Game Play (6 page)

Delrael adjusted
the sword at his side. The silver belt around his waist looked gaudy in
contrast with his scuffed and mended leather armor. "I thought nobody knew
how the Wars started. It was so many turns ago."

Vailret shook his
head. "Tareah knew the story. It's sad in one way and stupid in another.
Would you believe a wedding party, an athletic contest?"

He shrugged.
"Of course, legends make things too simplistic. They ignore all the sociological
factors of the characters, how the Sorcerers divided into two camps just
waiting for a spark to set them at each others' throats.

"Our two
athletes, one from each faction, were Sesteb and Turik. The Sorcerer Lord
Armund had married his Lady Maire. The couple hosted a gala wedding feast at
Armund's lakeside palace, then they began an afternoon of games. Games
―
" Vailret shook his head. "Fun and games
―
think of all
the trouble they've caused us."

"Think of all
the fun we had," Delrael countered.

"Games were
simpler then. The main sport was to see who could throw a stone farthest out
onto Lord Armund's lake, Sesteb or Turik. Turik was muscular, but Sesteb was
clever and wiry.

"Lord Armund
arranged to have a line of boats strung out on the hexagonal lake, so
characters could float a marker where each stone landed.

Turik flung his
stone first and reached the ring of boats. Nobody believed Sesteb could ever
match it.

"But Sesteb
picked a small flat stone. He stepped up to the edge of the water and cast it
at an angle, skipping it across the surface of the lake. On its last bounce,
the stone jumped past the ring of boats."

Delrael laughed.
"Good strategy."

"Well you can
imagine what happened. The other characters had placed high wagers on the game,
so of course Turik's supporters said that Sesteb had cheated, while the others
argued that Sesteb's stone went the farthest and nothing else mattered. Both
sides refused to pay their wagers, which led to open hostility before long. It
didn't help that everybody had too much wine at the wedding feast, either.

"Lord Armund
demanded that the two groups make peace so they didn't ruin his wedding
celebration. He went to Sesteb's supporters and asked them to begin the
competition all over again
―
but they killed Armund in their drunken
anger and tossed him out of their tent."

Bryl made a rude
noise. "I thought old Sorcerer lords were a little more dignified than
that."

Vailret agreed.
"So you might think. When the Lady Maire witnessed the murder of her new
husband, she used her sorcery to spawn an ugly, vengeful monster
―
the first ogre, which then slaughtered the characters that had killed Lord
Armund. Turik's supporters created their own monsters to continue the fight,
then Sesteb's friends made even more powerful ones to defend themselves."

Delrael and Bryl
looked at him as they continued to walk. The path ahead of them zig-zagged
clearly through the trees.

Vailret continued.
"Sure, some characters called for peace, but the others enjoyed the war
games even more."

"I'll bet the
Outsiders had a hand in that," Delrael said.

"The saddest
part is that Turik and Sesteb were themselves the best of friends and refused
to take part in the fighting. But the other characters forced them to engage in
a duel to the death. More games. Being a lot stronger, Turik killed Sesteb and
then carried his friend's broken body with him to the lakeshore. Turik walked
out until the waves closed over his head."

"How
dramatic," Bryl said.

Delrael shook his
head. "Shows what happens when you play a game without having the rules
set down beforehand."

The trees ahead of
them parted, and Vailret caught his first close glimpse of the Barrier River.
Grayish brown, the River roiled in its pondering progress from the top of the
map to the bottom. The water hauled buried debris from what had once been
normal terrain.

The bank was a
sharp black line where the forest ended and the water began. A transition zone
of sticky mud bordered the hex-line, glistening wet.

Vailret could hear
the water moving, pushing against hidden obstacles. The river carried with it a
smell of decay from the rotting remains of woodlands and quiet meadows drowned
in the flood. A few birds flew out over the water, hunting for insects.

"And
that
isn't going to stop Scartaris?" Delrael shook his head. "I don't
understand what we're up against."

Vailret stared
across the water. "The River might buy us time if Scartaris sends an
attacking army
―
but we need to prepare for a different type of
enemy. Scartaris might have been what turned Enrod against us."

"Sure looks
like an effective barrier to me," Bryl said. "It's a full hex wide
―
how are
we
going to get across?"

"You're going
to swim, of course. Bring a rope with you," Delrael answered with a
straight face. He probably had not even considered the problem before now.

The half-Sorcerer
glared back, but Delrael's expression showed no humor. Bryl looked away,
scowling. He took out the Fire and Air Stones, but the gems could not help them.

Vailret spoke, but
he knew they weren't going to like it. "Tareah said Enrod could carry us.
On his raft."

Delrael and Bryl
did a doubletake. Vailret kept himself from smiling, though he enjoyed the
astonishment on their faces.

"She told me
that when the Deathspirits cursed Enrod to take his raft back and forth, they
said he had to assist anyone trying to save the world. Or something like that.
We of course have spotlessly pure intentions
―
"The corner of
his mouth turned upward.

Delrael frowned.
"Since Enrod tried to destroy us all, maybe Bryl shouldn't flaunt the Fire
Stone too much."

Bryl stuffed the
ruby gem up the sleeve of his blue cloak. "I sure don't want him angry
with me. He's a full-blooded Sorcerer."

"We have to
figure out how to summon him first." Vailret squinted at the distance. His
eyesight was never terribly good, but he thought he saw a smudge across the
water.

"We might not
have to worry about that," Delrael said. "There's a bank of mist
coming
―
straight toward us."

The air felt cold
and clammy around them as the fog rolled in. They could hear waves lapping
against an object in the water, then the silhouette became clear. A raft.

