Before going to bed, Siya and Tareah began the ritual of closing up the Stronghold for the night. With the others to help, they always finish quickly before, but it took them longer and longer each night as the evenings grew colder, now that they were the only two to do everything.
They made sure all the windows were shuttered, the cracks stuffed with rags to keep the cold out. They stoked the main fireplaces with enough wood to keep burning all night long, since it was such a tedious task to rebuild the fires the next day. Tareah saw no point in keeping the entire main building heated and tended, but she didn’t countermand Siya’s wishes. Siya seemed to attach a far greater importance on maintaining her routine than on actually thinking about it.
Tareah was exhausted by the time she reached her own quarters and heaped wood on the fire. Her joints would ache if she did not keep her room warm, which seemed odd to her since she had spent so many years in the bright coldness of the Ice Palace. Over the weeks she felt as if the pain had faded somewhat, but her body would take a long time to adjust to the dramatic stretchings and twistings her accelerated growth put it through.
She stripped off the formal dress she had worn for Tarne’s ceremony and pulled on a comfortable shift, then climbed under the blankets. She lay back in the bed and thought of Delrael and Vailret on their quest, all the stories they were adding to the history of the Game. She wished her father Sardun could be here to discuss them.
Tareah kept the Water Stone with her even in bed. She ran her fingers over the cool blue facets. They reminded her of the ice in the rainbow halls and crystal towers. She dozed with that thought.
And woke up some time later. The fire still burned bright, so she couldn’t have been asleep too long. It was just past midnight, she guessed. She blinked her eyes in the dancing firelight. Her nose was cold, but she could smell the aromatic wood.
Tareah heard scratching, scrabbling sounds. The wood in the fireplace settled with a slump and a small shower of sparks. The noises stopped for a moment and began again with renewed intensity. The scrabblings sounded like rats in the walls, clawing their way out.
Tareah rubbed her eyes on the blanket and tried to see in the wavering orange light. Sharp shadows lay in the corners. Then her eyes came to focus on the dark and churning wall beside her bed.
The wood was crawling with small figures, each about the size of her hand. Emerging from cracks in the wood, pushing themselves out between splinters and scrabbling over each other, along the walls, along the floor.
Tareah sat up, flinging tangled hair out of her eyes, and bit back an outcry. Her blankets were covered with the little creatures as well, tiny ratlike animals, but vaguely human in form. They had ear tufts and pointed faces with sharp fangs. On two hind legs they walked upright, and they bore two sets of humanlike arms, one sprouting from their shoulders and another set along their abdomen, giving each creature four hands full of sharp claws.
She snapped her blanket, spraying the creatures off her bed and onto the floor. She grabbed for the Water Stone under her pillow, but some instinct warned her not to show it, not to use it just yet.
The ratlike creatures swarmed over the room as they searched for something. They scurried down the mantle of the fireplace, disassembling the wood splinter by splinter with their sharp claws. Now that Tareah had awakened, they chittered among themselves, making no effort to keep quiet.
She kicked her blankets away and rolled to the edge of her bed. Her voice hitched as she tried to call out—but there was no one to help her. She would have to fight by herself. One of the bedposts groaned and broke free from its joint, torn apart by the creatures. The bedframe cracked and dropped to the floor with a thump.
More rat-creatures scurried to the storage chests and peeled the locks and hinges from the base wood, splintered the sides, and spilled the treasure from Delrael’s past adventurings onto the floor. They searched through the plunder, using four hands to paw and toss away diamonds and gold and silver links as if they were worthless.
“Stop!” Tareah shouted. They hesitated, glaring at her with pupilless red sparks for eyes—empty, as if something had erased the minds behind them. She felt very afraid to look at the hundreds and hundreds of tiny, pointed teeth and sharp claws. Then the creatures fell to ransacking again.
The shelves on the wall crumbled, and Tareah’s possessions crashed to the ground, breaking and clinking on the floor. Every splinter of wood spawned another of the small creatures as they pushed out and added to the army. Above the chittering, rustling din, she heard noises from the other rooms.
