Post by kipspul on Sept 1, 2006 19:02:03 GMT 1
'Arachan is playing games,' Jaron repeated.
Illiath shifted nervously, and I shifted too - just to make sure I would stay as close to him as I could. 'How do you mean?' he asked Jaron. 'Playing games?'
'Yes,' Jaron said. 'A game. With us. He could have caught us long ago... but he didn't. He waited. Missed us by inches, every time he struck.' He curled up his legs in front of him and laid his head on his knees. 'It isn't Arachan, of course. It's only Arachan's orders - he left the playing of the game to someone else. Someone who hands us riddles, information, dangers... waiting for when we'll finally snap under the pression.' He snarled angryly at the warm flames. 'I wish I knew what the goal of this game is. I want to win it.'
He fell silent, staring at the flames. Cillir made a kind of growling noise and got to his feet. 'It does seem that way, Silvar,' he said softly. 'But tell me one thing - why? Why would he?'
Before Jaron could answer him, Different spoke. 'Didn't you hear the rumors?' Nobody asked him the 'What rumors?' question, so he just went on telling. 'If this is indeed a game, then Arachan's testing you. You both where more than reinforcements. The rumors were that you both could be seen, one day, fit to the role of Arachan's heir.'
'The one that would rule the Council of Circles?' Cillir asked. 'The one to be the Queen's First Advisor? Please, don't tell me that he'd choose a boy of sixteen for that kind of task.'
Jaron's head went up, and he flashed Cillir an angry look. 'The boy of sixteen you're talking about is hard on his way to become the youngest Master-Magican ever,' he snapped. 'That's why I don't believe they'd kill us. Arachan would never - NEVER waste such talent. Neither mine nor yours.'
Cillir laughed sardonically. 'And how come that Leënad's killed?' he asked softly. 'Leënad was a very gifted magican - and a young man with all of his future ahead of him. I'd doubt Arachan would waste his talents and spare yours.'
'The talents are not all,' Different mused. His soft voice stopped the quarrel. 'He seeks not only for good soldiers or magicans, but also for good thinkers, good leaders... and of course, people who have that killer instinct - people who will want to live whatever the cost.'
Jaron sighed. 'True. Although I still not understand him. Leënad's death was useless... and a sign that it's not Arachan who's leading this game. We won't have to beat Arachan. Not yet. We'll only have to beat his Game Master - probably one of his Masterminds or so. And we've seen that this Game Master makes mistakes.'
I felt I had to say something. 'Mistakes that could cost all of us our lives,' I managed to bring out, whispering. 'If we make a move the Game Master doesn't expect, we could get killed by the Hunters or eaten by wolves or whatever.' Everybody stared at me in a sudden horror, realising in what danger we were if we tried to beat the Game Master. I felt something cold creep up my chest, towards my heart.
'We could play the game and end up exactly as Arachan wants us to be,' my voice went on. I listened to it in numb unbelief as I spoke out everything that sorrowed me. 'We could also try to beat the Game Master. If we outsmart the Game Master, we'd win. But if he'd only made a mistake, we'd be in big trouble. Because it would be to late to tell the troops to spare us, instead of kill us. It would be to late to try and save us from the cold, from the wolves, from...'
I sighed. 'But how do we know if we'd outsmarted the Game Master or he underestimated us?'
Suddenly there was the steely sound of swords being pulled out of sheats, heavy boots breaking twigs and thumping on frozen mud, and the horrifying sound of bow strings pulled straight. Everybody froze right where he was as sharp steel steel glared at us from everywhere. Only Cillir dared to say 'Cursed be, Arachan,' before the deadly silence fell.
Illiath shifted nervously, and I shifted too - just to make sure I would stay as close to him as I could. 'How do you mean?' he asked Jaron. 'Playing games?'
'Yes,' Jaron said. 'A game. With us. He could have caught us long ago... but he didn't. He waited. Missed us by inches, every time he struck.' He curled up his legs in front of him and laid his head on his knees. 'It isn't Arachan, of course. It's only Arachan's orders - he left the playing of the game to someone else. Someone who hands us riddles, information, dangers... waiting for when we'll finally snap under the pression.' He snarled angryly at the warm flames. 'I wish I knew what the goal of this game is. I want to win it.'
He fell silent, staring at the flames. Cillir made a kind of growling noise and got to his feet. 'It does seem that way, Silvar,' he said softly. 'But tell me one thing - why? Why would he?'
Before Jaron could answer him, Different spoke. 'Didn't you hear the rumors?' Nobody asked him the 'What rumors?' question, so he just went on telling. 'If this is indeed a game, then Arachan's testing you. You both where more than reinforcements. The rumors were that you both could be seen, one day, fit to the role of Arachan's heir.'
'The one that would rule the Council of Circles?' Cillir asked. 'The one to be the Queen's First Advisor? Please, don't tell me that he'd choose a boy of sixteen for that kind of task.'
Jaron's head went up, and he flashed Cillir an angry look. 'The boy of sixteen you're talking about is hard on his way to become the youngest Master-Magican ever,' he snapped. 'That's why I don't believe they'd kill us. Arachan would never - NEVER waste such talent. Neither mine nor yours.'
Cillir laughed sardonically. 'And how come that Leënad's killed?' he asked softly. 'Leënad was a very gifted magican - and a young man with all of his future ahead of him. I'd doubt Arachan would waste his talents and spare yours.'
'The talents are not all,' Different mused. His soft voice stopped the quarrel. 'He seeks not only for good soldiers or magicans, but also for good thinkers, good leaders... and of course, people who have that killer instinct - people who will want to live whatever the cost.'
Jaron sighed. 'True. Although I still not understand him. Leënad's death was useless... and a sign that it's not Arachan who's leading this game. We won't have to beat Arachan. Not yet. We'll only have to beat his Game Master - probably one of his Masterminds or so. And we've seen that this Game Master makes mistakes.'
I felt I had to say something. 'Mistakes that could cost all of us our lives,' I managed to bring out, whispering. 'If we make a move the Game Master doesn't expect, we could get killed by the Hunters or eaten by wolves or whatever.' Everybody stared at me in a sudden horror, realising in what danger we were if we tried to beat the Game Master. I felt something cold creep up my chest, towards my heart.
'We could play the game and end up exactly as Arachan wants us to be,' my voice went on. I listened to it in numb unbelief as I spoke out everything that sorrowed me. 'We could also try to beat the Game Master. If we outsmart the Game Master, we'd win. But if he'd only made a mistake, we'd be in big trouble. Because it would be to late to tell the troops to spare us, instead of kill us. It would be to late to try and save us from the cold, from the wolves, from...'
I sighed. 'But how do we know if we'd outsmarted the Game Master or he underestimated us?'
Suddenly there was the steely sound of swords being pulled out of sheats, heavy boots breaking twigs and thumping on frozen mud, and the horrifying sound of bow strings pulled straight. Everybody froze right where he was as sharp steel steel glared at us from everywhere. Only Cillir dared to say 'Cursed be, Arachan,' before the deadly silence fell.