“Winner!” Nate hollered, sliding five coppers across the table, where they were quickly snatched up. “Well done, sir. You clearly have a keen eye. Want to play again?”

  “Yes. Two silver this time!” the blunt-faced orc grunted, his eyes hungry with greed. The gathered crowd whispered and pointed, excited by the increased stakes.

  “Two silver? I don’t know sir,” Morgan said, feigning hesitation.

  “What’s wrong, Rogue? Don’t have the stones for a real wager?” the orc taunted, placing his silver in front of him. Morgan fought down a smirk.

  Nate did his best to look affronted and slammed two silver coins down on his rickety folding table.

  “No one questions my stones!” Nate scowled at the orc. The orc sneered triumphantly.

  “Now keep your eyes open. I’m not going to make it easy on you this time,” Nate said, as his hands flew across the table-top.

  It was a classic game of three cup monte, though with a few twists that Nate had developed over the years. Originally he was planning to use the old-school street scam as an excuse to be in one spot long enough to do a bit of spying. But, much to his surprise, his display had quickly drawn a crowd. Apparently, in a universe where real magic existed, the close-up sleight of hand tricks that Nate practiced were a bit of novelty.

  The three metal cups Nate had picked up from the Traveler’s Retreat mess hall blurred in an intricate, interlacing pattern while the watching orc licked his lips in concentration. Finally, Nate stopped, drawing his hands away.

  “Where’s the ball?” he asked, looking at the orc expectantly. The orc furrowed his brow, then pointed at the cup on his left confidently.

  “Right there. Pay up you little weasel!” the orc snarled. Several people in the crowd nodded in agreement.

  “Oooh, so close, sir,” Morgan said consolingly as he reached out and picked up the indicated cup, revealing there was nothing inside. As the crowd’s eyes followed his motion, his other hand reached for the middle cup, deftly slipping the small metal ball in his palm under it in the same motion he used to lift it. The crowd whispered frantically as he appeared to reveal that the ball had been under the middle cup the whole time.

  Nate swiped out and stole up the loose coins while the orc still stared in shock at his empty cup. Even in his old life, he had been good at this kind of thing. Now, even the novice level assistance provided by his Sleight of Hand Skill made it child’s play, every grab and drop proceeding with silky smoothness.

  A stupid waste, chimed a feminine voice in him mind.

  Quiet, you.

  Trini had insisted Nate share his list of skills with her, then horrified at the selections he made. Trash skills, she called them. Sleight of Hand, in particular, had earned a strong dose of scorn from the spider. Yet Nate had no complaints.

  “Care to go again?” Nate asked, as the orc regained his composure.

  “That was all my silver!” the orc protested, his grey face going slightly pink around the edges.

  “Then get out of the way, fool,” another orc jeered. “It was obvious the ball was in the middle. Let me have a try!”

  Nate continued his verbal patter as his hands swept through the familiar motions, though he was careful to lose enough to avoid suspicion. He didn’t want to be forced to run away. His vantage from his current spot was too good. Even so, he still couldn’t believe that no one had accused him of cheating yet. It just didn’t seem to have occurred to anyone as a possibility. The con man in him salivated at the possibilities.

  Even as he continued to play, he kept part of his attention focused on the cluster of buildings across the street. This was the third Faction compound he had checked out, and the home of the Burning Brand fit the pattern of the other two. It sprawled across nearly an entire city block, small outbuildings surrounding several larger structures on the interior. Little but the rooftops were visible, everything concealed behind high walls with armed orcs lazily patrolling their perimeter. But he was watching the Faction members, keeping track of those that entered and exited.

  In the two days since his bedraggled party of three returned from the ravine, Nate had been in constant motion. He still participated in daily training exercises with the others at the Traveler’s retreat. But his mind was on other tasks.

  He was still coming to terms with Christophe’s nearly suicidal decision to launch a rescue mission to retrieve him after he fell into the ravine. Nate liked the guy well enough, even if he was chatty enough to annoy the dead. But he’d been shocked that someone he barely knew was willing to take such a risk for him, with no apparent ulterior motive. When he’d asked Christophe why, the little mage had just said, “You’re my friend, Nate,” as though that explained everything. It was unnerving.

  Sentry was both easier and harder to figure out. She, at least, clearly wanted something from Nate, though he hadn’t figured out what yet. She had asked him to join her on an excursion out of the city twice since they returned. He refused both times, claiming to be too busy, which she took well enough. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he found out what she really wanted. He had pretended not to recognize her when they met for the first time in the ravine. But he had clocked her immediately.

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  Over the weeks since his arrival in Farandway, Nate had noticed at least three people following him on different occasions. The first was Grundar, the massive orc that attacked him. The big warriors attempts at stealth were almost laughable, and Nate had noticed him watching from a distance a half dozen times after their initial conflict on the night of the feast. It had been clear the orc was planning some kind of retribution, but Nate had let himself get complacent, confident that he would see the threat coming before it could do him real harm. The day of the ravine had taught him the danger of underestimating his opponents.

  The second of his stalkers was the steely-haired guardsman who had participated in his questioning on the same night he had first fought with Grundar. Nate had only caught sight of him twice, though he suspected he had been tailed more than that and simply missed it. The guardsman was far more skilled at concealment than the orc. In this case, too, Nate didn’t have a hard time guessing at the motive. The guardsman had been less than convinced by Nate’s na?ve display of innocence, and was now hoping to catch him transgressing in some way. It forced Nate to be more cautious about some of his illicit activities than he otherwise would. But at least it was something he could understand.

