Passepout and Curtis's jaws dropped.
"Isn't she angelic?" Rurk commented.
None contested his observation, as Shurleen floated to her place.
"Plume magic?" Volo asked.
"But of course," Rurk replied. "The natives here are particularly adept at it. I've even seen them constructing veritable rafts of enchanted plumes to lift their dwellings off the ground during times of flood. The floating power in these feathers seems inexhaustible."
"Quite," Volo agreed. "I bet your patrons back in Faerun are making quite a pretty coin in profits on your exports."
"Their interests are no longer any concern of mine," Rurk replied, a touch of deadly seriousness apparent in his tone. "No doubt you realize I no longer claim allegiance to my patrons, as you call them. Your observation about the divisional flag, or shall I say that the lack of any other, made that clear to me, so let's drop the facade."
"Agreed," Volo replied. "All we want is to continue our way eastward. We have no desire to expose your private kingdom to the scrutiny of other concerns here or in Faerun. So with your blessing we'd like to resume our journey tomorrow, giving you our word of honor that as far as anyone is concerned, we've never met a Mis Ta Rurk, nor come across a settlement of plumeweavers, camouflaged by a ridge of rocks that obscures them for miles."
"I'm afraid things are not quite that simple," Rurk replied. "Of course, I desire your discretion, but I also desire one of your companions."
Shurleen dropped her cup and looked up in amazement and fear.
Rurk looked to her the way one might look at an uneasy child.
"Yes, my dear," he replied. "I have no illusions that your flirtations masked anything except your girlish ego, and that if given the chance to choose, you would undoubtedly desire to continue along your way with your companions. Fortunately for me, I hold all the cards, and I think it will be better if you stay."
"Why, you!" Curtis yelled, jumping to his feet, and about to rush to Rurk's end of the table.
Rurk clapped his hands, and six Tethyrian mercenaries appeared, fully armed with bows and arrows fletched with enchanted plumes.
"These are some of the men who joined me on my excursion. I wouldn't advise causing any trouble as their arrows are fletched for accuracy by means of enchantment."
"Curtis, sit down!" Volo ordered. "What do you want, Rurk?"
Curtis resumed his seat as Rurk made his pitch. "Sometimes it's boring being a god for these primitive savages," Rurk said. "Sometimes I need a little challenge."
"Get to the point," Volo pressed.
"Of course," Rurk conceded. "Of course I would love to take the lovely Miss Bleth as my mistress, but I'm sure you wouldn't stand for that."
"Right," Volo agreed.
"Not that you can really do anything about it. One of my men is a rather powerful chemist who could undoubtedly come up with a potion that will make her my slave in a matter of moments… but that wouldn't be sporting. What I suggest is that you three take part in a game against three of my best athletes tomorrow. It's called the ball game. You might have heard of it."
"I have," Volo replied.
"Good," Rurk continued. "If you win, you are free to go, if not, the lovely Shurleen becomes my mistress."
"No!" Shurleen screamed, bursting into tears. She was quickly spirited away by several of Rurk's more attractive female servants, evidently his other mistresses.
Volo fingered his beard for a moment and thought.
"How about this?" the master traveler counter-offered. "If we win, you will have your plume-weavers weave us a raft that will be capable of flying us back to Faerun."
"One already exists," Rurk interrupted, "you never know when you will have to make a fast getaway. Sometimes even peaceful and stupid savages like these get restless."
"One might say that this would be fairer compensation for our efforts," Volo pointed out.
"Agreed," Rurk assented. "The game will be tomorrow at midday out on the field we passed getting here. You three against my champions, those tall fellows over there."
Volo and his companions turned to see the individuals that he was referring to. Each was a good foot taller than any of the natives they had seen so far, and all were built like oxen.
"Don't let their bulk fool you," Rurk pointed out. "They have the reflexes and speed of jaguar men."
"Wonderful," Passepout replied, sensing imminent doom.
