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The Game	By : RTietjen Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1956 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the book(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3
“It must be some sort of spellcraft, Highness. No one saw anything. Not a whisper." The red faced herald paced back and forth before the desk as he talked. HIs brow glistened from a light sheen of sweat, and his eyes bulged. "Yet each and every one of your proclamations has been replaced. With this. A mockery. Completely illegible. It is an outrage.”
“And I tell you,” the grey robed mage beside him insisted, “that there is no trace of magic anywhere on that parchment, the wall where it was found, or anywhere within a three block radius. I can extend the search if you so order it, Your Lordship, but it is a waste of time.”
Ariakan glanced down at the parchment in his hand, only half listening to the words of the men before him. He was displeased with yet another interruption. He still had much to accomplish before he could leave Palanthas. Both men fell silent as he rose from his chair.
Ariakan stepped out from behind the desk and crossed to the other side of the hall. A large mirror hung there. More than mere decoration, it allowed him to see anyone approaching from the side or the servants’ door. As he held the parchment at eye level, the mirror also allowed him to read the tiny, neat letters on the page in his hand.
The words of the original document reflected back at him, perfect in every detail down to his own signature. In reverse.
“I don’t think we have any need to fear these particular spellcasters, gentlemen. Return to your posts.”
The herald started to argue. Ariakan returned to his chair and took up the edict he had been drafting when the man had entered the hall. As soon as they both left the room, he set the quill in its stand and turned to the knight beside him.
“What would you make of this, Ausric?” Ariakan handed him the offending parchment.
The other man shrugged.
Ariakan traced the marks on the page, a small smile curling his lip. It was an elaborate piece of work. “A perfect mirror image," he explained to the other man, "down to the signature. Dozens of them. Posted, at no small risk of discovery, in all corners of the city.”
“Someone with far too much time on their hands, milord?”
“True.” Ariakan took the parchment back from the other man and slipped it into a drawer. “I’d be interested in any information that surfaces on these pranksters. As entertaining as their antics are, it is a distraction we don’t need.”
“Yes, milord.”

~~~
“Did you hear what happened yesterday?” Irybis asked, shaking his sleeping rug more violently than necessary. “They hung Geoffrey.”
“Wow. Notice the surprise and horror in my eyes,” Rae said flatly, never taking her eyes from the board in front of her. Tristan was a wretched khas player, but a very good cheat. If you looked away for even a moment, pieces seemed to get up and walk around on their own.
“Apparently, the asshole sauntered in like he owned the place and tried to start ordering Ariakan around.”
“I heard he lifted a purse belonging to the High Priest of Chemosh,” Tristan said.
“They say Ariakan never even looked up from his paperwork, just raised an eyebrow and ten minutes later Geoffrey’s dancing an air jig.” Irybis finished killing the rug and joined his friends at the table.
“Personally, I think that should earn His Lordship an official K.O.K. commendation. In fact, I might drop by the manor house this afternoon and deliver one,” Rae said, taking another bite of the apple in her hand. The late leader of the Palanthian thieves guild had definitely ranked among her least favorite persons. “That’s not a legal move, Tristan. Do we need to go over the rules again?”
“Sorry. Here,” the big man knocked over one of Rae’s knights with a pawn.
“You lost,” Irybis said.
“What?”
“You just lost. She’s got you in three moves, no matter what you do.” Irybis demonstrated on the board.
Tristan snarled something under his breath and pushed his chair away from the table. “It’s a ridiculous game anyway. Too many rules.”
“It involves thinking ahead, which you have always had trouble with,” Rae reached out and patted her friend on the head. He swatted at her hand. “Don’t worry about it. That’s why you have us. So what sort of man do you think he is, really?”
“Who?”
“Ariakan.”
“How the fuck would I know? Do you see me hanging out around the manor house sipping tea and crumpets with the Skullheads? Why do you care?” Tristan growled.
“Stop being a sore loser, Tristan. And I am curious. There are so many stories, but no one really knows anything about him. I’d love to get some dirt on that man.”
“Knowing you, that would be an interesting conversation. Excuse me, sir, but the people want to know, do you wear boxers or briefs?”
“I’m betting neither,” Rae said, resetting the khas board.
“You’d lose that bet. He probably wears silk under all that steel. Exotic pink silk from the far shores of..”
“How many points?”
“What?”
“How many points for the answer to that question?”
“Can’t do it. No way to verify the truth of the answer, not unless you got it directly from him.”
“Not necessarily true. So how many?”
“30, give or take a few. Depends on how reliable the source is.”
“You’re on. And if he has any pink in his wardrobe, I will cook my own boots up and eat them for breakfast.”
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The Game