Authors: Kevin J Anderson
Gairoth saw his
victim still standing and brought up the club for another blow. Delrael stood
motionless, his head cocked and listening to a deep rumble above him. The ogre
looked up to see pebbles and white mist pouring down like the whitecap on a
tidal wave of roaring snow dislodged from the mountainside.
A firm clay arm
encircled Delrael's waist and jerked him backward.
"Heads
up!" Journeyman said, bounding away from the avalanche. With elongated hands,
Journeyman held Delrael, Bryl, and Vailret under the overhang of rock.
Gairoth gaped at
the white wall of snow coming at him like a stampede.
He swung his club
to knock the avalanche away.
The wave of ice and
snow slammed into the trail, blasting upward and knocking the ogre off the
ledge like so much flotsam. The white cascade swept him bouncing and jostling
down the jagged slope.
"Have a nice
day!" Journeyman called after him.
Chunks of snow
sprayed the four companions, and an aftermath of cold mist hovered in the air.
The rumble faded into the patter of settling snow.
The only sound
breaking the new silence was a far off roar as the remnants of the snow made
its way to the bottom of the canyon. An impassable white barrier of slumped ice
and snow blocked quest-path behind them.
"Good thing we
wanted to go forward anyway," Vailret said.
The tip of a spiked
club broke the surface of the settling snow. A thick arm thrust forward,
thrashing around. When Gairoth's shaggy, ice-encrusted head emerged, he
sputtered and flung snow from his eye. He squirmed back and forth in the piled
drift and caught his footing.
The ogre knocked
the snow away from himself, freeing his arms. He grumbled and stamped his cold
feet, looking at the steep slope. It would be a long climb back up. But Delroth
was up there.
"I stand by
my decision not to accompany you on the Transition. I will not abandon our
descendants. If other characters need me on Gamearth, then I must remain and
help determine the course of the Game."
―
Arken, final
address to the Sorcerer council.
The quest-path
wound along the side of a tall unfurrowed granite face, with sheer rock to
their left and a frightening drop on their right. Wind whistled around the
rocks, polishing away any snow that clung to tiny cracks.
The companions came
around a curve to where the rock wall jutted sideways, as if a great hand had
split the cliff and pushed it over to the right, channelling the quest-path
through a narrow cut in the mountain.
But a locked gate
blocked their way.
Vailret stopped and
blinked. The black gate seemed so incongruous in the rocky wilderness. It
towered three times their height, protected on the sides by the smooth rock
walls. The bars were wrought iron, gilded with curlicues and sharp spikes,
forbidding and unscalable. No other signs of life or civilization showed on the
barren terrain.
"Verrry
interesting," Journeyman said, curling his voice in a strange accent.
Vailret considered
the problem, trying to think of who would place such an obstruction and why. He
wondered if it might be a relic left over from the old Sorcerer days, but then
some notation should have been made on the master maps at the Stronghold. The
locked gate had not been there long.
Delrael made an
angry noise and went forward. He looked for a latch, then grabbed the bars,
rattling the gate on its hinges. It didn't budge.
Without saying
anything, he let the look on his face express his anger and impatience.
"Let me
try." Journeyman wrapped his arms around the bars, looping into the gate.
He pulled with enough force that the iron shivered and hummed with the strain.
A few bits of rock flaked off the side of the mountain. But the gate held firm.
The golem
surrendered and withdrew his arms. He smoothed the indentations on his limbs
and stood looking ruffled. "I could reshape myself and squeeze
through."
"That won't
help us," Bryl said.
Journeyman
shrugged. "I'll go myself if we can't find any other way. My own quest
takes priority, you know."
"We're not
ready for that yet." Delrael struck his fist ineffectually against the
cliff face. He looked around with narrowed eyes. Vailret could see the emotions
struggling in him
―
until now, Delrael had been using the forced march
to cover up his other feelings. Now he had to face them and do something. But
he didn't know what to do.
One of the lumps of
rock shifted on the cliff face above. Delrael jumped back out of the way, ready
to defend himself against a trap. Vailret looked up, and his neck hurt in the
cold air.
The boulder
sprouted arms as they watched. A portion of the rock raised itself to form a
head. The flat gray stone flowed like hot wax. Joints stretched out as a blocky
creature uncurled from its camouflage. Jagged stone wings lifted upward,
revealing an ugly sculpted figure, human in shape but molded with a lumpy gray
texture. Small ridges ran down its back, and demonic horns sprouted from the
center of its forehead.
Delrael looked at
it with contempt, ready to fight. But Vailret put a hand on his cousin's
shoulder and squinted up at the cliff face to make sure of what he saw. "A
gargoyle?" He took a step forward and addressed the stone figure. "Is
that what you are?"
"You are very
perceptive," the creature said.
Vailret had heard
references to these creatures in his studies of Gamearth legends. Many of the
old Sentinels had destroyed themselves in a final unleashing of sorcerous
power, a half-Transition that liberated their spirits into independent
wandering entities. Some of these spirits gathered together to form a
collective presence, called a
dayid
. But others, the stronger individual
spirits, wandered by themselves and formed crude and temporary bodies of stone.
The gargoyle
straightened up and directed his hollow gaze at them. He sighed. "You
cannot pass this gate. It's not my choice, but I have to stop you."
Journeyman mashed
his face into a scowl. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
"We need to
get to Taire," Delrael said. He placed his hands on his hips and tried a
deliberate lie. "My brother is dying. You can't stop me from seeing him
one last time."
"I'm afraid
you wouldn't care for Taire anymore. Much has changed since Scartaris."