"And one more thing," Rurk added. "My home court has a particular rule attached to all games. You lose, you die. Death before dishonor."
Passepout fainted, and Curtis revived him with a cup of water.
The three companions ate the rest of their meal in silence, all along Volo fingering his beard in thought, as if trying to come up with a plan.
As the meal was brought to a close, Rurk stood up and said, "I assure you that no harm will come to Miss Bleth tonight. I am more than willing to wait to collect the victor's spoils."
"That goes without saying," Volo replied, adding, "One thing, though. I understand that the game is played in sandals. Would it be possible for us to obtain three pairs in the morning, so that we can break them in for the game?"
"But of course," Rurk replied. "What kind of host would I be not to grant such a simple request?"
Once again Rurk clapped his hands, and Herve appeared to lead Volo and the others back to their room.
Chapter 19
The Ball Game or How a Little Ingenuity Can Make Up For a Lack of Athletic Prowess
True to Rurk's word, the following morning three pairs of sandals were delivered to the challengers' room.
"What are we going to do?" Passepout pleaded.
"Call your servant," Volo instructed.
"Why?" the chubby thespian asked. "Did you see the face on that one? I hate to think that was the last female on my mind when I meet my maker, which is apparently going to be way too soon for my tastes."
"Just do it!" Volo ordered, continuing to finger his beard in nervous contemplation.
"And what about Shurleen?" Curtis demanded. "We can't let Rurk enslave her!"
"And there is nothing we can do about it if we happen to be dead, right?" Volo countered. "Therefore, our main objective at the moment should be staying alive."
"Here she is," Passepout said, having returned with his warthog-faced, would-be paramour.
"Good," Volo replied. He took her aside, making his needs known to her in sign language. She continued to nod in agreement, occasionally tossing a glance and a wink in the chubby thespian's direction.
Volo and the servant began to leave. "We'll be right back," Volo called. "We have a bit of sandal customizing to do."
With that they left.
"Well, I never heard it referred to as that," Passepout commented.
"Somehow I wouldn't have thought of her as his type," Curtis agreed.
"By the way," Passepout asked, "what is this ball game in which we are supposed to meet our deaths?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea," Curtis replied.
Volo returned with the sandals in a little less than an hour.
"Well, it's about time!" Passepout said sarcastically.
"You sound a bit jealous," Curtis jibed the chubby thespian. "I thought she wasn't your type?"
"Can it!" Volo ordered. "Time is short, and we have a plan to work out. The odds are against us, and the deck is stacked in their favor, but with a little luck, I think we can bounce our way to victory. Now listen."
The ball game, as Volo explained, was the major accepted form of entertainment for all Mazticans. Though on the surface it appeared to be only a contest or sport, the human cultures of the continent had invested in it a great deal of significance as a religious ritual and as a means of dispute arbitration through divine intervention. The game was usually played with a hard, round ball roughly six inches in diameter, made from the congealed sap of a rubber tree. It was the object of opposing team players to maneuver the ball without the use of their hands or feet through th
e opposing team's goal line. The first team to score three goals would win.
There was, however, another option for winning. Midway down the walls that line the court was a stone ring roughly fifteen feet above the playing field. The first team to score a goal through the ring would win.
"Just looking at the opposition, I can tell it is their intention to bulldoze their way down the field each play to pummel home a shot on our goal," Volo explained.
"And there doesn't seem to be much we can do to stand in their way," Passepout observed.
"Almost," Volo replied. "The first thing I have to do is to get Rurk to up the ante. Normally, victory is only attained after a match is won, and three games make a match. I need to have him agree to a one-game match."
"Sure," Passepout interjected, "no reason to post- pone the inevitable."
"Our only advantage is the element of surprise, and we will only have that once."
"Surprise about what?" Curtis queried.
"These," Volo replied, holding up the newly customized sandals.
