“I shall go aboard invisible,” Ragnok added hurriedly, and it was obvious that he was eager to assume the responsibility for the management of the Executioner.
Looking around the table over her glasses, Hleid saw no objections, even though any of them could have taken up the task equally well.
“Very well. That concludes the business for today.”
Chapter 19
A MOTLEY CREW
The Newhaven quayside was busier than for a festival day; excited crowds of both gray players and colorful game characters were gathering to witness the start of the much-talked-about voyage of Cindella the Dragonslayer. Fortune tellers had set up tents from which there exuded the scents of strange oils and the prickle of magic; vendors of food who had come early to secure advantageous places were briskly selling grilled rabbit and fish; and throughout the crowds, street urchins, with their more accomplished masters, were practicing the ancient art of pick-purse.
A select group of people walked aboard the White Falcon, unwelcome visitors kept at bay by a ghostly white dog, as large as a man, standing intelligently alert at the head of the gangplank. Beside it, Injeborg’s witch stood proudly, gazing out over the busy quays, a hand on the head of her new canine guardian.
“It is beautiful, daughter, wonderful really. I am sure that she will be faster than the Black Falcon.” Old Captain Sharky was touring the vessel with Cindella and B.E. Her Ring of True Seeing pulsed its pale blue-green light around them; it allowed Erik to see a golden glow inside the character that indicated a more-than-usual presence of the Avatar in his frame. But it was far from the full shocking presence that had talked to Cindella in the jeweler’s shop.
They carefully checked every room of the ship, no matter how small, to make sure that she was secure from stowaways. Not once did the ring reveal anything out of the ordinary.
Erik’s father and Anonemuss were already on board, keeping well out of sight belowdecks. Erik’s reunion with Harald’s character had been heart-warming, but necessarily brief.
“Tide is nearly in,” observed Sharky.
“Very well, let us get our crew.” It was obvious that B.E. was looking forward to being in the public eye, and not surprisingly, for Erik had to admit that his friend looked magnificent. Apart from the ruby necklace and rune carved rings that shouted of magic, B.E. wore a swirling cloak of phoenix feathers, whose color constantly changed in the light, undulating through scarlet and gold to purple and mauve. Beneath the cloak glittered a delicate chain mail tunic, whose metal was clearly hammered out on no ordinary forge, for it too gave off a faint light. At his hips, sheathed in scabbards, were two matched blades, whose elven names translated as Thunder and Lightning.
As they came to the gangplank, Injeborg, herself transformed by the purchase of powerful magic items, handed Cindella a bag. Cindella looked inside and took out a glass sphere, about half the size of her fist, inside which a milk-white cloud swirled—and was that a tantalizing glimpse of a minute statue within the mist?
“There are fifty of them,” explained Injeborg. “And unless you are carrying one, Bouncy here will not let you on.” She patted the head of the ghostly dog affectionately.
“Bouncy?” B.E. groaned with disgust. “Inny, it’s an ethereal guard dog. It can detect astral projections and ethereal walkers, let alone invisible and hidden creatures. It can savage a troll single-handedly, and you’ve called it ‘Bouncy’?”
“Sure. He’s cute too.” Injeborg tickled the unflappable guard dog under the chin.
“Come on.” Erik handed a stone to B.E. The two friends continued on to where they had earlier set up a table and Captain Sharky was waiting for them. Erik put the bag of milky stones on the table with a clatter, reaching in to pass one to the old sailor. Ahead of them a great queue had formed, several hundred long.
The chatter of the crowd subsided; the hawkers ceased their shouts and even the wind seemed to drop as B.E. beckoned the first man forward. A rope held by strong guards hired for the day held the crowd back, but they pressed forward, those farther back wanting to catch sight of the dragonslayers and listen to the events of what was clearly a historic day.
“Good man this,” whispered Sharky. “Served with me on the old Falcon as bosun.”
Erik took down his name and handed him a glass stone.
“Next!” shouted B.E.
And so they continued, hiring or rejecting sailors at the word of Sharky. The procedure was a dull one for the spectators, and a lively hum of conversation began to grow all around the quays.
