The Questing Game

by James Galloway

  Absolute rage exploded from him in that moment, but it was a rage tightly focused by the situation. He could do nothing immediately to help his sister, his friends. But he would. Oh, would he. "You are dead, Demon," Tarrin hissed savagely. "I'm coming for you, do you hear? I'm coming for you!"

  "And you'll be mine as well, Tarrin," she purred. And then he felt that the link between him and Allia was broken.

  He was quiet a long moment, as Sarraya looked on fearfully. She had heard it all, and she had no idea what he intended to do, what the news would do to his sanity. Then he turned his back to her. "Sarraya," he growled. "Contact Triana."

  "Why?"

  "Because I told you to do it!" he snapped in reply. "She seems to be able to move around very quickly. Have her come here, as fast as she can. I'm going to need her."

  "She can be here by sunset," Sarraya said uneasily. "But using that kind of magic is really going to take it out of her. She won't be any good to you."

  "She doesn't have to fight," he growled under his breath, his rage giving him tight focus, a clear purpose. An objective. "She just has to be here. For Jula."

  Sarraya gave his back a very long, uncertain look. Then she bowed her head. "You're going to kill yourself, Tarrin," she said softly.

  "I don't care," he snapped. "The only thing that matters to me is the lives that bitch Shiika is holding in her hand. I'll burn this city to the ground to get them back, and my own safety be damned." He looked down. "I...I don't want you to see what I'm about to do, Sarraya. I'm about to break about every law there is in Fae-da'Nar."

  "What are you going to do, Tarrin?"

  "The only thing I can do, Sarraya," he replied grimly. "Attack Shiika through her throne." He turned and looked at her. "When Triana gets here, tell her to stay out of the city," he said. "It won't be safe here. There won't be anywhere safe in this city until Shiika frees the others. And the gods help her if she hurts any of them," he said with an ominous undertone. "Now get out of the city, Sarraya. Stay out of my way."

  "Tarrin," Sarraya called as Tarrin started walking away. "Tarrin! Don't leave me like this! You're going to get yourself killed! Tarrin! Tarrin!!!" she screamed as he left the alley, then turned out of her sight.

  But he didn't hear her. He didn't want to. He knew he was going to die trying to free the others before Shiika could enslave them, but he wouldn't let that stop him.

  Some things were worth more than a single life.

  "Mother," he called aloud, under his breath. "Mother....I need your help."

  I am here for you, but I do not agree with what you have in mind, kitten, she said stiffly. It is wrong. The deaths of innocents will not balance the lives that Shiika threatens.

  "There are no innocents anymore," Tarrin said in a tight hiss. "I don't care if you agree or not. I won't stop. The only thing that will stop me is if Shiika hands over the others and the book. Nothing else."

  I'm sorry you feel that way, my kitten, she said sadly. I truly am.

  "I'm not exactly happy, Mother," he admitted. "I know what this is going to mean. I know that even if I do live through it, I may not be able to live with it. But I don't care. Allia--she means more to me than my own life or sanity does. I won't abandon her, no matter what I have to do to get her back. I owe it to her."

  But, kitten...surely there is another way.

  "I'm listening."

  There was momentary silence. Shiika is the Empress. Attacking her through her throne is a wise idea, but slaughtering thousands and destroying entire blocks of the city will not bring her to you. You have seen the condition of the city, kitten. You know that the lives of her subjects will not affect her, especially since her Empire's population is numbered in the tens of millions. If you really wish to confront her, do so by being where she will be, not where you try to lure her. Every ten days, Shiika attends the gladitorial games with her husband, the Emperor. It is the highlight of the ride, and this next occasion will mark the end of the Festival of the Sun. Perhaps if you could reach her box in the arena, you could force a negotiation?

  "Not weaponless," he grunted. "That's what I need help with, Mother. Shiika destroyed my staff. Is there another weapon in this city I can use against her? If I can't prove that I can kill her, she won't take me seriously."

  I can't give you direct help with such a request, kitten, she sighed. It impugns on the restrictions under which I operate. But, as always, I may give you a hint, and affirm it if you guess correctly. Tarrin, such a weapon does exist. And you have seen it.

