Expedition- Summerlands

by Nathaniel Webb

  They marched through the Burbs, boots tromping in perfect time on the wide streets between the big white houses. There were no humans to be seen and at first I thought Wellpoint would end up being as deserted as Wyatt Falls. If someone had gotten a warning to Wellpoint, the blue-eyed ranger maybe, the hundreds of adventurers and NPCs and Expedition Games employees who lived in Wellpoint might have had just enough time to flee back through the portal to Earth.

  Running didn’t seem like Expedition’s style, though, and my hunch was confirmed in dramatic fashion as my section of the column reached Portal Square. The town of Wellpoint had apparently chosen to make their stand there and they’d erected hasty barricades that split the square neatly in half, great piles of firewood, furniture, even a couple doors, behind which frightened human faces peeked out and disappeared as the elven army filtered into the square and formed up into a line of interlocked shields bristling with long, gleaming spears.

  True to his word, the Eldest made sure I had a perfect view of the slaughter to come. They rolled my cage up one of the narrow alleys that approached Portal Square, just on the elven side of the barricade, and left me in the alley-mouth, alone between the lines. When the fight came, I would be close enough to see everything in gory detail, but I expected that any spells I might try would be lost in the noise and chaos.

  Eneri stepped forward from the elven line, flanked by two soldiers with tall tower shields that were obviously for the wizard’s protection rather than their own. An expectant hush fell over the square and for the first time I heard the buzz of the drones that swarmed over the human lines like a cloud of attendant bees, so thick that they had to be giving the adventurers shade from the noon sun high overhead.

  “When your ancestors came here, they brought violence and disease with them,” Eneri called. His voice filled the square with perfect clarity and I suspected he’d used magic to amplify it. “We killed them all. Now we will do the same to you if you do not leave our lands. We have been gone too long from these places our progenitors made. They will be ours again!”

  In the silence that followed, I wondered if any human other than me had understood a word of Eneri’s speech. There was no reason to think so. Then a shout came from somewhere beyond the palisade: “Speak Japanese or shut up!” The adventurers gave a cheer and raised their weapons in defiance, swords, maces, spears, and more glittering in the sunlight.

  “It would almost be exciting if we weren’t all about to die.” I half-turned, half-jumped in surprise to find Hearthammer filling the alley behind my cage. Three drones, rejuvenated by the bright sunshine, hovered around them. Magpie was working the lock, his tongue between his teeth, Noah was releasing my own struggling drone into the air, and Cass just stood looking up at me with her hands on her hips as though my whole imprisonment was just the latest inconvenience in her very annoying day.

  The lock opened with a snap and Magpie threw it down the alley, then opened the cage door for me with a bow and an outswept arm. I hopped down to the cobbles, but found it too hard to look Magpie in the eye, so instead I grabbed Noah and Cass in a big double-armed hug.

  “You’re okay!”

  “I’m pretty sore,” said Noah.

  “Beats being dead,” Cass put in. “How’s your master plan going, superstar?”

  “I think I got a message out the night we stopped at Wyatt Falls.” I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. “With any luck, when I start streaming, they’ll be watching. You guys ready?”

  Cass tapped the bow that she wore slung across her chest. “Turns out it’s easy to steal your gear back when nobody’s watching it.”

  “I hope I don’t have to fight anyone famous,” Noah added.

  “If this works, we won’t have to fight anyone at all,” I said. “Let’s go stop a war.”

  I turned back towards my cage and found Magpie standing between me and Portal Square. He was only inches away from me, his eyes hidden by the slanting shadows of the alley.

  “Emma,” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “No?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not this. Not here. Not now.”

  “But—”

  “I haven’t forgiven you,” I said. “And considering that I’m about to walk into the jaws of death, I really don’t have the time or the energy to start now.” I sighed. “Magpie, I get it, I do. Trust me. We might be walking to our deaths, and you want to make it right first in case we don’t walk out again. After everything we’ve been through, you don’t want things to end like this… well, I don’t either. But I can’t do this now.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I looked over his shoulder into the plaza, where two armies swayed like tall grass agitated by the motions of an invisible predator. “You want to make it up to me? Survive.”

