Her words didn’t surprise him; he already guessed that from the few hints at hand. Still, as far as he remembered, problems never solved themselves by just turning a tail at them, no matter how bad they smelled. Surely not a problem named ‘Baila’.
“It was far from my intention to criticize you, and if I offended you with my foolish words, I apologize,” he said, curbing his fervor, remembering that he needed her help. “I only wonder what sense has the dream when your shells are lying in damp caverns? Why do you spend time on illusions instead of changing the real world?”
“We change it, but from here.” The grah female let a trace of a smile curl her lips. “The real world, as you call it, is run from the islands. Most of us don’t have to go back in our shells. And the games… are not illusions. Each year, the city’s positions are played in the games. You want to become the jure, you have to win the battles. The architects compete to create the smartest AIs, and the winners become parhontes. Each struggles to win—that’s how we find the best of them.”
He understood. For the first time, he understood. His kyi’s nostril suddenly propelled him to a new level of awareness; the implications of the competitions, the way the winners were selected, made him smell one of the best-kept secrets of the Ropolitans, undoubtedly their most formidable weapon…
“That’s why you created this world? To sift kyis?”
“Not only that. To play is to learn, and we play the whole life. That’s why the games are so important for us. That’s why cheating is penalized with the most severe punishment. That’s why only the council has the codes to stop a game in progress.”
Sandara’s words made him remember the remarkable way in which they defeated the prophet’s brutal hordes—the army of trance soldiers led by Ugo from one of Ropolis’s simulations… But a disturbing thought insinuated in his kyi: Did the rebels in the twisted crane who sacrificed themselves to shoot down the transporter know what they were doing? Or it was an order of the cruel jure, and they had no means of refusing it?
Everything revolved around Ugo…
“And Ugo…”
“He’s the best strategist. He always won the jure competitions.”
“And never lost a battle?” Gill exclaimed incredulously.
“Very few. Forbat beat him several times, but not enough to—”
Sandara stopped abruptly and looked at a tiny transparent screen woven into the sleeve of her tunic and exclaimed worriedly, gesturing with her hands, “Ohh, you keep talking, and someone… has joined the game.” She looked angry. “I’m going to the council.”
“Sandara…”
“Gillabrian! Shut up and wait for my return,” she said, frowning at him.
She disappeared in her sphere, followed by the four artificial intelligences. In a few moments, the glade reabsorbed her without a trace, as if she had never been there.
Gill was still waiting in the glade—with no indication that the grah female would return anytime soon—when he saw a reflection of light on the hill in front of him. Then another one. He couldn’t be mistaken; someone was taking position atop the hill. The other player, without knowing that Gill’s presence happened due to an accident, was rallying his troops to launch an assault on his position…
The female’s absence began to worry him. He couldn’t understand for the sake of his tail why it was taking her so long to reach the council. He sensed more and more acutely the foreboding that soon, he’d see a torrent of enemy soldiers raining down the hill.
How could he oppose them? He only had the pack of chameleons, which—he was pretty sure—wouldn’t be overly excited to fight a frontal assault, especially if they were fighting according to the legends… Seeing—or more correctly, guessing—the outline of the chameleons’ fragile bodies, he had no doubt that this was the case here; they used to surprise their enemies with an unexpected shower of sharp-edged stones, but once discovered, they had no chance of fighting the enemy blades. Indeed, the stories described them as the greatest tarcaneers, and only their speed when running away from the battlefield exceeded their skill in handling the tarcan.74 After all, he wasn’t certain they would even fight for him, judging by their lack of initiative when he was caught by Sandara.
He bent down to take the Brocat of Loyalty, which he had dropped in the grass during his scuffle with the AIs. One of the dwarves—apparently, the same one who gave him the claws in the first place—approached him while the rest of them put their hands in the grass.
“Why did you betray me?” he barked at the chameleon.
Without saying anything, the dwarf bowed his head in the dirt.
“Well? Your tongue dried out?”
“No, Your Greatness!” he shouted in a strange accent that Gill had never heard before.
“Then why did you abandon me?”
Again, no answer. The dwarf avoided his eyes, guilt carved on his mug.
“Will you follow me in battle?”
“Order and we’ll obey, Your Greatness!”
His only chance to find out if the chameleon was telling the truth would be in the heat of battle. Gill hoped he didn’t have the “opportunity” to learn the truth…
“What’s on the hill over there?”
The dwarf turned to look at it, and then he smiled with another one of their idiotic grins, without saying anything.
“What island is this?”
“Island, Your Greatness?”
“Yes, island. What is the name of the game?”
“Game, Your Greatness?”
He started to get annoyed. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get on the same tail with the creature, so he decided to abandon the inquiry before he lost his rag. The chameleon had no clue where he was; he only had the purpose of serving in a game. As Gill could see, their interface was even more primitive than the one of the flour dealers. The creatures probably needed something like that; a consciousness, even limited like the one of the Alixxoran AIs, would have stopped them from dying that easily for dubious purposes, such as entertaining some bixan addicts…
The enemy is approaching, he thought, agitated. I have to do something! He had the impression that the suspicious hustle moved in the bushes at the base of the opposite hill, close to the river. It didn’t look like a charging army, though—it was more likely a defensive formation using the camouflage of the abundant bushes growing near the water.
The view pleased him. The other Antyran seemed cautious and maybe was waiting for him to attack first. Let him wait, he thought. Each moment was flowing in his favor, giving Sandara the time to stop the fight before it began.
As he was worriedly spying the thicket on the other hill, it suddenly crossed his kyi that he couldn’t have only chameleons. Nobody goes to war with only chameleons—what kind of game would that be?
“Do I have other troops apart from you?” he asked the dwarf.
“Yes, Your Greatness!”
“Where are they?”
The chameleon pointed his transparent hand toward the outskirts of the nearby tekal forest.
“The grahs and the orzacs are awaiting your orders, Master!”
The grahs and the orzacs! The greatest soldiers of antiquity! He gazed at the trees on the hilltop without seeing them, but if they were there, they probably hid from the enemy spies behind the thick bushes, waiting for a sign from him.
With such soldiers at his disposal, he felt more relieved because he knew all too well how they fought, their weaknesses and strengths. If necessary, he could arrange them in a defensive formation to delay the unknown player until the arrival of help. His vast knowledge, his passion for ancient history could prove a priceless advantage if he had to lead an army, even in a dream island in the sky…