Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [87]
Many years ago, the priests of Aelon had tried to shut down the Para Dix. The people of Oran did not much care about the loss of the old gods, but they cared passionately about the loss of their sport. Faced with rioting in the streets, the priests had resumed the game, bringing the Para Dix under the auspices of the Church. Aelon was now the hero god, valiantly defending the fire of creation from evil interlopers.
Aelon might have saved himself the trouble. Few Sinarians knew or cared about the religious symbology. All they cared about was whether their team won or lost. The Church had abolished the practice of gambling on the games; it was unseemly to be gambling on a god. The only change this brought about was that the gambling was taken over by the street gangs.
The Legate had built a replica of the playing field on his estate, and this was where Keeper took Skylan to begin his training. He explained that eventually all the Torgun would be players, but that Skylan, who had a crucial role to play in the game, would require extra training. Keeper explained the rules as they walked, an explanation to which Skylan paid little attention.
He heard the ogre say the game involved fighting and that was all Skylan needed to know. He paid no heed to the rest, something about moving from one square to another and how certain pieces could only move to certain squares and how the Legate would dictate his movements. All Skylan knew was that he was going to be given a sword.
“You say the training involves fighting,” he said, interrupting the ogre in mid sentence.
“Yes,” said Keeper, eyeing him as though he knew what he was thinking.
“Then my people do not need training, especially from the likes of you,” said Skylan. “We know how to fight. I myself have been wielding a sword in the shield wall since I was fourteen. I once killed an ogre godlord.”
He cast a significant glance at this ogre godlord and added, “Single-handed.”
Keeper shrugged, not impressed. “You and your people are such great warriors, yet now you are marked with the tattoo of a slave.”
“Because of a damn traitor!” Skylan said angrily. “We were ambushed. My men were not even armed! If we could have fought these bastards, there would not have been one left standing!”
He glanced at the soldiers walking behind him and raised his voice so they would hear. “The Southlander whoresons are cowards, afraid to meet true warriors in battle!”
The soldiers were talking together and they continued their conversation, paying no heed to him.
“You are wasting your breath. They don’t even hear you,” said Keeper. “To them, you are a dog barking in the night.”
“A dog, am I?” said Skylan grimly. “Some day this dog will rip out their goddam throats!”
“I felt that same anger once,” said Keeper. “You’ll soon get over it. You are a Para Dix player. You will be well-treated. They will kill you with kindness, as the saying goes.”
Skylan recalled Zahakis’s words: You might even get to like it here.
“I don’t want to get over it! I don’t want to be like you, fat and content,” said Skylan. “You like being a slave. The Legate takes care of you, feeds you, clothes you—”
“I hate it!” Keeper ground out the words. His passion startled Skylan. The ogre looked far off in the distance and pointed. “In that direction lies my homeland. I have been a slave for many years. My mate must think me dead. She has likely found someone else to warm her bed. Another man may be raising my children.”
He sighed. “Yet I have no fire in my belly.”
Keeper glanced ruefully at Skylan. “Once I was like you. For a year after my capture, the fire burned hot. Then one morning I woke to find that the fire had gone out. I didn’t care anymore. Strange, because my name is Keeper of the Fire, a name I was given in my vision quest when I was a youth. I thought it had meaning. I guess it didn’t.”
They arrived at what the ogre termed “the playing field.” Several circles within circles were painted white on the clipped grass. In the center was a fire pit with no fire. A great many