Game Play (11 page)

Vailret let out a
gasp of surprise. Delrael surged to his feet, blinking in shock. So much for
the help the Rulewoman Melanie had sent them.

He drew his sword
and cried out.

"Gairoth!"
The fighter charged into the clearing before he could think about what he was
doing.

Gairoth stared down
at the flattened golem with an expression of disappointment. But when he heard
Delrael approach, his jaw dropped, then he grinned with angry glee.
"Delroth!"

He pulled his club
free of the wet clay with a sucking noise and turned to meet the fighter.
"Haw! Haw!"

"Del! What are
you doing?" Vailret called.

"Oh no,"
Bryl said.

But Delrael paid no
attention. He landed with both feet spread, holding the sword out. He seemed
pitifully small against the ogre. Vailret's father must have looked like this,
fighting alone against an ogre
―
and dying.

"Gairoth be
hurt by you!" Drool ran down the ogre's chin. "Cesspools gone,
Rognoth gone. Now I kill you! BAM!"

Delrael became
acutely aware that he had worked out no plan for this situation. Maybe Vailret
had a point in suggesting that characters think things through prior to taking
action.

Before Gairoth
could make good his threat and swing the club, Delrael lunged in. He slashed
sideways and then up, cutting a gash on the inside of the ogre's thick arm. It
was a minor wound, but it must have stung. Delrael skipped back, dodging forest
debris.

As expected,
Gairoth yowled in pain and swung with all his might, almost overbalancing
himself. Delrael jumped out of the way and tried to run behind the ogre for
another thrust. Maybe if he could slash Gairoth's other arm and make him drop
the club
―
but the ogre swung his weapon again and Delrael had to
block it directly with his sword. A crash rang through the forest.

Delrael's arm went
numb from fingertips to shoulder. He couldn't even tell if he still held his
sword or not.

Delrael shook his
head, stunned. He tripped backward on some of the branches underfoot, rolling
as he fell. The sword dropped beside him and he picked it up with his left
hand. He didn't know how to fight with his left hand.

"Haw!
Haw!" Gairoth said.

"Are you guys
going to help me or what!" Delrael shouted.

Bryl took out the
Air Stone and the Fire Stone and shuffled them from one hand to the other.
"Do something!" Vailret said.

Bryl said,
"Which one should I use?"

"I don't
care!"

Bryl picked up the
Fire Stone, looked at it, then closed his eyes. He tossed it on the forest
floor, hoping for a high number. He rolled a "1." His spell failed.

"Wouldn't you
know it?"

"Gairoth, you
big dummy!" Vailret cried out as he ran downhill into the hollow. It was
an impulsive act, something Delrael might have done. He pulled out his short
sword, though he had no idea what good it would do against the ogre. He slipped
in the mud but grabbed branches to keep his balance and plunged on.

The ogre looked up,
giving Delrael a moment to roll farther away. The rusty spikes on the club
looked sharp, and thicker than Delrael's fingers.

From the sack, the
point of an arrow emerged again, opening a gash.

Little hands poked
through and tore the material, sawing with the arrow tip, until the young ylvan
poked his head through. He squirmed with his shoulders until he finally got the
sack down about his waist. He didn't try to climb out, but instead grabbed his
crossbow, nocked an arrow, and shot it.

The arrow struck
the back of Gairoth's wide left leg. The ogre released the club with one hand
and slapped at the arrow. In doing so, he let the heavy club fall to his side,
banging his own knee.

Delrael climbed to
his feet, propped on his sword. With his left hand he bent the other arm to
raise the blade and block another blow. His shoulders were trembling, and he knew
he wouldn't be strong enough.

But behind Gairoth,
the flattened bulk of Journeyman squirmed. The golem rose back up, reforming
himself from the soft clay. Without a sound, he pushed his head and shoulders
into shape out of the central mass of mud and drew more moisture from the soft
forest floor.

His chest and legs
rippled, redistributing the clay, flowing most of it into one forearm and fist
that became as massive as the golem's body core itself, one giant hand the size
of a heavy boulder.

"Just what the
doctor ordered, Gairoth. Have a taste of your own medicine."

Before the ogre
could turn in response, Journeyman slammed his huge fist down on Gairoth's
head. "BAM! See how you like it."

The ogre's eye
rolled up. His jaw dropped slack, and he tumbled like a falling tree, face
first into the mud and leaves. His club fell beside him.

Journeyman slapped
his palms together in finality. "How do
you
spell relief?"

They left Gairoth
stone cold in the hollow as they hurried down the quest-path in the forest
terrain.

"Glory
hallelujah!" Journeyman babbled about his adventure. He tucked and nudged
pieces of clay back into place. "Oh, what a feeling!"

"Yes, it was a
good one, wasn't it?" Delrael said. He shook his tingling and sore right
arm.

The ylvan man
brushed off his camouflaged leather suit and took out a sewn cap that sported a
red feather. "I'm not much for formalities, but my name is Tallin. Thanks
for rescuing me
―
you did a good job against the big clod! It's
nice not having to fight all by myself for a change."

"Rule number
one, always have fun," Delrael said, shrugging his shoulders. They
introduced themselves according to gaming protocol and each told his areas of
expertise.

"Why were you
the only one fighting against Gairoth?" Vailret asked.

"Was something
wrong with the others?"

Tallin strode ahead
as if he knew where they were going. Delrael had trouble keeping pace with him.

"They were
trying to fight. You saw them, and how sad it was. I didn't do anything but
yell at Gairoth from the trees until he started wrecking things. The old man he
pulled out of the nest was Tranor. He tells good stories and he knows more dice
games than any character I've ever seen."

Tallin watched the
forest floor, and his face bore a bemused expression. He rubbed his fingers
together on the tip of his pointed beard.

