The pools of wet blood on Mindar's skin smoked, bubbled, and burned away from her form, fading even from her stained clothes. The open gash and splintered ribs clenched themselves in a staccato spasm, like a mouth smacking its lips, until the wound congealed, bound together and sealing the skin without leaving a scar.
Her eyelids jammed shut, and she wheezed a great breath into her lungs.
Her chest rose and fell. She jerked.
"She said Scartaris wouldn't let her die," Vailret said. He felt as if a great weight hung on his shoulders.
Delrael grabbed Mindar's shoulder, but she was still too hot and he snatched his hand away.
Mindar twitched her muscles, then rolled over, stumbling to her knees.
Tears streamed from between her closed eyelids. The S-scar continued to glow red. She struggled to her feet, then turned to face them.
Mindar stood straight and opened her eyes. She did not move. She made no reaction at all.
Her eyes were blank white, and pupilless. Scartaris's eyes.
INTERLUDE: OUTSIDE
Tyrone shook his head with an expression of naive astonishment.
"Man, this is getting pretty intense. How about we just, uh, take a break for a while? Watch some TV. I've got all the Star Trek movies on tape." He stood up and looked toward the living room where the television sat switched off like a dull gray-green eye.
"Shut up and sit down!" David's voice had a hollow power to it, an alien sound that caused Melanie to jump.
She frowned and brought her own anger to the surface. David was doing this just to sicken her, just to flaunt his disregard for the people of Gamearth. "How can you you do that to one of your own characters, David?
Didn't you put Mindar through enough already?"
"She's my character. I can do what I want with her. It's fun." In the globe light over the dining room table, his smile looked bright and jagged.
"We're playing this game for fun, remember?"
Melanie stared across the table at him. She felt stronger now, keyed up. It didn't matter what David did. She had her characters. They were fighting together, she and them. She had given them Journeyman and the secret weapon she had painted into the map; Gamearth had brought back the Earthspirits on its own.
"You're changing, David. What's happening to you? Are you playing Scartaris ... or is he playing you?"
David scowled at her, but didn't seem to know how to answer. Scott cleared his throat. "It's getting kind of strange even with you, Melanie. Do you know that when you play different characters your voice changes? You're even worse than David. Your eyes get sort of ... funny."
"Yeah," Tyrone said, not noticing the thin smear of dip on his chin, "it's like something out of The Exorcist."
"When you're playing your characters, it's like you're swallowed up in them. Like you don't even know what you're saying." Scott pursed his lips.
Melanie felt sweat prickle at the back of her neck. She covered it by reaching for some chips and stuffing a handful in her mouth. "That's crazy. I know exactly what was going on. I remember everything we did, like I was ― "
She paused and choked a little on her chips. She took a drink from her glass and swallowed before she finished her sentence. "It's like I was there myself...."
"Do you see?" David said. "Do you see? If we don't end this tonight, we might never be able to escape from the game! It's coming out, it's taking over. We've put too much magic in it, and now Gamearth doesn't need us to play anymore!"
"Maybe it's fighting back against you ― but I'm trying to save Gamearth. I don't have nightmares. I have nice dreams about the world. I'm not afraid of it. You are. I'm going to fight you to the end in this battle.
And I'm going to win. I'm going to save their world, and ours."
David's face looked pale and waxen. "What if you're wrong?"
Melanie shrugged. She saw the deep fear behind David's false arrogance.
"If you're afraid to lose, you should never have started playing in the first place."
"I'll stop you with the Slave of the Serpent." He cracked his knuckles and looked at the wide black line on the painted map where he had marked the demon's lair. The map seemed to be cracked there, exactly along the hex-line.
Puzzled, Melanie bent over to look at it, but Scott interrupted her.
"She's not the only one with plans." He drummed his fingertips on the table, then wiped his glasses on the untucked ends of his shirt. "Hurry up and finish your turn. We don't have all night."
Chapter 17:
FIGHTERS
"We must learn how to use the Rules to our advantage in any situation. That means we need to train ourselves with every weapon listed in The Book of Rules. We must study role-playing games to enhance our experience and decision-making capabilities. Gaming doesn't come easy ― it is a lot of work to have fun!"
― Drodanis, speech to trainees at the Stronghold.
Tareah held the sapphire Water Stone so that it glinted in the noon light. Her eyes were tired; her body felt exhausted. But the anger and shock had given way to a clarity of thought that made her absolutely sure of what she had to do. She felt brave now.
On top of Steep Hill, in the burned and splintered ruins of the Stronghold, she turned the six-sided gem to show each of its facets to the gathered villagers. The smell of smoke still hung in the air, and the ground at her feet was muddy from the rain she had summoned to quench the flames.
"My father Sardun gave me this Stone." To her own ears, her voice sounded gruff and old. The villagers listened to her now. "He used it to build and maintain his vast Ice Palace. He used it to control the weather, and to fight against the dragon Tryos."
She narrowed her eyes and looked at the other characters, making sure she held their attention. Tareah had studied the rhetorical techniques used when the ancient Sentinel Arken tried to convince other Sorcerers to renounce the Transition.
"I am the last full-blooded Sorcerer woman on Gamearth. That's why Tryos found me so valuable and kidnapped me. You all know that story. Maybe I haven't been trained enough in fighting ― " She drew herself tall, widening her eyes. "But I have powers, too. Great powers. I will have to train myself how to use them."
She sensed a difference within her as she stood before the villagers.
Tareah could imagine herself as an old Sorcerer queen, maybe even Lady Maire herself. Her joints no longer ached, and she didn't feel out of place with the other characters. The destruction of the Stronghold had shaken her, hammered home the new turn the Game had taken.
Tareah was responsible for her actions. Her powers and her abilities would not permit her to remain passive in the coming battles.
