Delrael shook her by the shoulders. “Mindar!”
Her head swayed from side to side, then righted itself and stared straight ahead. Delrael gritted his teeth and turned to glare toward the mountains in the east.
“Del—” He jumped when Vailret touched him on the arm. “With the horses gone now, we’ll already be slowed down. Will we take her with us?”
“What if Scartaris is watching us through her eyes?” Bryl asked.
Delrael let go of Mindar. He hunkered down and stared into the embers of the bonfire, trying to decide. Conflicting thoughts churned through his head. He could find no clearcut solution, and he didn’t like it.
The fire burned low and crackled. The tainted wood smelled bitter and unpleasant, but the predawn air seemed clear, empty of the Cailee. They had watched the creature vanish.
He drew a deep breath. “We won’t leave her behind, no matter what Scartaris wants us to do. She has as much at stake as we do. Maybe more. Look what he’s done to her.”
“Maybe she’ll snap out of it,” Vailret said, but his voice sounded weak. Delrael made no other comment.
He stood up and sheathed his sword. He picked up Mindar’s tattered whip lying in the dust and dropped it into the fire where it curled and turned black. Mindar stood stiff and unresponsive when he fastened the rippled sword at her waist.
“There, now you’re ready. Whenever you want to fight, we need your help.” Delrael’s voice was soothing and quiet. “Journeyman can you carry her?”
“Aye aye, Cap’n!”
He frowned. “Does that mean yes?”
“Yes.”
The golem scooped up Mindar in his broad arms. Her limbs to flopped and hung down. She didn’t rearrange herself into a more comfortable position.
Delrael stared at her milky blank eyes and felt sick to his stomach. “Let’s get moving.”
#
By noon they had crossed an entire hexagon. The air was cool and parched, but heated up when the sun rose overhead. They spoke little as they moved. The mountains of Scartaris lay only a few hexagons distant.
But when they reached the hex-line, they stopped short. The black line separated one section of desolate terrain from the next, but instead of the narrow black boundary where hexagons butted against each other, the black line yawned five man-lengths wide. It looked to Delrael as if the Outsiders had snapped the map apart, dividing the sections with a canyon that stretched down through the thickness of the map and out the bottom of the universe itself.
Delrael stared into the deep crevasse. Warm air drifted upward, bringing odd, alien smells. In the blackness below were strange swirling images, maddening shadows of things he did not want to see. He turned away immediately, afraid he might see a deadly glimpse of reality.
“We can’t get across.” Delrael put his hands on his hips, frowning. He felt anger building. He didn’t like to be delayed from his quest.
He held the silver belt at his waist, and the metal seemed to ripple beneath his fingers. He knew the Earthspirits were there, but they couldn’t destroy Scartaris unless he took them there.
“There’ll be a way, Del,” Vailret said, analyzing. “If this is part of the Game, the Outsiders have to give us some way through. They can’t violate their own Rules.”
But as far as they could see in both directions, the chasm seemed unbroken. The wide black line extended for hexagon after hexagon, a broad crack in the map.
“We’ll have to follow it until we find someplace where Scartaris wants us to cross.”
Delrael looked up. Wheeling batlike creatures flew high above. They seemed to be staring down at the travelers, but did not come closer.
“Scartaris is watching us,” Bryl said.
“Let him watch.” Journeyman pushed his clay lips in a snarl. “A little bottomless chasm isn’t going to stop us.”
They moved along the edge, hot and exhausted. Because of the flat terrain, Delrael could see the white line of the main quest-path long before they neared it. The road to Scartaris’s lair approached the zig-zagging chasm, and when Delrael shaded his eyes he could see a bridge, some kind of tunnel spanning the crack in the map.
This would be the perfect spot for Scartaris to ambush travelers, a place for a malevolent guardian to stop any enemies. He pondered and looked at Mindar’s limp, blank-eyed form cradled in Journeyman’s arms.
Mindar had said something about a demon guardian, the Slave of the Serpent.
Delrael took a deep breath of the dry air and blinked his eyes. His skin felt warm and sunburned, flushed. Mindar lay motionless. He had a score to settle with Scartaris. Now more than ever. He set off at a faster pace. His boots left deep, sharp prints in the dusty ground.