Tareah jumped out of bed, stepping on squirming furry bodies and trying to kick them away from her. “What do you want?” she shouted. She drew herself up to look menacing.
The rat-creatures fixed their blank gazes on her. Many of them cleared an empty spot on the floor, and others moved into formation with some kind of intent. Dozens of them aligned themselves to form letters with their own bodies.
On the floor, they spelled out “FIRE STONE.”
Scartaris knew the Deathspirits had stripped the ruby Stone from Enrod and delivered it to the Stronghold. He had sent the rat-creatures to tear everything apart until they found it.
Scartaris knew nothing about Delrael’s quest to bring the Earthspirits across the map—because of Tarne’s ruse, Scartaris thought the Slave of the Serpent had killed Delrael. Perhaps Scartaris knew nothing of her Water Stone either. She clutched the six-sided sapphire in her hand.
“No!” Tareah stamped her foot on the ground, squashing one of the rat-creatures and making the others scurry out of the way. “You can’t have it.” She waited to feel sharp claws and teeth on her bare legs.
One section of the wall slumped down in a shower of broken wood. Flames from the fireplace caught on the kindling. The creatures ran around, dismantling the room.
A few of the rat-creatures on the floor of the room spelled out “WE WILL FIND IT,” forming and dissolving one word after another.
From her own room, Siya screamed—but it was a scream of anger and disgust, not pain. The ceiling groaned above Tareah, and she looked up to see the planks buckling.
In her bare feet, trying not to look where she stepped, Tareah ran to the door and struck it with her shoulder to push it open. She ran down the main hall.
Everywhere she looked, the scrambling creatures emerged from the splintered wall and set about ransacking everything in sight. The structure of the main building groaned and creaked above the insane chittering.
Tareah ran out the broken doorway into the cold night. Two of the courtyard torches had burned out, but the other three flickered in the sharp wind. Small, furious sounds came from all buildings within the Stronghold walls.
“Siya!” she called.
Tareah saw the creatures piled on top of each other in the roof structure, throwing pieces of wood in the air and over the edge in glee, digging and searching. Others tunnelled in the courtyard, uprooting sword posts. The weapons storehouse crashed and toppled to the ground. Other walls in the outbuildings split and collapsed.
Tareah felt outraged, but didn’t know how she could fight against the infestation.
Siya burst out the front door, frantic. She had a broom in her hands, and she flicked it right and left to knock away the creatures in front of her. “Get away!” She whacked them off the walls. “Leave that alone! Stop!”
Her gray hair hung down below her shoulders in broad tresses. Several of the creatures grabbed on and yanked, climbing the strands like ropes. Siya tossed her head and flung them off, then chased after them with a vengeance.
“Get away from the door, Siya!”
Siya ran into the courtyard. Chittering, some of the rat-creatures followed her, but most swarmed over the door jamb, peeling away the wood. Two of the shutters cracked and fell off their hinges. New rat-creatures burst up from the fresh wood, flexing their forearms and bouncing down to the ground.
With scrabbling hands in a blur of motion, they fell upon
the wooden walls and kept tearing it apart in chunks. Dust and smoke filled the air from collapsed mantels and the burning fires in the hearths. The main building was on fire.
Tareah took out the Water Stone. “I’ve got to do something.” She rolled it on the ground. The six-sided sapphire landed with a “4” up. She grabbed it again and cast her spell at the main building.
The wind whipped up. The already-cool air dropped below freezing. Biting snow blasted down and, with a snap of cold, ice encrusted the Stronghold, freezing the wood solid. The cold itself shattered some of the shutters; the support beams groaned inside from the weight of snow. She heard a loud pop from somewhere inside.
When the wave of cold struck the rat-creatures, they withered and disappeared. Siya chased others with her broom and left blots of fur and blood on the ground.
The assault seemed to have stopped for a moment, leaving a stillness like a held breath. “Did it work?” Tareah asked.