  The third and most frequent of his followers was a mysterious figure in a cowled hood. He had first spotted them on the same night as he left the guard’s station, watching him from across the dark streets. He had spotted the same figure several times over the following weeks, always at the edge of a crowd or up on a balcony, always concealed beneath their hooded cloak. He had been unsure what to make of it, but chose not to confront the person until he had a better lay of the land.

  The moment he had seen Sentry, covered in wounds and Monitor blood, in that ravine alongside Christophe, he had known. She had not been wearing the familiar hooded cloak. But something about her stance and figure had immediately clicked in his mind. This woman, who had just happened to be out of the city on the same day as his party, who had out of the goodness of her heart volunteered to go on a dangerous mission with Christophe to save a complete stranger, was the mysterious figure that had been dogging his shadows almost since the day he arrived in Farandway.

  It was shady as hell. But Nate didn’t have time to worry about it too much right now. After all, he only had 12 days left to start a war. And he still had no idea how he was going to do it.

  Guards approach, Trini whispered in his mind. Nate scanned the crowd and didn’t see any guards. But he had learned to trust Trini’s senses, which were much better than his own. Despite the fact that she was a fucking tattoo. He wasn’t sure how the local law enforcement would react to his little game. But Trini had warned him that, if any of them had gone through the class upgrade at level 10, they might possess a skill that would tip them off that he was up to no good. He had decided not to risk it.

  “That’s all for today, folks,” Nate said, deftly scooping up all three cups with one hand. There were some grumbles and complaints, but Nate ignored them. He broke down his folding card table, a quick custom job by a local craftsman, and gave a small bow. He had been careful to lose as often as he won, but he had kept close track of the amounts at stake and knew he was walking away five silver richer than when he’d arrived. It was a cold comfort, as he was no closer to a breakthrough on his true objective.

  As Nate melted away into the crowd, card table tucked under his arm, he tried to think of an angle he had missed. His intelligence gathering over the last two days had only succeeded in impressing upon him the impossibility of his task. The Factions were strong. Far stronger than he would have thought possible. There were always a few first level Travelers wandering around, even now easy to spot, even without identify, but the awe-filled looks they cast at everything around them. But there were far more people at each compound with levels too high for Nate to discern. The security at even the smallest of the Factions, the Wailing Harpies (who, disappointingly, were humans and not harpies) was impregnable for someone with Nate’s current resources.

  In short, Nate couldn’t see anything he could do that would even draw the notice of the Factions. He was just too small and insignificant. To go even further, and somehow provoke them into conflict with each other, was beyond his grasp. True, there was obvious tension between the Factions. Their members often eyed each other on the streets of Dawn, and Nate had even seen a nasty bar fight that led to one Faction member getting a knife in the guts. But, in general, the Factions seemed to exist in an uneasy state of truce. Each controlled their respective part of the city, and none seemed ambitious enough to be tempted into threatening the status quo.

  He needed something. Some kind of edge. Some break. Simply put, he needed to get lucky.

  Nate was pulled from his inner monologue by a commotion moving through the streets. It was a palpable tension, the usual background noise of the city was overrun by a sudden din of voices as everyone turned from their daily tasks and began talking, until, in a matter of moments, the sounds of shouting voices were overwhelming.

  Nate trotted up to a small cluster of humans speaking animatedly with one another. As he did, the crowd shifted. As a mass, everyone in sight seemed to be turning in the same direction, all milling simultaneously towards one of the nearby gates to the forested land outside.

  “What’s going on?” Nate asked, injecting himself into the conversation. A red-faced archer turned him, eyes wide.

  “It’s a Jewel! A Jewel of Farandway! One has been found here. In the Valley of Dawn!”

  The other humans in the little group turned to each other, shaking their heads in wonder and muttering. Nate wasn’t sure why this was such big news. He opened his mouth to ask, but he needn’t have bothered.

  Jewels form in areas of great concentrations of power, Trini told him.

  So what? That’s rare here?

  Very rare. No one currently living will remember the last time a Jewel formed in the Valley of Dawn. It is only happening now because there was a System event in the area. One that has happened only six times before. This was the seventh.

  Nate didn’t ask what the event Trini alluded to was. He didn’t need to.

  “A training party from one of the Factions found it. They are bringing it into the city now!” the archer continued. “Everyone is going to try and see it.”

  “Which Faction is it?” Nate asked.

  “Omen,” the man said, his tone colored with something between fear and respect.

  Omen. The most powerful and prestigious of the Factions.

  Nate nodded his thanks, but didn’t immediately turn to follow as the small group joined the rest of the crowd in their march. His thoughts were churning madly.

  A Jewel of Farandway. Nate still wasn’t entirely clear on the significance of that. But it certainly had the crowd excited. And it had fallen into the hands of the city’s most powerful Faction. The other Factions wouldn’t be thrilled about that.

  Only moments before, Nate had been thinking that only an incredible stroke of luck could provide the edge he needed if he wanted to fulfill his quest and stay off the High King’s radar. He wasn’t sure how he could use this yet. He didn’t even have the faintest glimmer of a plan. But he had a feeling. This might be just the thing he needed to stir the pot. Get the Factions looking just where he needed them to.

  Nate was pretty sure he had just gotten lucky.