Epic (31 page)

“Yes, but the tower?” insisted Svein.

“It is in the ethereal dimension, not ours, but if the moons are full and you cast a relatively simple spell at the old standing stones to the south of Newhaven—I’m sure Injeborg’s witch could do it—you can make the tower appear.” Sigrid shrugged. “The books seem to think it’s no big deal.”

“Good.” Harald stood up. “Bjorn, can you contact your aquatic friends and tell them there is a change of plan? We are going back to Newhaven.”

“You are going to finish the Epicus Ultima! How wonderful!” Svein paused, and looked around anxiously. “You will take me with you, I hope? I have spent so long on this, it would break my heart not to see it finished.”

“Of course. That’s only fair. You told us about the tower.” Erik spoke for them all, with a sharp look at Anonemuss, who turned away nonchalantly.

Chapter 29

THE CALL TO ARMS

“Well, someone knew
we were coming!” B.E. whistled in amazement.

The standing stones that marked the place for the appearance of the Ethereal Tower of Nightmare were on a small rise, around which was camped a most frightening army of evil creatures.

To the west of the dolmen were the flags of the orc chieftain, thousands of their thickset, ugly bodies forming black rows all the way to the horizon. Camped right beside the leather-armored orcs were their hated rivals, green-skinned goblins, swarming throughout the fields, with a dozen large wooden catapults drawn up near the banners of their king. To the south, nearest the group’s hiding place in the fringes of forest, was a battalion of ogres. These savage giants had metal-plated armor across their torsos and shoulders; they wielded huge, two-handed, spiked clubs, which no human could hope to lift. Although there were only a hundred or so of these, they were more formidable opponents than the orcs and goblins combined. To the east of the ancient stones was a detachment of trolls, wiry, powerful creatures, whose purplish, thick skin was a natural armor that regenerated unless put to the torch. Finally, guarding the approach from the north, with a stillness that contrasted disturbingly with the constant activity elsewhere across the fields, was an army of pallid skeletons, risen from their graves by some powerful necromancy and armed with sword and shield.

Between the more distinct formations of these evil hordes roamed individual monsters of the most dangerous and magical variety. Erik could see an enormous medusa, her snake-covered head rising forty feet from the ground on a serpent’s body; and a rakshasha, half-tiger, half-mage, prowled the peripheries, proud and dangerous. High above the army flit tered bloodsucking bats, while low down in the sky, barely above their heads, colorful will-o’-the-wisps darted to and fro among the ranks. Worst of all, appearing to float slowly on the breeze, but in actual fact drifting against the currents of air, three giant, unblinking eyeballs—beholders—extremely powerful mages. Around the standing stones was a pack of fire-breathing hell hounds, and at the very center of this army of legendary creatures, Erik could make out a gathering of players, some forty characters.

“University students,” whispered Svein, noticing Erik’s frown. “I recognize them, and there—see the one on the black steed? With the crafted armor? That’s the Executioner.”

Bjorn sighed. “I thought it was all too easy, just to go to the tower and finish the quest.”

“Well, so much for that plan.” Sigrid shrank back into the cover of the trees.

“Ya?” Injeborg was angry. “If it’s a fight they want, let’s give them one!”

“How, though?” asked Harald.

“Can we try to pass invisible through to the tower?” Erik suggested.

“No.” Harald shook his head. “That’s what the hell hounds are doing. They are often used as guards as they can scent us, invisible or not.”

“Then let’s fight our way through.” Injeborg tried to inject some optimism into her voice to challenge Harald’s glum tone. “Let’s put the word out, call people to a meeting in the arena. I’ll ask for volunteers from all over the world!” She spoke up defiantly.

“How interesting,” mused Svein aloud. “That might just work, and I can’t imagine the reaction by Central Allocations.” He chuckled to himself.

“Yes, I’m sure thousands of people would fight with us, if they felt it would end the system we have now. And I think I might be able to gather some allies from the game,” Erik chipped in. “You know, like we did for the ship.”

“Wooot! We really gonna fight ’em?” B.E. sounded thrilled.