When they reached the wide quest-path, Delrael looked at the bridge across the chasm. A dry, unpleasant smell hung at the back of his mouth, like the taste of rusty metal.
The bridge was not just a tunnel, but the gigantic spinal column of some long-dead beast, hanging by itself. Dried strips of sinew held the vertebrae together, leaving wide gaps for the air to blow through with an eerie whistling hum. Tree-sized bones from the creature’s limbs lay sprawled across the dust, a claw here, a bowed rib that had long since been cracked by smaller things that chewed away the marrow and left a hollow shell. A dust-covered mound lay off to the side of the quest-path, near where the ancient monster’s skull should have been. The rest of the bones were not in sight—they had probably fallen down into the chasm.
They would have to walk through the bowed, cavelike bridge of vertebrae draped across the hex-line gap. Smells drifted out of the bridge opening, and a jungle of black shadows flickered as light flitted in and out of the gaps.
Two giant boulders stood propped against the opening. Other bones and dead things lay piled outside, though they could easily have been discarded in the black gulf.
Mindar stared up at the sky. The red S-scar on her forehead throbbed with the beat of her heart. She could not offer any help to them now, couldn’t give them any warning about the Slave of the Serpent.
The golem set her down, straightened her legs, and made sure she had gained her balance before letting go. Mindar stood by herself, but did nothing else.
“Now what do we do?” Vailret asked. “Do we just walk through?”
An ear-splitting roar burst out of the shadows of the sagging tunnel, accompanied by a sandy, grating hiss. The sound echoed in the hollow vertebrae. Something moved in the dim light of the tunnel.
“And now for a really big show!” Journeyman said.
A silhouette appeared, and then the Slave of the Serpent stepped into view. The monster drew in a deep breath and stood reeling, unaccustomed to the bright sunlight.
Delrael flinched. The demon was huge, more massive even than Gairoth the ogre. It was hairy and apelike, but had reptilian features, a chest plate and a flat angular head set low upon its shoulders. The deep-set eyes looked pitiful and filled with immense sorrow shining out from slitted pupils.
Coiled around its body was a huge, oily green snake that raised its head high above the Slave’s shoulders. The Serpent hissed at the travelers with a sound like rain pelting a fire.
The Slave took two lumbering steps forward then stopped, planting its feet to guard the opening of the tunnel bridge. The Serpent spoke.
“So you are Delrael! We went to the Stronghold. We killed a human character who claimed to be Delrael. But he was old and weak. We left him smoking on the ground.”
Delrael felt his heart freeze, wondering if it could be a trick. Did they mean Tarne? If the Serpent claimed to be looking for Delrael, Tarne would have tried to trick them.
The Serpent cocked its head at him. “We came to get the Fire Stone and give it back to Scartaris. Now you have brought the Stone to us—” The Serpent hissed at Bryl. The half-Sorcerer cringed.
Delrael looked back at the others. Vailret appeared weak and frightened with only his short sword; Bryl had the Fire Stone; the golem looked ready to fig
ht.
The Slave stepped forward, and the Serpent spoke again with a note of glee in its voice. “I bind you to the protocol of single combat in Rule #10! Delrael—I challenge you. You must fight me alone.”
Bryl let out a cry of dismay. Journeyman said, “Aww, shucks!”
Delrael stood up in shock, feeling cheated. Though the Serpent had used a loophole, the Rules still constrained all characters. The Slave of the Serpent greatly outclassed Delrael alone, but now the others could not help him. They could not break the Rules. It was unfair. Vailret, Bryl, and Journeyman appeared helpless.
Mindar stood without moving, unaware.
Delrael curled his lip and snarled at the demon. “Don’t underestimate me.”
The Slave made a grumbling bestial noise and tried to turn his head to glare at the Serpent. But the pupilless red eyes of the snake ignored him. The coils squeezed the Slave’s chest, and he lumbered forward to meet his opponent.
“May the Force be with you,” Journeyman called.
Delrael breathed in and out. He felt his heart pumping, the adrenaline flowing. He had fought a thousand mock battles, and some real ones. He had been through his father’s training. He was ready. He had no choice.