With squeals of angry chittering and a shower of pale splinters, more creatures burst out of the logs in the double wall surrounding the Stronghold. They dropped to the ground, bristling with patches of brown and gray fur, sharp fangs and fiery blank eyes.
The creatures ignored Tareah and Siya, but scurried toward the ice-encrusted Stronghold to chip their way in. They set upon the main building once more.
Between the upright pointed logs of the stockade wall, more creatures surged out. The dirt insulation between the double walls crumbled and sifted out of the holes. Several logs toppled and fell over to leave gaps in the perimeter.
The brittle casing of ice over the main building split open. The rat-creatures surged inside again, tearing holes out of the walls.
Tareah grabbed the sapphire, angry and ready to roll it. But the rat-creatures swarmed over the ground at her feet, waiting with arms outstretched. They knew what the Stone was now; they wanted her to roll it so they could snatch it away the instant it struck the ground.
Tareah clamped her teeth down on a frustrated scream. She couldn’t even roll the Stone, and none of her minor spells would do anything. She couldn’t fight, and that infuriated her even more.
Tears streaked down Siya’s cheeks. Her face reddened and she panted from her effort. A strange noise came from Siya’s throat as she continued to strike out at the creatures. “What do they want?”
Tareah felt the corners of the Water Stone bite into her palms as she pushed her fists together. “They’re looking for the Fire Stone. Scartaris wants it back, now that he knows how powerful it is.”
Siya blinked and stood with her broom upright. Her face wore an astonished expression. “But the Fire Stone isn’t even here! By now Delrael and the others should be—” She waved her hand at the crumbling walls. “By the mountains or something.”
All of the rat-creatures stopped with their ears cocked. In unison the horde turned to glare at them.
Tareah wanted to scream at Siya in anger and frustration. “You idiot! Scartaris thought Delrael was dead!”
The rat-creatures chittered among themselves—and then they all vanished into the ground, leaving no trace other than the bloodied bodies Siya had killed.
Tareah kept her voice level and cold. “You just increased the danger to Delrael and Vailret. Now Scartaris knows they’re coming, and he can concentrate everything he has on stopping them.”
Siya’s eyes widened as big as plates when the realization sank in. She hung her head. Her shoulder blades jerked as she tried to hold the sobs in.
Tareah looked around at the ravaged Stronghold—Delrael had left her behind to defend it. He had counted on her abilities and her judgement. Grim anger filled her mind—but the collapsing buildings, the ruined wall brought stinging tears in front of her vision.
The fire from the broken hearths had spread into the main building, and smoke poured into the air.
Interlude: Outside
David put his hands behind his head and leaned back against them. His eyes still looked red, but he smiled with satisfaction. Melanie was so angry she wanted to punch his face, or at least dump her cold soda in his lap.
“You destroyed my Stronghold!” she said. Her voice sounded strangled, carrying more emotion than she wanted to display.
The rat-creatures, the dozens of attack rolls, the walls falling, the fire starting. . . She felt Tareah’s helplessness, felt Siya’s loss. If only the characters could have fought back more, helped her more.
David kept his eyes closed. “Now I think we can officially say that Scartaris knows Delrael isn’t dead. And he also knows that the group is coming to get him.”
“And this time her characters don’t know that Scartaris knows. Ha!” Tyrone added. “That’s a switch.”
“Thanks, Tyrone.” Scott scowled at him.
David grinned. “That means Scartaris can now try to stop them.” He shrugged. “Unless I decide to just have him blow up the map, and we can be finished with all this nonsense.” He truly looked as if he was enjoying this. Melanie stood up in anger. Her chair tipped back but did not fall over.
“That wouldn’t be very sporting, now would it?” Scott asked.
“Let’s not let this get personal, guys,” Tyrone said, waving Melanie back into her chair. “It’s just for fun, remember.”
Melanie and David both glared at him. Tyrone went to get another bag of chips from the top of the refrigerator, shaking his head.
