"Anderson, Kevin J - Game 2 - Game Play" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Kevin J)

Delrael stood in the doorway of his room. It had once been his parents' master chambers, but that had been many turns before. Fielle, his mother, was dead of a fever, and his father Drodanis had gone away, searching for the mysterious Rulewoman far away in the south.
It was warm for the late summer night, but Vailret's mother Siya had built a roaring fire in the hearth. Light glittered from chests of gems stacked against his wall, plunder from some of Delrael's earlier quests. The room smelled clean and resinous from the burning wood. Siya had tossed herbs into the hearth again.
His bed beckoned to him. His body yearned for a good night's sleep. Worked up and anxious, not knowing what to do, Delrael hadn't been resting well, frustrated by a problem he could not grasp.
Even his younger cousin Vailret, the thinker and scholar, found himself just as much at a loss.
With a sigh, Delrael loosened his oiled leather jerkin and removed it, stretching his arms. The muscles popped into place. It felt good to relax. While sitting around, he had mended his armor. He needed to work on his archery skills a little more tomorrow.
Someone knocked on the door before he could lie down. Delrael sighed and went to the door.
Siya stood there, small and rigid. "I've drawn another hot bath for Tareah. I don't know how she stands it -- I can barely put my hand in the water. But she says it helps her aches. I wonder how much longer this will last."
Delrael nodded. "Depends how long she keeps on growing."
The Sentinel Sardun had held his daughter in the body of a child for three decades, not wanting her to grow up before another full-blooded Sorcerer could be born at random by the Rules of Probability. But when Sardun died, his spell was broken. In only weeks Tareah grew at a remarkable rate, catching up with lost time. In the balloon ride back from the island of Rokanun, she looked like ten-year-old girl: now she appeared fully grown.
But her bones and muscles ached from the strain. Hot, hot baths helped, she said. Siya and Delrael tried to make her as comfortable as possible.
Tareah had blossomed into a beautiful woman, though she still felt uncomfortable around groups of characters after the isolation in her father's Ice Palace. She was making the effort to learn social skills that Delrael took for granted.
"Why don't you make her some herb tea so she can rest better?" Delrael said. "And if there's anything I can do for her, tell her to be sure and ask." He wrapped his hand around the edge of the door.
"But I need to get to sleep now, Aunt Siya. Sooner or later we're going to leave on a quest again."
She scowled, but Delrael raised his hand to stop her from saying anything. "We're not doing it just for fun this time. You know that. We're trying to save our world."
But after he closed the door, removed his clothes, and pulled on an airy nightshirt, Delrael closed his eyes in concern. His head kept ringing from too much discussion.
Working together, they had defeated Tryos the dragon and driven away Gairoth the ogre. But if Scartaris was powerful enough to obliterate the map of Gamearth and _literally_ destroy every hexagon of terrain, they would need something more potent than magic Stones and hand-held weapons.
Bending down, Delrael picked up the jewelled silver belt his father had given him. The belt was an ancient relic, crafted by the old Sorcerers before they embarked on the Transition. Delrael had earned it for doing well in his battle training. If only the vanished Sorcerers knew what was becoming of their world now....
At the moment, though, he wanted sleep more than anything. Maybe an idea would come in the night. Still staring at the belt in his hands, Delrael dropped backward onto the bed --
_A lightning bolt like ice shot through his body. His heart stopped. His vision turned into the blinding white of a snowstorm._
He landed on his back in the dew-spangled grass of a starlit meadow. The cool air around him was like the shock of falling into a mountain stream.
He paused a second to blink in astonishment before his fighter reflexes took over. Delrael leaped to his feet, crouching in a battle stance -- but he was barefoot, clad only in his nightshirt, holding only a silver belt in his hand. He felt helpless and naked as he glanced around, trying to find a branch or something to fight with.
Overhead the greenish aurora, Lady Maire's Veil, lit the clearing. Through a break in the trees, Delrael could see Steep Hill, on top of which stood the walled-in Stronghold. He had been somehow transported into one of the neighboring forest-terrain hexes. He hadn't the slightest idea why.
