Chenga

Game of Chance

A couple of hours later and Nirgalen and Simarl's bellies were filled with pork and beans, and Simarl's mind was back to business.

'Well, things are looking up.'  Simarl clapped Nirgalen on the shoulder and Nirgalen scowled.

'Now... let me get this right.  We're about to do something that has just got a dozen men killed and you think things are looking up?'  Nirgalen shook his head.

'We've had beer, we've had food, we've got a place to stay for the night... that barmaid gets better looking every time she brings us an ale... hell what more could you want?'

Nirgalen's green eyes cut into Simarl's warm brown ones.  'Weapons...'

'I knew you'd say something like that.  You know your problem?'

'What?'  Nirgalen's scowl deepened.

'You think too much!'  Simarl raised his eyes in a look of disdain.

'Well, one of us has to.  So, tell me, how are we going to get hold of weapons here in hicksville?'

'The Peytahns.'

'Woah, your master plan is to go up to Bounty-Hunters, who would kill us as soon as look at us and ask for weapons?  Seven foot tall Peytahns.  Three hundred pound Peytahns, trained to kill as soon as they can wave a sharp stick at something?  Now this I've got to see.'  Nirgalen arched an eyebrow and drained his ale.

'Just watch... and learn.'  Simarl made to leave the kitchen and Nirgalen followed, picking up a couple of knives as he did so.

The Peytahns were now thumping on the table and singing an uncheering epic about honour, death and blood.  Their long canine teeth were bared amidst their impressive beards and their long braided hair swayed around either side of their high, ridged foreheads.  All three had scars covering their faces and could recount tales of the deeds that had led to each one of those scars.  Of all the vaguely human creatures that walked the land these were the most fiercesome, bloodthirsty and violent.  The only thing in their favour was that they were honourable.  They would only kill you if someone paid them to, or if you brought dishonour to a Peytahn clan, or if you happened to upset them, which really wasn't all that hard to do.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen...pray lend me an ear.'  Simarl strode boldly up to the table of the three giants.

Nirgalen was shaking his head and had both hands on the hilts of the knives under his cloak.  'They'll cut off someone's ear now, I just know it,'  thought Nirgalen; that was about as subtle as Peytahn humour got.

The Peytahns stopped singing, but their fangs were still bared.

'Are you talking to me, runt?'  The youngest Peytahn, Gamesh the son of Karsh, spoke in a deep roar.

'Why certainly.  Now... I have a small propostion for you three gentlemen: a wager to place with you.  You are gambling men, who take risks, yes?'  Simarl moved in amongst them with fluid ease and engaged them with his affrontery and smile.  Nirgalen was amazed he was still alive.

'We're Peytahns, we know no risk.'  Gamesh spat the words out at Simarl.

'Never a truer word spoken, my friend, but I wager I can do something that you cannot!'  Simarl's voice carried across the room to all gathered there.  His challenge had been thrown down.

'Die tonight!'  The oldest Peytahn roared with laughter and pulled a dagger from his waistband.

'Geemak, hold!  I want to know what this louse infested beggar believes he can do better than a Peytahn.'  The young Bounty-Hunter smiled a smile that looked more like a death threat and the old Peytahn stuck his dagger into the table top.

'Why, thank you for your interest.  It is a simple thing, which requires quickness of mind and reflexes.'  Simarl swept up two bottles from the table before him and balanced one on top of the other, with the piece of battered parchment from the inn door placed neatly between the two open ends.  'Now, the trick is, to not let the bottle fall.  My wager is this: if I can remove the paper from between the bottles without the top bottle falling, you will honour my request.  If you can remove the paper without the top bottle falling, and without removing the top bottle, well I, and my companion over by the bar, will be your willing slaves, or you can put us to death here, whichever is your pleasure.  You can remove the parchment first.'  With a sweep of his hand Simarl laid out the bet.

The Peytahns laughed.  The blood drained from Nirgalen's face.  Peytahn reflexes were better than any human's, even Simarl's.  Nirgalen felt sure they would not see tomorrow.  The K'Vathin had stopped playing Peloose and were now placing bets on how long it would take for the human to die.  Even the old weed smoker looked over to the table where Simarl stood.

'Okay, human.  We take your wager.  Your head will make a good ball for my daughter to kick around in the dirt.'  The son of Karsh grasped the parchment and flicked it sideways in the blink of an eye.  The parchment flew out from between the bottles and everyone in the room held their breath.  Time seemed to slow and the room was silent.  The top bottle then teetered and wobbled and fell noisily to the table top.

Nirgalen let out his breath and flexed his tensed hands.  Even if Simarl did beat Gamesh at this game, his life might be forfeit.  Peytahns were notoriously bad losers.

'A brave attempt.  I thought you had it there.  Tell you what, son of Karsh, you can try three more times.  I can see you are warming to this game of skill. '  Simarl smiled and set up the bottles and parchment once more.

'Huh!'  Gamesh scowled, which was not a good sign.  'If a Peytahn cannot do this, rest assured no human can.'  With amazing speed, for one so large, the giant creature tried three more times.  Each time the bottle teetered and then came tumbling down.  The son of Karsh then smiled his cold smile.  'It cannot be done.  Now human, when you fail, it will be my pleasure to kill you and eat your heart from this very table.'

'As you wish... and if I succeed, you must honour my request.'  Simarl looked into Gamesh's eyes.

'What is your request?'  The older Peytahn, Geemak, looked down at Simarl.

'I will tell you after I pull out that piece of paper.  Now, do I have your word of honour that you will give me what I ask, if I can do as I have said?'

'Yes, yes, now stop your prattle and let me kill you.'  The young Peytahn's patience was wearing thin.  Only the crackling of the fire then broke the silence in the room.

Simarl set up the bottles for the final time.  The parchment sat between the two open ends.  He held the end of the parchment with one hand, stuck out the index finger of his other hand and, in the wink of an eye, struck downward with the finger toward the parchment.  The paper flew from between the bottles.  The top bottle teetered and tottered.  All else was still in the room.  The split second seemed like eternity... and the bottle remained in place.  With a flourish, Simarl took a bow and a growling cheer went up from the surprised K'Vathin.  The Peytahns were silent.  The older Peytahn drew his dagger from the table.  Nirgalen started to draw the two knives from his cloak, as he moved across to Simarl.  He knew this was going to get ugly.  Then the son of Karsh laughed loudly and grabbed Simarl by the arm.

'Peytahns beaten by a human!  Now that is funny.  I like your spirit human.  Come drink with us.  We'll kill you with ale instead!  Innkeep, more ale!'  The other two Peytahns sheathed their weapons.  'Now what is it you want?  Half my kingdom, two Peytahn wives, no, one would kill you, what is it you want?'