“That’s a good crew.” Sharky looked approvingly at the men and women who had gone aboard, their few belongings in canvas bags thrown over their shoulders, and who were even now taking up their stations on the ship.
“No more sailors!” shouted B.E. “Adventurers only, please.”
With curses from those who had missed out, the queue became greatly reduced, but even so was far longer than the twenty stones that remained in the bag.
“Next!”
“Othinious Majaminous at your service.” A small gnome bowed his head, ducking below the height of the table. Both Cindella and B.E. stood up to get a better look at him.
Inadvertently B.E. let out a chuckle. The gnome immediately stood up, scowling from beneath the hood of the mystic’s cowl that he wore.
“And what can you do, Othinious?” asked Erik kindly.
“I am a servant of Odunerok, God of the desert, and through him have mastered deep secrets of fire and air.”
“Prove it,” said B.E. bluntly.
The gnome stared steadily at B.E. then reached into his pack. He drew forth a rolled-up cloth of rich color, and kept on drawing; soon the visible length of the thick cloth was greater than the size of the bag, then bigger than the gnome himself.
“Conjurer’s trick? Or Bag of the Dimensions?” whispered B.E.
Once the elaborately decorated cloth was fully drawn from the bag, the gnome rolled it out over the ground. The crowd surged forward to look, drawn by sighs of admiration from those who stood near the front. Sitting on the carpet, the gnome began to chant quietly, face drawn in concentration. The carpet rose steadily from the ground, much to the excitement of the crowd, who burst into applause. This was more like it!
“He’s in,” said B.E. “Next!”
“Sir Warren, knight of the Holy Order of Mov, servant of his Majesty King Uwen of Newhaven.”
The impressive warrior had a bright smile, nearly hidden in the great beard that flowed over his bright, powerful breastplate. Across his back was tied a shield, and at his waist a variety of weapons and potion bottles.
Without hesitation, Erik passed the knight a milky glass marble.
Before B.E. could call forward the next person in the queue, the clouds darkened; sea birds shrieked with fear and scattered into the sky. The crowd shrank back as a great black carriage clattered along the quays, pulled by two fierce black stallions whose eyes rolled with madness. A pallid servant, dressed elegantly, reined in the horses near the table.
Utter stillness. Not a cough from anyone, fearful of drawing attention to themselves. Then a voice, terrible and cold, dripping with poisonous sibilance, and yet insidiously beautiful and persuasive:
“I, Count Illystivostich, would undertake this voyage.”
“If that vampyre boards your vessel, then I for one will not set foot upon it, for it will be cursed!” Sir Warren shouted in reply, clutching at the hilt of his sword.
Sitting behind the table, Erik was still struck with fear and a genuine concern for his safety, when B.E. spoke up bravely.
“What guarantee would we have that you would work for the same aim as the crew, and not slaughter us?”
“My auguries state that the treasure you seek contains an ancient heirloom of my family. Promise me that should you find it, you will return it to me. Then I will swear by the most ancient gods to serve you for the voyage, and take my sustenance only from the beasts that I will bring aboard myse
lf.”
It was such a reasonable statement, Erik found himself nodding.
“Don’t listen to him. The decks of that ship will run with blood should that ungodly creature defile it with one step onto its planks.” Sir Warren was furious but was stepping back, clearly fearful of provoking the count.
“Your call on this one,” said Erik, genuinely torn.
“A vampyre? You must be kidding. Of course he’s in,” B.E. stood up. “Very well, Count. We accept your terms.”
“Excellent. My servant will take my coffin and animals aboard. I will fly to join you in the night.”
“Here!” Sir Warren slammed his glass stone back onto the table. “I wash my hands of this whole doomed affair.”
Once the dreadful presence in the carriage had departed, the throngs of people watching, both real and game-generated, broke out into animated conversation, arguing amongst themselves about the fate of the voyage now that it was associated with the most feared creature of the region. They settled into a lighter humor only when a bear came up to the table.
The large black grizzly loped up to the table on all fours, then stood up, towering above them.
