Chapter 20:

SHADOW BATTLE

"The Outsiders love to play at warfare with us. They can slaughter characters by the thousands without risking harm to themselves. But this is our Game too, and we must fight back."

― General Doril, memoirs from the Scouring.

 

Clouds gathered over Scartaris's mountain, making the sky look like a cooling pool of molten lead. Overhead wheeled several batlike reptilian creatures. Delrael found the air thick and hard to breathe.

The Cailee had not come the night before. Mindar shook her head.

"Scartaris wouldn't resurrect me without bringing back the Cailee," she said.

"He's just having his fun."

"I'm not sure who our true enemy is anymore ― " Vailret said, "Scartaris, or the Outsider David."

The Slave of the Serpent limped and dragged his leg beside them. The wound from Delrael's sword still bled slow and thick, but Sadic did not complain.

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 paused 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."

Arken seemed to smile with his craggy stone face. "And of course we did. But this time he has given me no freedom to decide for myself. I must stop you. I can't bargain."

Journeyman stepped forward. "We'll see about that."

Vailret remembered how long and difficult their previous duel had been.

He knew he couldn't defend himself for that long as the howling battle swirled around him.

Then he felt the seed of an idea in his mind and grabbed at it. He stood between Journeyman and Arken. "Wait, Arken! Scartaris gave you explicit, clear orders, correct?"

"Yes."

"All right then. We'll make it easy for you. Journeyman ― stand still." Vailret stood beside him, motionless. "There, you've stopped us. You have fulfilled your obligation to Scartaris."

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.

Delrael squirmed in the grip of the bat-creature. His own blood poured from gashes in his leather armor where the claws sank into him. The pain sent fire through his chest.

Scartaris's grotto lay closer than ever now. The hex-line broke the last section of desolation from the rocky, mountain terrain.

He didn't know what was happening, where the creature was taking him.

But when it drifted over the sharp air currents when the terrain changed from flatland to mountains, he saw the rocks below like spears pointed up at him.

He felt the bat-creature tighten its knobby claws just for a moment -and then Delrael knew what it intended. The creature had taken him high aloft ... now it was going to drop him.

Delrael ignored the daggers of pain in his shoulder. He winced, but knew what he had to do. He lunged upward with his free hand, grabbing onto the bat-creature's leg just as it released its claws. He gripped hard, digging his fingernails into the rough hide. The sharp rocks seemed a long, long drop below.

The bat-creature flapped its wings in surprise and screamed a high-pitched noise. Its claws extended and retracted as it tried to grab onto something to fight back. Delrael would not let go. The bat-creature hissed and bobbed its sharp head down, but the fighter was out of its reach.

Feeling as if he were lifting a gigantic weight, Delrael heaved his sword up with one hand and thrust it through the thin membrane of a wing, ripping a gash. He had to get down. Air whistled through the cut, and the bat-creature flailed but it could not get away.

The flying creature dropped lower. Delrael poked with the sword again.

As the creature beat its immense wings, the wind and the air ripped the gash wider.

The ground rushed up at them. He had caused too much damage. They would crash and both be killed.

But then the bat-creature pumped its wings with renewed strength. It spun in a tight circle as one wing drove harder than the other, but still ascended.

Delrael grew dizzy. The ground below him spun with the crazy spiral flight. Hot tears of pain streamed down Delrael's cheeks. The strain of holding on with one hand, holding his entire weight against the long drop drove nails into the wounds in his shoulders.

He had to get down. He wanted to scream.

Delrael reached up with the sword one more time and chopped at the other wing. The creature dropped again, hissing, but Delrael would not let go.

The ground rushed up.

He tried to swing the bat-creature's body around, to direct it toward a clear spot in the foothills of the mountain terrain, but he didn't know how.

The creature's fangs glistened in the starlight, and it bore a vicious expression behind the pupilless eyes. Once they struck the ground, it would attack him.

The rocks came closer ― Delrael could survive now, though the fall might hurt him. He swung the sword up awkwardly. He hit the main strut of the creature's wing, chopping at its shoulder.

The rocks came up. He stabbed the creature in the abdomen and then let go, dropping the last ten feet to the ground.

The bat-creature crashed next to him. Delrael heard the dry-wood snap of the bones in its wings as it fell. The creature lay on the rocks, flapping and hissing, trying to get at him. It elbowed forward on the jagged splinters of its wings, but Delrael slipped in past the hissing mouth. He struck the arrow-shaped head with his sword. The creature's wings flopped and twitched, then lay still.

Blood streamed down Delrael's shoulders ― his own blood ― and he took ten steps away from the dead creature, up the path toward the grotto of Scartaris.

Delrael slumped down to rest on a boulder. Everything grew fuzzy. His pain, exhaustion, and hopelessness welled up. He could not find the strength to stand.

