“Yes.” Ragnok permitted himself a small smile at this, the first time his new status had been put into words. And by a creature from Epic!
“That makes evident sense.” The vampyre indicated his satisfaction, with a nod that seemed to draw the two of them into the complicity of sharing a great crime, and greater ones to come. “Then I must alert you to a danger that you are probably unaware of.” He paused to add emphasis to his next words. “It is possible to destroy this realm. Lacking an understanding of your true natures, I made a terrible, if understandable, mistake and have allowed certain of your beings to understand this—beings who have not only professed a desire to end the world but even as we speak have laid their hands on the one item capable of doing this.”
“No! That’s not possible.” Ragnok was stunned and remained silent, his mind racing. Who would conceivably end the game?
“Alas, while the task is very difficult, it is possible. Perhaps only once in a hundred years might there arise a group of people who were capable of completing the quest—especially if they had the resources of a dragon hoard to assist them.”
“Those stupid kids from Osterfjord!” Ragnok expressed his realization with a snarl.
“Stupid? I think not.” The vampyre’s voice hardened with disapproval, and Ragnok shuddered, layers of ice clamping down upon his body. “They are the slayers of Inry’aat, the ancient. They contrived to escape me with the aid of King Aquirion, whose realm has lain undisturbed beneath the waves for a thousand years. Since their escape, they have been rigorous in only traveling by day, when I cannot harm them. They are not to be underestimated.” The glare that accompanied this statement caused Ragnok to quail and shrink, desperate for this encounter to end, yet desiring to stay all night in the company of this monster who, despite being some kind of evolved NPC, appreciated so well the dark ambitions of his soul.
“Very well.” Ragnok spoke in a dry, hesitant voice. “I will go and slay the Osterfjord Players.”
The vampyre nodded. “Good, my ally. Let me wish you as long a life in your realm as I look forward to in mine.” The creature stretched its arms wide, wings becoming corporeal from the shimmering robes in which he was clad. A wave of dark joy caressed Ragnok as the vampyre began to rise, and he would have liked nothing better than to have wallowed in it.
He tore himself away from the tainted feeling with a wince of trepidation.
“I mean that, as the Executioner, I will go and assassinate their characters.”
Count Illystivostich immediately stiffened, sinking heavily back to the ground.
“But that is not good enough, my friend.” The voice of the vampyre was measured, but Ragnok quailed slightly at the undertone of suppressed anger that emerged from its thin lips. “While attempting to plead for her life, the one called Cindella put an argument to me that still causes me deep concern.” At this, the vampyre looked curiously at Ragnok, as though measuring him for a coffin. “Killing them in this realm does not remove their knowledge of the way to end the world. They will return in new forms, forms that we will not recognize, correct?”
“Correct,” Ragnok answered promptly and eagerly.
“Then, do you not see? To destroy their knowledge permanently, you must kill them in your realm.” The vampyre’s gaze burned all the more fiercely, encouraging Ragnok to revel in the excitement of the hunt, and its bloody conclusion.
“Ahh. Um, that’s impossible.” Again he quailed, afraid to incur the disapproval of the count.
“Are you not the most powerful being in your world, then?” The vampyre scowled and his expression tore at Ragnok’s heart.
“Yes, yes I am. But our world is very different from this; you wouldn’t understand. Nobody, not one person, even strikes another, let alone kills them. I am the only person in my world to commit murder,” he hurriedly explained, anxious to prove his worth to the count. “But only because no one knows. The whole world would turn against me if I harmed even one of that group—of any group.”
“Very well.” The count was matter of fact, as if he had anticipated such a response, and Ragnok felt a surge of relief that the vampyre’s displeasure had not increased. “In that case, we must guard the Ethereal Tower of Nightmare and ensure that they cannot enter it.”
“I’ve heard of that place. . . .” Ragnok struggled to remember; it was hard to recall the past while the vivid aura of the vampyre surrounded him so powerfully in the present. “Yes, I have it! You are talking about the Epicus Ultima; Svein Redbeard is always asking about that tower.”
