The War of Gods

Chapter 4 - Part 6

"Are you... sure about this?"

"Of course!" Joel said, confidently. "We need money, right? And look at them... a fool and his money are soon parted."

Nerith's head was throbbing. She rubbed her temple.

"You're assuming they're the fools," she said. She had no energy to argue. "Go on, don't get into a fight."

Joel smirked, target in sight, and off he went with a gold coin and a dream.

Nerith grabbed her mug for a sip but quickly put it down again. She felt like she could faint at any moment now.

"Y'alright, sweetheart?" a voice asked from over the counter. "If ya pass out from the ale, I ain't carrying ya to your room."

Nerith stifled a groan and put her head in her arms, resting on the counter.

She felt so weak, in all the senses of the word. Yes, she could barely stay upright, but that's because she was barely a fighter earlier in the day – again. How was she supposed to win these twisted games of Gods, when she can barely survive a group of common thugs?

Her stomach sank and her throat tightened as she thought of these things. The usual question popped in her head: What am I doing here? She just wanted to be normal again. She never asked for much. Good grades, good health, good job. Her ambitions never ran sky high either. Why was this happening to her?

Sometimes I wish I were like you, she remembered Miriam saying to her, just months ago.

"If only you could see me now, friend," Nerith murmured to herself as her eyes began to sting.

"Who are you talking to?"

Nerith shot up.

Oh.

"No one," she replied. "Just the ale getting to me."

"I see," Mavar said. He took a seat besides her and ordered a tea. "Horses are safe. Right next to the good-looking inn... Why are we in the bad looking-inn again?"

"Ask him," Nerith said and nodded over her shoulder. "I was too busy not passing out."

"Is he... gambling?"

"Cards. I gave him a one gold allowance."

"One gold...?"

"You're cheating, Halfing!" A deep voice bellowed behind them.

"No, I ain't, big guy!" That was Joel's voice. "Sit back down. The jealous ones are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves."

This wasn't going to end well.

"I'll beat you up with my own pickaxe, little one," the angry man said.

"Ah! A miner!" Joel said, cheerfully. "I see you carry a bag of loot with you. Surely today's findings, hm?"

The man growled. Joel continued.

"Tell you what! You bet that big bag of ore and I'll put all my money on the line."

"Joel-," Mavar began saying, but Nerith cut him off with a hand gesture.

"Hmpf," the grumpy man said. "How's ya know this ain't just a big bag of coal?"

"I don't!" Joel said with a twisted grid. "That's what makes it fun."

This seemed to earn the big fella's respect.

They sat back down for one last game. Tensions still ran high but Nerith could feel a friendlier tone to the game now. That was Joel for you, you just could not hate the little man, no matter how much trash came out of his little mouth. Before she realized, she knew his opponent was called Damian, had a wife and a little daughter, and was apparently the chief of the miners in Akchaman. Those who held pickaxes and spit threats five minutes ago, now laughed and cheered with what little ale they had left.

The laughter stopped abruptly when Joel revealed his final hand. Their faces didn't turn to malice or anger. More like... shock? Betrayal? Joel got up, patted Damian on the back and calmly strutted over to the counter, shaking his new bag of rocky goodies.

Maybe things weren't so bad after all.