The bat-creature had carried him over most of the army. The monster hordes lay below him, fighting against Bryl's illusion soldiers. Ahead and to the right, a curved spike of rock swept up from the main mountainous mass, one of the horns bracketing Scartaris's grotto.

Delrael breathed the cool night air and saw mist rising inside the giant mouthlike opening in the mountain. Strange lights flashed, many different colors. It seemed close to him, but now he felt all alone. He didn't know where Mindar was, or Vailret or Journeyman. He had come this far.

But he couldn't make the last effort.

"You must move on," the voice of the Earthspirits said from his belt.

He felt a throb of energy creep up his spine, a warmth filling his veins like molten sunshine. The pain in his shoulders lessened.

Delrael stood up, feeling vibrant. He could function now. Then an ominous thought crossed his mind. "I hope you'll still have enough energy now to defeat Scartaris."

The long pause made him feel uncomfortable even before the Earthspirits answered. "We have never had enough energy to defeat Scartaris."

He stumbled backward. His ears burned, and he stared at the turmoil of battle below him. All they had done, the characters who had died ... Sadic, Tallin, the entire city of Taire ― "What do you mean?"

"Scartaris is too powerful. That is one of the other reasons we had you carry us across the map. Physical travel is ... difficult for us, now that we are only marginally connected with the map of Gamearth. We can move you, like a player moving a piece on a gameboard. But the hex-lines are great stumbling blocks for us. We are outside the Rules, and yet trapped by them."

The silver belt felt cold and tingling at his waist. Delrael didn't want to touch it. The Spirits continued.

"But still, according to those same Rules, when an evil adversary threatens, good characters must do their best to fight. Regardless of their chances. Therefore, we will fight. Though Scartaris is much more powerful, nothing is absolute on Gamearth. We must hold on to that chance."

"You mean, you hope that Mindar's Stranger Unlooked-For shows up?"

Delrael tried to keep the scorn out of his voice.

"We know nothing of that. We must fight and do our best ― as you must, Delrael. And your sworn quest is to take us to Scartaris. Now finish your quest!"

His heart felt like a lead brick inside him, but he plodded toward the grotto. If the Earthspirits couldn't destroy Scartaris, maybe they could at least weaken him, buy time for the magic of Gamearth to find another way on its own.

Scartaris had few defenses this far behind the ranks, probably to show his overconfidence. Several minor demons wandered among the rocks where they had fled. They fought without enthusiasm, and Delrael defeated them or chased them away. He still felt new energy from the Earthspirits, along with a growing anger at the futility of it all. He stalked toward the opening and the many-colored lights inside.

Rocks crunched under his boots as he climbed up the slope. Jagged boulders stood beside the opening that led deep into the mountain. He could not see the source of the lights, but weird shadows played on the wall and spilled out onto the quest-path.

Weariness crept up on him as he approached the end of the journey. He needed only to get to Scartaris, throw down the silver belt.

Panting, he strode up to the opening and he saw a figure inside, backlit against the grotto. She stood staring, looking devastated. The S-scar on her forehead glowed with its own bloody light. She slumped against one of the tall rocks beside the opening.

"Mindar!" Delrael said. "You're safe."

He saw a flicker of happiness when she looked at him, but that too was swallowed by the gulf of despair behind her eyes. "Of course I survived. I had to. Scartaris won't let me die." Her misery seemed to be tearing her apart.

"What's wrong? We're almost there. We can destroy Scartaris!" The lie came out, but he had to say it for her.

She glared at him with a wasteland of expression. The rippled sword rested against her leg, stained with dark blood. Her entire body trembled.

"I'm the only thing left to stop you, Delrael."

He took a step back; his thoughts churned. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes averted. He couldn't imagine she would do anything to harm him. "What are you talking about?"

Mindar hung her head. "I lied to you."

A black shadow-form oozed out of the dark rocks beside the opening and stood silhouetted next to her. Its silver claws gleamed from the reflected light.

"I didn't know until now, but it's true," Mindar said. "I am the Cailee!"

 

Chapter 21:

THRESHOLD OF SCARTARIS

 

"Do you enjoy these battles, these Wars? Are they fun? Look what they have cost you!"

― Stilvess Peacemaker Delrael's heart stumbled a beat, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

He wanted to reach out for Mindar, to take her arm, but he felt stunned.

"Scartaris kept the truth from me. The Cailee is my shadow, a darker part of me than I knew I had," Mindar said. A sigh hissed through her teeth .

"It splits from me each night to cause its harm. We cannot live without each other. And Scartaris won't let us die. It was part of his Game. He made me hate the Cailee, despise it ― but I was only hating myself! Scartaris thinks of it as fun!"

