A Seven, Sarius. You carried out my instructions. Here is your reward.’ ‘
The messenger points a bony finger towards one corner of the dark vault they’re standing in. It resembles the cellar of The Final Cut, but it’s not as big, and it looks as if no-one’s been in here for years. Spider’s webs stretch between the vaulted walls, and small greenish mushrooms are growing in the corners.
Sarius finds a new sword and high boots with metal toecaps in the spot the messenger indicated. The sword shimmers golden; Sarius almost gets the impression that light is radiating from it.
‘Thank you.’
‘And thank you. Is there any news you would like to report to me?’
Sarius hesitates. He’s not going to say anything about Jamie’s plans concerning Mr Watson, no way. Should he mention the threatening letter with the gravestone? Better not. He drags something out of his memory that both Jamie and Brynne have told him about.
‘Apparently a girl named Zoe went to pieces recently. I didn’t hear much about it though.’
‘It would interest me more to know what Eric Wu is up to,’ the messenger says. ‘I would be pleased if you could devote more attention to his activities. According to everything I have learnt, he is not well-disposed to us. Now go.’
Sarius makes his way outside with mixed feelings, through a tube-like passageway that leads out of the cellar. He has absolutely no desire to watch Eric sticking to Emily like glue. What will be next? He’s been out with Brynne, and that was bad enough.
The dark passageway is getting wider; it ends at a torch-lit wall with an open door that leads outside.
Finally, Sarius thinks, and stops that same instant, rooted to the spot.
The wall! He goes back a few steps in order to make sure. No, there’s no mistake.
Someone has painted a picture on the wall that takes up almost its entire surface. It resembles an old mural of the type often found in churches – a fresco. The picture shows two people sitting at a table with their heads together. The girl has a burning cigarette lighter in one hand; the other is lying on the hand of the boy who is sitting opposite her. He is very tall and his long dark hair is tied back into a ponytail that hangs down his back . . .
Someone must have taken a photo. There’s no other way, Sarius thinks. And we look like lovers.
He turns away, stumbles through the door into the open. He feels strangely naked and threatened. Even though it’s only a picture. Something in him is afraid that one day this life-sized picture could be hanging on the wall at school.
* * *
‘LordNick found a wish crystal.’
‘Wicked! Did he say what he’s going to do with it?’
‘No, of course not. He’s not stupid.’
The bunch of players sitting around the fire is made up almost entirely of familiar faces: Drizzel, Feniel, Blackspell, Sapujapu, Nurax, and – like a guest of honour somewhat separate from the others – BloodWork. The ruby-red ring is swinging conspicuously on a chain around his neck, identifying him as a member of the Inner Circle.
Twilight is creeping across the horizon in blue and red streaks; it will be dark before long. Sarius sits down with the others at the fire, noting two new arrivals. Sharol is a dark she-elf, a One, Bracco is a lizard man and a Two. They are staying in the background while Drizzel and Blackspell conduct their vampirish conversation.
‘I could really do with a wish crystal. The two I’ve found so far were worth their weight in gold,’ Blackspell is saying.
‘Shut your mouth,’ BloodWork interrupts him. ‘There are beginners here; they need to experience things for themselves. Your drivel will confuse them. Got it?’
‘Sure. Since when have you been so considerate, Blood?’
‘None of your business,’ the gigantic barbarian says. He’s wearing a new helmet that covers his face right down to the nose; its slanted eye-slits make him look more demonic than ever.
‘Just do as I tell you. There’s too much talk as it is. The messenger is not pleased.’
‘Oh, the messenger is not pleased,’ Blackspell mocks. ‘I wouldn’t be either if I were such a yellow-eyed skeleton.’
BloodWork straightens up and reaches for his axe, but then reconsiders.
‘I’ve known a few idiots who went around talking their heads off, and now I know another one.’
‘Oooh, I’m so scared,’ Blackspell says.
The conversation is getting on Sarius’s nerves, just like the fact that everyone has obviously already found a wish crystal except him. ‘So have we got a task today? Or are we just hanging around here?’