The gargoyle turned his grotesque stone face up to the sky. "I remember
when Enrod wanted to rebuild the lands around the city. Such a shame
―
all that work, wasted now."
"Who are you,
gargoyle?" Vailret asked.
"That's a long
story. I've lived for many turns of the Game, first as a Sorcerer lord and then
as one of the Sentinels trying to help human characters. By now the memories
are dim. A stone head isn't made to hold too many thoughts, you know." He
rapped on his forehead with a granite fist. "My name was,
is
Arken. I
wasn't always so weak
―
now I'm required to guard this gate so
that no characters may pass."
"Arken?"
Vailret said. He blinked his eyes and took two steps forward, lowering his
voice. "
Arken?
That's incredible! Do you know how much I
―
"
"Who is
controlling you, gargoyle?" Delrael interrupted, silencing his cousin. He
stared at the gate as if he could will it to vanish.
Vailret frowned at
Delrael, still in shock. In all his readings, Arken had been one of the
greatest Sorcerers. Only Arken had spoken out against the Transition, arguing
that the surviving Sorcerers should help rebuild Gamearth after their endless
wars had laid waste to so much of it. Most of them refused to listen, but some
had remained behind as Sentinels to help human characters against the other
monsters.
The stone gargoyle
turned his head toward Delrael. "Scartaris controls me. He grows more
powerful every day. The Outsiders want him to win, I think."
Vailret mumbled
another question. "But you're
Arken
―
we remember you as
the first Sentinel, the greatest defender of Gamearth. How can you possibly be
in league with Scartaris?" Vailret let his hands fall to his sides.
"Don't you know what he's doing? He's going to end the Game for all of us!"
The gargoyle leaned
over the mountain face and walked down, perpendicular to the cliff at an
impossible angle. He righted himself on the path and came to stare at them.
The gargoyle shook
his demonic stone head. "I am bound by the Rules.
Scartaris defeated
me, and I have to defend this gate to the best of my ability. It doesn't matter
if I despise what he is trying to do."
Suddenly Arken's
manner seemed filled with new excitement. He focused his attention at them.
"You travelers know who Scartaris is? And you're on a quest
eastward?" He held up a blocky stone hand. "No, don't tell me anything
―
Scartaris will hear! I can guess for myself. Let me keep my
hopes up. But I still can't help you."
"You're
talking to us, though," Vailret said. "You're answering our questions."
"Certainly.
And I'll do everything I can to get around my restrictions."
"Why can't you
just let us pass and not tell Scartaris?" Bryl asked.
The gargoyle looked
at him, annoyed. "I can't disregard my task for the sake of a whim. The
Rules are the Rules, regardless of my feelings." He hunkered down and put
his chin in his blocky stone fist. "Perhaps we can think of a different
way I might help you."
Delrael kicked at a
stone on the path. His lips were pressed together into a thin, white line.
"Is there another pass we could go through?" he said.
"We need to
get moving."
"I doubt it,"
Arken said. "Scartaris will have guardians on all the quest-paths over the
Spectre Mountains anyway. The other gatekeepers might not be so
understanding."
"How do we
know you're telling the truth, not trying to trick us?" Bryl put his hands
on his hips, haughty.
Vailret thought he
looked silly. "That's
Arken
, Bryl
―
don't be ridiculous."
The gargoyle seemed
puzzled by Vailret's comment. "Well, you don't know whether I'm telling
the truth or not
―
although I can promise that if I were trying to
trick you, I would attempt to be ... a little more devious."
"All right,
then, here's a straightforward question." Delrael stepped forward.
"
How
can we pass? How can we defeat you?"
The stone gargoyle
shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we can figure out something."
"Could we play
a game of dice, Arken? It's simple but effective. High roll wins?" Vailret
withdrew his own set of dice. "If we win, you let us pass?"
The gargoyle placed
his stone chin on his fist. "Remember that I have more than my share of
luck." Arken knelt down to the ground. The cold path and the bleak
mountains seemed to have no effect on him. "But if this doesn't work, we
can still try something else."
He raised his head
to look at all of them. "We'll only be able to use this challenge once,
though. It wouldn't be fair if you kept rolling until you beat me one
time."
"Fair
enough." Vailret held his hand out and raised his eyebrows. "Del, why
don't you roll for us?"
The fighter took
the dice and looked at them. "My luck seems to have turned sour
lately."
"Then it's
time to change it. Go ahead and roll."
Delrael rubbed the
two twenty-sided dice between his palms and, without interest, let them fall to
the ground. A "10" and a "14."
"Not
bad," Vailret said.
"Not
good," Delrael countered.
Arken brushed the
dice into his palm, using one flat stone hand because the blocky fingers were
not dexterous enough to grasp the small objects. He tossed them into the air.
One die landed flat on the quest-path; the other struck a rock and bounced
sideways, coming to rest a few feet away. A "12" and an
"18."
"I'm
sorry," Arken said. "I told you I had too much luck."
With a scowl on his
pinched face, Bryl took out the Air Stone and Fire Stone. They glinted in the
bright mountain sunlight. "I have these. They're powerful enough. Can I
command you with them? Will they work?"
The stone creature
straightened and took a step backward in shock. He reached a crudely formed
hand toward the diamond and the ruby, but Bryl snatched them away. The gargoyle
rocked back on his clublike stone feet. "Are those what I think they
are?"
Vailret nodded.
"If you're really Arken, you must remember them."
The gargoyle drew a
deep breath. "You make me feel strange about my past. When I saw that so
few Sorcerers would refuse the Transition and remain to help their own
half-breed children, I begged them to create the Stones. Do you know where the
other two are? It's been so long. As I recall, one was lost in the
Scouring...."