Blackwater's books. He'd spent a considerable amount of time copying down key passages about everything he found interesting.

Including atmospheric chemistry and electrical phenomena.

If Aldric had used lightning against Grimjaw, maybe Max could develop something similar. Something that wouldn't burn him out in the process.

"I heard he collects the weapons of everyone who fails," Dan continued. "Has them mounted on the walls of his cave like trophies."

"Where's your cousin's friend's man's sword then?" Marcus asked. "If he ran away before even meeting Grimjaw?"

"Maybe Grimjaw tracked him down later. For the sword."

"You're saying Grimjaw left his cave, tracked a fleeing squire through the wilderness, killed him for his sword, then went back home?"

Dan considered this. "When you put it like that, it does sound unlikely."

"It sounds stupid."

"Maybe the sword thing is different from the eating thing," Dan said defensively. "Maybe he only collects weapons from people who actually reach him."

"But if he eats the people, why would he need their weapons?"

"Decoration?"

Bubbles cleared his throat. "Maybe we could discuss something else."

"Why?" Marcus asked. "It's not like knowing is going to hurt."

"Because most of what you think you know is tavern gossip passed through six different people before it reached you," Bubbles said patiently. "And because Harek has enough to worry about without listening to stories about Grimjaw eating people."

Max glanced at his friend. "I'm fine."

"Are you though? Because you've been quiet since we left."

"I'm always quiet."

"No, you're not. You usually have opinions about everything." Bubbles studied Max's face. "What are you thinking about?"

Max considered how much to share. "Something Jormund told me yesterday. About how Grimjaw was captured."

"What about it?"

"A squire defeated him. Just one squire, acting alone."

Marcus whistled low. "Now that's a story I haven't heard."

"Jormund said the boy died in the process, but he managed to take Grimjaw down." Max kicked at a clump of snow. "Makes you wonder what he did differently."

"Maybe he got lucky," Dan suggested.

"Maybe he was just better than the rest of us," Marcus added.

"Or maybe he knew something we don't," Max said quietly.

Bubbles was watching him. "You have an idea."

"Not yet. But I'm working on it."

"Well, whatever it was, it can't have been that complicated," Marcus said. "He was just a squire. Same as us."

"Same as us and probably just as scared," Dan agreed. "Makes you think, doesn't it? If one terrified boy could do it..."

"Let's talk about something else," Bubbles said again, more firmly this time.

"Why? This is useful information."

"Because Harek needs to focus on survival, not on stories about dead heroes." Bubbles's voice carried an edge of irritation. "Half of what you've heard is probably lies anyway."

"But the other half—"

"The other half doesn't matter if it gets him killed trying to recreate something he doesn't understand."

Marcus held up his hands. "Fine, fine. No more Grimjaw stories."

"Good."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their footsteps and the occasional crack of branches settling under snow. Max found his mind drifting back to the notes he'd copied. If he could generate a controlled electrical discharge, something focused and precise rather than the raw lightning that had killed Aldric...

"Oh, also," Dan said suddenly, "you don't have to succeed this year, you know."

Max looked up from his thoughts. "What?"

"The Proving Year. You get three attempts if you fail. Nobody expects you to get it right the first time, especially with Grimjaw."

"Three attempts?"

"Most people take two," Marcus confirmed. "Some need all three. There's no shame in it."

"Particularly not with your draw," Dan added. "Everyone saw you pull Grimjaw's name. Everyone heard the reaction. If you come back empty-handed, people will just nod and say 'of course, it's Grimjaw.' Then next year you draw again, probably get someone reasonable."

Max frowned. The idea of planning to fail didn't sit well with him. "That's not really how I approach things."

"I'm just saying, you don't have to put pressure on yourself. This year could be reconnaissance. Learn what you can about surviving in the deep north, then come back and draw a different name."

"What are the odds of drawing Grimjaw twice?"

"Practically impossible," Marcus said. "There's maybe two hundred different hermits scattered across the north. You'd have to be cursed by the gods themselves to pull his name again."

"Better than being dead," Dan added.

Bubbles shot Dan a look that could have frozen the already-cold air. "Could we perhaps discuss literally anything else?"

"I'm just trying to be helpful."

"You're being the opposite of helpful."

"How is it not helpful to point out that he has options?"

"Because—"

"Oh, fuck," Dan said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The other three turned to look at him. Dan was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his face scrunched up in obvious discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Bubbles asked.

"I need to shit. Right now."

Marcus blinked. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. That rabbit stew from last night is making demands."

"Can't you hold it?"

"Does it look like I can hold it?" Dan gestured at his own uncomfortable posture. "I'm about to soil myself in front of all of you."

Marcus looked around at the snow-covered landscape. "Where exactly are you planning to do this?"

"Behind those trees over there. Just... give me a moment."

"We should keep moving," Marcus said. "We've got a schedule to maintain."

"My bowels don't care about your schedule."

"Well they should. We're not going to reach the next shelter before dark if we stop for every bodily function."

