A Whipped Dwarf

"Stop shaking and just throw," Flimlet said.

Gormick, a nervous black-bearded dwarf, ignored his dwarf comrade and continued shaking his fist full of five coins, "Four dragons! Four dragons! By Xer-Bane! Give me four dragons!" He released the coins into a walled square wooden game board. The coins bounced, spun, and fell – two dragons and three kings.

"Yes! Ah ha! Got you!" Flimlet slid a large pile of coins towards him. "All mine!"

"You're a butt hole," Gormick shook his head and laughed. "But a richer butt hole than me."

"Sorry, Gormick," Flimlet said without looking a bit sorry.

"You should be. I'll be ducking frying pans and wooden cups when I get home."

"You got another game in you?" Flimlet was piling up his winnings into neat stacks of tens.

Gormick shook his head, "You already have next week's pay-purse."

"Come on. Surely you have another one in you? You can't win your purse back if you quit now."

"You gotta know when to quit," Gormick stood. "See you tomorrow, boys."

With Gormick's departure, the four dwarfs narrowed to three and then two. The pub began to close for the night, bringing Flimlet's lucky streak to an end. He left with pockets overflowing, whistling an old dwarfish bar song while walking along the street to his house on the east side of Jorton. The village seemed brighter and more alive than he had ever noticed before. He admired the progress of the new town hall under construction, the new inn with windows aglow, the town amphitheater, and dozens of houses. He felt so happy to live here. The fact that his pockets jingled like a coward in armor added greatly to his new outlook on life.

He was almost home when he heard a stick crack. It came from the forest just on the edge of his yard. Flimlet wasn't a woodsman, but even his untrained ears knew a heavy boot must have broken that stick. He walked through the grass to the tree's edge, inspecting every shadow the town's light cast. "Who's there?" He crept closer. "If that's you, Zartan, I'm going to…"

Suddenly, a whip cracked and wrapped around his legs. He looked down and thought, That’s not right. A split second later, he was yanked onto his back and dragged into the woods. He barely got out a muffled cry for help when his attackers gagged him and stuffed him into a large bag.

When they came to the outskirts of Trungen Forest, horses were waiting. The attackers threw Flimlet on one of the horses, his head pointing down on one side and feet down on the other. The trotting motion of the horse kept knocking his head against the stirrup. He thought of his plight: kidnapped! And from his backyard. Humiliating! But oddly, the overwhelming thought that plagued him was of his axe. He struggled to remember where he last saw it. The pub? No. The kitchen table? No. The dresser? Yep. He left it on the dresser. He made a mental note to get some holder for it, one he could wear over the shoulder or attached to his belt. He argued with himself on which one would be better. Over-the-shoulder would be more comfortable, but a belt would be easier to access.

After a few hours, his kidnappers took him out of the bag and allowed him to ride upright with his hands tied behind him. He took a good look at them. There were five men, all dressed in black from head to toe. Only their eyes were showing. They each wore black chainmail. On their sides was a sword and whip, and over their shoulders was a quiver of arrows. Flimlet didn't observe a bow. They were eerily quiet when they moved, making no noise, more like shadows than men.

Over the next two days, Flimlet attempted to engage the men in conversation, but they were either unwilling or unable. He turned his attention to the landscape. They were traveling on a rock-paved road that cut through a flat land filled with grass and a scattering of trees. It had to be the Flatlands of the Netterback, which means they must be on the Netterback Highway, the same highway that Lord Balister's castle was on.

"Are you kidding," Flimlet said. "Are you guys taking me to Lord Balister?"

They were, and a few days later, they deposited him in Lord Balister's hall and disappeared. Well, not like magically disappeared, but like stealthily disappeared. You know? Like ninjas. Anyway, back to Flimlet being deposited in the hall. He was standing alone in the hall, checking out the fancy furnishings, when the infamous man himself appeared, along with a dozen soldiers. Lord Balister looked like a man in charge: fancy clothes, gold chains, a silver crown, and an arrogant face. His soldiers looked menacing and prepared for war.