“Please,” it boomed out. “I wish to come on your voyage.”
“A talking bear!” voices all around called out delightedly.
“What on earth for?” asked Cindella.
“A witch told me I would meet my mate on the other continent.”
“So, it’s a one-way trip you want?” B.E. scoffed, and the crowd laughed.
“Yes, please.”
“You realize that means no treasure for you?” B.E. continued, and again drew laughs for the image of the animal owning money.
“Yes, sir.”
B.E. shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“Here you go.” Cindella gave him a stone. “Don’t lose that until you are safely on the ship.”
“Thank you both.” The bear bowed, and, holding the stone like a precious cub in one paw, it waddled along to the gangplank.
When the bag was nearly empty, there was a disturbance in the queue.
“Look!” Svein Redbeard lurched into view past the restraining rope. “I just wanted you to know, I am here, and so are your friends.”
“Let them come forward,” B.E. instructed the guards.
Cheers greeted the appearance of the older dragonslayer. In his wake, looking as sheepish as gray polygons can, were Bjorn and Sigrid.
“Bjorn! You’ve come!” Erik leapt up, delighted.
“Welcome, welcome!” B.E. was just as pleased. “This is going to be fantastic. It’s a shame you weren’t here from the beginning. It’s been great fun.”
“Well, I still don’t agree, and I think it will probably all end badly. But you are my friends.” Bjorn shrugged.
“And you are my brother,” added Sigrid to B.E.
“I see you are both looking very impressive.” The sarcasm in B.E.’s voice was entirely good-natured. Bjorn had evidently overcome his reluctance to spend money, as he was decked out in fabulous armor, while on cross-straps around his body hung a variety of bags, pouches, and potion bottles. But by far the most extraordinary item that he carried was a great helm that was veined like a block of marble—pale and shot through with glinting lines of silver and platinum.
“What’s the helmet?” asked B.E.
“Water breathing. I had no time to learn to swim.” Their friend sounded embarrassed.
“Good idea,” chipped in Erik. “Let’s hope you don’t need it, though. Here.” He handed each of them a stone.
All this time, Svein Redbeard had been standing to one side, watching and listening. Now he approached, splendidly bedecked in his fighting equipment, exactly as they had last seen him in the arena.
“And may I have the honor of joining you on your adventure?”
“Of course. The honor is all ours. We have one stone left. Don’t we, Erik?” B.E. seemed oblivious to the fact that the point of the voyage was to escape Central Allocations; he had become far too involved in the excitement of the expedition. If Erik could have physically kicked him, he would have—ban on violence or not.
“One.” It was too late to hide it.
“Perfect.” Svein bowed as he received the stone.
The crowd was cheering them all and waving as they moved towards the gangplank. Already, minstrels were strolling around with the opening verses of the saga of the voyage—making much of the talking bear, the vampyre, and the dragonslayers, old and young.
Suddenly all the noise of the quayside was submerged with a shrill keening howl. Injeborg’s warder was on all fours at the top of the gangplank, fur standing on end, teeth bared.
“What is it?” Injeborg cried out, looking to Cindella.
“Intruder!” shouted Erik, and pulled off Cindella’s glove. He was close enough to see by the pale light of the ring; it was a human, fully encased in black armor, poised with sword drawn on the gangplank. “He’s invisible!”
A flash of red—Othinious, the gnome mystic, had thrown dust into the air that swirled and was magically drawn towards the would-be stowaway.
“There he is!” Sailors and warriors lined the side of the boat, pointing at the outline that they could now discern.
With a howl of fury, the man turned and ran away, pushing people brutally aside as he did so. The hired guards gave chase, but soon tired as the opaque warrior fled into the narrow alleys around the quays.
With the excitement over, the crowd gathered around the ship to shout cheerful farewells. Cindella gave Captain Sharky a nod and he began shouting orders.
Sailors moved swiftly to their tasks, and the mainsail was lowered, showing the white falcon design from which the ship took her name. Immediately they felt the tug of the wind and heard the water begin to pick up speed as it rushed along their sides.
