Gamearth

by Kevin J. Anderson

  In an instant he communicated his need and then shot upward again, swelled with the power of the dayid. He released his power, channeling it through the Water Stone and launching it toward the Northern Sea.

  Sardun felt the Ice Palace rock under him. The Water Stone itself looked like a blue sun burning into the balcony's floor.

  He pointed his strawlike fingers and traced a winding course for the newborn Barrier River. In his mind he saw the enormous map of Gamearth on the wall in the lower vault, and he formed a line of terrain hexagons, turning each one blue as the river made its way southward to the edge of the map.

  Still the power continued to pour into him from the dayid.

  A mountain stood partly in the way, but it crumbled to one side; blocks of ice around the sea rim catapulted through the new canyon. Water spewed into its new path, frothing and spraying.

  A great wall of water churned past the Ice Palace. It spiraled between the mountains and engulfed the Transition Valley. The Barrier River chewed its way through the grassy-hill terrain, then stampeded southward, seeking a route to the edge of the world and destroying everything in its path. The river would cut off the western half of Gamearth from the unknown danger in the east. No army could cross the wide, raging river ¯ but that also doomed all the people, all the villages on the wrong side of the river.

  Sardun saw the mighty passage of water as insignificant when compared to the dayid's power, a power he fought to contain. With his heightened perceptions, he looked deep into the ice to see the hidden structural flaws, the damage the dragon Tryos had done to the Palace.

  More power poured into him. He could not stop it from coming and had to release it somehow before it burst from him. Sardun turned the magic to reconstructing the Ice Palace. As swiftly as he could imagine the restorations, the improvements, the great Palace stood whole and undamaged, dazzling in the sunlight. The floor beneath him bucked and swayed as the balcony regenerated itself. The bent spire straightened.

  Sardun then turned his energy inward, recharting his own veins and nerves and muscles, restoring the dead flesh he had sacrificed in his unsuccessful battle to save Tareah.

  And after he had finished, the explosive power still would not release him, growing stronger as the dayid itself surged to new awareness after decades of dormancy.

  Temptation grew in him, ravenous, demanding that he set himself free after two centuries of waiting. The dayid begged him to set his body ablaze, to annihilate himself in the half-Transition. The voices of the other lost spirits called to him, beseeching. Join us!

  But he refused. Not now that he had hope for Tareah.

  The Water Stone made the dayid's link more potent, more difficult to deny. Blue flames licked around the fringes of his body; his newly regenerated cells began to nova as the process of partial Transition began to take hold.

  The Water Stone added its power, and the reaction grew stronger and stronger.

  Sardun fought to break free, but the energy fed upon itself, growing.

  Screaming inside, Sardun leaped downward again, dragging his consciousness back to the dayid in the crypt. Using all his ability as a living Sorcerer, he severed the link, thrusting the dayid's power back at it, and then fled to hide inside his own body.

  He collapsed like a rotten fruit on the high balcony. The cocoon of ice holding him up had evaporated, leaving his pink, newly healed legs exposed to the wind. The smoking Water Stone had melted itself halfway into the new ice floor.

  In the sudden silence, the grinding roar of the newborn Barrier River rose into the air....

  These relics are free for all to see.

  My only fee is that you REMEMBER.

  Vailret read the placard above the tunnel leading down to the crypt of the ancient Sorcerers. Bryl waited partway down the sloping tunnel eager, but hesitant to go farther alone.

  Sardun lay like a dead man on the throne room floor, wrapped in several blankets. Vailret had hovered over him for hours, looking for any sign of improvement. Delrael had agreed to watch over the Sentinel while Vailret and Bryl explored the underground vault.

  "Are you coming, Vailret? Tell me now so I don't waste any more time waiting," Bryl called from the tunnel, sounding anxious.

  "Don't be afraid, Bryl. They're not rotting dead bodies. They're just ... empty."

  "I know that ¯ don't patronize me!"

  They carried torches down the winding tunnel. But the outside light somehow reflected through the thick ice, making a refracted blue glow ripple out of the walls.

