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3. Four Stones

“Yes, if all the Sorcerers depart from Gamearth, we leave behind human fighters to defend it—but we also leave many enemies. We must give humans a greater advantage, a means to fight! We have much magic at our disposal. What are we going to do with it?”

—Arken, proposing that the old Sorcerer Council create the four Stones

Delrael stood up in the firelight and spread his arms as other characters pushed forward, chattering with each other. The stranger flinched at their sudden reaction. “Stand back!” Delrael shouted to overcome their noise. “Give the man room to breathe!”

The others backed off as the stranger sat slumped and cross-legged in the dirt, shivering despite the fire’s warmth. His drab clothes, dark hair and skin reminded Delrael of Tairé, the city where Scartaris had stolen the minds of all its inhabitants. Tairé was the home of Mindar, the one woman somehow immune to Scartaris’s control; she alone had attacked Scartaris’s installations while the other Tairans unknowingly worked at creating weapons.

But this man had escaped from Tairé. After the destruction of Scartaris, he had somehow made his way here.

Before Delrael could say anything else, Siya squatted down with a mug of steaming cider in her hands. She looked with disdain at the unmoving spectators. “Have him drink this.”

The Tairan man took the mug and held it in both hands, but sat staring down at its surface. The trembling in his body caused tiny ripples to flow across the top, disturbing his reflection. He finally took a sip.

They all sat in silence. Delrael realized they were waiting for him to ask the questions, to find out what had brought the man here.

“The man needs rest,” Delrael said to the other characters. “He’s had a long and terrible journey. We’ll find a place for him to stay. He can talk to us tomorrow.”

“No!” the man said, coughing. He scowled at the cider, then took another drink. “I came this far. I can tell my story. You need to know what’s happened.”

Delrael dropped his voice and tried to sound gentle. “All right then, tell us your name.”

The Tairan blinked, as if unable to understand the relevance of the question. He held one hand out to the fire and visibly began to let exhaustion take hold.

“I am Jathen. You—” And then a flash shot across the stranger’s face. He turned so quickly that some of his cider sloshed out of the mug. “Delrael!” he said in an inhuman whisper that sent shudders down Delrael’s spine.

Delrael remembered all of the Tairans, massing toward him under the direction of Scartaris, ready to tear him and his companions apart with their mob frenzy. In a unison hissing voice they had all screamed his name, Delrael!

Jathen must have been among them.

The Tairan man’s expression fell. “We didn’t mean to do that. None of us could help it. Now I can’t help remembering.”

“It’s all right,” Delrael said. “We know what Scartaris did to you. What happened to your city beyond what we’ve already seen?”

Jathen glanced up with lost eyes. “As if that wasn’t terrible enough.” He shook his head.

“It happened just before dawn a few weeks ago. Scartaris was like a terrible nightmare, and we sleepwalked through it all. But then, all of a sudden, Scartaris vanished from our minds. He was gone, destroyed somehow. We in Tairé were free to face the horror of what we had done, what we had nearly helped him accomplish.

“We were stunned, but we managed to count our losses, learn exactly who had been killed—” He paused, stumbling over his words, and forced himself to continue. “We learned who we had killed.

“Then, we searched for Enrod, who had helped us build Tairé and resurrect it from the desolation. Enrod had been our strength, our guiding force, a true visionary with the best intentions for all human characters. But Enrod had left us. We couldn’t understand what happened.”

Jathen stared around at the faces, as if searching for some explanation. Vailret cleared his throat and turned his gaze away as he answered. “Scartaris twisted Enrod’s mind as well. The Deathspirits trapped him on the Barrier River and sentenced him to take his raft back and forth for the rest of the Game.”

Jathen hung his head. “Enrod deserved better than that after all the good he did.”

Delrael sighed. “The Deathspirits did not seem willing to negotiate.” The bonfire continued to crackle and slump as some of the burning logs collapsed into ashes.

Jathen remained silent, digesting the news about Enrod. Finally, he picked up his story. “We Tairans met with each other. We walked the streets. We looked at our city and saw all the frescoes, the statues, everything we had built. We saw the dried fountains, the gutters, the brittle plants. We went outside the walls and saw our dead crops.

“At first the dead grass and trees in the hills made us despair. All the terrain we had recovered was lost again. But as we continued to look at our city, it became clear to us how much we had already accomplished. We let our pride return. We had built this with our own hands, with our own sweat. We had snatched that land from the worst blight ever seen on the map.

“The Stranger Unlooked-For came and rescued us from destruction once. Then Scartaris grew, and then someone else, another Stranger, destroyed him.”

“Journeyman,” Vailret muttered.

“Now we had a third chance, and we couldn’t just ignore it. We felt at a loss—and yet, it made our commitment stronger. We in Tairé were stronger than the Outside forces of the Game. We would prove ourselves self-sufficient, independent of the whims of the Players. We could defend against anything. We vowed to start work immediately, to clean up the rubble, to restart the forces. To come back better than ever!”

Jathen closed his eyes and continued speaking. “We set to work with such enthusiasm as we had never felt before. We would do it this time. Tairans have always been proud of our optimism in the face of hardship. For all the good it did us.”

