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by Vivian Vande Velde

The Indian shrugged.

  "Nobody," Feordin repeated, "lives there." He paused to let that sink in. "Twenty years ago it was a settlement, a big one. Mostly there were humans, but also dwarfs lived there, and elves and halflings. Thousands of people. There was an army garrison there, and seven or eight temples. A bazaar second to none. The city was said to be so crowded you could hear the noise of it from five miles away, and at night the lights could be seen from as far away as the River Gan."

  And? I thought. And? I waited for the other shoe to drop, for the part of the story that could make the townspeople here say, "Ah," in that combination of awe and fear.

  "And then," the dwarf said, "between one day and the next, they were gone. The buildings were undamaged, the livestock unharmed in their pens, but the people were gone. Nobody remained. Whatever had happened, you'd have thought that the soldiers at least would have put up a fight; but the garrison storerooms were provisioned, the weapons clean and neatly stacked, the horses safe in the stables. Just ... no people. King Ulric sent soldiers to investigate. But though the miller and his wife who live across the desert at Miller's Grove saw lights over the desert sands, just as they did every night, the soldiers never marched back. Since then, no one who has spent the night in Sannatia has ever come out again. And every night, the lights of the city still brighten the western sky."

  There was a moment of silence. The woman in green said, "Still, if that's where the king's daughter has been taken..."

  People shook their heads and walked away, afraid to get involved. In a moment the crowd was nearly gone. Only nine people remained around me and my table. These would be the seven other members of my group, plus two nonplayer characters, computer generated to accompany us on the campaign. I looked them over and tried to decide who was who.

  The woman in green had her arm around the waist of a man also dressed in green, who in turn had his arm around her. Dawn Marie and Noah. I just knew it by the gooey expressions on their faces.

  "Hi," the man said. "I'm Robin Hood and this is Maid Marian."

  Of course they were.

  "I'm unofficial king of Sherwood Forest and bane to the wicked sheriff of Nottingham. Expert thief extraordinaire. Climbing walls, opening the unopenable, and picking pockets my specialty." He held out his hand, revealing a small knife held flat on his open palm.

  The Indian must have recognized it. He slapped his hand against his buckskinned thigh, against the empty knife sheath. He snatched the weapon away from Robin, who just grinned.

  "And this is my..."—Robin smiled at Marian—"able-bodied assistant, a swordsmaster of unsurpassed ability."

  Marian blew him a kiss.

  "Harek Longbow of the Silver Mountains Clan," I said to put an end to all this mutual admiration before I threw up.

  "Cornelius," said an old man dressed in a robe and conical hat embroidered with silver stars and moons. He swept off the hat. "The Magnificent." That was probably Shelton, who always chooses to play a magic-user.

  A man in a plain brown robe and a haircut like Saint Francis bowed. "Abbot Simon," he said. "At your service." Oh-oh, a cleric. They have magic powers too, so that killed my theory about Shelton's having to be the wizard.

  "Feordin Macewielder," said the dwarf. "Son of Feordan Sturdyaxe, grandson of Feordane Boldheart, brother to Feordone the Fearless, great-grandson of Feordine Stoutarm who served under Graggaman Maximus." He knew too much about the opening situation to be one of the group and had to be a computer-generated aid. But on the other hand he was black, and I know how proud Cleveland is of his African heritage.

  The Indian, who I had already pegged as Dominic, was still sulking that Robin Hood had managed to steal his knife. "Nocona, chief of the Comanches," he grumbled.

  There was another elf warrior in the group, but this one was a woman. "My name is Thea Greenleaf," she said, looking right at me, "of the Greenmeadow Clan."

  Another of those computer-generated memories kicked in. There was long-standing rivalry between the Greenmeadow Clan and my own Silver Mountains group. Giannine Bellisario? I wondered. Or was Giannine the swaggering halfling woman who pushed her way to the front? She might have been only four feet tall, but she had biceps bigger than anybody else's here and she wore a metal bra, which may have accounted for the sour look on her face. "Brynhild, of the Sisterhood of the Sword, and better than any man here." She spat on the floor, which I thought was pretty rude whether she was Giannine or a computer facsimile.

