Mardo lifted the chipped, clay mug to his lips, eyes never leaving his opponent’s face, as he spun his last tile between his thumb and middle finger against the oaken table.  The once-lacquered table held nearly thirty tiles of yellowing ivory, each marked with a number of pips.  The man on the other side of the table contorted his face in thought, eyes dancing between each of his three remaining tiles stacked in front of him on the table.

     As if the gentle tap of the mug against the table was the final clue to the man’s dilemma, the opponent’s face washed clear and he picked the tile in the middle of his edge-stacked row and placed it on one end of the sprawling arms of tiles.  Knowing there was no way possible to block his play, Mardo tossed his remaining tile toward one of the arms, edges lining up perfectly.  “Show your hand,” Mardo announced.

     Sliding his mug to the edge of the table Mardo boasted, “Man! You played that hand like you were the one up all night on duty.  That was my last pint and my last game.  Goodnight gentlemen, I am going home, and going to bed.”

     Rising from the old, yet sturdy chair, he grabbed his sword belt and the deep blue coat that marked his station as an officer cadet.  The morning-weary customers nearby groggily mumbled their well wishes as Mardo spun towards the door and headed out into the morning sun.

     Not three steps off the decked walkway onto the packed dirt road, last night’s rain already dried by the early sun, a crash and a number of screams sounded out a few blocks down toward Milharbor.  “A man’s work is never over,” he thought aloud.  His shoulders dropped as he rationalized, “There’s got to be someone else there to get this one.”  His brows knitted as if he was playing a tough hand and he almost turned away as his eyes locked on an old woman behind a cart hawking fruit.  “Damn it!”

     Mardo spun toward the disturbance, away from his welcoming bed, a low clamor issuing from the area.  He trotted a few paces as he buckled his sword belt around his narrow waist and drew his coat over his strong shoulders, and then he broke into a light run.  Never over, indeed.  He glanced back a few paces down to nod to the old woman, but she was not looking.