Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [133]
The crowd needed a break in the tension generated by the fury, and they found this hilarious. The players on the Empress’s team grinned and jeered, asking if the Barbarians wanted to forfeit the game now and spare themselves humiliation.
Sigurd realized everyone was laughing at him. His face flushed dark with shame and he slouched off the field. Reaching the sidelines, he flung down his axe, muttering and swearing that he would die before he’d participate in the “stupid, bloody game.”
Keeper summoned Aylaen, Bjorn, and Farinn. He told them the play. The three stared at him blankly and he patiently repeated his instructions, ignoring the boos from the audience. Acronis, as Marchin, called the plays, giving his players a goal to achieve this turn. Keeper told the players the goal and sent them onto the field of play. It was up to the players to determine how to achieve that goal, always keeping in mind that each could move only according to the nature of his or her piece.
Bjorn, as a chaveus, could move as many as four spaces, the final move being toward the fire pit. Farinn, as a kovas, could move an equal number of spaces, but his final move had to be away from the pit. Aylaen, the loris, could move as many spaces in any direction as she wanted. Skylan, the pradus, could not even come out onto the field during the first turn.
They all knew this. They had all practiced it. But not one of them could make any sense of it.
The game started with one player from each side advancing onto the playing field. Keeper sent Aylaen out first, telling her to go to the middle square on the outer ring.
Aylaen stared in dismay at the crowd. The noise they were making seemed to shake the ground. All she could see were gaping mouths. She shrank back.
“I can’t go out there!” she said. “I feel sick. . . .”
“It’s only stage fright,” said Keeper. “You’ll get over it.”
He gave her a shove that sent her stumbling and staggering onto the field amidst roars of laughter from the crowd.
Skylan tensed. The player sent out by the Empress’s Marchin was their loris—the fury. The fae creature walked with sensuous grace onto the field, her gown wafting around her, the black feathers in her wings ruffled by the hot afternoon breeze. People saw her and their laughter ceased. An uneasy silence fell.
“You can’t send Aylaen to fight that thing!” Skylan said angrily. “Send me out there instead!”
Keeper shook his head. He looked grim, worried. “You’re the pradus. You’re not allowed to move this turn. Don’t worry, they will not fight. This is a classic opening gambit. The loris of the Empress will move one square—”
The fury made her move, but it was not one square. Spreading her wings, she rose into the air and took flight.
Her lips parted in a hideous grin. She extended her clawed hands and, folding her wings, dove down on Skylan.
He heard Aylaen cry out and Bjorn shout a warning.
Skylan remembered what he himself had said about the fae being afraid of iron, and he raised his sword to block her attack.
The fury screeched in anger. Flapping her wings, she hovered over him. Her gaze fixed on the sword. A beam of light, hot and white, flared from her bleeding eyes. The light struck Skylan’s sword. The iron began to melt. Steel dripped like an icicle to the ground.
The fury struck Skylan before he had recovered from his shock, hitting him with the weight of her body, knocking him to the ground. She perched on top of him, driving her knees into his stomach. Her stench was foul, like a week-old corpse. Her wings beat. The vipers on her head hissed and struck at him. Her lips parted in a screech showing bloodstained teeth. She dug her nails into Skylan’s throat.
Skylan choked, tasting blood. He grabbed hold of her wrists trying to break her hold. She was immensely strong, and she only laughed horribly at his efforts to save himself. He could not breathe. Pinpoints of light burst in his eyes. He