  ***

  The sunshine of Portal Square was eye-wateringly bright as we strode out of the cool shadows of the alley. In the moments of our all too short reunion, nothing had changed; the elves and humans still eyed each other warily across a few naked yards of cobblestone, one side waiting for the order to attack and the other dreading the storm about to descend on them.

  My drone buzzed along behind me as I walked the empty swathe between the opposing lines. I heard a few gasps and murmurs from behind the adventurers’ barricades. Someone said my name. I ignored it all, focused wholly on taking one step at a time until I reached the center of the square. I thought for sure that each step would be my last, that either an elven arrow would cut me down or I would simply break and run back to the safety of my cage in the alley. Only the feeling of Noah, Cass, and Magpie at my back kept me moving forward.

  I reached the center of the square and stopped; the rest of Hearthammer formed up around me. Our drones swooped into position above us, all four cameras on and focused.

  “Make it count,” Cass whispered.

  I put my right hand up, palm facing the elven line.

  “Please listen to me,” I said in Elvish. “I need to speak my language so everyone will understand. But please listen.”

  The faces of the elven soldiers were as stony and still as the corpse-statues we’d seen beneath Hard Pass.

  “My name is Linnaea,” I said in English. “My name is Linnaea, and I have one more lecture to give. I hope you’ll listen, because I have a story to tell. It takes place a thousand years ago, on Earth, where we’re from. A group of warriors called Vikings found themselves on an island called Lewis. Maybe they’d come there looking for plunder, or maybe they were shipwrecked, I don’t know. But there they were.

  “They set out to explore, and they found a glowing circle, a fairy ring. They stepped through it from our world into this one. It was a beautiful land, perfect for farming, so they made it their own, built a hall here. There was only one problem: it was already inhabited by the people we call elves.

  “The leaders of the elves came to speak with the Vikings, but a fight broke out. The Vikings were all killed, but the elves got something even worse. The Vikings carried smallpox. The plague ravaged the elves, killing and mutilating. They’re still suffering, even now.”

  I took a long breath, which sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the square.

  “You might be wondering how I know all this. Well, I could point you to the ruins of a Viking longhouse just north of here. But there’s better evidence: eyewitness accounts. Because on Earth, this all happened a thousand years before any of us was born, but time works differently in the Summerlands. We know that. Here, it was only three years before Expedition games came back.”

  I gestured at the line of soldiers, their spears making a ruler-straight fence, who still watched me coldly. “Every one of these warriors remembers that time. Some of them were probably there. This isn’t the deep past to them, it’s living memory. It’s no wonder they hate us.” I turned to face the elves head-on. “What happened was a tragedy, yes. It was a terrible misunderstanding. But to us it’s ancient history. The men you fough
t eight years ago are as alien to us as they are to you. But most importantly, in that time we’ve been able to cure the plague.”

  That got a reaction. The elven stoicism collapsed into various expressions of surprise and doubt, some whispering to their comrades as others watched me with refreshed attention.

  “Let us give you the cure,” I said. “We can bring it here and teach you how to administer it. We can help you rebuild. There’s no need for a war. There’s no reason to fight.”

  “No reason?”

  I knew that voice and my fear was confirmed when Dr Agony clambered over the top of the barricade and slid down to the stones a few feet from me. He was dressed in his finest plush red robes, stitched with silver symbols of magic; a string of sea-green jewels—the real ones—made a perfect parabola on his chest. His salt-and-pepper hair was neat, his beard trimmed, and any wrinkles had been smoothed out by a little makeup.

  “She says there’s no reason to fight,” Dr Agony called. “And I applaud her! I do. I was a newbie once, too. But then I gained some experience.” He smiled at his little joke. The square was quiet. “I know all of you, and you all know me. You trust me. Well then trust me on this: there’s so much more to the Summerlands than you know. There’s a whole world beyond the Wall, waiting for us to take it.” He pointed at the elven line. “But they’re not just going to give it to us, are they?”