  Tarrin stopped. Seen it? He'd seen lots of weapons since coming to Dala Yar Arak. But the way she said it, she meant that this weapon was something out of the ordinary...something that he would have remembered. He thought back to the weapons he had seen, the ones that had caught his attention. The sword the Emperor wore was striking...but Shiika would be insane to equip her puppet with a weapon that could harm her. There were those black swords the Demons had...but they didn't hurt their own. It couldn't be them. Shiika herself carried no weapon. She didn't need one, she had the magical powers of a pureblooded Demon to be her weapon.

  Black sword. There was that one sword, the one hanging in the inn. The Eastern weapon, the one with the black metal blade, a metal that was too light to be steel.

  That was it! It wasn't steel! And it was a weapon of battle, no ceremonial piece! It had to be that sword!

  That is the one, the Goddess told him with a heavy voice. It was forged of a metal not of this world, and that gives it the power to harm a Demon.

  Tarrin nearly bounced in his step. "I remember where that inn is," he said fiercely. "I know where it is!"

  Tarrin went from a slow, methodical walk to a full-out sprint in the blink of an eye. It was late night, approaching morning. He could be there by sunrise, and he could be at the stadium by midmorning. He'd have to all but run all the way across the vast city and back...but he would make it. And he only hoped that Shiika hadn't started in on his friends already.

  "Mother...are they alright?"

  Shiika has imprisoned them, she replied, in her Palace. I protect the Sorcerers and Phandebrass with my power, Allia is also protected by Fara'Nae, and Neme protects Camara Tal. Shiika can feel this, so she must break our protections before she can reach our subjects. That will take time, and as you know, she must be at the games this day. It is expected of her, and she must attend.

  "So that gives me time," he said. "No wonder you were against my plan."

  Among other reasons, she replied. Just be careful, my kitten, and remember that my power is here for you. All you need to do is call upon it.

  And then she was gone, leaving him with an empty feeling, as if she took a part of him with her.

  But she left behind a feeling of hope in a desperate situation. He knew where Shiika was going to be, a place not in her Palace, a virtual fortress that not even he could invade, where he would have to face an unopposable force to reach her. And he could face her armed with a weapon she would have to take seriously.

  He was going to make her pay for what she did to him, to all his friends. One way or another.

  She was going to pay.

  He reached the inn about an hour after sunrise. He knew where it was, generally, and it had taken him nearly two hours to find its exact location, tracing his own faint scent trail on the rooftops. It had been two hours of frenetic, nearly frenzied searching, as he constantly looked at the sun to figure out how much time he was wasting. He had no time to waste; every moment counted. He had to reach the stadium before Shiika left, and he had no idea when the gladitorial games would begin.

  Games. It was nothing but an organized battle on sand, fighting and dying for nothing more than the pleasure of the spectators. While thousands of decadent sadists watched on and bet on the lives of the men that fought them. Barbarism.

  After finding the place, he dropped down to the streets and threw the door open, threw it so hard that it broke it off the hinges. There was all of six people inside
, the barkeep, one serving woman, and four drunken patrons sitting at the bar. They all looked at him, and the barkeep, that same youngish man, paled visibly when he realized who it was. The last time Tarrin was there, he killed three men right in the middle of the bar. The sword was still hanging on the wall, right where the man had left it.

  He stalked in, hooking a table with his claws and flinging it out of the way negligently, making it absolutely clear that he was there on business, and he would not be denied. The barkeep gawked at him fearfully as he approached, then knocked one of the half-stupidified men off his barstool and onto the floor, for no reason other than he was sitting between Tarrin and the barkeeper. He pointed right at the sword. "I want that, and I won't take no for an answer," he stated adamantly in Arakite. "Give it to me, and I'll leave here without killing you."

  The barkeeper stared at him numbly, then nodded so hard his teeth looked about to fall out. "T-T-Take it," he stuttered, backing out of Tarrin's reach.

