“Brilliant!” B.E. looked excitedly to the others. “That will work. What do you think, Bjorn? Fancy a voyage with us?”
“I don’t know what to think. Perhaps it is better that those of us not involved in the challenge stay here? If we do, they might leave us alone. If we come with you, even if we don’t fight, they might take revenge on us as well.”
“If they even have the ability to do so. Which I for one still do not believe.” Sigrid flared up.
“In any case, they may be in no position to take revenge. Harald has that extraordinary master thief; Erik’s character is very versatile, and I have my two new swords.” B.E. ran along the loose earth thrown up by their trench, pretending to fence.
Erik turned back to Bjorn. “Think awhile on it, Bjorn. I can tell you where you can meet Harald if you want to ask him about his training and his reasons for believing they can attack players.” As with their argument about fighting the dragon, it was important to keep Bjorn from making a premature decision. Erik had faith that his friend would come around to the idea of leaving the Newhaven area.
“It would be awful to leave you, or Sigrid, behind as possible targets for Central Allocations, but I have to go ahead with this. I hope you understand. You would do the same if it was your dad in exile.”
A slight drizzle was making them all wet. But Bjorn remained seated, head uncovered, clearly unhappy.
“What character type is Anonemuss?” asked B.E., thinking ahead to the battle with Central Allocations.
“He is a dark elf—a warrior, I think.”
“A dark elf—unusual. And does he have good equipment?”
“Very good. He seems to have gathered it up from everyone in exile. And he is quite rich—something to do with the way they run things there. It’s probably from exploiting the others in some way, but they all stand to gain if the law of amnesty is passed, so I suppose it is justified. . . .” Erik paused.
“What?” Injeborg knew him too well and could tell he was troubled, that Erik was leaving something out.
“Well, he . . . from the way he talks, he is . . . dangerous.”
“In what way ‘dangerous’?” B.E. asked.
“Did you ever hear of a book by someone called Machiavelli?” Erik looked at their blank faces. “No, me neither. Apparently he wrote about the pursuit of power, and Anonemuss is always quoting him. Especially when he says ‘the means accuses, but the result excuses.’”
“What’s that supposed to be about?” Sigrid was irritated by the whole situation. She really wished they could just return to their normal lives. But then her dad was not in exile.
“It means that he thinks any measures are to be considered for the achievement of power. When I say any measures, I mean absolutely all of them.” Erik could see that they were missing the point. “Well, he has asked me if our strategy of change through the game of Epic was to fail, whether I would be willing to take up real weapons and march with him in an army to Mikelgard and physically overthrow the current rulers.”
“Bloody vengeance!” laughed B.E. “He’s a madman.”
“That’s exactly what I said.” But Erik did not smile. “Only I don’t think he’s joking. He believes he needs only a hundred followers. After all, the Mikelgard people have no physical means of stopping him.”
“That’s awful, even to speak like that.” Sigrid looked sickened. “How can you repeat these ideas, Erik?”
“And we are working with him? Why?” asked Injeborg.
“Because we need him. And because perhaps his bark is worse than his bite. Also, if we can bring about change through Epic, that will take away the basis for his confronta tional plans in this world.”
“I would like to meet him, before I fight alongside him,” mused Injeborg.
“As would I.” B.E. stood up. “Erik, you arrange a place. I’m fed up with digging; I’m going to go get some Epic training in swimming, and some ‘endless breath’ potions. If my character falls off the ship, I don’t want to drown like that poor fellow in the arena.”
The moon was up, covering the surface of the sea with a swath of silver silk. They were bobbing up and down, waves gently lapping against the sides of their small boat. Near them a slight gurgle caused them to turn their heads, but it was only a seal breaking through the surface of the water. For a while the occupants of the boat and the seal watched each other, then the seal sank back beneath the waves.
Lounging in the prow of the boat was B.E.’s elven warrior; Injeborg’s witch and Cindella each had an oar.
From the shore a green light flared.
“There we go.” Erik sounded relieved; they had been waiting in the bay for about half an hour.
“He likes his drama, doesn’t he? We couldn’t just meet in an inn.” It was easy to imagine B.E. displaying his characteristic sneer as his character spoke—although the gray face of the warrior in the game was incapable of that expression.
“He’s a dark elf remember,” Injeborg pointed out, while pulling on her oar to bring them around in order to face the shore. “He can’t come near to town or they will lynch him.”
“Yeah, but still.”
They rowed hard, towards a muddy bank that led up from the estuary to the edge of a wood. When they landed, B.E. stepped carefully through the mud, tying up the boat to a rock.
“Greetings.” Anonemuss was alone, wrapped in a navy velvet cape.
“Pleased to meet you,” replied Injeborg politely.
Erik was amused to see that, probably unconsciously, B.E. was posed, chest out, hands on the hilts of his powerful blades.
“You wanted to discuss the plan with me?” Anonemuss asked them directly.
“Well, not so much the plan as your ideas. You know, about seizing power by force,” answered Injeborg equally bluntly.
“Oh, good. Are you interested in joining me?”
“Absolutely not!” She was shocked. “I just wanted to determine whether you were a reliable partner, or whether you were mad.”
