Epic (19 page)

Svein Redbeard ran to the side of the stage and waved. A loud rumbling commenced, rising in pitch, until it settled in a rhythm that resonated in the chests of everyone present. From a side street, a large new brightly painted tractor slowly drove into the square, the crowd parting with cries of delight. Behind the tractor was a trailer, over whose platform had been spread a cloth laden with strange-looking fruits and large baked treats. Applause rang around the square.

“Now, coming from the South myself, I know that we enjoy a very healthy diet of olives and fish.” He laughed at their groans. “So, I thought I’d give you a taste of some of the other foods our lands produce. Then you can appreciate how lucky we are. They have to put up with these terribly fattening cakes in the North, and the extraordinary watery panyans of the East.

“But before you all rush to imperil your health, I would like everyone to join with me in giving three great cheers to these, your dragonslayers; see that they are loud enough to be heard in Oceanview!” Everyone laughed at this reference to the slight rivalry that existed between Hope and the district to their west.

“Hip hip! Hurray!” Svein lifted the roar with a gesture of both his arms. Three times the crowd gave a mighty cheer, and each time Erik felt as proud and as embarrassed as he had ever been in his life.

Later, as they sat at the table of honor, enjoying their food, Svein addressed them personally.

“So, what are your plans? Your ambitions? You can take it for granted that a University place is yours.”

B.E. laughed happily. “What more is there? I’m a dragonslayer. I have no need to work again.”

“But perhaps a need to do something worthwhile?” Svein challenged him.

“Like what?”

“Helping our society run smoothly. You are all too aware of the shortages; it is a great challenge to cope with them, to keep life going at as high a standard as possible.”

“Administration?” B.E. shook his head. “That’s too boring for me, I’m afraid.”

“Exploration then? You could use your resources to equip survey teams—explore mountain ranges, the depths of the sea. Every year our central allocation to such adventures seems wasteful and it is reduced. But if it were privately funded, why, there would be no pressure for results. Not short-term expeditions, but a proper one.”

“Actually,” Injeborg said a little hesitantly. Could she really be shy in the presence of Svein Redbeard? It was so uncharacteristic that Erik smiled at her to encourage her to speak up with confidence. “I was interested in studying geology before this, to help discover new sources of energy.”

Svein looked at her attentively.

“Our dad, you see, before getting allocated to the farm, had to go mining,” she hurried on. “It’s very hard for fathers to be away, and it’s filthy and dangerous.”

“Wonderful!” The Casiocrat leaned back so that everyone at the table could see his admiration for this young girl. “You can be assured that you will get every help in such a goal. I would suggest coming to University for at least a year, to study the field and to meet other people who will eventually form part of your team. I’m sure you will have a great and famous career.

“And how about you, young man?” Svein turned to Erik, who felt his mum stiffen, her hand pausing for a moment before continuing to lift a spoon to her mouth. “You can get that tooth fixed for a start.” He smiled invitingly.

Behind closed lips, Erik ran his tongue over his broken tooth before speaking. “I don’t know. It’s part of the person I am now.”

Svein chuckled and patted Erik’s arm in a gesture of shared camaraderie. “Wait until you are among the young women at University—you will change your mind.”

The prospect of going to Mikelgard University and changing, wearing better clothes, appeared before Erik, and the image included him having a perfect white smile. But he didn’t want to change. Keeping the tooth as it was proved he was from a small district with poor resources.

“I just want my father back.”

“Ah!” Svein let out a heavy sigh, misreading the expression on the young man’s face. “That is very difficult. All the laws of our world have a deliberate flexibility built in. All except our founding principle: ‘No person will ever commit an act of violence against another.’ There is not much scope for overturning his exile.”

“Not much? Or none at all?” B.E. took an interest. Ever since the defeat of the dragon, their relationship had changed. B.E. now treated Erik with far fewer sneers, almost like his respect for Bjorn. Except that the three-year age difference meant that B.E. still tended to act like an older brother.