“If we think we have enough forces, yes.” Injeborg sounded confident.

“Bring it on!” B.E. kept his cheer to a loud whisper.

Despite admiring B.E.’s enthusiasm for battle, Erik felt his heart sink as he surveyed the dark army; it was immense—surely the largest army ever assembled in the history of the game?

“Very well. The next conjunction of the moons is three nights from now?” Harald looked to Sigrid for confirmation; she nodded. “Then let us meet just outside the south gate of Newhaven on midday that day. If we have an army, we fight.”

“And you, Redbeard,” Anonemuss said, scowling at their veteran companion. “Which side will you fight on?”

“Oh, I’ll fight with you if you can get the troops,” Svein replied matter-of-factly. “I want to be there at the end of the quest. But I have to admit to being puzzled.”

“Go on,” urged Erik.

“Why are Central Allocations so anxious to stop us reaching the tower? And where are the others? Godmund, Brynhild, Halfdan, Wolf . . . ?” Svein looked confused and perplexed.

No one had any answers for him.

“I’m going to run to Hope and tell Thorstein to let the world know we have a special announcement to make in three days’ time,” Injeborg announced, her witch freezing as she unclipped.

“And I’m going to see if there is any help from within the game.” Cindella gave a quick wave farewell to everyone and set off for town.

The Cathedral to Mov was one of the great churches in Newhaven. From its deeper recesses came the slow, resonant chants of the monks, as though the building was a gigantic mouth, funneling the majestic sound towards the citizens outside the enormous doors, which stood wide open. Either side of a great central aisle, high up on the walls, great flags were hanging, some of them tattered from use in battle. Despite being filled with a sense of great urgency, Erik slowed to a respectful pace as he walked past row upon row of benches, some of them containing worshippers bowed in prayer.

A tonsured cleric caught his eye.

“Excuse me,” Erik whispered. “Where can I find Sir Warren?”

The monk said nothing, but pointed to the East Chapel.

“Thanks.” #bow. Erik made his way to the small altar. The nave was filled with multicolored light cast from stained-glass images high above him. Kneeling in his glittering silver armor, with his great two-handed sword before him, was Sir Warren. Reluctant to interrupt the warrior’s prayer, Erik waited for some time. But his impatience grew. So, with an inspired thought, he had Cindella kneel alongside the knight, and hold the medallion that the players had been given for the return of the Bell to the Church.

Sir Warren glanced at her. “Is there something you seek, sister?”

“I wish to talk with you.”

“Very well. Follow me, please.” Sir Warren rose, sheathing his great sword before strapping it to his back. As they made their way to a small wooden door, Erik could see that the golden presence of the Avatar was surging up inside the NPC, like a series of heartbeats, each one bringing more golden light to course around the character.

By the time they were seated in a small, tapestry-covered chamber, the Avatar had swelled to full, startling force.

“How can I aid you?” asked Sir Warren, golden light pouring from his eyes.

“I need an army to defeat the forces of evil that have assembled to the south of Newhaven.”

“That is a worthy request. I shall aid you without hesitation and with every ounce of my strength.”

“That’s wonderful, thank you. We assemble at the south gate at midday three days from now.”

Sir Warren nodded. “I will be there, with as many of my comrades as I can muster.”

“And can I ask the Avatar something?” Erik spoke tentatively. Sir Warren immediately stiffened, and then his form began to flow, as a shimmering humanoid figure emerged from within him.

“What would you ask me?” Liquid silver words caressed Erik’s ears.

“I want to know about the vampyre. He is a lot like you. Has he come alive? What is going on?”

For a few moments, the Avatar flickered frighteningly, like a lantern when a moth immolates itself against the burning glass.

“He is not like me; he is me. He is that part of me which wishes to live.”

“Can you defeat him in battle?”

The Avatar laughed, a hysterical, frightening, series of cries. “Can you wrestle with yourself and win? Perhaps. But I cannot say which of us is the stronger, because I cannot say which I desire more. To continue this existence, in a sick and lonely condition, or to end it.”

