"A Gentlemen´s Game" by Colton Hamshire

A Gentlemen’s Game

          Turin sat scratching his head, lost in his own thoughts while his thick-headed brother gambled at cards with an elven stranger. Turin twisted uneasily in the stiff wooden chair. He opened his mouth to speak after a moment.

          “Save it,” Ress said curtly, eyeing the playing cards in his hands. The bearded man glared hard at the lithe figure across the table. Two wide, elven eyes stared back over a sly smirk.

          Despite his brother’s remark, Turin said, “It’s doesn’t make any sense, Ress. If we were suppose to meet him here--yesterday if I recall right--then why hasn’t he shown. He’s never late.”

          Ress, half-listening, lightly tapped the table to show he didn’t fold his hand of cards. “Keep it cool, brother,” he reminded Turin. “Leon shows when he wants, that’s what makes him a trouble to do business with. He only shows when he’s ready.”

          The smirking elf across the table tossed another gold coin onto the pile in the center of the table, and whispered tauntingly, “Raise.”

          Turin looked at his brother uneasily. “Don’t do it,” he warned. “You can’t ever gamble, Ress. Lady Fortune never turns your way.”

          “Turin, bite your tongue and mind your business,” Ress retorted, offended. “This is a gentlemen’s game.”

          Turin scoffed. “A fool’s game is what it is.”

          The elf’s sharp eyes cut their way into Turin’s.          

           Ress reached into his coin purse and brought out another gold coin. “I’ll meet your raise, elf,” he said, carelessly flipping the coin onto the pile. The collection of coins on the table made way for their newest member.

          Turin sighed, disgruntled. “I can’t stand here and watch you gamble away all our money. You’ll never learn, will you?”

          Ress, never taking his eyes off the elf, cooly replied, “I’m not gonna lose, brother, so save your remarks.”

          The elf remained stoned-faced.

          Turin glanced at the cards on the table in front of the coins, then at his brother’s hand. Not a bad hand, Turin thought. But not great either. Turin knew Ress was calling the elf’s bluff--if it was a bluff.

          “That was the last round of betting,” said Ress to the elf, “time to show your cards.” He smiled confidently. “Three pairs.” he laid his hand on the table and reached for the gold.

          The elf snatched Ress’ hand. “No,” he said, a voice as smooth as silk. “Four of a kind.” He displayed his cards right before Turin and Ress.

          Ress growled but said nothing as the elf scooped the coins into his purse. Turin went to speak again but Ress silenced him with a gesture.

          “Good try, stranger,” the elf said triumphantly. “Next time maybe you should listen to your brother.” He then stood from the table, and strutted for the tavern’s door, chuckling to himself.               “Damn, elves,” grunted Ress, scowling at the long-haired winner as he left with the money. “Sometimes, Turin, I swear they can read minds.”

           The crowded tavern erupted with noise as a group of dwarves burst into songs, celebrating some dwarven holiday no doubt. As the elf passed the table of the celebrating dwarves, Turin noticed one of the short fellows accidently bump up against the elf. And in that moment, Turin held his breath when he saw a playing card fall from the elf’s sleeves and to the floor. He looked to his brother.

          Ress saw it, too. The big man rubbed one hand over a fist, snarling with pleasure. “I’m gonna go get our money back,” he said.