All Sula’s apprentices had been slain already.
Only the Bearer, his companions, and a horde of ghouls remained. Jagged streaks of red rippled through her. The damn Bearer has killed them all! she growled in outrage. She almost dove down to repay him for the affront. He had cheated her of her prey.
But some shred of caution held her back.
She shouldn’t underestimate him. And he is still the Bearer. Even now she could feel the artefact’s chimes. He had to feel it, too.
He couldn’t be allowed to keep it.
Such unclean hands did not deserve the relic. She would have to retrieve it. But Cilantria saw there was no need for her to endanger herself. The ghouls would have him soon.
Best to save my strength for Sula.
Swirling languidly along the ceiling, she set herself to watch the Bearer’s death.
✽✽✽
There were too many.
Kyran had already killed twelve of the ghouls, but they kept coming. Thus far, the root field and his other crowd control spells had slowed the undeads’ approach to manageable numbers.
Now, however, his essence was running low and the grasping root spell was nearly expired.
Cilantria has killed Sivero.
Congratulations! Sivero, the journeyman necromancer responsible for the ivoranor elder’s death, has been slain. You have completed the quest: Avenge the fallen elder. As reward, you have been granted 6 combat skill points.
Kyran paid little attention to the Game message, dismissing it without even a momentary break from the endless cycle of shock bolts he hurled against the ghouls.
He flickered away drops of sweat. He needed to find a way to turn the battle around, but he couldn’t see how. There were just too many of the damnable ghouls. Even with the distraction Gaesin and Aiken provided outside, the ghouls kept pouring in.
“Let me come in, brother,” Aiken protested again.
“No,” Kyran insisted firmly as another string of shock bolts left his hands. There was little Aiken could do to change the situation inside.
Hurling shock bolts at the ghouls was not working. It was time to escape—if they could. He scanned the bathhouse, looking for a way out.
There was none.
The trio were surrounded on all sides by the undead and once the grasping roots spell lapsed, they would be overwhelmed. Kyran clenched his jaw. It was up to him to make sure the others got out.
Drawing on nearly the last of his essence, Kyran recast magic shield and wreathed his sword in rippling lightning.
Kyran has cast magic shield (shield strength: 765 HP).
Kyran has cast shocking hands. An elven mageblade has been imbued with jolt (+51 air damage).
“I’m going to engage the ghouls directly,” he said to Adra.
“Don’t, Kyran! There are too many.”
“No choice,” he replied grimly. “When the ghouls converge on me, you and Mirien retreat. Join up with Gaesin and Aiken. I will follow when I can.”
He only hoped he could last that long.
✽✽✽
There are too many.
Dread ate at Mirien. Kyran was not whittling down the undead’s numbers fast enough, and he had to be running low on essence by now.
If only I could help him, she thought despairingly. Her blades and psi were useless against the ghouls, and she had no offensive magic of her own.
She saw Adra, her bow hanging uselessly at her side, suddenly freeze in place.
“What is it?” she asked as the wolven cursed quietly.
“Kyran is almost out of essence,” replied Adra, confirming her own fears. “He is going to hold the ghouls’ attention while we try to escape.”
The damn fool, Mirien swore. She whipped her head around towards Kyran. Sure enough, he was advancing on the ghouls, sword in hand. The blade itself wouldn’t hurt the undead, but the lightning caressing its length would.
Kyran, though, was no swordsman.
On his own—magic shield or no—he stood no chance against the numbers he faced. Even as she watched, five ghouls closed in on him and blows began to rain down onto his shield. Mirien winced. At this rate, he was not going to last long.
She had to help him. She glanced at Adra. The wolven was tugging desperately at the roots holding her in place. It seemed Adra had the same idea. But the scout was no more capable of going toe to toe with the ghouls either.
“Adra,” she said sharply to get the wolven’s attention. Adra looked up. “Get Gaesin and secure our retreat.”
“But Kyran needs—”
“Leave Kyran to me,” Mirien replied. “I’ll get him. Just make sure we have a way out.”
Adra held Mirien’s gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly. “Alright, but hurry. Kyran says the grasping root spell has nearly lapsed.”
