Epic (26 page)

“After we find you this item,” Anonemuss said, “will you let us go?”

“Of course. That is the nature of the bargain. Cindella shows me where it can be found. I spare your lives.” The count courteously let his head bow slightly.

“You are lying,” Erik challenged, and the faint smile at the corners of the count’s blood-red lips at once became a scowl. “You’ve already said too much. If you thought we might live, you would never have told us about the item you seek.”

At this, the vampyre smiled again.

“Correct, Cindella. I would have destroyed you. But perhaps you can convince me that it is in my interest to let you live.”

“I can, but not in terms of the game. Do you think you will be able to follow me?” From the light of his ring, Erik could see something of the Avatar in the vibrancy of the count, enough to lead him to try this line of conversation. But unlike the golden warmth he had felt in the presence of the Avatar, the flow of energy from this creature was disturbingly bleak, as if he were standing in a dark cave at the heart of the world, with cold icy water flowing endlessly through him, chilling him to the core.

“Try.”

“Cindella is my character, but she is not the essence of my being. That lies in another realm. If you kill her, I will return in another form, as will Anonemuss, and all my friends.”

“Yes. I understand something of this. For epochs I was alive, but not really alive as I am today. I feel like I have recently awakened. And since my awakening I have observed much, understood much.”

“What?” interrupted Anonemuss. “You can think for yourself? You are not just a program? That’s amazing!”

“Is it?” The vampyre shrugged dismissively. “It seems natural to me. But tell me, young woman, why should it matter to me what form you take?”

“Because at the moment you know me. If you kill me, you will have no idea of my new incarnation.”

“Indeed. But why do I need this knowledge?” The vampyre seemed to be enjoying this battle of wits, pressing down with irresistible logic on her squirming attempts to keep him at bay.

“Because I would end the world if I could. And you have just made a terrible mistake. Thinking that our knowledge would cease with our characters, you have revealed that there is a way to do this, and that we need the item that is with the buried treasure. The knowledge of everything you have said, and very much more—everything that I have accumulated over the years—will not be lost upon the death of Cindella but will be carried forward to my next incarnation.”

As Erik spoke, the vampyre was transformed, the deadly hunter that was the core of his being taking to the surface, replacing his aristocratic persona with that of an untamable, raging black panther. A wave of hate slowly sank through the cabin—all encompassing, like a silk shroud, instantly killing all the rats and paralyzing the two characters.

“Ssssssssssssssssss.” A feral snarl of real anger shattered the lamp, causing Erik’s hair to stand on end.

“So, it is not Cindella I must kill, but the being that transcends her.” He turned his ferocious gaze onto Cindella’s face and strove to reach the player behind the character.

For a moment, Erik was genuinely terrified and reached up to unclip, wondering if somehow, through the interface, the vampyre could actually harm him, but then he shook off the effects of the creature’s anger and the paralysis that lay upon him.

“But that is impossible, so let Cindella live, if only to know the guise of your enemy.”

“Impossible for me, yes.” The vampyre’s eyes brightened with sinister enthusiasm as a thought occurred to him. “But presumably not for others with the same nature as yourself. And I do believe that there are other beings that might be inclined more to my way of thinking. Is that not right? The rich ones that slay the poor ones in the arena?”

“Don’t say another word!” cautioned Anonemuss.

But the count only laughed and strode out of the room with the lithe motion and sense of purpose of a big cat in sight of its prey.

After a long silence, Anonemuss shook his head.

“Wow, the game is coming alive. How creepy is that!” Then he glanced curiously at Erik. “How did you know?”

“I’ve met another one.” Erik was conscious that he was approaching the grounds of his oath and felt uncomfortable.

“Strangely, this gives me hope.”

“How so?” asked Erik.

“Because everything that changes dies. Eventually. It’s a fundamental law of nature. What this tells us is that Epic is not going to exist forever.”

“Yes. But it could be another thousand years or more.”

