Leading Edge
the inside of the fabric, right over his thigh, and he felt the familiar cooling sensation as the symbol imprinted itself on his hand. The leaf was at least a month old, which made the transformation symbol, a crisp circle, faint and weak. He kept it for emergency transformations such as this. A fresh leaf could turn the man sitting next to him into a goat, but the one he had would do. Leaning back so his card companions would not see the silver sheen of his hand, he ran his thumb over the ice dragon card, imagining another beast. The image didn’t change, but the blue scales of the ice dragon rippled, both brightening and darkening. Red spread from the middle of the image outward until all the lines were red as poppies. The fire dragon, a beast of the Third Reality, glared back at Eltan. As the dealer called additional bets, Eltan faked a pained face, and heard coins tatter across the table as others doubled theirs. A city youth come to play with the men on the Outskirts, son of a silk merchant, no less; that’s what his tongue and his clothes told them, and they were willing to take the bait. “Any other bets?” the dealer called, looking at Eltan. Eltan colored in response, earning contemptuous half-smiles from his neighbors, and shook his head. “Lay out your game.” “Ice dragon and snow lady.” “Mad dog eats snow lady.” “Earth troll eats mad dog. Paired green savage. Green savage eats ice dragon.” “Lava keeper eats earth troll, eats ice dragon. Paired volcano sprite. Sprite eats savage,” the sheep merchant proclaimed, laying down his cards after the others. The stares across the table were on Eltan as he fidgeted with his cards. Slowly, as if unsure if he was making the right move, Eltan laid down his cards. “Fire dragon eats sprite. Paired red chimera. Chimera eats troll.” The silence around the table was so dense it could’ve been bottled and sold. Eltan made himself smile sheepishly and shrug. “I guess that means I win.” He reached for his winnings, sweeping his arm across the table. The sheep merchant stood up, rattling the table with his sizable stomach. “Another game,” he bellowed, glaring at Eltan, who muttered half-audible excuses and stuffed the coins into his pockets. The door was just beyond the table, and Eltan headed for it, his head down, his heart beating in his throat. “Oi,” came from behind him. “Oi, lad.” The merchant’s giant hand landed on Eltan’s shoulder. “Where you in such a hurry to?” Eltan looked up at his face from under his bleached bangs. The merchant’s face was slightly pink, his eyes narrowed. “Wait . . . don’t I know you from somewhere?” The man’s sausage-like finger pointed at his nose. Three years of living on the streets had taught Eltan to run when he heard this phrase. Fast. He tried to free his shoulder from the merchant’s grasp, but the sausage fingers held like metal pincers. “Heeey,” a voice drawled from the table. “I ain’t never seen no fire dragon with them three claws.” The merchant’s face turned an unpleasant shade of purple. Eltan didn’t wait for the man to add two and two together but kicked him square in the groin. The man gasped and the grip on Eltan’s shoulder loosened. That was all Eltan needed. With a practiced twist known to every street urchin that ever lived, he freed himself and ran.
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