Samira is standing near him the whole time. He keeps getting the impression that she wants to talk to him, but doesn’t know how to go about it.
‘Blood’s old helmet is rubbish,’ Keskorian gripes. ‘I would have preferred a decent sword.’
‘Well, you should have really gone for it just now then,’ Nurax says.
‘Yeah, yeah. Great, go ahead and enjoy your harness. But I’m telling you, it’s rubbish too. How many defence points does it have? Fourteen? You may as well just fold yourself a paper one.’
‘As if.’ Nurax splutters. ‘Fourteen are definitely going to repel orc arrows – which nearly cost me all my life energy yesterday!’
Sarius is keeping out of the discussion. He’s realised that his doublet might be a problem. Only five points of defence. Hopefully there aren’t any orcs nearby.
‘Take a look at Blood’s harness! How many points of strength does it have?’
BloodWork takes his time to answer.
‘Fifty-two.’
‘I don’t want to know what he had to do for that,’ Sapujapu says.
‘And it’s none of your bloody business,’ declares the giant barbarian.
‘Careful! The messenger already cautioned someone about swearing. A dwarf. I was there.’
As Nurax speaks, a new figure arrives at the fire – a dark she-elf, with a longbow hanging over her shoulder. The black, tightly woven plait reminds Sarius of Emily. He calls up her name: Arwen’s Child.
‘Hi, AC.’ Nurax greets her. ‘Wow, you’re a Three now! Congratulations!’
‘Thanks. It wasn’t a big deal. No battle today?’
‘We’re just finished,’ Keskorian informs her. ‘Four trolls – it was no joke. Do you know everyone here? You know BloodWork at any rate, don’t you?’
‘Yes, we searched for a stone changeling together. Hi, Blood.’
The barbarian doesn’t answer, just sits unmoving, staring into the fire.
‘But I don’t know LaCor – or Sapujapu or Samira or Sarius either. Are names starting with Sa in right now?’
‘Better than being nicked from Lord of the Rings,’ Sarius responds and earns applause from Samira.
Arwen’s Child takes a few steps towards Sarius. ‘You’re a One,’ she states.
‘Yes.’
‘Any more Ones here?’
‘I’ve already seen four of them today,’ Lelant says. Sarius has almost forgotten about the quiet dark elf. Possibly due to the fact that Lelant has taken ‘dark’ very literally. His clothing is all black, like his hair. His face is the colour of coffee with hardly any milk. Nick can’t help wondering whether Colin might not be concealed behind the figure.
‘There are more and more Ones. Including Sarius there have been two dark elves, a werewolf and a human today.’
‘Humans are totally rare,’ Sapujapu observes.
‘And unnecessary,’ BloodWork adds.
Sarius would like to ask a few questions during the ensuing lull in the conversation. Like whether the spinning oval stone above them is a wish crystal. And what he should do in order to survive the next battle with his poor equipment. Or how he can get to the next level quickly. Because by the look of it, he’s nothing as a One. ‘Have you got any good tips you can give me?’ he asks around. ‘Yes. Try to stay alive,’ Nurax says. ‘It’s best to stay close to a very strong character while you’re still so weak yourself.’
‘But keep away from me,’ BloodWork says. ‘Bloody elves.’
‘How come you’re giving the newbie tips anyway?’ Keskorian grumbles. ‘We’re opponents, remember? Do you want to get the final reward yourself, or have him get it? For all I care all the new-bies can snuff it. There’s too many of us already anyway.’
‘That’s right,’ says BloodWork.
‘Too many for what?’ Sarius enquires.
Nurax stays silent, seeing he’s been reprimanded so sharply. But Sapujapu ignores the barbarian’s objections.
‘Too many for this last fight. The big battle against Ortolan. Only five or six people can be in on it, and then they’re going to win . . . a sort of jackpot. You wouldn’t believe how keen BloodWork is to do it.’
The barbarian in question swings his fist and knocks Sapujapu to the ground with one blow. Part of the dwarf’s belt goes black. ‘Shut your faces, you idiots. You haven’t got a clue.’