She bit back an outcry as something forced her to take a lurching step toward the Cailee. The shadow thing moved closer to her, blotting out the flickering light from the grotto. They touched each other, overlapping.

The darkness of the Cailee flooded over Mindar's body like a blanket of tar. Long silver claws hung down from her fingers, wrapped around the hilt of her rippled sword. Shadows masked her face, but Delrael could see her features silhouetted ― the high cheekbones, the angry mouth. Mindar's eyes became misty yellow and pupilless. The red S-scar burned through.

Delrael stood transfixed. This was too much. The Cailee took one step, powerful and deadly, blocking the way. But it was Mindar, too. When the hybrid woman/shadow spoke, her voice had grown huskier.

"We know of your quest, Delrael. Scartaris is ― " Mindar/Cailee tossed her head, as if fighting with herself. Something snapped inside, and she let out a strangled roar, lunging with her rippled sword.

Delrael gave a yelp of surprise and sprang back ward, exhausted but still tense with battle reflexes. Mindar/Cailee slashed at him, rippled sword in one hand and silver claws in the other. He tried to back away, unwilling to fight her, but she struck again. He stumbled on a loose rock and slid away from her blade.

"Mindar!" he said, but her eyes remained pupilless. The Cailee held her entirely now, though Delrael saw flickers of something behind her gaze.

He staggered back to his feet and swung his own sword, but it was only to deflect her. Mindar/Cailee defended herself, and Delrael ran around and pushed past into the uncertain light of Scartaris's grotto.

Mindar/Cailee bounded after him. Delrael had to stop, panting. His arms and legs ached. He could barely move. She slashed out, and Delrael brought up his blade to block the blow. The force knocked his arm aside, clanging his sword against the rock wall of the cave.

He pleaded with the woman trapped within the Cailee. "Mindar, listen to me! Can't you see Scartaris wants this?" He wheezed his words, but the angered Cailee drove at him with renewed force.

"Mindar ― you've turned into the thing you hate the most! You're a creature of Scartaris!"

Delrael fought against Mindar/Cailee's growing fury. His arms felt like stone, heavy and unresponsive. He managed to fend off the blows that flashed at him, but his body trembled with exhaustion. He had used up all his adrenaline.

"Mindar, remember your daughter. Remember the tannery. Remember Taire!"

His throat was raw.

Delrael gazed into the Cailee's yellow eyes. Dark pupils flickered on the verge of appearing. Mindar/ Cailee hesitated, wincing her silhouetted features and struggling with herself. "We're inseparable now," she gasped.

Then the Cailee howled and slashed at the air with a fistful of silver claws.

Her pupils faded again.

She struck and slashed in a storm of blows with the rippled sword.

Delrael's arm seared with pain. He stumbled as he fought with the last of his strength. His sword sliced up and nicked Mindar/Cailee's arm, drawing a strange mixture of shadow-smoke and bright blood.

The Cailee howled and surged back at him with such vehemence that Delrael had no hope of de fending himself. She knocked his arm aside, smashing his wrist against the rock wall. His own sword clattered to the floor.

Mindar/Cailee raised her blade to cleave Delrael's head.

"Mindar..." he whispered.

Her sword swung down, but Mindar's pupils flickered back for an instant. In her downstroke, she twisted her wrist sideways and struck him on the head with the flat of the blade.

Bright light exploded behind Delrael's eyes, then it all turned black.

He slid to the floor.

Professor Verne's steam-engine car clanked down the slope toward Scartaris's mountain, skirting the edge of the battlefield. The ratcheting noise was not noticeable over the shouts of fighting monsters and human soldiers.

He stoked the fires under the boiler as high as they would go. The car picked up steam and chugged along faster than a man could run. The hex-line separated him from the rocky terrain, but he also saw the clear path leading up to the grotto.

Verne swallowed and blinked his eyes. He checked to make sure his journal was carefully secured with him. He didn't know what indignities he would have to bear on his long walk back to Sitnalta. If he survived at all.

He carried one tiny galvanic cell that powered a detector he had mounted next to the car's steering levers. It was one of the instruments he and Frankenstein had used to detect Scartaris's presence all the way from Sitnalta.

He switched the device on and saw the needle move, then fall dead, move, then fall dead. He was too far beyond the influence of Sitnaltan technology, regardless of how arbitrary he had proven the concept of the technological fringe to be. But even given the worst of situations, the Rules of Probability made the detector certain to work some of the time. The homing mechanism would need to function only at infrequent intervals to steady the course of the car along the straight path to Scartaris.

Verne knew his weapon was so powerful he needed only to get near the grotto.

For a moment he wondered in terror if the weapon itself might fail to work. But then he brushed that thought aside. The Sitnaltan weapon was powered by the force that had driven the Outsiders' ship. It would work anywhere on Gamearth ― it had to. The Outsiders set up their own exceptions to the Rules, and they would follow them.