Volo, Passepout, and Curtis arrived about ten minutes before the sun was at its apex. Rurk and his team of brutes had already arrived and were eagerly waiting in anticipation of an easy victory.
Shurleen had arrived as well, bedecked in the skimpy garments of a high-class courtesan, a profession she feared soon awaited her.
Curtis walked over to her with his, Volo's, and Passepout's packs cleverly disguised as ornate, overstuffed pillows. He was amazed at how much the strident, demanding heiress now resembled a very scared child who just wanted to go home despite her seductive attire.
"Don't worry kid," Curtis consoled. "Mister Volo has a plan. When he gives the word, grab the packs and run."
"I know you may find this hard to believe," Shurleen choked in a whisper, "but I think I would prefer to share in your fate. Death seems almost desirable to the alternative."
Curtis patted her, and in a moment of mad inspiration kissed her on the forehead. "If things go according to plan, no one will have to face death or a fate worse. Wish me luck."
"Good luck, Curtis," she whispered, "and to the others as well, and…" She halted in midsentence, placed her two hands on the sides of his face, and drew him closer to her, kissing him long and lovingly on the lips.
Curtis returned to the others feeling as if he were walking on air, and grateful that Passepout had not seen their little interaction.
"Now remember," Volo instructed, "everything hinges on none of us getting hurt while they score their first two goals."
"No problem," Passepout replied. "The ball comes this way, I go that way."
"No," Volo corrected, shaking his head. "We can't make it look that easy. If Rurk catches on that we're throwing the game for the first two goals, we're sunk."
"We'll do our best," Curtis replied, his heart filled with a new shot of confidence.
"We have to," Volo replied, then yelled to Rurk, "Hey, let's get this show on the road."
"Hey," Passepout yelled, "that's my line."
"Whatever," Rurk responded. "Don't you want to put your sandals on?"
"Later," Volo replied curtly. "I'd like to see our prize before we start."
"Whatever," Rurk said dismissively. He clapped his hands and watched as the plume raft was flown in by Herve. It would fit the four companions and the three packs with room to spare.
"Ready," Volo announced.
"Good," Rurk replied. "A ball game match. Three games make a match. To the winner: freedom, life, and this plume barge. To the loser, the usual: death. Let the games begin."
The ball was thrown into center court, and the opposing team of brutes stampeded down the field. The one-eyed monster who led their pack reached the bouncing ball first, and butted it with his head farther down the field, where it was elbowed by a team mate to the side, where the third member took a shot on goal. While the masters of menace were continuing their rampage down the field, Volo's team tried to put on a good show. Curtis threw himself in front of the oncoming ball, barely missing it. An oncoming goon tried to skewer him on its abnormally long claws (though the rules prohibited the use of one's hands with the ball, nothing had been mentioned about their use against an opponent). Curtis easily dodged its oncoming thrust, his exceptional reflexes more than compensating for the goon's superior strength and bulk.
Volo made a great show of trying to get under the ball as it sailed back to earth, having been head-butted by the opposition with such force as to surely concuss the master traveler. As with Curtis, the traveler narrowly escaped the mortal blow.
Passepout ran back and forth in the goal, trying to put on the appearance of blocking the ball, while actually just trying to stay out of the way. The oncoming team didn't even bother with him as a target of aggression, some prey are just too easy to kill and therefore not worth the effort.
The goons quickly decided that the pleasures of violence and pain-giving could be safely deferred to game end and refocussed their attentions on simply scoring.
Rurk's team easily scored their two goals, and Volo called a time out.
"What is it now?" Rurk asked, impatient to see the slaughter end, so that the slaughter could begin.
"We're going to put our sandals on," Volo announced, making a great show of huffing and puffing.
"Tired, huh?" Rurk chuckled.
"Can't wait till it's over," Volo puffed.
"My feelings exactly," Rurk replied. "Why don't we dispense with the facade of two more games? Game equals match, so that we can get on with it."
Volo huffed and puffed, fingering his beard in tired contemplation.