  Things were going too quickly, and I was getting lost about who must be who. But there was no doubt about the last character, the fourth woman in this group. This was one of the Rasmussem's serving wenches, dressed like a gypsy in an embarrassingly low-cut blouse. "I'm Felice," she said, with a self-conscious giggle. "Isn't this fun?"

  Mom. How humiliating.

  3. PROVISIONS

  I tried to look like "Ho-hum, don't bother noticing me because I'm nobody you know," but Mom picked me out straight off. Mothers have a knack for that sort of thing, like being able to tell when you're spitting your lima beans out into the napkin instead of swallowing them, or knowing just when to say, "It's too quiet in there—what are you doing?" Recognizing their kid from a lineup of warriors, thieves, and assorted nonhumans must be one of those gifts that come with motherhood. She fixed me with this kind of goofy smile of hers that let me know I was getting off lucky—that she could have ruffled my hair and said, "Hi-ya, Arvin."

  The other elf, Thea, came to my rescue. "What do you do, Felice?" she asked.

  "Do?" Mom repeated.

  "Warrior-maid?" asked Brynhild, but she didn't look very hopeful. "Magic-user? Thief?"

  "Oh." Mom looked directly at me. "Am I supposed to tell?"

  I squirmed and pretended not to realize she was asking me. Everybody had to know who she was. The only way I could escape dying of embarrassment was to hope that they didn't know me.

  "Yes, my lady," Cornelius was telling her, "you most definitely are supposed to tell."

  "Oh," Mom said again. "I'm a thief." She put a finger to her lips in a "don't tell" gesture and giggled again.

  "Six fighters," Maid Marian counted out loud, as though someone had died and left her dungeon master, "two magic-users, and two thieves. Good mix."

  "I'm so pleased you're pleased," Feordin grumbled. "Are we going to stand around introducing ourselves all day, or does anybody actually plan to do something?"

  "First order of business is weapons and equipment," Robin Hood said, cutting off Marian, who was obviously winding herself up for a rebuttal. "What say we all meet back here in a half hour at the latest?"

  Made sense to me. The only ones who already had weapons were Nocona, with his knife—while he had it—and Feordin Macewielder, with—appropriately enough—a mace. But even they would need supplies for the quest. The group started to break up. I avoided meeting my mom's eyes. As a thief, she'd be looking for stuff totally different from what I'd be needing as a warrior. She was better off with Robin Hood anyway.

  There was only one armorer in the town, and from him I bought a leather breastplate. Chain mail would have been nice, but it was twice as expensive. That's the kind of pennypinching that can cost dearly later in the game, but I'd already spent more than I should have, trying to buy information at the Rasmussem.

  From a booth on the same street I also bought a bow and a quiver with two dozen arrows, but for swords and knives, I had to go to a blacksmith. It took me all of five seconds to decide the guy must be the Rasmussem barkeep's not-so-friendly brother. All the while I was there, he cleaned his fingernails with a knife as long as my arm.

  "May I see that one?" I asked, pointing to a long sword that hung over his work area.

  With a sigh as though I'd been there all morning, he fetched the weapon and slammed it down on the counter, then resumed picking under his nails.

  I lifted the sword.

  Take that back.

  I started to lift the sword. Pain shot through my arm as though I'd whac
ked my elbow against a brick wall. The sword dropped from my numb fingers and I doubled over.

  The blacksmith looked at me for a few seconds while he cleaned off his blade on his pants leg. He started in on the other hand. Philosophically he said, "I always heard tell elves couldn't handle iron. Never seen one dumb enough to try before."

  "Glad to be of service," I wheezed once I got my breath back. "Do you have any bronze?"

  "Couple pieces." He grinned, and I knew it was coming before he got it out: "Course, bronze costs more."

  I ended up with a sword and a dagger. I really wanted a shield, but I remembered one campaign—one of the old-fashioned ones that we'd played with dice and graph paper and miniatures—where I'd had to leave behind treasure. Shelton, as dungeon master, had gotten real picky and pointed out that I could only be credited with what he figured I could reasonably fit into my pockets, a fraction of what I was due. So now instead of a shield I got a large sack, and a length of rope, which I figured was something that could always come in handy, and a water skin, since Feordin had mentioned a desert.

