Authors: Game's End
He plucked a curved twig from the end of a branch and held it up. The twig looked like a long sharp hook. When he brought the broken end to his nose, the sap smelled sour and rotten.
Tayron squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears to run sideways down his cheeks.
This was not Ledaygen. It would never be Ledaygen. He fooled himself, as did all the khelebar. All their effort had merely been to distract them from grief. They should have accepted the loss, healed, and moved on. Ledaygen was gone; it had been gone since the fire.
Delrael's army completed their preparations several hours before the vanguard of Siryyk's horde arrived. Most of the fighters had moved into position on the far side of the hexagon.
Many fighters walked about, eager for battle. They had marched long and trained hard; knowing that the monsters were so near made them enthusiastic for a fight. But Delrael refused, telling them that they had no need to tip their hand yet, or to risk lives.
Tayron Tribeleader's ambush plan required none of that.
Kellos and seventeen ylvans waited on the leading edge of Ledaygen, watching as the vanguard approached. They hid behind trees, camouflaged in their splotched uniforms. Kellos crouched close to one of the trunks, but avoided touching the bark. The wrongness of all the trees made his skin crawl.
He looked behind him, making sure he could find the tiny marks on the ash-strewn forest floor. The other ylvans also noted their positions, making sure they could locate the subtle signs even in the frenzy of retreat.
The front line of monsters approached under the hot afternoon sun. They plodded along at a steady pace. The creatures on the flanks seemed uneasy; they had been harried enough by scattered attacks and traps that they walked with heightened awareness.
A regiment of Slac formed the rigid front lines with locked shields made of greenish-tan leather. They held various pointed weapons, spiked balls, barbed spears, and jagged swords. Behind them followed ranks of demons with exagerrated claws and fangs and spined armor. They did not slow as they reached the hex-line into the forest terrain.
Kellos made a crackling noise with saliva in his mouth. It sounded like branches clicking together overhead, but the ylvans withdrew their crossbows. As soon as Kellos coughed, all seventeen leaped away from their hiding places, shouting as they launched forth a full attack with crossbows. They fired over and over again. The tiny bolts made whistling sounds in the air.
As the monster army reacted with a roar, fourteen of the front Slac toppled with crossbow bolts in their eyes and throats. Predictably, the rest of the army lunged forward, brandishing weapons and charging into the trees.
Kellos paused for two seconds longer and let off another pair of crossbow bolts, bringing down one more enemy. Then he gave the signal for retreat, and the ylvans turned and fled deeper into the trees, stepping only on their marks.
When the front wave of the vanguard crashed into the forest terrain, suddenly the ground vanished beneath their feet with a puff of gray ash. Twenty monster fighters plunged face-first into long trenches filled with spikes.
The second wave of booby-traps sprung as the ylvans brushed past them, and a line of trees toppled backward into the monster army. All the topmost branches had been sharpened into wooden stakes.
Laughing, Kellos and his ylvans continued to flee, still avoiding any touch from the warped trees of Ledaygen.
Siryyk's vanguard howled behind them, negotiating the obstacles and struggling deeper into the forest, deeper into the trap.
Delrael waited as the ylvans burst back to the hex-line where his own army stood prepared. The little forest people looked flushed, smeared with ashes and scratched from their rapid flight. Even Kellos bore an expression of stormy delight at the destruction he had caused.
Tayron clapped his hands for the attention of the other khelebar. "You know your positions. You know what you must do."
The panther-people stood uneasy. Ydaim turned to the Tribeleader. "Are you certain, Tayron? You can't change your mind once we go."
"My decision has already been set in motion," Tayron answered. "We must hold the memory of Ledaygen true, not waste our efforts with a distorted imitation. We've worked hard, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. But now we must do what the Game calls for. The true Ledaygen vanished in the first fire."
One of the khelebar groaned, but Tayron whirled. "We will have no more despairing! We are strong. Now go..." Despite his words, his own voice caught as he spoke the command. "Go, and burn Ledaygen."
