Delrael looked at the queen, at the other Anteds, then sheathed his sword. “We don’t have any choice, again,” he said. “We never get to do anything in this adventure.”
Journeyman restored his swollen fists to normal size. “He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.”
Consort snatched up the empty shell of the Anted head he had found and swayed forward, walking like an insect. He turned once to see that the others followed him. One of the giant ants entered the passage behind them, keeping watch.
#
Consort capered ahead of them, exuding coiled power and nervous energy. The tunnels wound downhill again until they saw only the dim greenish light from patches of fungus on the wall. Occasionally, an Anted poked its massive head out of side tunnels, watching the captives’ progress. Delrael could sense other insects following in the darkness of the tunnels behind them. Somehow in her great hive mind Ryx watched through all of their eyes.
Delrael kept the directions filed away in his mind. As a questing character he could recall exactly where he had been and how to retrace his steps. He kept his eyes open for any way they might escape or defeat the Anteds, ready to act on it without thinking if an idea came to mind.
They crossed a hex-line etched into the passage, up the walls, and across the ceiling over their heads, as if the Anteds had tunnelled directly through the black mark that went to the base of the map. “That’s half of the desolation hexes,” Tallin said. “Things can start getting better now.”
The green light grew brighter ahead. Consort turned the corner, leading them to the glowing opening of a wide chamber. Light streamed from it.
“In,” he said. He swung his curved hands, gesturing them with his fused fingers. “In, in, in!”
Dripping growths of fungus covered the chamber walls. Mounds of dead things, mulched and unidentifiable, nourished the phosphorescent fungus, food for the Anteds. A wet, rancid smell made the air thick and difficult to breathe.
“What will Ryx do to us?” Bryl asked.
Consort looked up and bobbed his head, grinning. “Eaten. Fresh. Or added here.” He bucked his shoulder to indicate the mounds under the fungus.
Vailret tapped one of the ingrown plates on the part-human’s back. “Consort, what is your real name? Do you remember?” he asked.
“Consort,” the part-human said. “Consort.” He shuffled ahead and did not look back at them.
“No, I mean your name as a human character. Do you remember when you first came to Ryx?”
“Ryx!” Consort lifted his eyes up in a worshipful expression. “Made me Consort. Feeds me.”
“She’s changing you into. . .this,” Vailret said, “with what she’s feeding you.”
“Seems to be wrecking his mind, too,” Tallin snorted.
“I wandered map. Scavenger,” Consort said. “Then found Ryx.” He seemed lost in memory, trying to piece together the scattered dice game of his mind. He raked a curved claw-hand across his scalp, tearing up patchy hair. In the green light, Consort’s skin looked black and glistening, inhuman.
“Do you remember back then?” Vailret said, “Did you play any games?” He took out his set of dice. Something registered in Consort’s eyes when he stared at the dice.
“Games?” Vailret repeated. “Do the Anteds play games with you? Here, let me show you.” He rolled the dice. “You have to guess which number will come up. See?” He rolled again.
“Games. . .” Consort said. His head drifted from side to side, fixing his saucer eyes on the dice.
“Del, come here,” Vailret whispered. The two of them played a dice game. Consort did not join in, but he watched with his full attention.
“Or how about this one?” Using Tallin’s dagger, they sketched a grid on the floor. Delrael and Journeyman played tic-tac-toe.
As Consort watched, old thoughts finally seemed to break through. “Ryx never plays games. Not these.”
“But you used to like to play games, didn’t you?” Vailret said. “All human characters do. Here—roll the dice yourself. Play with us.”
Consort awkwardly held the dice in his cupped claws. As he noticed his fused fingers, another thought seemed to jar loose. He stared down at his hands, as if puzzled at what could have happened to them.
They played a few rounds with the dice. Consort went through the motions, obviously not quite grasping what he was doing, but Vailret and Delrael arranged it so that he won the round. Consort’s excitement grew, and he became more and more interested.
If only they could be sure Ryx was not watching through his eyes, too.
