Erebos (7 page)

Sarius takes a deep breath. No injury he suffers here can cause him real pain, no matter how genuine it looks. He takes a step forward, and then immediately reverses it to work out his tactics. The fourth troll is free. He has a vampire woman cornered; she's trying to keep him and his morning star at bay with her long narrow blade. He hasn't noticed Sarius yet.

So, the troll it will be. Sarius quickly takes his shield off his back, raises his weapon and throws himself into the battle. He briefly feels embarrassed that he actually has to summon up the courage to do it.

His sword bounces off the troll's skin as it did off the wall, only this time it doesn't make the slightest impact. The troll bellows derisively. He grabs the vampire with one hand and flings her into the air. She flails her arms, loses her sword and hits the ground with an ugly sound. The red sash she's wearing around her waist goes dark grey – only a tiny bit of flashing red remains. The life meter, Sarius realises. It's only now that he notices that all those fighting have something red on their outfits – mostly a chest harness or a belt like his own.

The vampire must be aware of the danger she's in. She crawls into the bushes. Her left leg is twisted out, and she's dragging it behind her like a dead weight.

The troll has lost interest in her; he turns and measures Sarius with dull eyes. Stringy saliva is hanging from his jaws. Sarius shrinks back instinctively. He hasn't forgotten ‘You have only one chance to play Erebos.' It can't be over so soon, no way.

The troll is plodding towards him – Sarius circles him lightning fast. He has to hit a sensitive spot, and quickly. He aims for the tendons on the lizard-like legs, and strikes.

The troll bellows again, but this time in pain. Dark red blood, thick as syrup, wells up out of a wound. Stunned, Sarius stares at the broad trickle and notices too late that his opponent's morningstar is spinning above him. He sees it whistling down and instinctively dives to the side.

The spiky ball scrapes his shoulder. An ear-splitting squeal rings out, stabbing his brain like a red-hot poker.

He falls. The troll is looming above him, looking down at him with stone-grey eyes, raising his weapon again. Then Sarius thinks he hears the sound of thunder through the painful buzzing. The troll staggers, revealing the larger of the two barbarians, who has appeared from nowhere and is trying to smash the troll's backbone with his cudgel.

The blow hits home, and Sarius's monstrous opponent rears up. Another blow, and the troll sinks to his knees. He isn't bellowing any more, just moaning. One last blow to the back of his neck, and he lies still.

Sarius wants to sit up, but with every attempt the horrible tone grows louder. It's better if he moves slowly. His belt is still about one-quarter red. Will it recover if he stays still? He lies flat on the grass. What he's seen is enough to reassure him for now. The battle is almost over. Two trolls are already lying on the ground, defeated. A third has fled. The fourth is still upright, but the two barbarians are laying into him, and now everyone who can still walk is joining in the bloodbath. The troll stands no chance against these numbers. He sways, lashes out around him again and falls towards the ground, a dwarf axe buried deep between his shoulder blades. ‘Victory,' breathes a disembodied voice.

The next moment the messenger with yellow eyes appears at the forest's edge and reins in his horse.

‘You have conquered the oval,' he says, and touches the shimmering disc with his bony fingers. ‘You shall be rewarded. BloodWork!'

BloodWork? Sarius doesn't understand, until the large barbarian steps forward and bows before the messenger.

‘You made the most valuable contribution in the battle. Your reward is a helmet with a strength of twenty-seven. It will protect you against poison, lightning strikes and fever spells.'

The messenger hands BloodWork a golden helmet with rams' horns.

The barbarian hurriedly takes his simple steel cap off his head, and pulls on the gleaming head armour, which makes him look even bigger.

‘Keskorian,' the messenger continues, and the somewhat shorter barbarian steps forward.

‘You gave of your best, but you hesitate too often. Nevertheless you have earned your reward. Take BloodWork's old helmet – it is better than yours.'

Keskorian does what is asked of him.

‘Sarius!' the messenger calls.

Already? That astonishes him. After all, he only got involved in the action late, and didn't exactly cover himself in glory. It's an incredible effort to get to his feet. Every movement makes the excruciating tone grow louder. His shoulder is bleeding again, and he sees that more of his belt is turning black.

