Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV)

by Vider, Rohan M.

  “Aiken?” Kyran asked.

  “Wait,” the bear repeated.

  Kyran frowned, but did as Aiken requested. In watchful silence, he observed the seven ivoranors—all females—stride up to Aiken. Each of the herd’s leaders was nearly twice the size of his companion and reminded Kyran of Aiken’s own mother, the Jade Bear clan matriarch.

  While he waited, he cast insight on the foremost ivoranor.

  Creature: Ivoranor (herd Mare). Type: Beast.

  Level: 57. Health: 1060. Rarity: Rare.

  Attack: 70-90 (blunt).

  Defences: Physical (90), psi (67), spell (61).

  Traits and abilities:

  Cast-in-ivory: +75 resistance to physical attacks.

  Sheltering herd: While within the herd, defensive strength is increased dependent on herd size.

  Impale: Stabbing attack that deals 3 x normal damage.

  Description:

  Ivoranors are nomadic forest-dwelling beasts that roam freely through the forests of northern Myelad. Ivoranors are rarely found alone, and often band together in small groups, each of which is commanded by the Mare and elder females.

  The seven ivoranors came to a stop before the jade bear and glared down at him. Aiken, in a surprising show of deference, bowed his head and knelt before the looming figures.

  Kyran struggled not to gape at the sight. His companion was many things, but humble was not one of them.

  “What is Aiken doing?” whispered Gaesin from behind Kyran.

  “I’m not sure,” answered Kyran, shrugging helplessly. “He seems to be communicating with the herd.”

  In the mindscape, Kyran sensed tendrils of psi stretching between the jade bear and ivoranors, and a series of images—too quick to grasp—dashing back and forth. While the bear and ivoranors could not be said to be ‘talking,’ they were clearly communicating.

  Kyran waited. And the party with him. Whatever strangeness was at play with the herd, Aiken was best suited to convey the party’s peaceful intentions.

  While they waited, Kyran shuffled restlessly, turning over the unexpected encounter with the undead in his mind. Their presence in the area concerned him. The party had dealt easily enough with the ghouls, but from past experience he knew better than to underestimate the undead. Staying here any longer than necessary would be dangerous. The quicker we leave the area the better, he thought grimly.

  He was hoping that Aiken could convince the herd to let the party cross the ford, or better yet, leave the region with them. Yet as the ‘conversation’ between the bear and ivoranors stretched out, his hope began to fade. He chewed at his lip worriedly.

  Why is it taking so long? he wondered. What could the herd be saying to Aiken, or he to them?

  Aiken and the Mare’s head swung towards Kyran, almost as if they heard his thoughts. “Come,” Aiken said. “She wishes to see you.”

  Finally, thought Kyran, anxious to be clear of the area. “Wait here,” he whispered to the rest of the party before stepping up to Aiken’s side.

  Up close, the first thing he noticed about the ivoranors, were their eyes. The eyes of the seven females sparkled with curiosity and emotion, more so than that of the young bull, who hung his head sheepishly at their side.

  There was no mistaking the seven for anything other than the leaders of the herd. They, at least, seemed to possess some form of rudimentary intelligence. He inclined his head respectfully towards the Mare. She was younger than her six companions, he noted. Her ivory armour was pristine and gleaming, and not yet dulled by age.

  “They need our help,” said Aiken.

  Kyran’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Help?” he asked aloud. “Are there more undead around?”

  Aiken shook his head. “One of their number is injured. An elder. She requires healing.”

  Kyran turned towards the Mare. Gazing steadily into her eyes, he said, “Of course we will help.” He doubted she understood his words, but he hoped she would grasp the intent behind them.

  For a drawn-out moment, the Mare stared at him. Then, tossing her head, she snorted noisily, and swung away. Despite her bulk, the Mare treaded softly as she splashed back into the ford.

  For one confused moment, Kyran feared the Mare had not understood the party’s desire to help, or had rejected his offer entirely. But a few seconds later, a Game message dropped into his mind.

  You have received a new quest!

  Quest 13: Heal the injured elder.