“How’d you like to play another game?” Tallin said, grinning so that his pointed beard jutted out. His forest-patterned clothes had lost all their colors in the green light. He winked at Delrael. “You must have played this one, Consort. It’s fun, and you’ll probably win because you have the advantage.”
“Game?” Consort’s bulging eyes never blinked as he cocked his head from side to side. “Game?”
Tallin flashed a toothy grin. “It’s called hide and seek.”
“Yes,” Delrael picked up the conversation, fixing on the ylvan’s idea. He liked the way Tallin’s mind worked. “It’s more fun than dice. You stay here and give us time to hide. We’ll go out into the catacombs, then you try to find us! Once you find all of us, then you can hide, and we’ll try to find you.”
“Rule number one, you know,” Vailret said, “Always have fun.”
“Hide and seek.” Consort stood up and made his eerie chirping noise again. “Games.”
“All right, stay here and cover your eyes. Wait a long time now, otherwise it won’t be fair. Then you come find us.” Delrael smiled, but turned his head to the side, “Go!”
Consort hunched by the glowing fungus. He tapped his claw-hands on the hard floor, buzzing to himself. He couldn’t close his saucer eyes, but he stared at the wall.
They ran into the dimness, not knowing where they were going. “Head uphill,” Delrael said.
“And be quiet,” Tallin added. “If we don’t bump into any Anteds, Ryx won’t know where we are.”
At each intersection of tunnels, they chose the one tending upward. Delrael ran with sword drawn. “We have to kill any Anteds right away, before they can signal to more.”
They lost their sense of time. Without seeing daylight above, they had no idea how far they had come or how long they had been down in the catacombs. Delrael’s sword felt a part of him. His wooden kennok leg did not tire. The companions pushed on. Their eyes were wide, their lips white, their teeth pressed together in determination.
He knew they would encounter an Anted soon, very soon. He hoped they could find their way to the surface first.
The hazy green light increased the shadows around them, offering too little illumination to see anything sharply. The air was dense and warm, stifling. Delrael couldn’t seem to get enough breath.
His senses were keyed up to a fever pitch. He picked up motion in a tunnel to their right, something trying to move quietly. And then in the dim light he saw the clear outline of an Anted head moving forward, ready to spring—.
Delrael swung his sword and thrust forward as he plunged in faster than he could think. He hoped the sharp point of the old Sorcerers’ blade would break through the chitin and strike something vital in the Anted. The sword plunged home more easily than he had expected, and he twisted the hilt, driving upward. Something was wrong.
“Found you. . .” said Consort, then he made a gurgling sound of delayed pain.
His hollow Anted helmet slipped off his head and clattered to the floor of the catacombs.
Delrael withdrew the blade and released his grip on Consort’s shoulder. The blade caught on one of the implanted armored plates, peeling it from his skin and exposing soft jelly-like tissue. Consort slumped bleeding to the floor.
“Ryx. . .” The breath rattled in his throat, gurgling. He made his inhuman chirping sound again before he died.
; Delrael stared down at what he had done. He felt more shaken than he thought he should. His mouth was dry, and it hurt when he tried to swallow.
Tallin reached out to grip Delrael’s wrist. “We have to get out of here. One less spy to deal with.”
“Ryx might know what’s happened,” Vailret said.
They ran, taking less care to remain silent now. They turned a dozen more times, lefts and rights, and finally they came to one passage that sloped sharply upward.
A bright golden-blue light sifted through one of the cross-ventilation holes near the ceiling of the tunnel, just above Delrael’s eye level. He stood on his tiptoes and looked. “I can see a way out on the other side of this wall.”
“No way we can get there.” Vailret scowled up at the light. The hole was less than a foot wide, too small for anyone to worm through. “It doesn’t do us any good.”
“It’s close enough,” Delrael said. “I’m not going to wander around here any more. We can get through this.”
He used the hilt of his sword to pound at the edges of the opening. The fused sand chipped away and broke, crumbling loose as he worked. “Journeyman, help me.”