  Walking back to the Rasmussem, I started to worry about Mom. She was a reader of high-fantasy adventure stories, not a gamer. She'd been interested in what was going on, those times the group had met at our house, and had liked to listen to the campaign scenarios. She'd never been able to figure out the dice, though, and had certainly never asked to play. I wondered if she'd have asked to join us this time if Dad hadn't been gone all week on a business trip. What if, I thought, lovebirds Robin and Marian hadn't split up, despite their different classifications, and had left her on her own? What if we had to go out looking for her?

  No such luck. She was already there; everyone was already there. Waiting. For me.

  "What happened?" Brynhild demanded. "We were about to send out a rescue party."

  I tried to ignore her and kept my back to Mom so she wouldn't see my face go red.

  "Harek, do you have any money left?" Marian asked. "We pooled our resources and bought some food supplies, but we'd like to take what's left and get a pack animal to carry all this stuff."

  This wasn't a half bad idea. I only wished somebody else had come up with it. Dawn Marie was just too bossy for me to take to her suggestions easily. I handed over my last gold piece and we all trooped out of the Rasmussem. I worked hard to make sure there was somebody between me and Mom at all times.

  There was only one public stable in this town, and only one animal within our means. This was a shaggy, swaybacked thing who, we were told, answered to the name Phoenix. Even at three gold pieces, we were getting gypped.

  There were ten other horses—nice respectable-looking horses—and I gazed at them longingly.

  "Excuse me," Mom said. "Excuse me. Stablemaster person?"

  The owner of the stable was this big, hairy guy who looked like he ate people's moms for breakfast. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.

  "You see," Mom explained chipperly, "we're on an expedition to rescue the king's daughter. So, really, it'd be nice if you could give us some sort of discount for humanitarian reasons." She gave him her brightest smile. "Don't you think?"

  Her enthusiasm had already begun to wilt under his scowl when finally—finally—he said, very slowly, very distinctly: "Tough. Luck. Lady. If it's the king's business you're on, then you'll be expecting a reward. If there's a reward involved, you can afford to pay me fifteen gold pieces."

  While Marian and Cornelius tried to convince him that we didn't have fifteen gold pieces, I noticed that Mom was trying to get my attention. Not another brainstorm, I prayed. I pretended I didn't notice.

  "Psst," Mom called in a loud whisper, "Harek."

  Feordin poked me in the ribs with the handle of his mace. No way I could pretend I hadn't noticed that. Reluctantly, I faced her.

  She was giving me these meaningful glances, looking from me to the doorway. Meaningful, I could tell. Meaning what, I couldn't.

  "What is it, Felice?" Thea asked, pulling her over closer so that we formed a tight huddle, me, Mom, Thea, and Feordin.

  "Any reason," Mom whispered, "we can't steal that horse? Any reason we can't steal all eleven horses?"

  4. HORSES

  Crouched behind the stable, after the stableowner had thrown us out, we discussed Mom's plan.

  "Well," Mom said, "what immediately comes to my mind is a diversion." She looked to Robin, the other thief. "Is that too common?"

  "Not at all," Robin said. "Cornelius? Abbot Simon? Is it too early for a magic spell?"

  "No," they said simultaneously—no clue there as to who was real and who was computer generated. The computer would have given us nonplayer characters to complement the rankings we had declared at the outset, and Shelton would have given himself at least a dozen spells to use. This was perhaps the main reason why he'd worked so hard to crack Rasmussem's program: his dissatisfaction over the rule that says first-time participants are to be admitted at beginner level, working upward from session to session, regardless of previous experience with other versions of the game. Shelton had been playing for five years to achieve his standing and he wasn't willing to work his way through the ranks a second time.

  The rest of us aren't as devoted to the game as Shelton is, but all the same, considering what Rasmussem charges per session, it is exasperating to have to start without experience points. Warriors, thieves, magic-users: we all have to gradually build up our skills, and the game is kind of boring when you're just starting out. That's why we made Mom a full-fledged thief instead of an apprentice, even though she'd never played the game in any form before.

