He looked up, seeing a few stars peering from behind clouds as they swept along the coastline. He felt the breeze off the harbor, and its cold bite reminded him: he was only as weak as he let himself become. His feelings of sadness, anger, and remorse were all honestly earned, paid for with the blood of others, and he need not apologize to anyone, least of all himself for them. But they could not be embraced. They must be acknowledged, then let go; for to cling to them, to keep them alive in his heart, would be to doom himself and make meaningless everything he had done so far.
If he survived, and if he destroyed Kaspar, then he could wonder at what fate the gods would have for him for his dark deeds. If he survived, perhaps then he could find Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal and free her from her captivity. If he survived, perhaps he could find a true home in one of the cities he had known. If he survived, perhaps he could finance an eating establishment, with a young chef like Lucien. Perhaps he could find love again. Perhaps someday he could be a husband and father. If he survived.
He took a deep breath and drew himself upright. He must never let his feelings overwhelm him again in such a way. It was only through the kindness of fate it happened in so benign a spot. In the citadel or in any number of other places, it would have meant his death.
Step by step, he resolved to grow stronger, to use every mental discipline he had learned to protect himself from himself. Remorse, anger, fear, and hate would only undo him, and he must remember that always.
By the time he reached Ruthia’s Palace, he was back within himself, strong and ready, and had vowed that never again would he betray himself.
Ruthia, the Goddess of Luck, favored Tal again. He put down his cards with a smile and said, “All cups, gentlemen.”
Five cards of the same suit was the best hand at the table, and Tal gathered in the gold coins on the table, while the other five players threw down their cards. Squire John Mowbry of the Duke of Salador’s court was a young man, perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen years of age. He shook his head and said, “You must be an honorable man, Squire Hawkins, for with luck like yours, who needs to cheat?”
Suddenly those at the table went silent. Realizing he had come close to deadly insult, the young squire said, “Apologies, sir. I was merely making a jest. Apparently a bad one.”
Tal glanced at the boy and smiled. “Not that bad, really,” he said, then he laughed. “Actually, now that I think of it, quite good.”
He passed the cards to the young man. “But you win the deal.”
The young squire, obviously relieved that no insult had been taken, shuffled the cards.
“How long are you with us, Squire Hawkins?” asked a trader named Ruben of Ravensburgh.
Tal shrugged. “Indefinitely. I have traveled and find I like Salador very much. I studied here some years ago and enjoyed my stay. I am at liberty presently and decided to return here to see what the future holds.”
Another man, an officer in the Duke’s guard named Dumont, laughed, and said, “And getting out of Roldem must have been good for your health.” He had been one of Tal’s regular gambling opponents when he had lived in Salador; he was, if not a friend, then an amiable acquaintance.
Tal feigned a wince at the remark, but then smiled, and said, “There is that.”
Squire John’s expression as he dealt the cards indicated that he didn’t understand, and Dumont said, “Our friend here managed to publicly humiliate Prince Matthew of Roldem in such a way that it was unlikely he’d ever be invited back to the palace for a gala.”
“Really?” said another man at the table, a shipper named Vestla. “Tell us about it.”
Tal picked up his cards, looked at them, then threw down his hand. “Nothing to draw to.” He sat back and said, “I’d rather not.”
Dumont said, “What I heard was that our friend reduced the Prince to tears in public on the floor of the Masters’ Court. Literally spanked him with the flat of his sword, he did.”
The men at the table laughed and Dumont added, “I’ve met the Prince once, and I’ll wager not a few of those watching were silently saying ‘bravo’ to you, Squire, for humbling that lout.”
Tal shrugged. “I’ve been traveling. What’s the news?”
The others laughed as they made their bets. Dumont said, “Well, enough. We’ll drop the story of your bout with the Prince. As for news, not much. Old Duke Duncan rules wisely. His son Laurie is a chap who is well regarded by all, and will be a good ruler in his own right someday. We are at peace with Great Kesh, and last time I heard, the Western Realm was quiet, so it is a time for soldiers like myself to grow lazy and fat.” He put down his cards and said, “Three nines.”
No one could beat the hand, so Dumont pulled in the coins. “Oh, and Duke Rodoski of Roldem will be visiting for the Midwinter Festival.”
Tal feigned surprise. “Varian’s coming to visit the Duke?”
“An old friend?” asked Ruben.
“An acquaintance from the Masters’ Court.”
“Given your contretemps in Roldem with the Prince,” said Dumont, “don’t expect to be invited to the Duke’s gala.”
“I wouldn’t, normally,” said Tal, as the cards were dealt again.