Game Play (36 page)

Arken stood up
straight, nodding his horned head in delight. "Why didn't I think of that?
He told me to follow his orders exactly. Oh, this is delightful! Scartaris will
be even more upset!"

"Now do what
you can to help," Vailret said. "We have to get to Scartaris."

Journeyman squared
his shoulders. "The Rulewoman Melanie is counting on me."

With another great
bound, the huge manticore stormed toward them, striking with his explosive
scorpion tail. He used his claws to tear apart illusion human soldiers four and
five at a time, stomping over them without a pause. The manticore let out a
howling roar, human and bestial at the same time from his distorted manlike
face.

Arken turned and
flashed his cavernous stone eyes at Vailret. "Here's a good opportunity.
You move on, get to Scartaris. Luck!"

Turning, the
gargoyle waded through the other fighting and approached the manticore from the
side. Arken slammed a jagged stone fist into the wide ribs of the leonine body
before the manticore had even noticed him.

With a roar and an
outraged "Ooof!" of pain, the manticore turned on him, favoring
cracked ribs. The great monster reared up and scored its claws against the
gargoyle, leaving clean white gouges across the granite chest and raking up
sparks.

The stone-winged
gargoyle scrambled to his feet again and leaped up to grab the hooked bulb at
the end of the scorpion tail, trying to break off the stinger. But the
manticore whirled and brought the tail up. He lifted Arken off the ground and
flung him forward. With another lash, the scorpion tail sparked blue lighting.
It struck down with an explosive electric roar that shattered the gargoyle into
lifeless stone pieces.

With a long
backward glance, Vailret followed Journeyman, who pushed toward the lair of
Scartaris with single-minded intent.

Delrael closed his
mind to anything but moving forward. He could not find the others, but if he
failed to reach Scartaris that wouldn't matter anyway.
He
had the
Earthspirits.
He
could end the Outsiders' threat.

Delrael looked
ahead, paying only enough attention to keep moving. His sword arm was
exhausted; he found breathing difficult
―
but he had reached a fever
pitch of fighting, and nothing else seemed real to him.

Until one loud
bellow broke through the din of the battle.

"Delroth!"

He froze and turned
with stunned amazement as the one-eyed ogre plowed through the other soldiers.
With a slash of his spiked club, Gairoth bowled over a mob of goblins and
plodded toward Delrael.

"Haw! Now I
kill you!"

Delrael couldn't
believe the ogre had followed them from where they had rescued Tallin, through
the Spectre Mountains where he had been swept off the ledge by the avalanche,
all the way across the map to here. Somehow the ogre knew which one was the
true Delrael, and which ones were just Bryl's illusions.

Delrael held his
sword ready. "You're starting to bother me, Gairoth."

But despite his
show of false bravery, he saw how the huge ogre knocked aside other formidable
demon fighters to reach him.

"Come on,
then," Delrael said. He swallowed and felt his throat tighten. He got
ready.

Gairoth growled and
strode forward, holding his club like a baseball bat.

Then another
explosive roar distracted both of them. Goblins and demons were tossed aside
like dead leaves in the wind.

The Slave of the
Serpent burst into view. His hairy paws dripped with blood of different colors.
He grabbed two goblins, smashed their heads together into a pulpy mass. Then he
tossed them aside as he strode toward Delrael.

"Sadic will
protect you."

Delrael stepped
back, feeling relieved. The Slave stepped beside him like a gigantic bodyguard.
"You freed Sadic from Serpent."

Gairoth bellowed in
annoyance as the towering Slave stepped between him and Delrael. Sadic stood a
full two feet taller than the ogre and much broader across the shoulders. Globs
of blood matted the Slave's fur from the monsters he had slain. The deep wound
in his thigh had reopened and oozed thick yellow blood, making him limp and
move stiffly.

But he stood
against Gairoth. "You go," Sadic said to Delrael. "Kill Scartaris."

