Erebos (11 page)

Chocolate, Nick thought. A supply of jelly babies for long Erebos nights. He felt around in the square opening and drew his hand out again immediately.

Coward, he berated himself. What's the problem? Afraid of rats? Pull yourself together – this is the real world.

But he still got goosebumps when he pushed his hand back into the gap. At first there was nothing at all except dirt, but then he felt plastic. He grabbed it and pulled out a yellow Selfridges bag with something soft in it. The first thing Nick thought of was some sort of Erebos uniform that all players were allowed to wear from Level 2 on – that was ridiculous, of course, but it still made more sense than what he actually pulled out of the bag.

‘Hell Froze Over' was printed in blue on the black shirt, with the icy devil's skull grinning underneath.

For a few seconds everything stood still. Because that wasn't possible. HFO was something between him and his brother. The only people who knew about the shirt were Finn and himself. Nick was absolutely certain that he hadn't breathed a word to the messenger, or to anyone else for that matter. He glanced at the size on the label. XXL. So it was in stock after all.

He would ring Finn. There would be an explanation, of course: it was probably Finn himself who had hidden the shirt here. Nick held it to his nose. Did it smell of stale smoke, of Finn's flat? No, only of laundry detergent and a trace of damp basement.

Was it possible that Finn played Erebos? Sure – why not? The craziest coincidences happened sometimes.

‘Where were you?' Mum asked him when he burst into the flat. Just as well he'd thought to hide the shirt under his jacket.

‘Around the corner. I got myself some chewing gum from the kiosk.'

He even had an opened packet in his pocket, but Mum didn't want to see it.

Back in his room he hurriedly checked that the messenger was still there before he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and rang Finn.

‘Hey kid! Good to hear from you. What's new?'

‘Finn, did you get the HFO T-shirt after all?'

Short pause.

‘No, I wrote and told you that, remember? You can't get them at the moment, but I'll have a good crack at it, okay? I had no idea it was so important to you.'

‘No, don't worry – it's fine. Don't stress about it.'

Finn wasn't lying – of course not. Why would he?

‘Nicky, don't be mad, but I've got to get back to it. The shop is full of people.'

‘Okay. Hang on, one thing: Have you been playing on the computer a lot lately? Role-playing games?'

‘Not at all. I don't have any time – that's life when you're a businessman!' Finn laughed and hung up, leaving Nick even more at a loss than he was before the conversation.

The messenger doesn't appear impatient – rather the opposite. No sooner does Sarius move again than he leans off the wall – slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

‘Did you find your reward?'

‘Yes. Thank you.'

‘I hope you liked it. Are you pleased?'

‘Sure. Very pleased, actually. Can I ask something?'

It seems as though the messenger hesitates briefly.

‘Of course. Ask your question.'

‘How do you know what I would like? You couldn't possibly know that.'

‘That is the power of Erebos. Be grateful it is on your side.'

The messenger puts his head to one side, and a smile contorts his gaunt features.

‘Do not disappoint us, and it will remain so. Now, tell me what you feel like doing. You can help destroy an orc village – there's heaps of gold up for grabs. Or search for the secret portal to the White City. Arena fights will take place there tomorrow. It's a good chance to make a Two into a Three. Or even a Four.'

‘That's possible?'

‘It certainly is. In the Arena you can see what a fighter is really made of. You can win everything there – and lose everything. It's better to win, of course: wish crystals, weapons, levels. Last time a vampire named Drizzel took three levels away from another vampire named Blackspell. In one single fight.'

‘That's possible?' Sarius repeats, thrilled by the opportunities that are suddenly opening up.

‘Of course.'

Sarius's decision is made. To hell with the orc village.

‘I will look for the city.'

‘Good choice. I only hope that you find it in good time. Registrations for the fights close tomorrow when the tower clock strikes three. Good luck.'

The messenger dismisses him with a wave of his bony fingers, and Sarius steps out of the cave into a sun-drenched meadow full of flowers. Once again he is left alone to fend for himself.

Flowering trees, flowering bushes. He turns all around, but there's not the slightest sign anywhere of a white city. Rather than stand around, he walks straight ahead. That worked out once already.

The chirping of the birds is getting on his nerves. It's creating a holiday atmosphere instead of a mood of adventure. And there's no secret portal in sight either. Not even a mole hill.

Although . . . there is something lying up ahead in the grass. Could be a piece of material, or maybe a flag. He goes closer, bends down, freezes. Lifts up a blood-soaked piece of cloth. Still dripping. A shirt.

In the distance he hears a noise like muted growling. Sarius drops the shirt and begins to run. Away from the growling that doesn't sound like an animal or a human, but rather a hideous mixture of both. His stamina is better now, he's pleased to find as he runs over a slight mound.

It's pure chance that he slows down just in time before he plunges into a crater that opens up unexpectedly on the crest of the hill. Sarius glances down into the depths, which look fissured, precipitous and not at all inviting. Behind him the growling is getting louder. However curious he may be, he still doesn't want to find out who or what is making this noise. A few steps further to the right he discovers a rusty ladder that doesn't inspire any confidence whatsoever, but nevertheless seems to present an attractive opportunity to escape from the growling creature. He thinks about the blood-soaked shirt, and puts a foot cautiously on the first rung. There's a grinding sound, but at the same time the wonderful music starts again, strengthening Sarius's conviction that he's on the right track. He can do nothing wrong. Without further hesitation he climbs down the ladder, borne by the melody and happily anticipating what awaits him below. With every rung of the ladder he descends it gets darker. By the time he reaches the bottom he can make out only what the torches on the wall are bathing in flickering light: roughly hewn rock faces, paths, passageways, turn-offs. He has landed in a labyrinth. He sets off blindly, and loses his bearings within seconds.