She paced around the fallen wall where dirt trickled between toppled logs that had been sharpened on top. The Stronghold buildings were all collapsed, the sword posts knocked over, the gate and the bridge across the trench both crumbled. A crude walkway allowed the other characters to look at the result of Scartaris's attack.
Tareah ran both hands through her light brown hair. Her eyes had a distant look as she began to speak. The villagers still did not interrupt her ― the destruction of the Stronghold awed them too much.
"Many turns ago, at the beginning of the Scouring, the great human general Doril founded this Stronghold. He had just lost all of his fighters as well as the Sentinel Oldahn, his friend, in a Slac fortress. Doril wanted to escape the battles of the Scouring, to live in peace away from the Game.
"He found the characters here innocent and completely unprepared to defend themselves. When he arrived, Doril strode out of the forest terrain to the fields where farmers were working. He told them of the marauding Slac armies in the nearby hexagons, and of the bloodshed in the Scouring. 'Do you comfort yourselves by thinking the Outsiders would never bring the battles here?' he asked. 'Or do you fancy you could defeat a brutal Slac regiment with your rakes and sticks?'"
As she told the story, Tareah put her hands on her hips, imitating the stance she ima
gined Doril had taken. "So Doril build this Stronghold. It has withstood many attacks and protected the characters in this village for all that time.
"But Scartaris sent the Slave of the Serpent here to slay Tarne. He brought the rat-creatures to destroy the Stronghold itself. Scartaris has brought the battle here. Like those first farmers confronted by Doril, we can no longer live our lives and ignore the rest of the Game. We must be prepared to defend ourselves in any way we know how."
She stood there watching. The forest terrain around Steep Hill seemed tranquil, filled with quiet sounds of rustling leaves, birdsong and insects.
The stream gushing along the hex-line rattled over rocks. The deceptive peacefulness bothered her.
The villagers fidgeted, uneasy. "When is Delrael coming back?" Derow the blacksmith asked, mumbling the words into his full dark beard.
"Yes," Mostem the baker said, grinning. "Once Delrael destroys Scartaris, we won't have to worry anymore."
Tareah felt anger rising within her. "Delrael left me here! He trusted me to watch over the village and the Stronghold. Even if Delrael does destroy Scartaris, how is he going to stop a gigantic army that's waiting to charge across the map? Think about it! Scartaris has gathered ten times as many fighting monsters as ever engaged in the old Sorcerer wars. Are they just going to sit still even if Scartaris is destroyed? We have to be prepared."
Siya stood by Tareah. She appeared frightened and confused, with red-rimmed eyes that showed how tired she was. But most of all she looked angry. "The Outsiders won't leave us alone to live our lives. If they want us to fight, then we should fight them."
Tareah went forward to the villagers. She walked among them, looking each in the eye as she talked. "None of us is trained. But we'll have to learn how. We must train ourselves."
The sun shown down on them, and Tareah felt exposed on top of Steep Hill, as if giant Outside eyes were staring down at her. She pushed the thought out of her head and turned her mind to the job before her.
She directed the villagers to sift through the wreckage of the storehouse, to pick out all the old weapons that could be used or repaired.
Tareah helped them, though she grew gloomier as she waded through the splinters and broken walls. Marks from tiny teeth and claws scored every scrap of wood.
Drodanis had conducted all his private role-playing training in the darkness here, surrounded by old weapons. Vailret told her of his imaginary adventure, how real the training had been for him. Now the storehouse lay collapsed. The Stronghold was ruined. It had been her responsibility.
They separated the swords, bows, maces, spears, shields, armor all into separate piles. Tareah found herself wasting too much time staring at the inlaid designs of relics that had been gathered from various treasure hoards.
Apparently, Drodanis had been as avid a collector as her father.
Tareah held one of the simple blades, a short sword, up for the blacksmith to see. "From now on, Derow, concentrate on making swords. We'll need a greater supply if we're going to gather an army. We'll send out couriers to gather all the other characters from settlements far and wide."
Derow shuffled his feet and looked at the sample blade she held up. "My craftsmanship can never match anything like this." His face turned red with shame. "The old Sorcerer swordsmiths were masters. Look at the skill in even their simplest pieces! I can't begin to ― "
"You'll do fine, Derow." Tareah held up her hand. "A sword needs to cut. It doesn't need to be beautiful."
The blacksmith still looked at her skeptically, but he set to work gathering and studying the remaining swords.
Tareah clapped her hands and walked among the other villagers, directing some to mount the archery targets, others to erect the sword posts, using logs from the fallen wall if necessary. Others went out into the forest to find straight twigs for arrows, saplings for bows. The children made bird traps to furnish feathers for fletching the arrows.
Siya wandered around, acting busy. Tareah kept too occupied to notice what Siya was doing until the old woman picked up a sword for herself and went over to the section of the wall where they had recently buried Tarne. Siya's husband Cayon also lay there.
She stood with the sword propped in front of her, its tip stuck in the soft ground. The sun glinted off gems in the hilt. Tareah noticed a strange gleam in her eyes.
"We will train. We will be ready," Siya said. She took a step forward to stand by Tareah. The other villagers paused to look up at her.
"We will be fighters!"
Chapter 18:
DELRAEL'S SECOND CHANCE
"RULE #10. Combat on Gamearth follows rigid guidelines. The accompanying tables give details on how fighting is commenced according to experience, armor, available weapons, and many other factors. Combat can come in different forms, such as surprise attack, team attack, or single combat."
― The Book of Rules
Mindar's blank white eyes stared at them. She did not blink. Her skin was pale and cold. Delrael couldn't see her breathing, but he knew she remained alive Scartaris had healed her ― he wasn't finished playing with her yet.
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.
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