A V-formation of
hawks swooped down and skimmed past him. They slashed out the eyes of a spine-covered
monster, then struck in to tear out its throat with their long claws. Together,
they flew off again.

Gairoth snorted and
lunged toward Delrael, trying to duck to the side of the Slave. Sadic reached
out a giant paw and caught the ogre across the tattered furs on his chest,
deflecting Gairoth's charge and knocking him to the dirt.

Gairoth landed on
his backside and howled. He used the club to pry himself to his feet then
turned his anger toward Sadic. He swung the club with all his might, and the
wicked spikes raked across where the Slave had been.

Sadic leaped back
but stumbled on his wounded leg, wincing in pain.

Gairoth jumped at
the Slave of the Serpent; Sadic met him, grabbing the ogre around the chest.
The two grappled with each other, pounding with massive fists, trying to
squeeze and crack ribs. Sadic raked his long claws up the peeling skin of
Gairoth's back. The ogre shifted his grip higher on the spiked club to bash at
the demon's fur-covered shoulder until yellow blood oozed out.

With loud bestial
sounds, both opponents flung themselves away and stood panting and bleeding.

Once more Gairoth
tried to scramble around the Slave. Sadic blocked him again, but this time the
ogre leered a strange grin as if he had gotten an idea. He lashed out with one
of his wide bare feet and kicked as hard as he could, smacking into the deep
open wound on the Slave's leg.

In agony, Sadic
buckled over, grabbing his thigh. He staggered.

Gairoth swung the
spiked club up and then down, leaping into the air to put all of his weight
into the swing. The club crashed down onto the demon's head, smashing through
it like a soft-boiled egg.

Sadic grunted once,
then collapsed to the ground.

The shock struck
Delrael like a cold knife in his stomach. He had wounded the Slave with his
sword, giving Gairoth his chance to play dirty. He felt responsible. Then
Delrael realized how foolish he had been for not running when Sadic gave him
the chance.

Now Gairoth,
panting but angrier than ever, picked up his dripping club and stepped over the
Slave's prone body. He advanced toward Delrael.

Sadic grabbed the
ogre's ankle, driving claws deep into the thick leg and tripping him. Gairoth
sprawled out on his face. With a fury greater than a sudden thunderstorm, the
ogre jumped back to his feet and pounded the fallen Slave over and over with
the club, sending a thick rain of yellow blood into the air.

Bleeding from his
ankle now, Gairoth returned all his attention to Delrael. "Haw! Now you
die, Delroth!"

Delrael held his
sword in front of him. "You've said that before, Gairoth. But you keep
botching it!" He felt no force behind his words. Hope drained out of him
with sick dismay at seeing the death of Sadic.

Gairoth ran
forward. Delrael held his ground.

Neither of them saw
the shadowy, batlike forms as the reptilian flying creatures swooped down to
the battlefield.

Gairoth swung.

Delrael held up his
sword to block the blow, though he knew it would do nothing against the ogre's
momentum.

He felt sharp pain
in both of his shoulders as if two handfuls of knives had stabbed into him. His
neck jerked as something snapped his body into the air. The battlefield dropped
away under him, and he heard sounds like great sails rippling over his head.

The bat-creature
shrieked from a pointed, fanged mouth and flew up into the sky.

Gairoth spun around
when his club struck only air, and dropped to his knees, dizzy. He stared at
where Delrael had been, but saw nothing. Only footprints that vanished. A
single drop of scarlet blood marked the ground.

"Which way did
he go? Awwww!"

Up in the sky, he
saw the shadow of a flying creature carrying a man, winging toward the grotto
of Scartaris.

Professor Verne
stoked the steam-engine car and checked its water level. It would function for
barely another hour. He took a last drink of water and poured the rest of his
flask into the boiler. Every little bit would help. Verne ran the back of his
hand across his lips and sighed. Then he sealed the chamber to let the steam
pressure build.

