Epic (15 page)

“Ready?” shouted B.E. “Charge!”

Braced against the sight of the monster roaring back to life, Cindella ran in, rapier an insignificant pin against the mountainous size of the dragon. But it remained still and they gathered around the head, which alone was as big as any of them. The eye near Erik was now dull, all intelligence gone.

“Have we really done it?” asked Bjorn wonderingly.

“Stand back!” B.E. started to hack at the neck of dragon with his longsword. It was like chopping at a tree trunk, and no one else could help. Bjorn had sold his ax to raise money for arrows. Only after B.E. had severed the head, with the steaming ichor still bubbling forth from the wound, could they really believe the battle was over.

“We’ve done it! We are dragonslayers!” B.E. held his arms open to them all. They rushed together, jumping up and down until their group hug lost its balance.

“I must go for a break,” said Bjorn.

“We all need one.” Erik wanted urgently to tell his mum the news.

“Very well. Back in half an hour, all right? And no one is to go into the cave until we are all here.” B.E. took charge.

That agreed, they unclipped.

The house was dark; for a moment, Erik thought it was empty, but he found Freya in the kitchen, asleep at the table, head on her arms.

“Mum! Mum!” He shook her awake. “We did it. We killed Inry’aat! We killed the Red Dragon!”

“No. Surely not?”

“It’s true, Mum, really true. We did it!”

Her face lit up and for the first time in days; her smile was warm and heartfelt. “Erik! Well done. You are all heroes!”

She opened her arms and they hugged each other for a long time.

“Do you see?” Erik broke away. “This means we can get Dad back. With the treasure we can mount a legal challenge, and pass any law we want—like amnesty for exiles!”

Freya pondered this.

“Yes. That’s a real possibility. There are other options as well. Perhaps we can use the money to bribe the ferry captain to bring him back? Isn’t it dark in here? Let me make us some food then we can discuss our plans.”

“I have less than half an hour, then we meet to gather the treasure.”

“You need to eat something. You must have been in Epic for the last twelve hours or more.” Freya got to her feet, all energy and purpose now.

There was a loud and eager banging on the door. Erik broke into a smile.

“You get it, Erik. Sounds like Inny,” Freya said.

He flung the door wide and Injeborg leapt in, eyes sparkling, searching for a response in his own. As he staggered under her embrace, Erik saw Bjorn behind her, smiling happily and at the same time looking a little embarrassed on behalf of his sister.

“Oh, Erik, isn’t it just wonderful?” She hugged him again and again.

For a moment, an internal resistance held him back, a barrier that was connected to his concentration on the battle with the dragon; then it melted. He clasped her tight and she responded. Erik’s face was pressed against warm, flower-scented locks of her fair hair. The fierceness with which they clung together registered their happiness, and more.

“I thought I was going to have to leave you, all of you, perhaps forever.” Tears came to Erik’s eyes, an echo of the misery of his half-admitted sense of defeat, and yet they were also tears of happiness. Injeborg nodded, a gentle motion against his cheek.

“It will be all right now.”

Conscious of Bjorn’s presence, Erik gave the warm body that was pressed against him one more squeeze, then they uncoupled, stray strands from Injeborg’s long hair sticking to his hot cheek.

Rather more awkwardly, Bjorn too raised his thickset arms and briefly they embraced. Nonetheless it was with a real flow of comradeship between them.

“When I think about it . . .” Bjorn shook his head in horror. “So little between destruction and success. That time, when you were out of position and they both missed.”

“Oh, yes, my heart stopped—I thought we were dead,” Injeborg agreed.

“But your ‘mock’ skill worked,” Bjorn continued. “Such a slender thing for our lives to be shaped by.”

Erik chuckled. “Now it is time to dwell on more pleasant matters. We don’t have long. We’d better get ready to bring the treasure to Newhaven.”

“Of course.” Injeborg nodded. “We just wanted to see you.” She shared a glance with him, a glance full of happiness and pride.

“I’m glad you came over.” He paused. “See you soon back in Epic.”

