Epic (29 page)

With a grimace of satisfaction, the Executioner drew taut the Longbow of the Falling Stars and let loose a deadly poisonous arrow.

By the time the Executioner had reached his victim, Wolf had been forced back into human form; his face and neck were bulging with the effort of resisting the poison.

“I have to say I admire your outspoken manner. I shall miss committee meetings with you. But sadly, I don’t think that you would appreciate the changes I am introducing.” The Executioner did not bother to dismount; he simply fired another arrow directly into the werewolf’s chest.

 

After giving weapons training to the evening class of University students, Brynhild was known to socialize in the Misty Valley tavern. Here she had a devoted group of followers, particularly the players from the northeastern districts. It was said that the valkyrie had many intimate admirers, both in the game and in Mikelgard. She tended to unclip in a ship that she had equipped to her satisfaction at the docks, and it was there that the Executioner waited patiently, having disarmed several traps and entered her chamber without difficulty.

It was with some satisfaction and a certain amount of relief that he heard Brynhild’s footsteps on the gangplank. She came inside the ship, into the adjacent room. For a while, the Executioner listened excitedly, as she walked back and forth, moving around the room, opening and closing drawers. Impatience grew, however; there was a chance he would miss her; perhaps she intended just to unclip in the next room rather than enter the bedroom in which he was concealed. So, with great care, he opened the door between them, relieved to find that she was facing away from him. Brynhild had cast aside her winged helmet, allowing her long blond hair to cascade over her shoulders.

“I doubt your next character will have the wealth to enhance their beauty much.”

The valkyrie swept around with astonishing speed, simultaneously drawing a blade to strike the arm that he raised to defend himself. Fortunately she wielded a magic longsword, which jarred him, but did no further damage, the demon in the shield licking its lips with pleasure after sucking power from the weapon.

Then Brynhild surprised him again. She ceased making any movement at all, standing before him stock-still. She was unclipping. There was no time to utter the words he had prepared; hastily he struck at her with Acutus, killing her with seconds to spare.

As he sheathed the sword, he shook his head—a most unsatisfactory execution. Yet you had to admire her reflexes; they had been extremely sharp for an elderly woman.

 

The last of them was Bekka, the druidess. She was the least of his worries, and it was of little concern that she seemed to have unclipped for the night already, or else not be present in her usual haunts. As a matter of fact, she did not even have to die, her character class being more of a useful aid to journeying than to duels. No team that she could lead in the arena could possibly defeat one led by Ragnok Strongarm. It would have been pleasant to have completed all the assassinations before any of them gained a warning, but he could not complain about his fortune; matters had gone better than he had hoped.

The moon had risen, illuminating the standing stones that had been the last spot where he hoped to have caught her. The Executioner stood for a while in thought, gently stroking the neck of his black stallion as he relished the memories of the recent events.

“I have been watching you with some curiosity.” An appallingly ancient voice, empty of human warmth, startled the Executioner, who sprang about to see its source. The stallion whinnied in dismay, rearing up, liquid brown eyes rolling in fear.

In the center of the ring, at the sacrificial stone, stood Count Illystivostich, the vampyre.

The Executioner fingered the hilt of Acutus nervously. This was an extremely dangerous encounter, the worst that the environs of Newhaven could offer. While he felt invulnerable in the presence of any player character, he was frightened now. This freakishly unlucky twist of the game could ruin everything. Back in his seat in Mikelgard, a wave of sweat swelled up from Ragnok’s nervous body, as though it was being wrung out of him.

“Careful that you do not draw that weapon, for I would have to act.” The count sneered, a wicked sinful smile, attempting to embrace the Executioner in a shared sense of conspiracy. Ragnok continued to clench and unclench his fingers, but he took a step back and relaxed slightly.

“Please, do not be afraid. You and I have much in common, I believe.” Again, the moist, blood-red lips of the vampyre curled with dark amusement. Again, Ragnok was soothed by the creature’s manner, and this time managed a nod in return.

“If I understand matters correctly, you are a being who can enter and leave this world of mine.”