“Well.” Svein leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If Central Allocations made a public ruling, I would imagine the outcry would be too great. But if privately and discreetly Olaf—I mean Harald Erikson—were to resettle in a remote community, as he did here for twenty years, that would not jeopardize the fabric of our society. However . . .” He drew his eyebrows fiercely together. “It would mean a great sacrifice on Erik’s part. No more Epic. If the community he moved to discovered he was a dragonslayer, they would quickly realize that his father was the exiled criminal. And that would be that.”

“And what about his fortune?” B.E. dropped his voice, so that he could barely be heard among the lively talk that filled the square.

“Transfer enough to Freya so that they can live well. Donate the rest to worthwhile projects, to convince the rest of the committee that it is worth rehabilitating Harald.”

Svein shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but it would allow you all to live together again.” He looked intently at Erik, who was careful to keep a calm exterior. “What do you think?”

“I will have to spend a night’s sleep on it, and talk to my mother. But thank you for the suggestion.” Privately Erik rejected the idea at once. Despite his mistrust of the dark elf called Anonemuss, he couldn’t help recalling his words. The offer had been as he had predicted, and now that it was in front of him, Erik could see that there were no guarantees from this route. For all Svein’s friendliness, he was part of the system that had exiled Harald. Erik met Svein’s interrogating gaze with a smile—unsure how far his eyes betrayed the fact he had other plans.

“How about yourselves?” Svein turned to Bjorn and Sigrid.

“A farm for me,” Bjorn managed to say through mouth fuls of syrupy cake.

“And for me, an orchard perhaps.” Sigrid nodded to herself.

“Wonderful!” Svein was expansive again. “And no doubt a family. I’m sure that many of these young men and women all around us would find the prospect of marrying a dragonslayer very attractive.”

Bjorn blushed; Svein had hit home, and he chuckled.

“Now, I must ask you some questions arising from Epic, if you would care to share information with me.” A new, slightly pleading note entered Svein’s voice. He was no longer the great man, presiding over a festival, but was beginning to sound a little like those hundreds of people who had been approaching the dragonslayers with requests for money or for support in legal challenges. “Amongst the items of the dragon’s hoard, were there any specific items that might help us understand the lore and mystery of Epic to a greater depth?”

Injeborg exchanged glances with Erik; they were both surprised at the question and cautious. Putting down his tankard, B.E. responded at once, however.

“You mean like Neowthla’s Bell of Summoning?”

“Yes!” said Svein excitedly, his voice involuntarily rising. “Blood and thunder! You found it?”

“Ya.” Bjorn nodded happily. “But we gave it away.”

“What!” Svein almost leapt to his feet. All around them a slight hush spread, although as the Casiocrat gathered himself, the festive chatter was quickly restored.

“The Loremaster General said that it would be wisest to give it to the Bishop of Newhaven.” Sigrid was apologetic. “So we did. Was that wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” Svein looked old and tired now, as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. “Do you know what it is?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” B.E. was getting drunk and was more interested in the dancing that had begun in part of the square than in talking about the game.

“According to legend, Neowthla was given the bell by Mov, god of travelers and merchants—and patron of Newhaven. If it is rung, the story says, then Mov will appear and offer aid in honor of the services given by Neowthla.” He sighed glumly. “You could have used it to perform another mighty task. Or simply to talk to the god and have your unresolved questions answered.” Svein had a distant, melancholy expression, completely out of keeping with the laughter, music, and bright garlands of flowers all around them. “Did the bishop say anything when you returned it?”

“Erik, you took it back. What did the bishop say?” Sigrid was anxious to restore the good humor of their guest of honor.

“Let me see. He was very grateful. Said we could always come to him for aid. And he gave me a little pendant with their symbol on it, which he said would be recognized by worshippers of Mov all over the world, and they would treat us as allies.”

Svein nodded. “I see. Useful, but not as helpful as the Bell itself.”

“Come on!” said B.E. eagerly. “It’s not right to keep ourselves to ourselves. Everyone wants us to join the party.” He was looking at two young women from his year in school who were insistently beckoning them to the dancing area.

