“Get on with it, Bartleby,” demanded Therraz.
Without looking up, Bartleby replied, “I find it incredibly amusing to be asking you, of anyone, to patiently abide by your rules.”
The scattered twitters were silenced by angry glares from Therraz and then all waited.
Finally, Bartleby looked up from the game board and simply stated, “All right, I’m ready.”
“Go then,” growled Therraz.
“Well, first my mortal,” said Bartleby, “I’ve not had the chance to put my own into play, so I think I’ll simply convert that one.” Bartleby pointed a finger and all followed it. On the board, a tiny figure tending a tiny herd of sheep changed slightly. To those who saw auras, the difference was much more profound.
“That one is mine,” said Therraz.
“Oh, was he?” asked Bartleby, “I’m sorry, brother dear. If you want, you can have him back when I’m done.”
“Bah! One pawn held in reserve is all he was. Take him.”
“Very well. And, for my next move…” and then Bartleby, the God of Chaos, disappeared.
Christopher J. Taylor lives with his wife and son (the TRUE god of Chaos) in the midwestern United States. An avid gamer, Christopher has played Dungeons and Dragons (and knows how to figure THAC0 from 2 ed. to 3 ed. and beyond), has a wide collection of GURPS books on shelves throughout the house, and adores reading fantasy and science fiction. When not writing, he can be found planning worlds and dimensions, plotting ruinous downfalls of fantastic civilizations, and creating plot twists that Alexander would have to take a sword to.
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EXCERPT from the upcoming novella in the Scofflaw series Law of the Land:
One road passed through Byrkhill. It ran east to west, passing just south of the village’s central hill. A rougher, narrower lane ran from the road into the center of the village. During wet seasons, the road remained firm, though the lane was often enough of a mire to catch unwary cart and wagon drivers. When dry, both lane and road sent plumes of dust after travelers. Even now a plume of dust rose up from the road, though intervening hills blocks the view of the travelers themselves.
“Who could that be?” Taelyn asked a nearby sheep, “It would take a large flock to kick up that much dust.”
“Or half a score horsemen,” came the reply.
Taelyn scrambled to his feet and looked quizzically at the sheep for a moment. “What?!?”
“Baaa,” it said.
“You may want to collect your things,” the voice said again.
This time Taelyn realized the voice came from behind him. He leaped from the rock, twisting in mid-air to face the unknown intruder. Taelyn though he had never been so nimble or graceful in his life. Then he landed squarely on the sheep he thought had spoken. The sheep scrambled up and fled. Taelyn looked up from the ground and saw a thin, gray-bearded man leaning on his rock.
“Wh- who are you?” Taelyn asked.
The man stood straight, reaching a height of nearly six feet, just over Taelyn’s own height, and said, “Greetings! I am Cazmeran the Magnificent! I am here to save your life!”
The man didn’t seem very magnificent. His hair was speckled with gray and his clothing was old and worn. Most of it looked too small and his pants appeared to be a lady’s undergarment.
Taelyn stood warily, afraid to take his eyes off Cazmeran. “You don’t look magnificent,” he said, “You look, well, shabby.”
“Shabby?” asked Cazmeran, visibly deflating, “I can’t help it if decent clothing was impossible to find.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Taelyn, “It just seems that if you’re going to call yourself magnificent, you should actually be magnificent.”
“Not…,” sputtered Cazmeran, “Should actually be…. Fine. We’ll talk about that later after we’ve dealt with those soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” asked Taelyn, “What soldiers.”
Cazmeran turned Taelyn by a shoulder and pointed towards Byrkhill. The plume of dust that had been moving across the valley had reached the village and was slowly drifting away, thinning as it wafted along on the afternoon breeze.
“I don’t see anything,” Taelyn said, stepping away from Cazmeran. “And why should I be worried about soldiers? I’m just a shepherd. I’ve done nothing wrong and I pay my taxes. I think you should find someone else to bother.”
Cazmeran looked back at the village, hands on hips, “Am I that early?” he asked no one in particular.
Meanwhile, Taelyn slowly moved to collect his things from the rock. He wasn’t sure if he could collect his flock without this strange man noticing, but he was certain he wanted nothing to do with soldiers. He managed to gather three of his sheep before Cazmeran broke from his study of Byrkhill.
“A ha!” Cazmeran shouted triumphantly, “Look there!”
Taelyn looked and saw a new plume of dust moving out of Byrkhill. This time, no smaller hills hid the travelers. They were clearly men on horseback. A moment later, sun glinted brightly off of something.
“That could be anyone,” Taelyn said, “It doesn’t have to be soldiers.” Even as he voiced the protest, it seemed too weak.
Cazmeran rested an hand on Taelyn’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, boy. We don’t have time for an explanation right now. Just know that they aren’t your friends. They don’t care if you’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve come to help keep you alive.”
Taelyn watched as the horsemen galloped across the hills and vales toward his home.
“But why me?”, he asked. “Why do they hate me?”
“They probably don’t,” replied Cazmeran, “But they’ve been told you are a menace and they are not the kind to question the things they are told. They have been ordered to capture or kill you. Don’t believe for a moment that imprisonment would be any better that death.”
Taelyn turned to look at Cazmeran. Taelyn thought this insane old man might truly feel sorry for him, except for the eyes that seemed to bore deeply into Taelyn’s own.
“And you?” Taelyn asked, suddenly feeling angry, “What orders were you given?”
With a smile and not a moment of hesitation, Cazmeran said, “I told you. I’m here to keep you alive. Without you, all is lost. We need to leave now. Those soldiers have discovered you are not at home.”
Taelyn looked back to his farm. The only home he’d ever known was now the base of a growing pillar of smoke. An incandescent orange glow was already leaking through the thatch roof of the barn and smoke was rising from the house.
In low, careful tone, Cazmeran said, “I’m sorry, boy, but there’s nothing to go back to. They wasted no time checking hidey holes. They won’t waste time checking the flocks in the hills. We must go while we can.”
“I… I can’t,” Taelyn choked past the lump that had formed in his throat, “I can’t just abandon my flock.”
“The sheep?”exclaimed Cazmeran, “You want to bring the sheep?”
“They depend on me,” Taelyn said weakly. Then, with strength that even surprised him, he said, “I won’t go unless they are safe.”
Cazmeran sighed and said, “Fine. I will take care of them.”
He quickly began to speak in a language Taelyn could only describe as ‘old.’ It was certainly foreign. Not a single word sounded familiar. As the old man spoke, a faint glow seemed to gather around his hands. He ended his chanting with a crescendo and waved his right hand, moving it in an arc from left elbow to his right side. Every sheep within sight of the hill simply fell over.
“You killed them!” shouted Taelyn, “with magic!”
“What? No,” replied Cazmeran, “I g
ave them to ability to care for themselves. They’ll sleep a few minutes and they’ll be fine.”
“Why should I trust you?” Taelyn demanded. He was taken aback when Cazmeran erupted in laughter.
“Boy,” he was eventually able to say, “you shouldn’t. But you should come with me. Right now. They have horses. Our best chance is not letting them find us.”
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