Dan's expression grew desperate. "Look, I can either handle this now like a civilized person, or I can handle it in my trousers while we're walking. Which would you prefer?"

Max sighed, watching the young man's obvious distress. The whole conversation was ridiculous, but Dan clearly wasn't going to be able to continue otherwise.

"Go take your shit," Max said tiredly. "We'll wait."

"Thank you," Dan said with genuine relief, already moving toward the treeline. "I promise it won't take long."

"Famous last words," Marcus muttered.

"I can hear you!" Dan called back as he disappeared behind a particularly large pine.

The remaining three stood in the path, breath steaming in the cold air, listening to the sounds of Dan crashing through the underbrush with urgent purpose.

"This is going to be a long journey," Marcus said.

Max pulled his cloak tighter and settled in to wait. Silence settled over them. The only sounds were the whisper of wind through pine branches and the distant, muffled noises of Dan's ongoing struggle with his digestive system.

A particularly loud grunt echoed from behind the trees.

Max shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware that he was standing in the middle of a snowy path with people he didn't know all that well. Bubbles, sure—they'd grown close over the past few months.

But Marcus and Dan?

Marcus Ironhold was technically family. Third cousin, maybe fourth, through some complicated web of marriages that stretched back generations. House Ironhold held lands in the eastern valleys, controlled some iron mines that supplied Frosthold's armories. Marcus had the typical Ironhold look—stocky build, brown hair, hands that looked like they'd been shaped by years of working metal.

"Nngh. Bloody hell."

The three of them pretended not to hear that.

It occurred to Max that despite spending weeks training alongside the other squires, he'd never really gotten to know most of them. Bubbles had forced his way into Max's awareness through sheer persistence, farming work and good humor.

The others had remained pleasant strangers: faces he recognized, names he knew, but not much beyond that.

"Fuck. Come on."

Marcus cleared his throat and studied the horizon with intense concentration. Bubbles examined his boots like they contained some sort of secrets.

Another particularly resonant fart drifted through the trees.

Max decided conversation was preferable to listening to Dan's internal warfare.

"So, uh... Marcus," he said. "We're related a bit, you and I, right?"

Marcus looked grateful for the distraction. "Aye. Your great-grandmother was sister to my great-great-grandfather. Or something like that. The family trees get tangled when you go back far enough."

"How are your parents? Your father still running the eastern mines?"

"He is. Business has been good lately. The new deposits they found last spring are yielding well." Marcus glanced toward the trees where Dan was presumably still conducting his battle. "Mother's been asking when I'll visit again. Keeps sending letters."

A particularly creative string of curses emerged from Dan's location.

"That's nice of her," Max said quickly. "Family's important."

"She always liked you, actually. Said you had potential if you could just..."

Marcus trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Just what?"

"Well. Stop spending all your time in taverns and brothels."

Bubbles frowned. "I thought there were no brothels in Frosthold. Didn't the High Lord ban them when he took power?"

Marcus snorted. "Officially, sure. But there's still places if you know where to look. Hidden away, discrete like. Even Harek knows them."

Max rolled his eyes.

"What made you change?" Marcus asked, studying Max's face. "I mean, one day you're gambling and throwing coins around like they meant nothing, next thing anyone hears, you're working farms and training with Gregory like your life depends on it."

"Maybe it does depend on it."

"But what happened? What made you realize you needed to be different?"

Max considered how to answer that. He couldn't exactly explain that he was a completely different person inhabiting Harek's body.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe I just got tired of being disappointed in myself."

"Disappointed?"

"When you spend your days drinking and your nights in brothels, and you wake up feeling like shit about who you are... eventually you either change or you accept that you're worthless. I didn't want to accept it."

Marcus nodded slowly. "That's... honest."

"Oh, sweet mercy."

Another grunt from the trees, followed by more slurs.

"How much longer can this possibly take?" Bubbles muttered.

"Maybe we should check on him," Marcus suggested.

"Maybe we should not," Max replied quickly.

They fell back into silence, each lost in their own thoughts while Dan continued his epic struggle with last night's rabbit stew.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they heard the sound of someone crashing back through the underbrush.

"Whoo," Dan called out as he emerged from behind the trees, looking relieved but slightly pale. "That was an adventure."

"Feel better?" Bubbles asked dryly.

"Like a new man. Sorry about that, lads. Sometimes nature calls and you've got to answer."

"We noticed," Marcus said. "The whole forest noticed."

Dan grinned sheepishly. "Right then. Where were we?"

"About to continue our journey," Max said, already turning back toward the path.

"Good, because I'm ready to—"

"Thank you for waiting."

They all turned.

Another Dan stood at the edge of the clearing, brushing snow from his cloak and looking exactly as relieved as the first Dan. Same clothes, same face, same slightly embarrassed expression.

Same everything.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then another.

"The fuck?" Marcus breathed.

Max's bow was in his hands before conscious thought kicked in, arrow nocked and drawn in one fluid motion. Bro materialized on his shoulder, tiny form already beginning to glow orange.

Bubbles had his sword half-drawn. Marcus was fumbling for his weapon, his face gone pale with shock.