But this weapon combined the power of the Outsiders with the resourcefulness of Gamearth. What if he and Frankenstein had forged a destructive power greater than either world had seen before?

As the car chugged along, Verne watched the ground pass under the rattling wheels. He set his mouth in a firm line, thrusting out his beard.

This was close enough for him.

He turned to the weapon and found the timer knob as the car jostled over the terrain, steering itself. Verne twisted the timer knob to a red mark on the dial and released it.

A rapid ticking came out of the weapon as the spring-driven timer began its countdown to detonation.

Verne had heard of a prophesied hero from some of the other human settlements outside the fringe, some unknown savior who would come out of no where and rescue them from great peril. They called him the Unseen Stranger, or something like that. Not that Verne put much stock in prophesies, since they had no scientific basis. But after he unexpectedly used his weapon to destroy Scartaris, no doubt the storytellers would make him out to be their Stranger. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

Suddenly, a gigantic barefooted ogre bounded away from the battlefield toward the car, drooling down his chin. The ogre tripped twice and regained his feet to stumble after Verne. He limped from a deep wound on his ankle.

Verne had nothing with which to fight this ogre. He felt a flash of fear, but the ogre seemed more intent on the speeding car itself than on its driver. Gairoth hopped forward, clutched the side, and scrambled aboard, heaving himself over the low door. He grabbed Verne by the collar of his woolen coat.

"One moment, monsieur!" Verne stammered.

But Gairoth was not interested in him. "Haw!" he said, spraying spittle in Verne's face. With an expression of dismissal, he tossed the Professor over the side.

Verne landed in a tumble, bruised and hurt. He stood up, brushed himself off, and scowled. He watched the steam-engine car move on, homing in toward Scartaris.

Gairoth sat in the seat and bounced with delight as the car sped automatically toward the mountain.

"I don't think you wanted to do that," Verne muttered.

In the front of the car, the Sitnaltan weapon continued to tick.

Mindar stared at Delrael's unconscious form against the rocks. Weird lights flashed on and off in the background, bathing him in strange colors. A spot of blood blossomed on his forehead and trickled alongside his nose, into his eyes.

Mindar had forced herself to the front of her mind, but she had to grit her teeth and concentrate, not letting her thoughts lapse for a second. The Cailee gibbered in the back of her head, making her ears ring. Her anger surged, but she had to keep it directed away from the Cailee. She would gain nothing by that.

Scartaris. Scartaris was her enemy.

The Cailee was part of herself. She had to accept it, dominate it, turn it to her own advantage.

Mindar felt blackness slough away from her face and shoulders as she grew stronger. In one arm she held her sword, and curved silver claws stuck out of her other hand ― but she could see her own skin appearing in patches through the inky blackness. She was growing stronger. She knew what she could do.

Part of her felt appalled at what she had done to Delrael, but she knew he would forgive her. Mindar would never be able to forgive herself, though, not unless she finished Delrael's quest for him.

She knelt down, and with the clumsy claws on her hand she worked the silver belt free from around his waist. She stared at it in the light, letting it dangle in front of her. The silver felt cold and slippery, tingling with power.

The Earthspirits lived in the belt. She held them, vulnerable, in her own hand ― but they could destroy Scartaris. They could wipe him from the map. She cast her rippled sword on the floor. It clanged on the rock and landed near Delrael's blade.

"You won't make me cause any more harm, Scartaris!" The belt glittered in the weird light. "This is all the weapon I need to destroy you."

Heavy footfalls sounded outside the entrance to the grotto. She turned.

Her black form was liquid and cast no shadow of its own.

She saw the blocky form of a huge Slac general. It dragged its feet on the rocks with scattering sounds, and the clank of a chain rattled in the silence. The monster let a needle-spiked ball dangle at its side.

"Scartaris has grown bored with you," the Slac said in its husky, grating voice. The pupilless pits of its eyes were filled with emerald fire.

Mindar/Cailee coughed out a laugh and held the silver belt as she strode recklessly toward the Slac. She held the belt between her two hands.

"I'm bored with him, too. Earthspirits, destroy this thing of Scartaris!"

She squeezed the belt with her shadow-stained hands and held it, waiting for some explosion of power that would whisk the Slac out of the Game entirely.

But instead the Slac lashed down with his heavy spiked ball and smashed one of Mindar's wrists. She screamed in shock. The wrist bones snapped, and her fingers spread out as blood sprayed in the air. She backed away in agony.

The silver belt fell to the floor.

The Cailee's furious presence clamored in the back of her head and tried to surge into dominance again. She pushed it away. The shadow-stain dripped from her body.

