The Sword of Retribution

The Wyrmhole - Part 5

     “Good idea,” agreed Matthew, and they began unpacking their sleeping blankets.

     They ended up sleeping on their blankets, rather than in them, because of the heat. The Underworld was as hot as a desert and the trogs removed another layers of clothing, joining the layers they'd removed earlier on their backs. It was the first time Thomas had seen them with their heads completely uncovered and with bare arms and legs, and he had to watch himself that he didn't stare too much, something that might have offended them. The quick glances he allowed himself confirmed what he already knew, that their bodies were completely hairless, but to actually see it, and the way their skin sagged loosely across the hard muscles that bulged beneath, made him feel a little queasy. It was as if they had some kind of skin condition that had made all their hair fall out, and he had to keep reminding himself that they were meant to look that way.

     Thomas hoped they’d come across some fresh water the next day as he took a swig from his water bottle and found it three quarters empty. It had been almost a full day since they’d last had a chance to refill them. We’ll come across a stream or something sooner or later, he told himself hopefully. There’s always water underground, and Charlie, being amphibious, needs it more than we do. Finding water will be his first priority. With that thought on his mind, he lay down on his sleeping blankets and was soon asleep.

     The slaver was late back, returning much later than the five hours it usually spent sleeping, apparently needing longer to recover from the intense effort of the day before. When the questers woke up it was still nowhere in sight, so they had a bite of breakfast, packed away their sleeping blankets and waited for it to reappear.

     “I suppose it is coming back,” said Matthew thoughtfully. “I mean, the job it agreed to do was to take us to the Underworld, and now we’re here. Maybe it thinks it’s done its job and has gone back to its own kind.”

     “It can’t just leave us here,” protested Lirenna. “We don’t know where we are or where the priest with the Sword is or how to get to him. How are we supposed to find him on our own?”

     “Relax,” said Shaun calmly. “He said he’d be back. I expect he’ll be leaving us soon, though. He's going to want to go back to his own kind, and there’s no way he can come with us into a human community. Imagine their reaction when they saw him.”

     The others realised he was right and so settled down to wait patiently. Jerry got out his klann board again and challenged Lirenna to another game, but she was fed up losing to him so Angus played him instead. He turned out to be a much stronger player than the demi shae and the tiny nome was soon struggling to hold his own, being forced to concentrate much more than normal in order to avoid a quick, humiliating defeat. When the cthillian finally returned, looking much recovered and back to its usual slimy self, both players were down to about a dozen pieces each, with most of Jerry’s pieces clustered protectively around his king while Angus was free to roam the board at will, striking from whatever direction he chose. Lirenna watched gleefully as the tiny nome was forced to sacrifice one piece after another in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable and Matthew, who had also suffered defeat on the klann board at Jerry’s hand, gave a cheer every time the trog came a step closer to victory.

     “What is going on?” asked the slaver curiously, leaning forward to see better.

     “It’s klann,” replied Thomas. “A game.”

     “A game?” said the cthillian. “I have heard of games. They are a useless waste of time and effort that could be put to more constructive use.”

     “No they’re not. They teach useful skills of concentration and strategy that can be used in more practical situations. Nearly all human warmasters are regular klann players.”

     “Indeed? Teach me the rules.”

     Thomas did so, outlining the objectives of the game and giving the moves allowed for each piece. The slaver looked thoughtful for a time, and then said “I will play klann with you. We will play as we walk.”

     They all stared in astonishment. “Well, er,” stammered the wizard, “I’d like to, but it’d be a bit of a problem holding the board steady while we’re walking. How about next time we stop?”

     “When we stop, you will spend the entire five hours sleeping,” said the cthillian. “And why do we need a board? Wizards pride themselves on their memory. Are you incapable of visualising the board in your mind?”

     Thomas bristled at the creature’s insufferably superior attitude. This was a challenge he couldn’t possibly refuse. “Okay, you’re on!” he replied, “and since it’s a new game for you, you can go first.”

     “Very well. King’s guardsman to King five.”

     “Queen’s guardsman to Queen five.”

     “Oh dear, looks like it’s time to leave,” said Jerry gleefully as everyone rose to their feet. “Pity we didn’t have time to finish. Shall we call it a draw?”

     Angus made a noise of protest as the nome upturned the board, tipping the tiny pieces back into their carrying case. “A draw?” he growled. “I whipped you good and proper and well you know it!”

     “What a pity we’ll never find out,” grinned Jerry. “Come on or we’ll be left behind.”