The Minstrel sat in his tavern and drummed his fingers idly against his table. It wasn’t actually his tavern, nor was it actually his table. The tavern owner was just too scared of him to go against any of his wishes as were the previous inhabitants of the table. That, in his mind, made those things practically his.

What wasn’t his yet though was Rogo the Thief. He had been chasing him for what felt like forever and now he was going to walk right in and the Minstrel could kill him. But he wasn’t going to.

That had been the plan right up until his head had cleared and his panic had subsided and he’d started to think things through. They’d made him sign a contract, they’d made him sign it and mark it with his own blood. He said ‘they’, it was really that insolent town guard Wegrel, and by ‘made him’, he had actually been perfectly happy to go along with it while he’d been drunk out of his mind. Why did they want blood he’d wondered? What could you do with blood on a contract? Magic, that’s what you could do.

The Minstrel had, in his life, collected two of the most powerful magic items in history so he knew something about magic. And he knew that now that they had his blood there was no telling what they’d do with it. So he couldn’t break the contract. Which meant he couldn’t kill Rogo, at least not until he won one of the three games he’d agreed to. That was okay though, all he had to do was to win one of the three games, and for someone as incredibly powerful as him surely that couldn’t be that difficult. He would just cheat, he had magical spirits at his beck and call and now that he wasn’t inebriated he was perfectly capable of making them do whatever he wanted. So he waited, and dreamed up ways that he could cheat. There were quite a few.

Wegrel walked in first, that traitorous town guard who had gotten him into this whole situation. The Minstrel wanted to kill him but he actually didn’t know everything that had been written on the contract and so he figured it was best to play things safe. Then came Rogo. The man he’d pursued across the entire ocean and all through this wretched city for so long. Walking right up to him, brazen as anything. The Minstrel scowled.

It didn’t take them long to see him. He was rather distinctive with the three horrific black scars across his face. Those were scars that he’d gotten defeating a god, surely this insolent thief couldn’t be that much trouble. He often liked to forget that he’d defeated the god mostly by accident and the scars had been given to him while he’d been running away in a blind panic. But he’d still won hadn’t he? In the great scheme of things winning was all that really mattered.

Rogo and Wegrel sat down opposite the Minstrel and they sized each other up. Rogo was rather short and unimpressive, for a master thief and crime lord of the Undercity the Minstrel was quite disappointed.

“You don’t look very impressive,” the Minstrel said, adopting the best sneer he could despite his scars.

“I could say the same about you,” Rogo replied. “They call you the Minstrel but you don’t even have an instrument.”

The Minstrel’s sneer evaporated and he scowled instead. He’d had an instrument once, an instrument that could manipulate the minds and bodies of man and beast, an instrument that could drive people to insanity, that could heal any wound, an instrument stolen from the God of Birdsong himself.

But Rogo was right, at the moment, he didn’t have an instrument.

“What is the first game that I’ve agreed to?” he asked in annoyance. “I don’t suppose it was specified on the contract.”

“It wasn’t,” Rogo said and his eyes flicked briefly to Wegrel in annoyance. “The contract allows us room to choose the games. I choose two and you can choose one.”

The Minstrel nodded, that was better than he’d hoped for.

“The first game,” Rogo said, producing two vials from his cloak. “Is the game of cups.” He waved the barkeep over who hurried in quickly, desperate to do the Minstrel’s bidding lest he be further plagued by vengeful spirits. The barkeep got them two cups and then left as hurriedly as he’d arrived.

“One of these vials is poisoned and the other isn’t. I pour one out into each cup and then present them to you. You decide which one is not poisoned and drink that one, I drink-”

“Oh, haha. This game,” the Minstrel said. “I’m not playing that game, both are clearly poisoned and you have the antidote.”

“These are the rules of the game as I’ve laid them down. If you don’t want to play you are free to forfeit the contract.” Rogo went to unstopper one of the vials and pour it into a cup but the Minstrel stopped him by grabbing his hand. Rogo flinched and for just a second he wasn’t calm and in control, for just a second he was terrified of his legendary hunter. The Minstrel grinned an ugly scarred grin.

“Those are the rules you say?”

Rogo nodded slowly.

“There are no other rules?”

“No, I pour out the two vials and then you decide which is poisoned. I drink that one and you drink the other.”

“Excellent,” the Minstrel said, getting to his feet. “Then you won’t object to me using whatever means necessary to identify which vial is poisoned.”

“You can’t hurt or torture me if that’s what you mean, the contract-”

“Oh I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to talk to someone.” The Minstrel stepped away from the table, dragging Rogo with him. “Someone who knows a lot about these things.” With Rogo’s protests dying on his lips the Minstrel took him out of the tavern and toward the fishmonger who was somehow still in business.

