Authors: Kevin J Anderson
The assault seemed
to have stopped for a moment, leaving a stillness like a held breath. "Did
it work?" Tareah asked.
With squeals of
angry chittering and a shower of pale splinters, more creatures burst out of
the logs in the double wall surrounding the Stronghold.
They dropped to the
ground, bristling with patches of brown and gray fur, sharp fangs and fiery
blank eyes.
The creatures
ignored Tareah and Siya, but scurried toward the ice-encrusted Stronghold to
chip their way in. They set upon the main building once more.
Between the upright
pointed logs of the stockade wall, more creatures surged out. The dirt
insulation between the double walls crumbled and sifted out of the holes.
Several logs toppled and fell over to leave gaps in the perimeter.
The brittle casing
of ice over the main building split open. The rat-creatures surged inside
again, tearing holes out of the walls.
Tareah grabbed the
sapphire, angry and ready to roll it. But the rat-creatures swarmed over the
ground at her feet, waiting with arms outstretched. They
knew
what the Stone
was now; they wanted her to roll it so they could snatch it away the instant it
struck the ground.
Tareah clamped her
teeth down on a frustrated scream. She couldn't even roll the Stone, and none
of her minor spells would do anything. She couldn't fight, and that infuriated
her even more.
Tears streaked down
Siya's cheeks. Her face reddened and she panted from her effort. A strange
noise came from Siya's throat as she continued to strike out at the creatures.
"What do they want?"
Tareah felt the
corners of the Water Stone bite into her palms as she pushed her fists
together. "They're looking for the Fire Stone. Scartaris wants it back,
now that he knows how powerful it is."
Siya blinked and
stood with her broom upright. Her face wore an astonished expression. "But
the Fire Stone isn't even here! By now Delrael and the others should be
―
" She waved her hand at the crumbling walls. "By the mountains or
something."
All of the
rat-creatures stopped with their ears cocked. In unison the horde turned to
glare at them.
Tareah wanted to
scream at Siya in anger and frustration. "You idiot!
Scartaris thought
Delrael was dead!"
The rat-creatures
chittered among themselves
―
and then they all vanished into the
ground, leaving no trace other than the bloodied bodies Siya had killed.
Tareah kept her
voice level and cold. "You just increased the danger to Delrael and
Vailret. Now Scartaris knows they're coming, and he can concentrate everything
he has on stopping them."
Siya's eyes widened
as big as plates when the realization sank in. She hung her head. Her shoulder
blades jerked as she tried to hold the sobs in.
Tareah looked
around at the ravaged Stronghold
―
Delrael had left
her
behind
to defend it. He had counted on
her
abilities and
her
judgement. Grim anger
filled her mind
―
but the collapsing buildings, the ruined wall
brought stinging tears in front of her vision.
The fire from the
broken hearths had spread into the main building, and smoke poured into the
air.
INTERLUDE: OUTSIDE
David put his
hands behind his head and leaned back against them. His eyes still looked red,
but he smiled with satisfaction. Melanie was so angry she wanted to punch his
face, or at least dump her cold soda in his lap.
"You destroyed
my Stronghold!" she said. Her voice sounded strangled, carrying more
emotion than she wanted to display.
The rat-creatures,
the dozens of attack rolls, the walls falling, the fire starting ... She felt
Tareah's helplessness, felt Siya's loss. If only the characters could have
fought back more, helped
her
more.
David kept his eyes
closed. "Now I think we can
officially
say that Scartaris knows Delrael
isn't dead. And he also knows that the group is coming to get him."
"And this time
her characters don't
know
that Scartaris knows. Ha!"
Tyrone added.
"That's a switch."
"Thanks,
Tyrone." Scott scowled at him.
David grinned.
"That means Scartaris can now try to stop them." He shrugged.
"Unless I decide to just have him blow up the map, and we can be finished
with all this nonsense." He truly looked as if he was enjoying this.
Melanie stood up in
anger. Her chair tipped back but did not fall over.
"That wouldn't
be very sporting, now would it?" Scott asked.
"Let's not let
this get personal, guys," Tyrone said, waving Melanie back into her chair.
"It's just for fun, remember."
Melanie and David
both glared at him. Tyrone went to get another bag of chips from the top of the
refrigerator, shaking his head.
"When Delrael
and company get through the mountain terrain, that's when the real fun starts.
The city of Taire is my first serious line of defense."
David rubbed his
hands together. "We can probably end this tonight."
"What's your
hurry, David?" Tyrone asked. "There's nothing on TV Sunday nights
anyway."
David slapped both
hands on the tabletop, startling them all with his outburst. "Because I
don't want to have any more nightmares about Gamearth! I want it done and
finished and
out of my head!
"
He swallowed and
blinked, as if amazed at himself. Melanie felt a moment of sympathy for him.
The power of Gamearth was frightening to her, too, but the characters, the
landscapes, the legends all gave her wondrous dreams, not nightmares. She had
to save them, and the characters had to help in their own way.
"Melanie, when
your characters get into Taire they're playing right into my hands." He
avoided her gaze and looked down at the painted map. She saw that his hands
were shaking.
Melanie kept her
voice low. "That's exactly where I want them to be.
Shut up and
play."
Chapter 13:
PEOPLE OF A DEAD
CITY
"By building
this beautiful city in the midst of desolation, we will prove that Gamearth
characters can overcome any difficulty so long as we pool our talents and work
toward a common goal. We have our magic, and we have the Rules on our side.
Nothing can stop us now."
―
Enrod, ceremony at
the founding of Taire.