The Sitnaltan
weapon lay cradled in the car's seat. It was primed and waiting. Monitor lights
blinked on and off.

He had pondered all
day about how to get around the monster army.

Though the weapon
would cause immense havoc when it detonated, he still wanted to get it as close
to Scartaris as possible. No sense taking chances, especially far from Sitnalta
where the world worked so differently.

Verne jotted down
his last thoughts in his journal and tucked the book inside his woollen jacket.
He didn't know if he would ever return to Sitnalta, or if his memoirs would
ever be published, but he felt an obligation to record his thoughts and
observations.

He tugged at his
full beard and straightened it. He wished he had brought his pipe along
―
he could use a relaxing smoke right now. He blew through his lips instead. He
felt queasy inside. "Great Maxwell, what have I gotten myself into?"

Steam-pressure
gauges on the car's boiler rose. The vehicle was almost ready to move. Darkness
had fallen.

When a great roar
went up from the monster horde, Verne jumped, startled, and looked to see an
army of human characters advancing down the slope a partial hexagon away. Verne
blinked his eyes in amazement. He had seen no indications of an approaching
army. How could all those fighters appear with no warning at all? No doubt they
were that type of Gamearth character who thrived on military campaigns, went on
quests. He hoped they wouldn't be too near the blast when his weapon went off.

He climbed aboard
the steam-engine car and sat back in his seat. He could investigate the
identity of the army later. For now he would take advantage of the diversion.
He made sure the doomsday weapon was firmly strapped in the back seat, safe
from any jostling; the timer was ready to be set.

Professor Verne
took a deep breath. He straightened his jacket one last time, out of habit,
then released the locks on the gears. He held onto the steering levers.

The steam-engine
car rattled down the slope toward the mountains of Scartaris.

Mindar slashed the
air with her rippled sword. Dark blood dripped off its serrated edges. Her hair
was tangled. She swept it back away from her eyes, then shouted her outrage at
the monster army. "Why won't you fight me!"

She turned back and
forth, but Scartaris's monsters ignored her. They would not meet her eyes.
Mindar charged into a mass of goblins, but they swirled around her and moved
on. They did not strike back.

"Fight
me!"

Scartaris was doing
this to taunt her, to have
fun
. He knew that the greatest damage he could do
to Mindar was to ignore her, to refuse to acknowledge her efforts against him.

She ran at one of
the towering Slac fighters and swung her sword, but the Slac lifted a
Tairan-made shield and deflected her blow. Then the monster punched her with a
balled scaly fist, knocking her out of the way.

She wheezed, felt
the pain from her bruised ribs, and stood up. Bryl's illusion soldiers fought
all around her.

Mindar stood up and
glared at the jagged lair of Scartaris on the far edge of the battlefield. That
was where she could strike her blow. She had lost Delrael and the others, but
they were fighting, moving toward Scartaris.

She belonged there
too.

Mindar strode
through the battle, wading into blood and fallen bodies.

The other fighters
did not turn to face her.

The flying creature
beat its taut wings with a sound like a man gasping for breath. Delrael felt as
though its claws were ripping his shoulders off.

The bat-creature
rose higher. Delrael grabbed the sword in his hand, though his fingers grew
cold and numb. He still ached from his battle with the Slave of the Serpent two
days before, exhausted now from fighting through Scartaris's army.

Veins laced the
wings of the bat-creature, visible through skin as thin as fine fabric, pulsing
and rippling in the breeze. The flying thing had deep pits for eyes, blank and
pupilless, and a long jagged snout in an arrow-shaped head. Its cry was so
high-pitched that Delrael's ears felt ready to burst.

His feet dangled
below him. He felt nothing, only air beneath his boots. The battlefield lay
fifty feet below. Distinct sounds drifted up. He saw the swirling fighters, the
movements of the ranks, flashes of exploding pots of firepowder. The giant
manticore dominated the battle scene.