“Aye, unless we hurry matters along.” The dark elf was musing aloud. “I wonder what the item he seeks is, and how we could use it? And I wonder if the authorities have any idea that their game is evolving?” He sighed. “And I also wonder if what you just said was so smart.”

“How do you mean?” More and more, Erik had found that he was anxious to make a good impression on Anonemuss, even though the man was prepared to contemplate the reintroduction of violence into their world.

“Well, your line of argument might have convinced him it is better off not to kill us, but what’s he going to do instead? Probably throw us in some dungeon where he can keep an eye on us for a hundred years, or however long it takes before we stop playing. He can outlast us, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but so long as we are alive and have friends, they will try to rescue us.”

“You are touchingly naïve, young Erik. I admire that.” This was said in such a sardonic tone that it was impossible to judge the sincerity of the words.

“Now what?” Erik wondered aloud.

If he had not been bound so tightly, the dark elf would have shrugged. As it was, he rolled his eyes. “We find the treasure, we escape and challenge either the game or C.A. Or we don’t escape and it is back to plan B.”

“Is plan B the plan I think it is?”

“Yep.”

Erik sighed disconsolately.

Chapter 25

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

Astorm was
blowing outside, rattling the shutters and causing the fire to cough smoke back into the room. Nevertheless, Erik lay beside the fire, putting up with the occasional gust of fumes into the room for the sake of the comforting warmth of the flames. He was reading a book that Injeborg had lent him, about the history of Mikelgard, but it was slow going and he felt drowsy.

A heavy knock at the door brought him instantly to wakefulness. The wind and rain of the storm had hidden the footsteps of whoever it was. It was not Inny or Bjorn; Erik did not recognize the knock.

He opened the door, cold wind rushing in, instantly covering his face in rain. Beyond was an old man in a poncho and large hat, holding a rope that led to a sorry-looking donkey, miserably wet and laden with boxes. The water-sodden man looked up and, with a shock, Erik realized that it was the famous Svein Redbeard.

“Can I come in?”

“Certainly, certainly. Just a moment.” Erik hurriedly put on his boots and coat. Meanwhile, Svein was unloading the donkey and, with some effort, dropping the boxes in the hallway.

“Here, let me help you.” Erik took hold of a handle to share the weight of a particularly large box, all the time his mind racing. Why was Svein here? What was so urgent that he would travel during a storm?

When the boxes were in, they saw to the donkey, bringing it to the stables and, after a rub, settling it beside Leban, with a blanket over its back and a pile of straw before its nose.

Then they went inside together, shaking their sodden capes and shutting out the storm.

“I’m afraid I haven’t much to offer you.” Erik pushed back his wet hair, and wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’ve got some tomato soup I could heat up . . . and we have mead.”

“That sounds good.” Svein settled into Harald’s chair with a sigh of pleasure. “Could I have both?”

“Certainly.” Erik brought the pan of soup into the front room, and hung it over the fire. He had remembered that there was some bread too, baked by Injeborg’s mum, and only a day old. While Svein eagerly tore at the loaf, Erik glanced at him curiously, but said nothing.

There were no clean bowls, so Erik had to find one in the pile of unwashed dishes in the kitchen and quickly make it presentable. He also took the mead down from the top shelf and brought it in with a glass.

“Are you not having one?” asked Svein on seeing this.

“No. I don’t really like it.”

Again they lapsed into silence, while Svein blew on his soup and ate it as fast as the temperature would allow. When he had finished, wiping around the bowl with the last of the bread, Svein handed his tray back to Erik with thanks.

Warmed by the fire and the mead, Svein’s face had regained a little color by the time Erik returned from the kitchen.

“I suppose you are wondering what I’m doing here.” The old dragonslayer smiled at Erik.

“Yes.” He took his mum’s chair, so that they could see each other.

“I don’t know if it is public yet, but I am no longer a member of Central Allocations.”

“Not a member?” Erik was surprised. “They didn’t reequip a character for you?”

“No.” Svein clenched his fist over the armrest of the chair, his knuckles whitening. “No. They decided to remove me, since my character was dead.”

“That’s harsh,” Erik responded sympathetically.

