Epic (22 page)

“There are fifty of them,” explained Injeborg. “And unless you are carrying one, Bouncy here will not let you on.” She patted the head of the ghostly dog affectionately.

“Bouncy?” B.E. groaned with disgust. “Inny, it’s an ethereal guard dog. It can detect astral projections and ethereal walkers, let alone invisible and hidden creatures. It can savage a troll single-handedly, and you’ve called it ‘Bouncy’?”

“Sure. He’s cute too.” Injeborg tickled the unflappable guard dog under the chin.

“Come on.” Erik handed a stone to B.E. The two friends continued on to where they had earlier set up a table and Captain Sharky was waiting for them. Erik put the bag of milky stones on the table with a clatter, reaching in to pass one to the old sailor. Ahead of them a great queue had formed, several hundred long.

The chatter of the crowd subsided; the hawkers ceased their shouts and even the wind seemed to drop as B.E. beckoned the first man forward. A rope held by strong guards hired for the day held the crowd back, but they pressed forward, those farther back wanting to catch sight of the dragonslayers and listen to the events of what was clearly a historic day.

“Good man this,” whispered Sharky. “Served with me on the old
Falcon
as bosun.”

Erik took down his name and handed him a glass stone.

“Next!” shouted B.E.

And so they continued, hiring or rejecting sailors at the word of Sharky. The procedure was a dull one for the spectators, and a lively hum of conversation began to grow all around the quays.

“That’s a good crew.” Sharky looked approvingly at the men and women who had gone aboard, their few belongings in canvas bags thrown over their shoulders, and who were even now taking up their stations on the ship.

“No more sailors!” shouted B.E. “Adventurers only, please.”

With curses from those who had missed out, the queue became greatly reduced, but even so was far longer than the twenty stones that remained in the bag.

“Next!”

“Othinious Majaminous at your service.” A small gnome bowed his head, ducking below the height of the table. Both Cindella and B.E. stood up to get a better look at him.

Inadvertently B.E. let out a chuckle. The gnome immediately stood up, scowling from beneath the hood of the mystic’s cowl that he wore.

“And what can you do, Othinious?” asked Erik kindly.

“I am a servant of Odunerok, God of the desert, and through him have mastered deep secrets of fire and air.”

“Prove it,” said B.E. bluntly.

The gnome stared steadily at B.E. then reached into his pack. He drew forth a rolled-up cloth of rich color, and kept on drawing; soon the visible length of the thick cloth was greater than the size of the bag, then bigger than the gnome himself.

“Conjurer’s trick? Or Bag of the Dimensions?” whispered B.E.

Once the elaborately decorated cloth was fully drawn from the bag, the gnome rolled it out over the ground. The crowd surged forward to look, drawn by sighs of admiration from those who stood near the front. Sitting on the carpet, the gnome began to chant quietly, face drawn in concentration. The carpet rose steadily from the ground, much to the excitement of the crowd, who burst into applause. This was more like it!

“He’s in,” said B.E. “Next!”

“Sir Warren, knight of the Holy Order of Mov, servant of his Majesty King Uwen of Newhaven.”

The impressive warrior had a bright smile, nearly hidden in the great beard that flowed over his bright, powerful breastplate. Across his back was tied a shield, and at his waist a variety of weapons and potion bottles.

Without hesitation, Erik passed the knight a milky glass marble.

Before B.E. could call forward the next person in the queue, the clouds darkened; sea birds shrieked with fear and scattered into the sky. The crowd shrank back as a great black carriage clattered along the quays, pulled by two fierce black stallions whose eyes rolled with madness. A pallid servant, dressed elegantly, reined in the horses near the table.

Utter stillness. Not a cough from anyone, fearful of drawing attention to themselves. Then a voice, terrible and cold, dripping with poisonous sibilance, and yet insidiously beautiful and persuasive:

“I, Count Illystivostich, would undertake this voyage.”

“If that vampyre boards your vessel, then I for one will not set foot upon it, for it will be cursed!” Sir Warren shouted in reply, clutching at the hilt of his sword.