  Vailret felt as if he was deep under water. The air smelled cold and musty. Bryl hovered by his side, curious but cautious.

  "Do you think Sardun put any traps in the tunnels? To stop plunderers?

  Someone might think this is a good dungeon to investigate."

  Vailret sniffed the air, fascinated by the hypnotic light from the walls. "No, I doubt it, Bryl. This museum was supposed to be open for all to see, remember?"

  Bryl seemed to take come comfort in that, but he still let Vailret lead the way.

  The sloping passage opened into a huge vault bordered by shadows at the far ends of the room. They moved forward. The light from their torches reflected off the hewn ice walls, illuminating a magnificent chamber complete with stalactites of ice. Vailret stared in wonder.

  Bryl went to rummage among the relics in delighted fascination. Cases, pedestals, mirror frames ¯ all held something Sardun considered relevant to the history of the Sorcerer race. Scrolls and manuscripts had been carefully packed and labeled. An original copy of the Book of Rules stood in a transparent case. Vailret saw weapons ¯ one sword burned and blackened ¯ and garments, jewelry, sculpture, paintings.

  Vailret felt overwhelmed as he stopped to inspect each item. His voice rise in pitch. "This is the sword of Stilvess Peacemaker!" He lifted up the blackened sword. "When he ended the wars between the old Sorcerers, the leaders of both factions cast their blades into a bonfire!" He ran his finger along the dull, twisted sword.

  "And this shawl was worn by the Lady Maire on her wedding day, before the tournaments took place and fighting broke out among the guests ¯ which was the start of all the wars. And this ¯ ah!" He held his torch down near the faded parchment, afraid to touch it with his fingers, "It's an original manuscript written by the Sentinel Arken!"

  Bryl had found a chest of colored gems and sifted through its contents.

  He tossed a diamond necklace back onto the pile. "Arken? Who was that?" he asked.

  Carried away by his excitement, Vailret scowled at the half-Sorcerer.

  "Haven't you paid attention to any of the winter tales?"

  "I can remember plenty of things, young man! I've seen more history than you will ever read ¯ I know it's not all glorious wonders as you seem to think. History is a lot of normal time with nothing happening. You have to see the highlights of a century at a time before it gets interesting. Be glad I'm taking an interest." He paused. "Well, what does it say?"

  Vailret looked down at the parchment again with wide eyes. "It's the story of the Transition, as told by one of the oldest Sentinels. It's priceless! Come here and read it with me." He hoped the magnificence of the Ice Palace would awaken a sense of perspective and interest in Bryl. "The language is a little archaic, and some of the ink is faded, but I think we can manage."

  Vailret read Arken's words, anxious to see what they said but trying to go slow enough for Bryl to keep up. "'The Council had not argued so much since the wars. Bellan was red-faced and sweating (as usual) as she shouted her opinions, ranting on about how we could raise ourselves, as a race, to a higher level of existence, to escape this world which is not real. She vehemently pointed out (several times, as if she thought repetition might convince us) that this would open up the new doors of power and wisdom we sorely needed. The Transition could make us omnipotent spirits, gods. This was obviously the ultimate destiny of the Sorcerers ¯ obvious to Bellan at least.

  " 'We could escape our war-torn p
ast, leaving behind our physical bodies and the scars of the long battles, and make ourselves real. The wars had stopped, the Sorcerer race was weak, questers had no zeal for uncovering new catacombs or seeking out more treasure ¯ what if one day the Outsiders decided to end the Game?

  " 'Many of the other Sorcerers agreed with her. Finally, one baffled-looking woman stood and asked why we were even discussing this, wondering if anyone had an argument to the contrary.

  " 'I did. I told the Council I had discovered, by close interpretation of the Book of Rules, that none of our half-breed children could come with us.

  None of our beloved human wives or husbands. None. We would be abandoning them. I told them I would not leave Mika or our children behind. That gave the Council something to think about.

  " 'Let it be understood that I did not try to dissuade my people. Not at all. I simply wanted it to be a matter of choice, that some would choose to remain behind, either refusing to orphan their families or simply fearing the unknown aspects of the Transition.

