At dusk they reached another hex-line. Only one more section of terrain separated them from the end of their quest. The ground grew more broken and jagged, as if Scartaris had tossed chunks of his mountain like giant dice in every direction.
Behind them the monstrous black cloud rose up from the ground, near enough to hear clearly now—a constant buzzing, squawking turmoil. The cloud pushed ahead like a clawed hand scooping them toward Scartaris.
At the top of a rise, Delrael stopped, sheltered by a rock outcropping. The army of Scartaris gathered before them on the great plain. “No wonder Scartaris wasn’t worried about us.” He swallowed in a dry throat.
By the light of dim fires in the camps, hideous demons and reptilian things moved in organized ranks. Tall Slac generals marched about shouting orders. Delrael saw an occasional hulking stone gargoyle, like Arken. Swarms of small goblins, green-skinned and hairless, clustered together in their breeder groups. Guttural grunts and hisses carried out into the still air.
The massive enemy was preparing to march upon Gamearth. Scartaris had grown tired of waiting. The Outsider David wanted to ruin the map without further delay.
One gigantic creature strode through the army, obviously in command. He had a powerful lion’s body, a wicked-looking scorpion-tail that flickered with blue lightning, and a horned head showing distorted human features. Delrael thought he had heard of such a creature in the worst old Sorcerer battles, a monster developed by gamers to be powerful enough to oppose even the great dragons.
“It’s a manticore,” Vailret said. His voice sounded thin with fear.
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Journeyman said.
Overhead, Lady Maire’s Veil reminded Delrael of green blood spilled across the sky. The mountains of Scartaris looked like a strange, warped creature made of stone, rearing its mighty head. Two symmetrical peaks curved upward from the main mountain, broken and pitted, similar to the horns of a giant bull. On the central rock face was a yawning grotto, a cavelike overhang that stared out of the mountain like a cyclopean eye-socket, black and pupilless.
Delrael had to take the Earthspirits into that cavern. It was obvious. He had gone on enough quests to identify the goal when he saw it. But the entire army of Scartaris stood ready to stop him. He felt his vision go dark and fuzzy; his breathing came short.
“The game ain’t over until the fat lady sings,” Journeyman said. He blinked his clay eyelids.
“Sadic will protect you,” the burly Slave said and stood beside Delrael. “You freed Sadic.”
Delrael felt the silver belt at his waist. All of those monsters, each one intent on destroying Gamearth, on stopping him—how could he ever take the Spirits the final distance? “We’d need an army of our own to get past them.”
“And any time it looks as if we might succeed, Scartaris can go through his metamorphosis and end the Game anyway,” Mindar sighed. “Isn’t this fun?”
Bryl shuffled his feet and kept his head down. “I have an idea.” He flinched when everyone looked at him at once. He ran his gnarled hands through the folds of his cloak and withdrew the Fire Stone and the Air Stone.
“Scartaris knows we have the Fire Stone, since it was Enrod’s,” he said, then thrust the eight-sided ruby back into his hidden pockets. “But I haven’t used the Air Stone yet on this quest. Remember how Gairoth had his army of illusion ogres at the Stronghold? Gairoth has even less training than I do, and his Sorcerer blood is tainted.”
He took a deep breath. “My father Qonnar was a full-blooded Sorcerer; my mother Tristane was a half-breed. I’ve had some training. If I use up all my spells, I can create an army for you. A good one.”
Delrael pondered a moment as possibilities came into his head, then he grinned and clapped a hand on Bryl’s shoulder.
“Whatever it takes,” Journeyman said, “The Rulewoman Melanie is counting on me.”
Bryl seemed small and terrified. “Just remember what I’m going to do, though. It’s easy to think of one or two figures and move them around with my imagination—but I’ll be keeping track of a thousand different faces, different characters, all at the same time. Each one fighting, each one moving around like a real character would.”
He blinked his eyes, looking giddy. “It’ll be like role-playing on a gigantic scale! It must be what the Outsiders do all the time.”