‘Finally, someone with the right attitude,’ says BloodWork. ‘We’re waiting for a message. It can’t take much longer.’
But the message doesn’t arrive; instead orcs, armed to the teeth, jump out of the bushes. They are in the definite majority and they’ve got the advantage of surprise. Sarius leaps up and swings his golden sword. He massacres three of the orcs without getting so much as a scratch. BloodWork goes berserk and cuts his enemies to pieces. Drizzel’s using fire spells these days. One of the newcomers, Bracco, has copped it badly. He’s got a head wound that’s bleeding ferociously, and he’s lying on the ground without moving.
Sarius’s blade sings when he whirls it around. Fighting was never so good. He feels stronger, more skilful, lighter on his feet since he became a Seven. It’s exhilarating.
He kills six orcs before victory is announced, and he’s taken less damage than ever before. The messenger declares himself satisfied when he appears shortly afterwards.
‘Sarius, you have acquitted yourself well. I will reward you with fifty pieces of gold.’
The others receive rewards too. Bracco, the wounded lizard, drags himself over orc body parts and is pulled up by the messenger onto his horse.
‘Those who are still strong enough should go in search of escaped sheep,’ the messenger orders. ‘Four shepherds have already died.’
With these words he spurs his horse and gallops away with Bracco swaying on the saddle behind him.
‘I’m going to look for sheep,’ Sarius announces.
‘Me too.’
‘Me too.’
Sapujapu and Nurax join him; they’re both Sixes. That means they’ve each earned another level since the Arena fight, but Sarius is still superior to them.
Drizzel strolls up without saying anything. His pale vampire body towers over Sarius by more than a head.
‘BloodWork, are you coming?’ Sarius asks, because the barbarian isn’t moving, just sitting and staring mutely into the flames of the fire.
‘Blood?’
‘Leave him,’ Drizzel says. ‘He’s probably nodded off.’
They walk over heathland. It’s already very late in the evening, and visibility is steadily deteriorating, but there are barely any obstacles in their path and they make good progress. Sarius would like to chat with the others, to ask them, for example, what sort of a quest looking for sheep is supposed to be. But no fire means no conversation. In his memory he sees a lighter flickering. He shudders.
They are walking alongside a hedge full of pale pink blooms. The colour is clearly visible despite the darkness, but before Sarius can feel suitably surprised, he spots something else, something hanging in the hedge, that makes the blooms fade completely into the background.
A dead body.
As if at an inaudible command the whole group comes to a halt. Only now does Sarius notice that Feniel and Blackspell have followed them too. So at least there are six of them, which is comforting considering the badly mauled corpse in the hedge.
The dead man is hanging there as if he has been pegged out to dry. Something has been eating away at him – no, it has almost eaten him up. There’s hardly any flesh left on the bones. A crooked staff is lying on the ground below the corpse.
Here we have one of the dead shepherds, Sarius thinks, and at that moment he spots the first sheep. A powerful animal with dirty white wool, grazing unde
r a barren tree.
Experience has taught Sarius that it’s stupid to let other people go ahead. His sheep, his prey. He will capture it, as the messenger requested, but he doesn’t see any fenced pasture he could return it to.
The sheep keeps grazing calmly while Sarius creeps up on it through the falling darkness; that’s good, it makes the task easier. As he approaches he discovers something peculiar . . . red and brown stains in the wool, like fresh and dried blood. Must be from the shepherd, he thinks, but he only understands properly when the sheep notices him and raises its head.
A nightmarish head. The sheep’s mouth is wide and protruding, and now the animal draws its lips back like a shark poised to attack, exposing needle-sharp metallic teeth the length of steak knives.
Sarius, who wasn’t expecting a fight, hasn’t even drawn his sword. He makes up for that now while the sheep is running at him. Sarius spots a scrap of the shepherd’s cloak in its teeth.
The first sword-thrust misses its mark; the sheep has doubled back and is snapping at Sarius’s left arm . . . Damn, he’s forgotten to get his shield from his shoulder; his whole left side is uncovered.
