Anthology - Once Around the Realms

Volo and his companions turned to see the individuals that he was referring to. Each was a good foot taller than any of the natives they had seen so far, and all were built like oxen.

"Don't let their bulk fool you," Rurk pointed out. "They have the reflexes and speed of jaguar men."

"Wonderful," Passepout replied, sensing imminent doom.

"And one more thing," Rurk added. "My home court has a particular rule attached to all games. You lose, you die. Death before dishonor."

Passepout fainted, and Curtis revived him with a cup of water.

The three companions ate the rest of their meal in silence, all along Volo fingering his beard in thought, as if trying to come up with a plan.

As the meal was brought to a close, Rurk stood up and said, "I assure you that no harm will come to Miss Bleth tonight. I am more than willing to wait to collect the victor's spoils."

"That goes without saying," Volo replied, adding, "One thing, though. I understand that the game is played in sandals. Would it be possible for us to obtain three pairs in the morning, so that we can break them in for the game?"

"But of course," Rurk replied. "What kind of host would I be not to grant such a simple request?"

Once again Rurk clapped his hands, and Herve appeared to lead Volo and the others back to their room.

THE BALL GAME or How a Little Ingenuity Can Make Up For a Lack of Athletic Prowess

True to Rurk's word, the following morning three pairs of sandals were delivered to the challengers' room.

"What are we going to do?" Passepout pleaded.

"Call your servant," Volo instructed.

"Why?" the chubby thespian asked. "Did you see the face on that one? I hate to think that was the last female on my mind when I meet my maker, which is apparently going to be way too soon for my tastes."

"Just do it!" Volo ordered, continuing to finger his beard in nervous contemplation.

"And what about Shurleen?" Curtis demanded. "We can't let Rurk enslave her!"

"And there is nothing we can do about it if we happen to be dead, right?" Volo countered. "Therefore, our main objective at the moment should be staying alive."

"Here she is," Passepout said, having returned with his warthog-faced, would-be paramour.

"Good," Volo replied. He took her aside, making his needs known to her in sign language. She continued to nod in agreement, occasionally tossing a glance and a wink in the chubby thespian's direction.

Volo and the servant began to leave. "We'll be right back," Volo called. "We have a bit of sandal customizing to do."

With that they left.

"Well, I never heard it referred to as that," Passepout commented.

"Somehow I wouldn't have thought of her as his type," Curtis agreed.

"By the way," Passepout asked, "what is this ball game in which we are supposed to meet our deaths?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," Curtis replied.

Volo returned with the sandals in a little less than an hour.

"Well, it's about time!" Passepout said sarcastically.

"You sound a bit jealous," Curtis jibed the chubby thespian. "I thought she wasn't your type?"

"Can it!" Volo ordered. "Time is short, and we have a plan to work out. The odds are against us, and the deck is stacked in their favor, but with a little luck, I think we can bounce our way to victory. Now listen."

The ball game, as Volo explained, was the major accepted form of entertainment for all Mazticans. Though on the surface it appeared to be only a contest or sport, the human cultures of the continent had invested in it a great deal of significance as a religious ritual and as a means of dispute arbitration through divine intervention. The game was usually played with a hard, round ball roughly six inches in diameter, made from the congealed sap of a rubber tree. It was the object of opposing team players to maneuver the ball without the use of their hands or feet through the opposing team's goal line. The first team to score three goals would win.

There was, however, another option for winning. Midway down the walls that line the court was a stone ring roughly fifteen feet above the playing field. The first team to score a goal through the ring would win.

"Just looking at the opposition, I can tell it is their intention to bulldoze their way down the field each play to pummel home a shot on our goal," Volo explained.

"And there doesn't seem to be much we can do to stand in their way," Passepout observed.

"Almost," Volo replied. "The first thing I have to do is to get Rurk to up the ante. Normally, victory is only attained after a match is won, and three games make a match. I need to have him agree to a one-game match."

"Sure," Passepout interjected, "no reason to post- pone the inevitable."

"Our only advantage is the element of surprise, and we will only have that once."

"Surprise about what?" Curtis queried.

"These," Volo replied, holding up the newly customized sandals.

Volo, Passepout, and Curtis arrived about ten minutes before the sun was at its apex. Rurk and his team of brutes had already arrived and were eagerly waiting in anticipation of an easy victory.

Shurleen had arrived as well, bedecked in the skimpy garments of a high-class courtesan, a profession she feared soon awaited her.

Curtis walked over to her with his, Volo's, and Passepout's packs cleverly disguised as ornate, overstuffed pillows. He was amazed at how much the strident, demanding heiress now resembled a very scared child who just wanted to go home despite her seductive attire.

"Don't worry kid," Curtis consoled. "Mister Volo has a plan. When he gives the word, grab the packs and run."

"I know you may find this hard to believe," Shurleen choked in a whisper, "but I think I would prefer to share in your fate. Death seems almost desirable to the alternative."

Curtis patted her, and in a moment of mad inspiration kissed her on the forehead. "If things go according to plan, no one will have to face death or a fate worse. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Curtis," she whispered, "and to the others as well, and…" She halted in midsentence, placed her two hands on the sides of his face, and drew him closer to her, kissing him long and lovingly on the lips.

Curtis returned to the others feeling as if he were walking on air, and grateful that Passepout had not seen their little interaction.

"Now remember," Volo instructed, "everything hinges on none of us getting hurt while they score their first two goals."

"No problem," Passepout replied. "The ball comes this way, I go that way."

"No," Volo corrected, shaking his head. "We can't make it look that easy. If Rurk catches on that we're throwing the game for the first two goals, we're sunk."

"We'll do our best," Curtis replied, his heart filled with a new shot of confidence.

"We have to," Volo replied, then yelled to Rurk, "Hey, let's get this show on the road."

"Hey," Passepout yelled, "that's my line."

"Whatever," Rurk responded. "Don't you want to put your sandals on?"

"Later," Volo replied curtly. "I'd like to see our prize before we start."

"Whatever," Rurk said dismissively. He clapped his hands and watched as the plume raft was flown in by Herve. It would fit the four companions and the three packs with room to spare.

"Ready," Volo announced.

"Good," Rurk replied. "A ball game match. Three games make a match. To the winner: freedom, life, and this plume barge. To the loser, the usual: death. Let the games begin."

The ball was thrown into center court, and the opposing team of brutes stampeded down the field. The one-eyed monster who led their pack reached the bouncing ball first, and butted it with his head farther down the field, where it was elbowed by a team mate to the side, where the third member took a shot on goal. While the masters of menace were continuing their rampage down the field, Volo's team tried to put on a good show. Curtis threw himself in front of the oncoming ball, barely missing it. An oncoming goon tried to skewer him on its abnormally long claws (though the rules prohibited the use of one's hands with the ball, nothing had been mentioned about their use against an opponent). Curtis easily dodged its oncoming thrust, his exceptional reflexes more than compensating for the goon's superior strength and bulk.