Mindar held her rippled sword and stared at the army below. The expression on her face seemed explosive. “If you make it look like the monsters are being slaughtered, that’ll certainly ruin their morale.”
Delrael saw concern grown on Bryl’s face. “Just remember, my illusions won’t cause any actual damage, though the monsters will think they’re striking something solid. At least it’ll keep them busy while you slip past to Scartaris.”
Bryl huddled between broken boulders in the shelter of an outcropping. “I’ll need a place where I can hide and not be disturbed.” He wiggled small rocks from under him, brushed his hands together, then withdrew the four-sided diamond. It glistened even in the falling darkness.
“I’ll cover myself with an illusion too. But you’d better hurry. With two Stones in my possession, I can use five spells now and another five after midnight—but I don’t know how long that’ll last. It depends on how I roll.”
Mindar’s expression hardened. “We all have to fight to our limits.” She turned to Delrael; her eyes held the burning obsession he had seen there so many times before.
“But it’s time for truth between us, Delrael. If we’re going to fight together against Scartaris, I need to know what weapon you’ve got.” She fidgeted, then looked up. “I want to be sure I’m gambling my life on a good chance.”
Delrael frowned down at the ground. He gazed back at Mindar, her high cheekbones, her deep eyes, the tangled hair that had once been braided behind her head.
“You’re right, Mindar.” He turned away, for some reason not wanting to watch her face as he told his secret. “The Earthspirits want to destroy Scartaris, too. I’m carrying them with me, in my belt. I have to take them there.” He pointed to the jagged mountains. “They can defeat him.”
Journeyman frowned. “It’s not the only weapon we have.”
“Are we going to end this or not?” Bryl said from his hiding place. He stroked the diamond, staring into its facets. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
Delrael nodded. “Luck.”
“Luck,” the others echoed.
The Slave stood beside them with shoulders squared, ready for battle. Journeyman went to Bryl and extended a clay hand in a formal gesture. “Live long and prosper.”
Delrael cleared his throat. “We’re ready.”
Bryl took a deep breath and rolled the Air Stone.
The air shimmered with the massive illusion gelling around them. Forms appeared, snapping into sharp clarity.
On the slope overlooking Scartaris’s horde, another army now stood: all human characters, clad in perfect armor, strong and proud, carrying a variety of weapons. With a start, Delrael recognized most of the faces—they were his own or Vailret’s. Some bore moustaches and beards or dark hair, but Bryl had plainly used his own memory. Other soldiers looked like characters from the Stronghold village.
The fighters carried bright shields with the colors of villages hexagons distant from the Stronghold. Their boots showed scuff marks as if they had marched across the map.
“Excellent!” Delrael whispered.
“That would impress even the old Sorcerer warlords,” Vailret said.
“Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country,” Journeyman added.
Then a loud voice, clear as the tone from a crystal bell, rang out from Delrael’s silver belt. “The Earthspirits are prepared for our final battle. We wish you luck!”
Delrael stood stunned and delighted. The others gawked at him, amazed. He didn’t want to waste time thinking about it—they had to fight. Always have fun. He felt filled with
confidence.
Mindar held up her rippled sword. “Let’s go, before we lose our advantage of surprise.” Then she ran forward with a suicidal determination on her face. Vailret and Journeyman moved side by side, and Sadic followed Delrael.
Weapons drawn, armor adjusted, the illusion army surged into motion with a muffled clanking. They kept ranks as they charged down the long slope toward the monster horde, yelling personal battle cries. They left no footprints on the sand.
Delrael let himself be hidden among the illusion soldiers. In true Game spirit he felt he should be at the head of his fighters, leading the point of the charge like a great general in the Sorcerer wars. But calling attention to himself would defeat the entire purpose of creating the illusion army. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Scartaris’s army howled in confused surprise at the sudden appearance of this new force. They dropped all preparations for their charge across Gamearth. The monsters still outnumbered the illusion army—Bryl could only imagine and direct so many soldiers—but it was enough to throw the enemy ranks into turmoil. The two armies met.