  Tarrin jumped up onto the bar and pulled the weapon down. It felt cool in his paws, and a great deal of his immediate anxiety faded when he had it in his paws. It was light, long...for him, it was about as perfect as a sword was going to get. It was the means by which he would get his sister and friends back from that Demoness.

  "Whatcha want that old thing fer?" one of the drunken patrons asked in a slurring tone.

  "I'm going to kill your Emperor with it," Tarrin said flatly to him, staring him right in the eyes. "And I may kill your Empress too."

  That sobered him up instantly. He gazed at Tarrin woodenly, then slid backwards off his stool onto the floor.

  The thong they'd used to hang it behind the bar was too short. The weapon would have to be worn on his back. "Barkeep, give me a rope long enough to sling this, and I'll be out of your hair," he said calmly to the man.

  "You-You didn't mean it, d-did you?" he stammered.

  "Do I look like I'm joking to you?" he asked in reply.

  He turned absolutely white--quite a feat, given his dark coloring--and reached under the bar jerkingly. He pulled up a bit of leather thong, used to tie small cider casks together. Tarrin snatched it out of his hand, then snipped the existing thong with his claws and tied on the new on in its place. He adjusted its length until it fit on his back comfortably, hilt just over his right shoulder.

  That was all he wanted. He drew the sword once, to get a feel for it, putting both paws on its oversized hilt. Nearly seven spans of blade and three spans of hilt, but for his very tall body and oversized paws, it fit him as well as a bastard sword. Perfectly. It was only sharp on one edge, and had a very gentle, nearly delicate curve along its blade, with that curious chisel tip instead of a sharp point. It was alot like the long-saber his mother had in her armory, a weapon he'd practiced with a few times before.

  It would do.

  He sheathed the weapon and left the inn at a dead run, vaulting up onto the rooftops and turning towards the great Imperial Palace. The stadium wasn't far from it. It would guide him to Shiika, it would guide him to the confrontation that would get his friends back. It would give him the chance to avenge himself against that witch Shiika, to make her pay for her treachery.

  Tarrin had a plan. It was a very simple one.

  He would crush the head of the snake.

  He still moved in the tight focus of his rage confined, a clarity of purpose that transcended fear, anxiety, worry. He knew what was wrong, and he knew what to do to fix it. Self-preservation was not an issue. Allia was the only one that mattered, Allia and his other dear friends. His only friends.

  He vowed not to lose another friend after Faalken died, and he would not. He didn't care if he had to fight the King of Hell with a soup spoon, he would protect the others. He wouldn't let them down the way he did Faalken. He wouldn't abandon them to his own rage, to his own impulses, to his own wants. They came first. They would be first in his mind, even if it meant falling in the course of getting them back. Their freedom was all that mattered to him, and it made him completely unafraid. Nearly calm.

  Shiika picked the wrong Were-cat to play with. Tarrin did not play. And he would prove it to her.

  By whatever means necessary.

  She would surrender his friends. She would give him the Book of Ages. Or he'd pry them from her cold, dead fingers.

  Whichever way she wanted it, it still worked for him.

  The roar of the crowd. The sound of the trumpets. They loved it so.

  The Emperor and Empress of Yar Arak sat at the top level of a grand box suite built in their honor, looking down at the games below. The box was huge, filled with the servants, slaves, and the bodyguards of the Imperial couple, from fierce-looking mastiff hounds to grim-looking, ever observent men-at-arms who held their pikes with absolute precision as their eyes sought out any tiny danger to the Royal couple. Around them and below them were this day's spectators of the grand Games, the games that marked the end of the Festival of the Sun. The stadium was filled to capacity, some twenty thousand spectators screaming and cheering as ten sets of gladiators sparred on the sandy floor below. This was an opening match, fought by apprentice gladiators and only to first blood, a display of the martial prowess of the Gladiators that were kept in the arena of Dala Yar Arak. The best there were. Those apprentices had been champions in the gladitorial arenas of other Arakite cities, but here they were but cadets, trainees. There were also gladiators from other cities, just as the gladiators of Dala Yar Arak belonged to different noblemen. It was a matter of prestige to own a very skilled gladiator, just as it was prestige to have a great deal of money. Noblemen scoured the smaller cities of Yar Arak, searching for the best among the smaller stables, to bring them to the Arena and see if they had the mettle to be counted among the best in the world. Fortunes were made or lost on the performance of a nobleman's gladiator, and the outcome of a battle on the sand had changed the course of Arakite history more than once.

