Game Play (3 page)

"Or maybe not,
in this case," Delrael said.

No one could
suggest a plan of action, not even Tareah. They knew too little about their
enemy.

Delrael found it
impossible to sit around and wait. He was a fighter trained to action, not
discussion. He needed to meet a problem head on, to fight, to explore, go
adventuring and, as the primary Rule of Gamearth dictated,
have fun
.
When all else fails, go on a quest.

Finally, he and
Vailret came to the conclusion that they should just head east. Maybe they
could do something there if they tried. Perhaps Enrod, the full-blooded
Sentinel in Taire, could help them....

Delrael stood in
the doorway of his room. It had once been his parents' master chambers, but
that had been many turns before. Fielle, his mother, was dead of a fever, and
his father Drodanis had gone away, searching for the mysterious Rulewoman far
away in the south.

It was warm for the
late summer night, but Vailret's mother Siya had built a roaring fire in the
hearth. Light glittered from chests of gems stacked against his wall, plunder
from some of Delrael's earlier quests. The room smelled clean and resinous from
the burning wood. Siya had tossed herbs into the hearth again.

His bed beckoned to
him. His body yearned for a good night's sleep.

Worked up and
anxious, not knowing what to do, Delrael hadn't been resting well, frustrated
by a problem he could not grasp.

Even his younger
cousin Vailret, the thinker and scholar, found himself just as much at a loss.

With a sigh,
Delrael loosened his oiled leather jerkin and removed it, stretching his arms.
The muscles popped into place. It felt good to relax.

While sitting
around, he had mended his armor. He needed to work on his archery skills a
little more tomorrow.

Someone knocked on
the door before he could lie down. Delrael sighed and went to the door.

Siya stood there,
small and rigid. "I've drawn another hot bath for Tareah. I don't know how
she stands it
―
I can barely put my hand in the water. But she
says it helps her aches. I wonder how much longer this will last."

Delrael nodded.
"Depends how long she keeps on growing."

The Sentinel Sardun
had held his daughter in the body of a child for three decades, not wanting her
to grow up before another full-blooded Sorcerer could be born at random by the
Rules of Probability. But when Sardun died, his spell was broken. In only weeks
Tareah grew at a remarkable rate, catching up with lost time. In the balloon
ride back from the island of Rokanun, she looked like ten-year-old girl: now
she appeared fully grown.

But her bones and
muscles ached from the strain. Hot, hot baths helped, she said. Siya and
Delrael tried to make her as comfortable as possible.

Tareah had
blossomed into a beautiful woman, though she still felt uncomfortable around
groups of characters after the isolation in her father's Ice Palace. She was
making the effort to learn social skills that Delrael took for granted.

"Why don't you
make her some herb tea so she can rest better?" Delrael said. "And if
there's anything I can do for her, tell her to be sure and ask."

He wrapped his hand
around the edge of the door.

"But I need to
get to sleep now, Aunt Siya. Sooner or later we're going to leave on a quest
again."

She scowled, but
Delrael raised his hand to stop her from saying anything. "We're not doing
it just for fun this time. You know that. We're trying to save our world."

But after he closed
the door, removed his clothes, and pulled on an airy nightshirt, Delrael closed
his eyes in concern. His head kept ringing from too much discussion.

Working together,
they had defeated Tryos the dragon and driven away Gairoth the ogre. But if
Scartaris was powerful enough to obliterate the map of Gamearth and
literally
destroy every hexagon of terrain, they would need something more potent than
magic Stones and hand-held weapons.

Bending down,
Delrael picked up the jewelled silver belt his father had given him. The belt
was an ancient relic, crafted by the old Sorcerers before they embarked on the
Transition. Delrael had earned it for doing well in his battle training. If
only the vanished Sorcerers knew what was becoming of their world now....

At the moment,
though, he wanted sleep more than anything. Maybe an idea would come in the
night. Still staring at the belt in his hands, Delrael dropped backward onto
the bed
―

A lightning bolt
like ice shot through his body. His heart stopped.

His vision turned
into the blinding white of a snowstorm.

He landed on his
back in the dew-spangled grass of a starlit meadow.

The cool air around
him was like the shock of falling into a mountain stream.

He paused a second
to blink in astonishment before his fighter reflexes took over. Delrael leaped
to his feet, crouching in a battle stance
―
but he was barefoot,
clad only in his nightshirt, holding only a silver belt in his hand. He felt
helpless and naked as he glanced around, trying to find a branch or something
to fight with.

Overhead the
greenish aurora, Lady Maire's Veil, lit the clearing.

Through a break in
the trees, Delrael could see Steep Hill, on top of which stood the walled-in
Stronghold. He had been somehow transported into one of the neighboring
forest-terrain hexes. He hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Who's
there?" Delrael said quietly. Then, squaring his shoulders, he spoke in
his loudest battle-commander voice. "I said who's there!"

After a moment he
wondered if he should have said anything at all.

The forest sounds
vanished. It made Delrael wonder if all the creatures had some sort of rapport
with ... with whatever had brought him here. The trees stood completely still,
then began to sway on the edges of the meadow.

The wind picked up.
Spangles of light wove in and out of the air, drawing rough shapes that towered
impossibly high and yet might not have been there at all.

Delrael blinked his
eyes again and again. The outlines grew sharper, taking form as the breeze
turned to a roar. The tree branches clattered and scratched against each other.
Delrael's brown hair blew back away from his face.

He squinted into
the stinging wind, but the white light grew brighter and
brighter
until
it coalesced into three discrete forms, giant hooded shapes. They stood taller
than the trees, stretching up toward the glowing aurora.