Tall Slac troops stormed together, pushing their way through the other monster warriors to the front of the fighting line. Each Slac carried an iron sword and tough shield of Tairan manufacture.
Delrael watched other illusion soldiers struck down and trampled on the battlefield. So many of them looked like him. It made him feel sick inside.
A tall Slac general stood in his path, cloaked in a slick black garment that hung around him, giving the reptilian arms freedom to maneuver. Platelike scales covered the Slac’s head. Its eyes were emerald green, glowing and pupilless. But one of the illusion soldiers engaged the Slac, and Delrael slipped past.
The smell of smoke and blood and churned-up dust bit into his nostrils, masking the lingering stench of the close-pressed monster army.
He watched Mindar dash about, slashing with her rippled sword. Her face was drawn back in a furious expression, savoring her revenge on Scartaris. She struck one pig-snouted monster down and turned to thrash at a swarm of green-skinned goblins. The S-scar on her forehead glowed. The Slac ignored her and concentrated on the advancing army.
Journeyman waded in, swinging his clay fists from side to side and bowling over goblins. Swords bit into his skin, but he repaired the damage by shoving his clay back into place.
Vailret swung his short sword, but didn’t seem to know what to do. He kept himself sheltered and tried to remain by the golem. Since so many of the fighters looked alike, Delrael had to look twice to make sure he had really seen Vailret and not an illusion counterpart.
Near Delrael an illusion fighter—himself, but with black hair and a beard—struck at a hunchbacked demon. The demon grunted without words and swung a jagged pike up into the human fighter’s stomach. Though it was only an illusion, Delrael snarled as the fighter choked, bleeding from his mouth, and fell still grasping the weapon stuck through him.
Delrael jumped in and chopped down on the hunchbacked monster’s neck. The sword bit through the knobbed, leathery skin. The monster tried to turn, but it still thought its pike was stuck in the dead illusion fighter and couldn’t pull it away. Delrael swung again, severing the cords in the monster’s neck and watching the head fall.
Battlefield sounds roared around him. His ears were numb from the screams of monsters and human fighters, the clang of weapons, the garbled shouting of orders from Slac generals, cries of anger and confusion. He heard the booming of drums.
A mass of goblins charged into the fray, scrabbling with sharp fingers. They picked up fallen weapons and broken sticks; two carried burning brands from abandoned campfires. They made a thin jabbering as they piled on their victims, bringing them down with the force of numbers.
Delrael heard a haunting, buzzing sound with growls and cries and squawks that grew louder in an approaching storm of noise. He held his sword out to defend himself and looked behind him, up into the sky—
Poised like an axe over a chopping block, the black cloud began to fall down on the battlefield.
It dissolved before his eyes, breaking into nebulous pieces drifting down as the bottom portion, filled with dim shapes, set upon the confusion of the battleground. He could see that the cloud was not really black at all, but a garbled mass of colors blended together. Thousands of unrelated noises smothered the battlefield din.
Then a bird flashed in front of Delrael’s eyes, darting forward at a hairy monster.
Dozens of biting flies flew ahead of it; beetles hummed by. A cloud of butterflies spattered themselves across the face of a demon. Tiny creatures filled the air. On the ground, larger animals attacked, moving and working together.
The clear, ringing voice of the Earthspirits spoke out from his silver belt. “Our reinforcements have arrived.” The words vibrated through to his bones. “We sent out our own summons to living creatures across the map, but you did not recognize it as such. They will help as best they can.”
Delrael ran forward in delight, remembering the disturbing screech his belt had made in the forest by the Barrier River. “You could have let us know ahead of time.”
The Earthspirits made no reply.
A cloud of wasps and flies fell upon one of the breeder groups of goblins, stinging again and again. A gray wolf and a sharp-antlered stag charged among other demons. Beetles and spiders covered their fur, but the little creatures jumped off and set upon the monsters.