“I’m not mad, young woman. Nor am I hidebound by the indoctrination that we are all fed here. I have read many books—it is a common pastime of those of us in exile. And my conclusion is that violence is not always wrong.”
“How so?” B.E. was intrigued.
“I believe young Erik here once had his appendix removed, correct?” They nodded and the dark elf continued, “Was that not an act of violence, cutting open his skin, wounding him? Yet it was necessary to save his life. Well, society can form cancers, especially if resources are dwindling over hundreds of years. I consider myself not a violent criminal, but a surgeon, one with a diagnosis of the condition of the patient, which is that there is a need for a short, violent intervention to save it.”
“But even if we accept that society needs to change, there is an important distinction from Erik’s operation.” Injeborg was reasoning aloud, defending her own beliefs.
“Do go on, my dear.” Anonemuss bowed.
“Which is that the operation was done with Erik’s consent. You plan to mete out violence against people who do not wish it.”
“They certainly do not, but they have driven me to such radical ideas by their policies. For the sake of sustaining the principle of nonviolence, is it worth lying in the dirt with your oppressor’s knee upon your neck?”
“Are we oppressed?” B.E. could not restrain a slight scoffing tone to his voice.
“Maybe oppressed is too strong a word,” Erik intervened earnestly. “But look at all the messages for help we have been sent since we killed the dragon. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had over seven hundred. And some of them are really pitiful. People living in pain, unnecessarily it seems to me.”
“I don’t read ’em.” B.E. shrugged away the point.
“Perhaps you are not oppressed anymore. You are a wealthy man now. But think about the hard work that the vast majority of people are performing, so that a few can live in luxury and devote their energy not to solving the problem o
f our limited resources, but to working out how to stay in control. And I might add”—Anonemuss’s tone grew sharper—“that until you have had a taste of exile, you have no realization what hard work and hunger means. If you think that they give the districts very little, then you can imagine what they send to Roftig. Rusty, useless tools. Poor-quality seeds. It is a wonder we do not all starve.”
“Fair enough,” replied B.E., and it almost amused Erik that his friend clearly did not care too much about the world’s injustices. They were so different in that regard. “But do you not think that we can challenge them through Epic, the way we are supposed to resolve matters?”
“Until I met Erik and Harald, I did not believe it to be possible. But the five of us, perhaps we can form an unbeatable team. Then I wonder what will happen. Will our opponents go so far as to act against our real personalities?”
“What? You mean physically deprive us of the means of playing?” asked Injeborg.
“That, or worse.”
“Murder?” B.E. laughed derisively.
“You underestimate their willingness to cling to power. You forget that they see themselves as the protectors of the greater good. And that mysterious Holy Grail justifies all actions they might take. People who live by dogmatic ideals are extremely dangerous.” Anonemuss chuckled sinisterly.
“Yeah, well . . .” With as much interest in philosophy as in the condition of the world’s poor, B.E. changed the subject. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let’s talk about tactics.”
“My sentiments exactly.” For the first time in the conversation, Anonemuss sounded as though he had warmed to the young warrior. “I must say, Erik, your young friend has a remarkable talent for cunning and forward thinking.”
“He’s not the only one,” murmured Injeborg. “It was Erik who discovered the way to kill the dragon.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“Enough.” Erik intervened. “You’ll embarrass me. Let’s go over the plan again.”
Chapter 18
A NEW CAUSE FOR CONCERN
The nine members of the committee were gathered in the great chamber of Mikelgard Tower. A wintry sky of heavy cloud with streaks of orange drifted above them. It was sufficiently dark that the lanterns of the room had been lit, flickering with oily flame. For the moment, all was quiet, apart from the rustle of paper, as they read the latest New Leviathan newsletter.
If ever there was a possibility for change, it was presented last month, with the victory of the Osterfjord Players over Inry’aat, the Red Dragon.
A new avenue was opened up, a new way to shatter the fetters that bind society. A chance for us to face the real world afresh, to tackle the decline of our resources—using Epic as a means of communication and recreation—no more than that.
Who are these young dragonslayers on whom we pinned so much hope?
Erik Offason is their oldest, playing with an elven warrior called “B.E.”—to distinguish him from the younger Erik. This seems to be a talented, brave, and ambitious young man, who has accepted a place at Mikelgard University on the prestigious “Epic Studies” course—a course that is closely connected to achieving very high administrative posts in later life.
Bjorn Rolfson is of the same class as Erik Offason, and having graduated from the same college has accepted a place in the University to study farming—a most worthwhile occupation that will lead to his obtaining the farm of his choice in years to come. His character is a sturdy human warrior, Bjorn.
Sigrid Offason, similarly, has been offered a place on the same course, for when she has graduated from the Hope College in three years’ time. Her character is the healer for the group.
Injeborg Rolfson, although only fourteen, has nevertheless found herself with a place reserved at the University for the study of geology. She is a student to watch. Her character is a witch of the same name.