“Go ahead,” said Svein. “It is your party—enjoy it.”

As they all got up and made their way through the tables, laden with the debris of the most exotic meal that had been seen in Hope, Erik felt his elbow taken in a strong grip that was not released even when he tried to pull away.

“Erik, around to the side, please.” It was Freya. She steered him down a small street away from the busy square.

“I was going to dance,” complained Erik resentfully. In his mind he was holding Injeborg by the waist, and they were spinning and laughing to the music. It was an image of happiness.

“Later.” His mum was curt. “Now is a good time to go to the library. I saw Thorstein enter.”

They walked swiftly to the glass-and-metal side door of the library; it was dark inside, tiny glints of reflected light showing the cavern-like interior of the building.

Freya rapped loudly on the pane.

“We are closed,” came Thorstein’s distant voice.

She kept up the banging until his large frame lumbered up towards them, as though he was being disgorged from the dark cavernous jaws of a giant monster.

“What? Oh Freya, Erik?” Thorstein unlocked the door for them.

“My friends, what is it? You wish to enter Epic perhaps, to buy something?” He was bewildered.

“No,” replied Freya. “We wish to borrow the portable set. The one that Erik used in hospital.”

“Ya. But it is rough outside. People are drinking. I do not think it wise.”

“You do not understand, Thorstein. We want to borrow it, not for use now, but to take with us.” Freya was firm.

“Why? You have a unit at home.”

“But we might not remain at home for long.”

Comprehension dawned on the face of the librarian. “Ya, I see. If you join Harald in exile, you still need to access the great wealth of Erik.” His face sank. “But I cannot let you take the set. It belongs to the library, to the people of Hope.”

“How much is a new one—ten thousand gold?” Freya asked.

“A new one. I am not sure, perhaps five thousand. They have them in Mikelgard. But they will make inquiries about the old one.”

“Just tell them it was lost,” Freya suggested practically. “Say that you were doing an inventory, or something, and there is no record of where the unit was last used.”

“But Freya. Erik. This is difficult for me. I could lose my job here. A job that I love very much. I’m sorry, I cannot do as you wish.”

“What if I was to give you fifty thousand bezants, in case you do lose your job? At least you will be able to live very happily without it.” Erik smiled at the worried librarian.

Thorstein leaned back on a table, his expression changing from regretful to thoughtful. “Fifty thousand.” He looked up at them both sharply and Erik knew they had won him over. “Very well. It is heavy, though.”

“We will put it in Rolfson’s cart.”

“No.” Thorstein shook his head. “Not while Svein Redbeard is in town. Come back in two days, late, near sunset.”

Freya and Erik looked at each other, faces in agreement.

“Good. Thanks, Thorstein.” Erik’s heart beat rapidly with pleasure at their success.

“You are welcome,” the portly librarian replied automatically, as if they had simply borrowed a book.

Chapter 17

A DANGEROUS PHILOSOPHY

It was February,
“the month of the cakes,” which for the grain growers of the district was the hardest month of the year, ploughing the heavy, cold soil day after day, with no respite until the seed was sown. For the olive-growers, however, life was easier; their trees had been pruned and it was a time for mending the farm equipment, getting ahead of the constant battle against encroaching weeds, and working in the nursery.

The Osterfjord Players were gathered at a half-dug trench, designed to protect the younger trees from the sudden cascades of water that could form during a storm. Above them, low-lying heavy clouds threatened rain, which in other circumstances would have made finishing their work more urgent.

“I don’t know why we bother,” complained B.E., looking at the blisters on his hand. “We won’t be here for much longer.”

“But it’s needed,” Bjorn answered, slightly shocked. “Someone has to do it. Why not us?”

“Because we are rich.” B.E. gave up and took his waterproof from where he had left it, on a large stone with a smaller stone on top to secure it from the wind. His eyes were watery and his skin pale with cold. “You know what’s funny?” B.E. looked up at Bjorn. “I bet you haven’t spent your first million yet.”