"I'm Lord Balister, and these men are highly trained killers, so be very careful what you say. If you somehow get on their bad side, I don't know what they may do."

"Oh, probably tear me limb from limb or some other gruesome death," Flimlet said.

Flimlet's nonchalant attitude took Lord Balister aback. "Yes, probably something like that. But have no fear. If I can help, you will go home unharmed."

"You're too kind."

"I know. Thank you for saying." Lord Balister gave an order, and the soldiers untied Flimlet. "Please have a seat. Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

Lord Balister clapped his hands, and servants entered through numerous doors carrying platters of turkey, duck, deer, vegetables, bread, and fruit bowls.

"Impressive," Flimlet said.

"Oh, this little meal. It's just something my cooks pulled together in a pinch. Perhaps one day we'll truly feast together."

"I doubt it." Flimlet ripped a turkey leg off and dug in. "So, why did you kidnap me?"

"Me? No, no, no. I rescued you. Those men in black wanted to sell you to the slavers. I offered them the same amount to release you."

"Yeah, right. We both know you kidnapped me like you did, Lady Nimmo."

Lord Balister looked hurt. "I'm judged as a monster. Every time I try to do a good deed, it backfires on me. Instead of praise, I'm accused of a crime. It's so unfair."

"Okay, let's cut the crap. I'm here. What do you want?"

"Fine. Let's overlook my kindness for a moment." A servant brought a block of cheese on a silver platter and placed it before Lord Balister. He grabbed a knife and cut it. "I would love to hear all about Jorton: its defenses, the number of soldiers, the stores of weapons—little tidbits. You know? Public information. That's all."

"I'll never talk."

"Don't be so serious. I'm just trying to make conversation." Lord Balister took a bite of cheese while thinking of some other strategy. "I got it! The men in black told me you're extremely interested in King Coin. What if we play?"

"For money?"

"Sorta. If you win, I'll forgive what you owe me. After all, I had to pay a lot to keep you from becoming a slave."

"I see. So, it's indentured servitude." Flimlet began to realize how serious his situation was. The law of the land allows a lender to collect by labor if the borrower cannot pay. "What would you win?"

"Information."

Flimlet knew luck was on his side, and his excitement blinded him to the risk of betraying his people. "You're on."

A soldier brought out a game board with five coins lying in the center.

"You first," Lord Balister said.

Of twenty games, Flimlet lost half. So, he revealed that Jorton has grass, trees, houses, bushes, people, Lady Nimmo, stumpers, a pub, coins, and dwarfs. Lord Balister's frustration mounted after each useless bit of information. Typical of him, he quickly got bored and went in another direction.

"I'm bored of this game. Let's up the stakes, shall we?" Lord Balister said.

"I'm game. What do you have in mind?"

"Double or nothing! If I win, you owe me twice what I paid for you. If you win, I'll forgive your debt, and you can return home."

"How do I know you'll honor our bet?"

"Fine, let's make the vow of Xer-Bane." Lord Balister has made the death-if-you-break-it vow before, and it really didn't work well for him last time. However, learning from his mistakes is not one of his strong suits.

They made the vow, and the game began. Each game of King Coin has three rounds. Because Flimlet went first, he chose which side they would play, the king's or dragon's side. He chose king's and bet on eleven, which means the closest to eleven without going over wins. In round one, Flimlet got three kings to Lord Balister's two. In round two, the total was five to six. To Flimlet's horror, he only added one king, giving him six, tied with Lord Balister. A tie would go to him since he threw first, but Lord Balister only needed one king to win. He threw, and three of the five coins landed on kings.

"Ah ha!" Lord Balister shouted. "I got you."

"You're a butt hole," Flimlet said.

"That's master butt hole to you."

Flimlet had no choice but to work off his debt. He was sent to the blacksmith and forced to keep the flames going, a very hot and ashy job. He hated it. He soon learned the blacksmith was also working off debt.

"So, how did you get here?" The blacksmith asked.

Flimlet looked up from the fire in thought. He noticed a King Coin game board on a barrel in the corner and shook his head. "I didn't know when to quit."