Authors: Kevin J Anderson
"These are the
controls
," she said. Her bright eyes gleamed with awe.
"My hypothesis
is that this system connects directly to the power source. If you touch the
bulkhead, it is still warm after all this time. And there's another sealed
compartment directly underneath."
Verne opened his
eyes wide and went forward. Frankenstein also looked amazed. "This could
be it," he said.
Verne let his
imagination wander. He had his best ideas that way.
Possibilities
sprang into his head, ideas and applications with such an intensity that he
wondered if he was indeed inspired by the Outsider Scott.
This ship had an
awesome power source, even if it was just imaginary to the Outsiders David and
Tyrone, even if they had only created this artificial ship as a prop to act out
their games
―
regardless, it existed here on Gamearth. And it had
to do what the Players imagined it would do.
Verne thought of
what incredible energies could power such a ship, of the danger and the
potential those energies would have if applied in a constructive
―
or destructive
―
manner.
"You must be
very
very
careful with it," Verne said. "Treat it as if it were the
most hazardous laboratory substance we have ever investigated."
"And indeed it
is," Frankenstein added. His dark eyes shone with an unfathomable
excitement.
Verne turned to Frankenstein
and lowered his voice. "It will take some testing, but this could be the
key to the most awesome weapon ever introduced on Gamearth."
He took a deep
breath. "We could stop Scartaris."
Frankenstein
allowed his thin lips to curl up in a smile. "This could be a way for us
to prove the superiority of Sitnaltan technology once and for all."
He and Professor
Verne shook hands.
Chapter 10:
THE SPECTRE
MOUNTAINS
"RULE #4:
"Evil" and "Good" are not absolute concepts in the Game.
Characters act in their
own self-interest. For example, companions on a quest may have the same purpose
but for opposing reasons."
―
The Book of
Rules
Vailret watched
Delrael deal with Tallin's death, not knowing how he could help. He remembered
how blind Paenar had died, but Delrael wasn't there when Paenar rode the dragon
down into the boiling volcano. This type of grief was new to Delrael. It seemed
to be a rude awakening for him.
The fighter pushed
on across the next hex-line just after midnight, when the Rules allowed them to
continue for another day. "I want to get away from this place," he
said under his breath. His footprints were barely visible in the starlight
ahead of them. In the cool air Vailret sweated to keep up.
They entered a
sweeping hexagon of grassland. The grass hissed around their legs as they
walked, but they picked out the quest-path even in the darkness. A few small
animals rustled along the ground; night birds swooped around the sky, dropping
low as they hunted.
Journeyman remained
silent, making none of his inane Outsider comments or observations on
reality
. The aurora began to fade into the pinkish-yellow of dawn, and the
golem finally turned his head and spoke. He talked as if he had been pondering
his words for a long time.
"You didn't
tell me about your quest. Or the Earthspirits in the silver belt."
Vailret didn't know
what to say. Delrael ignored the conversation entirely.
Journeyman stared
ahead and puckered his clay face in an expression of consternation. "You
accepted me as a true companion. I told you my quest -that the Rulewoman
Melanie planted a secret weapon in me, so that when we reach Scartaris I will
destroy him. But you told me you were just going to find information. You kept
secrets from me."
The clay frown deepened.
"We were supposed to be one for all and all for one, you know? That's what
this questing business is all about. The Three Musketeers, Batman and Robin,
Cisco and Pancho, Kirk and Spock, Laurel and Hardy. We're all a team. At least
I thought so."
Vailret swallowed
and took a deep breath to explain. Delrael strode on, keeping himself isolated.
Bryl didn't look as if he wanted to join in the conversation either.
"We swore not
to tell
any
other characters, especially not someone from the Rulewoman, even
if she is on our side. The Outsiders knew nothing about our real quest. We
didn't want Scartaris to prepare for us coming."
Journeyman's clay
eyebrows twitched on his forehead. "Scartaris has already gathered armies
of wandering monsters, he already contains enough energy to wipe out Gamearth
if he feels threatened. He needs only to go through a rapid metamorphosis, and
that will be the end of our world. How much more can he prepare?"
Vailret kept his
gaze on the dim path as he continued behind Delrael.
"Scartaris
must not consider us a big enough threat
―
yet."
The golem stretched
his flexible lips in an exaggerated pout. "You still should have told
me." Then he shrugged. "I don't care what kind of weapon you have, or
what the Earthspirits can do. It's my quest to take care of Scartaris, and I
intend to do it. By myself if I have to. Hi ho, Silver!"
Vailret patted
Journeyman on the shoulder, trying to reassure him. The clay felt soft and
sticky. "Doesn't matter how it gets done
―
I just don't want
Scartaris to wipe the map clean. I won't even ask about your weapon."
"You better
not, because I'm not going to tell."
Vailret rolled his
eyes and let the golem go ahead of him.
They continued as
the Spectre Mountains in the distance became backlit in orange, then sharply
silhouetted with dawn. By morning they crossed into an identical hexagon of
grassland.
Delrael remained
withdrawn, saying little. In the early afternoon, when they crossed into a lush
hex of forest terrain, he appeared even more gloomy.
The dense trees
seemed to remind him of Tallin....
It took them until
early afternoon of the following day to get through the next hexagon of rugged
forested-hill terrain. The trees, valleys, and green undergrowth made Vailret
think of the khelebar forest of Ledaygen before the fire. They climbed the
hills, looking down the steep slopes covered with trees and rock outcroppings.
The quest-path guided them back and forth to the top of a ridge.
They trudged on at
a steady pace, then stopped early to rest. Vailret and Journeyman played
tic-tac-toe on the ground. Delrael watched for a few games, but when they asked
him to join in, he declined and went off by himself to sleep.