Behind him Sarius hears the noise of swords, and whistling blows that could be coming from Sapujapu’s axe. More sheep must have appeared, but there’s no time to look; his own horror-sheep demands Sarius’s complete concentration. It’s so hideously fast, and its teeth so frightening, that he can hardly tear his eyes away from it. Finally a sword-thrust hits home, but it merely cuts through wool. The sheep is going for his unprotected left side again. Sarius parries and strikes at the animal. At least he hits one of its ears, which begins to bleed. But he’s finding it hard to concentrate. The scorpions, the orcs and trolls . . . none of them threw him off balance as much as this bizarre, unnatural sheep. Now it’s attacking again. Blood is running down from its injured ear into its mouth and glistening on the steel teeth.
Because Sarius doesn’t want to look at it any more, because he just wants it gone – in the hope that it won’t follow him into his dreams – he throws strategy to the winds. He runs to meet the animal and bores his sword into its chest. The pointy teeth snap at him, only just missing his hip. He draws the sword back out, thrusting it into the sheep’s body again and again. A soft singing in his ears tells him that he’s injured, if only slightly.
The sheep staggers, but it doesn’t die. Because it’s not a sheep, Sarius realises, but a monster, an infernal creature, a demon. He lifts his sword as high as he can and buries it in the animal’s nape. It takes three strokes before the head rolls into the grass.
He feels sick. He wishes the carcass would sink into the ground without leaving a trace. But there is blood all around him, trickling into the ground. It’s sticking to the golden blade of his sword. Blood and sheep’s wool. Another wave of revulsion rolls over him, and as if to dispel it, Sarius lays into the sheep’s body again with all his strength, over and over, as if he could thereby dissolve it himself. As Sarius is about to turn away, he sees it. A green sparkle between his dead adversary’s ribs. He overcomes his aversion and stoops down, reaches into the body and fetches out a big stone that glows from within. Finally.
Quick as a flash, he looks around, not for more sheep, but to see whether one of the other fighters has noticed anything. No. They’re all still engaged in their skirmishes. He whisks the stone away into his inventory. His elation at the find dispels the last remnants of his revulsion.
Drizzel has finished his fight already too; he’s systematically taking his slaughtered sheep to pieces. In vain, Sarius notes with great satisfaction.
Blackspell and Nurax are still fighting – they’re sharing an opponent – while Sapujapu is fending off a pitch-black sheep alone, with his long axe.
Behind him a dark she-elf is lying on the ground, not stirring. Feniel. So you’ve finally bought it, Sarius thinks spitefully. That’s what you get when you insist on pushing yourself forwards all the time.
A gossamer-fine streak of red remains on Feniel’s sash, no more. The injury tone must be murderous.
Fleetingly, Sarius thinks of his healing potion, which he certainly won’t be administering to his fellow dark elf. Sapujapu he’d help. Maybe. But not this stupid cow.
He turns away, watches Blackspell and Nurax, who are finishing off their sheep. Finally. He can hardly wait for the messenger to appear. He’ll redeem his wish crystal – who knows how many levels he’ll get for it. Right on the dot, as the last sheep takes its last breath, he hears hoof beats.
‘I congratulate you. This was no easy task,’ the messenger says in greeting.
‘It was trivial,’ Drizzel declares.
‘Well, then something trivial should suffice as your reward. Three units of rat meat for Drizzel.’
Sarius can’t contain his malicious delight. First Feniel, then Drizzel – it doesn’t get any better.
‘Sapujapu, as a reward I will improve your equipment,’ the messenger continues, and presents the dwarf with some sort of Viking helmet in black metal with gleaming red horns. The helmet apparently commands lightning spells.
One after another, they receive gold, potions or weapons. The messenger considers Sarius second to last.
‘I will strengthen your fire spell, Sarius. From now on you can not only light fire, you can also fight with it. But the greatest reward is the one you earned yourself, isn’t it?’
Feeling uncomfortable, Sarius says nothing. Actually he didn’t want to let on about finding the wish crystal in front of the others, but the messenger doesn’t seem concerned about that.
‘Yes,’ Sarius says finally.
‘Good. Then think about a wish for your crystal.’