  Objective: An ivoranor elder has been hurt. The Mare has accepted your offer of aid and will allow you to attempt healing the fallen elder.

  Rank: Uncommon.

  Reward: Herd Mare’s loyalty.

  “Gaesin,” Kyran shouted. “Come quickly! There is one of the herd we must attend to.”

  Not waiting for the party to catch up, Kyran hurried after the Mare and waded through the mass of ivoranors, which had parted for their leader. “Brother,” he said to Aiken, “escort the others across.”

  Only a few steps from the riverbank, the water in the ford rose to Kyran’s thighs—but no higher—and while the current was strong the footing beneath was firm. Though, he realised the living wall of ivoranors to his left and right were sparing him the brunt of the river’s force.

  The Mare led Kyran—and the party splashing after—across the ford and onto the river’s far bank. Once there, she stopped. At her feet, half-concealed by the long forest underbrush, he glimpsed the downed figure of an ivoranor.

  Kyran staggered out of the river after the Mare. With his lower half drenched and dripping, he knelt by the fallen elder. The ivoranor lay on her side, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only indication she was still alive. The ivory plating over her torso had been ripped open, and the soft skin beneath torn apart by sharp claws.

  Ghoul claws, he realised. He fingered the brittle and torn edges of the ivory. It was almost wholly yellow and spotted with splotches of brown. Judging by the condition of the ivoranor’s armoured hide, he realised the fallen elder was old, far older than the rest of the ivoranors he had seen.

  “She is the former Mare and important to the herd,” said Aiken.

  Kyran glanced from his sodden companion, who had stepped out of the ford behind him, to the impassively watching Mare. “Is this her mother?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  Kyran bowed his head, understanding now why the ivoranors had remained encamped here. He grimaced. If the party had sought to communicate with the herd earlier, perhaps they could have eased the elder’s plight sooner. But, he consoled himself, it is not too late. She yet lives. Reaching out with his will, he inspected the unconscious elder’s injuries.

  An ivoranor elder has sustained a minor wound (debuff: bleeding, damage: 20 HP per minute). Remaining: 320 / 1026 HP.

  An ivoranor elder is diseased (debuff: undeath’s corruption, damage: 0 HP per second).

  Undeath’s corruption: Turns the victim into an undead. 15 hours remaining until the affliction sets in permanently.

  Diseases, unlike toxins, are longer-lasting and more pernicious in their effects. While they generally cause little direct damage, diseases usually afflict their host with debilitating side effects that in extreme cases may become permanent.

  Kyran’s heart sank. The elder’s wound was not severe, and Gaesin—or even he—would have no problem healing it, but the diseased infection definitely worried him.

  “Kyran!” Gaesin called. Trailing puddles of water, the half-elf dropped to his side. “Is she alright?”

  “See for yourself,” Kyran said, not having heart to voice his fears.

  The young hydromancer set his hands to the ivoranor’s side and fed lifegiving weaves of green into the elder. Essence momentarily suffused her open side, and seconds later the wound began to close. “I’ve mended the damage from the blow,” Gaesin murmured.

  An ivoranor elder has been healed of a minor wound.

  “Now to remove the infection,” he added. Closing his eyes to focus
his concentration, the half-elf sent another stream of magic into the elder. The ivoranor’s body greedily sucked in the essence, but her condition did not change.

  Gaesin’s brows drew down. Tight-lipped, he channelled even more essence and poured it all into the ivoranor. Once. Twice. Thrice. All to no avail.

  Gaesin has failed to cure an ivoranor elder’s diseased affliction.

  The half-elf refused to give up. With his face a grim mask of determination, Gaesin wove multiple streams of energy until, in Kyran’s mage sight, the air between healer and patient glowed green with healing magic.

  Gaesin has failed to cure an ivoranor elder’s diseased affliction.

  And still the ivoranor could not be cured. Gaesin cursed. Gritting his teeth, he called upon his essence again.

  Kyran stopped him.

  It was as he had feared. Laying a hand on the youth’s shoulder, he said quietly, “No more, Gaesin. We cannot heal this.” The youth’s shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head in defeat.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Mirien worriedly.

