The Deadliest Game

advantage of the long days that time of year so they can add day riders to the schedule, and there are always more private courier-riders going up and down then, same reason. You’ll see maybe one every couple of hours. This one day, there were four separate couriers down from Argath, all wearing his device, all in Rod’s own hurry. Two didn’t stop, two stopped to change horses and went on again. Not without dropping a word or two about what they were up to — you know how it is, must be boring work riding post, they like to impress people with how important they are. Idiots.

“Well, two of those posts — one of the ones that didn’t stop, one of the ones that did — came straight from Argath’s hand at the Black Palace and were going straight to Gerna city in Toriva.”

“What, to King Sten?” Leif asked.

“No, no. To his war-leader, Lateran.”

Leif suddenly became rather interested in his beer. Megan raised her eyebrows. “Don’t know the man.”

Wayland shrugged. “Another hot young general on the way up. Some brilliant victories, since a couple of years ago. Some against Argath, too. Pretty embarrassing ones, skirmishes — around then, people started looking at Argath and saying, ‘Maybe he’s slipping.’ Some people think that started this whole trouble with Elblai up north.” Wayland shook his head. “So suddenly there are all these posts going back and forth. And the one post-rider who stopped, he said that the other rider, the one who didn’t stop, was carrying the Black Arrow.”

Megan, too, became interested in her beer. Leif did his best to stretch nonchalantly. The Black Arrow was a North-continent tradition, a declaration of blood feud to the death.

“Maybe Argath got tired of being beaten,” Leif said.

“Don’t know if it’s just that,” said Wayland. He drank, and put his mug down. “But this…this is what you were asking me about, in a way. Yes?”

Leif nodded. “You said about Elblai…that she was bounced.”

“That’s what I heard,” said Wayland. “News does travel fast.”

Leif nodded. In a medieval setting, news might take days or weeks to get from one place to another, but this was a medieval setting with e-mail. Post-riders were still needed, but for carrying physical artifacts rather than news.

“That battle’s not going to happen now,” Wayland said. “But suddenly…it seems like the word is that Argath’s turning his attention south, toward Toriva, toward Lateran.”

“Why the change?” Megan said softly.

Leif looked at Wayland. Just as softly, Wayland said, “You were never the kind to meddle, young Leif. What’s your interest with this? You going to take up with one side against the other? Doesn’t seem like a good thing to get caught up in.”

Leif sat quiet a moment, looked sideways at Megan.

Very slightly, she nodded.

“Not so much for or against any side,” Leif said. “We want to find who’s doing these bounces.”

Wayland nodded. “A lot of people would like to know that. This last one…” He shook his head. “Bad business. This isn’t why Rod created the Game. Not that any of these ‘bounces’ have been good at all. Somebody spends a year, two years, five, building up a character, being someone, and then all of a sudden—” He made a finger-flicking gesture, like somebody knocking a crumb off the table. “Gone. Just like that. All the work, all the friendships. It stinks.” His voice was soft, but vehement.

“It does,” Leif said. “Listen.”

He sketched out briefly for Wayland what he and Megan had been discussing — the possibility that Argath was merely a blind for someone else’s grudges against players who had beaten him or her in battle. And he mentioned the names of the generals and commanders who had lost campaigns to all the players Argath had lost to: Hunsal, Rutin, Orieta, Walse, Balk the Screw…and Lateran.

Wayland got a sideways smile at that. “Now that is very interesting,” he said. “Very. I wonder, does anyone else think this? Has anyone else looked as deep into this as they should?”

“We’re trying,” Megan said. “Before the Game gets ruined for everybody. It is still a game…it’s not supposed to end up in the emergency room.”

Wayland nodded. After a moment, he sighed, and said, “I’ll help if I can. I move on in a day. I was going east again. But I could go west and south instead. This time of year, if a man enjoys the summer weather, he has a right to change his mind….”

“If you could do that, it would be a help. And if you find anything out—”

“I’ll e-mail you.”

“There’s still one thing we’ve got to do before we leave here,” Megan said. “We’ve got to talk to Lord Fettick…try to warn him that he’s probably a target. I just wish we knew someone here who would vouch for us. The last time we had to do this, it didn’t work too well.”

Wayland grinned. “But you do have someone. You have me. I do Fettick’s horses. Just finished doing them this morning. Before I go tomorrow, if you like, I’ll take you up to the major-domo at the High House and introduce you. Can’t do it tonight, I fear…they’ll be up there with the Duke again, partying. That business with his young daughter…” Wayland shook his head.

“They’re not actually going to marry her off to him, are they?” Megan said, sounding very dubious.

“Her? Oh, no, surely not. Fettick dotes on her. He’d choke herself sooner than let her leave at such a tender age. Or any age, maybe, so the rumor goes…but it’d be some years before that would become a problem. Though little Dame Senel has a mind of her own, they say. Meanwhile, Fettick has to speak the Duke fair to keep him from doing anything rash or sudden…for the time being. He’s hoping, I think, that things will change quickly enough in this part of Sarxos that the Duke won’t be a problem for him any more.”

“If we can find out what we need to,” Leif said, “that might just happen.”

Wayland stretched. “All right. Tomorrow morning, then — I’ll meet you in the marketplace. I won’t be moving the cart out of the city until I’m actually ready to leave.”

“Great. Thanks, Wayland.”

Wayland lifted a hand in casual farewell and headed for the door. The young man came out of the back room and let him out into the dark street, then closed the door again.

They stayed long enough to finish their beer, then headed out into the street themselves, and started walking slowly back toward the marketplace. “Pity we couldn’t take care of this tonight,” Megan said.

Leif shrugged. “Never mind. Are you going to be able to log in tomorrow morning, early? That’s when we’ll need to take care of this.”

“Shouldn’t be any problem. Mornings are quiet around my place. It’s evenings that’re the…”

She suddenly fell silent.

“Huh?” Leif said.

“It’s nothing,” she said in a low voice. “Just keep walking.”

“It’s not nothing. What is it?”

“It’s evenings that’re the problem,” Megan went on loudly, looking sideways down an alley as they passed it. “My father can be an incredible nuisance about family nights. It’s him again,” she whispered.

“Oh, well, fathers,” Leif said as they walked. Megan saw that he, too, was trying to look down the alley she had been looking down, without seeming to do so. But he still looked baffled. I guess my night vision must be better than his…. “They’re pains, but you can’t live without them, and you can’t shoot them…Him, who?”

“Gobbo,” she whispered. “Once might be a coincidence…twice might be an accident…but three times is enemy action.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s following us.”

“Are you sure?”

“He has to be. And you know what? He’s been following us since Minsar.”

“It could be paranoia, Megan.”

“It’s not.” She turned suddenly into another alleyway, and pulled Leif in after her. For a moment they both leaned against one of the damp stone walls in the dead silence.

Not quite dead. A scurry of feet, then nothing. Then another scurry, closer.