The khelebar, bearing torches, loped off to their positions around the hexagon, where they would flank the monster vanguard. Their torches flickered like beacons as they vanished among the doomed trees.
A sharp breeze whipped up and over the hex-discontinuity, whistling around Noldir's carving. The hole where Tayron Tribeleader had dug up the pine seedling looked like a dark wound.
Tareah waited in the trees on the far side of the council clearing. She heard the sounds of the approaching monster army long before they actually arrived. She got ready.
Across from her, Enrod stood in his tattered robes, preparing his own spells. He held his hands out under the bright sunshine, staring at the warm light on his skin.
Delrael had at first forbidden them to take part in the attack. "Not necessary," he said. "And I don't want to risk you." But Tareah had looked at him with a thread of anger behind her eyes, and Delrael stumbled on his words. "Well, only if you think it's safe. And I mean that!"
Tareah had smiled. He seemed afraid of repeating his own mistakes over again. "We can strike from a distance and cause some damage, then we'll leave before they can find us."
Delrael had dispatched several scouts to keep an eye on her. But that didn't bother Tareah; she found his concern touching, as long as he let her participate in the adventure.
The vanguard of the monster horde had lost all semblance of rank and order when they charged into the clearing. Tareah wasted no time and rolled the Water Stone. She grabbed it up again; power surged into her.
Thick storm clouds congealed in the sky, swirling and scraping masses of air and sending many-pronged spears of lightning. The bolts struck, blasting chunks of dirt and monster fighters into the air. The creatures screamed at the sudden attack.
Tareah rolled the sapphire again, using more than a single spell at once. This time she summoned an enormous wind that caused the running monsters to stagger. She caught a group of demons near the edge of the hex-discontinuity and, jutting her chin with an imaginary push, flung them over the edge. Then she struck again with the lightning.
The vanguard swirled about, not knowing where to run or where the attack was coming from.
Enrod made a fist and looked up with glazed eyes. The weapons held by the creatures suddenly turned cherry red. They dropped their steel, hissing with burned hands. Four black-robed Slac erupted into flames from the insides of their bodies; blue fire spurted from their eyeballs and ears with a popping sound. They didn't even scream. Enrod let out a shuddering sigh of ecstasy.
"Enough!" Tareah called among the screams. She wanted to roll the sapphire again, but she had agreed. Together, they turned and ran back through the forest before the monsters could find them.
Delrael watched the smoke from the advancing fires. The khelebar had laid out careful kindling paths so that the inferno would inward, leaving the monsters with no escape.
"Let's move out of here," Delrael said.
"That soil is thirsty for blood," Tayron said. "It has acquired a taste for it."
The Tribeleader carried a deep wooden container that bore the seedling of the one healthy pine. "We are not destroying Ledaygen. Ledaygen died long ago. We are merely making it impossible for an abomination to thrive."
As they drew farther away from the hexagon, Ydaim and the other khelebar returned. Tareah and Enrod stared behind him, toward the edges of the forest.
Great curls of smoke poured up from the entire hexagon. Dozens of individual blazes reached out and encircled the trapped monsters.
Ledaygen burned.
――――
THE VIEW FROM THE VOLCANO
"What lies beyond the edge of Gamearth? An ancient map fragment bore the notation
Here Be Monsters
. But we have monsters aplenty on Gamearth itself. Does the edge hold something even worse?"
―
The Book of Rules
Professor Frankenstein walked with a hunched back from the enormous weight of the lead helmet on his head. He plodded with each step, grimacing as his legs hauled their extra burden.
"How do you know that helmet will even work?" Vailret asked.
Frankenstein shrugged, but the gesture made his head tip forward off balance, about to roll off his shoulders. "I don't
know
it'll work. But I must do anything I can to decrease the risk. If the invisible force is controlling our minds, then I must shield my brain."
"Whatever you say," Vailret said.
They kept pace with Frankenstein as he took quick, tiny steps. They reached a tall building near the ocean hexagons.
"We destroyed the manufactories up and down this thoroughfare with our own hands, under direction of the evil controller," the professor said. "But this warehouse hasn't been a target yet. We use it only for storage."