The Slac general said, "Scartaris wants you dead. You're no fun anymore."

Wincing the pain away, blind to what she was doing, Mindar/Cailee laughed again. "I can't die!"

She leaped at the reptilian creature, spreading the claws of her uninjured hand. In the back of her mind, she drove the Cailee further away with her determination and victory. The blackness faded from her arms, and she made a savage slash at the Slac's throat.

But the long silver claws snapped off and dissolved as she struck. Her hand became her own again ― human and weak.

"All characters can die," the Slac said. He wrapped his spiked ball and chain around her throat, yanking it from one end to strangle her and driving the ball's spikes into the back of her head. The Slac jerked again, and Mindar's neck snapped before she felt any more pain.

The Slac let her body unravel from the chain and fall to the floor.

Then the monster twirled the spiked ball in the air to clean droplets of blood from his weapon.

Delrael groaned on the floor and stirred.

The Slac general strode to him. The ball clanked at his side. Breath hissed through needle-like teeth as the Slac leaned over Delrael.

"Well, excuuuuuuse me!" Journeyman said from the opening of the grotto.

The Slac general snapped his head up and turned, hissing.

The golem looked at Vailret beside him and grinned with flexible clay lips. "He likes it! Hey Mikey!" Journeyman swaggered in, and the Slac general faced him, dangling the spiked ball.

Vailret saw Delrael's motionless form and Mindar lying dead. He stood behind and to the right of Journeyman, waiting and anxious. When he saw an opportunity, he slipped around and ran to Delrael.

"This here town ain't big enough for the both of us," Journeyman said.

The Slac's green eyes blazed brighter.

Vailret cradled Delrael's head and wiped blood away from his eyes. The fighter mumbled and moaned. The bump on his head looked serious, but far less severe than Vailret had feared.

He glared up at the Slac general facing Journey man. The golem did not appear frightened at all, but Delrael lay injured, Mindar murdered. Delrael's silver belt lay beside her. Vailret did not know what had happened.

The Slac general stood tall and dark and filled with all the evil of Scartaris.

As he saw the Slac, Vailret remembered the training Drodanis had put him through back at the Strong hold, the role-playing game where Vailret was captured by Slac while his imaginary comrades were tortured and slain. An imaginary general like this one had ordered Vailret's execution, but Vailret managed to kill the Slac general before other arrows struck him down. It had felt so real to him, the terror, the helplessness, the failure. But it was only a game within the Game; this Slac battle was happening now.

He stood up as anger filled his features. He held his short sword.

The Slac general twirled his spiked ball. Journey man waited for the monster to make the first move.

Instead, Vailret did.

In true Game spirit he should have bellowed out a cry of challenge, but Vailret moved silently as he leaped forward. He jammed his short sword all the way up to its hilt, through the back plates of the Slac, into its kidney, and up into its pulsing heart. The tip of the sword pushed out through the reptilian chest. The Slac general gurgled in surprise and sprayed black blood out of its mouth.

"Stabbing in the back may not be fair," Vailret said, "but since when have Slac ever fought fair?"

The monster bellowed as it weakened, trying to jab backward with its elbows. But Vailret let go of his sword and stepped away. With a bestial grunt, the Slac fell to its knees. Journeyman bashed a rock-hard fist into its forehead. "Bah, humbug!"

Vailret blinked in shock. The hot Slac blood burned his hands, and he tried to wipe it on his pants and tunic, leaving dark stains there.

Delrael groaned again. Journeyman glanced from him to Vailret, then squared his shoulders. The golem stared down the tunnel to the center of the mountain. "I must go on ahead now," he said. "Take Delrael and get out of here."

Vailret looked up. "What are you going to do?"

Journeyman's lumpy clay brows twitched and knitted together. "I'm going to destroy Scartaris, as I was always meant to do. I'm glad I was created for this purpose. I'm glad I knew you. I will not be coming back."

"What do you mean? Will it destroy you?"

Journeyman didn't answer. Distressed, Vailret stood up. Delrael blinked and moved his head. He groaned.

"Wait ― let Del take the Earthspirits. They'll destroy Scartaris and you can stay here. You don't need to sacrifice yourself."

The golem squared his shoulders. "It is what I am. I was made for this task. I must sacrifice myself."

"But it makes no sense!"

Journeyman stared with cavernous eyes. The clay eyelids blinked together, and he answered stiffly. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one."

Vailret pulled his short sword from the dead Slac general, but looked at it, not knowing what to do. He couldn't fight Journeyman.

The golem sighed. "Don't you know yet who I am?" He cocked his head.

"My predecessor was Apprentice, many turns ago. I am Journeyman." He let the words hang in the air. The lights from deep in the grotto flashed weird patterns on the ceiling.

