Disclaimer:I do not own the characters in this story. They are from the brilliant mind of Tamora Pierce.

A Gambling Man by bays1

In the darkness, it was incredibly easy to make out the hurried shape of a gambler more than eager to return to his lodgings. Every moment and every sound were amplified to him. Though the only noise came from his own footfalls and the occasional brawl echoing up from the taverns, shivers leeched through his body. They were the kind that only accompanied the dangers of being watched and followed. It would not have been difficult for even the more simple-minded thief to realise he carrying a treasure of winnings tonight.

There. Over there. Something flashed past the corner of his eye. It was impossible to believe that no one else was on the street. It was too quiet for there not to be something afoot. The streak wound noiselessly along buildings to the left but the gambler knew he was not alone. He was right. Another man with a dangerous look in his dark eyes stepped from the shadows and blocked the path.

"My greetings to you Dale Rowan." He said without intent tainting his words at all; it was his eyes that gave everything away. A lot of players couldn't help but have Dale pick apart their flaws. On the other hand, Dale's face had instantly slipped into its gambling mood. Tonight he was playing for his life. This cove knew who he was. In an area like this and during a night like this, it was never going to be a good thing. He noted more forms dotted around the street but they made no move to involve themselves. It was odd – almost like they were spectators.

"I apologise but I cannot seem to place your face." Dale said as coolly as he could manage. The other man smirked maliciously.

"That's because you have nothing to place it to," He replied. "They call me Rosto. Rosto the Piper."

As Rosto gave a bow that mocked the courtesy nobles stood for, Dale struggled to keep his composure. He knew of Rosto the Piper, the Rogue. Considering whom had been in his arms mere moments ago, this situation was just as serious as he had originally thought. Beka Cooper had let slip that she had been pursued by a cove named Rosto. It wasn't a challenge to put pieces together, especially now Dale's suspicions were confirmed. The Rogue of Corus had an interest with the girl he was canoodling with and that made his life a very precarious object.

"I have a question to ask of you: Do you favour the use of your kneecaps, Master Rowan?"

Dale found himself fighting for words. It had been a while since he had felt such menace. He was certain his voice shook even as he tried to be pert. "For what reason do you ask?

"In the interest of a rogue." Rosto appeared unfazed. He absent-mindedly fondled a baton, one not unlike that of the Dogs, that hung from his waist. Dale was on the verge of quivering like a leaf. If Beka could see him now she would run for Corus. He was being cowardly. She had never allowed the Rogue to have advantage over her and he surely could do the same.

"I am rather attached to them."

"Pity." The Rogue moved his hand away from the baton and instead a pointed dagger materialised. He twirled it around his fingertips with elegant nonchalance but with each spin Dale could feel it marking the spots where it would strike. "I believe you lodge not too far from here. Betsy still running the place?"

An extra edge that had never curried him before set into his composure now. Though he was making conversation about his landlady, every few seconds Rosto's eyes would hover over his weak spots; the neck, kidneys, neck caps, tendons. Every piece of his body began to feel vulnerable to the other man's calculated mind. Dale could easily understand how such a cove would find himself seated as the king of thieves.

"Has young Beka had the pleasure of sampling Betsy's eel pie?" A dangerous flick of the dagger caused Dale to see a trick was laced into the question but peril had turned his senses awry; they no longer communicated with each other. His mouth didn't understand that now was the best moment to stay shut.

"I don't take short term gixies to see Betsy." He internally cringed as soon as he realised just how much his words had whitened the Rogue's hold on the dagger. The lack of movement and speech made Dale more uneasy than when Rosto's threats had been apparent. "Well, I mean, it's just I don't know whether she will want to stick around. It's not that I..."

Dale's voice trailed off with the growth of the tower Rosto had formed over him. He forgot to even breathe as the fury in the rogue's eyes was boiled to a nasty temperature.

"I think you had better keep it that way." Rosto snarled at the quivering Dale. "If I hear so much of a whisper of you making any further plans with Beka, you will find several vital parts of you...misplaced."

Though Dale could have sworn only he was encased in the terror of Rosto's words, several of the figures on the street stepped forward eagerly at the threat. He saw more than one glint of a dagger. Unable to control it any longer, his mask slipped. There was no way he could win at this game. The eyes of the Rogue remained firmly fixed onto his before sweeping over his now terrified expression. Something he saw in it satisfied him and stepping back, Rosto was cordial again. If he had not just seen the other side of the cove, Dale could have easily mistaken him for something ordinary.

"This has been nice Master Rowan. We really should do it again sometime." He gave his mocking bow again and without another words, Rosto and the figures disappeared into the shadows.

Dale, however, stayed fixed to the spot. It was only when a gixie called at out from her window that he snapped into a sprint, trying to get as far away as possible. He regretted it, but Dale knew he had to end things with Beka. And quickly. There was no way he was gambling with his life, especially when the odds were so fixed against him.