120 years ago

  “Are the terms clear?” Garan asked Pob, who stood before him, eyes cast downward, showing respect.

  “You will provide basic services, including cooking, building the camp, and keeping watch. You are not to question his decisions or offer counsel, even if it is requested.

  You are the help, and you will behave as such.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Pob answered humbly.

  “You have cost me a lot of money, Pob, and I intend to get it back. How did you gamble away so much, anyway? One of the few things I remember about you is that you were good at cards.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Pob repeated.

  “Yes, to what? I did not ask a question,” Garan replied. “Oh, you can be quite dense sometimes.”

  “One other thing, actually two. You and I share a common past. We both served under the same master, and I am not ashamed of it. You may speak freely to my son about it. I am proud of how much I have achieved while the rest of you wallow in the mud,” Garan jovially said.

  “I hope knowing you will make him appreciate how lucky he is.”

  “And what is the other thing, my lord?” Pob asked neutrally.

  “Ah, yes. This,” Garan said as he slapped Pob hard, once on each cheek.

  The household servants watched in silence, not daring to move a muscle. “If you ever feel the need to fraternize with him, remember you were publicly humiliated because of him. You may both leave now.”

  Pob mounted his horse and followed the scared, thirteen-year-old riding in front of him at a prudent and respectful distance. He would not fraternize too much. Not with his father watching, anyway.

  He dissolved the hand he had conjured back into his soul. He had been holding it in his left hand, and Garan had not noticed it.

  The Two of Service: While held in hand, your Wands will increase your resilience to punishment inflicted on you by someone you acknowledge as a master.

  Pob had known he was going to get slapped ever since Garan summoned him. His master took pleasure in humiliating him in public.

  With the cards in his hand, Garan's brutal slaps felt almost like gentle love taps, though, of course, his master had no way of knowing that.

  They rode until the sun set, having a light lunch while on the move.

  Suddenly, Vlas stopped his horse. “We will make camp here,” he said.

  “If your lordship permits, I suggest we set up on the other side of the hill. It will be chilly tonight, and that spot would shield us from the wind.”

  Vlas slapped him across the face. Ouch. Pob did not see that coming and hadn’t been holding his cards this time. He resolved not to make that mistake again when speaking to this brat.

  “No. His lordship does not permit it. We will camp here,” Vlas insisted.

  As a result, Vlas had to build a large campfire and a makeshift log wall to shield them from the icy northern wind. He cursed his luck while on watch, listening to the soft sounds coming from the bedroll of the thirteen-year-old. Vlas was softly crying.

  Pob chose not to mingle.

  The trek toward the dungeon was boring as hell. It was located in an out-of-the-way valley, far from any trade routes. The villagers there had petitioned the authorities; the local dungeon, known as the Tiny Kingdom, had recently undergone an upgrade and had become a problem.

  The authorities had contacted Garan, who had passed the problem on to his son. “It will help you grow a spine,” he said.

  Pob noticed the boy became more civil as the distance between him and his father increased. It was as if Garan were radiating his particular brand of assholery, which faded with distance.

  Vlas seemed to imitate his father as much as he could, whenever there was a chance of him being near—the tell-tale mark of the abused kid.

  Two days later, they reached the entrance of the dungeon. Garan had tasked his young son with clearing it—alone.

  “It is only a second-rank dungeon,” he said. “Do not come back until you get at least three more Arcana.”

  The dungeon Garan had selected was remote and seldom visited. It resembled a miniature kingdom, complete with its own small armies.

  Mobs and bosses functioned like swarms of tiny soldiers sharing a hive mind. Garan likely considered it a toy. However, this “toy” had already claimed the lives of seven villagers who wandered too close.

  As Pob and Vlas approached the inverted dungeon, they could see the walls of its central city in the distance. While those walls might seem cyclopean to their inhabitants, they barely reached Pob’s chest.

  “I will wait here, preparing tea, while your lordship destroys the Core,” Pob calmly informed Vlas.

  Vlas stood there, unmoving. He knew that Pob had heard him crying every night, but neither of them ever brought it up. This time, he didn’t bother to hide it; he was weeping in the open.

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  “I do not have any combat cards, Pob,” he explained. “Not even a single one.”

  Pob was flabbergasted. “If your lordship does not mind me asking, how does your father expect you to complete this task?”

  “My father does not know which cards I have. He has not looked at my deck even once.”

  Pob had to sit down when he heard that.

  “Okay, let’s have tea and think this through,” he proposed. “The dungeon is not going anywhere.”

  They quietly drank their tea while Pob contemplated how to help the poor boy out of this predicament.

  “What were your father’s exact orders?” Pob asked, intentionally omitting the honorific.

  “Go to the Tiny Kingdom and do not return until you get at least three more Arcana,” Vlas replied.

  “Well, we’re already at the dungeon, so that’s half the quest completed. He didn’t mention clearing it, did he?” Pob inquired.

  “No, he didn’t. But how am I supposed to get three cards without facing a dungeon?” Vlas responded.

  “The same way most people get their cards,” Pob answered. “We’re going to play Bounty. He didn’t give you a time limit for this task, so we’re going to play an awful lot of Bounty.”