Naya was working late and Freyan worried about her. Ever since the retired ninja had saved her from her vengeful father she worried about all the dangerous chemicals and poisons that she worked with. Naya insisted that she knew what she was doing but she was old. So old, and Freyan knew that someday her old tired hands and her old tired mind would make a simple mistake and then it would all be over.

So Freyan had decided to learn the art of poisons herself. She had worked valiantly under Naya, mixing and gathering, boiling and distilling, desperate to be able to take over from the old woman before she was too old. But there were so many things to learn. It seemed that every day Naya would remember a new poison with some strange property that they needed for something or other and would set about making it using methods and ingredients Freyan had never heard of. It was hopeless, there were so many poisons.

But she was making progress, she was making a lot of progress, and she had heard of Eye of the Water Dragon, so she could help with that. Unfortunately Naya had little interest in Freyan’s help making the antidote and was much more interested in Freyan keeping their patient alive.

She sat upstairs in the little room above the shop and looked over him as he lay asleep in the bed. She had to admit this job was kind of important.

She hadn’t been there when Naya had been given the job but she’d been told about it all the same. A sorceress, a real live sorceress. Just like the one that had fought in the war. A real sorceress had given them this job because someone was manipulating her through the man she loved. Freyan had to admit that was bold. A mortal man taking on a sorceress like that. There were so many things that could go wrong. Her and Naya, for example.

Freyan was old enough now to have more questions on the sorceress and Sengrid’s relationship. She knew that sorceresses took the minds from anyone they slept with, anyone they were close to. Yet this sorceress had been incredibly worried about this specific man. How did they-? Freyan was very confused.

She left the man sleeping and looked out over the street through the blinds. It was night and the shadows stretched over every corner. Anyone could be hiding out there, or anything. Freyan had been scared of the city initially when they’d first come here but now she was armed with poisons and with the training and skill of a ninja. Now the things hiding in the shadows feared her.

Three men walked through the street below, talking quietly among themselves. She recognised them all. She was good at recognising the important people in the city now, and these three were all very important. Except for maybe Wegrel, he wasn’t very important.

The men walked up to the door of the fishmonger and knocked. Downstairs she heard Naya shuffling toward the door and muttering about being constantly disturbed at such a late hour. Freyan slid silently away from the window, none of the men noticed her. Wegrel and Rogo she wasn’t afraid of. Naya could handle them. But the man with the scars on his face. He was another story.

They’d been given a patient who was wrapped up in a battle between a sorceress and a pirate, and now a summoner of the spirits of the dead was turning up at their door. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Freyan left the room and walked silently down the hallway to her little room at the end. The little room where she kept her contracts.

Downstairs Naya opened the door to reveal the Minstrel and his companions. Luckily for her, and her beleaguered patient, the reason they were there was a complete coincidence. She didn’t know that of course and her seasoned ninja heart jumped into her seasoned ninja throat. But her seasoned ninja face showed nothing and she just smiled at her guests.

“I’d hardly expected visitors at such a late hour. Least of all the most feared man on the streets. What can I do for you three?”

At the mention of ‘most feared man on the streets’ both Rogo and the Minstrel smugly smirked at each other. Wegrel, standing behind them, rolled his eyes.

“I need your help in identifying this poison,” the Minstrel said, holding up Rogo’s hand which still clutched one of the vials in it. “Specifically, which, of the two of these, is poisoned.” He grabbed Rogo’s other hand and held that up as well.

Naya frowned at them and Wegrel shrugged hopelessly. He’d been against this idea from the start but Rogo had been sure that he could manipulate the Minstrel into taking the wrong vial and conveniently dropping dead for them. That was the problem with these so-called ‘master’ thieves. They had a ludicrous plan go through once or twice and suddenly they thought they were smarter than everyone. Any normal person would have known that nobody would actually just drink a vial of liquid that you gave them, whether you drank an identical one or not. You needed to be able to force them to do it and it was tricky to force someone as powerful as the Minstrel to do anything. So here they were.

Naya took both vials, looking at the two men curiously. She unstoppered one and sniffed it, then the other. She repeated that a few times and then corked them back up.

“Both poisoned,” she said and the Minstrel grinned while Rogo scowled. “And not very subtly either.” She handed the vials back, one each to the two men. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you madam,” the Minstrel replied kindly but she still slammed the door in his face. He seemed unperturbed however. “What did I say?”

“Well-”

“I believe I have correctly interpreted which one was poisoned. Therefore I-”

“The rules of the game stipulated that you have to drink one of the-”

“Yes but clearly-”

“You must-”

“Enough!” Wegrel bellowed using the voice he’d perfected for shouting at slaves and new recruits. The two of them shut up. “Pour both of them out and we’ll fill one with water, one with liquor or something. Then Rogo can mix them up however he likes, and the Minstrel can choose however he likes, without being able to smell them or any such nonsense. Then you can all be pleased with how clever you are and one of you can win without killing the other one just yet.”

