Game Play (31 page)

Tareah was
responsible for her actions. Her powers and her abilities would not permit her
to remain passive in the coming battles.

She paced around
the fallen wall where dirt trickled between toppled logs that had been
sharpened on top. The Stronghold buildings were all collapsed, the sword posts
knocked over, the gate and the bridge across the trench both crumbled. A crude
walkway allowed the other characters to look at the result of Scartaris's
attack.

Tareah ran both
hands through her light brown hair. Her eyes had a distant look as she began to
speak. The villagers still did not interrupt her
―
the destruction
of the Stronghold awed them too much.

"Many turns
ago, at the beginning of the Scouring, the great human general Doril founded
this Stronghold. He had just lost all of his fighters as well as the Sentinel
Oldahn, his friend, in a Slac fortress. Doril wanted to escape the battles of
the Scouring, to live in peace away from the Game.

"He found the
characters here innocent and completely unprepared to defend themselves. When
he arrived, Doril strode out of the forest terrain to the fields where farmers
were working. He told them of the marauding Slac armies in the nearby hexagons,
and of the bloodshed in the Scouring. 'Do you comfort yourselves by thinking
the Outsiders would never bring the battles here?' he asked. 'Or do you fancy
you could defeat a brutal Slac regiment with your rakes and sticks?'"

As she told the
story, Tareah put her hands on her hips, imitating the stance she imagined
Doril had taken. "So Doril build this Stronghold. It has withstood many
attacks and protected the characters in this village for all that time.

"But Scartaris
sent the Slave of the Serpent here to slay Tarne. He brought the rat-creatures
to destroy the Stronghold itself. Scartaris has brought the battle
here
. Like
those first farmers confronted by Doril, we can no longer live our lives and
ignore the rest of the Game. We must be prepared to defend ourselves in any way
we know how."

She stood there
watching. The forest terrain around Steep Hill seemed tranquil, filled with
quiet sounds of rustling leaves, birdsong and insects.

The stream gushing
along the hex-line rattled over rocks. The deceptive peacefulness bothered her.

The villagers
fidgeted, uneasy. "When is Delrael coming back?" Derow the blacksmith
asked, mumbling the words into his full dark beard.

"Yes,"
Mostem the baker said, grinning. "Once Delrael destroys Scartaris, we
won't have to worry anymore."

Tareah felt anger
rising within her. "Delrael left
me
here! He trusted me to watch over
the village and the Stronghold. Even if Delrael does destroy Scartaris, how is
he going to stop a gigantic army that's waiting to charge across the map? Think
about it! Scartaris has gathered ten times as many fighting monsters as ever
engaged in the old Sorcerer wars. Are they just going to sit still even if
Scartaris is destroyed? We have to be prepared."

Siya stood by
Tareah. She appeared frightened and confused, with red-rimmed eyes that showed
how tired she was. But most of all she looked angry. "The Outsiders won't
leave us alone to live our lives. If they want us to fight, then we should
fight
them
."

Tareah went forward
to the villagers. She walked among them, looking each in the eye as she talked.
"None of us is trained. But we'll have to learn how. We must train
ourselves."

The sun shown down
on them, and Tareah felt exposed on top of Steep Hill, as if giant Outside eyes
were staring down at her. She pushed the thought out of her head and turned her
mind to the job before her.

She directed the
villagers to sift through the wreckage of the storehouse, to pick out all the
old weapons that could be used or repaired.

Tareah helped them,
though she grew gloomier as she waded through the splinters and broken walls.
Marks from tiny teeth and claws scored every scrap of wood.

Drodanis had
conducted all his private role-playing training in the darkness here,
surrounded by old weapons. Vailret told her of his imaginary adventure, how
real the training had been for him. Now the storehouse lay collapsed. The
Stronghold was ruined. It had been her responsibility.

They separated the
swords, bows, maces, spears, shields, armor all into separate piles. Tareah
found herself wasting too much time staring at the inlaid designs of relics
that had been gathered from various treasure hoards.

Apparently,
Drodanis had been as avid a collector as her father.

Tareah held one of
the simple blades, a short sword, up for the blacksmith to see. "From now
on, Derow, concentrate on making swords. We'll need a greater supply if we're
going to gather an army. We'll send out couriers to gather all the other
characters from settlements far and wide."

Derow shuffled his
feet and looked at the sample blade she held up. "My craftsmanship can
never match anything like this." His face turned red with shame. "The
old Sorcerer swordsmiths were masters. Look at the skill in even their simplest
pieces! I can't begin to
―
"

"You'll do
fine, Derow." Tareah held up her hand. "A sword needs to
cut
. It
doesn't need to be beautiful."

The blacksmith
still looked at her skeptically, but he set to work gathering and studying the
remaining swords.

Tareah clapped her
hands and walked among the other villagers, directing some to mount the archery
targets, others to erect the sword posts, using logs from the fallen wall if
necessary. Others went out into the forest to find straight twigs for arrows,
saplings for bows. The children made bird traps to furnish feathers for
fletching the arrows.

Siya wandered
around, acting busy. Tareah kept too occupied to notice what Siya was doing
until the old woman picked up a sword for herself and went over to the section
of the wall where they had recently buried Tarne. Siya's husband Cayon also lay
there.

She stood with the
sword propped in front of her, its tip stuck in the soft ground. The sun
glinted off gems in the hilt. Tareah noticed a strange gleam in her eyes.

"We will
train. We will be ready," Siya said. She took a step forward to stand by
Tareah. The other villagers paused to look up at her.

"We will be
fighters!
"

Chapter 18:

DELRAEL'S SECOND
CHANCE

"RULE #10.
Combat on Gamearth follows rigid guidelines. The accompanying tables give
details on how fighting is commenced according to experience, armor, available
weapons, and many other factors. Combat can come in different forms, such as
surprise attack, team attack, or single combat."