A tormented-looking
man used a long pole to haul the raft close to shore, but he remained carefully
away from the hex-line. Enrod the Sentinel looked disheveled, once massively
built, but now wiry. His black hair and beard showed streaks of gray spreading
out around his cheeks and temples. A wild glaze covered his eyes, directing his
sight deep inside, where he was trapped with his own thoughts. The Deathspirits
had cursed him only a short while ago.

Enrod did not look
at the travelers, did not speak a word. He merely worked his pole, turning the
raft toward the opposite shore. He paused a moment, then dug the pole into the
river mud and pushed. Slow to gain momentum, the raft moved a few more feet
away from the shore.

"Wait!"
Vailret hurried to jump onto the raft. The lashed logs swayed as he gained his
balance. Delrael leaped over to join him. Bryl hesitated at the edge of the
River, then jumped across.

Enrod's raft moved
with greater speed, rocking as the Sentinel worked his pole. They drew away
from the shore, then mist closed around them in a damp cocoon.

The mist muffled
even the noise from the River, and all other sounds fell away. The line of
trees on the shore faded into murky skeletal shapes, then vanished altogether.

The hush around
them made Vailret afraid to talk, but Bryl finally whispered, "I can't see
where we're going. How do we know we're making any progress at all?"

Enrod gave no sign
that he even realized the passengers had joined him on the raft. The dirty
sleeves of his robe flopped around his wrists as he raised the pole, dripping
water and river mud, then pushed down again.

"What if he
wants to keep us here?" Bryl whispered again. The half-Sorcerer's eyes
were wide, and he hunched down into his cloak, as if trying to hide.
"We're the ones who created the River. We're the ones he was coming to
blast with the Fire Stone. I don't see the Deathspirits here to protect us
―
what if their curse isn't strong enough?"

Vailret had no
answers for him, but Bryl's fear struck home. After another moment in silence,
Delrael said, "Shut up, Bryl. Thanks for pointing that out to him."

Enrod gave no sign
that he had heard.

Vailret stared at
the cursed Sentinel. Enrod's eyes were red and unfocused, possessed. He had
been driven into madness somehow, he had wanted to blast all the hexagons into
blackened cinders. Did he know that his imagined enemies stood directly beside
him? Did he know that Bryl carried
his
Fire Stone no more than two steps
away?

"Enrod? Enrod,
can you hear me?" Vailret stood beside him, but the Sentinel did not
flinch.

"I've heard
many legends about you. I know what you attempted to do for Taire. You remained
behind from the Transition to help rebuild the blasted lands. You wanted to
atone for all the damage done in the old Sorcerer Wars."

Enrod fixed his
eyes at the blank wall of mist in front of him. He lifted his arms and pushed
down on the pole.

"Enrod,"
Vailret continued, "we know the Outsiders put something in the east, a
monster called Scartaris who's going to destroy Gamearth. Can you tell us
anything about him?"

The dark-haired
Sentinel seemed to be in a world of his own. He moved jerkily. His eyes did not
blink.

"Enrod, please
help us!"

Enrod lifted his
pole out of the water.

"The whole
Game is at stake!" Vailret clutched at the Sentinel's tattered white
sleeve, trying to yank his attention away from the raft.

In a lightning blur
of speed, Enrod snapped backward with his right foot, scooped it behind
Vailret's legs. He slashed with the mud-dripping pole and jabbed with his
elbow.

Vailret tumbled,
sprawling to the deck of the raft. He skidded and grabbed at the pitch-covered
logs to keep from falling into the water.

In a fluid motion,
Enrod composed himself again, thrust his pole back into the River, and pushed
on.

It all happened so
fast that Delrael could do little more than bend over to catch his cousin. Bryl
blinked in astonishment.

Enrod acted as if
nothing had happened at all.

Vailret coughed and
tried to catch his breath, opening and closing his mouth. Then he climbed back
to his feet, brushing himself off. He said nothing, but continued to watch
Enrod out of the corner of his eye....

Before long, shapes
appeared in the mist ahead of them, the dark silhouettes of trees from the far
shore. Vailret squinted as they approached closer until the fog around the raft
broke open, letting him see the hex-line of the shore.

Enrod moved toward
the bank, stopped the raft just before touching, then held it in place with the
pole. He turned his neck on sluggish muscles to look at the three passengers,
but he made absolutely no sign of recognition.

He began to turn
the raft around again.

Delrael jumped to
the shore, clearing the hex-line and landing on the dry forest soil. Bryl
scrambled off, splashed in the mud, and joined the fighter.

Vailret turned
again to plead with the Sentinel. "I wish you could help us, Enrod."

His back turned to
Vailret, Enrod hesitated and then pushed the raft away from the bank. Vailret
jumped across the widening gap of water and landed beside his two companions.

Vailret shook his
head. "He's so powerful, and the whole map is in such trouble. I wish his
magic wasn't wasted like this!"

"Are you
forgetting he was going to blast our entire land?" Bryl said.

"He wanted to
destroy us all. The end result would be the same as Scartaris."

As the raft moved
away again, the island of mist curled around Enrod and swallowed him up until
Vailret could no longer see him or the raft or, after a few moments, the mist
itself.

"We'll never
know."

Delrael rubbed his
hands together and turned to face the forest terrain stretching away from the
river. "Let's get going. We've got plenty of hexes to travel."

A strange voice
interrupted them from beside the River. "Hold your horses! Play it again,
Sam." The voice was deep and hollow, and did not belong to any of them. A
burble of mud from the bank made Vailret look down.

The thick clay
opened a hole like a mouth, with lips protruding and moving to form words. But
the quality of the voice changed, becoming loud and abrasive. "Listen to
me when I'm talking to ya, boy! Now, pay attention!"