He moved to one side, allowing room for the golem. Journeyman grasped the edges of the hole and began ripping away chunks of the cementlike sand.
“It might be wide enough for Tallin to squeeze through,” Delrael said.
The ylvan came forward, raising his arms as Delrael lifted him to the hole. “Get away if Ryx comes after us.”
Tallin glanced at him, then worked his shoulders into the narrow opening, squirming through. “No, I’ll wait for you on the other side.” The ylvan pulled himself out. “Just don’t dink around—Hurry up!”
His knees and feet disappeared through the hole, and they heard him drop to the floor. Delrael passed the little man’s quiver and crossbow through to him.
“The opening to the surface is too high for me here. I can’t reach it to climb out. Anybody got a ladder?”
Delrael and Journeyman worked furiously widening the hole. “Your turn, Bryl! You can fit.”
The half-Sorcerer stood up, appearing uneasy. He brushed at the sides of his cloak and straightened his white hair and beard. Delrael wondered why he looked so frightened.
“I don’t like to be separated. Especially not here.”
Delrael urged him to the wall. “We’ll be with you in just a few minutes. Don’t worry.”
With a boost from Journeyman, Bryl crawled through the tunnel, scraping his shoulders and elbows. He fell to the floor on the other side, then scrambled to his feet. Tallin crossed his arms over his chest and watched the work on the other side of the wall. Daylight from the opening overhead gleamed down, blinding and bright after their hours in the green dimness.
Journeyman worked in silence, but the chipping of steel against stone rang out along with Delrael’s grunts of effort. Another noise suddenly joined it. Delrael paused to listen.
Tallin called up through the wall. “The Anteds are coming on this side!”
More sounds echoed from other tunnels, like a melodic battle cry. Twelve deadly black insects emerged from different tunnels in the maze.
“Delrael, hurry up!” Bryl said. “I don’t think my spells will be enough.”
Delrael did not answer them, grunting as he pounded with the hilt of his sword. Sweat streamed down his forehead, and his arm ached. He gritted his teeth and paid no attention.
Tallin slipped his crossbow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He removed a dagger from his belt and, without taking his eyes from the Anteds, thrust it hilt-first at Bryl.
“Take this! If you run out of spells, you’ll need something to defend yourself with. I’ll be too busy to worry about you.”
Bryl slipped the dagger up his flowing sleeve. He withdrew the Fire Stone and rolled it at his feet. A “2.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Bryl said. He grabbed up the ruby and held a roaring fireball in the palm of his hand. He waited for the Anteds to make the first move. “I’ve only got three spells left.”
Tallin’s eyes flashed as he crouched. He turned in slow circles, watching the insects.
All twelve Anteds rushed at once. Their claws clicked on the hard floor. Tallin shot at the foremost Anted, sinking his arrow up to the fletching in a faceted eye. The Anted wheezed and collapsed, oozing a green blot of ichor. Bryl hurled the blossoming ball of flames to explode in the face of one of the black creatures. Tallin slipped another arrow into the crossbow and fired, but it struck the hard insect armor at an angle and bounced off.
Bryl managed to summon up a smaller fireball with the remainder of the weak spell, and drove off another Anted.
Tallin flipped a third arrow out of his quiver, trying to fit it into the crossbow. An Anted lunged up behind him and opened its jaws.
“Look out!” Bryl cried.
The ylvan whirled as the mandibles clamped around his waist, lifting him high in the air. “Put me down! Bug-Eyes!” Tallin pounded on the armored head, slapping the curved surfaces of the eyes. The jaws tightened like scissors around him.
#
Alone in the echoing throne room, Ryx stared through the eyes of her Anteds in a choreographed confusion of overlapping images inside her head. She shifted her bulk against the smooth and cold texture of the dais.
The bitter taste of Consort’s death was like bile in her mind. Everything was lost. They had killed Consort. They had killed her chance.
She sent out a command to all the Anteds.
Kill.
#
Tallin squirmed, pulling one of his arrows free, He pointed the tip downward to plunge it into the insect’s head.