"Who's there?" Delrael said quietly. Then, squaring his shoulders, he spoke in his loudest battle-commander voice. "I said who's there!"
After a moment he wondered if he should have said anything at all.
The forest sounds vanished. It made Delrael wonder if all the creatures had some sort of rapport with ... with whatever had brought him here. The trees stood completely still, then began to sway on the edges of the meadow. The wind picked up. Spangles of light wove in and out of the air, drawing rough shapes that towered impossibly high and yet might not have been there at all.
Delrael blinked his eyes again and again. The outlines grew sharper, taking form as the breeze turned to a roar. The tree branches clattered and scratched against each other. Delrael's brown hair blew back away from his face.
He squinted into the stinging wind, but the white light grew brighter and _brighter_ until it coalesced into three discrete forms, giant hooded shapes. They stood taller than the trees, stretching up toward the glowing aurora.
"We are the Earthspirits. We have come back to save Gamearth. And you must help us."
Delrael didn't know what to say. His jaw dropped. Vailret had told enough stories about the Transition -- he knew how powerful the Spirits were. The wind rang in his ears. He thought he was shouting, but his voice felt pitifully small. His words sounded limp and inane even to him. "How can I help? Can you destroy Scartaris?"
The Earthspirits paused at that, then spoke again in unison. "We have been gone too long. We are not aware of what has taken place since we departed.
"We sought a way to escape from the Game, to leave the map behind and seek our own _reality_. We found ways to avoid the Rules, but we cannot break them entirely. We are bound to Gamearth -- its Rules are fundamental to our existence.
"The Deathspirits learned this, too, but they wish to embrace chaos. They would form their own Rules, make their own maps, Play their own new games.
"They were our enemies in the Wars. We have not communicated with them since the Transition."
Silence hung in the wind for a moment.
"But the Wars are over." Delrael felt giddy at his own brashness for interrupting. "Scartaris is our enemy now, but we don't stand any chance against him. Unless you can help."
Delrael shrugged off his doubts. No character ever won a gamble without first placing a wager.
"Scartaris is ... unknown to us. We do not know if we will win against him." The Earthspirits paused a beat. "But if we are to fight, _you_ must take us there."
Delrael stood straight, brushing the damp folds of his nightshirt. "Take you there? What do you mean? Can't you just ... go?"
"We are bound by Rules of travel as are all characters on Gamearth. But it is much more difficult for us to cross hex-lines. We are not substantial enough.
"Also, Scartaris has the power to destroy the map and end the Game any time he wishes. If he knows we are coming for him, he will not wait."
Delrael felt disappointed and helpless. "Why doesn't he get it over with, then?"
"The Outsider David is a vindictive one. He wants to make all characters watch the destruction of Gamearth first.
"You must deliver us in secret. The Outsiders are not aware of our return to the world. They can know nothing of this quest. We are beyond them now -- Gamearth has its own magic they do not realize."
Listening to the Earthspirits speak, Delrael began to feel confident again. As the giant forms loomed over him, he sensed their power, their invincibility.
"We will disguise ourselves. A dim part of us remembers the silver belt you carry, remembers creating it as an ornament so long ago."
Delrael clenched the glittering belt self-consciously, wondering what they would do. Then he cursed his own selfishness.
"Lay it on the ground," the Earthspirits said. "We will meld ourselves to it, take substance in the metal. We can do little to assist you, though we can shield you from the manipulations of Scartaris once you get closer to him.
"Carry this belt across the map. When you reach Scartaris, we will emerge. We will take him by surprise."
Silence settled down on the meadow. The white Spirits waited for Delrael.
With trembling hands, he laid the shining belt down on the grass. The light from the Earthspirits glinted off the gems and the polished hexagonal sections of silver. He backed away, stumbling into a fallen tree. But he could not tear his gaze from the Spirits.