“When Delrael and company get through the mountain terrain, that’s when the real fun starts. The city of Tairé is my first serious line of defense.” David rubbed his hands together. “We can probably end this tonight.”
“What’s your hurry, David?” Tyrone asked. “There’s nothing on TV Sunday nights anyway.”
David slapped both hands on the tabletop, startling them all with his outburst. “Because I don’t want to have any more nightmares about Gamearth! I want it done and finished and out of my head!”
He swallowed and blinked, as if amazed at himself. Melanie felt a moment of sympathy for him. The power of Gamearth was frightening to her, too, but the characters, the landscapes, the legends all gave her wondrous dreams, not nightmares. She had to save them, and the characters had to help in their own way.
“Melanie, when your characters get into Tairé they’re playing right into my hands.” He avoided her gaze and looked down at the painted map. She saw that his hands were shaking.
Melanie kept her voice low. “That’s exactly where I want them to be. Shut up and play.”
13. People of a Dead City
“By building this beautiful city in the midst of desolation, we will prove that Gamearth characters can overcome any difficulty so long as we pool our talents and work toward a common goal. We have our magic, and we have the Rules on our side. Nothing can stop us now.”
—Enrod, ceremony at the founding of Tairé
They descended out of the mountains. The hard, cold ground crunched under Delrael’s boots. He felt stronger now, as if he was finally opening his eyes again. Tallin was dead, but the Game went on, turn after turn—unless the Outsider David had his way.
Delrael made his facial muscles stop frowning. He remembered Rule #1. He focused on quests, treasure, action, on getting things done. He did not sit around and ponder everything to death. Death.
Maybe that changed too many things.
His father had sent a message stick with the aid of the Rulewoman Melanie, charging Delrael and Vailret to find some way to stop Scartaris, to keep Gamearth alive and intact. In the cold mountain air, Delrael absently clenched his fist.
The next days passed in a blur. Delrael kept his eyes fixed on the distant horizon toward the crumbled mountain terrain that marked the lair of Scartaris. After another hexagon they crossed over grassy hills and then entered the rocky desolation, scars left from the old Sorcerer wars.
The landscape became flat and barren, like gray ash in a bleak ocean. The ground was strewn with shattered rocks and jutting boulders like broken teeth. The su
n seemed hotter here, making everything look blasted and devastated. The desolation rang with silence, leaving only the crunch of their footsteps. The wind had nothing but bare rock to rustle against. No birds or insects made any noise at all.
Journeyman stumped along beside them, but the dry heat made him move more stiffly.
“Did Scartaris cause all this?” Bryl asked.
Vailret looked around, and his eyes were red. “No, that was just reopening an old wound. It’s easy to destroy something that was already knocked to its knees. The final battles laid waste to a huge section of the map, right here.”
He drew a deep breath. “But the Wars ended here, too. The two factions of Sorcerers finally made their peace. Did I ever tell you about Stilvess Peacemaker?”
Delrael forced himself to appear interested, to be part of the group again. “Arken mentioned that name, didn’t he?”
Vailret looked pleased. “By the time the Wars ended, the Sorcerers were almost worn out. Most of them had forgotten why they were fighting in the first place. How could they still be angry about the game of throwing stones at Lady Maire’s wedding celebration, so many turns before?
“Then a self-appointed mediator appeared among the camps. Stilvess. He wandered from one army to the other, refusing to reveal which side he came from—but he made it clear that he wanted no more war. He was an outstanding orator.”
Vailret sighed. “He brought the two sides together like a crashing wave, making them one again. He forced the factions to see they were fighting themselves into extinction.
“Finally, the son of one of the great generals was killed in a skirmish. Instead of allowing that to inflame emotions again, Stilvess used that to show the Sorcerers how much pain their battles were causing. He made the two leaders meet at the funeral pyre of the general’s dead son, and he urged them to cast their ceremonial swords into the hot flames.”
Vailret looked lost in his own memories. “Sardun had one of those burned swords in the museum under his Ice Palace.”
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