Reality's Plaything
Page 1
Reality’s Plaything
Reality’s Plaything 1
Will Greenway
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Writers Exchange E-Publishing
ebooks.writers-exchange.com
Copyright ©2001 Will Greenway
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
To Joan Oppenheimer
the “Fearless Leader”
and the
ragtag band of workshop associates who put up with my insanity.
Two decades of spilling blood
for the sake of the craft,
they all have my blessings and thanks.
To Joan especially
who has been the inspiration
and guiding light for myself
and so many others…
A tip of the hat to the
“Band of the Crescent Moon”
the creative wellspring
from which many of the
characters and the world itself
burgeoned before I shaped it
with my unworthy hands.
Brad, Brian, D.J., Dave
Glenn, Jamie, Jeff, Kaye, Lyn
Rob, Robert, and Tony
Intrepid adventurers all,
They do great things in fantastic lands.
* * *
Other books in the Chronicles of the Ring Realms:
Reality’s Plaything Series—Tales following the adventures of Bannor Starfist.
Reality’s Plaything
‘Neath Odin’s Eye
Gaea’s Legacy
Savant’s Blood Series—Tales following the adventures of Wren Kergatha.
Savant’s Blood
Aesir’s Blood
Gaea’s Blood
Shaladen Chronicles Series—Tales following the adventures of Corim Vale.
Shaladen Chronicles: A Knot In Time
Shaladen Chronicles: Anvil of Sorrow
Shaladen Chronicles: Who Mourns the Creator
* * *
Table of Contents
The Savants
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Epilogue
* * *
The Savants
^ »
The historians called it the millennium of the immortal storm. One thousand years had passed since the Silissian holocaust swept the globe of Titaan. The Saughuin invaders had been driven back into the murky depths of the sea, and the dwarven halls at Blackstar rang with the sounds of victory over the orc hordes.
It was an age of gods and those who would challenge them, when demi-gods and goddesses walked the land in the guise of mortals and took lovers and begot children.
Magic was strong and plentiful, and varied were the strains of man that came after the first dilutions of immort blood.
It was the rise of the Ivaneth Empire over a declining Corwin, when the greatest mages and warriors ever to walk the face of Titaan were born and grew strong.
Thence came the Krillar, and the Shael Dal, and the organized bands of adventurers whose strength was the equal of any kingdom’s army.
This time also marked the rise of savants, known to the immortals as the Ka’Amok. For eons, once every few decades men and women were chance gifted with the persistent life sparks of Alpha and Gaea that made them the spiritual brothers and sisters to the pantheon lords. However, the gods treated them not as kin but as prey, hunting them to harvest their bodies for the ritual of succorunding—the forced binding of avatars. For eons that hunt had continued, until the first of true born walked the worlds and grew strong, seeking to end a thousand centuries of predation…
* * *
…There are twelve states of being. The first order of being is Jek’Acho, a state of life and activity without organized thought. Insects and other living things that can act only in a predetermined fashion exist at the level of Jek’Acho.
The twelfth and highest order, Tan’Acho is perfect synchronicity with the cosmos, the ability to redefine the laws that govern existence.
It is believed that only Alpha, the prime First-one can achieve Tan’Acho.
I, however, am of a different mind. The Ka’Amok possess parts of Alpha’s spark.
It is my belief that properly motivated the right Ka’Amok can be brought to Tan’Acho—even against their will.
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter One
« ^ »
“The best gallows job I ever did, and he survived anyway. Guess we’ll have to hang him again.” The gallowsman’s raspy words inspired both wonder and horror in Bannor. In last moments before the scaffold hatch slammed open, he’d fervently wished he could survive and escape to find the slavers who took Sarai. If he died, his betrothed would suffer a life of misery beneath a slaver’s lash.
Each detail stood out in Bannor’s mind with sun-bright clarity—the race of his heart in anticipation of death, the shock as the cord jerked taut, the flash of light around his body, and the crushing grip of the noose.
I’m alive! He forced his eyes open. He felt the prickly kiss of raw hemp rubbing his cheek an
d the vibration of the rope as he spiraled. His neck burned as though wrapped in scalding cloth. A sodden collection of straw-roofed huts hunched beneath a slate-gray sky came into view. The air stank of spoiled straw and stagnant water. Needleleaf trees jutted up in the distance-sharp intrusions on the panorama of green foothills nestled beneath the majesty of Radigast pass.