―
The Book of
Rules

Mindar's blank
white eyes stared at them. She did not blink. Her skin was pale and cold.
Delrael couldn't see her breathing, but he knew she remained alive Scartaris
had healed her
―
he wasn't finished playing with her yet.

Delrael shook her
by the shoulders. "Mindar!"

Her head swayed
from side to side, then righted itself and stared straight ahead. Delrael
gritted his teeth and turned to glare toward the mountains in the east.

"Del
―
" He jumped when Vailret touched him on the arm. "With the horses
gone now, we'll already be slowed down. Will we take her with us?"

"What if
Scartaris is watching us through her eyes?" Bryl asked.

Delrael let go of
Mindar. He hunkered down and stared into the embers of the bonfire, trying to
decide. Conflicting thoughts churned through his head. He could find no
clearcut solution, and he didn't like it.

The fire burned low
and crackled. The tainted wood smelled bitter and unpleasant, but the predawn
air seemed clear, empty of the Cailee. They had watched the creature vanish.

He drew a deep
breath. "We won't leave her behind, no matter what Scartaris wants us to
do. She has as much at stake as we do. Maybe more. Look what he's done to
her."

"Maybe she'll
snap out of it," Vailret said, but his voice sounded weak. Delrael made no
other comment.

He stood up and
sheathed his sword. He picked up Mindar's tattered whip lying in the dust and
dropped it into the fire where it curled and turned black. Mindar stood stiff
and unresponsive when he fastened the rippled sword at her waist.

"There, now
you're ready. Whenever you want to fight, we need your help." Delrael's
voice was soothing and quiet. "Journeyman can you carry her?"

"Aye aye,
Cap'n!"

He frowned.
"Does that mean yes?"

"Yes."

The golem scooped
up Mindar in his broad arms. Her limbs to flopped and hung down. She didn't
rearrange herself into a more comfortable position.

Delrael stared at
her milky blank eyes and felt sick to his stomach.

"Let's get
moving."

By noon they had
crossed an entire hexagon. The air was cool and parched, but heated up when the
sun rose overhead. They spoke little as they moved. The mountains of Scartaris
lay only a few hexagons distant.

But when they
reached the hex-line, they stopped short. The black line separated one section
of desolate terrain from the next, but instead of the narrow black boundary
where hexagons butted against each other, the black line yawned five
man-lengths wide. It looked to Delrael as if the Outsiders had snapped the map
apart, dividing the sections with a canyon that stretched down through the
thickness of the map and out the bottom of the universe itself.

Delrael stared into
the deep crevasse. Warm air drifted upward, bringing odd, alien smells. In the
blackness below were strange swirling images, maddening shadows of things he
did not want to see. He turned away immediately, afraid he might see a deadly
glimpse of
reality
.

"We can't get
across." Delrael put his hands on his hips, frowning. He felt anger
building. He didn't like to be delayed from his quest.

He held the silver
belt at his waist, and the metal seemed to ripple beneath his fingers. He
knew
the Earthspirits were there, but they couldn't destroy Scartaris unless
he took them there.

"There'll be a
way, Del," Vailret said, analyzing. "If this is part of the Game, the
Outsiders have to give us some way through. They can't violate their own
Rules."

But as far as they
could see in both directions, the chasm seemed unbroken. The wide black line
extended for hexagon after hexagon, a broad crack in the map.

"We'll have to
follow it until we find someplace where Scartaris
wants
us to cross."

Delrael looked up.
Wheeling batlike creatures flew high above. They seemed to be staring down at
the travelers, but did not come closer.

"Scartaris is
watching us," Bryl said.

"Let him
watch." Journeyman pushed his clay lips in a snarl. "A little bottomless
chasm isn't going to stop us."

They moved along
the edge, hot and exhausted. Because of the flat terrain, Delrael could see the
white line of the main quest-path long before they neared it. The road to
Scartaris's lair approached the zig-zagging chasm, and when Delrael shaded his
eyes he could see a bridge, some kind of tunnel spanning the crack in the map.

This would be the
perfect spot for Scartaris to ambush travelers, a place for a malevolent
guardian to stop any enemies. He pondered and looked at Mindar's limp,
blank-eyed form cradled in Journeyman's arms.

Mindar had said
something about a demon guardian, the Slave of the Serpent.

Delrael took a deep
breath of the dry air and blinked his eyes. His skin felt warm and sunburned,
flushed. Mindar lay motionless. He had a score to settle with Scartaris. Now
more than ever. He set off at a faster pace. His boots left deep, sharp prints
in the dusty ground.

When they reached
the wide quest-path, Delrael looked at the bridge across the chasm. A dry,
unpleasant smell hung at the back of his mouth, like the taste of rusty metal.

The bridge was not
just a tunnel, but the gigantic spinal column of some long-dead beast, hanging
by itself. Dried strips of sinew held the vertebrae together, leaving wide gaps
for the air to blow through with an eerie whistling hum. Tree-sized bones from
the creature's limbs lay sprawled across the dust, a claw here, a bowed rib
that had long since been cracked by smaller things that chewed away the marrow
and left a hollow shell. A dust-covered mound lay off to the side of the
quest-path, near where the ancient monster's skull should have been. The rest
of the bones were not in sight
―
they had probably fallen down
into the chasm.

They would have to
walk through the bowed, cavelike bridge of vertebrae draped across the hex-line
gap. Smells drifted out of the bridge opening, and a jungle of black shadows
flickered as light flitted in and out of the gaps.

Two giant boulders
stood propped against the opening. Other bones and dead things lay piled
outside, though they could easily have been discarded in the black gulf.