1 State of Grace by John Phythyon Page B

mounting a major assault. It was therefore unlikely he had any soldiers or monsters left in his hand. He would have played them otherwise. That meant he was only holding spells. The question was: was one of them the “gargantuan” card? If it was, Silverleaf could cheat to draw another devastating monster from his deck. That might be enough to topple Wolf. But if he wasn’t holding “gargantuan,” he would have to use magic to get it. That meant he couldn’t get another monster and would have to assault Wolf with the elves, pixies, and dragon alone.
    Was it worth the risk? Wolf decided it was. Even if Silverleaf could draw another monster next turn, Wolf’s strategy would, at worst, produce a stalemate. Then he could play the long game he’d been planning with several of Silverleaf’s most powerful cards out of the game.
    “You must be awfully confident, Ambassador,” he said. “We’ve each only had one turn, and you’re already making a huge bet.”
    “I like living dangerously,” Silverleaf replied. His smug smile was back. “Besides, I’ve never lost. Why wouldn’t I be confident?”
    “A fair point,” Wolf said. He threw back some more wine. “Very well. I’ll see your five thousand ... and I’ll raise it another five thousand by betting you can’t beat me in three turns.”
    The crowd gasped as one. All eyes were on Silverleaf, who managed not to lose his smile. But his eyes told a different story.
    “I hardly think there’s a need to get carried away, Mr. Dasher,” he said.
    Wolf searched his face. Was he bluffing? Was he trying to conceal his forthcoming masterstroke? Or had Wolf unsettled him? Was he suddenly not so sure? Wolf couldn’t tell. Silverleaf was so beautiful he was hard to look at for long. And he kept his expression the same. Still, Wolf thought he read concern in the elf’s eyes, so he decided to press.
    “I didn’t think I was getting carried away,” Wolf said. “I thought I was playing in your spirit of the game. But if you’d rather not, that’s fine. You can concede the match rather than accept the bet.”
    Someone in the crowd choked on his drink. Doubtless, the elf who never lost had never been told to accept a bet or concede. Silverleaf’s eyes flared at the very suggestion.
    “There will be no concession, Mr. Dasher,” he said. “If you were hoping to chase me away by making the pot too large, your strategy has failed.”
    “Just so we understand, then,” Wolf said, “if you can beat me in three turns or less you win the pot plus an additional five thousand from me. If you can’t, I get five thousand from you, whether you win the game or lose.”
    “Understood,” Silverleaf said after a pause.
    “Great,” Wolf said and flashed a happy smile. “William, would you please put another ten thousand gold in the pot for me?”
    “Yes, Mr. Dasher,” William said. He looked uncomfortable.
    “Thank you,” Wolf said. He leaned back in his chair, drained his wine goblet and smiled. “Isabelle, I’ll need my cup refilled.”
    “Yes, Mr. Dasher,” she said, flashing bedroom eyes at him. They were a brilliant shade of blue.
    Wolf pulled his mind away from the distraction and tried to appear as if this was all jolly good fun. Then he drew a card. He knew without looking it was a “blood sacrifice” and placed it in his hand. Casually, he tossed two gold onto the fungal infestation.
    “That makes four in that territory now,” he commented.
    “No,” Silverleaf said. “You can’t play on the copy, only on the original. You may only pay one gold and increase the number of fungi to three.” Again his tone implied he would not be overruled.
    “I don’t think so, Ambassador,” Wolf said. “According to the text on the card, paying one gold allows you to make an exact copy of the card. If the copy is exact, then the special ability would be copied as well.”
    Wolf fell silent and waited for Silverleaf’s counterargument. He was ready to have William