Both Dans stared at each other, identical expressions of confusion spreading across identical faces.

"Mirrorkin," Bubbles said, horrified. "It's a mirrorkin."

Max kept his arrow trained on the second Dan while his mind raced. He'd read about these things. Creatures that could take human form, sow confusion, turn groups against each other until they destroyed themselves.

"Nobody move," Bubbles continued, his sword now fully drawn. "Dan, stay exactly where you are."

"Which Dan?" both Dans asked simultaneously.

"The first one. The one who just came back from—" Bubbles caught himself. "Just... both of you stay still."

"I'm me!" the first Dan said, his voice cracking with panic. "I swear on my mother's grave, I'm Dan, born in Westmarch, son of Tam the blacksmith!"

"No, I'm Dan!" the second one protested. "That thing is lying! I was taking a shit behind those trees and when I came back—"

"You lying bastard!" the first Dan snarled. "I was the one taking a shit!"

"Both of you shut up," Marcus snapped, his own weapon finally clear of its sheath. "This is exactly what these things do. They make us doubt, make us turn on each other."

The second Dan's face twisted with frustration. "Listen to me! I know things only the real Dan would know. Marcus, remember last month when you lost that bet about the serving girl at the Wandering Crow? You had to clean my boots for a week!"

"That's... that's right," Marcus said uncertainly.

"Because it touched me!" the first Dan shouted. "Everyone knows mirrorkin only need to touch you once and they have all your memories! It's lying!"

"That's exactly what a mirrorkin would say!" the second Dan protested. " How and where the fuck would I touch you? You touched me and now you're pretending to be me!"

"I told you both to shut up!" Marcus shouted.

"Harek," Bubbles said frantically, "can you tell them apart?"

Max studied both figures. They were identical down to the smallest detail. Same clothes, same mud stains, same everything. But floating above the second Dan's head, invisible to everyone else, was a small number: 1.

The Dan they were with from the beginning had no number over his head.

"Dan," Max said to the first one, "step aside."

"Harek, be careful," Bubbles warned.

"What? No!" the first Dan's eyes went wide. "You can't seriously believe—"

"And you!" the second Dan pointed an accusing finger at his duplicate. "You stole my face, you bastard! Give it back!"

"I'll give you something back, all right!" the first Dan lunged forward.

The second Dan met him halfway, both of them grappling in the snow, identical faces twisted with rage.

Max drew back his bowstring another inch. The arrow point tracked the struggling figures as they rolled and cursed and threw wild punches at each other.

"I can't get a clear shot," Marcus muttered.

"Don't shoot either of them!" Bubbles commanded. "We need to figure out which—"

Max released.

The arrow took the second Dan in the eye socket with a wet thunk that echoed off the trees. The creature's head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went perfectly still.

"Sweet fucking gods!" Marcus breathed.

The second Dan's body convulsed once, twice, then went limp. The first Dan scrambled away from the corpse, his face pale with shock.

"Bro," Max said quietly. "Burn him."

At two meters away, Bro was right at the edge of his range, but close enough.

One second, the small white spider glowed brightly; the next, a jet of orange flame engulfed the target.

The thing that had looked like Dan began to scream.

It wasn't a human sound. It was something higher, more desperate, like metal being torn apart or glass breaking under pressure. The body writhed and twisted as the flames consumed it, and the scream went on and on until Max's ears rang with it.

Then, abruptly, the screaming stopped.

Where the second Dan had been, there was now only a puddle of brown, viscous goo that steamed in the cold air.

The silence stretched for several heartbeats. The real Dan stared at the puddle, then at Max, then back at the puddle.

Marcus was the first to speak. "What the fuck was that?"

"Did that spider just breathe fire?" Bubbles asked, staring at Bro.

The real Dan's voice came out as barely a whisper. "H-how did you know I was the real one?"

Max shouldered his bow and patted Bro. "I took a bet."

In the corner of his vision, text flickered briefly: [NUMBER OF REROLLS REMAINING: 10].

The others didn't need to know that.

Max walked over to the puddle of brown goo. The arrow shaft protruded from the mess at an odd angle, the fletching singed and blackened from Bro's flames.

He grabbed the shaft and pulled. It came free with a wet sucking sound that made Marcus wince. The arrowhead was clean—whatever the mirrorkin had become, it didn't seem to stick to metal or wood.

Max examined the arrow briefly. The shaft was still solid, the point undamaged. He'd need new fletching, but it was salvageable.

He wiped the arrow on a patch of snow, then slipped it back into his quiver.

"We need to move," he said, shouldering his bow. "Get to the closest safe zone before sunset. It's definitely not safe here."

The others stared at him for a moment. Dan was still pale, probably realizing how close he'd come to being the one with an arrow through his eye.

"Right," Bubbles said finally. "Lead the way."

They fell into step behind Max, moving faster than before. Nobody spoke. The only sounds were their boots crunching in the snow and the wind through the trees.

Behind them, the brown puddle began to freeze in the cold air.