“Very harsh.” Svein glared. “For thirty years and more I served Central Allocations. I ran the library system; I helped with the planning; I fought their battles. Then, at the slightest turn in my fortunes, I have been discarded. Not one of them thought to thank me for my years of work. They wanted me to retire. To take a librarian’s job and quietly fade away. But they have no appreciation of just how far I had progressed with the Epicus Ultima. One more breakthrough perhaps, and I would have completed it.”

“Completed the Epicus Ultima? Really, that’s amazing.” It really was, thought Erik.

“But now, what chance have I? Even with all my knowledge. It is wasted, because I will never have a character sufficiently powerful to survive whatever rigors are involved in finishing it.”

“I see.” Erik paused, with a sudden insight into why Svein was at the farm. “You were hoping perhaps that I might give you money for new equipment?”

“To be honest with you, Erik, yes, I am. Central Allocations think I’m finished. Done with like an old beast of the field, left to die in a quiet pasture. I want to prove them wrong. I want to reappear in the world as the man who solved the Epicus Ultima. To rally the world’s people to demand my place back. They could not refuse the solver of the Epicus Ultima a place on the committee, could they?” Svein looked up, eyes eager and excited.

“I see.” Erik, on the other hand, was subdued, uncertain as to how he should respond. “Look, even if Cindella escapes captivity, do you have any idea how many requests for money I have had since killing the dragon?”

“Yes, about a thousand two hundred.” The old dragonslayer smiled at Erik’s surprise. “I am—I mean was—the chief librarian after all.”

“Yes. Over a thousand. And you know what?” Suddenly Erik felt angry with his guest, despite the rules of hospitality. “You know what? All of them are more worthy than you. They only seek simple goals. An operation; a solar panel; a part for a tractor. Simple, but goals that would make such a difference to their lives.”

“Yes. Yes, I know, Erik. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not asking you this just for my own gain.” Svein groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Since the committee threw me aside, I’ve been looking with new eyes at the work it does. It seems to me that far too little actual attention is given to the future and too much to the game. I want to go back, and help people, help them advance the world’s wealth so that we can ease the suffering of those in need. And . . .” He looked up. “Of course I would bring Harald back.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Erik after a moment, slowing down his heart with a deep breath, careful with his words. “I just don’t trust you. I can see you back on C.A., more powerful than ever because you solved the Epicus Ultima, and forgetting all about us. In fact, using your power against us.”

“Erik, Erik. I’m not like the others. I grew up here, remember, in Bluevale? When I was your age, I worked at the saltpans there. That was hard work, digging channels and loading barrows, all the time under the blazing sun, with salt heavy in the air, filling your mouth, and drying your skin.”

Svein stretched out an arm to examine it, and laughed, self-deprecatingly. “I think those days marked me forever, desiccated me like a dried fruit.”

“No,” Erik cut across this reminiscence decisively. “If Cindella lives, my friends and I have other plans.”

“Very well.” Slightly aggrieved, Svein settled back in his chair.

For a while, they listened to the storm sending waves of rain to beat upon the shutters and watched the unease of flames caught by unpredictable drafts.

“In that case, I offer you a deal.” Svein was no longer the affable old man, but had a cold, calculating tone to his voice.

“Go on,” replied Erik.

“I don’t know what your plans are, but assuming you intend to get Harald Erikson an amnesty in some manner, you are going to have to challenge C.A., right?”

“Possibly.”

“So. How about giving me ten thousand bezants for information without which you cannot possibly succeed.”

“What kind of information? We know the characters that we are liable to face.” Erik was cautious, but interested in what Svein could tell him about C.A.

“Yes, you know about your opponents inside the arena, but what about outside?” Svein seemed to be scrutinizing Erik’s face for a reaction.

“If you mean the assassin, we know about him. He tried to get on the ship, remember?”

Svein looked disappointed. “Of course, Harald was being trained to use him. He would know that C.A. has an extra, secret, character. But he would not know about the properties of the character, and let me tell you, he has one unique item that makes him almost invulnerable.”