Authors: Conor Kostick
Epic (28 page)
“Once inside I found it very strange. All the merpeople stopped what they were doing to look at me. They had this kind of amazed expression on their faces. Anyway, eventually I was steered into the palace and brought to the king.” Bjorn slowly shook his head. “I can’t even begin to describe his palace; it was wonderful; I’ve never seen anything like it. The walls were made of pearl, and the whole chamber was lit by this kind of flowing light that came from glowing sea creatures. I . . .” Bjorn just stretched out his hand, unable to find the words.
“Anyway, I had no cause for alarm. They were astonished and delighted with me. In the thousands of years of their existence, nobody from the surface had ever come to their city before. They have merchants who trade with Cassinopia, and guess what? The merchants worship Mov—you know, the god whose bell thing we found. So when they saw my medallion . . .” Bjorn paused to finger the silver icon that was around his neck. “They offered to fulfil three requests for me. They said they knew the seas, and offered me treasure from sunken wrecks, precious magical items—anything that the sea contained.”
“Fascinating, Bjorn. What an experience!” Erik was almost jealous. He wished that Cindella too could have seen the underwater city.
“So, what did you ask for?” Sigrid smiled. “Apart from that they rescue us.”
“I asked only that they search the wreck of the
White Falcon
for our equipment that went down with the ship, and guess what . . . ?” Bjorn looked around, waiting for their guesses.
White Falcon
for our equipment that went down with the ship, and guess what . . . ?” Bjorn looked around, waiting for their guesses.
Everyone looked blank.
“They found B.E. and Svein, as stone statues, lying on the seabed.”
“That’s great,” muttered Anonemuss cynically. “We can put them in the amphitheater, a nice memorial.”
“No. You don’t understand. The merpeople offered to restore them to life, to remove the petrification.”
“Woooot!” Erik had Cindella leap into the air and clap for joy. “B.E. lives!”
“Wonderful, Bjorn!” Injeborg’s witch made a passable effort to give him a long hug. “How is it you haven’t brought him back already?”
“I didn’t like to do it underwater, in case he drowned. And I thought we’d better make sure that B.E. is clipped up before they cast the spells. What if it fails because he isn’t on?”
“Good thinking,” Sigrid agreed. “So, shall I go and get him up? Shall we do this now?”
“Certainly,” Bjorn said affably. “The statues are just inside the castle there.”
“I suppose I ought to get Svein hooked up too,” Erik mused aloud.
“What do you mean?” Harald looked at him curiously.
“You are hardly going to believe this, but Svein is in our house. He came last night during the storm.” From the corner of her eye, Cindella noticed Anonemuss stiffen with hostility. “He has been dismissed from Central Allocations and wanted some money for his new character, so he could finish the Epicus Ultima.”
“Now, wait right there,” Anonemuss growled. “We are not bringing Svein Redbeard back to life. With him down, that’s one less of C.A. to deal with.”
“But it would be terrible not to. He must have been playing that character for forty years or more. Imagine it was you.”
“Sometimes I despair of you children. You just don’t understand what you are dealing with. This is no game to these people; it is a desperate struggle for power!” Anonemuss shook his head.
“No, you are wrong. I do understand,” Erik replied excitedly. “But Svein is not one of them anymore. In fact, I think he might even support us. He is so bitter at the way he has been treated.”
“Don’t do this,” the dark elf shot back. “Don’t fool yourself. He comes back, he won’t show any gratitude to his sav iors. Give him another chance to go on Central Allocations, and he could quickly become our worst enemy.”
“I don’t think so,” Erik rushed on. “Last night he told me all about the Executioner, a character that C.A. have, and he told me how to defeat him.”
“Harald.” Anonemuss turned to the wood elf, with a note of despair in his voice. “Can’t you convince them?”
“I’m not sure. Svein Redbeard was strangely attached to the game when I knew him. Always asking me questions about the NPCs that I had talked to. Perhaps he is a little different. But I trust Erik’s judgment of character.” Harald turned to Cindella. “If you really think it is wise, go ahead. It is certainly true that Svein could give us a lot of valuable information.”
“Well, I cannot honestly say I am convinced he is now hostile to C.A. It’s just that I think if Cindella was turned to stone, and someone had the chance to turn her back but left her . . . that would be terribly cruel.”
