both of his bodyguards were deeply into their cups. Erik’s wolf smacked its lips, anticipating the herd of sheep it now owned an interest in. What did I tell you? Erik communicated silently.
He threw a few tosses away, enough to keep his prey interested. Around the table, folks gathered, watching with undisguised fascination. The crowd tripled in size. Erik tossed the stones, watching them roll around and around the scarred tabletop. At long last they fell, all seven landing brown side up. Olaf groaned. “There goes me bull.”
“What say you try to win ‘im back?” Gesturing for the barman, Erik slurred his words. “Give my friend ‘ere another mug.” He wobbled precariously on his unstable chair.
Erik handed the stones to Olaf, who downed half his ale. Brow furrowed, the deceitful schemer who’d wronged Galen concentrated on his throw while Erik discreetly poured more ale into his mug. The stones landed in Erik’s favor.
The forest lord had arrived before the sun’s zenith. The mountains cast shadows across the valley by the time Erik properly reclaimed his mate’s inheritance.
“Flocks and fields I canna carry with me. Who’ll buy?” Erik asked. Though undeniable greed dwelled in the eyes of several who watched, none made an offer. “Be there none here to purchase my winnings? Barkeep!” Erik made a big show of removing a coin from his pouch, ensuring those nearby were awarded a look inside and fully understood his wealth. More than likely, the barman had already boasted of his bag of coins to one and all. “A round o’ ale fer th’ house!”
“I won’t buy your lands, but I’ll wager you for them.” A brawny man approached, plopping down opposite Erik.
“And who might you be?” Erik asked mildly, pretending the answer didn’t truly matter, and as though the witch hadn’t been instructed to find this man and send him posthaste to the tavern.
“I am Pieter,” the man replied.
Erik hid his glee and handed over the throwing stones. Pieter won the first toss.
“Oh, there goes my lovely cottage,” the forest lord cried in mock anguish.
Pieter smiled. He continued to smile while winning a flock of sheep, several goats, a sturdy donkey, and five head of cattle.
“Oh, there goes my bull,” Erik whined, at Pieter’s final toss. The man smiled, wicked and foolish with greed. Ripe for the kill.
“What say we raise the stakes?” Erick upended his moneybag to the collective gasp of the throng crowding his elbow. Gold and silver glinted in the last rays of sun shining through the open window. He batted away a hand that crept too close.
Pieter gulped. “Wha… What do you have in mind? Do you wish to win back what you lost?”
Erik smiled, though not as smugly as he’d have liked. “What I lost doesn’t come close to that much gold. What have you to sweeten the pot with?”
“All I own is the family croft,” the man replied.
“Come on now, surely you own flocks. Cattle? Chickens?”
Equally drunk with ale and greed, the man shouted, “All of it! I bet all of it on that pouch!”
The sun had completely set when Meldun’s heritage resided in Erik’s pocket in the form of a document signed with an X.
So intent were the villagers on the game, and with Erik now buying rounds of ale, that they scarcely noticed when One and Two tottered out the door, to be replaced by Bjorn and Ragnar. Erik elbowed his cousin to regain his attention whenever a shapely maid passed near the table. “I swear I’ll give you to Marta,” he warned, in an aggravated side-whisper.
Ragnar returned to the task at hand: watching for treachery other than that perpetrated by his leader.
One by one the wolf fleeced the sheep, winning here, losing there, keeping them off balance, until only the smithy remained, the final prize to be won. By the rooster’s first crow, Erik owned a village, or so the villagers believed. If they could read they’d have realized that he’d signed their property back over to them, providing it was rightfully theirs and not ill-gotten gains. And providing they abided by his terms.
Five minutes later he found himself on the tavern steps, surrounded by angry villagers, Ragnar and Bjorn at his flanks.
“He tricked us!” the barman shrieked.
“Bewitched us he did. Saw with me own two eyes!” added Pieter.
Olaf stepped up, squinting an evil eye and spitting on the ground at Erik’s feet. “Cheated us of our lands. Hang him!” Cheering ensued. Ah, but Erik would dearly enjoy giving this man his comeuppance.