Ashrennon - Chapter 13

They didn’t have to go far to find the first gambling house.

‘As much as I would enjoy watching you cheat these people out of there money,’ Stanton said. ‘I think it would be best if you went in with Koel. If we were to go into the establishment as a group, we would stand out even more than we already do. Koel can be by your side, translate for you.’ He passed Rolland a purse full of silver. ‘Bet lightly, Rolland. Don’t get greedy. We don’t want to risk being found out.’

Rolland took the purse and shoved it inside his jacket. ‘Don’t worry, Stanton. I’m learning to be a cautious man.’ He revealed the residual limb on his left hand, once again. One day he would stop using it to illustrate his points, but today was not that day.

He feigned confidence as he strode into the gambling house with Koel. It was early evening, the sun had just disappeared from the sky. The place was not full, but there was a good amount of people. There were tables all around. One man, or woman, on each appeared to be wearing the same uniform. They dealt the cards. The drinks were plenty, and many patrons showed signs of drunkenness.

There were also tall, burly men scattered around the place. Watching people. These men had no weapons. They didn’t need them. Rolland grew weary at the sight of them. Despite the gambling house’s poor location, it was a rich place, with many employees, and many rules. Rules Rolland didn’t know.

If he had two hands, right about now he’d be rubbing them together. As it was, he dug his nails into his palm, trying and calm his nerves.

‘Looks like a friendly place.’ Koel nodded toward one of the burly men picking up a smaller man from a card table by the scruff of his jacket.

‘He was cheating?’

‘Aye.’

The big man threw the small man out of the gambling house, wiped his hands, and continued walking around the place with a hard look on his face.

‘Well, at least he was gentle.’ Koel walked to a table with a couple of free chairs.

Rolland followed, his gaze darting around. He couldn’t see any lighttouched here. Then again, he hadn’t seen the blind man… but that had been a dream. Nothing more. He was sure.

Mostly sure.

They sat. The dealer dealt them in. One of the men, with a heavy beard and breath like rotten food, nodded at Rolland and spoke a few words. He looked at his hand.

‘He asks what the lines on your hand means,’ Koel said.

Rolland thought for a moment, staring at his cards. ‘Tell him it is for art, nothing more.’

Koel related the words, gesticulating as he always did when speaking the foreign language. The bearded man grinned, showing yellowing teeth, and muttered something back. ‘He says they look stupid.’ Koel smiled.

‘I guess I will enjoy taking his money. But don’t tell him that.’

Rolland placed modest bets. He lost the first few hands. Koel won a hand before him. Rolland was trying to get a feel for the table. He was learning the players’ tells, not only from their eyes, but the way they moved. The bearded man would fiddle with his moustache when nervous. A woman, slim in a sickly way, looked nervous, but behind the facade—in her eyes—Rolland saw a confidence. She was acting, they all were, but this woman was better. She played the same game as Rolland, and she’d played it far longer.

But Rolland knew when people were bluffing. He knewwhen they had a winning hand. It was easy. Too easy.

He started winning hands, slowly upping the bet, growing more confident. No one seemed suspicious. He relaxed into his role, even enjoyed it.

‘These men don’t seem happy,’ Koel said. The bearded man left the table, giving them an unfriendly look. Rolland had won two hands in a row. He couldn’t help himself.

‘Perhaps we should move to a different table,’ Rolland said.

‘Perhaps we should leave for the evening.’ Koel stared past him. Rolland followed his gaze. One of the burly men walked their way, exchanging glances with the dealer.

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

They both stood. The woman said something to Koel.

‘What did he say?’ Rolland asked.

‘Nothing polite. I don’t think she likes foreigners.’

‘I do keep forgetting that here, we are the foreigners.’ They walked out of the place, Rolland’s pockets considerably heavier than they’d been when they walked in. The burly man eyed them, but didn’t stop them.

‘You must learn their language,’ Koel said. ‘They trust you even less as you don’t speak to them while taking their money.’

‘I was getting that feeling. We will buy some writing materials. I will learn faster if I can transcribe the language.’

‘Mm.’

The streets were darker still, the sun truly gone from the sky, and the clouds blotting out the moon. There were a few drunkard stragglers making their way home. Koel kept his hand on his hilt as they walked.

Rolland thought for a moment, then pulled some coins from the purse. ‘Here. I figure we deserve a cut.’

‘Aye.’ Koel took the silver and slipped it away, smiling. ‘I’m beginning to like you, boy.’

Rolland took a few coins too. For an emergency, he told himself.

That night he dreamt of armies. Fighting. A man atop a huge horse, his body adorned in light. One word resonated through his mind.

