Adjacent to the Velunese knight was Madame Belldray.
The widow of Degol Belldray was certainly one of the richest commoners in the city-so wealthy that she could move in noble circles without question. She was plump and soft and covered with jewels. In a pudgy, middle-aged way, Madame Belldray was attractive, so she was much sought after by men whose fortunes were in flux, so to speak. This night she was clad in brocaded silk of ivory and golden hues that nearly matched the colors of her fading blonde tresses.
Just after Lord Dolph, the Baron of Cairnway, spoke triumphantly regarding his newly displayed tableau, Madame Belldray smiled vacuously at the man to her left, Vronstein, a High Priest of Zilchus, and said, “Oh, my goodness! Can you imagine such luck? Do you suppose you can beat Lord Dolph’s three towers? What will you do?”
Without comment, the richly dressed priest seated between the lady and Lord Dolph turned over the ivory plaque before him, his long, pale fingers seeming to move contemptuously. He smiled as a green horsehead was revealed on the reverse side. “That makes a Host of four, I believe, Lord Baron.”
The sour expression that came over Lord Dolph’s face as he viewed the emerald depictions of bow, sword, and spear capped by the horse showed that it was indeed a Host, a powerful tableau. All of the men now turned to watch as Madame Belldray took her turn.
“That’s no good at all,” the plump dowager said in a tone of disappointment as her bejeweled hand exposed a plaque with the green magic sigil on it. Now, His Reverence The High Priest Vronstein could gain no all-conquering Host, at least, but the Madame still had but a pair of coffers showing. She turned over two more of the ivory tiles, revealing the dwarf and a crown. The crown could build to a winning hand, but only if her two remaining plaques were likewise coffers-and those were long odds. With only two plays remaining for her, Madame Belldray must either wager or yield.
“I feel dreadfully lucky this evening!” she stated enthusiastically. “So, I shall increase the stake by another orb-no, by another plate!” She pushed a platinum lozenge into the pile of coins in the center of the table.
There was some surprise among the players when Sir Margus not only met the stake but increased it by an orb. He had lost rather heavily this night, and now seemed bent on bankrupting himself by attempting to recoup it all in one losing hand. He showed three tiles up, a red sigil and two gates.
Arentol likewise had three up and four plaques down, with three spears showing. “It seems that playing with a blessed cleric is unwise,” said the guildmaster. He too had lost considerable sums. “I am caught between towers, His Reverence, a lady who feels Ralishaz smiles upon her, and a risk-taker extraordinaire,” he observed. “And, worse, I think I can garner no fifth spear, even should the fourth be here,” he added as he tapped his tiles, “so I must yield.” He quietly turned over his exposed plaques and sat back.
Lord Dolph placed his platinum and gold coins into the pot, and then His Reverence Vronstein increased the wager by yet another plate. Reluctantly, Madame Belldray met it, Sir Margus did likewise only after going to his purse, and then Lord Dolph also saw the bet. The action passed to the young knight.
“Let us see with whom fortune actually plays,” Sir Margus said as he casually flipped his next flat ivory rectangle so as to show its face: a black sigil.
“Cities and magic don’t mix, sir!” urged Lord Dolph. “Let’s get on with it!”
Without any indication that he took offense at the mustachioed baron’s rudeness, the young man lazily reached for his next plaque and tipped it. “Hmmm …”he ruminated, eyes now fixed upon the baron. A bet was again demanded by the rules of the game, for Sir Margus had but two tiles remaining face down. It was evident from the facial expressions of the other players that they did not envy him his position. Already in deep, he had but little chance to defeat the cleric’s Host, while the Baron Dolph had some considerable opportunity.
“Let us be restrained-a lucky,” offered the young knight.
As the electrum disc went into the center of the table, Lord Dolph was already shoving two coins in. “And an orb,” he said with menacing flatness in his voice. Margus had but a few pieces of currency before him on the table, and the baron thought it time to force the upstart youngster out of the play.
Each of the others at the table saw the wager. Sir Margus stared at the glitter of gold, silver, platinum, and electrum in the pot, shook his head, and stared at the baron. As Dolph smiled condescendingly at him, a gold coin appeared in the young man’s hand, and he said, “I’ll see the wager also.”
Now everyone at the table was watching with enhanced interest-this hand was becoming a personal matter of pride between two noblemen. And by this time, the game had attracted the attention of a small crowd of onlookers. They kept a respectful distance, and after each play the ones in the front ranks would turn and whisper the latest happenings to those behind them.
Sir Margus glanced toward the spectators and smiled faintly, as if amused by a secret joke. Then he revealed his sixth plaque. Madame Belldray gasped and clutched at the golden brocade of her gown with a plump hand when she saw a white sigil.
Sir Margus fixed Lord Dolph with a piercing gaze, holding the baron’s eyes as the young Velunese knight slowly displayed his next plaque. Several of the onlookers voiced subdued cheers when the second dragon in the stack appeared-that could stand for the green sigil exposed in Madame Belldray’s tableau. Now, the young nobleman had completed the Mage, a nearly unbeatable display!
“I believe it is your play, baron,” Sir Margus said laconically, without looking down.
Livid, Lord Dolph reached for his next tile. It was the elf-no help. Hurriedly, he turned the next, another tower, and it was time to consider the stakes. “A plate, I say, and be damned!” His hand shook as the paunchy baron put the coin into the pot with an angry toss. Madame Belldray yielded her tableau; she could no longer hope luck would save her. The cleric and the Velunese knight put platinum lozenges into the pot without ado. Guildmaster Arentol observed the whole affair with fascination.
“Istus! That’s five towers you now face!” roared the baron as his sixth plaque turned out to be another of the castle symbols. Lord Dolph’s tableau was now supreme on the board. His florid countenance was wreathed in smugness as he looked from High Priest Vronstein to Sir Margus, his pale eyes red-rimmed but gloating.
“Calmly, dear baron, calmly,” admonished the haughty-faced cleric as he carefully exposed his fifth tile. The blue horse’s head was some help, but not much, especially in the face of five towers. “I must trust in the divine direction I now require,” he stated. He flipped an orb into the air and let it fall on the table before him. It showed a throne. “Tops, so I am to go on. Consider the gold piece my fresh wager,” he said.
Neither of the other players increased this sum, so the cleric continued his play. His sixth tile was yet another war-piece, a black sword. After a moment of hesitation, perhaps for silent prayer, Vronstein revealed his seventh and last plaque. It was, incredibly, a red horsehead-cavalry.
“I offer you the Allied Host,” the cleric said with a casual gesture toward the green infantry pieces and trio of horses. “Is it not the superior of five towers?” Now it was High Priest Vronstein’s turn to sit back and watch, for this seemed the end of all hopes for his opponents.
Before Sir Margus could play, Lord Dolph exclaimed, “We’re men here, I believe, and it seems time that we showed what we are made of! I say we make an additional wager on who shall have the winning tableau when all plaques are exposed. What say you, Vronstein?” By pointedly ignoring the young knight, Lord Dolph was indicating that he thought Sir Margus would not have sufficient funds-or perhaps the fortitude-to continue. With his Allied Host before him, the cleric acquiesced with a smile. The baron then placed six orbs into the pot.