"Okay," the master traveler replied, "but I think we deserve a handicap."
"Like what?" Rurk replied.
"Could we start from a third of the way down?" Volo offered. "It might give us a chance to get our hands on the ball, so to speak."
"Not that it would do you any good," Rurk countered, then added, "Why not? Let's get on with it."
Rurk stood up and announced to the crowd as Herve translated.
"New rules," he announced. "Challengers shall be allowed a head start down the field. Game equals match. This one is for the girl, the feather barge, and everything!"
"Yes!" Volo, Curtis, and Passepout whispered a cheer in unison. Rurk had made the agreement public and would not be able to back out without losing face.
The three players, their feet shod in their customized sandals, shuffled into position down the field.
"Begin!" Rurk yelled, and the ball was put in play.
Curtis took off like a shot first, bouncing down the field in leaps and bounds that were magnified by the extra thick rubber soles of his sandals. Passepout meanwhile took his place under the midcourt ring, and began to hop up and down. With each hop, his bounce increased, aided and accentuated by the cushions of air that Volo had made sure were added to the sandals' newly padded rubber soles. With all of the agility of the tumbler training that he had learned at his father's knee, the chubby thespian began to turn somersaults in midair, mystifying the opposing team, who had never seen a fat man fly without the aid of magic feathers.
In the meantime, Volo had joined Curtis at the place where the ball was still bouncing. The master traveler and the young beachcomber intertwined their arms, and caught the ball between their two bodies, and then proceeded to hop toward their bouncing buddy.
Rurk could not believe his eyes.
"They can't do that!" he shouted.
"Why not?" Shurleen replied.
"She's right," Herve responded. "There's nothing against it in the rules."
In the time it took for that conversational exchange to take place, Volo and Curtis had maneuvered the ball to Passepout's position. On the count of three, the two ball-bearers released control of the rubber spheroid, allowing it to bounce once, at which point it was recovered between the elbows of the tumbling Passepout who, with all the force of his flabby girth, propelled himself down and up in a bounce that put him o
n chest level with the goal ring, at which point he released the ball with a push from his stomach, sending it sailing through the ring, and on to victory.
"Goal, game, match! The challengers win!" Herve announced in his native tongue.
"No!" Rurk screamed, overcome with rage. "Seize them!"
No one could hear Rurk's order however, and Herve failed to translate it, further accentuating the warlord's apoplectic fury.
"The raft!" Volo yelled, heading toward Herve and their featherbed deliverer.
Herve steered the raft into a hover near Shurleen.
"Hey, lady, need a lift?" he called.
"Charmed," she replied, hoisting the disguised packs on board with her.
When she was in place, she pointed to Curtis, Volo, and Passepout, who were hemmed in by the crowd who wished to congratulate them.
Herve nodded, as if to say no problem, and steered the raft directly over them.
"Gentlemen, hop!" Volo ordered, and the three travelers bounced up to their feather-lined aerial getaway raft, climbed on board, and were eastward bound in no time.
Herve, seated at the front of the plume raft, called back to the others, who were having a victory reunion. "I figured Rurk was about at the end of his reign. I took this baby out for a spin earlier today, and saw a contingent of Tethyrian mercenaries heading this way. If you don't mind, I'll get off when we hit the coast."
"What will you do?" Volo asked. Curtis was busy with Shurleen, and Passepout was still catching his breath, unaccustomed as he was to this much exertion in a single day.
"I don't know," the halfling replied. "Maybe go north, go back home, see what opportunities are waiting for me there."
"Do you want to join us?" Volo offered. "We're heading back to Faerun."
"No, thanks," Herve replied. "The offer is appreciated, but I'd rather stay here. This is my home, and besides, from what I understand, it's not healthy to drink the water in Faerun."
Herve and Volo laughed, and in no time at all they had reached the coast, and Herve departed, bidding them a fond farewell.
Chapter 20
Once Around the Realms (single books) Page 18