“Well,” B.E. said, standing proudly on the poop deck. “Isn’t this the best fun you’ve ever had?”
He continued to wave until the crowd had faded into an indistinct, colorful mass.
Chapter 20
DANGER AT SEA
Gazing intently over the stern through a telescope, Erik could just make out the sails of the ship that had been following them throughout the day. Its shadowy gray form was partially hidden by a shower that was heading towards the White Falcon from the direction of its mysterious pursuer. Afternoon was turning into evening and the cloudy sky was taking on an angry orange tinge. Soon darkness would come, and they would try changing course in the hope of losing the unwelcome interest from that dogged ship.
“It must be the pirate Duke Raymond.” Captain Sharky joined him, looking worriedly at the horizon.
“What makes you say that?” asked Erik.
“She is no merchant vessel. Nor is she from the navies of any of the city-states that I know of. My old bones tell me she is a pirate, the pirate of these seas.”
Putting the telescope away, Erik took one last, proud look at the busy crew of the White Falcon, then unclipped. A meeting of the leaders of the expedition was arranged for after sunset, but now it was time for dinner. The Rolfsons were very punctual about their meals, as Erik had learned to his embarrassment, several times arriving at the house when they were already gathered and waiting for him.
He ran over and entered their home, to be met with cheerful greetings and the aroma of winter vegetable stew: turnip, broccoli and carrot.
“Welcome, Erik, sit, sit.” Rolfson gestured him to a chair at the table.
“Is that ship still following us?” asked Bjorn.
“Yes. Captain Sharky thinks it is his old enemy, Duke Raymond.”
“So, we might face a sea battle?” Injeborg did not sound dismayed at the idea.
“Perhaps. Although it would be better to slip them during the night.”
Bjorn nodded at this.
After his dinner, Erik thanked the Rolfsons then rushed home through the darkness to reenter the game. He was, in fact, the last to enter the captain’s cabi
n; it was a measure of everyone’s concern that they had clipped up early. His dad’s character had one of the window seats and was closing the shutters behind him to prevent the light cast from an oil lamp from escaping to signal their position. Anonemuss was doing the same in the other window bay. Bjorn, Injeborg, B.E., and Sigrid were sitting, waiting. Erik was pleased to see that they had left the large seat behind the captain’s table for him. At the same time, he was slightly ashamed to find in himself such pride at being leader of the voyage.
“So.” He took his place. “Captain Sharky thinks that this ship is probably that of Duke Raymond. Does anyone have information about this pirate?”
“Of course not,” Anonemuss responded curtly. “If indeed it is a pirate, it is irrelevant to our purposes.”
“Unless he intends to attack.” B.E. was tracing the silver pommel of his sword with his fingertips and did not look up as he spoke.
There was silence after this comment. Erik did not know whether the others were concerned about the prospect of battle or not.
“And what do you think our chances would be?” he asked.
“Good, I would have thought,” answered Harald. “But we cannot be certain and should avoid a clash with them, if possible.”
“Ya,” Bjorn agreed.
“Yes, let us try to avoid them,” Sigrid’s healer chipped in with her opinion.
“I also think we should avoid them. But for another reason.” Anonemuss walked up and down the short space of the cabin floor as he spoke, swaying shadows from the oil lantern playing across his dark form. “I am of the opinion that this pursuing ship is in some way connected to Central Allocations. They tried to bring a stowaway aboard, and that having failed, they hired a ship to follow us so that they have other options than to confront us in the arena before millions of spectators.”
“Possibly,” Harald said.
“So, in the coming night, we are agreed, we will try to evade them. Can I just say something about a possible alternative?” In the back of his mind Erik was thinking of the Avatar and whether it would be a disappointment for the creature if he simply ignored the possibility of obtaining revenge for Captain Sharky over his old rival. “What about us attacking them? Epic is a strange game, and we rarely explore the simplest of plots, let alone the ones that involve various different parts of the world. If this is the ship of Duke Raymond, then it is related to my quest, and fighting him is clearly an important stage in its development. If the ship contains our enemies, then a fight on our own terms might eliminate the threat it contains.”
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