“If they enter that tower, all is lost. This world ends. I shall marshal my forces to guard it. Do the same.”
“But where is it?”
At this, the vampyre chuckled a laugh of deep irony—a laugh that made Ragnok blush with embarrassment and ignorance. The count was slowly spinning a web of moonlight, connecting the standing stones together, until the pattern of the tower became obvious.
“It is right here. However, it materializes only when the two moons are full and the appropriate spells are cast. Fortunately for us, that limits our opponents. They can try to enter but only once every two months.” He paused to confirm that Ragnok was following him, and continued at the Executioner’s eager nod. “The next such night is four days from now. You will be ready?”
“Oh, yes!” Ragnok nodded earnestly. There was no way he was going to let Svein or anyone complete the Epicus Ultima and perhaps ruin the world.
“Good.” The vampyre walked towards him, a trail of dead grass beneath his feet. Surprising himself, Ragnok found he no longer feared the count and did not even flinch as the creature drew close.
“Let us meet here in three nights’ time to review our plans.” The vampyre caressed the visor of Ragnok’s crafted armor with long twisted fingernails, creating a distressing, scratching sound that reverberated in his helmet.
Then he was gone, and Ragnok could breathe again.
He unclipped to the sound of the night crickets resuming their calls.
Chapter 28
FINEM FACERE MUNDO
Although tempted to roll over and return to his dreams, Erik threw back his blankets, so that the cold air would make him get up. The farm chores were mounting with all the time he was spending in Epic. The place was rapidly becoming a shambles, and since there was now a real chance of his parents’ return, Erik looked at the mess with new, guilty eyes. Fortunately the olive trees more or less took care of themselves this time of year. He should, however, spend a day or two helping the Rolfsons to transfer their seedlings from the nursery into the rows that had been prepared for the tiny shoots.
The kitchen presented Erik with his first surprise of the day. All the dishes had been washed, dried, and stacked neatly back on the shelves. A vigorous fire was causing a welcome heat to radiate from the stove, and on top a pan of water simmered. With a shrug, Erik poured himself a little of the near boiling water, and added some lemon juice. It was a bitter but reviving drink.
Outside, the morning was cold and clear. Again, Erik was taken aback; the yard was no longer covered in filth and straw that had accumulated from allowing the donkeys to roam around as they pleased. The cobbles were swept and glistening from water that had recently been pumped over them; the scent of disinfectant was strong. From the barn on the far side of the yard, Erik could hear the sound of cheerful whistling. He entered the dark stable.
“Morning.”
“A beautiful day, isn’t it, Erik?” Svein beamed at him, looking up from the table at which he was working, cleaning and polishing a heap of leather harnessing.
“You didn’t have to tidy the house and the yard, you know.” Erik was embarrassed; it was not right for a guest to do the chores.
“Oh, I’m glad to do some real work,” the elderly man said, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag. “It’s been a while, you know.” He moved his stool. “Here, come and join me.”
So Erik sat beside him, and for a while they worked their way through the equi
pment in comfortable silence, filing away flecks of rust on the buckles before coating them in a protecting layer of grease. Away from his persona of the dragonslayer, Svein was different, Erik observed with discreet glances. The former chief librarian’s face lacked the charisma it commanded at the time of the dragonslaying celebrations in Hope. Close up, his thinning hair and wrinkled face were not the features he associated with the warrior in the game—he could have been one of the old men from the village, and have spent his entire life here.
One of the donkeys snorted, and shuffled in its stall. Svein looked up and caught Erik’s stare.
“So, what next for you and your friends?” That Svein’s question was meant to be supportive was shown by the warm smile that accompanied it.
“I’m not sure. We have a meeting this afternoon to discuss what to do,” Erik replied.
“I don’t suppose I could join you there? On my portable set?”
“No. Well, maybe later. We have to discuss matters among ourselves.”
“I understand. You have a date for your duel with C.A.?” Again Svein sounded sympathetic.