With these words BloodWork moves away from the fire. He stands at the forest’s edge; Keskorian follows him over there the way a dog follows its master.
‘Can he do that? Is that allowed?’ Nurax asks agitatedly, as Sapujapu struggles to his feet again.
‘Apparently. Otherwise the messenger’s gnome would have turned up long since and cautioned him. They’re always there straightaway if there’s the teensiest breach of the rules,’ Arwen’s Child declares.
At exactly that moment something hops out of the bushes. A gnome with orange-coloured skin. Apart from that he looks just like the one from the tower.
Ah, Sarius thinks. Trouble for the muscle man.
But the gnome doesn’t say a word about BloodWork’s roughness.
‘A message from your master. Grave robbers are looting the sacred sites. Kill them, and their loot is yours. Get started! Separate, spread out, speed up!’
He extinguishes the fire with a gesture of his hand and disappears into the bushes.
What do we do now? Sarius wants to ask, but now the fire is gone and hence so is the opportunity to converse. Do the others know where the sacred sites are located? Obviously not, since they are running in various directions. BloodWork is bashing his way through the thicket to the left, with Keskorian following close behind. LaCor and Arwen’s Child run to the right; Nurax, Golor and Lelant have already dashed off after the barbarians as well.
Sarius is sticking by Sapujapu’s side so he won’t be left behind on his own. The dwarf is not exactly nimble, and at least speed is one of the attributes Sarius chose for himself. The way ahead leads into the forest, where they are greeted by darkness and threatening noises. Sarius is staying close to Sapujapu, but his own stamina is dwindling with every step. Is it because he’s a One? Sapujapu is trotting along slowly but steadily. If Sarius needs to rest, the dwarf won’t wait. Why would he?
The stamina bar is getting shorter and shorter. Sarius is gasping, breathing fast and beginning to stumble. If he could take a quick breather . . . But Sapujapu is pulling away from him like a steam engine, and Sarius doesn’t want to stay behind by himself. So he runs, always keeping an eye on the blue bar. Then there’s a climb – it’s not long or steep, but it’s too much for him. He simply falls to the ground. His chest rises and falls in rapid, desperate breaths as Sapujapu disappears through the undergrowth.
The sound of fighting can already be heard some distance away. Well, well – BloodWork was on the right track, and now he’s probably living up to his name. Sarius gets slowly to his feet. He’s swaying, and weary to the bone. At least he knows the direction now, and he’ll follow the battle sounds. If some grave robbers are left for him, that’s fine. If not, it can’t be helped.
Sarius continues on cautiously, bent on conserving his energy. It’s not long before the black wall appears on his left again. He stops for a rest, and taps around on the shiny stones with his sword, hoping to once again uncover a bit of text that will help him along. The black crumbles, but behind it there’s just more black. Sarius follows the wall a short distance into the forest and tries again. He finds black stone, nothing more. In frustration he hacks away at a tree, whereupon something flies up out of the treetop and makes off with muffled beats of its wings.
However the bird is evidently not the only creature he has startled. Something’s rustling in the thick bushes only a few paces away. And sparkling.
Sarius still has his sword in his hand. He runs to the thicket and strikes at it blindly. There’s a scream and a tinkling sound. The next minute a goblin-like being jumps out, with skin as yellow and creased as parchment. It’s a grave r
obber, for sure. He’s bleeding heavily from his shoulder, but still won’t let go of the sparkling things clutched tightly in his arms. Sarius runs after him, lunges at him with the sword, but misses. The goblin loses something that looks like a silver bowl, and runs on. With the next thrust of his sword Sarius inflicts a deep wound in the grave robber’s leg. He cries out and falls, without letting go of his loot. Sarius doesn’t hesitate. Twice he thrusts at the goblin, until he’s not . . .
‘Nick?’
. . . moving any more. His arms slide to his side, a helmet rolls to the ground, a short dagger, an . . .
‘Nick? What’s that you’re playing?’
‘Tell you later.’
. . . an amulet, and something that looks like leg armour. Hurriedly Sarius gathers up everything, but there was something else too, there was . . .
‘Is it new? Where did you get it?’
‘Hang on, okay? Give me another minute!’