Sitting behind the table, Erik was still struck with fear and a genuine concern for his safety, when B.E. spoke up bravely.

“What guarantee would we have that you would work for the same aim as the crew, and not slaughter us?”

“My auguries state that the treasure you seek contains an ancient heirloom of my family. Promise me that should you find it, you will return it to me. Then I will swear by the most ancient gods to serve you for the voyage, and take my sustenance only from the beasts that I will bring aboard myself.”

It was such a reasonable statement, Erik found himself nodding.

“Don’t listen to him. The decks of that ship will run with blood should that ungodly creature defile it with one step onto its planks.” Sir Warren was furious but was stepping back, clearly fearful of provoking the count.

“Your call on this one,” said Erik, genuinely torn.

“A vampyre? You must be kidding. Of course he’s in,” B.E. stood up. “Very well, Count. We accept your terms.”

“Excellent. My servant will take my coffin and animals aboard. I will fly to join you in the night.”

“Here!” Sir Warren slammed his glass stone back onto the table. “I wash my hands of this whole doomed affair.”

Once the dreadful presence in the carriage had departed, the throngs of people watching, both real and game-generated, broke out into animated conversation, arguing amongst themselves about the fate of the voyage now that it was associated with the most feared creature of the region. They settled into a lighter humor only when a bear came up to the table.

The large black grizzly loped up to the table on all fours, then stood up, towering above them.

“Please,” it boomed out. “I wish to come on your voyage.”

“A talking bear!” voices all around called out delightedly.

“What on earth for?” asked Cindella.

“A witch told me I would meet my mate on the other continent.”

“So, it’s a one-way trip you want?” B.E. scoffed, and the crowd laughed.

“Yes, please.”

“You realize that means no treasure for you?” B.E. continued, and again drew laughs for the image of the animal owning money.

“Yes, sir.”

B.E. shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Here you go.” Cindella gave him a stone. “Don’t lose that until you are safely on the ship.”

“Thank you both.” The bear bowed, and, holding the stone like a precious cub in one paw, it waddled along to the gangplank.

When the bag was nearly empty, there was a disturbance in the queue.

“Look!” Svein Redbeard lurched into view past the restraining rope. “I just wanted you to know, I am here, and so are your friends.”

“Let them come forward,” B.E. instructed the guards.

Cheers greeted the appearance of the older dragonslayer. In his wake, looking as sheepish as gray polygons can, were Bjorn and Sigrid.

“Bjorn! You’ve come!” Erik leapt up, delighted.

“Welcome, welcome!” B.E. was just as pleased. “This is going to be fantastic. It’s a shame you weren’t here from the beginning. It’s been great fun.”

“Well, I still don’t agree, and I think it will probably all end badly. But you are my friends.” Bjorn shrugged.

“And you are my brother,” added Sigrid to B.E.

“I see you are both looking very impressive.” The sarcasm in B.E.’s voice was entirely good-natured. Bjorn had evidently overcome his reluctance to spend money, as he was decked out in fabulous armor, while on cross-straps around his body hung a variety of bags, pouches, and potion bottles. But by far the most extraordinary item that he carried was a great helm that was veined like a block of marble—pale and shot through with glinting lines of silver and platinum.

“What’s the helmet?” asked B.E.

“Water breathing. I had no time to learn to swim.” Their friend sounded embarrassed.

“Good idea,” chipped in Erik. “Let’s hope you don’t need it, though. Here.” He handed each of them a stone.

All this time, Svein Redbeard had been standing to one side, watching and listening. Now he approached, splendidly bedecked in his fighting equipment, exactly as they had last seen him in the arena.

“And may I have the honor of joining you on your adventure?”

“Of course. The honor is all ours. We have one stone left. Don’t we, Erik?” B.E. seemed oblivious to the fact that the point of the voyage was to escape Central Allocations; he had become far too involved in the excitement of the expedition. If Erik could have physically kicked him, he would have—ban on violence or not.

“One.” It was too late to hide it.

“Perfect.” Svein bowed as he received the stone.

The crowd was cheering them all and waving as they moved towards the gangplank. Already, minstrels were strolling around with the opening verses of the saga of the voyage—making much of the talking bear, the vampyre, and the dragonslayers, old and young.