“Well, I spoke to Thorstein yesterday, the Hope librarian. He said it would be towards the end of next month. Such challenges are rare.”
“Rare!” Svein chuckled. “They never happen. A constitutional change like that. It will really rattle them all; I can just imagine the C.A. meeting to discuss it.” He laid down the harness that he was working on. “I wonder if the people will support you, or if they will fear the return of the exiles? You do know that you are setting loose people convicted of violence?”
“Like my dad?” Erik asked defensively.
“No. His actions were understandable. There are other, much worse cases.”
“I know.” Erik was indeed troubled by this problem. “But still, who are we to pick and choose? It has to be all of them.”
Svein pulled a face that suggested he did not agree, but he said nothing.
“How about you?” asked Erik with genuine curiosity. “What are you going to do now? Will you rejoin Central Allocations?”
At once, Svein’s good-natured expression fell away to be replaced by a stern, set mouth and fierce gaze. “They will have to beg for my return—all of them. Anyway, why should I? I’m free from all duties. I can devote myself to the Epicus Ultima. Let them deal with me when I have completed that. In any case,” he continued in a less animated tone, “it would not be right to return to C.A. now, while you have a challenge pending, even if they did beg for me—which I very much doubt will happen. You brought me back to life. The least I can do is stand aside until your challenge is done, whether I agree with it or not.”
For the first time, Erik felt that he did not have to be on guard in the presence of Svein Redbeard. The words struck him as true, reflecting Svein’s sincere gratitude that the Osterfjord Players had saved him from the loss of his beloved character.
Estimating that midday had arrived and the meeting would be starting, Erik went upstairs and clipped up.
#smile
Cindella the Swashbuckler twirled out of her box, hands on hips, ready to defy the world; soon afterwards, a whirlpool of sound and color rushed up to engulf him.
“Here we are.” The first words he heard were those of Anonemuss, coming through to him while the world of Epic steadied around him.
Yesterday they had unclipped near to a pleasant, sandy shore, in a grove of tall palm trees. Reassuringly nothing had changed; out to sea, the sparkling blue waves rolled up to the shore and dragged layers of sand back with their undertow, creating the faint brushing sound that could be heard with soothing regularity in the background.
More or less in a circle were Harald Goldenhair, Anonemuss, Injeborg’s witch, Sigrid’s healer, B.E.’s warrior, and Bjorn’s warrior. Cindella was indeed the last to arrive.
“What did Thorstein say?” asked Harald, at once getting to the point.
“Yes. The challenge is lodged. He says it is such an important law that it will have to pass up the system. We won’t get to fight until the end of next month.”
“That’s a shame, but we can wait.” Sigrid spoke. She was sitting on a barnacle-covered rock, making patterns in the sand under her feet.
“Perhaps we can. But not in complete safety.” Anonemuss rested his hand on the hilts of his curved blades.
“What do you mean?” asked Injeborg.
“So long as we meet by day, we are safe from the vampyre. But not from their assassin. Suppose he uses magic to find us? A month is long enough to come from Newhaven and hunt us down. Or if we stay out of Epic altogether, long enough to prepare to ambush us as we go to the arena of Cassinopia.”
“Yes,” Harald agreed. “That is a possibility.”
“We could take the chance all the same, and wait a month. Or there is another option.” Erik suddenly saw the opportunity to raise an idea he had been dwelling upon.
“Oh no, not again! I hear the same tone in your voice that you used to have when you talked about killing a dragon.” Bjorn deliberately sounded dismayed, but Erik knew that he was only joking.
“From what the vampyre told us, there is something in the buried treasure that might be able to bring the whole game to an end. Right?” Erik looked to Anonemuss, the other witness to that terrifying conversation.
“Correct. He made that pretty clear. The vampyre was seriously alarmed.”
“But why end the game?” asked B.E. “We are rich and powerful right now.” He laughed aloud, suddenly aware that his question sounded selfish. But still, he needed to be answered.