Ulrich.

A sword went through his chest.

Rolland woke, heart racing, breathless. It had been a cold night, but his body was hot. He threw off the bedcovers and sat up. Still catching his breath. He’d dreamt about Ulrich[TH1] . The man with glass eyes had talked of him… but had that been a dream too?

Rolland shook his head and stood. Of course it had been a dream, nothing more. Though the shutters had opened of their own accord the previous night. He opened them now. It was early morning. The sun had not yet risen in full, but it was starting to light the world. The sky was clear of clouds. He dressed and stepped out of his room. The others would still be asleep. He had some time before breakfast. He wanted to walk about the city, get a feel for it. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to do it alone, but he missed his lonely strolls through Asrhennon. The walks always gave him a chance to think, and there had been a lot to think about of late.

The inn was quiet as he left. Stark. Strange to see it so deserted. No one eating at the tables, no one pulling drinks behind the bar. A cool breeze hit him as he stepped out into the street. The city was not as asleep as he’d thought. Already people walked the streets. A woman with a long pole approached the tall lamps that lit the city at night, extinguishing them as she went. There must be many like her throughout the city. He pulled his coat close, buttoning it smoothly with his one hand, then dug deep into his pockets. In Ashrennon he got no looks. People avoided his gaze as much as they could. Here was different. They saw his residual limb, his tattooed hand, and they openly gawped. It seemed he would stand out no matter where he went.

When Rolland had first set foot in this city, it felt alien. So different from Ashrennon, the houses, the people, even the smell from the food vendors. But he was beginning to see it was not so different. There was just a higher variety of people. Perhaps that was not a bad thing.

He walked the streets for some time, his feet led the way as his eyes darted around, trying to take everything in. He had drifted into an unfamiliar part of the town. The buildings were different here, richer. Whereas before he got no looks, as his hands were hidden away in his pockets, here he got many. The streets were not exactly, but those who walked by wore clothes of rich, colourful, fabrics. They scrutinised him, or ignored him completely. Two things he’d grown used to.

These people must be nobles, or whatever passed for nobles in this place.

His feet turned and led him to an alley, and he stopped. He’d never been here before, and yet, he knew this place. He knew this alley. He’d run through here. Been chased. Hunted. He’d clambered up that wall, run over those roofs. He’d done these things, in the dream. Yet he was here. The place was real.

He walked down the alley. He placed a hand on the wall at the end of the lane. It was the same one. The same place.

The sun was well up by now. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but doubtless he’d already missed breakfast. He should get back to the inn before they started to worry.

Before he got himself in trouble.

He hurried back through the alley, through the rich streets and poor streets. More people were about now. On the edge of the nicer neighbourhoods beggars sat, reaching hands out toward him. He avoided them. Avoided their eyes. He could do without seeing their pain. On the path to Chiruga, he’d all but managed to turn off his sight, but since getting here, learning cards. Reading. Cheating. His sight had come back in full. He’d been happy to hold his head up here, as he was finally free to, but the eyes were overwhelming him now.

‘Rolland! Blasted boy, where have you been? We were just about to search the streets,’ Koel called to him.

They were around the corner from the inn, all three of them, looking worried. Truly worried. About him.

‘I… I just went for a walk.’

‘A walk? You went for a damn walk without so much as a word, in streets you don’t know?’ It was Stanton talking now, and whilst Rolland could see he’d been worried, there was more anger than worry in him.

‘You were asleep. I didn’t think to take so long.’

Stanton sighed, and Rolland saw the anger leave him. Without a word, he turned around in the direction of the inn.

‘Be careful here, Rolland,’ Koel said at his shoulder. ‘This city could be more dangerous than it seems.’

Jenna had not spoken. Her lips were pursed, as if words would leap out if she let them. She looked away from him as their eyes met, then she left, following Stanton, leaving Rolland and Koel.

‘Come now, we should get some food in you.’

‘Koel?’

‘Aye, boy?’

‘There’s something… going on with me. Something to do with being lighttouched. I was hoping to be able to confide in you.’

‘Me? Koel glanced around. ‘Perhaps later, first, you eat.’ He walked on. ‘Stanton said we’ve a busy day.’

Rolland rushed to catch up, hands still in his pockets. He looked like a layabout, and he supposed this morning he had been.

The alley… it was as if something had drawn him to it. He’d dreamt about it, and it had been real.

Did that mean other things in his dreams were real too? Ulrich is marching, the blind man had said. If this Ulrich was real… he didn’t know what it would mean. But he had to find out.

[TH1]make sure this is the I pubbed