A black bear roared and threw herself on a thin, oily-skinned demon. The bear mauled at the monster with spread claws while the demon defended itself with its own iron sword. The bear ripped the demon’s oily flesh to spill entrails that smoked in the cool air.
Delrael continued forward, setting his jaw. He slashed at several confused goblins, but he concentrated on moving toward Scartaris. The mountain lair rose up across the battlefield, on the other side of a hex-line.
Beside him, a yellow bird took on a towering Slac, darting in and flapping at the monster’s face. The Slac lunged clumsily at it, smashing the air with balled, horny fists. But the bird fluttered away, then flew in again to peck the emerald eyes.
Hundreds of tiny insects swarmed over a spine-covered creature, stinging its eyes, clogging its ears and nostrils and mouth with their dead bodies. A frenzied Slac charged in front of Delrael; its face was a black mass of crawling, biting beetles. It waved its sword wildly in the air, stumbling, until a gray wolf knocked the Slac to the ground and tore out its throat.
Explosions ripped the air, throwing up dirt and flames and chunks of clay. Delrael wondered if Scartaris’s monsters used the same kind of firepowder that Tareah wanted for her Transition Day festivities. Teams of monsters used groaning catapults to lob clay pots of firepowder. The explosions only did more damage to Scartaris’s horde.
Delrael stopped and realized that he had lost track of Vailret and the others. In the chaos around him, all the soldiers looked alike. The animals and the demons fought on every side of him. He couldn’t shout into the din.
For an instant he allowed himself to feel alone and frightened, then he swallowed his fear and worked his way forward. He had to get the Earthspirits to Scartaris. Characters always had to finish their quests, or die trying. It said so in The Book of Rules.
#
Vailret struggled to stay next to Journeyman. The golem charged ahead, smashing monstrous soldiers and intent on his own goal. The illusion fighters moved about, clashing, striking. Many wore an eerie reflection of Vailret’s features. He watched them fall, finding it very disturbing to watch himself die.
He held his sword, but illusion soldiers engaged all monsters that came near him. He felt his mind overloading with the terror of the battle. Sharp swords, knives, clawed hands, spiked armor, terrible weapons—
Vailret looked around, frantic, but he had lost track of the true Delrael. He hoped that one of those slaughtered victims wasn’t his cousin. “Journeyman! I can’t find Del!”
The golem pause
d and turned. “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.”
Journeyman knocked a Slac general out of the way, punching the reptilian creature in the stomach, then seizing the stout neck and snapping it sideways. The dead Slac stared at Journeyman with an expression of astonishment.
Vailret hurried after the golem. The mountain lair of Scartaris stood stark and clear; he could only hope Delrael would meet him and Journeyman there.
To the left, monsters lobbed pots of firepowder in bright explosions. The animals and insects massed around Vailret, swarming, but they attacked only the monsters. Animal smells mixed with the stench of the demon army’s long encampment.
Ahead, the manticore stood tall over all the other monsters. With great leaps he charged to the focus of the fighting. Indisciminately, the manticore slashed his own soldiers out of the way. His giant paws mauled half a dozen goblins as he pushed toward the illusion human fighters. The manticore’s scorpion tail flicked back and forth, striking each time with a blue flash and an explosion.
Vailret knew stories about the manticores—it was said they were so powerful that even their old Sorcerers creators could barely control them. And several Sorcerers had died trying.
Vailret caught up with Journeyman just as a stone gargoyle leaped in front of them. The ground thudded as the heavy stone creature landed and spread its feet and jagged wings, holding both cumbersome granite arms up to block their way. Demonic horns curled up from the center of its forehead, but Arken’s crudely formed expression did not change. He had formed the same stone body for himself again.
“Go away, boy, you bother me.” Journeyman tried to pass by.
“Shall we have a rematch, my friends?” Arken said. “Two out of three?”
Journeyman stopped and grinned broadly. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”
The gargoyle heaved a rumbling sigh. “I learned my lesson, but apparently Scartaris has not. Once again he has brought me back with explicit orders to stop you. Scartaris is angry—he thinks I tricked him.”
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