“Because Epic is not real. Yet everyone is spending hours and hours at it, while the real world collapses. It’s time we woke up from this dream.” Injeborg sprang to her feet. “Erik’s idea is a good one. It takes the power from C.A. and all the committees for good.”
“I like the idea of ending the game,” agreed Anonemuss. “If that’s really what will happen. But who will govern then? Me? With my force of exiles? Shall I march on Mikelgard after all?”
“Don’t be creepy. When you talk like that, I want nothing to do with you.” Sigrid turned away in disgust. Anonemuss simply shrugged.
“No. We use the interface to make plans across the whole world—plans that the majority of people agree to. We can have meetings of all the different branches of industry and agriculture; different specialists can get together over the system. The villages and towns can elect representatives if it gets unwieldy. It will be a lot of work, but it will be real work and we will have a common purpose, instead of fighting against each other.” Injeborg was passionate and had clearly been thinking ahead.
“That’s what I want.” Erik smiled in admiration.
“That sounds good to me,” added Bjorn.
“And to me.” Harald raised a hand.
Sigrid raised her hand next, followed at once by Anonemuss, leaving only B.E.
“Sure, why not?” He hesitated only slightly. “And in any case, we have a month until the battle in the arena. It would be a waste to come all this way and not find the treasure. So, where is it?”
Erik suddenly felt the circle’s focus was on him. “I’ve been wondering the same. I think it’s over there, to the north.” Cindella pointed. “I have the map pretty clear in my head, but it’s hard from here down on the beach to align all the landmarks properly.”
“Draw them for me on the sand. I might be able to help,” commanded Injeborg.
So Cindella snatched up a stick and drew two long lines that intersected, forming a cross. Erik then made small marks on the lines. “This is a stack, out at sea. This is a white rock. This one was labeled ‘hut’; that’s a palm grove; that’s a stream and that’s a blowhole.”
“I see.” Injeborg studied the marks for a while, then she looked up into the sky and out to sea. Sweeping elegantly just above the white foam of the waves was a seagull. For one eerie moment, Erik felt that the gull was the very same one that had been outside the window of the room
that Cindella had first materialized in.
“Cawww! Caww!” Injeborg called out to the bird in a scream that startled them, the air crackling with magic. The bird gave a few strong beats of its wings and dived amongst them, landing without the slightest fear. Her eyes closed, cloak thrown back behind her, Injeborg threw her arms into the air and chanted a spell. At once, the bird took to the sky, weaving a path higher and higher through invisible streams of air. No one spoke, fearing to break the witch’s concentration as the seagull circled above them, a distant gray v in a blue, cloudless sky. At last, she relaxed.
“Yes. It’s just on that promontory to the north. Follow me.”
It was mid-afternoon before they struck the chest. Bjorn, whose warrior had nearly infinite stamina for this kind of work, had been digging the deepest, longest trenches; it was he who called them over. Typically he had not cried out on the first sign of the wooden box, but had already cleared all around it to make sure it was no false alarm. As they heaved it up, sandy soil poured off the lid, showing the chest underneath to be promisingly massive; thick brass plates were riveted to worn but sturdy panels of oak; great brass hinges were fastened all along the back of the chest, and a strong padlock guarded the contents.
Even though money was no longer important to him, Erik was still excited. Not only was there inevitably something thrilling about discovering a buried treasure chest, but he also felt delighted that he had completed the quest given to him when Cindella was a pauper and had nothing but her wits and her beauty to aid her.
“Well, let’s see.” B.E. raised an ax to break off the lock.
“Wait!” commanded Anonemuss. “Let me check for traps.” The dark elf brought out a small wallet, from which he drew two thin metal tools, which looked like long needles. After probing the lock and the hinges of the chest, he straightened up. “Very well—it’s clear, I think.” All the same, Anonemuss took a step or two back as B.E. lifted an ax again. Erik, too, found himself edging back.
The lid of the chest bounced up from the force of B.E.’s blow, revealing a glow of gold and nothing more harmful.
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