Ragnok was electrified by the vampyre’s words, his hair immediately standing on end. This was no ordinary NPC encounter.

“You, you understand this is a game . . . ?” he stuttered.

“A game?” The vampyre chuckled gently. “For your kind, perhaps. But this is my existence.”

“You are alive?”

Again a sinister laugh, warm and embracing, with the succulence of poisoned honey. “If you can call the Lord of the Undead alive, why so I am.” The vampyre gathered up his robes and settled on the ancient stone. He gestured around him, at the stars, the moon, and the somber dolmens. “This is my world. I cannot leave it. And if it should ever end, then so will my existence.” The eyes of the vampyre locked with Ragnok’s, who found he could not look away from their blazing, beautiful intensity, no matter how they seared him.

“Now it seems to me that you, too, do not desire this world to end. Am I correct?”

“Of course.”

“Good, then we are allies.”

This simple statement did much to quell Ragnok’s fears. He finally let his hand drop from Acutus, and the count nodded approvingly.

“I see that you have slain several of Newhaven’s most powerful characters tonight. Am I right in concluding that you have done so because this somehow enhances your position as the most powerful being in your realm?”

“Yes.” Ragnok permitted himself a small smile at this, the first time his new status had been put into words. And by a creature from Epic!

“That makes evident sense.” The vampyre indicated his satisfaction, with a nod that seemed to draw the two of them into the complicity of sharing a great crime, and greater ones to come. “Then I must alert you to a danger that you are probably unaware of.” He paused to add emphasis to his next words. “It is possible to destroy this realm. Lacking an understanding of your true natures, I made a terrible, if understandable, mistake and have allowed certain of your beings to understand this—beings who have not only professed a desire to end the world but even as we speak have laid their hands on the one item capable of doing this.”

“No! That’s not possible.” Ragnok was stunned and remained silent, his mind racing. Who would conceivably end the game?

“Alas, while the task is very difficult, it is possible. Perhaps only once in a hundred years might there arise a group of people who were capable of completing the quest—especially if they had the resources of a dragon hoard to assist them.”

“Those stupid kids from Osterfjord!” Ragnok expressed his realization with a snarl.

“Stupid? I think not.” The vampyre’s voice hardened with disapproval, and Ragnok shuddered, layers of ice clamping down upon his body. “They are the slayers of Inry’aat, the ancient. They contrived to escape me with the aid of King Aquirion, whose realm has lain undisturbed beneath the waves for a thousand years. Since their escape, they have been rigorous in only traveling by day, when I cannot harm them. They are not to be underestimated.” The glare that accompanied this statement caused Ragnok to quail and shrink, desperate for this encounter to end, yet desiring to stay all night in the company of this monster who, despite being some kind of evolved NPC, appreciated so well the dark ambitions of his soul.

“Very well.” Ragnok spoke in a dry, hesitant voice. “I will go and slay the Osterfjord Players.”

The vampyre nodded. “Good, my ally. Let me wish you as long a life in your realm as I look forward to in mine.” The creature stretched its arms wide, wings becoming corporeal from the shimmering robes in which he was clad. A wave of dark joy caressed Ragnok as the vampyre began to rise, and he would have liked nothing better than to have wallowed in it.

He tore himself away from the tainted feeling with a wince of trepidation.

“I mean that, as the Executioner, I will go and assassinate their characters.”

Count Illystivostich immediately stiffened, sinking heavily back to the ground.

“But that is not good enough, my friend.” The voice of the vampyre was measured, but Ragnok quailed slightly at the undertone of suppressed anger that emerged from its thin lips. “While attempting to plead for her life, the one called Cindella put an argument to me that still causes me deep concern.” At this, the vampyre looked curiously at Ragnok, as though measuring him for a coffin. “Killing them in this realm does not remove their knowledge of the way to end the world. They will return in new forms, forms that we will not recognize, correct?”

“Correct,” Ragnok answered promptly and eagerly.

“Then, do you not see? To destroy their knowledge permanently, you must kill them in your realm.” The vampyre’s gaze burned all the more fiercely, encouraging Ragnok to revel in the excitement of the hunt, and its bloody conclusion.