  Empress Lika placed a light hand on the Emperor's elbow, pointing out one of her favorites to him and remarking that he would soon be fighting in real matches. He was a tall one, tall and muscular, a Mahuut warrior brought in from the city of Dala Zaduna. He was owned by the Tresk noble house, and they had found themselves a very good investment. The man was huge, monstrous, and he fought with incredible power. He reminded Lika of the Mahuut monster known as Azakar, who had fought in the arena some years ago before managing to escape. He had been a true champion. And he proved it by killing some thirty guards making his escape.

  As they watched, one by one, the individual matches ended. Each sign of submission brought a roar from the crowd, and much money changed hands as each match was decided. Lika leaned back in her plush chair, ignoring the matches below or the roaring of the crowd, her mind on other matters. She had fulfilled whatever needs for activity were required for now. Perhaps taking the Selani was not wise. She understood the powerful bond that existed between her and Tarrin. But she needed him out of Dala Yar Arak, and taking her prisoner in exchange for his cooperation certainly seemed like a good idea at the time. She had expected to see plumes of dust on the horizon, signs that the Were-cat's rage got the best of him, and possibly destroyed himself with his own power. But they never appeared. And that was what worried her.

  Not a peep. Not even a sighting of him. It was as if he either died in that alley, or was still laying there, but she doubted that. The Faerie was also missing, and she could use her Druidic abilities to locate him, which was something that none of her Wizards could do. He had some kind of defeating magic about him that prevented attempts to locate him by magic. Only a Druid's earth-magic could ferret him out, and unfortunately, she'd never so much as crossed paths with a Druid before. If she had, she certainly would have enslaved him to her will. Druidic power was formidable.

  Given the Were-cat's nearly supernatural ability to extricate himself from tight situations, she had started to worry. Perhaps she should have killed him when she had the chance. She liked her status an
d her position, she liked her security. She liked not being in the Abyss, where she would be struggling just to survive. She actually enjoyed being among humans, and had started to take a sincere interest in the idea of ruling her Empire. An Empire she had left to whatever petty Emperor she had enslaved at the time, most of which weren't terribly bright. No, she was very happy right where she was, and she wasn't about to jeopardize her position. She had certainly given him ample reason to come after her. She was holding his sister, and she had told him bluntly that she had the Book of Ages. For all the good it would do him.

  She'd read the book. And the location of the Firestaff was not in its pages.

  But she liked him. He was clever, intense, amusing. He had fire, he had passion. That appealed to her, in a strange way. She wasn't romatically inclined towards him, but she had to admit that she was impressed by his zeal and his strength. It would be a shame to kill a man like that. She would so much prefer it if he would just leave. She would even release his friends unharmed...except for Jula. Jula was hers now, to replace the broodling that Tarrin killed. It was only fair, after all. But not the book. He couldn't have that. Releasing the book would threaten her position...because though the location of the Firestaff was not directly in its pages, she had the feeling that with the book, someone could find out where it was. There were many things in the book, a great many things.

  Despite what he thought, they were both trying to do the same thing. Neither of them wanted anyone to find the Firestaff. It would destroy her comfortable life if someone used it and spurred another war of the same scale as the Blood War, a war she had seen personally, some five thousand years before. She would not let that happen again. She may be a Demon, but her own personal comfort mattered more to her than the power of her kind. He was trying to find the Firestaff to keep it away from everyone else. Well, she was trying to keep anyone from finding it in the first place. That was another reason she didn't want to kill him. If she failed, if someone did find the Firestaff, she'd trust him with it much more than she would anyone else. At least he had the willpower to resist the temptation the Firestaff presented, a willpower she feared was going to come back to haunt her.