Aces and Eights page 8
Harvey Smith
When I reached the tavern, I could see that the front door was propped open. Several old men were seated on the ground around the steps, laughing and talking. I nodded to them and entered. My eyes adjusted quickly to the cool semi-darkness, giving me a view of the not-quite-crowded room through standard barroom smoke. There was a wet spot on the floor near the entrance, so I skirted to the left and found a table that was situated near an open window. Sitting down, I removed my pack and rested it on the chair beside me. Through the window I could see a weather-worn fountain centered like a hub in an intersection. In addition to affording me a nice view of the plaza fountain outside, my seat ensured that no one could approach me from behind. It almost always pays to be cautious.
When the waitress made her way to my table, I ordered some beef ribs and a pitcher of beer. Then I settled back in my chair and observed some of the tavern's other patrons. At the next table over, an old woman was telling a story of some kind. Occasionally a bit of it would drift through the noise and find its way to me. The woman's crowd was mostly comprised of what appeared to be younger travelers who wore excited, thrill-hungry expressions on their faces. Across the room, a man nodded to me and I thought that I recognized him as a blacksmith who I had once hired to re-shoe a horse. I waved to him, trying to remember what had happened to that horse.
Absently, I toyed with my ring. It was disproportionately heavy and fashioned from a brownish translucent material. Etched in fine lines, the ring bore a stylized tree, almost skeletal in its starkness. It felt warm and reassuring on my finger. The ring had been a gift from Luke and it represented a substantial investment of our mutual time and energy. Its creation had involved a ritual initiation relying upon a being/place/construct (depending on how you look at things) which some refer to as The Great Tree Between The Worlds.
Luke had taken me to that place in the lee of Yggdrasill and had worked the proper conjurings, mixing the sap of the Tree with my blood, then fashioning the results into a ring. When he had given it to me, he had explained that the device would allow me to do certain things that were normally reserved for those attuned to one of the primal powers. And though I was inadvertently made a supernatural creature by my encounter with Kyla and her lupine pack-mates, and though I have undergone the initial phases of a power ritual involving a place called the Keep of the Four Worlds, let me say that I do not have access to the kind of power possessed by one who is an initiate of either the Logrus or the Pattern. So the ring is an item of considerable worth.
I enjoy working for Luke�it is, so to speak, continually stimulating�but I will not deny the fact that the work is unusually dangerous. In an arena where power levels have been greatly inflated, the ring gives me an edge. It possesses an innate will, as well as a sensitivity to magic. While wearing it, I can feel certain pathways and rifts through Shadow. Though this only provides me with the most limited means of traversing Shadow, it does allow me to pass between those places connected by pathways or gates. Using the ring in such a fashion requires time; while in a particular Shadow (generally one of a magically active nature), it takes me a while to locate an opening other than the one through which I entered. If no such portal exists, then I have to either backtrack my way out, or simply use one of the Trumps I carry (another gift from my employer) to transport back to a more familiar locale.
The ring functions to protect me from psychic assaults, too, by augmenting my own mental defenses. With its added protection, I can often fend off spells that might otherwise nuke my brain. And, through usage, I also learned that (as a by-product of its sensitivity) the ring acts as a sort of universal translator, picking up on the thoughts of those Shadow beings who attempt to communicate with me and instantaneously relaying the English equivalent of their words into my head. I have learned several new languages from journeying with Luke�Thari, Amber's native tongue, among them. But, in my travels, I encounter a very wide range of sentient cultures, most of which have their own languages. For that reason alone, the ring has come in quite handy. Its translation functions do not work with beings with exceptionally high-powered psyches, but, then again, most of those who meet that criteria speak Thari quite fluently anyway.
It did not take long for my order to arrive. I gave the waitress a handful of coins with octagonal holes in their centers and words inscribed along their borders. She counted out my change, pushing the smaller coins across the table to me with a smile. I ate and drank, pushing everything else away for a time.
When I had finished the meal, the waitress returned for the plate. The rib bones lay in a jumbled pile like some ghastly art project, gleaming white. I thanked the woman as she was leaving. After sitting a while and finishing off the beer, I walked over to the door and stepped outside. The same group of old men were sitting in the dust and had started up some sort of game involving polished ivory sticks. Picking my direction, I began walking. I wanted to buy another horse, since I had been forced to abandon mine several days earlier at the edge of the small peaks situated on the south side of the valley. The rocky trails there would have been too risky for a horse to traverse. Though I do not mind traveling on foot, I knew that my quarry (who left their mounts for the same reason I did) had probably picked up fresh horses.
The village streets were either cobblestone or dirt, depending upon their proximity to Squire's Hall. The houses were bunched together on curving lanes. Some had window boxes, with flower cascades of red and yellow spilling over the edge and down the wall. Other houses were plain or even ugly. I walked along, making my way toward the stable at the northern edge of the village.
It did not take long to barter for and purchase the horse I wanted. She was tall and rust colored, except for a splotch of white on one shoulder.
"She's sensible," the stable-keeper told me, squinting and cocking his bald head to the side, "but watch out. Ev'ry now and again, she likes to bite."