But then the jagged mandibles closed together, shearing through flesh and bone.
Tallin’s eyes bulged as the sharp jaws crushed his abdomen. Blood spurted from his mouth.
“Delrael!” he screamed. His crossbow clattered to the floor. Dark red splashed on the Anted’s black armor.
“Tallin! No!” Delrael’s muscles locked from the sick ice at the pit of his stomach. He could do nothing. He wanted to scream and pound his fists against the walls. He strained to see among the swarming masses of black hulks on the other side. “No!”
The Anted shook Tallin’s body back and forth like an alligator would, then it released him. The ylvan hit the curved tunnel wall, sliding down at the head of his own trail of blood.
Another insect sprang up to take Bryl in its jaws.
8. Queen’s Flight
“RULE #11. When a character fails in combat, he or she may die. Death is final in the Game—that character can never play again.”
—The Book of Rules
Bryl could not reach the Fire Stone. He had rolled his spell, but the ruby lay untouched and gleaming on the ground. The Anted squeezed its jaws and lifted him into the air.
In a blur, Bryl’s hand snatched out the dagger Tallin had given him. Without pausing to think he struck down, pushing the blade deep into the Anted’s compound eye.
The insect let out a shrill scream, gaping its mandibles Bryl dropped to the floor on limp legs, holding both elbows against his ribs where blood from torn skin seeped into his blue cloak. A wet stink came from the Anted’s gushing wound. Bryl stumbled backward and grabbed the Fire Stone from the floor.
With more power than he realized he possessed, he blasted the wounded Anted into shards of chitinous armor and dripping tissue. The noise and flash of heat rippled through the tunnels, making him wince and back away.
“Delrael!” he called, but he was so frightened that it made his voice only a hoarse whisper. The other Anteds closed in. He wrung as much out of the spell as he could, roasting another two insects. Burning chitin popped and sputtered.
But Bryl’s spell faded away, leaving him defenseless again. He pressed his back against the curved catacomb wall.
Beside him, Tallin lay in a pool of blood.
#
“Tallin!” Delrael’s scream was hoarse, b
ut he expected no answer. And received none. He heard only the scuffle of clawed feet, the sounds of Bryl’s fire. The stench of burning Anteds came through the wall opening.
Delrael’s shock gave way to rage. Sweat ran into his eyes from his dust-clumped brown hair.
“Journeyman can reshape himself and squeeze through!” Vailret said. “He can help Bryl.”
“Go!” Delrael shouted.
In a quick gesture the golem clapped a supportive hand on Delrael’s shoulder. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Then he elongated himself, stretching the clay into the opening. His feet slithered through and he reshaped himself on the other side, bulging and eager for battle. He balled his clay fists and scrambled into the fray.
Delrael chipped at the wall and listened to the sounds of the fight. Tallin lay dying on the other side.
He smashed the hilt down against the cement-sand, and a thin fracture line appeared. Smaller pieces of the wall flaked off. He could smell his sweat and the dust; his fingers began to sting and bleed. He and Vailret both grasped the rim of the hole and pulled, bumping into each other to get a better grip. A crumbling chunk broke off, falling with the loose sand to the tunnel floor.
“Come on!” Delrael crawled up through the hole. He scraped his elbows against the rough cement-sand, but he pushed his sword in front of him. He hooked his arms over the other side, then heaved himself through, banging his hip and scuffing his leather armor. He dropped beside Bryl with the grace of an acrobat.
He saw Tallin’s twisted body on the floor. The ylvan’s blood looked thick and dark in the harsh light angling through the opening overhead. He should have thought ahead, planned better.
“Tallin,” Delrael said once more, then set his jaw. Holding the sword like a club in front of him, he strode forward at the Anteds. Delrael’s ears pounded with a rushing of blood. He chopped with his sword. Vaguely, he became aware of the golem next to him hammering with his fists.
An Anted lunged at Journeyman, and the golem met it with a tightly clenched fist, splintering the chitin of its head in a rayed pattern like a spiderweb.
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