Without giving any warning, he surged forward as fast as he could. He held the sword in front of him, howling at the top of his lungs, and swung.
The Slave stumbled back in surprise, leaving deep footprints on the ground. Delrael drove in, pushing his advantage of surprise for a few more moments. He swung, and missed, and struck again with the blade.
The Slave grunted and roared, batting at him with a bearlike paw. Delrael turned his sword sideways and slashed the Slave’s arm. The edge bit into the monster’s fur, but made only a minor wound.
The Serpent’s fangs flashed like glistening swords. Delrael saw the snake strike an instant before it was too late. He dove for the ground, tucking the sword against him to protect it, and rolled.
The Slave bent over to give the Serpent more reach, but the fangs dug into the sand. The Serpent pulled up, hissing and spitting dust out of its mouth. Black pools of smoking slag marked where venom had squirted into the dirt.
Delrael worked his feet under him and stumbled back to a standing position. The Slave could have attacked, but it hesitated, giving Delrael time to compose himself. He wondered what was going on.
He heard Vailret and Journeyman shouting at him, urging him on. Delrael blanked that out for the moment. He needed to concentrate on the fight.
The Slave’s sad eyes struck his heart. This monster didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to do what he did. The Serpent forced the Slave to do its will. He wanted no part of this. Delrael stared at the eyes. It was a trick. It had to be.
But the Slave’s eyes were not pupilless.
Then the Serpent struck again.
This time, inexplicably, the Slave stepped sideways, deliberately throwing off the snake’s aim.
In anger, the Serpent viciously nipped the bare patch at the back of the Slave’s neck. The monster roared in pain and swatted with its great paws, but the snake bobbed back and forth, weaving away from the clumsy grasp. It ducked in and nipped the Slave again.
“Kill Delrael!” it said.
Wet mucus dripped from the Slave’s eyes, either in pain or sorrow. With a roar, the Slave reached out his huge paws.
Delrael held his ground and lunged, trying to duck under the grasping arms. But the Slave cuffed him on the side of the head. Delrael sprawled on the ground. His vision fuzzed, and his ears rang. He heard Vailret and Journeyman shouting again. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t want to listen to them, but he knew he couldn’t lay there.
He felt vibrations in the sand as the Slave stomped forward. Delrael half-closed his eyes, pretending to be unconscious. When he saw the Slave near him, he snapped open his eyes and grabbed the sword with both hands. He scrambled to his knees and put his chest, his shoulders, all of the muscles in his arms and back into one swing. He aimed for the Slave’s thigh and felt the blade sink in, cutting into the meat of the monster’s leg all the way to the bone.
Viscous yellow blood oozed out, gushing in heavy globs. The monster howled in agony.
Delrael rolled out of the way, but the monster kept staggering forward, propelled by its own momentum and forgetting its pain. Blood spattered to the ground with every step the Slave took. Delrael held the sword against him, smearing the yellow blood across his leather armor. He tried to climb to his feet, but was not fast enough.
The Slave of the Serpent knocked him back to the ground, then wrapped both huge paws around Delrael’s chest and jerked him into the air. The monster shook him and squeezed.
Delrael felt the roar in his head grow louder. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Loud sounds and darkness echoed at the corner of his eyes. His arm went numb. He couldn’t control his fingers—they went limp, and the sword fell, embedding its point in the sand. The weight of the pommel tipped it over, spraying dirt in the air.
For a moment he thought the Slave would cast him into the yawning black chasm where he might fall through the map and be incinerated by his first glimpse of reality. Then he saw the Serpent rear back. Its blank red eyes blazed fire as if Scartaris himself were looking through the reptilian skull.
The Serpent opened its mouth. The fangs oozed venom like miniature diamonds.
#
Mindar blinked. Her vision snapped back into focus. She stumbled, suddenly regaining her body.
In the back of her mind she heard a mocking voice, Scartaris laughing at her, telling her to watch. Watch him die. You will lose. You will always lose.
She didn’t know where she was, how she had gotten there or what was going on. She remembered nothing beyond the Cailee and the circle of firelight. And the pain, memories sparkling with pain.