The two men paused and looked at Wegrel. He knew neither of them respected him. He was expecting them to keep shouting at each other and then kill one another without his somewhat peaceful solution ever having a chance to work. But they didn’t.

“Fine.”

“Alright.”

They poured out the vials and turned to head back to the tavern. Wegrel followed, still blinking from the shock of being obeyed. These were two of the most dangerous men in Nargathrum after all. It was all a bit surreal. Maybe that was just the hot night. He frowned in confusion, had it been that hot before?

Two men on horses rode quietly past them toward the fishmonger. One was wrapped up in a cloak and paid them no mind but the other nodded absently at them as they passed each other. He was wearing few clothes, the second man, merely trousers and shoes.

“Evening,” he said idly and Wegrel nodded idly back, the heat fogging his mind.

“Evening,” the Minstrel said and after a second Wegrel realised he’d stopped. The scarred man was standing directly in front of the hooded rider and sizing him up and down. They all stopped and slowly a twisted grin broke out across his scarred face. Wegrel realised he was sweating, the heat was becoming suffocating.

“Excuse me sir, we need to be on our way,” the bare chested rider said kindly.

“Of course of course,” the Minstrel said, stepping out of the way and letting the horses continue on. “I just thought I saw something interesting.”

They continued on to the tavern and the heatwave mercifully passed. In fact by the time they reached the tavern Wegrel was almost shivering again in the cold night. Very surreal indeed.

In the tavern they returned to their table, it’s inhabitants fleeing hurriedly, and Rogo arranged to fill his vials with water and liquor. While he was doing that Wegrel and the Minstrel sat at the table across from each other. He was more terrifying now, the Minstrel, now that he wasn’t passed out in an alley. Wegrel looked at him and tried not to sweat.

“I think I know what my game will be,” the Minstrel said. “Seeing those gentlemen on the way back has given me an idea.”

Wegrel didn’t want to know what sort of idea.

“I’ll save it till the end though,” the Minstrel said. “Wouldn’t want to use this idea when I can just win one of Rogo’s silly games.”

Wegrel didn’t respond and the Minstrel just smiled his cracked smile.

Eventually Rogo returned and set down two cups on the table. Both of them reeked of liquor. Wegrel tried very hard not to roll his eyes, it seemed Rogo really did not understand the way the game worked.

“Both of those are liquor,” the Minstrel said angrily.

“They both smell of liquor but they are not both-”

“I watched you put liquor in both. I-”

“You were sitting over here the whole time.”

The Minstrel grinned. “But still, I watched you.”

Rogo stared across the table and seemed to refuse to budge. Wegrel was almost about to say something to him. Try to get him to set it up, yet again. But Rogo spoke first.

“Drink them both, if they’re both liquor you win.”

The Minstrel looked a little surprised at this and leaned back, he seemed to be listening to something. They weren’t invisible, his spirits, but they could be very hard to see. Wegrel looked very closely and sure enough there was something ephemeral wrapped around his ear.

“Pick one,” Rogo said. “That’s your one, if it’s liquor you lose, if it’s water you win. Then you drink the other one, make sure I’m not lying.”

The Minstrel shrugged. “Very well.”

Rogo reached forward and pushed one to the Minstrel and pulled one back to himself. Then he sat back and waited. The Minstrel listened to his spirit, sadly there was nothing in the rules stopping spirits from watching. Then he leaned forward, took his own cup and drank it. He grimaced, not at the taste of liquor, he’d drunk plenty of that recently, but at the taste of defeat. Then he drank the other one and sure enough, it was water.

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance and Rogo and Wegrel stood up. “Alright, very good. I’ll see you tomorrow night for the next game then.”

“You will,” Rogo replied. “I’ve already got an idea for what it will be.” Then he turned and left, Wegrel following after him.

“How did you do it?” the guard asked as they strolled briskly back toward the Undercity. “He was watching you with one of his spirits, so how did-”

“I covered the outside of both cups in liquor, which I presume, to him looked like I was putting liquor in both. Then-” Rogo paused for a moment, reflecting on what he’d done. “Then I mixed them in my hands so I didn’t know which was which.”

Wegrel blinked a few times in shock. “You-”

“There’s no correct way to play that game unless you cheat, which he was doing. The only way to stop him cheating was to make it so I didn’t know myself.”

“So it was just chance?”

“Yes and I got lucky. The main reason I did it is because I realise that you’ve been right all along.”

“Right about what?”

“I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

They walked off into the night. One game down, two to go.