Chapter 14

THE COMMITTEE DIVIDED

“We are the
dragonslayers! We are the dragonslayers!” B.E. was lying on his back, beneath him an enormous pile of gold coins. He was singing at the top of his voice, filling the once-frightening cave with the echoes of his irreverent chanting.

They had entered the cave excitedly, talking about how their friends and families would react to the news, and what they would buy for their farms and for the district. A witch-light spell cast by Injeborg spread a cheerful turquoise light around them that found distant reflections in the depths of the stalactite-encrusted cavern.

The first sign of the hoard had been a few coins, gold and silver; then they had come across a brooch with skillful filigree work, which Sigrid had fastened to her cape; next a leather pouch, with a gold fastening, and two small sapphires on the clasp.

“This alone would mean a tractor for the district.” B.E. had picked it up, examining it closely.

More and more immensely valuable items could be seen scattered along the cave floor, each of which caused them to stop and eagerly admire their fortune. Then they turned a corner, and the sight that greeted them suddenly halted their excited chatter. Before them were the results of a thousand years of accumulation by the monster that lay dead outside.

In a wide chamber, hung with slender milky stalactites, a flood of coins carpeted the floor, rising and falling in piles several feet thick—motionless waves of gold. Immersed in the coin hoard, everywhere the eye paused, were precious items: horn drinking vessels bedecked with beaten silver, swords with delicate gem-laden scabbards, great tomes with gold-leaf work on the covers and heavy silver clasps, silver and gold cups, caskets, jewelry, pieces of armor, glittering blades on axes and swords. It was as though a sea of gold had recently washed over a beach of precious jewels, leaving them uncovered to glimmer in the torchlight.

Only after a few moments of shock at the size of the hoard could B.E. throw himself onto the coins and begin singing.

Bjorn sat down, hardly able to contemplate the scene. “How much wealth is this?” He reached down and grabbed a handful of coins. With them came a silver chain on which was strung a large iridescent amethyst. “In my hand I have more money than I could have earned in my whole life, and how many handfuls are here?” He shook his head.

“I know.” B.E. turned over to dig into the coins beneath him. “Great, isn’t it!”

They each went their own way amongst the treasure, beachcombers shouting with pleasure and excitement at the discoveries that they found beneath the easily overthrown mounds of coin. This joyful exercise probably lasted for hours, though no one was monitoring the time; eventually, when they tired of showing each other new marvels, the Osterfjord Dragonslayers gathered together again.

“How can we get this all to Newhaven?” asked Sigrid, bringing a note of practicality to their giddy revels.

“Good question. You should have brought a lot more carts.” B.E. smiled at Bjorn.

“How about I take some treasure and hurry back there, buy six more carts, and return as quickly as I can?” Erik proposed.

“You will be all right traveling alone?” asked Injeborg.

“Oh yes, I’ve done the journey lots of times, and without the benefit of Cindella’s natural speed and these boots.”

“Good. In the meantime, we will fill the one cart we have.” B.E. laughed. “What a demanding and yet pleasant task.”

 

It was almost a day later that they walked into Newhaven, each leading horses, who were straining to pull heavily laden carts; the treasure was concealed as well as they could manage it, under rope-bound canvas covers.

The city was decked out as if for a holiday. From all the walls and towers flew bright flags—the raven of the Earl of Snowpeak predominant among many other coats-of-arms; garlands of flowers hung around the gateway.

“Is it a special day?” Injeborg looked around curiously.

“I think it’s for us,” replied Erik, slightly sheepishly.

“What? You told someone?” Sigrid sounded angry that Erik had let their secret slip before they had secured ownership of the treasure.

“Well, just the hunting merchant.”

“It’s better.” B.E. broke in before they could quarrel. “This is how it should be.”

As the team entered the city, it seemed that the entire population had gathered to cheer them: the merchants and traders, the master craftsmen and apprentices, the city guard, the street urchins. They all lined the roads or waved from their windows. Entertaining them were jugglers, puppet masters, troubadours, and poets—all of whom paused to join the shouts of acclaim and the happy attempts to throw flowers onto the procession of carts moving over the cobbles.