‘It was your first battle, and you showed courage instead of contenting yourself with the role of observer. I value courage. Therefore you will receive what you need the most: healing. Take this potion. It will restore your health and increase your resistance. To your health, friend.'

Sarius sees the glowing sunshine-yellow bottle floating before him. He reaches for it, opens it and drinks.

The traces of blood on his shoulder dissolve into nothing; his belt gleams with fresh new red. And what a relief: the buzzing high-frequency tone that started when he was injured disappears. It is replaced by the music that he heard in the tower. The melody promises everything. Everything he has ever wanted.

‘Sapujapu, you held out until the end for the first time. For you I have a new axe.'

The dwarf steps forward, takes the axe and quickly withdraws again. There's a pause. The messenger eyes them, one after the other, as if he has to think about it.

‘Golor!' he calls up a vampire, and rewards him with twenty-five minutes of invisibility, and the second vampire – LaCor – with fifty gold coins.

Nurax, the werewolf, receives praise and a breastplate; the cat woman, Samira, receives a twice-hardened sword. The messenger dispenses gifts, small and large, to all: a shield with rune spells to the second dwarf; a poison dagger to Vulcanos, the dark elf. Another dark elf and the wounded vampire lying in the grass next to Sarius are the only ones remaining.

‘Lelant, you stayed on the sidelines. You were cowardly, and only struck three ineffectual blows with your sword. You will receive no reward. I am considering depriving you of a level.' Lelant, the dark elf with the black hair, is standing on the edge of the clearing, half concealed by the trees among which he took refuge during the battle.

Sarius feels a curious satisfaction. He wasn't especially good, he knows that, but someone else was worse than he was.

‘I caution you, Lelant. Fear does not pay. In the next battle I will expect your resolution, your strength, your whole heart.'

Last of all, the messenger turns to the vampire woman. ‘Jaquina. You are as good as dead. If I leave you here, you will die in a few moments. If that is what you want, lie down to die. If not, follow me.' The vampire struggles to her knees. The blood flowing from her wounds is black. She crawls towards the messenger. As soon as she's near enough, he lifts her onto the horse.

‘You have permission to light a fire,' he says, pulls his mount around hard and gallops away into the darkness.

Sapujapu is the quickest. All it takes is three pieces of wood and a red spark that shoots from his fingers, and a campfire is already blazing in the middle of the clearing. Everyone immediately gathers round it.

‘What do you think he wants from Jaquina?' Nurax asks.

‘The usual,' Keskorian says. ‘Who cares? When she comes back, she'll be Level 4.'

‘
If
she comes back,' Sapujapu replies.

One after another they sit down. Sarius feels out of place, uncomfortable, even though it's quite possible that he knows some of the people here, maybe all of them . . .

‘We've got a newbie. Sarius,' Samira declares.

‘Yeah, another stupid dark elf,' jeers BloodWork, who's been silent till now. ‘They're like flies.'

‘At least we're better looking than barbarians,' Lelant puts in.

‘Shut your mouth, loser.'

And Lelant does stop talking, so BloodWork turns all his attention back to Sarius.

‘Why a dark elf? Didn't they tell you that we've already got too many of them?'

‘What's it to you anyway?'

‘I bet you're even a scout as well,' the barbarian keeps griping at him. ‘Like your whole clan.'

‘I'm a knight. Do you mind if I call you Bloody?'

The vampire LaCor finds that marvellously funny. ‘A knight! You're going to bite the dust faster than you can blink. Especially if you come up with nicknames for BloodWork.'

What's wrong with a knight? Sarius would like to ask, but doesn't want to show himself up any further. Maybe the gnome would have told him, if Sarius had been able to bring himself to ask his advice.

‘Where is the messenger taking Jaquina?' he inquires instead.

‘You'll find that out yourself later.' Sapujapu gives him the brush-off.

‘Why don't you just tell me?'

‘Not allowed. You're Level 1.'

Level 1 – of course. He's only just started and the others must be dying to see him fall flat on his face. Or bite the dust, as LaCor put it with such relish. He takes a closer look at Sapujapu and Samira, but can't find any indication of their levels. How does everyone know that he's a beginner?