  Kyran glanced back at her. She and Adra had joined Aiken on the riverbank. “The elder is diseased. The result of a ghoul’s attack, I think.” He shivered in belated recognition of the danger he had exposed Aiken and Mirien to in the earlier battle. He had not, until now, realised the ghouls’ touch could be so devastating. What if one of them had been afflicted?

  “Ah,” said Mirien, not noticing his sudden distress. “Cure disease is a journeyman-rank spell.”

  Kyran nodded. He had known that too. But he had still held out an irrational hope that Gaesin might succeed in healing the elder. “Brother, will you let the Mare know? Inform her there is still time. We will search for another means to cure her mother’s affliction.”

  Aiken huffed heavily. “I will tell her, Kyran.”

  In the mindscape, Kyran sensed the jade bear’s thoughts reach out to the Mare, and from the angry toss of her head he could tell the exact instant the Mare received Aiken’s sending. The Mare stomped forward and glared at the party.

  “Back,” ordered Aiken.

  Kyran hurriedly rose to his feet. Pulling Gaesin and the rest of the party with him, he backed away as the Mare stepped up to her mother’s side. The Mare huffed gently over the fallen ivoranor. Something in the sound, or gesture, put Kyran in mind of a farewell. She is saying goodbye, he thought.

  Before he realised what that meant, with a sharp jerk of her head the Mare buried the spike of her horn in the elder’s exposed hide.

  An ivoranor elder has died.

  You have failed in your quest: Heal the injured elder.

  Adra and Gaesin gasped. Setting hands to their weapons, the pair retreated farther from the suddenly dangerous-seeming ivoranor, while Mirien, stepping between Kyran and the Mare, prodded him backwards.

  “What’s going on?” Adra asked nervously.

  Kyran ignored both women. “Brother, why?” he asked his companion.

  “It is their way, Kyran.”

  “But we could still have saved her!” he objected.

  Aiken shook his head. “The ivoranors have been here too long already. The Mare will not endanger the herd further by staying longer.” Aiken paused as if listening. “She will take the herd away now, and urges us not to linger either.”

  Kyran bowed his head. “I understand,” he said heavily. “Tell her I share her sorrow, and if there is anything else we can do for her herd, she need only ask.”

  Aiken reached out to the ivoranor, and again their conversation stretched out much longer than Kyran thought necessary. He glanced at his companion, but since Aiken was deep in the mindscape he did not notice the questioning look. Eventually, the jade bear turned Kyran’s way. “She will speak to you.”

  Kyran opened his mouth to question what Aiken meant, but stopped in surprise as he felt threads of psi reaching towards him in the mindscape. The weaves brushed up against his mental walls and waited patiently for his acknowledgement.

  Tracing the psi back to their source, he realised the weaves came from the Mare. The nature of the weaves felt akin to those he used in beast befriend. Startled, Kyran glanced to Aiken, who nodded in response to his unspoken question.

  “Lower your shields, brother,” said Aiken.

  Kyran complied with his companion’s request, and a raging torrent of images and emotions fell into his mind. He gasped. Overcome by the churning confusion of the Mare’s sending, Kyran swayed and nearly fell. Instinctively, he threw up his shields again and reached out to Aiken for help.

  Both in the ‘real’ and the mindscape, the bear leapt to his aid, bracing his body and mind against the storm of the Mare’s thoughts and emotions.

  “Kyran! Are you alright?” asked Adra worriedly.

  Kyran massaged his temples, trying to rub away the sudden pounding in his head. “I’m fine,” he said aloud to the anxiously waiting party. He had been caught off-guard by the strength of the Mare’s sending. It was similar to what he had felt when he’d encountered Aiken all those months ago, but more raw, harsh, and… demanding.

  He looked up to find the Mare staring imperiously at him. “Alright, brother,” Kyran said, closing his eyes. “Let’s try that again.” He lowered the shields around his mind and once more was swamped by the maelstrom of the Mare’s thoughts.

  This time, though, Kyran was prepared. With his mind still and quietened, he let the psi sending wash over him. He made no attempt to study individual images and instead let his subconscious absorbed them all. Gradually, he comprehended the sense of the Mare’s rage and… request.