B.E. was in his element, waving back and acknowledging the cheers; he was wearing a garland of flowers that had been raised up to him by a young woman who ran out of the crowd. The rest of them felt slightly uncomfortable at the public scrutiny. Here and there, gray faces of other players could be seen in the colorful assembly of NPCs; no doubt, back at home, they were looking on at this parade with some amazement. This was the first time in a generation that something unusual had happened in the game, and they could hardly be expected to take seriously the crowd’s excited cry of “dragonslayers.”

The master of the bank, a serious and ancient high elf, was there to meet them when they pulled up into the large square before the bank; he acted calmly, as if he dealt with dragon hoards every day. A gesture to his staff and they began to empty the carts, several clerks with leather-bound books making entries as they did so.

“Please, come with me.”

Again, unusually, as with Antilo the jeweler, and the woodcutter before, Erik detected in the character the presence of intelligence and vibrant expression. With a few anxious glances at their treasure, which glittered far too prominently in the sunlight as its covers were thrown back, they followed the high elf.

The master’s office was discreetly and tastefully decorated. A beautiful slender vase contained exotic vivid blue flowers with long stems. This was the only ornamentation, although the carved oak chairs and desk were themselves works of such delicacy that they all tentatively lowered themselves as they sat.

“Congratulations, a most remarkable achievement, and one that will earn you all an undying reputation. Perhaps I might be the first to know your names?” He smiled at them, bright eyes under bushy eyebrows.

As they spoke, he acknowledged each name with a small nod.

“For such immensely wealthy clients as yourselves, carrying even a fraction of your treasure would be most cumbersome. Not to mention the irksome attention that it is liable to attract.” He looked around them for expressions of agreement, and then continued, “So, we suggest to our most chivalrous clients that they might find it most advantageous to invoke the services of a soulbound djinn.”

Detecting no sign of understanding, the master rang a tiny silver bell that was on his desk. At once, another, slightly younger elf entered with a silver tray on which were five crystal bottles and five stiletto daggers.

“I took the liberty of having these prepared.”

The tray was set down on the desk and the other elf left.

“In each of these is a djinn from the ethereal planes.” Seeing their blank looks, the high elf made a sweeping gesture. “The ethereal planes, a magical dimension that surrounds our own, constantly present, but invisible to all but a very few. Now, these are geased creatures who travel via the planes, which gives them great swiftness. All civilized merchants understand that the instructions that are given to them will be carried out by this bank.” Since they still looked confused, the master continued, “When you open your bottles, the djinn will appear; you explain to it your desires, and the creatures will immediately come to me, or my deputy, and we will act upon them.”

“I see,” said Injeborg. “So, if I wanted to buy an expensive item from a merchant, I would call up my djinn and tell it to let you know the merchant could obtain such and such an amount from the bank.”

“Exactly so, mistress witch.” He nodded approvingly.

“What are the knives for?” Bjorn was more interested than concerned.

“The djinn will obey only you, but to be soulbound to you, we require you to drip some blood into the vessels.”

“Do you have any idea of the value of our treasure?” asked Injeborg.

“My staff will present you with a total value and a list of all your rare and precious magical items. No doubt, being veteran adventurers, unlike myself, you will have recognized many important artifacts—such as Neowthla’s Bell of Summoning, missing for five hundred years but now, thanks to your noble efforts, returned to the light of day. But in case you should have overlooked something in the undoubted confusion of such a hoard, we have experts who can identify many obscure items of arcana. When they have so done, I will have the loremaster general himself discuss each one with you.”

“That’s most kind of you,” said Erik.

“Not at all, my lady.” He gave a slight smile, the first that Erik had seen on his austere face. “We cannot perform too many services for the people who have made this the richest and thus the most famous bank in the whole of the world.”

“Sorry, friends, but I have to go,” B.E. cut in.

“Me too,” added Sigrid.