Finally, Erik Haraldson, in the same class as Injeborg Rolfson. Erik has, rather unusually, a female character—part thief, part warrior—of the name Cindella. Of this group, Erik Haraldson has the most reason to be aware of the problems of this system, since his father is in exile for the crime of violence. Violence is, of course, totally unacceptable, but perhaps Harald Erikson is in some way a victim of the system? It cannot be a coincidence that he was the key player in the recent draw between Hope District and Central Allocations. But again, Erik Haraldson seems to have little more ambition than to take a University place in librarianship.
What does this information reveal?
Above all, that access to wealth and power is very seductive. A team of players, who for the first time for many years had the opportunity to confront the system, has instead been absorbed by it.
Each of these players has received several hundred requests to help some person struggling in poverty. Yet they have not taken up even one case. These young people should be sympathetic. They know what it is like to have family at work in the mines. But they appear to care only about themselves and about making a success of themselves within the system.
Our conclusion then. That we must awaken from this unreal game and demand a new organization of society—one where decisions are taken by vote and not by challenges in the biased fighting arenas.
“Comments?” invited Hleid.
“They are impotent,” Godmund said simply, and graced the committee with one of his very rare smiles. “Svein did well.”
“What I find interesting,” Wolf mused aloud, lounging in his chair, ponytail hanging over the back of it, “is that there clearly is no connection between the writers of this scandal sheet and the Osterfjord Players.”
“Or at least they want us to think that.” Ragnok sounded surly.
“No. That seems too complex. I do not think that the New Leviathan would publicly revile them if it really thought that they would champion change.” Godmund interlocked his wrinkled fingers and, stretching them against each other, released a sharp cracking sound. “Is there anything else, or can we enjoy a rare afternoon at our own pursuits?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Svein passed around the documents that had been handed to him shortly before the committee meeting. “This has been posted about two hours ago in every Newhaven tavern and in every library in our system.”
Do you seek fame and adventure? Then join with me, Cindella the dragonslayer, in a voyage that the bards will be singing of for generations. I seek a crew of skilled sailors and hardy warriors, of powerful magicians and staunch healers. I shall be sailing out of Newhaven Harbor on St. Justin’s Day, at high tide. The journey is expected to take two months and I have reason to believe it will be most lucrative. Equal shares of all wealth obtained will be distributed to all those who return with me to Newhaven when the voyage is complete.—Cindella the dragonslayer
“Odd.” With his good humor gone in an instant, Godmund returned to his more characteristically sharp tone of voice. “What do you make of it, Svein?”
“I think that he must have found something in the dragon hoard that leads him on.” Svein strove to keep his tone absolutely neutral, and not let slip any indication of his interest and his fears about the matter. It could be that the young man was working towards solving the Epicus Ultima and had an important lead.
“It is not out of keeping with someone who wants to be a librarian to show an interest in such apparently irrelevant subjects.” Halfdan gave a mocking smile as he caught Svein’s eye.
“Perhaps not, but I do not like it. This is without precedent, to appeal to the world for participants in this way. And what is new is dangerous. Epic is a strange game with great depths, more than perhaps we realize. It is not good to tamper with it. We have a system that works, and while it could well be that this voyage will turn out to be harmless, it must be considered a potential source of danger.” It was clear from his tone that Godmund was anxious once more.
“So, what are you suggesting?” Curiously, as Godmund had become weighted down with concern, Ragno
k had lightened, to look now distinctly lively.
“I have a thought,” offered Bekka, peering at them from under her fringe of gray hair.
“Go ahead.” Hleid waved at her impatiently.
“Why doesn’t Svein Redbeard volunteer for the voyage? That way he can keep us up to date as to its purpose.”
“Good idea,” Thorkell nodded.
“So, a proposal. All those in favor? Everyone. So be it.” Hleid looked over to Svein. “Is that agreeable to you?”
“You bet it is!” Halfdan was scoffing, his lips a thin sneer in the vastness of his face. “More clues for his Epicus Ultima.”
“I agree to keep an eye on the developments arising from this voyage and to keep the committee informed.” Svein was unprovoked by Halfdan’s attempts to mock him. After all, the decision they had spontaneously reached accorded completely with his own desires; his concern before the meeting had been that the committee might have disagreed with his joining the expedition. When no one else was watching, Svein gave Halfdan a wink, happy to see him scowl in response.
“I have another proposal.” Ragnok raised his head.
“Yes? Go ahead.” Hleid looked at him through her large glasses.
“We put the Executioner aboard, just in case.”
This suggestion caused a few mutterings of concern.
“Let us take a speech for and against,” Hleid suggested. “Ragnok, you first.”
“Well it’s self-evident, isn’t it?” He sat up a little straighter to address them. “Anything could happen, and just suppose it is a quest for some powerful item. We do not want it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Against?”
“The Executioner could be revealed by having to spend time confined aboard a ship, with no escape if matters get nasty.” Thorkell’s pale forehead shone in the lamplight, making it seem as though he was sweating with fear or rage, although his voice was matter of fact.
“If matters get nasty, we kill them all.” Ragnok shrugged.
“Any more comments?” Hleid asked. “Then the vote. Those for Ragnok’s proposal? Ragnok, Halfdan, myself, Brynhild, Godmund. That’s a majority—it is agreed.”
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