Exactly. The bowl that the robber lost. Where’s it gone? Rolled away. Blast it. It has to be somewhere. He pokes around in the bushes.
‘Have you eaten already?’
‘Can’t you leave me in peace for just one minute, for God’s sake?’
There’s the bowl. It had rolled against a tree trunk. A sudden noise behind him is shockingly loud. He spins around.
It was his mother slamming the door.
CHAPTER 6
Out in the kitchen water was bubbling away in a big saucepan. Mum had her elbows propped on the workbench and was leafing through a magazine. She’d almost drained her glass of red wine.
‘I’m sorry about before.’ Nick inspected his mother from behind. She’d had two orange streaks put in her black hair. They were new, and he didn’t like them.
‘There’s pasta with packet sauce,’ she said, without looking up. ‘That’s all I can manage today.’ She yawned. ‘What was it that I interrupted so terribly?’
‘Oh, nothing. Sorry, I behaved like an idiot.’
‘Yes you did.’ Mum turned to him and smiled. ‘I guess it was getting exciting?’
‘Yeah.’ He felt obliged to explain more. ‘I got it today. It’s an adventure game. Not bad at all.’
His mother tipped the pasta into the boiling water. ‘I hope you’ve done some school work as well.’
‘Of course,’ said Nick, and hid his bad conscience behind a smile.
Eleven p.m. The buzzing of the light globe over the desk. A car parking in a nearby street. And exhausted quiet in a flat that smelled of tomato sauce with garlic powder.
After dinner Nick had managed to quickly scrawl his English essay. Now he switched the computer on and started up Erebos. For several minutes he waited tensely for the black of the screen to vanish and the red writing to appear. He only noticed that he’d been holding his breath when the game started up and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The night-time landscape is unfamiliar to him. This isn’t the forest where he slayed the grave robber, nor the place where he battled the troll. It’s heathland, and slightly hilly. There are trees here and there.
The grave robber! It occurs to Sarius that he hasn’t yet checked whether he’s retained all his captured treasure. He takes a look in his inventory and breathes a sigh of relief. The bowl is there, the helmet, the dagger, the amulet. He wants to put on the helmet straightaway, but annoyingly it doesn’t work.
He walks further through the rustling heath grasses, once more without a destination in mind. He longs for the music, or voices, but there is only the night wind’s light breeze, and . . . a distant rushing sound. This time he doesn’t hesitate to follow the sound and it’s not long before he comes upon a river that glows a completely unnatural light blue colour in the night landscape. Sarius looks around for a fire. Without a fire there’s no conversation, and without conversation there’s no information. He could kindle one himself – after all, he has the ability. Perhaps the fire would attract someone, and they could talk. Sarius is almost bursting with unspoken questions. Then he remembers that Sapujapu only lit his fire after the messenger with the yellow eyes granted permission. Better not break any rules.
He walks for a long time, until he thinks he sees a gleam of light some distance away. His initial delight is mingled with trepidation. Sarius alone in the heathland feels very vulnerable to attack. He draws his sword, but immediately feels ridiculous and puts it away again. Each step seems to betray him by its loudness.
When the fire comes into view, he sighs with relief. The scene appears peaceful. There are only two figures standing in the flickering light: a dark elf and a vampire. He doesn’t know either of them.
‘Hi. Is there room for one more?’
The dark elf, whose name is Xohoo, shifts aside.
‘Of course. Even for a One. What’s your name – Sarius? Shit, that reminds me of Latin.’
‘Don’t mention the world outside Erebos,’ the vampire, whose name is Drizzel, warns him. ‘Otherwise you’ll get your knuckles rapped so hard by the messenger that you won’t be able to hold a sword any more.’
Drizzel. Sarius has come across the name before, he just can’t recall where. He looks at the glowing blue river thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, can I ask you guys something?’
Drizzel bares his fangs.
‘Sure. And then we’ll think about whether we give you an answer.’ Sarius considers carefully before he puts his question.
‘How come you can see that I’m a One, but I can’t see your level?’
It’s Xohoo who answers.
‘Because we’re more advanced than you. You only ever see the levels of those weaker than you.’