"I am the Stranger Unlooked-For."

Gairoth jammed his knees in the cramped seat of Professor Verne's steam-engine car. The vehicle toiled along up the hill toward Scartaris. He had seen the bat-creature take Delroth toward the mountain. The car moved faster than he could run.

Gairoth let his spiked club dangle outside the vehicle, pinging against rocks that bounced up from the ground. He saw the great cavern on the mountain face and knew that Delroth would have gone there.

"Haw!" he said. His arms were tired. His legs were tired. His feet were sore. He had traveled across the map to get Delroth. He would bash Delroth's head in for causing him so much trouble.

He shifted his knees, banging against the steering levers, and squirmed. The seat was uncomfortable, soft and human, and the space too confined for his bulky arms and legs.

The vehicle rolled up the slope, paused as if to gather its bearings, and then moved on its preset course.

Beside him, the Sitnaltan weapon continued to tick.

Gairoth bounced up and down, anxious to see any sign of Delroth. But then the steam-engine vehicle caught its wheels against the strewn boulders and stopped halfway up the side of the mountain on a blind switchback. The steam engine hissed and belched curls of gray smoke out its stack, but it could not move forward.

Gairoth fumed and tried to stand up in the cramped front of the car. He banged his knee. He roared in wordless rage and waved his club in the air. He couldn't even see the cave; one of the curved rock spires blocked his view.

He hopped out and tugged at the wheel, trying to get the vehicle to move on and find Delroth. He hollered at the useless car. When the vehicle made no response, Gairoth lashed out and kicked it with one big, bare foot.

The Sitnaltan weapon jarred on its seat, tipping over against the side of the car. The timer mechanism smashed and jammed. The ticking fell silent only seconds before its detonation was to occur.

Gairoth grumbled at the immobile vehicle and strode up the hill on foot.

Journeyman marched down the low-ceilinged path, heading deep into the mountain where Scartaris controlled his armies. The golem's soft clay feet slapped on the stone floor. The temperature grew hotter around him.

His quest and his reason for existence had almost reached its end. He knew he would succeed.

"Please," Journeyman had told Vailret, "I have enjoyed knowing you. I don't want to overcome you by force. Take Delrael and head for the hills! I ... don't know exactly what I'm about to do or what will happen."

Vailret had finally agreed to take Delrael with him, leaving the golem alone to face Scartaris.

Journeyman felt a buzzing around him, power flickering unseen in the air. His body tingled when he moved ahead. Lights and echoes and frightening images floated around him, as if Scartaris was trying to frighten him away.

But nothing could stop him now. He molded a determined expression on his face, squaring his shoulders.

The prospect of fulfilling his purpose brought him to a peak of ecstasy he had not known before. He felt his secret weapon growing inside, pulsing, ready to be released.

The Rulewoman Melanie would be so proud of him.

Ahead, he heard the sound of grinding rock, a restless, awesome force.

The passage opened up, and Journeyman emerged onto a ledge overlooking a vast pit, the heart of the mountain.

Below him lay Scartaris.

Immense, huge beyond comprehension, bathed in colors that would have blasted human eyes from their sockets. Fluorescent orange and yellow and burning pink. Scartaris was a swelling, pulsing blob of energy, shaped like a vast brain the size of a small mountain.

The golem sensed vibrations around him. The air itself throbbed and pushed at him as he stepped to the edge. The rock tensed, as if Scartaris could collapse the mountain on a whim, but Journeyman didn't hesitate. He stood glaring down at the Outsider David's monster. He planted his balled fists on his hips.

"You know I'm here, Scartaris. But you don't know enough to be afraid," he shouted down into the roar. The colors on the blob shifted and moved.

Scartaris was listening to him.

He craned his head down on his flexible clay neck. "The Outsider David created you ― and the Rulewoman Melanie created me. You show off your power in extravagance. I carry mine hidden. The Rulewoman placed it in me. She knows your vulnerability."

Scartaris shifted and raised up. Disturbed rocks pattered down from the ceiling. All the air around Journeyman seemed like a bowstring ready to snap, but he continued, spilling his words like a well rehearsed speech.

"We are only imaginary characters created by the Outsiders. We have one great weakness, something none of us can withstand. It's a simple thing, a speck of dust from Outside, a piece of another world that is so deadly to us.

"The Rulewoman Melanie brought it here, painted it into the map, inside me. It has made me see visions, made me speak of things beyond the boundaries of Gamearth.

"Now it must be released."

Journeyman ran a finger down the length of his chest, pushing a crease into the soft clay like a long zipper. He plunged his hands into his own skin and split a seam down the middle. He opened himself up where his heart would have been. Out of the cracks spewed a powerful white light, blinding bright.

