The Knife's Edge (17 page)

Alone now, Gray settled back into his chair. Everything Mura said still churned in his head. “Prophecy,” he whispered aloud, but it sounded more like a curse.

And at a nearby table, the commotion was picking up, as voices grew heated.

He felt violence in the air.

A Rogue’s Luck

D
ARIUS ROLLED A DIE ACROSS THE
ridge of his fingers, holding his breath, his other fist clenched beneath the table. At last, the seven dice on the round wood table stopped their roll.

Seven ones.

He let out a strangled gasp of surprise. “Seven,” he said. All the other men grumbled and threw their coin, sitting back into their chairs. All except one.

Across the table, old Bueler eyed him with one squinted eye. “Had I not known all your tricks, Darius, I’d think ya was cheatin’.”

“What can I say?” Darius shrugged. “When you’re lucky, you’re lucky.”

Bueler snorted, “Aye—the Ronin’s own dark luck.”

Darius was startled by the comparison. He hadn’t heard them mentioned by name since he was a boy. He laughed uncomfortably and looked around the table. The other men looked equally unnerved by the name. At that moment, a group of shapely women passed closely by, flirting with the gamblers. Thank Lokai. Best make use of this. Darius pushed back his chair.

“Hold on!” Bueler croaked loudly. Darius saw the coin-seeking women hadn’t fazed Bueler. Instead, the man’s dark eyes narrowed, looking like small, angry lumps of coal. “Not going to let a man have another chance at his money?”

The others turned. Darius froze, half-risen from his seat. He knew where his dagger lay. He could get to it in the blink of an eye, but he didn’t move his hand. He didn’t want to fight nine men, not for a foolish wager. He debated giving the coin back, but something in Bueler’s eyes suggested the man wasn’t wholly interested in the loss of silver anymore.

“Settle down, Buel,” said Farley in his rumbling voice. He was Lakewood’s blacksmith, and his brawny arms attested to that, as they barely fit inside his tunic. “No use getting worked up. It’s just a game. And if you start a fight at the festival, the council will have your head on a pike.” Bueler didn’t seem to care. He stared at Darius with growing rage. He wasn’t sure about the others, but Bueler’s mind seemed more for blood than coin. The man was different tonight, a darker glimmer in his eyes. And while Bueler surely couldn’t fight, the fool could work the others into a lather. Once in his life, Darius had seen a mob form, and a man had died as a result. It was a terrifying thing what the irrational power of rage and numbers did to a man. It was time to work his charm, before things got any worse.

“My apologies, gentlemen, while I would love to stay and chat, it is just far too glorious a night to waste simply tossing dice, even with such fine company.” He bowed deeply, gesturing with his one hand, and with his other slid a portion of his earnings into his coin purse, leaving most of the heavy coins on the table—more than enough. Darius gestured to the coin. “A token of my appreciation. Until next time…” He turned, hiding a smirk. That should work, now to—

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Bueler called. “Not this time.”

Darius heard the scrape of wood as the other men slid back their chairs. He cursed inwardly.

“Turn and face us, you scoundrel!”

Slowly, he turned, and saw the speaker. It was Bueler’s lackey, Ruben. Ruben was big, and while not as big as Farley he was still twice the width and a good hand taller than Darius. Moreover, the man’s face reflected his many fights and foul temper. A scar ran across his missing left eye and down his mouth, leaving it in a perpetual sneer.

Don’t look the bull in the eye. It’ll only anger it. He turned his gaze down and flashed his most disarming smile. “Look, this is clearly a misunderstanding. If you want another game, all you had to do is ask… I’m ready to lose my coin. That is, if you’re man enough to take it. Now sit, sit,” he ushered, “The next round is on me.” He looked around for a barmaid, but as the tension grew, a clear gap was dividing between them and the others in the hall. Dice! Where are they when you need them?

“No more games,” said another.

Darius tried to slow his beating heart. “Surely you’re not going to start a fight in the Great Hall itself? A man of your intelligence, Bueler, would see the folly—“

“Shut up!” Bueler said, sliding his chair back, “Enough talking! Even your silver tongue won’t save you now.”