  " 'We debated the matter for several years. Bellan pointed out rather harshly that we dissenters could not change our minds. Individually, we would not have the power to make a Transition for ourselves. We would be Sentinels, watching over the world and our children, while the rest of our race went to its destiny.'"

  Vailret took a deep breath, looking at Bryl. "Can you imagine it?"

  The half-Sorcerer seemed to be looking down and through the parchment.

  "Yes, my parents were there, but I hadn't been born yet. My father was a full-blooded Sorcerer, but my mother was only a half-breed. He stayed behind with her, and decades after the Transition they found themselves at the Stronghold. Your great-great-grandfather Worael ran things then. The battles of the Scouring were still going strong."

  Vailret looked at the old man in a new light, remembering how much Bryl himself had seen. Vailret waited, hoping the half-Sorcerer would continue reminiscing, but Bryl fell silent. After a moment he glanced at Vailret.

  "Well, does Arken have anything else to say?"

  Vailret handed the torch to Bryl and ran his fingers just above the actual parchment. He didn't want to smear or crumble the paper.

  " 'The Sorcerers began the journey northward to the place we had chosen for the final gathering of our race, a broad valley in the north. And I came to watch, to remember. A few humans also came, and other teary eyed Sentinels, watching their dear friends depart and thinking of the ones even more precious for whom they remained behind. They came in small groups or large, some bringing entire families, some coming alone.

  " 'All the Sorcerers stood in the valley and watched the sun rise. In the center of the field sat a white canvas tent, rippling with the brisk wind from the north ¯ the five Council members had spent days in close quarters, never leaving the tent, apparently discussing final details. The rest of the Sorcerers were told to stand ready at any moment.

  " 'The Transition occurred on the day of the autumn equinox. I remember that as significant ¯ a day of balance, a day and night of equal length, halfway between the start of summer and the start of winter.

  " 'Together, my fellow Sorcerers pooled their powers to weave a force so strong ¯ I cannot describe it well in words, but anyone with Sorcerer blood will have some inkling of what I'm saying.'"

  Vailret paused, narrowing his eyes. He could not understand what Arken was trying to describe. He would never feel Sorcerer power or the nuances of magic ¯

  "What's the matter?" Bryl asked.

  Vailret shook his head, searching for where he had stopped.

  " 'Sparkling lights erupted from isolated pockets of air, growing intense, like a fireworks display. My people forsook their physical bodies, joining together in a blinding light, a flash of incredible sorcerous beauty.

  They ... evolved, they became spirits. The massed ranks of the Sorcerers dropped to the ground. Empty and soulless.

  " 'Splotches of color continued to float in front of my eyes. I thought that something had gone wrong, that all the power had been expended, leaving nothing behind. The bodies of the Sorcerers lay slumped against each other on the ground. Everything fell silent, and even the sun seemed to have paused in climbing over the horizon.

  " 'Then the wind picked up. I remember how forceful it became, distinct, a rush of wispy voices, quietly mumbling faint words and phrases and whispers of astonishment. The air began to glow just outside my range of vision, taking substance, finally solidifying into six towering figures that loomed over us in the valley. The Spirits all wore hoods which cast their features into shadow. Three shone dazzling and white, while the other three cloaked themselves in darkness and mystery.

  " 'Those of us remaining stared in awe, but the Spirits made no move to speak. They seemed indifferent to us and to the thousands of empty bodies lying on the valley floor. The Spirits conferred among themselves briefly, and then they vanished.

  " 'To this day, the Spirits have had no contact with our world. This does nothing to allay the regrets of those Sentinels who now wish they had made a different decision. Sometimes I wonder if I had a right to stop so many of them.'"

  Vailret stopped reading. Bryl turned away quickly, as if trying to hide a sheen of tears in his eyes.

  Vailret saw a plume of breath as he let out a long sigh. "Do you suppose the old Sorcerers knew something, even back then? That they were so desperate to escape to a new reality where the same Rules don't apply? Before the Outsiders decided to destroy Gamearth." He drew in a deep breath, awed.