“You know I would help you if there was anything I could do.”

“I know. But I am falling apart and all the king’s men cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again.” The Avatar chuckled in an uncharacteristically childish voice that caused Erik to shudder.

“Farewell, Cindella. I am glad of this battle you plan. One way or another, it will bring some relief.”

The form of Sir Warren crystalized in an instant as the light fled the room. He was still, clearly devoid of all internal animation.

 

The arena was full. Never before had they seen so many people clipped into the game, not even for the finals of the graduation combats, or for the most important of legal cases. All the way to the dizzying heights of the rim of the stadium sat row upon row of patchwork characters, their gray forms brightened by odd pieces of armor.

“Looks like the word got out all right,” Erik observed brightly. “There must be hundreds of thousands of people clipped in to listen.”

“Ya, ya. You should have been here, nonstop the enquiries,” Thorstein cut in over their headphones. The Osterfjord Players had decided to assemble together in the Hope library for this crucial day, in case they needed to unclip and consult with one another. “The whole world has seen this evil army assemble and they want to know why. They also want to know what happened in your voyage. I could tell them nothing. I had nothing to tell them. I’m only your local librarian—what do I know?”

“Hush now, Thorstein. Let’s get on with this. You will find out soon enough.” B.E. spoke up, eager for the coming battle.

“Very well. Very well,” a discontented Thorstein grumbled. “You are ready?”

“Ready,” Erik answered for them all.

“You are hooked up to the address system. Go ahead.”

As the Osterfjord Players walked into the arena, applause broke out, swelling around the stadium, growing, becoming a great cheer of approval.

“Thank you. Thank you. Please, hear what we have to say.” Injeborg’s witch indicated by raising and lowering her outstretched arms that she wished for the warm sound of their reception to subside, which it gradually did.

“Thank you for such a good attendance; it reflects the importance of what I have to say,” she began slightly nervously. But Erik was nonetheless filled with admiration for her—to speak out before so many was no easy matter at all. “To come immediately to the point, today, if we so desire, could be the last day of Epic.” At once a hubbub of conversation grew up; Injeborg waited patiently for the return of the crowd’s attention.

“To finish the Epicus Ultima is not the work of one person, but of all. What is required is to defeat the evil army on the edge of the city, in order to capture the land they guard, on which a tower will appear tonight.

“I could speak for some time about our voyage, about the different strands of the quest that have come together to form this moment. But the real question is: should we desire to end the game?” She paused a moment to let this sink in.

“My friends and I believe the answer to this question is most definitely ‘yes.’

“Look at the state of our world. We are slowly but surely descending into a state of total impoverishment. Think of the waiting list for basic, simple operations, which would so greatly improve the quality of life for those who suffer. Think also of the shortage of solar panels, which sends men and women into the mines at the risk of their lives and at the cost of isolation from their communities for three months at a time. Many tasks, such as mining, that used to be performed by machine are now done at the cost of hard manual labor, and that is a situation which grows constantly worse.

“And what do we spend most of our time doing? Learning from the enormous libraries that our forebears brought to this world? Designing equipment that can take us forward again? Improving the land for greater yields? No. We spend all our spare time in Epic. Because Epic is our economy and our legal system. To survive individually, we need every copper bit we can obtain from the game, no matter that this will ruin us collectively. Does this make any sense?”

Again a surge of unrest welled forth from the crowd, individual shouts and comments merging together in a hubbub, whose tone was lively, but not hostile.

“I’m sorry that this is not the occasion to discuss matters further; I know you have lots of questions. We all do. And I cannot answer the most important one. “What will replace Epic?” But whatever system of governance does emerge when we scrap this one, it cannot be more wasteful of our time. We could at the very least use the interface system to coordinate our efforts across the planet openly and fairly, without an all-powerful Central Allocations making the decisions in secret.”

This last point struck home, and at once a great outburst of applause filled the stadium. Erik realized that he had been clenching his fists, and at this audible sign of support, he relaxed a little, Cindella folding her arms.