There's nothing in his inventory that would be suitable for marking the walls. No chalk, no thread. The only thing he could try is making scratches in the rock, but there's no way he's going to do that. Not with the new sword.

A glance upwards reveals to him that the cleft he descended through is already a long way behind him. The daylight doesn't reach all the way in here, but torches have been mounted on the walls at irregular intervals. Every shade of darkness prevails in between.

Sarius walks on, his footsteps echoing over and over. Are they his? He stops, and the echo dies away.

The music encourages him to continue on his way. He tries his luck with the first turn-off to the left, and regrets it at once because the next torch is an awfully long way away. He hurries to reach the light, but stops just before it. Something is glittering on the rock face. A wish crystal? Sarius fumbles for it eagerly, but under his touch the sparkling something dissolves, flowing down the wall in a slimy trail. He turns away, revolted. Finally – the next torch. Beyond it yet another junction awaits him. To the right or to the left?

It's lighter to the left. He creeps cautiously around the corner, keeping a firm hold on his sword. Every step echoes – if there are monsters down here, they'll have heard him long since.

Once again Sarius reaches a fork. Something like anxiety is stirring in him. He still has plenty of time to register for the Arena fights, sure . . . but everything looks the same here. Dark rocks, torches, puddles of water. And nothing else. Not another fighter anywhere to be seen, he's thinking, only to stumble over a body immediately past the junction. The shock turns Sarius's legs to jelly. He jumps back onto his feet as quickly as he can and points his sword at the obstacle that tripped him up.

A cat woman. Sarius checks her name: Aurora. There's only a tiny trace of red left on her belt – the rest is black as coal. So she's not quite dead yet. When he touches her, she moves her hand weakly. It takes Sarius a moment to figure out what she wants. He lights a fire.

‘Thank you. I've just about had it. Can you help me?'

‘What did this to you?'

‘A giant scorpion There are three or four running around here. Damned bugs – if they sting you, you're done for.'

‘Giant scorpion' doesn't sound appealing to Sarius.

‘Are we the only ones down here?'

‘Of course not, there are heaps of people here. Listen, do you happen to be able to heal?'

Sarius needs to think quickly. She's taken so much punishment that the injury tone must be almost unbearable.

‘I can. But I've never done it.'

‘Damn. I can't do it, and I don't even know how it works.'

It will be like lighting a fire, Sarius reasons, and has a go. It's not long before there's a red flash. Aurora's belt regains some colour. Sarius's life force sinks considerably in return. He wasn't expecting that – he needs every scrap of energy not to perish down here.

‘You could have told me that,' he snarls at Aurora.

‘What do you mean?' The cat woman is sufficiently recovered to struggle to her feet and draw her weapon. A cat-o'-nine-tails – how appropriate.

‘That healing you reduces my own life span!'

‘Keep your shirt on. It will regenerate again. Not like real injuries.'

Still furious, Sarius stares at his belt. Something on there is moving, in fact. The grey is turning red again, bit by tiny bit.

‘Are you on the city quest too?' Aurora asks.

‘Yes. I didn't feel like having a punch-up with orcs.'

‘Me neither. Although they'd probably be nicer than the scorpions. That gave me the creeps like you wouldn't believe.'

Sarius can't help wondering whether he knows Aurora. Outside of Erebos.

‘Did you hear the growling? Up top, I mean. On the hill.'

‘Of course,' she says.

‘Do you know what sort of animals they were?'

‘They weren't animals, they were zombies. I had to do two of them in before I made it onto the ladder. It made me want to throw up – they crumble away when you whack them.'

Sarius is secretly glad that he didn't see any zombies. It was definitely the right thing to head downwards, if only because of the quest. Although now he thinks he can hear something. Many legs scuttling on the hard, stony ground.

‘You're only a Two, hmm?'

‘Yes. So? What are you?'

There's a rumbling above them, like an approaching storm. ‘I can't say. You know the rules.'

The scuttling is coming closer. Can't Aurora hear it? Or doesn't it mean anything?

‘Can you at least tell me who's down here apart from us?'

‘You'll find out soon enough. A few people I don't know, and a few who are always around. I saw Nodhaggr and Duke and Nurax before, as well as someone called Samira I've never met before, and some vampire or other.'

‘I know Samira,' Sarius says eagerly.

‘So? In any case she cleared off when —'

The black scorpion that comes flying around the corner behind Aurora is gigantic. The clacking of its legs is unmistakable now. Sarius dodges sideways from the up-curved stinger and raises his sword. He could try to hack off one of the creature's claws if it comes closer. But it doesn't; it stops at Aurora, who sees it far too late, then gets itself into position and attacks. Aurora falls to the ground. Is there still some red on her belt? Sarius has no time to check, and no desire to waste life energy on the cat woman again. He thinks he hears another scorpion approaching from the other side. It would block his path, and then he'd have to turn round . . .

Sarius doesn't think twice. He swings his sword and hacks at the left claw. It sounds like metal striking metal. The scorpion draws back a little. Sarius aims for its tiny head; the animal thrashes at him with its claws and cranes its stinger up into the air again. Something is dripping from the tip onto the ground – blood, poison or both – making a steaming puddle on the stony ground.

Now Sarius takes aim at the stinger, which is swinging back and forth not far above his head. He hits it on the second attempt. The scorpion recoils, does an about-turn and runs off. It disappears in one of the dark shafts of the labyrinth.