As Bannor turned, he saw flabby, pig-faced boss Ratch dressed in moth-eaten sheepskins. Two men flanked Ratch, his mountainous enforcer who looked like a summer-sheared broadpaw wearing a floppy hat and suspenders, and the gallowsman, a crater-faced scarecrow dressed in a jaundice yellow tunic.
Blackwater’s drab inhabitants shuffled their feet as they stood in the road that went through the center of the village. They were a motley assortment of men, women and children dressed in rough burlap. None looked as if they’d ever been graced by soap and water.
Have to get loose and find Sarai.
Bannor gasped for air. It felt as if a blade ripped down the side of his neck. He could breathe, but anguish accompanied every breath. He fought against the cords binding his arms.
The people murmured as he kicked on the end of the rope like a prize catch on a fisherman’s stringer. Bannor’s dark hair shrouded his face, skin and leathers, filthy from days in a cell. He narrowed steel-colored eyes, and his hardened body tensed as he struggled with the restraints.
The enforcer spoke in a raspy baritone. “What we do, Boss? He not die, we not get our gold if—”
“Shut up!” Ratch smacked him in the stomach. “Pull him down. We’ll hang the murderer again. Do it right this time.”
Murderer? The bastards had been trying to rape Sarai. Heat burned in Bannor’s chest and his heart raced.
A muscle in the gallowsman’s cheek twitched. “It was done right.”
Ratch’s henchmen clambered onto the platform.
Bannor twisted his arms, feeling wetness on his wrists that must be blood. The enforcer had bound them so tightly his hands had gone numb.
“Pull him up. This wolf is even tougher than he looks.”
The burly enforcer grabbed Bannor’s shoulders, fingers clamping down like the tongs of a blacksmith. The tension in the rope relaxed. The other man worked at pulling the trap door shut and resetting the bolt.
Bannor stared at the crowd. Dingy faces studied him with a mixture of fear and awe. He locked eyes with a young woman. Strings of greasy hair hung across her face. He saw no spark in the girl’s eyes. She turned away when she felt his attention. No one else in the crowd would meet his gaze.
Cowards. The truth isn’t important, only the food and clothing promised to them.
Bent over and trying to fit the bolt in the hole, the gallowsman crouched at the edge of the scaffold. Bannor braced one foot against enforcer and kicked out with the other. Bone popped as his heel struck the hangman’s unprotected head.
The man howled and hit the dirt, writhing and clutching his face.
The big man shook Bannor. “Do that again. I break your neck.”
The irony of his words made Bannor want to laugh. I wish these three would—
A woman’s voice rang out from the edge of the square. “I think not. What you’ll do is cut him loose.” Hope surged through Bannor. He glimpsed the heavy skinning knife on the enforcer’s belt. Maybe I can go for the blade.
The villagers turned toward the speaker. A small woman of perhaps thirty summers swept across the road toward the gallows, a green cloak swirling behind her. Gold hair that shone even in the somber daylight framed a narrow face. She wore a short sword and several sheathed daggers like an experienced fighter.
Following the woman was the biggest Myrmigyne Bannor had ever seen. Ebony hair trailing in the breeze, she appeared a head taller than the enforcer and looked thick with muscle. She nocked an arrow in a great-bow and took a bead on the big man.
“What do you want? Who are you?” Ratch snapped.
The blonde woman stopped near the gallows a pace from where the gallowsman muttered obscenities and wept. She looked Ratch up and down, lip curling. “The question is: what are you?”
The Myrmigyne gestured with the bow. The enforcer set him on the scaffolding near the trap opening. A buzzing filled Bannor’s head, as if insects swarmed inside his skull. The feeling waned. The short woman winced, glanced to the Myrmigyne and nodded.
Ratch reddened. “Listen, woman, I—”
Her sword shrieked from the sheath, leaving a trail of sparks as it sliced open the boss’ jacket leaving only a pink line on the skin beneath.
“Cut him loose.” She pointed at the enforcer. “Otherwise, Irodee will put a shaft between his eyes.”
Ratch’s mud-colored eyes went wide. “You can’t—”
“Irodee, I changed my mind. Shoot him first.”
The Myrmigyne swung the bow around.