Then she saw Delrael in the grip of the Slave of the Serpent. Watch him die. Scartaris had toyed with her, showed his power. Now he would have fun by letting her witness Delrael’s death.
#
The Serpent drew back to strike, and Delrael closed his eyes.
The snake’s head flashed downward as Delrael heard racing footsteps, a swish. It all happened too fast. He opened his eyes and saw the Serpent still descending toward him with its mouth open and fangs bared, but somehow the head had become severed from the body. Squirting blood, the snake’s head continued its arc, struck Delrael in the shoulder and bounced off. It fell on the sand, staring up with dead red eyes.
Mindar regained her balance and swung the rippled sword back through empty air, flinging droplets of the Serpent’s dark blood into the air.
Apparently stunned, the Slave released his grip and let Delrael fall to the ground. His right arm was still numb, but he managed to snatch up his sword as he scrambled out of the way. He heaved in great gasps of air. His ribs ached. Sand crusted the globs of yellow blood sticking to his leather armor.
Mindar stood poised and ready to fight the Slave, wearing a snarl on her lips. Her red S-scar glowed. She had returned. Delrael wanted to go to her.
The Slave pivoted around. Yellow blood drooled down the matted fur of his leg. He seemed to ignore the pain of the wound. He stared at Delrael with his liquid, anguished eyes. Then he gawked in awe at the ragged dripping stump of the Serpent. His face wore an impossible, stupefied expression. When he lifted up the dead Serpent, dark blood ran down his fingers, but the poison did not harm him.
Then he raised his huge paws into the air in a gesture of triumph. “Sadic is free!” The monster’s words were clumsy, as if the flat, plated mouth was not suited for speech. The Slave unwrapped the entwined body of the Serpent as if he were casting off a heavy chain.
Delrael continued to breathe hard. He didn’t know what to think. He saw Mindar raise her eyebrows.
Moving with obvious disgust, the Slave held the snake’s body away from him. Black blood drizzled from the decapitated end, leaving foul pools smoking on the ground. The Slave’s fur had be
en worn off in pink, raw-looking patches by the Serpent’s scales rubbing against his hide.
“Ring around the collar,” Journeyman mumbled out of the side of his mouth.
The Slave of the Serpent stalked to the edge of the deep crevasse. He raised the Serpent’s body over his head and, with a roar of exhilaration, cast it down into the void. Then he turned back to Delrael and Mindar, dragging his wounded leg behind him along a trail of thick yellow blood.
Delrael grabbed his sword, ready to fight again, though his aching ribs and numb arm protested. Mindar stood glaring at the demon. Journeyman, Vailret, and Bryl all joined them.
The Slave of the Serpent stopped and stared at them, pleading. He spread out his massive flat paws. “Sadic will not hurt you. You freed Sadic. You killed Serpent.”
“Just stay away, big fella,” Journeyman said.
The Slave kept his distance, trying to look harmless. He made no sudden moves. “Sadic will do no more harm.”
Then Mindar turned pale and sick-looking. Her rippled sword fell to the ground. She staggered and dropped to her knees, making strange noises. She covered her face. Delrael heard her sobbing.
He put a hand on her shoulder, hesitant. She didn’t flinch. Then he put both arms around her in a hug. He felt her trembling, the spasms as she tried to control herself.
Mindar choked out words. “I don’t know what happened. All I remember is fighting the Cailee, and then the pain, and blackness. . .”
“The Cailee almost killed you,” Delrael said quietly, soothing. “But Scartaris didn’t let you die. He. . .he controlled you. You were like the other Tairans. Your eyes. . .” He let the words trail off.
“Scartaris released me only so I could watch you die. For fun.” She looked up, and her dark eyes were filled with a complex mix of emotions.
“I saw my daughter, I think. She was like a dream in the darkness, and it’s fading. The more I try to hold onto the memory, the faster it slips away.” Mindar drew a hitching breath and pulled herself to her feet, brushing her singed green tunic. Feeling awkward, Delrael took a step away.
“The first thing I saw was you fighting. And the others were just standing there, not helping you. I knew what I had to do.”
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