  And so they began to play. Pob was a natural at cards, while Vlas had only ever used his deck for magic.

  Pob quickly realized that Vlas had a brilliant mind and a natural talent for the game. He soon found himself genuinely enjoying their matches.

  Pob declared that Vlas was ready to start serious play, with real bets involved, after only a couple of days of instruction.

  “The important thing to understand is that the Golden Joker will never appear unless we are wagering something significant to both of us—something we would rather not lose. Of course, it may also come if we enter that dungeon and defeat its inhabitants using our cards, as long as we do it in a way that pleases them,” Pob explained. “I’m not confident in defeating the dungeon denizens by offering them tea and giving them foot massages.”

  “Most of my cards are based on study, observation, and knowledge,” Vlas replied. “I could probably give them geography lessons while they skin me alive.”

  “So it must be a regular card game, then,” Pob concluded. “What can we bet? Money won’t work since I don’t have any, and you have so much that you can afford to lose it without any consequences.”

  “Secrets,” Vlas proposed. “We should bet secrets—things we don’t want the other to know. It’s the only way this will work.”

  Pob was uneasy about this idea. Garan had slapped him twice as a warning not to get too close to his son, and now they were supposed to share things they wouldn’t tell anyone. But the kid was right; it was the only bet that could summon the Golden Joker, the glowing card that announced the Player had gained one more Arcana.

  They decided to limit the bets to one game per day. Calling them too frequently usually did not work.

  On Monday morning, they sat facing each other. They laid the Ante on the table.

  “You are an excellent gambler,” Vlas told Pob. “Yet you have ruined yourself playing Bounty. Why do you lose so much money at it?”

  “Why hasn’t your father looked at your deck even once?” asked Pob.

  The game started and lasted for hours. After a particularly inspired round, Pob won the ante.

  “I have thirteen Arcana cards in my deck. They all came when my mother was present. She took care of my education and taught me everything I know, including card magic. She died last year during the Tribulation event. My father has been responsible for my education ever since. The Golden Joker has never come again,” Vlas answered, morosely. That night, he cried for longer than usual.

  On Tuesday, Vlas had to offer a new secret, while Pob still held to his original one. He had to provide a new secret to remain in the game.

  “Have you lied to your father about your Joker’s Call?” asked Pob. Vlas paled and played feverishly, trying not to lose.

  Pob had a chance to win, but this time he folded, letting Vlas take the ante. He just couldn’t bring himself to put the kid through so much anguish.

  “My Joker’s Call is about helping others,” Pob explained. “But that’s a bad strategy when playing Bounty. It’ll cost you dearly if you expect the Joker to come.”

  “Oh my god, Pob, the Golden Joker has come! I’m getting a new card!” Vlas announced excitedly. To his surprise, Pob discovered that his own Golden Joker had also appeared in his hand. It was the Two of Fortitude. It enhanced the physical attributes of anyone he had cared for as long as the duration of his service, among other powers.

  Vlas received the Two of Knowledge, which granted useful information.

  And so they played on. Just as Pob had suspected, they both received a card when he let Vlas win. By allowing Vlas to triumph, he ultimately lost many secrets without gaining any insight into Vlas over the next few days.

  The kid's attitude toward him changed noticeably. He became much more civil, even affectionate. That worried Pob; it could lead to trouble with his father later.

  On Wednesday, Vlas learned that Pob had acquired his first Arcana by letting his father win a game that should have rightfully been his.

  “Your father will kill me if he finds out,” Pob told Vlas. “My life is now in your hands.” They both received cards that day as well.

  Vlas said nothing, but Pob noticed a new look of respect in his eyes.

  On Thursday, Vlas discovered that Pob could have won every single game, but Pob preferred to reveal his own secrets rather than uncover Vlas's. That gave one more Arcana to each of them. Vlas had already gained the three Arcana his father had set him as a goal.

  “This does not seem fair,” he told Pob. “You have put your life in my hands, and have gotten nothing out of it.”

  “Bounty is not about fairness,” Pob told him. “It is about being true to yourself. Your father did get that right.”

  On Friday, Pob lost again, and he admitted he had come to care deeply for Vlas when he asked Pob directly. They both got their Golden Joker, gaining one more Arcana.

  On Saturday, Vlas won again and learned the exact wording of Pob’s call: The Joker comes when you help someone you care for. No more Arcana came that time. There were no secrets between them- the Golden Joker would not come if there was no Ante.

  Vlas hugged Pob and thanked him.

  “I lied to my father, Pob. I told him that my Joker would come when someone more powerful than me took me under his tutelage. I only wanted to make him love me,” he said between sobs. “My joker only comes when I am helped by someone who loves me. Only two people until now, my mother and you.”

  “But he sent you with me, and he despises me,” Pob protested, not understanding anything at all.

  “He does not want me to surpass him, Pob. He fears anyone becoming more powerful than he is. That is why you are here. You were meant to be a handicap, not a help,” Vlas explained. He had incredible maturity for a thirteen-year-old.

  “Fate has made us meet. Our Jokers are meant to be used together. And we will use them.”

  The next day, they woke up, had breakfast, and cleared the dungeon.

  The legend of Vlas the Dashing had begun.

  …and Useful Pob.