Finally the messenger turns to Feniel. ‘Do you want to die or follow me?’
She lifts her head hesitantly. ‘Follow you.’
‘I thought so. Then come.’
Abruptly he lifts her up behind him on the horse and they gallop off, without him looking round again.
‘And my crystal?’ Sarius wants to ask, but it’s already too late for that. Disappointed, he joins the others at the fire.
‘Sari found a wish crystal and isn’t saying a word. Must be shy,’ Drizzel snipes.
‘I’ve never found one,’ Sapujapu complains. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
‘You have to pretty much tear your dead opponents to pieces,’ Sarius explains. ‘I know it’s not very appetising. This is my first wish crystal too. I nearly had one once, but Lelant grabbed it from under my nose, the arsehole.’
It wasn’t quite like that, admittedly, but who cares. Lelant is an arsehole, that bit’s true, anyway.
‘What are you going to wish for?’ Blackspell inquires.
‘Don’t know yet. And besides, why would I tell you?’
‘Can you show it to me?’ Nurax reaches out his werewolf paw, causing Sarius to take an involuntary step backwards.
‘Forget it.’
The conversation peters out. They’re standing around the fire, waiting.
‘Maybe I’ll just go to bed,’ Sapujapu says suddenly. ‘I’m dead tired.’
Now that Sapujapu has mentioned it, Sarius notices his own tiredness, as if it were an animal that raised its head when called. But there’s no way he’s going to bed before he knows what he can use his wish crystal for.
‘You’re going to miss everything if you stop now,’ says Nurax. ‘The coolest quests are always at night!’
‘That’s not going to help if I nod off and they butcher me,’ Sapujapu retorts. ‘Honestly, people, I’ve had it for today.’
Sapujapu has barely finished his sentence before two of the gnomes appear out of the bushes, frantic as ever.
‘Alert! Ortolan is setting new monsters on us; they are attacking the smithy. We need reinforcements, follow us!’
Drizzel sets off immediately, with Nurax right behind. Blackspell isn’t taking his eyes off Sarius – what is he waiting for? An opportune moment to nick the wish crystal from him? Just in
case, Sarius draws his sword, whereupon the vampire turns away and follows the others.
‘You really not coming, Sapujapu?’
Sarius and the dwarf are the last two left standing at the fire.
‘No, sorry. I can hardly see straight, and I’m seriously worried that one of these monsters might do for me. Maybe we’ll see each other in the morning, huh?’
Sapujapu shuffles off towards the rose hedge. Even at night its blooms are bright dots in the landscape. Sarius looks after him regretfully. It’s a shame – Sapujapu’s good value, unlike these other idiots he’ll have to follow now, like it or not.
He sets off. The others are making heaps of noise; he’s not going to lose their trail in a hurry. Maybe if he speeds up, he might even catch up with them.
A hoarse screech makes him flinch. In the night sky, he spots a patch of gold that’s circling like a giant flying star. When it screeches again he realises that it’s the golden hawk, and ducks instinctively.
‘Don’t worry, he’s not hunting.’
Sarius cries out in fright. The messenger is standing in front of him and beckoning with his bony hand, beckoning him over.
‘What is your most ardent wish, Sarius? You found one of the magic crystals. Use it wisely. What do you wish for?’
As much as I can get, Sarius thinks. He looks up at the messenger, looks directly into the yellow light of his eyes.
‘What about a few levels, say? Or a place in the Inner Circle?’
The messenger smiles.
‘A place in the Inner Circle is one of the things that one must achieve for oneself. Like a person’s love, or a friend’s trust. However, apart from those sorts of wishes, many things are possible – probably more than you can imagine.’
Sarius’s mind is at work. It’s like a fairytale – he has one wish. Except in this fairytale the fairy is ugly.
‘Perhaps Nick Dunmore has a request?’ the messenger suggests. ‘A special request?’
Nick Dunmore would like to mutate into a Chemistry genius, Sarius thinks bitterly. He would like to get top marks in his exams without any effort. But presumably that counts as one of the things you have to earn for yourself.
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