‘So when I’m a Two, I’ll be able to recognise the Ones?’
‘Exactly.’
Finally – some useful information. Feeling pleased, Sarius follows up with his next question.
‘How do I become a Two? I can’t see my points anywhere, or a progress bar.’
‘That’s not how it works. You have to wait until he thinks you’re ready.’
‘He?’
No further answer is forthcoming from Xohoo, which pleases Drizzel.
‘Good, you’re finally shutting up. You know perfectly well that we’re not supposed to blab so much.’
‘But I haven’t given any secrets away,’ Xohoo defends himself. Steps can be heard in the background. A barbarian joins the small group. She’s much taller than Sarius, but her tiny skirt is ludicrously short over her muscle-packed thighs. She carries an enormous axe over her shoulder. Sarius checks out her name: Tyrania. That’s very telling.
‘It’s dead boring around here,’ she states in greeting. ‘Don’t we have a quest?’
‘No. Can’t you tell?’ Xohoo answers.
‘Okay, anyone feel like a duel?’ Tyrania takes the axe off her shoulder and whips it around in a semi-circle, barely missing Sarius’s chest.
Drizzel has nothing but scorn for her suggestion. ‘Are you daft? We’re not in the city here, let alone in the Arena! Anyway – me, fight a duel with a barbarian? I’d have to be as thick in the head as your lot. Go start a fight with one of those other muscle-bound idiots. One of these days you’ll figure out that life energy doesn’t grow on —’
The attack comes without any warning, from the water – even worse, it’s the very water that attacks. The glowing blue river makes towering waves, and the waves become gigantic female figures who leap onto the shore with one bound and submerge everything in surreal blue light.
Sarius tugs his sword out of its sheath, although he feels like running away. It’s water, just water.
Unfortunately his blows go through his attackers’ bodies as if through water too. There are seven of them, and they outnumber Tyrania, Drizzel and him terrifyingly. Xohoo must have slipped away; he’s nowhere to be seen.
Sarius tackles the smallest of the water women. He swings his sword against her body, searching for a vulnerable spot, but there’s nothing there. His weapon glides through her leg, stomach, and chest with a so
ft smacking sound. For the life of him he can’t reach any higher.
Well, at least we’re not hurting each other, he thinks. Not I her, nor she me.
The next moment the woman takes a big step towards Sarius – no, onto Sarius – and stays there. Her leg imprisons him like a shining blue column of water.
The agonising buzzing in his ears is there again, drilling into his brain. He sees the life draining from him. I’m drowning, he realises.
A step to the side, another. The giant follows him effortlessly. He’s trapped in her and can’t get out, no matter how wildly he thrashes about him with his sword. Tyrania is in trouble too, whereas Drizzel has reached the safety of the trees. Sarius sees him disappear in the darkness, wants to follow him, but can’t. The five attackers who haven’t found opponents glide back into the river. He manages to take that in as the high tone in his head reaches an unbearable level.
The fire spell, thinks Sarius. Fire against water. He has to figure out how it’s done; he’s never lit a fire before. It will have to be quick though – his belt is almost completely black. Quickly!
There’s a sizzle, and steam rises. The water giant gives him up with a sound like storm-tossed waves, flows apart and reunites with the river. A few moments later the same thing happens with Tyrania. She copied my trick, Sarius thinks, miffed.
To his annoyance she’s in much better shape than he is; she’s barely lost half her energy. As for himself, Sarius sees only now how little life is left in him. He hardly dares to move. In any case he’s paralysed by the high tone that came with his injury, like last time. He’s probably going to croak when the last bit of red disappears from his belt. But that mustn’t happen, it can’t. So he’s not going to take any risks now. Sarius stands there motionless. Who knows: probably even just stumbling might be enough to send him to the hereafter.
But it seems that he’s not going to be granted any time to recuperate. Someone is approaching – Sarius can hear hoof beats. Is it one person, or several? Now he does move, drawing his sword and walking slowly to the forest’s edge. Drizzel vanished in there just before, and Sarius plans to follow suit. He can’t afford courage any more. Damn, why couldn’t he have been more careful?
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