visible above the table, wrinkled and translucent.
“Agreed,” added Wolf. “I have never been drained of life so quickly. Not even from a spell.”
“Why did we not know of the existence of a master thief?” Halfdan the Black interjected angrily, round face flushing red.
“Because Harald Erikson, if that is his true name, has not played Epic for twenty years,” Svein answered firmly.
“That was no thief,” a quiet voice said. Godmund was the most elderly of them all and rarely spoke at meetings, but when he did they listened carefully. He knew more about Epic than anyone alive, including Svein. With a surprisingly firm voice, considering his age, Godmund continued, “That was a master assassin we saw at work in the Newhaven amphitheater yesterday.”
“An assassin? Death and destruction! Of course.” Halfdan shook his head, loudest among those who gave murmurs of surprise at Godmund’s statement. “But who outside the University ever trains an assassin?”
“No one.” Godmund smiled. It was a smile that Svein had learned meant danger, and he leaned back, to watch rather than intervene.
“He is one of us?” Bekka was confused.
“Correction. He was one of us. Twenty years ago,” Godmund said, scowling. “Another renegade, but one who seems to have slipped away from us.”
“Until now,” said Ragnok.
“I can remember some young assassins we were training.” Godmund closed his eyes. “I think perhaps the University librarian should go over all the disputes of twenty to thirty years ago.”
“Seconded.” Svein was always quick to show support for Godmund.
“Agreed?” Hleid looked around the table. “Agreed unanimously.”
“I propose we activate the Executioner.” Ragnok could not hide the note of eagerness that crept into his voice.
“Seconded.” Godmund nodded his approval. “But remember, this man waited twenty years before playing Epic—at least in public. It might be hard to find him. Great patience will be needed.”
“We will do shifts until we have him.” Ragnok spoke decisively. No one loved playing the Executioner more than Ragnok.
“It is the only way,” Godmund agreed.
Inwardly Svein heaved a sigh of dismay. Normally it was not possible for one player to harm another in any way; the game did not allow it. Unknown to the vast majority of the planet’s inhabitants, it was in fact possible to create characters who could kill—and be killed by—other players. Only the nine members of the highest committee in the land had the code to get into the options menu that allowed for the creation of such characters. Central Allocations had used its collective wealth to equip a warrior with all the most powerful magic, arms, and armor that money could buy. This was the Executioner and over the years he had been brought out to eliminate destabilizing opponents. The victims, of course, had no idea that they had met another player; they assumed it was a rare and aggressive NPC.
Svein had no scruples about using the Executioner, but so few people knew the secret of the killer character that those who did would have to take hours of their time playing him, to keep a constant search up for his target.
“So, all those in favor of directing the Executioner against the character of Harald Erikson, please show?” Hleid asked for the vote. “One against.” Everyone looked disdainfully at Bekka.
“It’s too suspicious. People are not stupid,” she offered as her defense. But Svein guessed that she was putting her own moral objection into a language the rest of them could understand. Still, she would take her turn with the rest of them on the shifts; she always did acquiesce.
“Ragnok can draw up the rota. We begin the search at Newhaven.”
Hleid returned to the checklist of items for the agenda. “Finally, we have this.” She indicated the printouts in her hand. “Found in several places, left on the amphitheater seating.”
They passed the sheaf of papers around,
“Agreed,” added Wolf. “I have never been drained of life so quickly. Not even from a spell.”
“Why did we not know of the existence of a master thief?” Halfdan the Black interjected angrily, round face flushing red.
“Because Harald Erikson, if that is his true name, has not played Epic for twenty years,” Svein answered firmly.
“That was no thief,” a quiet voice said. Godmund was the most elderly of them all and rarely spoke at meetings, but when he did they listened carefully. He knew more about Epic than anyone alive, including Svein. With a surprisingly firm voice, considering his age, Godmund continued, “That was a master assassin we saw at work in the Newhaven amphitheater yesterday.”
“An assassin? Death and destruction! Of course.” Halfdan shook his head, loudest among those who gave murmurs of surprise at Godmund’s statement. “But who outside the University ever trains an assassin?”
“No one.” Godmund smiled. It was a smile that Svein had learned meant danger, and he leaned back, to watch rather than intervene.
“He is one of us?” Bekka was confused.
“Correction. He was one of us. Twenty years ago,” Godmund said, scowling. “Another renegade, but one who seems to have slipped away from us.”
“Until now,” said Ragnok.
“I can remember some young assassins we were training.” Godmund closed his eyes. “I think perhaps the University librarian should go over all the disputes of twenty to thirty years ago.”
“Seconded.” Svein was always quick to show support for Godmund.
“Agreed?” Hleid looked around the table. “Agreed unanimously.”
“I propose we activate the Executioner.” Ragnok could not hide the note of eagerness that crept into his voice.
“Seconded.” Godmund nodded his approval. “But remember, this man waited twenty years before playing Epic—at least in public. It might be hard to find him. Great patience will be needed.”
“We will do shifts until we have him.” Ragnok spoke decisively. No one loved playing the Executioner more than Ragnok.
“It is the only way,” Godmund agreed.
Inwardly Svein heaved a sigh of dismay. Normally it was not possible for one player to harm another in any way; the game did not allow it. Unknown to the vast majority of the planet’s inhabitants, it was in fact possible to create characters who could kill—and be killed by—other players. Only the nine members of the highest committee in the land had the code to get into the options menu that allowed for the creation of such characters. Central Allocations had used its collective wealth to equip a warrior with all the most powerful magic, arms, and armor that money could buy. This was the Executioner and over the years he had been brought out to eliminate destabilizing opponents. The victims, of course, had no idea that they had met another player; they assumed it was a rare and aggressive NPC.
Svein had no scruples about using the Executioner, but so few people knew the secret of the killer character that those who did would have to take hours of their time playing him, to keep a constant search up for his target.
“So, all those in favor of directing the Executioner against the character of Harald Erikson, please show?” Hleid asked for the vote. “One against.” Everyone looked disdainfully at Bekka.
“It’s too suspicious. People are not stupid,” she offered as her defense. But Svein guessed that she was putting her own moral objection into a language the rest of them could understand. Still, she would take her turn with the rest of them on the shifts; she always did acquiesce.
“Ragnok can draw up the rota. We begin the search at Newhaven.”
Hleid returned to the checklist of items for the agenda. “Finally, we have this.” She indicated the printouts in her hand. “Found in several places, left on the amphitheater seating.”
They passed the sheaf of papers around,
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