university qualification places was that of “The Osterfjord Players” whose original use of a new character class kept opponents guessing. Three cheers for them. But even they have not won automatic places, and if they do make it to University will they then not lose touch with their homeplace? The education system has to change. It should devote far fewer resources to Epic and more to pressing problems of agriculture, transport, and economy. It should promote those with ability and not those whose parents happen to be privileged members of the administration.
Around the table, elderly shoulders sagged and faces lengthened.
“Where is this coming from?” Godmund was furious. He looked accusingly at Hleid, who shrugged. “This is too well informed. Look! Who here remembered about Halfdan’s shield? Not I. This is coming from the inside. One of us perhaps?”
“But why?” Brynhild was perplexed. “Why would one of us do this?”
“I don’t know,” Godmund growled. “But whatever they think they are doing, the result is that they are going to cause chaos and instability for us all.”
For a while, the committee members said nothing, but looked at each other with confusion and suspicion. Bekka was the recipient of several scowls.
“There is no point in continuing the meeting if we have nothing constructive to offer. One day the person or people responsible for this will make a mistake. Then we will act.” Svein stood up to leave.
“Very well. We are adjourned,” announced Hleid.
As Bekka slowly made her way down the stairs of the tower, Svein came alongside her.
“It’s not me. They think it’s me, but it is not.” She looked over her shoulder at Svein.
“Of course not. Only a fool would think that you would write such things.” Svein gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. There was no longer an attractive side to the aging, irresolute druidess. But as long as Bekka was a member of Central Allocations, Svein would make the effort to create the impression that he was an admirer of hers, through his considerate words and attentive glances. After all, it cost him nothing and might secure him an important vote one day.
“Then, who is it?”
“I’m not sure Godmund is right. Why would any of us write it? Perhaps it is another bitter person like Olaf the Swift.”
“I hope so.” Bekka nodded. “It makes me cringe inside, the thought that someone at that table is pretending, is lying to us.”
Chapter 11
BROKEN GLASS
The Osterfjord Players were giddy with merriment as they returned from Hope Library and the final stages of the graduation tournament. Rolfson had come to meet them with the horses, and they were all in the cart, bouncing along as the horses picked a steady route through the potholes of the path. Now and again, as they met travelers coming towards Hope, Rolfson would embarrass them all by proudly calling out, “We reached the finals. My children reached the finals.”
B.E. was leaning against the side of the cart, arms stretched out on either side, holding the wooden frame to help him ride the bumps.
“I hear that in Mikelgard the roads are covered in a metal surface that does not wear.” B.E. was convinced that their performance would earn them places in Mikelgard University, and, as the oldest, both he and Bjorn would get their places this year.
“Ohhhhh, smooth rides. What a treat is in store for you,” his sister Sigrid tried to mock him, but he was unflappable.
“Ahh, yes. I will think of you plodding along in your cart, while Bjorn and I sunburst along in our racing sallers. Probably with a couple of girls in the back seats, eh?” B.E. winked at Bjorn, who smiled but did not encourage B.E. further; that kind of joking made him uncomfortable.
“You think they still have sallers in Mikelgard?” asked Erik.
“Of course they do, standard issue to students no doubt.” B.E. closed his eyes, enjoying the image in his mind.
“I saw one once.” Rolfson looked
Around the table, elderly shoulders sagged and faces lengthened.
“Where is this coming from?” Godmund was furious. He looked accusingly at Hleid, who shrugged. “This is too well informed. Look! Who here remembered about Halfdan’s shield? Not I. This is coming from the inside. One of us perhaps?”
“But why?” Brynhild was perplexed. “Why would one of us do this?”
“I don’t know,” Godmund growled. “But whatever they think they are doing, the result is that they are going to cause chaos and instability for us all.”
For a while, the committee members said nothing, but looked at each other with confusion and suspicion. Bekka was the recipient of several scowls.
“There is no point in continuing the meeting if we have nothing constructive to offer. One day the person or people responsible for this will make a mistake. Then we will act.” Svein stood up to leave.
“Very well. We are adjourned,” announced Hleid.
As Bekka slowly made her way down the stairs of the tower, Svein came alongside her.
“It’s not me. They think it’s me, but it is not.” She looked over her shoulder at Svein.
“Of course not. Only a fool would think that you would write such things.” Svein gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. There was no longer an attractive side to the aging, irresolute druidess. But as long as Bekka was a member of Central Allocations, Svein would make the effort to create the impression that he was an admirer of hers, through his considerate words and attentive glances. After all, it cost him nothing and might secure him an important vote one day.
“Then, who is it?”
“I’m not sure Godmund is right. Why would any of us write it? Perhaps it is another bitter person like Olaf the Swift.”
“I hope so.” Bekka nodded. “It makes me cringe inside, the thought that someone at that table is pretending, is lying to us.”
Chapter 11
BROKEN GLASS
The Osterfjord Players were giddy with merriment as they returned from Hope Library and the final stages of the graduation tournament. Rolfson had come to meet them with the horses, and they were all in the cart, bouncing along as the horses picked a steady route through the potholes of the path. Now and again, as they met travelers coming towards Hope, Rolfson would embarrass them all by proudly calling out, “We reached the finals. My children reached the finals.”
B.E. was leaning against the side of the cart, arms stretched out on either side, holding the wooden frame to help him ride the bumps.
“I hear that in Mikelgard the roads are covered in a metal surface that does not wear.” B.E. was convinced that their performance would earn them places in Mikelgard University, and, as the oldest, both he and Bjorn would get their places this year.
“Ohhhhh, smooth rides. What a treat is in store for you,” his sister Sigrid tried to mock him, but he was unflappable.
“Ahh, yes. I will think of you plodding along in your cart, while Bjorn and I sunburst along in our racing sallers. Probably with a couple of girls in the back seats, eh?” B.E. winked at Bjorn, who smiled but did not encourage B.E. further; that kind of joking made him uncomfortable.
“You think they still have sallers in Mikelgard?” asked Erik.
“Of course they do, standard issue to students no doubt.” B.E. closed his eyes, enjoying the image in his mind.
“I saw one once.” Rolfson looked
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