  “No!” someone shouted from beyond the barricade.

  “How do you know?” I said. “Have you tried asking? Have you tried talking to them? I have!” I switched to Elvish: “I can speak their language—can you?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Dr Agony replied quietly in Elvish, “I can.” He raised his voice as he returned to English. “War!” He shook his head. “They say it like it’s a bad word. But war is dangerous. War is thrilling. War is good for ratings!”

  “What?” I said, my voice a strangled whisper.

  “In a war, every man is a hero!” Agony called. “Think of the stories! Isn’t that what we’ve all learned from Linnaea here? It’s not about treasure, it’s about telling a story. That’s how this game is supposed to be played. Can you imagine what it’s like back home right now? Millions of eyes glued to your feed as you stand in the front line of a great army facing off against the elven horde. The Summerlands has never seen a huge battle before! And guess what? This is our chance!”

  A cheer rose from the adventurers beyond the barricade, and they began to climb, picking their way up the mound of junk until they had made their own ragged line atop it, facing the rigid elven army with ragtag bravado. I recognized so many of them: the rest of Golden Apple was up there, St George with his sword out and his eyes hungry, Meteora swinging her double-headed chain hammer, Belphegor and Kronos from the Red Wizards’ Guild side by side, Pixie wearing armor for the first time I’d ever seen.

  “Wait!” I yelled, patting the air with my hands in desperation. “Listen! Do you really think our fans just want to see blood and guts?”

  “Yeah!” shouted someone I didn’t recognize, a squat, bullet-headed man in chain mail with two short swords. A laugh rippled down the line of players. I was losing them; panic was opening up beneath me like a black pit. I took a breath and leapt.

  “My name is Emma Burke,” I said. “You all know me as Linnaea, but my real name is Emma Burke. I’m from the Hollywood Economic Cooperation Zone in America. Before I came to the Summerlands I had a shitty job fixing merchandise machines at the Expedition store.” I gestured to Cass. “This is Cassidy Keats. Before we came here she worked with kids. Her brother Jason was killed by a crooked cop. This is Noah García Benatar. He was a high school student. Magpie was a contract boy for a Greek crime family.

  “A month ago, we were just fans, watching the feeds back on Earth and cheering you on. The Summerlands was just a dream to us. Look around you! This place is paradise! We came here to escape the real world, and I’m betting every one of you did the exact same thing. Do you really want the Summerlands to end up like our world? Let me tell you, a war would be the fastest way to make that happen.

  “How many elves do you think are here? How many more are waiting beyond the Wall for when these ones are killed? Do you think Expedition Games will just let them roll over us and run us out? Or will they start shipping in soldiers of their own—not adventurers, not players, soldiers—to fight back? How many people can they bring in? How fast? How long until they start sending in guns and Humvees and bunker busters? I’ve seen the way the elves use magic. We’d need guns just to even the odds.

  “A war will destroy both sides and the Summerlands will get chewed up between them. There would be no dream left. If we make the Summerlands like Earth, why would anybody watch the feeds?”

  Silence fell over Portal Square as I ran out of words. The players on the barricade shifted their weight, swung their weapons, looked to each other, and did anything else they could think of not to meet my eyes. The elven line looked just as anxious, unsettled by my references to alien technology.

  “Put down your weapons,” I said. I didn’t raise my voice, but I knew everyone was listening. “All of you. We can talk. I can translate. We can make peace.”

  “Well,” said Dr Agony, giving me a slow clap. “That was quite a speech. Bravo. Thank you for sharing your story, Emma. May I share mine?”

  I watched him warily, thinking he looked like nothing so much as a snake rearing its head back to strike.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Thank you.” He gave me a shallow bow, then straightened up to address the adventurers. “This is the story of the Lost Expedition. You’ve heard the rumors, I’m sure. In the very early days of our exploration of the Summerlands, I led a group of rangers north. I came back, but my men didn’t. I’d like to tell you what happened.”