"We are the
Earthspirits. We have come back to save Gamearth. And you must help us."

Delrael didn't know
what to say. His jaw dropped. Vailret had told enough stories about the
Transition
―
he knew how powerful the Spirits were.

The wind rang in
his ears. He thought he was shouting, but his voice felt pitifully small. His
words sounded limp and inane even to him. "How can I help? Can you destroy
Scartaris?"

The Earthspirits
paused at that, then spoke again in unison. "We have been gone too long.
We are not aware of what has taken place since we departed.

"We sought a
way to escape from the Game, to leave the map behind and seek our own
reality
.
We found ways to avoid the Rules, but we cannot break them entirely. We are
bound to Gamearth
―
its Rules are fundamental to our existence.

"The Deathspirits
learned this, too, but they wish to embrace chaos.

They would form
their own Rules, make their own maps, Play their own new games.

"They were our
enemies in the Wars. We have not communicated with them since the
Transition."

Silence hung in the
wind for a moment.

"But the Wars
are over." Delrael felt giddy at his own brashness for interrupting.
"Scartaris is our enemy now, but we don't stand any chance against him.
Unless you can help."

Delrael shrugged
off his doubts. No character ever won a gamble without first placing a wager.

"Scartaris is
... unknown to us. We do not know if we will win against him." The
Earthspirits paused a beat. "But if we are to fight,
you
must take us
there."

Delrael stood
straight, brushing the damp folds of his nightshirt.

"Take you
there? What do you mean? Can't you just ... go?"

"We are bound
by Rules of travel as are all characters on Gamearth. But it is much more
difficult for us to cross hex-lines. We are not substantial enough.

"Also,
Scartaris has the power to destroy the map and end the Game any time he wishes.
If he knows we are coming for him, he will not wait."

Delrael felt
disappointed and helpless. "Why doesn't he get it over with, then?"

"The Outsider
David is a vindictive one. He wants to make all characters watch the
destruction of Gamearth first.

"You must
deliver us in secret. The Outsiders are not aware of our return to the world.
They can know nothing of this quest. We are beyond them now
―
Gamearth
has its own magic they do not realize."

Listening to the
Earthspirits speak, Delrael began to feel confident again. As the giant forms
loomed over him, he sensed their power, their invincibility.

"We will
disguise ourselves. A dim part of us remembers the silver belt you carry,
remembers creating it as an ornament so long ago."

Delrael clenched
the glittering belt self-consciously, wondering what they would do. Then he
cursed his own selfishness.

"Lay it on the
ground," the Earthspirits said. "We will meld ourselves to it, take
substance in the metal. We can do little to assist you, though we can shield
you from the manipulations of Scartaris once you get closer to him.

"Carry this
belt across the map. When you reach Scartaris, we will emerge. We will take him
by surprise."

Silence settled
down on the meadow. The white Spirits waited for Delrael.

With trembling
hands, he laid the shining belt down on the grass. The light from the
Earthspirits glinted off the gems and the polished hexagonal sections of
silver. He backed away, stumbling into a fallen tree. But he could not tear his
gaze from the Spirits.

The Earthspirits
changed. They moved. Their light glittered and swirled in a funnel, pouring
down into the metal of the belt. Dazzles of color floated in front of Delrael's
eyes. He shielded them, blinking, as the wind continued to howl, focusing
downward. Leaves broke away from branches and swirled around his head.

The Spirits
streamed down into the silver links. Delrael tried to imagine how so much power
could fit within the belt.

Then the silver
swallowed the last glints of white with an audible
pop
. The wind ceased.
Torn leaves and broken twigs settled to the ground, and everything fell silent
again.

His ears ringing,
Delrael crept forward. His feet were wet, along with the hem of his nightshirt.
His eyes were wide and childlike when he touched the belt. For a moment it was
blistering hot, then the silver grew bitterly cold before adjusting itself
again. Tracings of frost etched across the gems before evaporating into the
cool night.

Delrael picked the
belt up in his hands. The silver throbbed against his fingers, vibrating with a
rhythm that faded toward stillness.

He would have to be
careful about what he said to anyone if the Outsiders truly were not aware of
this quest. Not even the Rulewoman Melanie could know.

Then Delrael
smiled. At last they had their weapon. At last they had a way to win against
Scartaris.

He fastened the
belt around his damp nightshirt. He didn't feel tired anymore. He wanted to
talk to Vailret and Bryl and Tareah immediately. They needed to set off as soon
as possible. No more sitting around and talking.

He looked up
through the trees to see the silhouette of Steep Hill and the Stronghold.
Delrael realized it would be a long walk barefoot back home.

Tareah sat back in
the deep wooden tub, drawing her gangly legs up and tucking her knees close to
her chin. The legs seemed so long to her, so awkward, as if they belonged to
someone else. The rough surface of the wet wood rubbed against the bumps of her
spine.

Through half-closed
eyes she saw wisps of steam rising from the bath.

The warm water
soaked into the throbbing in her joints. Old Siya argued with her that the
water was too hot, but Tareah found that only this would help.

When she climbed
out, dripping, to dry herself, her skin would be angry red, but she would feel
better, numbed for a while.

Her muscles relaxed
under the coaxing of the bath. She let her mind drift, her body drift. She felt
painfully lonely, lost and unsure of anything.

Her stable and
predictable world had been thrown into chaos since Tryos the dragon kidnapped
her, since her father died in the destruction of his Ice Palace, since she
found out the Outsiders were trying to destroy Gamearth.