"Scartaris, behold the power of something you cannot possibly withstand. Gaze upon pure reality!"

The light blasted outward as the golem spread his chest wide, folding back his body to make a great window, showing his core.

"It worked!"

"What did you do, Mel!"

"God, look at that thing!"

"David, you're sick. It's disgusting."

"It's real! I can't believe it ― it's real!"

"No, we're real. And nothing there can stand it."

Journeyman did not dare look himself, but he listened to the astonished voices. One of them set him trembling, and he recognized the Rulewoman Melanie. He felt the clay dissolving from the inside out as his core of reality poured out.

Scartaris made an agonized wail that ripped through the seams of the map itself and caused all the fighters on the battlefield to stagger on their feet. He lurched back, quivering against the jagged walls of the stone chamber. Journeyman knew he could not get away.

Scartaris could not withstand even the sight of naked reality. He began to wither and shrivel as parts of the great bulk sloughed away into nothing, fading.

Delrael felt his ears ringing with a roar of blood, and he could not focus his eyes. Somehow, Vailret was beside him, pulling him to his feet, dragging him out of the grotto. His vision went dim again, then sharpened around the edges.

Vailret bent over and picked up the silver belt on the floor. The Earthspirits! Pieces fell into place in Delrael's mind.

"Del, can you hold this? Do you want to carry it?"

He grunted and nodded his head, but that made the rushing sound inside grow louder. The cold air snapped into his eyes, and after several breaths he felt more alert.

"Mindar ― " he said. His voice came out in a croak.

"She's dead," Vailret answered. "She died de fending you from the Slac, I think. Is that what happened? Is that how you got injured?"

The memories came clear in his head, and Delrael stumbled on the steep path. Vailret caught him and held him up, thinking his cousin still too weak to run. Delrael hurried along ― Vailret didn't know the truth about Mindar.

She would have wanted it that way.

"Yes. That's what happened."

Vailret led him down a steep, narrow path on the other side of Scartaris's mountain, down to the black hex-line in front of the battlefield.

They ran, and Delrael found his strength coming back. The dizziness drifted away from him. "Journeyman ― ?"

Vailret hesitated, then tugged on his cousin's arm. They crossed the hex-line and staggered onto the soft dirt of the desolation terrain. "He's gone to Scartaris, to use the Rulewoman's weapon. He told us to run as far as we can."

The other monsters on the battlefield seemed to have lost their heart for the fight. Delrael turned and looked up at the jagged lair of Scartaris.

The strange lights were flashing in wild colors.

Gairoth stood panting in the opening of the grotto as he looked back out at the massed dim soldiers far below. He had climbed half the mountain, it seemed. His feet hurt. The wound in his ankle from the Slave of the Serpent throbbed and made him angry.

He didn't know what the fighting was about, why the monsters had gathered. He only wanted to find Delroth. He suspected the fighter had something to do with it all.

Delroth always made trouble.

Inside the grotto bright lights flashed different colors from a tunnel at the far end. The sight gave him a headache. On the floor he saw two bodies, one woman and one Slac. He curled his lip.

He squinted his one eye and stared down the tunnel, but he could not make out the source of the flashing lights, the throbbing roar that clutched at the back of his head. Gairoth didn't want to think about it. He was too tired and too angry.

The burning colors seemed to beckon him. Yes, Delroth must be down there, down in the tunnel. Gairoth stooped under the low ceiling. He would sneak up on Delroth, find him, and bash him. He made sure not to drag his club against the floor as he worked his way forward.

Gairoth thought of his lost dragon Rognoth and of his flooded cesspools. All Delroth's fault. The ogre snarled and ground his teeth together as he stomped forward, then remembering the need for stealth, tried to move quietly again.

Gairoth squeezed the end of his spiked club. He had followed Delroth across the map, and now he would get his revenge.

But when he moved past the last turn, the ceiling opened up above him into a huge vaulted cavern. ― He stopped and wheezed. The light danced in front of his eyes, some of it real, some of it burning reflections on his retinas.

He sensed something was wrong. Something was going on. The bright lights and the heat and the roaring power channelled into the center of the mountain seemed to be screaming, fighting back in ways that Gairoth could not understand.

Then he noticed Journeyman. The golem had his back turned and stared down into the pit, shining something out of his chest.

The clay man had been with Delroth! Back in the forest, he had smashed Gairoth on the head and helped steal the little ylvan. The ogre frowned. If he could not get Delroth right now, he would at least get this clay man.

He stepped up behind Journeyman on the ledge, raised his club to his shoulder, and belched out a loud "Haw! Now I got you!"

He drew back his club to swing, smiling, peeling his thick lips away from brown teeth.

Startled, the golem turned around, pivoting on a flexible clay waist.