They’re here to get me loose! It occurred to him that he might be getting into a worse situation. He discarded the thought. What could be worse than dying and having your mate enslaved?
He sensed the enforcer tensing.
The blonde seemed to feel it too. “Don’t—your boss will be dead before you take a step.” Her blue eyes glinted. She scanned the throng of murmuring villagers. “Anybody feel strongly enough about punishing this murderer that they’ll risk crossing steel?” She turned back to Ratch. “I didn’t think so. What’ll it be?”
The enforcer spoke. “Boss, we’re not going to get our—”
“Shut up!” He eyed the sword glowing in the woman’s hand. “Cut him loose.”
“But Boss—”
“Now!”
Grumbling, the big man undid Bannor’s wrists. Bannor struggled with the rope around his throat. He couldn’t understand why the noose hadn’t suffocated him. He didn’t even feel an indentation in his skin.
The blonde smiled, still keeping the sword ready. “That’s better. Step away. All of you.” She gestured to Bannor. “You—down here.”
Bannor jumped down next to her. One knee buckled and he caught himself. Feel weak. Stay wary, who knows what they want.
She looked shorter than Sarai, and from what he could see of her contours through the leather armor, well made.
“Would it be too much to ask why you’re helping me?”
She didn’t look at him. “Put it this way. Would you let an innocent man hang once, much less twice?”
“No.”
“Neither would I.”
“Innocent!?” The gallowsman bubbled through bloody hands. “He killed my brother!”
Bannor scowled. “Bastard tried to rape my betrothed! When I stopped him, he drew a knife.”
“Sounds reasonable to me. What do you think, Irodee?”
“Think town smell bad, Wren. We go.”
Wren nodded. Bannor felt the odd buzz grow in his head, then dwindle again. His chest tightened. He felt dizzy. The woman put the sword to Ratch’s throat. “Last thing. Where was the elf, Sarai, taken?”
He paled. “I don’t—” He gagged as the blade pressed into his skin. “West, toward Marintown.”
“Thank you.”
She knew about Sarai! “How did you—?”
“Rescue first, conversation later. West.” She pointed.
Bannor took a breath and the queasiness passed. Eying Ratch’s henchmen, he walked in the direction indicated. Irodee stayed close behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see what the shorter woman did.
She drew a dagger and flipped it into a throwing position. Pointing to the fat man she said, “Don’t follow us. They aren’t paying you for that kind of grief.” The blade whirled from her hand and impaled the hanging rope ten paces distant. It hung there vibrating. “Get me?” She snapped her fingers and the dagger reappeared in her grip. It drew a chorus of breaths from the audience.
“Boss, we’re not—”
“Quiet!”
The whole town watched as they walked into the forest. The two women kept a brisk pace, not saying a word. They moved as thou
gh woods-wise, staying on hard ground and balancing along deadfalls to prevent leaving tracks. The hanging had taken more out of him than he first realized. All the rocks and trees appeared ringed by a white corona. Odors were distorted as well, the scent of needleleaf and sage, even the traces of the recently passed storm, smelled strong. His skin tingled, and he felt hot.
“How’s the neck?”
He struggled to keep his voice level. “Hurts. Didn’t get a chance to thank you.”
“It’s only fair. You’ll be helping me soon.”
Bannor rubbed his throat. Can’t let them see how weak I am until I know if I can trust them. I have to find Sarai. He took extra care picking through some bracken in their path. “You assume much. I know nothing of you.”
“My name is Wren. That’s Irodee. You’re Bannor Starfist. Those thugs were paid to kidnap your girlfriend, Sarai. You resisted; the big guy clubbed you. Being nice ladies, we helped out.”
Bannor stumbled on a root and caught himself by leaning against a tree. The texture of the bark felt all wrong, smooth instead of with ripples and indentations. He strained to stay focused on Wren. “How do you know all this?” The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee think Wren going too fast.”
“Hey, whose rescue is this anyway?”
Bannor moved a little further, then stopped and leaned against a boulder. He couldn’t concentrate on talking and walking at the same time. “I want to know why you helped me. What do you expect in return? I won’t do anything—” “—until we get Sarai back. I knew that.”
Bannor clutched the sides of his head. It would be bad enough without the world spinning. What’s happening?
“Stop finishing my sentences for me!”
“Only trying to save time. We have to move fast if we’re going to catch those slavers.”