  The herd was being hunted.

  And not by natural predators. Today’s assault was only one of many the herd had faced in the past few weeks. The attacks weren’t random either. There was purpose behind them—and shadowy figures in control of it all. “Necromancers,” he muttered.

  Kyran opened his eyes and gazed steadily at the Mare. “We will do what we can to help,” he said without even a second of hesitation.

  You have received a new quest!

  Quest 14: Avenge the fallen elder.

  Objective: The herds are being systematically abducted by a group of unknown necromancers. The elder you failed to save was infected during a raid by their undead pets. Find the ghouls’ masters and put a stop to their attacks on the ivoranors.

  Rank: Rare.

  Reward: 6 skill points.

  The Mare bobbed her head in acknowledgment and strode into the ford again. The rest of the herd closed ranks behind her and followed in her steps.

  In silence, the party watched the herd leave. When the last of the ivoranors disappeared behind the treeline on the opposite shore, Mirien turned to Kyran. “What was all that about?”

  Kyran chewed his lips pensively. “Let’s find a spot to camp for the night. Then I’ll tell you.”

  ✽✽✽

  The party journeyed north for another hour before Kyran allowed them to stop. After Adra had secured their camp and they had eaten, Kyran shared the Mare’s request with the others.

  “The ghouls that attacked the herd today did not act alone,” he began. “They were being directed.” He paused to gauge his companion’s reactions.

  Mirien face darkened at the news. “Necromancers?” she asked sharply. He nodded. “What is their kind doing in the Elder Forest?” she muttered.

  Adra looked similarly disturbed, while Gaesin only pursed his lips. The half-elf did not look surprised.

  Seeing Kyran’s expression, Gaesin nodded grimly. “I know something of necromancers,” he explained. “It is not unusual for ghouls to be under the control of another. Undead—lesser undead, especially—are not known for their mental acuity.”

  Kyran frowned. Gaesin’s observation did not quite fit in with his own experiences of Crota’s undead, but he let the youth’s words pass unchallenged. Mirien mumbled something under her breath, which Kyran did not catch.

  Gaesin, having missed or ignored Mirien’s comment, continue
d on, “The mindlessness of the undead is partly why death magic is so rarely practiced. Not many have the patience necessary to direct such… limited pets.”

  “Limited, perhaps,” growled Adra. “But dangerous nonetheless.” Kyran nodded in agreement.

  Gaesin’s lips turned down. “Sadly, too true,” he admitted. “What I don’t understand though is what a necromancer would want with the ivoranors,” he continued in a puzzled tone. “Death mages raise the dead, giving them false life. From what I know of their craft, the older the corpse, the stronger the risen dead. The newly dead and live specimens are of no use to them. Why would they abduct the ivoranors?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Kyran, “but from what I could fathom from the Mare, the ghouls have been hunting ivoranors for weeks, and considering the numbers involved it’s not simply to feed their masters.”

  Adra tilted her head. “The herd’s losses must strain them greatly, but what does it have to do with us, Kyran?”

  He glanced at her. “The Mare has asked me to put a stop to the abductions. I have agreed to help.”

  Adra opened her mouth, but Kyran raised a hand to still her. “It will be dangerous, I know, but I cannot ignore what I saw.” He held her gaze. “The Mare sent me visions. Memories, actually, of the captured ivoranors’ last moments.” He exhaled a tremulous breath. “Nothing of what I saw was pleasant. The ivoranors did not die quickly—or easily.”

  Kyran shifted uneasily. The Mare’s visions had been frighteningly vivid. Heaving in a deep breath, he went on to describe what he had seen.

  When he was done, each of his companions seemed similarly revolted. “I don’t know what the necromancers are up to—there are least three involved—or why they indulge in such senseless killings, but the least we can do is investigate further.”

  “Do you know where the necromancers are?” Mirien asked.

  Kyran shook his head. “The information I received was not so precise. From what I could deduce, the necromancers are in a ruined settlement of sorts. I ‘saw’ crumbling buildings, fallen walls, and a broken spire at the centre of it all.”