Mrythdom: Game of Time by Jasper T. Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

them, placing coins on the counter while a harried barman with a neat ginger goatee scribbled furiously on a pad of brown paper.
    “What are they doing?” Aurelius whispered.
    “Placing bets.”
    “On what?”
    Gabrian gestured vaguely over his shoulder to the circle of men. “The outcome of the fight.”
    Aurelius cast a quick, but worried glance over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the men holding their swords aloft in the middle of the bar. “They’re going to duel?”
    Gabrian’s eyes were closed. “Yes.”
    “In here?!”
    “Please be quiet.”
    Aurelius bit his tongue and waited while the old man uttered a series of strange phrases, almost chanting under his breath.
    What is he doing, now? Probably trying to get us free drinks. A smirk lit Aurelius’s face, but he felt a twinge of disquiet that he was already becoming so used to the strange world around him. His smirk faded to a thoughtful frown as he watched Gabrian place a number of coins on the counter and signal to the harried barman. After a number of minutes the barman came to their side of the counter and scooped up Gabrian’s coins. The barman spent a second counting the coins in his palm, then gave his full attention to them.
    “Bet?”
    “Marcus Thescapian.”
    The barman nodded and scribbled on his pad before moving down the counter to the next man in line.
    Aurelius grabbed Gabrian’s arm. “You’re betting?”
    Gabrian eyed his hand until he removed it. “You don’t appreciate charity, so I thought we could make some honest money. Come, let’s get a look at our contender.”
    Aurelius followed Gabrian to the circle of men and they elbowed their way in. Aurelius was surprised when he saw the combatants. They each stood motionless as statues and facing one another, swords held straight above their shoulders in a two-handed grip. One of them was young, very young—perhaps only twenty—while the other had the gray hair and beard of a man as old or older than Gabrian. From the way his arms shook as he held his sword aloft, Aurelius didn’t think he’d last long.
    “This is not a fair fight,” Aurelius whispered.
    “No, it isn’t,” Gabrian replied.
    “The odds can’t be very good. We won’t make much.”
    “Ah, that is where you are mistaken, elder.” Gabrian turned to him with a smile, his eyes dancing with reflected tongues of flame from the fireplace in the corner. “The odds are fifteen to one against Marcus Thescapian.”
    “What? You bet on the old man?”
    “With age comes experience.”
    “And frailty.”
    Gabrian smiled cryptically and left the circle. “Come, let’s wait outside.”
    The men went on shouting to their champion and jeering the contender while stomping their feet in time to the drums. Aurelius gaped for a moment longer at the man they were betting on before turning to follow Gabrian out. He found the old man standing under the entrance to the brewery, gazing off into the distance. Aurelius tapped him sharply on the shoulder.
    “What’s wrong with you? Do you know that man? Is he some type of master swordsman?”
    “I’m not sure of his skills with a sword, but he is a master with a staff.”
    “What good is a staff against a sword? What are we even doing here? Aren’t we looking for this damned relic of yours?”
    “Yes, that is our objective. Unfortunately, Malgore has the relic.”
    “So how does this help us?”
    Gabrian turned to him with a small smile. “Malgore is the man we are betting on.”
     
    *   *   *
     
     “Why didn’t he recognize you?” Aurelius asked.
    “I blinded his eyes. He won’t be able to pick us out of a crowd, unless he is very certain we are there.”
    “So why don’t you just walk up to him and steal the relic.”
    “You’re assuming he hasn’t hidden it.”
    “Well . . .”
    “Even if he has it on him, we cannot steal it from him, nor can we kill him and take it. Both crimes would bring all of Dagheim against us. I may be powerful,