Drodanis and Cayon would send everyone back down Steep Hill to come running up again, to strengthen their leg muscles. They made the trainees carry water up from the stream, whether the Stronghold needed it or not.
But after the deaths of Cayon and Fielle, Drodanis had done little training. Delrael, who was then fifteen, and the old veteran Tarne conducted the necessary exercises. Young Vailret had thought quests were old-fashioned and juvenile, and he spent much time with Drodanis, learning to think and read.
On Vailret's eleventh birthday ¯ two years after the death of Fielle ¯ Drodanis had led him outside, across the enclosed yard to the small, windowless weapons storehouse in a corner by the double wall. The sky was gray, and Vailret could hear wind whipping in the trees of the hill, but the tall walls of the Stronghold sheltered them. Bryl waited for them at the storehouse door, looking bored.
"Has he agreed?" Bryl asked. "Do you think he's prepared enough?"
Drodanis shrugged and looked at young Vailret, who felt a touch of fear at the back of his curiosity. "I haven't even told him what we're going to do."
Without looking at Vailret, Drodanis opened the door of the weapons storehouse and stepped inside. Bryl looked at the boy, keeping a grave expression on his face.
Just inside the storehouse, Bryl snapped his fingers to light a single candle. Vailret looked around in the dim orange light. The dark interior of the storehouse seemed to be a haven for shadows and hidden fears. Spears, swords, arrows, and bows ¯ mostly ancient Sorcerer artifacts sold by the Scavengers ¯ lay stockpiled against the walls. Bryl's face wore a nasty grimace as he gestured the boy inside, then closed the door behind them.
Vailret held his head up, trying to keep his composure. He knew Drodanis wouldn't hurt him.
"This is a role-playing game, Vailret. It is to be a test of your imagination," Drodanis said. "And also to see how quickly you can think, how adequate your solutions are, how well you react under pressure."
Bryl blew the candle out. Darkness swallowed all of them. The man's low voice resonated in the shadows.
"You are imprisoned in a Slac fortress. You have watched as the Slac cut your companions to pieces, one by one, for amusement ¯ you heard the screams from your friends, the laughter from the Slac. You are the only one still alive. Two guards come and drag you out of your dank little cell. What do you do?"
Vailret didn't answer for a moment. "I don't understand. What am I supposed to do?"
"Pretend you're in the situation I just described. What would you do?
The guards are taking you. Are you going to struggle, or come along peacefully?" "I'll struggle!" Vailret said. "And then what?" "And then run."
"Where? Back to your cell, or blindly through the tunnels?"
"Pick a number from one to ten," Bryl said.
"What?"
"Pick a number. If you guess the right one, I'll let you break free. If you guess wrong, the Slac keep their grip on you. It's like rolling dice."
"Three."
"Wrong." Drodanis picked up the story again. "A guard raps you on the side of the head, causing one damage point and knocking you nearly senseless.
They laugh. You are being taken to an arena where you will be thrown in with the Akkar, an invisible spine-covered creature that feeds on Slac victims.
They want to watch your death convulsions. Any questions?"
Vailret paused only a second. He had begun to feel the game now. He closed his eyes and imagined, seeing himself in the Slac tunnels. "Will I have any weapons to fight with?"
"You are given a small club. That's all."
"Do I have the club now?"
"No. When they get to the arena entrance ¯ and you are almost there now ¯ they will throw it into the arena and force you out there."
"How are the Slac guards armed?"
Drodanis paused. Bryl answered, "With spears."
"You see the end of the tunnel ahead. It opens into a wide area covered with sand and gravel. All around the pit are jeering Slac, out of
But after the deaths of Cayon and Fielle, Drodanis had done little training. Delrael, who was then fifteen, and the old veteran Tarne conducted the necessary exercises. Young Vailret had thought quests were old-fashioned and juvenile, and he spent much time with Drodanis, learning to think and read.
On Vailret's eleventh birthday ¯ two years after the death of Fielle ¯ Drodanis had led him outside, across the enclosed yard to the small, windowless weapons storehouse in a corner by the double wall. The sky was gray, and Vailret could hear wind whipping in the trees of the hill, but the tall walls of the Stronghold sheltered them. Bryl waited for them at the storehouse door, looking bored.
"Has he agreed?" Bryl asked. "Do you think he's prepared enough?"
Drodanis shrugged and looked at young Vailret, who felt a touch of fear at the back of his curiosity. "I haven't even told him what we're going to do."
Without looking at Vailret, Drodanis opened the door of the weapons storehouse and stepped inside. Bryl looked at the boy, keeping a grave expression on his face.
Just inside the storehouse, Bryl snapped his fingers to light a single candle. Vailret looked around in the dim orange light. The dark interior of the storehouse seemed to be a haven for shadows and hidden fears. Spears, swords, arrows, and bows ¯ mostly ancient Sorcerer artifacts sold by the Scavengers ¯ lay stockpiled against the walls. Bryl's face wore a nasty grimace as he gestured the boy inside, then closed the door behind them.
Vailret held his head up, trying to keep his composure. He knew Drodanis wouldn't hurt him.
"This is a role-playing game, Vailret. It is to be a test of your imagination," Drodanis said. "And also to see how quickly you can think, how adequate your solutions are, how well you react under pressure."
Bryl blew the candle out. Darkness swallowed all of them. The man's low voice resonated in the shadows.
"You are imprisoned in a Slac fortress. You have watched as the Slac cut your companions to pieces, one by one, for amusement ¯ you heard the screams from your friends, the laughter from the Slac. You are the only one still alive. Two guards come and drag you out of your dank little cell. What do you do?"
Vailret didn't answer for a moment. "I don't understand. What am I supposed to do?"
"Pretend you're in the situation I just described. What would you do?
The guards are taking you. Are you going to struggle, or come along peacefully?" "I'll struggle!" Vailret said. "And then what?" "And then run."
"Where? Back to your cell, or blindly through the tunnels?"
"Pick a number from one to ten," Bryl said.
"What?"
"Pick a number. If you guess the right one, I'll let you break free. If you guess wrong, the Slac keep their grip on you. It's like rolling dice."
"Three."
"Wrong." Drodanis picked up the story again. "A guard raps you on the side of the head, causing one damage point and knocking you nearly senseless.
They laugh. You are being taken to an arena where you will be thrown in with the Akkar, an invisible spine-covered creature that feeds on Slac victims.
They want to watch your death convulsions. Any questions?"
Vailret paused only a second. He had begun to feel the game now. He closed his eyes and imagined, seeing himself in the Slac tunnels. "Will I have any weapons to fight with?"
"You are given a small club. That's all."
"Do I have the club now?"
"No. When they get to the arena entrance ¯ and you are almost there now ¯ they will throw it into the arena and force you out there."
"How are the Slac guards armed?"
Drodanis paused. Bryl answered, "With spears."
"You see the end of the tunnel ahead. It opens into a wide area covered with sand and gravel. All around the pit are jeering Slac, out of
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