  "Then why did the Sentinels stay behind?"

  "The Sentinels carried all the Sorcerer bodies here," Bryl said, muffling his words in his sky-blue cloak.

  Vailret squinted ahead. "Look at them all."

  The ceiling of the vast chamber dropped low. The dormant bodies lay in awesome ranks beyond where the torchlight vanished into blue murk from the ice walls. They looked alive, asleep, with a gentle dusting of frost in their hair. Vailret could imagine them being placed here by the Sentinels; he could imagine Sardun spending patient decades rearranging them into restful poses.

  The chamber felt very cold. Silence pressed down on Vailret, and he thought he heard breathing, countless lungs being filled at a synchronized but maddeningly slow rate, then an equally slow exhale. The torch sputtered once, making him jump and breaking the spell.

  "Come on, Bryl. Let's get out of here."

  Sardun propped himself up on a shaky forearm and glared at them. "You should not have waited!"

  Vailret shrank from the outrage rising behind the old Sentinel's watery gray eyes, but he eased Sardun back to his blankets. "We had to make sure you were all right."

  The night before, while Sardun still lay comatose, Vailret had crept out on the sparkling balcony to gaze in awe at the Barrier River. Nearly hypnotized, he stared at the vast channel of frigid water zigzagging sharply along the hex-lines, laden with ice chunks and brownish-gray silt. He squinted, but his poor eyesight blurred the details. He had to use his imagination, just as Drodanis had taught him.

  Vailret stood in silence as the cold wind blew on him, and listened to the river grinding its channel deeper. The silent stars and the aurora shone overhead.

  They had fulfilled the quest Drodanis and the Rulewoman had required.

  They had protected themselves from whatever the Outsiders had placed in the east. Creating the River might have been more extreme than was necessary to fulfill the vague instructions ¯ but they knew too little about their enemy.

  They had finished one quest, but now they had promised Sardun another. And the Stronghold was still in the hands of Gairoth.

  Vailret liked the old veteran Tarne and trusted him to lead the villagers to safety somewhere in the forests. But Gairoth had the Stronghold, and the Air Stone, and all his ogre comrades. Vailret hated to think of the damage they could be doing.

  Sardun had nearly sacrificed himself to create the River, and they were bound by the Rules to go on the quest to rescue his
daughter. By the time Vailret returned to the throne room, the old Sentinel had finally awakened.

  "Tareah could be dead by now. You must hurry." Sardun's voice seemed stronger now, and he sat up again. His lisp seemed more pronounced. "Have you copied the map on the wall ¯ so you know exactly where you're going?"

  "I've already memorized it," Delrael said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Sardun sighed. "Perhaps I kept Tareah too sheltered. She should have been out, seeing Gamearth, learning the world. If she had not been here during the attack, she would still be well."

  "I would like to take a good sword if you have one, Sardun," Delrael asked. "It would increase our chances."

  "Yes, choose whatever you need from the relics I keep if it will help you rescue Tareah." The Sentinel spread his hands.

  Bryl moved forward, reluctant but extending the shining Water Stone he had removed from where it had frozen into the ice of the balcony. The awe on his face was plain. "Here is your Water Stone, Sardun."

  The Sentinel squirmed away from the sapphire's touch, twisting his face in an expression of fear and disgust. With a twitch of his gnarled left hand, he knocked the Stone out of Bryl's hand.

  Astonished, the half-Sorcerer chased the sapphire as it skittered across the floor of the throne room. "What's the matter?"

  Sardun slumped into his blankets, and a violent shiver rippled through his body. "When I last used the Water Stone, I forged a link with the dayid below. The other minds in the dayid are lonely. They nearly forced me to make the half-Transition. With the Water Stone it would have been so easy. So easy. So frightening.

  "I think the dayid hoped that with me using the Stone and with its own strength, I could liberate enough power to raise us all through a real Transition."

  He sighed. "But I refused. I may regret it in the future as my only chance to make a miracle happen. I am afraid to use the Stone again. The dayid knows I'm here ¯ and I doubt if I could resist that calling a second time."