“You’re mine first, rogue,” Ruben voiced as he kicked a nearby cask, knocking it out of the way and causing a cascade of stacked barrels.

“You! Don’t move a muscle!” A voice shouted from behind.

Ruben paused in his tracks and Darius twisted to see a young man striding towards him. Gray, he remembered. Gray shoved aside a stool, stomping towards him, his face a thunderhead. Darius backpedaled closer to Ruben. He was caught between a hammer and an anvil.

Gray grabbed him by the scruff and yanked him up. “You! You left me!”

Darius grabbed Gray’s hands, trying to pry them off, but he had as much chance as prying a nail from hard oak. “You’re angry, I can see that, but you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Gray replied with a crazed light in his eyes.

“And just who are you?” said Bueler, squinting one eye at Gray.

“Back off, old man,” Gray snapped.

Bueler recoiled, eyes widening.

“What did you just say?” Ruben sneered, stepping forward.

“Gray, you don’t understand,” Darius said in a fierce whisper, so only his friend could hear. “This man will hurt you and me. Just do as he says.”

Gray ignored him and looked to Ruben. “I said back off,” he repeated slowly as if the man were daft. “This is none of your affair. It’s between me and the rogue.”

Bueler gave a cruel-looking grin. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. This is the last time that swindler will cheat any of us of our hard-earned money. We’re taking back what’s ours out of his hide.”

“Whatever he owes you, he owes me more,” Gray growled. Ruben stepped forward. As he did, Gray released one hand, reached inside his coat pocket and shook his head.

Ruben froze, looking down his broken nose at Gray. “That better be more than a pig-sticker you’re hiding, because it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

Suddenly what Gray was doing dawned on him. He realized the grip on his collar was only so tight that it looked painful. Hiding a smile, he decided to play along. “I’d do as he says,” Darius told Bueler and the others, as if afraid for them.

“There’s seven of us, and only one of you—those aren’t good odds, friend,” Bueler stated, though he looked less certain now.

Gray laughed as if it were a trivial matter. “I’m a reasonable man, so I’ll compromise. You can have him after I’m done, if there’s anything left. But if you attack me now, I swear, I may not take all of you, but I’ll leave my mark deepest on you,” he said, his gaze resting on Bueler.

There was a long pause as men fingered their concealed blades. Ruben stepped forward, and Bueler put a hand to the man’s chest, “Wait,” he ordered. The big man stopped. Bueler eyed the hand in Gray’s coat. “As long as he gets what’s coming to him,” he said with a twist of his upper lip.

“Oh, you can be sure of that,” Gray said and turned, throwing Darius ahead of him.

They rounded the corner into a hallway just out of sight of the Great Hall, and Darius breathed a sigh. He laughed softly, punching Gray good-naturedly in the arm. “Dice, nice going! Where’d you learn that trick?” He looked around. The hallway, lit with several torches in iron sconces, was empty of people.

“Who says it was a trick?” Gray asked, raising a brow.

Darius swallowed uncertainly. Gray’s stern features broke and he laughed, jabbing the rogue in the ribs with an elbow. Darius chuckled as well, but this time wondering if his friend was a tad crazed. Perhaps I was safer with Bueler and his big oaf. “Well, thanks either way,” Darius said. “And I’m sorry about leaving you before. I thought they were after me. Imagine my surprise when the guard snagged you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gray said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Good, glad that’s settled. What happened to you? It doesn’t look like they roughed you up too much.”

“No, I’m fine. I was taken to see someone, and a good thing too, they led me to the man I was looking for,” Gray replied.

“So you found your friend?” Darius asked when he felt a sudden sharp pain on his ear. He wailed, twisting to face his assailant. Blue eyes met his. He blinked in surprise, quickly taking in the pretty face. She had fair skin with a petite nose and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge. Her looks were nearly enough to dampen the pain. But he knew that face, and as a result, both his attraction and fear immediately fled. “Dice! Let go of my ear, Ayva! What are you doing?”