Meanwhile, however, another topic is being discussed. ‘Does anyone know where Drizzel is today?'

‘No idea. Perhaps he's running with another group.'

‘Or he's got a solo quest.'

‘I think he has to do stuff outside right now.'

Interest in Sarius has evaporated. He's pleased about that, wonders who Drizzel is, and what it means to have stuff to do ‘outside'. Even if he doesn't understand everything people are talking about, he is gradually relaxing in the embrace of the beguiling music, which flows languorously through him like honey. It makes him heavy and contented, as if the next victorious battle already lay behind him.

Samira is standing near him the whole time. He keeps getting the impression that she wants to talk to him, but doesn't know how to go about it.

‘Blood's old helmet is rubbish,' Keskorian gripes. ‘I would have preferred a decent sword.'

‘Well, you should have really gone for it just now then,' Nurax says.

‘Yeah, yeah. Great, go ahead and enjoy your harness. But I'm telling you, it's rubbish too. How many defence points does it have? Fourteen? You may as well just fold yourself a paper one.'

‘As if.' Nurax splutters. ‘Fourteen are definitely going to repel orc arrows – which nearly cost me all my life energy yesterday!'

Sarius is keeping out of the discussion. He's realised that his doublet might be a problem. Only five points of defence. Hopefully there aren't any orcs nearby.

‘Take a look at Blood's harness! How many points of strength does it have?'

BloodWork takes his time to answer.

‘Fifty-two.'

‘I don't want to know what he had to do for that,' Sapujapu says.

‘And it's none of your bloody business,' declares the giant barbarian.

‘Careful! The messenger already cautioned someone about swearing. A dwarf. I was there.'

As Nurax speaks, a new figure arrives at the fire – a dark she-elf, with a longbow hanging over her shoulder. The black, tightly woven plait reminds Sarius of Emily. He calls up her name: Arwen's Child.

‘Hi, AC.' Nurax greets her. ‘Wow, you're a Three now! Congratulations!'

‘Thanks. It wasn't a big deal. No battle today?'

‘We're just finished,' Keskorian informs her. ‘Four trolls – it was no joke. Do you know everyone here? You know BloodWork at any rate, don't you?'

‘Yes, we searched for a stone changeling together. Hi, Blood.'

The barbarian doesn't answer, just sits unmoving, staring into the fire.

‘But I don't know LaCor – or Sapujapu or Samira or Sarius either. Are names starting with Sa in right now?'

‘Better than being nicked from
Lord of the Rings
,' Sarius responds and earns applause from Samira.

Arwen's Child takes a few steps towards Sarius. ‘You're a One,' she states.

‘Yes.'

‘Any more Ones here?'

‘I've already seen four of them today,' Lelant says. Sarius has almost forgotten about the quiet dark elf. Possibly due to the fact that Lelant has taken ‘dark' very literally. His clothing is all black, like his hair. His face is the colour of coffee with hardly any milk. Nick can't help wondering whether Colin might not be concealed behind the figure.

‘There are more and more Ones. Including Sarius there have been two dark elves, a werewolf and a human today.'

‘Humans are totally rare,' Sapujapu observes.

‘And unnecessary,' BloodWork adds.

Sarius would like to ask a few questions during the ensuing lull in the conversation. Like whether the spinning oval stone above them is a wish crystal. And what he should do in order to survive the next battle with his poor equipment. Or how he can get to the next level quickly. Because by the look of it, he's nothing as a One. ‘Have you got any good tips you can give me?' he asks around. ‘Yes. Try to stay alive,' Nurax says. ‘It's best to stay close to a very strong character while you're still so weak yourself.'

‘But keep away from me,' BloodWork says. ‘Bloody elves.'

‘How come you're giving the newbie tips anyway?' Keskorian grumbles. ‘We're opponents, remember? Do you want to get the final reward yourself, or have him get it? For all I care all the new-bies can snuff it. There's too many of us already anyway.'

‘That's right,' says BloodWork.

‘Too many for what?' Sarius enquires.

Nurax stays silent, seeing he's been reprimanded so sharply. But Sapujapu ignores the barbarian's objections.