Free Epic by Conor Kostick Page B

back ways. Although he would be taken for an NPC and ignored by the vast majority of players, there was always a small chance that someone would come and talk to him, in the hope that he would have some clue to some foolish quest. After a tedious and restrained journey through the back streets, he arrived at the cathedral and tethered the horse.
    “Later, brave one,” Ragnok whispered to the horse and entered the huge building.
    The cathedral was busy; oil lanterns had been lit on the walls, drawing attention to the vast space that was enclosed under the high, vaulted roof. Statues of the holy martyr and her acolytes filled deep-set alcoves; monks in cowls were chanting, while a representative cross-section of Newhaven society sat on the benches to hear the evening sermon from the bishop.
    You had to admire the sophistication of Epic. Even though there was probably not one other player in the great building, the NPCs continued with a life of their own. If you were engaged in a quest that required meeting the high and mighty of Newhaven, you could do worse than to wait here and try to talk to them after the service was over. Still, that was for people like Svein Redbeard. With long strides, Ragnok hurried along the aisle that led to the base of the cathedral tower. Ignoring an attempt by an NPC monk to talk to him, he entered the tower, closing the door behind him, and began to run up the stairs.
    Even the Executioner did not have infinite reserves of stamina, and by the fortieth flight of stairs, he was moving with distinctly less speed. By the one hundredth, he was down to a walk. But that was the last. Suddenly the whole of the sky opened up to him. He was at the top of the tower, looking down on the city of Newhaven.
    The glitter of the stars above was matched by the patterns of torches below. He could have been adrift on a dark lake whose waters transformed the silver glimmers in the sky to yellow blazes below. Newhaven was a well-ordered city, and the main thoroughfares were lit by torches at regular intervals, creating trails of torchlight all around him, stretching for miles. The great amphitheater was completely dark and empty, a huge black circle avoided by the sinuous lines of light.
    With a sigh Ragnok prepared to unclip. When dawn came to Epic he would return and begin his search.

Chapter 9
    FEVER AND DISTRESS
    A pale and overcast dawn had turned Erik’s room gray. He was awake early, and for a moment in his dizziness he wondered why it was so urgent to get up. Big Erik had been calling for him to run away? No. That was a dream. Then he remembered and ran to the bathroom to be sick in the sink. His mouth tasted of sour apples.
    “Mum?” Erik leaned on the doorframe to his parents’ room. The two of them looked peaceful, asleep in the bed. “Mum,” Erik said louder.
    She lifted her head, disheveled brown hair covering her face. “Erik? What’s the matter?”
    “I’ve been sick.”
    “Go and lie down in your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
    The ceiling of his room was whiter now, its rough plastering and ridges of whitewash reminding him of the snow landscapes you could get in the amphitheater when practicing Epic.
    “What’s the matter, Erik?” His mum felt his forehead.
    “I’m sick. My tummy hurts.”
    “Where exactly?”
    “Here.” He rested his hand just below his belly button. The warmth of it was comforting.
    Brushing aside his damp hair, his mum kissed him; the touch of her lips was cool. “Oh Erik, you’re burning up! Do you think you could ride a cart to Hope? To see the doctors there?”
    “Oh, yes. A cart ride. Leban can take me.” Erik was mumbling, becoming more feverish as he spoke.
    The journey to Hope took forever and yet they arrived all at once. Harald unpacked Erik from the furs in which he had traveled. It was suddenly very cold and he shivered. The hospital was like the library, he thought, lots of windows. It was too much of an effort to walk, so when people put