They descended out
of the mountains. The hard, cold ground crunched under Delrael's boots. He felt
stronger now, as if he was finally opening his eyes again. Tallin was dead, but
the Game went on, turn after turn
―
unless the Outsider David had
his way.
Delrael made his
facial muscles stop frowning. He remembered Rule #1.
He focused on
quests, treasure, action, on
getting things done
. He did not sit around and
ponder everything to death. Death.
Maybe that changed
too many things.
His father had sent
a message stick with the aid of the Rulewoman Melanie, charging Delrael and
Vailret to find some way to stop Scartaris, to keep Gamearth alive and intact.
In the cold mountain air, Delrael absently clenched his fist.
The next days
passed in a blur. Delrael kept his eyes fixed on the distant horizon toward the
crumbled mountain terrain that marked the lair of Scartaris. After another
hexagon they crossed over grassy hills and then entered the rocky desolation,
scars left from the old Sorcerer wars.
The landscape
became flat and barren, like gray ash in a bleak ocean.
The ground was
strewn with shattered rocks and jutting boulders like broken teeth. The sun
seemed hotter here, making everything look blasted and devastated. The
desolation rang with silence, leaving only the crunch of their footsteps. The
wind had nothing but bare rock to rustle against. No birds or insects made any
noise at all.
Journeyman stumped
along beside them, but the dry heat made him move more stiffly.
"Did Scartaris
cause all this?" Bryl asked.
Vailret looked
around, and his eyes were red. "No, that was just reopening an old wound.
It's easy to destroy something that was already knocked to its knees. The final
battles laid waste to a huge section of the map, right here."
He drew a deep
breath. "But the Wars ended here, too. The two factions of Sorcerers
finally made their peace. Did I ever tell you about Stilvess Peacemaker?"
Delrael forced
himself to appear interested, to be part of the group again. "Arken
mentioned that name, didn't he?"
Vailret looked
pleased. "By the time the Wars ended, the Sorcerers were almost worn out.
Most of them had forgotten why they were fighting in the first place. How could
they still be angry about the game of throwing stones at Lady Maire's wedding
celebration, so many turns before?
"Then a
self-appointed mediator appeared among the camps. Stilvess. He wandered from
one army to the other, refusing to reveal which side he came from
―
but he made it clear that he wanted no more war. He was an outstanding orator."
Vailret sighed.
"He brought the two sides together like a crashing wave, making them one
again. He forced the factions to see they were fighting themselves into
extinction.
"Finally, the
son of one of the great generals was killed in a skirmish. Instead of allowing
that to inflame emotions again, Stilvess used that to show the Sorcerers how
much pain their battles were causing. He made the two leaders meet at the
funeral pyre of the general's dead son, and he urged them to cast their
ceremonial swords into the hot flames."
Vailret looked lost
in his own memories. "Sardun had one of those burned swords in the museum
under his Ice Palace."
"I think I
remember it," Bryl said.
Delrael looked
around the wasteland and imagined the furious battles
―
Slac regiments, human
armies, characters slaughtered, old Sorcerer leaders wielding spells...
The hexagon of
desolation fell away behind the black dividing line into another section of
terrain that should have been lush prairie. But all the grass was brown and
dry, scratching together in the breeze like a vast tinderbox. A line of brown
grassy-hill terrain blocked their view of further desolation ahead.
"Enrod founded
a city out here somewhere. Taire," Vailret said. "The characters
spent many turns trying to bring life back to the land, where they could be
reminded of the scars left by the battles. That's why I was so shocked to hear
Enrod coming to destroy us with the Fire Stone
―
he was always a
rebuilder, not a destroyer."
Vailret bent over
to snap a brittle grass blade. "Looks like the Tairans managed to reclaim
these hexes, for a while. Until Scartaris sucked it all dry again. Maybe we'll
find some cropland closer to the city walls."
Delrael kicked the
ground, scuffing up a chunk of dead grass.
They followed the
quest-path to the hills and camped at the hex-line that night. When they moved
on the next day, Delrael stood at the top of a ridge looking down. The hot wind
whipped his hair, but they had gone far enough away from the desolation's
flying dust and grit.
Among the stiff
crags of the Spectre Mountains behind them, he saw a misshapen blob of black
fog crawling out of the distant mountain terrain, touching the ground and
wending its way down the final slope. He recognized it as the dark, shimmering
cloud they had seen from the other side of the mountains. As the nebulous mass
drove headlong into the grassy hills, dust churned up from its passage. He
wondered if the mass was some great force summoned by Scartaris to join his
armies. Or perhaps it was following
them
.
He turned and led
the way down the slope, away from the cloud. They had enough problems already.
The city of Taire
lay ahead of them, large enough to cover five hexagons. It seemed gloomy,
blanketed in shadows, but it was a sign of life like a bulkhead in the
desolation. He wondered why anyone would remain there after Scartaris drained
all life away, killed all their work.
Outside the city
rose great mounds of broken rock. Apparently, the builders of Taire had
intended to make terraced gardens, but they contented themselves with arranging
the shattered boulders in ornate circles. Delrael was impressed that simple
characters had done all that work, picked up all those stones and stacked them
there, cleared the dead hexes to make them fertile again. In vain.
By noon they
reached the black dividing line that marked the beginning of the city. The wall
surrounding Taire was made of gray stone, interlocked blocks without mortar,
and marked at precise intervals by tall parapets to provide a better view of
the desolation beyond.
Carved into the
wall were intricate, stylized friezes depicting scenes from the Game. Vailret
squinted his eyes and scanned them with apparent astonishment. His mouth opened
and closed, just as it had when he confronted Arken.