"Tranor used
to tell me stories about the old Sorcerer wars, how the ylvan once were the
terrors of the forest, ambushing any enemy that entered our forest terrain.
Hah!" Tallin sounded excited. "We could be invisible in the trees,
and run up among the branches, shooting down with our arrows. We survived the
Scouring, when some of you high-minded human characters decided to wipe out the
other races on Gamearth."

Delrael looked for
some resentment in the ylvan's eyes, but he saw none. After the Sorcerer race
departed on their Transition, the remaining character races were left to fight
over the map. Human characters rallied with some of the half-breed Sorcerers to
defend against the reptilian Slac. Other human fighters, thinking themselves
brave, went to extremes and tried to exterminate all other character races. In
their fear and fanaticism they struck at even the benign ones, like the ylvan
or the panther people, the khelebar.

That was many turns
ago, though, and Tallin did not seem to carry a grudge.

"I stayed with
my people.
Somebody
has to take care of them, since they all seem to have
knocked their heads against a tree too many times," Tallin said.
"Even though they turned into a bunch of sore Losers even before they went
into their daze. They stopped playing games for enjoyment. Kellos, our village
leader, turned them sour, made them afraid and suspicious, for all the good it
did them. They still succumbed to whatever put them in a daze anyway. They
could have been having fun instead of worrying all that time.

I've been getting
food for them, since they don't seem to have any interest in doing it
themselves."

Vailret repeated
his original question. "But what's wrong with them?

Why are they acting
like that?"

Tallin knitted his
eyebrows and looked at Vailret. "Do I look like someone who sits around
and explains things all day? Normally they would have fought like hornets,
especially with Kellos stirring them up. Now, though, they're just sleepwalking
―
well, you saw. What's gotten into them? Is it some kind of
spell? You tell me. I don't understand these things."

Vailret stared
ahead, eyes fixed but unfocused on the little man's green cap. Delrael couldn't
imagine any reason, but then Journeyman spoke up.

"Scartaris has
the power to manipulate other characters with his mind, as if he is a Player in
his own right. He can control actions, even from this great a distance."

Tallin looked at
them, puzzled. "What's a Scartaris?" Nobody answered his question.

"Wonderful..."
Bryl said. "What's going to stop it from happening to
us
?"

Delrael thought the
Earthspirits in his belt might protect them, if the Spirits were even still
alive.

"As a matter
of fact," Bryl continued, "What protected Tallin? He should have been
controlled just like the others."

Journeyman raised
his lumpy eyebrows, like two hairless caterpillars arching themselves for
battle. "Enquiring minds want to know."

"Maybe
he's
a spy, planted here to join our group and sabotage our quest," Bryl said.
He glared at the little man.

"Bryl, you
said that about Journeyman, too." Delrael frowned at the half-Sorcerer
with open skepticism.

"Look, I didn't
ask
you to come rescue me." Tallin flared his nostrils, angry and
insulted, but he managed to hold his temper. Delrael admired that. "Are
you suggesting I
pretended
to get captured by Gairoth?

You've got mud for
brains."

But Vailret's face
carried a doubtful expression. "If your entire village was corrupted by
Scartaris, how did you alone stay untouched?"

"Brilliant
question. I probably never would have thought of that one myself!" Tallin
looked at the rest of them with a haughty expression, and then turned to
Delrael for support. "How should I know? I've told you the truth."

Delrael pursed his
lips. "If he was working with Scartaris and the Outsiders, he'd make sure
he had a good cover story."

"Good
point," Journeyman said.

"Wait a
minute." Vailret motioned with his hands for them to calm down.

"We all know
about some of the rulebreakers. Characters like Lellyn, and like Tarne. Maybe
certain characters have a natural immunity, something Scartaris can't touch. It
would fit with the Rules of Probability."

"Maybe this is
Gamearth fighting back with flukes of its own, twists in the Game,"
Delrael said.

Vailret's eyes
sparkled with the possibility. Delrael could see how intrigued he was by the
idea. "And what if the Outsiders don't know anything about it?"

Delrael clapped the
ylvan on the back to get them all moving again.

"Can you give
me a hint about where we're going? I don't waste much time sitting around and
planning things, but I wouldn't mind having the end goal in sight."

"My feelings
exactly!" Delrael said, smiling.

"I take it
that means you're joining our quest?" Vailret asked.

Tallin blinked.
"You don't expect me to go watch the other ylvan stare at trees all day,
do you? After they just watched Gairoth carry me off, I don't feel much
attachment to home anymore."

The sun was low in
the west, shooting its last rays between the tree trunks, when they neared the
edge of the last hexagon they could travel in a day. A cool breeze sprang up from
the east, rippling the forest leaves.

Just ahead they
could see the sprawling vista of the next hexagon, at last a break from the
forest terrain. Flat, unpleasant-looking desolation spread out into the dusk.
Delrael took a deep breath of the forest smells, and knew that would all change
the next morning when they crossed the black line into the rocky desert.

On their long walk,
Delrael had warmed up to Tallin, a companion with whom he could discuss
strategy, adventuring, and tactics. He explained about the Outsider David
trying to end the Game, and of their quest to find a way to stop Scartaris. He
said nothing about the Earthspirits hidden in his belt.

At camp Tallin
gathered wood, explaining how to stack it for a better fire. He refused to let
Bryl use a spell and started the fire himself with a rough stone and the metal
from his belt buckle. Annoyed, Bryl let him have his way.

Upon seeing the
pack food his companions intended to eat, the ylvan snorted in disgust. Tallin secured
the crossbow on his shoulder and scrambled up the trunk of a tree, finding
fingerholds where none appeared visible. He called down from the branches.
"This shouldn't take long." His mottled green clothes blended into
the forest shadows and he vanished in the leaves.