“Erik’s right,” added Injeborg. “It’s not about how he behaves at all. Let him do what he likes, for better or worse. It’s about us, and our morals. Are we like them? No. It’s that simple.”
Once Injeborg had spoken, Erik understood his own feelings more clearly.
“That’s it exactly.”
Bjorn and Sigrid nodded their agreement.
“So be it,” growled Anonemuss. “But remember this moment and hope that we do not regret it.”
Chapter 27
A VERY THOROUGH COUP
“Just you and
me? What’s this about?” asked Godmund, ill-tempered at having had to come across town for a meeting in the great chamber.
me? What’s this about?” asked Godmund, ill-tempered at having had to come across town for a meeting in the great chamber.
“This!” Ragnok threw down a printout of the editorial from the latest edition of the
New Leviathan
; it slid across the table to rest by the cup of water from which the old man was drinking.
New Leviathan
; it slid across the table to rest by the cup of water from which the old man was drinking.
EXPULSION OF SVEIN REDBEARD
The
New Leviathan
has learned with great interest of the expulsion of Svein Redbeard from Central Allocations. This is the first change in the committee for twelve years. What are we to make of it?
New Leviathan
has learned with great interest of the expulsion of Svein Redbeard from Central Allocations. This is the first change in the committee for twelve years. What are we to make of it?
Apparently the session at which the decision was made was a stormy one. Over the years, Svein Redbeard has cultivated an image as a man of the people. In the South especially, Redbeard had an unjustified popularity. But if you look back over his record, it is clear that he defended the Casiocracy to his utmost.
The reason for his expulsion lies in the loss of his character. We are reliably informed that the curious expedition led by the Osterfjord Players has come to grief with the loss of their ship and most of the characters, Svein included. As a result, he has to start over, like all of us. If they still wanted him on the committee, Central Allocations could have built up his new character. Yet for some reason they have chosen to do without his services. Is it because they have a sense of justice and believe that everyone should play by the same rules, that Svein must work his way back up through the game? Of course not. Everyone knows that to reach the level of equipment and ability to challenge the characters now in charge of the world would take centuries—with the once-in-a-lifetime exception of those who killed the dragon.
No, the explanation must lie elsewhere. Our conjecture is that these aging players are planning for the future. There are many impatient University graduates, looking for a place on the world’s most powerful committee. Should Central Allocations not promote one of them now and again, discontent would accrue in a potentially very dangerous class. Our prediction is that they have taken the opportunity of Svein’s death to try to pretend to the world that Central Allocations is not as closed a committee as it actually is, and that in a few weeks’ time a new face drawn from the University elite will join them.
“Well?” asked Ragnok, looking intently at the patriarch of the world.
“Traitor. Someone is a traitor. Someone from the committee is talking to them. But why? It makes no sense.” Godmund drew his lips back in a terrible snarl. A loud crack suddenly resounded around the chamber; Godmund had unintentionally crushed the china cup he had been holding, squeezing it in his rage, until it had shattered.
Ragnok smiled, delighted at the display of uncontrolled anger.
“We must change the password on the Executioner,” he observed, keeping the eagerness from his voice.
“Yes. And we must do a lot more besides. This is getting serious; we must form a group of students to investigate.” Godmund pressed white fingers against his bald head. “If they follow the distribution, we can crack them open. That’s their weak point—getting the papers into circulation.”
“Good.” Ragnok nodded appreciatively, while he handed a game set to Godmund.
“Eh?”
“A new password.”
“Just you and me, eh? You must be happy.” Godmund sneered, but all the same he clipped up to the interface. “How about ‘traitor’ as the new code?”
“Perfect.” As soon as Godmund had replaced his headset, Ragnok burst into a giddy laugh, knowing that Godmund could not hear.
Once the password was set, Ragnok grabbed the chair that Godmund was sitting in and, with a wrench, lifted it, then staggered to a window he had opened earlier.
Still dazed from leaving the game interface, Godmund was slow to understand, even when his body hung over the sill.
“What are you doing? Don’t be insane. Get your hands off me!” the old man stuttered, powerless to save himself.
“Out you go.”
It took a long time for the flailing body to hit the ground. As an afterthought, Ragnok threw the walking stick out after him.