“Ahh. Um, that’s impossible.” Again he quailed, afraid to incur the disapproval of the count.

“Are you not the most powerful being in your world, then?” The vampyre scowled and his expression tore at Ragnok’s heart.

“Yes, yes I am. But our world is very different from this; you wouldn’t understand. Nobody, not one person, even strikes another, let alone kills them. I am the only person in my world to commit murder,” he hurriedly explained, anxious to prove his worth to the count. “But only because no one knows. The whole world would turn against me if I harmed even one of that group—of any group.”

“Very well.” The count was matter of fact, as if he had anticipated such a response, and Ragnok felt a surge of relief that the vampyre’s displeasure had not increased. “In that case, we must guard the Ethereal Tower of Nightmare and ensure that they cannot enter it.”

“I’ve heard of that place. . . .” Ragnok struggled to remember; it was hard to recall the past while the vivid aura of the vampyre surrounded him so powerfully in the present. “Yes, I have it! You are talking about the Epicus Ultima; Svein Redbeard is always asking about that tower.”

“If they enter that tower, all is lost. This world ends. I shall marshal my forces to guard it. Do the same.”

“But where is it?”

At this, the vampyre chuckled a laugh of deep irony—a laugh that made Ragnok blush with embarrassment and ignorance. The count was slowly spinning a web of moonlight, connecting the standing stones together, until the pattern of the tower became obvious.

“It is right here. However, it materializes only when the two moons are full and the appropriate spells are cast. Fortunately for us, that limits our opponents. They can try to enter but only once every two months.” He paused to confirm that Ragnok was following him, and continued at the Executioner’s eager nod. “The next such night is four days from now. You will be ready?”

“Oh, yes!” Ragnok nodded earnestly. There was no way he was going to let Svein or anyone complete the Epicus Ultima and perhaps ruin the world.

“Good.” The vampyre walked towards him, a trail of dead grass beneath his feet. Surprising himself, Ragnok found he no longer feared the count and did not even flinch as the creature drew close.

“Let us meet here in three nights’ time to review our plans.” The vampyre caressed the visor of Ragnok’s crafted armor with long twisted fingernails, creating a distressing, scratching sound that reverberated in his helmet.

Then he was gone, and Ragnok could breathe again.

He unclipped to the sound of the night crickets resuming their calls.

Chapter 28

FINEM FACERE MUNDO

Although tempted to
roll over and return to his dreams, Erik threw back his blankets, so that the cold air would make him get up. The farm chores were mounting with all the time he was spending in Epic. The place was rapidly becoming a shambles, and since there was now a real chance of his parents’ return, Erik looked at the mess with new, guilty eyes. Fortunately the olive trees more or less took care of themselves this time of year. He should, however, spend a day or two helping the Rolfsons to transfer their seedlings from the nursery into the rows that had been prepared for the tiny shoots.

The kitchen presented Erik with his first surprise of the day. All the dishes had been washed, dried, and stacked neatly back on the shelves. A vigorous fire was causing a welcome heat to radiate from the stove, and on top a pan of water simmered. With a shrug, Erik poured himself a little of the near boiling water, and added some lemon juice. It was a bitter but reviving drink.

Outside, the morning was cold and clear. Again, Erik was taken aback; the yard was no longer covered in filth and straw that had accumulated from allowing the donkeys to roam around as they pleased. The cobbles were swept and glistening from water that had recently been pumped over them; the scent of disinfectant was strong. From the barn on the far side of the yard, Erik could hear the sound of cheerful whistling. He entered the dark stable.

“Morning.”

“A beautiful day, isn’t it, Erik?” Svein beamed at him, looking up from the table at which he was working, cleaning and polishing a heap of leather harnessing.

“You didn’t have to tidy the house and the yard, you know.” Erik was embarrassed; it was not right for a guest to do the chores.

“Oh, I’m glad to do some real work,” the elderly man said, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag. “It’s been a while, you know.” He moved his stool. “Here, come and join me.”