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I was on my third plate of food when someone sat down next to me. I tensed and put one arm down wide around my plate while the other hand kept shoveling the well-sauced chunks of pork and rice into my face. If some asshole tried to take my food they were going to get a fork in the forearm. Some small, shameful part of me whispered that this wasn’t how proper folks did things, but ten years of street living didn’t disappear just because that Coliseum boy in the robes had handed me the key to a private sleeping room.
“You’re leaning into it a little hard,” the person said quietly.
I looked up, aware that I was hunched over my food like a starving dog but unable to stop myself. A boy only a few years older than me was sitting next to me on the bench perfectly at ease, giving me a conspiratorial smile. “What?” I said around a mouthful of food.
“I get it,” he said in a low voice. “You make ‘em think you’re down at the heels and then they won’t think much of you when you match up on the boards. It’s a good strategy even if I wish there weren’t two of us doing the same thing. But you don’t actually have to stuff food into your pockets. None of these rich folk are watching us hard enough to even notice. Same with the rags on the feet. It’s a nice touch, but some worn leather would send the same message and be far more sensible. You don’t want to slip during a match.”
My brain finally caught up with his words and I took in the lad sitting there. His clothes were streaked with dirt in a way that looked purposeful. His white shirt was thick and fine, but he’d rolled up the sleeves and pulled a few threads to leave them hanging. The rip in the knee of his breeches was fresh, and his stout leather shoes were scuffed. His curly hair was thick and lustrous, but he’d hacked the ends at his forehead and neck to make it look ragged. He was playing at being poor.
“What are you doing?” I asked, offended anger building deep in my chest.
“Don’t play dumb,” he said, laughing. “I know the game. It’s fine, I’m not mad! Playing the losers’ bracket to sweep up cards is the smart thing to do. And with how we’re positioned in the brackets, we can both clean up nicely before we risk facing each other, so it’s a win-win. I just thought I’d pass on a couple of pointers.” He winked and patted me on the shoulder.
He had no idea how badly I wanted to bite that hand. This kid was pretending to be somebody like me to fleece the rich folk, but those clean fingernails had never scraped between cobblestones to pick out a copper bit that had been dropped or tried to gouge out the eye of a rival that wanted to beg on the best corner. He was trying to be me, and he had no right.
I swallowed the food in my mouth, gripped my fork hard, and smiled big. “Get anything good yet?”
He leaned back, laughing. “Oho, he likes to talk shop! Nothing much yet, just an Uncommon kobold. But I only gave up a Common soldier in the first round. You never want to be in the winner’s bracket. That’s where all the nobles and heavy hitters live. Suicide.” He scooted a little closer, smiling, and I wondered if pumping Nether would let me hit him hard enough with my fork to break one of those perfect white teeth. “It’s all about loading your deck with Commons. Leave the big boys home and you can’t lose them, right? There are some decent bronzes out there that can hit hard and close out a match fast before these fools know what you’re up to.”
He held up a hand. “No, don’t ask, I’m not telling. A man’s gotta keep some secrets, doesn’t he? After all, we might end up facing each other eventually, and I’m not just gonna roll over because I like you!” He clapped me hard on the shoulder and stood. “Take ‘em for all you can, brother.” He strode away, heading for the table heaped with meats, fruit, and bread that the cooks kept filled.
With him gone I was able to unclench from my fork. The slices of bread sitting in my pocket were going to stay exactly where they were, no matter what he said. He might be headed home to mommy and daddy after the tournament, but some of us had to think ahead.
The Mess Hall was massive, a good hundred feet from end to end, with long tables lined up along one side for competitors to either sit together or be on their own if they pleased. The room was tucked into the upper levels of the Coliseum underneath the tiered stadium seats, and I could feel the subtle vibration of thousands of cheering idiots above me even if the solid stone blocked the noise. The room I’d been assigned was one level down, and the trading tables were down the hall. I’d gone there first, but when I’d peeked in, the vendors and haggling competitors standing over stacks of cards all looked so intimidating that I’d thought I would do better on a full stomach. Three plates in and I was starting to question that decision – now I just felt tired.
A huge board on the wall with name placards hung next to each other spurred me on, though. Workers in Coliseum robes filtered in and out of the hall, some bringing food, some with carafes of wine or water, but every now and then an official-looking fellow would march in, grab a short ladder, and rearrange the names on the board as matches ended, either removing competitors or advancing placards to the next round. My stomach gurgled with an unpleasantly full anxiety as the fat, robed official came back in and moved a name into the slot right below mine. The next person I’d be facing was named… Fferun, which I wasn’t even sure how to say.
I need to get to the trading tables. I didn’t know exactly how long until the next match would start, but it wouldn’t be forever, and I needed to build up my deck if I hoped to win any more matches and stay in the Tournament in order to stay alive. I’d won against that Lily girl, yes, but I couldn’t count on my next opponent having that small of a deck. From here on out the matches would only get tougher. I wished I could just stay here in the Coliseum in the Mess Hall forever and never leave. The food was good, and other than that smarmy hustler who’d thought we were cut from the same cloth, no one here had bothered me.
“Tell me the state of your Souls, my child,” an old man said from behind me.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I jumped just a little, turning on the bench. A kindly-looking old man in an open black robe with a long white smock showing down the middle stood there with his hands tucked into the deep sleeves of the opposite arm. He had a long, white beard and a bald head. I’d seen robes like that before, though only from a distance. He was a Tender, one of the priesthood of the Twins.
I felt uncomfortable under his smile. In the Lows, smiling old men were either loonies or perverts, and I tried to avoid both. Tenders, though, supposedly knew the secrets of the gods, and it would be a bad idea to hit him if I hoped to keep winning.