  "I think," Cornelius said, "some sort of illusion would do nicely."

  I started to rack my brains, determined to prove my worth in something.

  "The king himself, come to requisition the horses?" Feordin suggested.

  Cornelius considered, then shook his head. "Too risky. These people are likely to refuse him."

  "Duplicate horses?" Robin said. "We could switch them for the real thing."

  "Too time-consuming."

  Suddenly it came to me. Proud of myself I said, "Pay them in fake gold."

  "Too dull."

  Well, thank you very much.

  "Some natural disaster?" Mom suggested. "Like a storm, or flood, or earthquake?"

  Cornelius stroked his long white beard.

  Suddenly there was a sparkle in Mom's eye. "Or a dragon?"

  Cornelius grinned. Everybody grinned. Nocona patted Mom on the back.

  "Dragons aren't a natural disaster," I grumbled.

  "They are around here," Brynhild snapped.

  Wasn't anybody on my side?

  Cornelius scanned the sky, then pointed out a small fluffy cloud near the horizon. He rolled his sleeves back. " Suki choolu," he said, or some such. "Ollafranix propus." He wiggled his fingers and got bug-eyed.

  The cloud drifted closer, which made it look bigger, and now I could see that it wasn't as white as I had originally thought. Cornelius was more interesting, with his face all red and sweaty, looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel or something.

  "Churlindoe, hermandix, fiez." And so on, and so on.

  I stifled a yawn and checked to see how the rest of the group was reacting. They were staring at the sky, enthralled. I took another look and saw that the cloud had taken on the color of a burned-out lightbulb. Thunder rumbled. Wind tugged at our clothes and hair. And the shape kept changing. Too fast for wind currents, it seemed to throb, reminding me of the film we'd seen in science class of a beating heart. Lumps formed, and lumps on top of lumps. Then curves, and angles, too precise for something as insubstantial as a cloud. The color darkened noticeably even as I watched.

  Townspeople stopped whatever they'd been doing and were looking upward in dismay. The thing definitely looked like a dragon silhouette now, and was almost directly overhead. Lightning flashed in the vicinity of the creature's head. Simultaneously, thunder cracked, loud enough to make me ju
mp. I blinked, to get the jagged image of the lightning out of my eyes. But part of it remained: a chip of unnatural brightness where the dragon's eye would be. People on the street started to back away. Those still in their homes began to slam their doors shut, to latch their windows.

  And then the cloud began to rotate. From a side view to head-on it moved, with its lightning-chip eyes too bright, too horrible to look at. It opened its huge mouth, displaying gleaming teeth and—it took a moment for me to register it—a blood-red tongue. It gave a cry, its voice the roar of thunder, and it swooped down on the town.

  People scattered, screaming.

  Even knowing what it was, I was tempted to do the same.

  Cornelius's dragon breathed out fire. Buildings burst into flame—the Rasmussem Inn, the stalls of the arms merchants, a cloth seller's shop. The stable.

  People ran back and forth, unable to decide which was more dangerous, indoors or out. The wind caused by the beating of the dragon's wings stirred up the dust of the street till our stinging eyes ran with tears. The smell of the dragon's sulfur breath tingled in my nose and throat. And the fires blazed unchecked.

  Behind us there was a particularly bloodcurdling scream. The door to the burning stable banged open. The stableowner lurched out, flames running like liquid over his body. I could feel the heat of him, could smell the charred flesh.

  Mom grabbed Cornelius's arm, breaking his concentration. "Are you sure this is just illusion?" she demanded in a voice of horror, as the human torch ran down the street, and the townspeople fled from him.

  "Of course," Cornelius said. "Look. Nothing is actually being consumed by the fire."

  For once I didn't mind my mother's intervention; I had needed the reassurance too.

  Cornelius raised his arms again, but the spell had been interrupted and couldn't be resumed. What he had created would run its natural course, but he couldn't add anything.

  I was unable to drag my gaze away as the walls of one of the shops seemed to collapse, scattering glowing embers halfway across the street. I could taste ash on my tongue. Cornelius certainly knew his stuff.