 

Suddenly all the noise of the quayside was submerged with a shrill keening howl. Injeborg’s warder was on all fours at the top of the gangplank, fur standing on end, teeth bared.

“What is it?” Injeborg cried out, looking to Cindella.

“Intruder!” shouted Erik, and pulled off Cindella’s glove. He was close enough to see by the pale light of the ring; it was a human, fully encased in black armor, poised with sword drawn on the gangplank. “He’s invisible!”

A flash of red—Othinious, the gnome mystic, had thrown dust into the air that swirled and was magically drawn towards the would-be stowaway.

“There he is!” Sailors and warriors lined the side of the boat, pointing at the outline that they could now discern.

With a howl of fury, the man turned and ran away, pushing people brutally aside as he did so. The hired guards gave chase, but soon tired as the opaque warrior fled into the narrow alleys around the quays.

With the excitement over, the crowd gathered around the ship to shout cheerful farewells. Cindella gave Captain Sharky a nod and he began shouting orders.

Sailors moved swiftly to their tasks, and the mainsail was lowered, showing the white falcon design from which the ship took her name. Immediately they felt the tug of the wind and heard the water begin to pick up speed as it rushed along their sides.

“Well,” B.E. said, standing proudly on the poop deck. “Isn’t this the best fun you’ve ever had?”

He continued to wave until the crowd had faded into an indistinct, colorful mass.

Chapter 20

DANGER AT SEA

Gazing intently over
the stern through a telescope, Erik could just make out the sails of the ship that had been following them throughout the day. Its shadowy gray form was partially hidden by a shower that was heading towards the
White Falcon
from the direction of its mysterious pursuer. Afternoon was turning into evening and the cloudy sky was taking on an angry orange tinge. Soon darkness would come, and they would try changing course in the hope of losing the unwelcome interest from that dogged ship.

“It must be the pirate Duke Raymond.” Captain Sharky joined him, looking worriedly at the horizon.

“What makes you say that?” asked Erik.

“She is no merchant vessel. Nor is she from the navies of any of the city-states that I know of. My old bones tell me she is a pirate, the pirate of these seas.”

Putting the telescope away, Erik took one last, proud look at the busy crew of the
White Falcon
, then unclipped. A meeting of the leaders of the expedition was arranged for after sunset, but now it was time for dinner. The Rolfsons were very punctual about their meals, as Erik had learned to his embarrassment, several times arriving at the house when they were already gathered and waiting for him.

He ran over and entered their home, to be met with cheerful greetings and the aroma of winter vegetable stew: turnip, broccoli and carrot.

“Welcome, Erik, sit, sit.” Rolfson gestured him to a chair at the table.

“Is that ship still following us?” asked Bjorn.

“Yes. Captain Sharky thinks it is his old enemy, Duke Raymond.”

“So, we might face a sea battle?” Injeborg did not sound dismayed at the idea.

“Perhaps. Although it would be better to slip them during the night.”

Bjorn nodded at this.

After his dinner, Erik thanked the Rolfsons then rushed home through the darkness to reenter the game. He was, in fact, the last to enter the captain’s cabin; it was a measure of everyone’s concern that they had clipped up early. His dad’s character had one of the window seats and was closing the shutters behind him to prevent the light cast from an oil lamp from escaping to signal their position. Anonemuss was doing the same in the other window bay. Bjorn, Injeborg, B.E., and Sigrid were sitting, waiting. Erik was pleased to see that they had left the large seat behind the captain’s table for him. At the same time, he was slightly ashamed to find in himself such pride at being leader of the voyage.

“So.” He took his place. “Captain Sharky thinks that this ship is probably that of Duke Raymond. Does anyone have information about this pirate?”

“Of course not,” Anonemuss responded curtly. “If indeed it is a pirate, it is irrelevant to our purposes.”

“Unless he intends to attack.” B.E. was tracing the silver pommel of his sword with his fingertips and did not look up as he spoke.

There was silence after this comment. Erik did not know whether the others were concerned about the prospect of battle or not.