The quest-path
wound ahead of them across the next hex-line into the steep Spectre Mountains.
Though the air was cool, Vailret found himself sweating and itching under his
jerkin. His legs were tired, but he had settled into a pace that allowed him to
keep going. Delrael gained ground ahead of them, then waited, fidgeting, for
the others to catch up.
Vailret thought the
sheer mountains ahead were like a wall to cut Delrael off from memories of the
Anteds. Perhaps by replacing the anger and sorrow with a quest, Delrael would
be able to heal his wound. Maybe climbing the rocky slopes would somehow purge
him.
Around them stones
protruded along the path. Tufts of grass and sturdy scrub brush grew in
sheltered crannies. Rock walls lurched upward like battlements, wind-carved and
rain-washed into stark peaks and deep gullies.
The quest-path was
smooth and chalky, like hardened plaster washed down from the cliffs.
The sun spilled
over the peaks in late morning. They came to a flat promontory jutting westward
from the mountainside. Vailret stumbled to the edge for a rest. His lungs
burned as he tried to catch his breath in the chilly air. The wind blew around
them, ruffling Vailret's hair. Bryl joined him, pulling his blue hood over his
face like a cowl.
Delrael squatted
down to look back across the vast panorama of the Game board. Perfect hexagons
of terrain lay immediately below, forested-hill, forest, grassland; in the
distance they could see the desolation dotted with tiny pock marks of Anted
holes. Other sections of terrain swept in a beautiful mosaic to flat dimness at
the far edge of the map.
Vailret squinted,
trying to determine what he was seeing. Bryl pointed and stretched his gnarled
hand out of the billowing sleeve. "Look at that!"
At the first hex of
desolation terrain moved a dense gathering of black static the size of a
thunderhead. It moved and slithered forward, scattered and fluttering in a
formless clump. Vailret's eyesight was not sharp enough to catch any details,
but he could tell that the others had no idea what they saw either. Where the
dark gathering touched the desert, clouds of dust swirled behind it as if a
great army, indistinct and enshrouded in black mist, marched across the
hexagon.
"What is
it?" Vailret asked.
"Something
sent by Scartaris maybe?" Bryl said.
"Still too far
away." Delrael stood up, hurling a stone over the edge, and strode off
without watching it fall. "We'll get rid of Scartaris before we need to
worry about that thing."
For someone with no
coordination whatsoever, Gairoth had incredible luck climbing the narrow
quest-path into the Spectre Mountains. His big feet found purchase on the tiny
outcrops, and he hauled himself up the steep and crumbling trail. His only
thought was to catch Delroth.
He saw a ledge, a
shortcut to eliminate one of the tedious switchbacks, and climbed up, sprawling
on the rough stone. After a second's rest, he reached up to grab another
handhold and heaved himself to the next ledge. He lay panting. Sweat ran
through his ropy hair, leaving a dirty track on his face. He wanted something
to eat.
Then he noticed
fresh footprints on the quest-path. Delroth's boots.
The ogre pressed
his potato-sized nose down to the ground, inhaling deeply in the dirt to see if
he could pick up any scent. He grinned. "Haw!"
Huffing and grumbling,
Gairoth lurched up the steep path, swinging his club back and forth.
By midday the four
travelers reached the snow line. Sharp cliffs towered overhead, blocking the
sunlight and leaving patches of ice on the ground. The quest-path remained
clear, but clumps of snow hung over outcrops of rock.
The main wall
leaned over them, sloping backward and pregnant with a heavy load of snow on
the cliff edge. A glistening sheet of clean snow stretched toward the tops of the
mountains, dotted with stark rock outcroppings.
Delrael led them
through a series of tight switchbacks as the quest-path threaded its way
eastward. On the other side of the path and the rock outcroppings, the mountain
slope was steep and broken with terraced ledges.
He walked along,
stomping his boots in the snow. The others followed.
Only the ruffle of
wind brushing snow along the rocks disturbed the silence.
Gairoth pulled
himself up another ledge to reach a flat area that intersected the quest-path.
He took the straight way up the slope again, but his arms ached from the
effort. His nose was red and cold. His ears hurt from the whistling wind. He
ate some snow, bit down on a rock, and spat it out.
The ogre stomped up
the steep path around disorienting outcrops of stone. Snow turned brown as it
melted on his dirty furs. Then he reached a patch where snow had slid down the
cliff and drifted across the path. He saw a line of trampled slush, fresh
tracks on the quest-path. Very fresh.
"Delroth!"
His bellow echoed among the cliffs, causing a tiny patter of dislodged snow
from above. Brandishing his club, Gairoth bounded forward.
Delrael heard the
ogre's yell and stopped in mid-stride with a disgusted expression on his face.
Bryl made a strangled sound of shock.
Vailret blinked his
eyes to cover his surprise.
"Not tonight,
I've got a headache," Journeyman groaned.
Gairoth hurtled
around the corner, overbalanced and stumbling on an ice patch. He caught his
footing before he could plummet over the edge of the slope. Raising the spiked
club, he turned to the fighter.
Delrael pulled his
sword free and stood firm on the path, returning the ogre's glare. "I'm
getting sick and tired of you, Gairoth."
Gairoth lumbered
forward, a grin of triumph on his thick lips. "Haw!"
He leaped ahead and
swung his club at Delrael's head, but the fighter skittered backward, slashing
sideways with the edge of his sword. Delrael stumbled on the slippery path in
mid-swing, and his stroke went wide.
The ogre's spiked
club smashed like a cannonball against the rock wall.
The whole mountain
seemed to shake. The cramped area on the narrow path did not allow the others
room to help. Journeyman flexed his arms, waiting for an opportunity.