“No,” she fumed, “What are you doing? Thinking you can get away from me when you and your pals shattered two of my best casks?”

“What are you talking about?” Gray asked.

Ayva, still with a firm hold on his ear, shot a finger around the corner and to the gambler’s table where mead frothed from two big oak casks.

Darius cursed. “Look, Ayva, it wasn’t my fault.”

She snorted, yanking his ear higher and he yelped. “I don’t believe that for a second,” she said angrily, and looked to Gray, “And who are you?”

“Gray, meet Ayva. Ayva, Gray.” Darius said through his teeth. “Now let me go!”

She nodded curtly in greeting. “Curious friend you have here, and what in the seven hells of Remwar are you two doing over here?”

“What does it look like?” Darius growled, “And keep your voice down, will ya?”

“Hiding like a couple of bilge rats, is what it looks like,” Ayva said.

Gray grabbed Ayva’s arm and pulled her further around the corner, out of the open and away from the attention of the gamblers. Darius took the moment to shirk off her grip. He stepped back, rubbing his ear.

Ayva brushed off Gray’s hand and glanced around the corner at the men who had settled back into their gambling. “What’s going on? And you two better start speaking soon or I’ll call those men over here—I won’t hesitate,” she warned.

“Those men accused Darius of cheating,” Gray began.

“Bueler was acting like a downright fool!” Darius added.

The two shot him a fierce look. He fell silent, grumbling under his breath as Gray continued, “Before anything too bad happened, I pulled Darius away by reassuring them that he was mine first.”

“I could have told her that,” he snorted.

“Well, I see why you’re hiding. And that’s either pretty brave, or pretty foolish of you,” Ayva said to Gray. “Bueler is an old fool like Darius said, but a dangerous one at that, and he’s the guard captain’s uncle.” She looked to Darius, raising a brow. “Accused of cheating? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Darius scoffed. “I never cheat.”

She waved it off with a hand. “Well, I don’t want trouble any more than the next person, but as I see it, I’m still down two barrels, and it’s at least partly your fault,” she said with a hard eye in his direction.

“No it isn’t!” he replied, “Like I said, I did nothing but…”

Gray clamped a hand over Darius’ mouth. “What he means to say is we’ll gladly replace the cost of the barrels, seeing as we were a part of the incident.” He let his hand go and Darius wanted to protest. There’s no reason why we should pay, but judging by the look in Gray’s eyes, he didn’t think he’d win this fight.

Ayva watched Darius, and he flashed a toothy grin in reply. “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he lied.

She bit her lip. It was normally an attractive feature of hers, but right now it only annoyed him. “I suppose that will suffice” she said and she ticked off numbers on her fingers, “Let see, two barrels of Redsmead, and the weight of each was somewhere around ten stone… that’s around ten silvers, give or take.”

“How about take! Are you kidding?” He exclaimed.

Again, Gray shot him a withering look. Darius sighed and fell back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Gray answered, “Sadly, Darius is right. I don’t think either of us has anything near ten silvers.”

“Maybe if we were kings,” he mumbled to himself.

Ayva smoothed her white apron and smiled. “I figured as much. In that case, perhaps you two can help me get some new barrels from the inn since you destroyed those. These men are rowdy as is, but without drink? Soon the scuffle you prevented will seem a mere drop in the bucket.”

“We’d be glad to help,” Gray said before Darius could object.

Darius looked between the two, arms crossed. “Oh, delighted,” he replied mockingly.

“Great! Than follow me, the Golden Horn is my father’s inn. It’s not far away.”

“Come on,” Gray said, grabbing his arm.

Grumbling, he followed and together they took to the side hallway, avoiding the gamblers and moving out of the Great Hall. He watched Gray pull up the hood of his cloak, and glance from right to left as if stalked by something much greater than the thugs in the hall. Watching him made even Darius jumpy, and he found himself looking deeper into the shadows as well.