“I don’t have any Souls, church man,” I said, trying to sound as respectful as I could. “My deck’s pretty thin.”
“Oh, that’s all right, my boy,” he said, sitting next to me. “We all have to start somewhere. You can always improve your own soul no matter what Fate has brought you. Have you formed your card yet?” His manner was gentle, but his eyes were piercing.
I scooted away just a little. Why do people think it’s okay to sit next to me? “I… no.” He might be a Tender and an acolyte of the Church of the Twins, but I didn’t have the time or the desire to explain that yes, I’d once had my own soul card, but no, I didn’t know how I’d formed it at the ripe old age of four or five, that my mother had stolen it from me and run off, and no, I didn’t know how that was possible. Some conversations just weren’t worth having.
“Hmmm,” he said, eyeing me with a knowing look that I didn’t like at all. “Best thing you could do for yourself, young man, especially for someone in your circumstances.” He gestured to my ragged clothing, but unlike everyone else I’d met today – or, well, ever – his eyes were gentle and his tone devoid of judgment. It was as if he really didn’t care I was a street kid. Maybe this fellow wasn’t a loony or a pervert after all.
“Maybe,” I said. “But let’s say that’s out of my reach right now. What d’you think the Twins would want me to do to keep winning?”
His smile broadened. “Young man, you are talking to exactly the right person. My life as a Tender exists to help people advance themselves and improve the state of the Souls in their care. Even if you don’t have any Soul cards, you can still improve your Mind Home in preparation for them. Would you be willing to show me your cards? I promise that I am entirely neutral and unconnected from the Tournament and will hold your information in the strictest confidence. The Church always sends a few of us to Tend to the competitors, and we know how to keep things to ourselves.”
I chewed on my lip. I desperately needed help, and if I went to the tables by myself I’d get taken for a rube like I had been by the tailor. I pulled the Troglodyte Tracker and the Uncontrolled Revels from my pocket and laid them on the table between us.
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“Can you help me manage some trades?” I tried to keep my tone unconcerned, but I wasn’t sure I managed.
He sighed and tugged at his beard. “Oh, I’m sorry, my boy, but you don’t want me to do that. I haven’t got the steel in me for haggling, and the vendors can smell it on me like a pack of dogs. No, I don’t like the trading tables. But perhaps I can do something else for you. These weren’t in your Mind Home; can you not use them?”
“No,” I said shortly. “I don’t have any Elemental source.”
“It can be developed,” he said absently, fishing a pair of half-moon spectacles out of his robe and perching them on his nose. They didn’t have the colored lenses of an Artifact that could see deep, like Ticosi’s lens or the Gamemaster Glasses; they were just for improving an old man’s sight. “It’d take longer than the Tournament would last unless your affinity is strong, though, and I don’t know where you’d find the elements to do it here in the Coliseum anyway.”
He picked up the Fire card and inspected it. My hands itched to snatch it back, but I restrained myself. After a moment he snorted and put it down, obviously seeing how useless it was. The Troglodyte he considered for a moment longer, but then he handed it back to me, shaking his head.
“Troglodytes can be very useful, but if you haven’t got Water already that’s a longer road than we want to walk right now. Might I see what else you have?”
I hesitated, remembering how much I hated it when my ante cards had been snatched out of my Mind Home and shown to the world. Stalling, I took the two cards from the table and put them back in my pocket.
“I won’t take them,” he said quietly. “I promise you in front Fate’s all-seeing eye. A strong lad like you? I wouldn’t get far if I did.” His eyes were clear and his face calm. I wasn’t used to feeling like I trusted someone, but this old fellow was about as harmless as they came.
Steeling myself, I put my hand behind my right ear and gave a mental push. The Hammer came out first, and then the Sucking Void.
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“Oh my,” he breathed, bending over the Epic spell. His hands hovered over it, but he didn’t pick it up, which I appreciated. “What a beautiful piece.”
“That’s all I’ve got,” I admitted. “Two cards.”
“A noble start,” he said. “I won’t ask how you came by this card.”
I stayed silent. What could I safely say to that?
“Elevating this will make it all the more powerful,” he said, running one finger along the faceted gem edge. “To go from Epic to Mythic takes some serious resources, though. You’d need Epic shards, for one, and those don’t exactly grow on trees. Plus, for a spell like this, you’d need an infusion of the Nether magic that formed it in the first place, and short of a trip to the Demon Realm I don’t know where you’d find such a thing. Not to mention the hefty smithing fee. Much as I’d love to see what this will become one day if you Tend to it, that’s a long-term project. Won’t help us right now.”
“This, on the other hand,” he said, picking up the Hammer, “is ripe for improvement. As much as I’d prefer to help you elevate an actual Soul, there’s satisfaction to be had in upgrading a fine piece of equipment. This one’s a tad underpowered for an Uncommon.”
He gave me a sharp look over the top of his spectacles. “Have you got any resources? Shards? Coin?”
I looked around. The closest competitor was the hustler boy sitting three tables away hunched over his meal. Even so, I lowered my voice. “I have five silver clips and forty-one Basic shards.”
The old man pulled the corner of his unkempt mustache into his mouth with his lower lip and chewed, thinking. “That might get the job done. And you’ll want to keep your whole cards for trade; you get more value that way than by breaking them down. Hmm…” He stewed silently for a long moment and then stood up abruptly. “Put your Epic back and come with me.”
I didn’t waste a moment, eagerly putting the Sucking Void back into my Mind Home. I held the Hateful Hammer in hand and stood up as well. “Where are we going?”
“To help you take your first step toward eternity,” he said firmly, marching out of the Hall. “I’m going to show you what elevation is.”