Gairoth saw that he had opened up his chest ― but his insides seemed to be a bottom less window, an opening shining out into some other place. He gawked at the vision, and for a fraction of a second he saw four humans crouched and staring down at him. Strange objects were scattered around the table along with food and colored dice.

"It's Gairoth!"

Someone bumped over a glass and scrambled to catch it, spilling soda.

Gairoth gaped his mouth like a dying fish and then the reality of what he was seeing struck him. Bright light washed over him and into him.

He felt a blinding wonder, and despair, as his skin seared away, disintegrating into nothingness. A long, low "Awwwww..." echoed in the air.

With nothing to hold it up, his spiked club dropped clattering to the ledge, bounced once, and pitched over to vanish in the molten blob of Scartaris.

But in the moment that Journeyman turned away, Scartaris seized the opportunity and flexed his remaining power.

He brought the entire mountain down upon Journeyman, sealing the reality beneath uncounted tons of rubble.

The earthquake threw Delrael and Vailret to the ground. Delrael rolled onto his back to watch the mountain collapse. The horned peaks toppled aside in an enormous tremor that shook the heart of the map itself.

The black hex-line split, and sections of terrain rocked and tilted upward at the seams, as if Gamearth were falling apart hexagon by hexagon.

Delrael almost lost his grip on the silver belt in his hand.

The roar continued, then slacked off as gray white dust poured up into the darkened sky.

Then, from the broken rubble of the destroyed mountain seeped a glowing brilliant light ― pinks and oranges and yellows, sprawled and oozing over the debris. The immense blob crawled out of the rocks and sat pulsing, as if peering down at the gathered army.

"Is that Scartaris?" Vailret gasped beside him, but the words made little sound in the thundering echoes of the air. Every creature on the battlefield stood hushed and staring.

Scartaris moved, looking enormous and frail at the same time, damaged and retaining only enough energy to keep himself alive. He slid and rolled down the rocky slope toward the disrupted hex-line.

Delrael thought for a moment that Scartaris would reach the cracked map and spill through to where he could annihilate the Outsiders. But Scartaris stopped and throbbed, heaving himself up. At the center of the blob Delrael could see glittering lights forming, like diamonds and stars, building up.

"It's the metamorphosis!" he heard Vailret shout behind him.

"Journeyman told us about it! Scartaris is going to end the Game right now!"

"You must take us!" the Earthspirits cried in a metallic voice from inside the belt. "Take us across the last hex-line! Then we will be released."

The starbursts inside the giant blob grew brighter, fissioning with energy. Once Scartaris released his pent-up energy, he could wash the map clean of all terrain. Scartaris had lost his Game. He and the Outsider David had wanted to savor the victory, to let the vast monster army march across and lay waste to everything, but now Scartaris was forsaking that fun. He would obliterate them all and call himself the Game's winner.

"Hurry! He is greatly weakened now," the Earth spirits said. "Perhaps we can defeat him."

Delrael ran toward the gaping hex-line, but the deep crack in the map cut him off from Scartaris.

From a corner of the broken hex-line, a black wind sprang up, pouring straight into the air. Swirling, it formed into three dark hooded figures.

They stood vast and awesome, cavernous hoods covered their heads, shrouding their faces.

Delrael stumbled as he ran. The figures looked familiar and yet unfamiliar. He had never actually seen them, only their white counterparts.

"The Deathspirits will not allow you to end the Game, Scartaris," the black figures said in unison.

"Play your feeble war games for terrain, but you will not destroy the map. We are bound by the Rules here, too. If you destroy Gamearth, we cannot complete our own set of Rules. We are trying to escape from this existence.

You may not interfere."

The Deathspirits hovered tall and black. All the monsters on the battlefield stood in a hush, appalled and uncertain.

But the starburst lights built up further within Scartaris, growing in intensity.

Delrael scrambled ahead, stumbling on the new slope from the tilted hexagon of terrain. He saw himself struggling there, an unknown human fighter from across the map. No one knew he had come, but he appeared where he was needed, bearing the weapon to save Gamearth. Delrael smirked. "Maybe they'll call me the Stranger Unlooked-For."

He crawled toward the crack in the map. When he reached its edge, the black lip of desolation sliced down into nothingness, a broad gulf apart from the adjoining mountain terrain. He could not crawl across. He could not jump the void. His body was too exhausted to do more than move.

Scartaris's internal lights grew blinding at the point of his devastating metamorphosis.

"We cannot cross the hex-line," the Earthspirits said.

Delrael held the belt. "You're not very much good, are you?" Then he threw the silver belt crafted by the old Sorcerers, a gift from his father Drodanis.

As it flew through the air across the hex-line, the silver links began to dissolve in white light. The three Earthspirits emerged just as their Deathspirit comrades swooped down upon Scartaris.