Jathen opened his eyes and stared into the firelight, but he seemed to be seeing something else entirely. “And then the monster army came, led by that manticore. They came without warning, and without mercy. And they wiped us out!”

Some of the trainees mumbled to each other. Jathen did not pause to let the noise die down.

“Because of the grassy-hill terrain to the east of the city, we couldn’t see the army until it was only a hexagon away. They came in the darkness. We Tairans had been working all day and all night, taking shifts. But we knew something was wrong at dawn, when a team of workers out repairing an irrigation system failed to return on time.

“As the sun rose and the morning grew brighter, some characters working on the top of our wall spotted the manticore’s army. We sent out a team of emissaries, not knowing what this was. They didn’t return.

“The monster horde marched forward. For the next hour or so, we grew afraid. We had no protection. We had no weapons in Tairé. Scartaris had already taken everything we made, stripped us of all our resources. Even our great wall had been breached.”

Jathen looked at Delrael, then at Vailret. Delrael remembered how the golem Journeyman had used his immense strength to knock down a portion of the wall so they could escape the attack of the Tairan people.

“We built barricades, we made clubs, we … improvised weapons. It was all we could do.” He closed his eyes and made a sobbing, laughing sound.

“It was so useless. Oh, we did manage to kill some of the first creatures as they charged in, using their own battering rams to knock down other parts of the wall. They swarmed into the city—there were so many of them. And not very many of us.

“We managed to defend ourselves for a few minutes. And then the monsters broke through, and kept coming. And kept coming! We couldn’t stand against them.

“We ran for our lives, all of us, not just me. Many Tairans barricaded themselves in buildings, fled to hiding places within the city. But I knew that would be useless. The manticore’s army searched from building to building, and they slaughtered any human characters they found. They weren’t quick about the killing either. Those characters who barricaded themselves lasted only a few hours. The monsters had all the advantage in this game.

“A few dozen of us fled the city out into the surrounding terrain. We ran, and there was no shelter for several hexes. Just grassland or flat desolation, no place to hide.

“The monsters came fast. Most of us died out there, in the desolation. Not a good place to die. Several of us made it to the mountain terrain, where we hid among the rocks. We split up to make smaller targets. We kept running westward. I knew you were here, along with other villages of human characters. Some of us went south.

“Siryyk kept sending scouts to hunt us down—I know several of the others were executed that way. I might be the only one who survived. But I knew it was no use to stay and die with the others. It wouldn’t have made any difference, would it?” He looked around. “Would it? And I made it here to warn you, because the manticore’s army won’t stop in Tairé for long. They’ll regain some of their supplies, maybe make a few more weapons.”

He turned his dark gaze to the gathered characters listening around the fire. “But they will come. Oh yes, they will come. But will you be ready?”

The listeners gaped at Jathen and his story, at the threat of Siryyk’s horde, now brought closer to home.

Delrael stood up and clenched his fist. He turned to stare down the trainees. He kept his voice low, but powerful. “Yes, we will be ready!”

* * *

Vailret kept trying to blink the gummy sleep from his eyes as he shuffled along in the cool dampness before dawn. Delrael had asked him, along with Tareah and Bryl, to meet in the training grounds at daybreak. They needed to discuss things among themselves before all the trainees began to work out. Everyone would be looking toward Delrael for a solution, for a grand quest they could embark upon.

Vailret appreciated the fact that his cousin wanted input from the others. Delrael was a better fighter than any other character; he had more experience with questing, with combat. He knew exactly how to deal with battles and strategy. But for planning and discussion, to look into the consequences of his actions, he needed to talk to someone else.

Vailret and Tareah had enough background in the history of the Game, in the Rules, that they could find more subtle things than Delrael would ever imagine. And Bryl, of course, kept them from doing anything too rash.

Vailret plodded on the wet dirt path up Steep Hill, kicking dew off the toes of his boots. The stripped trees in the surrounding forest looked skeletal and frightening in the strawberry-colored light of daybreak. On the training field, he saw silhouettes of the others huddled down, barely distinguishable from the scarecrow shapes of practice dummies and sword posts. He heard their low voices, but otherwise Gamearth was silent and holding its breath.

Delrael crossed his arms and stood up, looking as if he didn’t know what to do on the training field without trainees there.

Bryl saw Vailret coming and raised his voice. “Delrael, you stirred up the trainees last night, and now they’re all anxious for battle. You’ve got the charisma to lead them anywhere—but what are we really going to do? You can’t just go bumbling in and swinging swords! You saw the size of the army against us.”

Delrael shrugged. “We know that the monster horde has marched to the city of Tairé. They’re going to come here sooner or later. So, we have two options: We can either stay here and keep training and waiting, or we can go get them first.”

Vailret blinked in surprise. Bryl cried out. “Go get them? Are you crazy?”

Delrael frowned. “That way we can fight on our terms, not theirs. The monster army knows we’re here. They’ll be ready for us when they get here, they’ll mass at the edge of the Barrier River and figure out how to cross it. They’ll take us by storm. Once they do, there isn’t much left for us.”