  Agony spread his hands. “You all know that north of Wyatt Falls, there’s a great wall. It’s the one place in the Summerlands you’re not allowed to go. I’m sure you all assumed that Expedition Games built it for one reason or another. I’ve heard all the whispers about what the Wall was supposed to keep out… well, they’re not true. The elves built the Wall. I know, because I’m the one who found it.

  “We set out from the falls and spent a few days in the forest before we reached a badland of gray stone. Cutting across the badland was a huge wall. We followed it for a few days until, much to our amazement, we reached a spot where it was still under construction.” Dr Agony shook his head sadly. “The elves attacked us that night. Half my men were killed in their sleep. The other half tried to put up a fight, but we didn’t stand a chance. I was the last one alive, and as I lay there on the ground with an elven sword at my throat, I thought I was a dead man. But they spared me. Why, I don’t know. But until Emma and her friends broke the rules and went to the one place they shouldn’t—and brought this whole mess down on our heads, I might add—I was the only living person to have met an elf. And believe me, they may look like us… but they’re as much monsters as the gold dogs and the hell rats.”

  “It’s true!” called a new voice, speaking Elvish. Eneri pushed his way through the elven line, gold vest fluttering over a shirt of golden chain mail. “Every word of it. I was there that day.”

  “You!” Fury distorted Dr Agony’s face. He pointed a shaking finger at Eneri. “This creature was there at the Wall! He killed my men, then put his sword to my neck and told me to run! I swore I’d kill him if I ever got the chance. Well, this is my chance, and I sure as hell intend to take it! Come on!” He turned back to the players lining the barricade, their weapons at the ready. “Who’s with me?”

  With a roar, the adventurers rushed down the barricade, swept past Hearthammer and Dr Agony, and crashed into the elven line in a shower of sparks and blood.

  Revolution

  Cass grabbed my right hand and Noah my left and we held on to each other as the human line crashed and surged around us in their rush to fight. The sound when they met the elves was teeth-rattling, the ro
ar of a thousand battle cries drowning out the shrieking of metal on metal as weapons and armor clashed.

  The human wave passed us by and Hearthammer stood alone in the center of Portal Square, forgotten behind the scrum. We had suddenly gained a perfect view of the battle, where any pretense at tactics had quickly been abandoned by both sides as the fight devolved into a bloody shoving match between two disintegrating mobs. In the roil of color and chaos, miniature narratives rose up and sank again like a drowning man breaking the surface of a stormy sea as the fighters grouped up, made goals, achieved them or failed and broke apart again.

  Kronos, the red wizard, was rolling coins double-handed and throwing fireballs that boomed on the tower shields of a squadron of elven heavy infantry. By his side, Belphegor seemed to be attempting something with a large iron bell that suddenly span off into the fray, along with three of his fingers, sheared away in the sweep of an elven sword.

  In the center of the line, St George was singing a hymn as he laid about him with his longsword. It stuck in the shoulder of an elven spearman, whose weapon skittered off St George’s armor as the knight planted a foot on the elf’s chest and shoved him away.

  Meteora was swinging her chain hammer in a wide circle, forcing elves and human alike to duck away and creating a radius of empty space with herself at the center. A flick of her wrist sent a hammerhead whipping out to slam into the back of a retreating elf, who crumpled to the ground. A gang of elven infantry with shields and spears formed a miniature shield wall and rushed her, forcing her to pull her weapon back, then darted in and pierced her from half a dozen angles at once.

  A flight of arrows soared overhead, arcing over the cloud of drones that shaded the sky before they thunked into the barricade or broke on the ground beyond it; there was nobody left on the far side to get hit.

  A squad of black-clad rangers, led by the blue-eyed captain who’d saved my life near Wyatt Falls, met a group of elven skirmishers in a whirlwind of swords. A few fighters on each side fell away and then the disciplined fight crumpled into a shoving match as the rangers forced the elves back towards their own line.