From his belt, Frankenstein removed a ring that jingled with many keys. He started to bend over, but grasped the brick wall for balance. "Please look down at the bottom brick," he said. "There should be a code number chiselled in it."
Bryl knelt down. "It's a long one ― R124C 41+."
Careful not to tilt his head, Frankenstein held the key ring up to his eye level and flipped through the keys until he found an identical number stamped along one shaft. He opened the padlock in front of the door and then, wavering on his feet, he stepped back to let Vailret and Bryl pull the doors open.
The warehouse proved to be one large hangar. Light shone from cracks in the roof slats, and dust motes fell like gold flecks through the sunlight. Inside, near the front, Vailret saw a leather-trimmed basket ― the gondola of a balloon just like the first one they had taken from Sitnalta. Tucked inside it and draped along the back lay the voluminous folds of the balloon itself, with bright splashes of red and white.
Frankenstein stood with his elbow against the wall. His hand propped up the back of his head to take the weight of the lead helmet from his neck.
"You recall that when we first gave you experimental balloon number VI, we weren't sure it would work. We had never found a Sitnaltan volunteer to test it.
"But after you proved it to be a complete success, Jules and I enlisted the aid of other inventors to construct this larger model, which can comfortably carry several passengers. Otherwise, all the details are the same, even down to the red-and-white color scheme, on the chance that the heat-absorption properties of specific colors made some small but significant change in its performance." He ran his fingers along the folds of the bright balloon lying limp in the basket.
"But we grew engrossed in other things. Investigating the Outsiders' ship, which you told us about, occupied most of our time." Frankenstein turned his head and winced at the strain on his neck muscles. "We never got a chance to go exploring with this balloon."
Vailret looked off to one side, deeper in the dusty shadows, and saw another large machine. This one was bright green with a wooden framework and several stretched batlike wings extending from the sides of a waspish body. Two propellers protruded, one from the rear and one from its top. Other wires and rudders connected to steering levers, and two fragile seats sat just behind sets of pedals.
"What's this?" Vailret said.
"We're not interested," Bryl said.
Frankenstein turned to look, and his dark eyes took on a distant expression. "Oh, that's another flying contraption, called a 'pedal-kite,' I believe. It was invented by Professor Wright and his brother Professor Wright. It's got a very light construction, good for updrafts once you reach a certain height. By pedaling with your feet, the propellers turn and provide lift for the entire vehicle, which then can glide a short distance. It's aerodynamically sound and based on solid scientific Rules, everything a good invention should be.
"But it does have one drawback. You see, if you stop pedaling, the entire vehicle crashes." He frowned. "Not good for long journeys, I'm afraid."
"We'll take the balloon," Vailret said.
"I thought you would."
Bryl helped Vailret drag the gondola across the concrete floor of the hangar and out into the middle of the street. Frankenstein watched them, breathing heavily. "Blast this helmet!" he muttered to himself.
Vailret and Bryl pulled out the balloon and spread it on the cobblestones. Other Sitnaltan characters watched what they were doing. Vailret began to feel a sense of urgency, afraid the invisible force might decide to make the Sitnaltans attack them.
They used the ropes to attach the balloon to its basket, straightening tangles and doublechecking fastenings. Frankenstein muttered encouragement and offered instructions when they became confused.
Inside the warehouse, Vailret found four cannisters of the lighter-than-air gas broken down from sea water in the Sitnaltan manufactories. He and Bryl linked two cannisters to the open end of the balloon and twisted the valves to bleed out the gas.
They tucked the folds, watching the great sack fill sluggishly. It seemed to take a long time for any noticeable change. Vailret cranked the valves farther; the hissing gas sounded like the roar of a fire.
When the balloon finally swelled like a limp overripe fruit, Vailret and Bryl climbed into the gondola. Bryl moved slowly on his stiff old legs. Frankenstein waved at them. They called farewell to him, but the professor turned and staggered away, holding onto his helmet with both hands.