He looked carefully around the room, to make sure that there was no sign of a struggle. Then, wiping his disheveled hair back into place, he settled in front of a terminal, to access his private files. He would have enough time to delete all copies of the
New Leviathan
before going down to discover the body. The paper had served its purpose and would not be needed anymore.
New Leviathan
before going down to discover the body. The paper had served its purpose and would not be needed anymore.
The Executioner found Thorkell in his sorcerer’s tower, surrounded by vials, charts, and thick bound books. The Central Allocations mage liked to keep acquiring new spells for his character, and had invested a great deal of his dragon wealth in developing his ability to research them. At this stage, Thorkell had all the more powerful spells in his personal library, but still, being the kind of obsessive collector that he was, he took pleasure in solving the mysteries that would lead his spell book to being filled out with every possible incantation.
“Who is that?” Thorkell looked curiously at the Executioner over his spectacles. A bat flitted across the dark room. “Is that you, Ragnok? What do you want?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No,” Thorkell replied impatiently, looking back down to the candlelit pages. “No, I can’t guess. Stop wasting my time with infantile games. I’m busy—what do you want?”
The Executioner said nothing, but slowly drew Acutus. Now, Thorkell’s expression became puzzled and he stood up. The Executioner smiled nastily.
“No! Who ordered this?” The mage staggered back, glass vials shattering as he knocked them to the floor. “Stop.” He waved panicky fingers in the direction of the Executioner and muttered the words of a spell—which drew a sardonic laugh from the assassin. The subsequent blaze of lightning was instantly absorbed by a chortling demonic visage on the shield that the Executioner held strapped to his left arm. The room was left in near complete darkness.
“Why?” Thorkell sagged in disbelief.
It took just two blows to kill him.
He met Hleid, the necromancer, leaving the arena, having just finished her summoning class.
“We must talk.”
“What’s the matter? Is that you, Ragnok?”
“No. It is Godmund. Please, down this alley a moment, where we can have some privacy.”
“Very well, but be brief, please. I have another class.”
“Oh, I will be brief,” the Executioner replied with a chuckle, pouring a steaming vial of “paralyze” potion over her.
He then walked slowly around the purple velvet robes of the necromancer, looking for an age into her face. The necromancer could still move her eyes, and it amused Ragnok that such a great intensity of fear could be indicated by such tiny jittering movements.
“When this potion begins to wear off, long before you have the use of your limbs, I shall strike you dead.” He paused, savoring the moment. “Your career is over—both in the game, and on Central Allocations. I have a new committee waiting, and I’m sure you will be pleased to learn that your own daughter is taking a place on it—I might even ask her to be the chairperson.” He laughed with pleasure at the physical realization of this long-anticipated encounter. Then he carefully moved aside her hood, and her long raven hair, so that the pale skin of her neck was exposed.
“Good-bye, Hleid.”
In order to make a powerful impression, Halfdan the Black enjoyed riding from Newhaven at sunset on a black steed, towards his unclipping spot, a private tower to the north of the city. He knew that many people joined the game around this time, just to get a brief glimpse of him as he rode through the gates of Newhaven. The red glow of the sky covered his armor in a ruddy sheen, but the light itself distorted all around him, so that as he rode, he seemed to drain the colors from the sky.
The Executioner was waiting outside the tower. Halfdan drew up, curious.
“What is it?”
“A duel.”
“What?”
“I challenge you, Halfdan, prove your worth.”
“Is that you, Ragnok? Stop joking. You know the Executioner is invincible.” Halfdan sounded a little nervous, and started to back up his horse.
At once, the Executioner drew the Bastard Sword of the Moon. Halfdan’s steed froze as the blade glittered, exuding its powerful “fear” spell. Halfdan himself struggled to shake off the effects. At last he was able to dismount, and with frequent glances over his shoulder, began to run.
“Where are you going?” mocked the Executioner. He leisurely urged his horse into a trot as they followed the panicky course of Halfdan. This kind of hunt had always been his greatest pleasure.
Evening was also a good time to find Wolf. Unfortunately his clip spot varied, depending on his travels. However, while in Wolf form, he was given to braying proudly at the moon, reminding those characters playing late of his presence in the wilds. Tonight it was clear from the howls that Wolf was to the south of the city, and indeed, before long, the Executioner’s careful scrutiny of the road to Snowpeak was rewarded with the sight of a casually loping wolf.
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