Then his eyes began to sparkle. “But think of this—if we launch our army, we can send scouts ahead, find out where the monsters are and what they’re doing. We can find a place to ambush them. We can set a trap. Even if we’re outnumbered, we can win—if we pick the terrain and our attack carefully.

“Picture a trap in the Spectre Mountains where the horde needs to file through a narrow gorge or along a cliff face. It’ll be easy—if we get there first. They won’t know what hit them.” He grinned at Tareah.

“Siryyk thinks we’re just sitting here, dreading the day when he comes. We can turn the tables on him. You saw the trainees after Jathen told his story—our army is ready to fight now. That’ll work to our advantage. We can ambush the manticore, surprise him.”

He shrugged. “And if our first assault doesn’t work, we can do it again and again, hounding him as we fall back. We can use the Barrier River as our last defense, not our first.”

Vailret pursed his lips. “That does make sense, Del.” Bryl looked terrified.

Tareah scowled, thinking about something else entirely. Delrael noticed her expression. “Speak up, Tareah. What is it?”

She fumbled for words, then finally decided what she wanted to say. “What you’re planning is fine, Delrael. But, doesn’t it avoid the main question? You created the Barrier River, but that wasn’t enough. You destroyed Scartaris, but that wasn’t enough. Now the monster army is coming, and even if you defeat them, you know that still won’t be enough. The Outsiders will come up with another way to attack us.” She met Vailret’s eyes. “Won’t they?

“We have to look beyond one battle to the entire war. Siryyk seems to be our main enemy, but in truth it’s the Outsiders. We need to find some way to fight them directly. They want to obliterate Gamearth. We have to escape them, to make Gamearth real on its own, so we no longer need to worry.”

Delrael looked disturbed. He let his hand grasp the end of his sword, and Vailret knew the reason for his uncertainty. Delrael needed to fight a tangible enemy, an opponent he could see and strike at. He needed to understand the combat—and the thought of any direct conflict with the Outsiders was alien to him.

Delrael had once stood mystified in an abandoned Slac fortress while Vailret argued with manifestations of the Outsiders David and Tyrone in their ruined half-imaginary, half-real ship. With assistance from blind Paenar, Bryl had struck out at the Outsiders, driven them back to their own world.

“I concede your point about the Outsiders, Tareah,” he said, “But I don’t understand what we can do about it. How can we make Gamearth real? What kind of weapons do we have that can fight against the Outside? It’s a question with no answer.”

Tareah smiled at him. “But what if I do have an answer?”

Vailret himself was interested. Bryl looked as if he knew he wasn’t going to like it; he seemed too old for all this. Delrael watched her. “I’m listening.”

Tareah cleared her throat in uncharacteristic shyness. “We’ve got the Air Stone, the Water Stone, and the Fire Stone. The Earth Stone is the most powerful of the four, and we know where it is—still buried in the dragon’s treasure hoard on the island of Rokanun. We found it when you and Bryl came to rescue me. Now,” She took a deep breath. “If we bring all four Stones together—well, you remember what happens then.”

Delrael frowned and turned his back to them. “Refresh my memory.”

Tareah sighed at him. Vailret jumped in. “The old Sorcerers created the four Stones just before they turned themselves into the Earthspirits and Deathspirits. They knew the Transition wouldn’t require all their magic—so they used the rest of it to make the Stones.”

Tareah nodded vigorously. Vailret liked the way her pale hair moved in the early morning air. “Yes, and the power in the four gems exceeds the total power of the Spirits. If all four Stones are brought together, the one bearer will hold the entire magic of the Sorcerer race. Enough magic to make a full Transition. This character could become the Allspirit—more powerful than even the six Spirits together. We know it’ll work.”

Vailret whistled. “That should be enough.”

“I propose this,” Tareah said. “While you launch your army eastward to the mountain terrain, dispatch a second party south to Rokanun, to the dragon’s treasure pile. Get the Earth Stone and bring it back to the main army. Then one of us will put all four Stones together and create the Allspirit. It’s the only way.”

Vailret grinned with excitement. “The monsters will be a trivial problem then! The Allspirit should have enough power to break us away from the Outside and hold Gamearth together.”

“But who’s going to do such a thing?” Delrael asked.

“Our choices are rather limited,” she said. “It has to be someone with Sorcerer blood to activate the Stones.”

Vailret was afraid to think that Tareah might be suggesting that she do it herself. It would transform her into a supernatural being, but she would cease to be Tareah forever.

A small voice surprised them all. “It might as well be me,” Bryl said. Vailret looked at him in surprise, and Bryl sounded defensive. The wrinkles around his eyes made complicated patterns. “I used the Water Stone to call the dayid and stop the forest fire. I used the Air Stone to summon the illusion army for your battle against Scartaris. I have proven that I can handle that kind of power.”

Bryl shrugged and huddled down into his blue cloak. “Besides, I’m old. I’ve done enough in the Game. What have I got to lose? You people will just keep dragging me on quests for the rest of my life anyway.”

***

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