She had thought as much. “I—”
A roar shook the building.
Following in its wake was the thump of heavy feet. Mirien cocked her head. Aiken was also racing to Kyran’s aid. She cast a last glance at Adra.
“Good luck,” said the wolven.
Mirien nodded grimly. Drawing her blades, she slashed free of the entangling roots and shadow stepped to Kyran’s side.
✽✽✽
Kyran swallowed uneasily.
His plan was failing. Despite doing his best to weave between the ghouls and dodge their attacks, the undeads’ clawed hands continued to slash against his shield.
He was doing damage of his own, of course. But the ghouls, even hampered by the persistent grasp of the roots beneath them, were managing to land blows of their own.
Far too many.
Kyran’s 5 strikes have hit a ghoul for 251 air damage (physical damage resisted). Remaining: 149 / 400 HP.
A ghoul pack’s 5 strikes have hit Kyran for 0 damage (310 blocked by magic shield). Remaining shield: 455 / 765 HP.
Running the numbers, he realised the battle was lost. He couldn’t flee just yet, though. The ghouls were too fast. He needed to buy enough time for the others to escape. Could he hold the ghouls at bay that long? He clenched his sword in a white-knuckled grip. I will hold them for however long—
An avalanche of sound broke through the storm’s howling. Aiken.
Sensing what the bear intended, Kyran shouted, “No, brother! Get back!”
The bear ignored him and kept charging towards the building.
Kyran cursed. Aiken was going to get himself hurt—or worse. He didn’t have further attention to spare for his companion though, the ghouls were pressing him too hard.
Ducking his head, Kyran dodged an overhead strike. A resounding blow struck his shield from the right. He swung that way to fend off the undead’s next attack.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ghoul advanced on his left. He flinched in anticipation of its strike.
Then Mirien arrived and parried away the blow.
“Goddamnit,” Kyran ground out between gritted teeth. “Why does no one ever listen!”
But as unhappy as Kyran was by Mirien’s presence, the effect of her arrival was undeniable. With enviable skill, she pulled the attention of the three ghouls on his left and immediately he felt the pressure on himself ease.
Despite being shield-less and bound fast by the grasping roots, Mirien wove an impenetrable defence that her foes were unable to pierce. Captivated by the sight, for an instant, Kyran could only gape foolishly. Then the reality of what she did struck him.
“What are you doing here, you idiot!” he growled.
“Saving you,” she retorted.
“I ordered you and Adra”—he broke off to dodge the swipe of a ghoul—“to retreat!”
Mirien shrugged. She seemed to have no trouble splitting her attention between her foes and Kyran. “Your orders made no sense,” she snapped back.
Kyran scowled. But before he could form a response, the grasping roots vanished, disappearing as magically as they had appeared.
Kyran’s grasping root spell has d
issipated.
Freed of their bindings, the ten other ghouls in the bottom of the sunken pool surged forward. Before the pack converged on him and Mirien, Kyran caught a glimpse of Adra hurrying away. At least she’s following orders.
Then there was no time for further thought as the battle devolved into a series of hacks and slashes.
✽✽✽
Mirien’s face tightened as she watched the horde of undead descend upon them. There has to be a way out of this mess. But she couldn’t see one. Back to back with Kyran, she fought defensively, trying to fend off as many blows as she could.
It was hopeless.
First one blow slipped through, then another. Even Aiken’s arrival—in a shower of rocks as he plunged through the door and the surrounding stone—did little to ease the pressure. Inevitably, as she had feared from the very beginning, Kyran’s shield burst.
“Get out, Kyran,” she shouted. “Aiken and I will follow!”
“No!” he roared back. “You and Aiken will be swamped.”
Mirien swore. Whipping her head to the left and right, she searched for a means of escape. Where was Adra? Had the wolven managed to secure their retreat yet? But she caught no glimpse of the scout.
A blurred form slid across her vision. Mirien’s gaze darted in its direction. It was a ghoul. Closing unseen on Kyran’s right, the undead readied itself to swipe at his unprotected flank.
Her heart lurched. Without hesitation, Mirien pivoted, placed herself in the path of the descending strike, and turned away the blow with her blades.
But the move left her exposed. Unnoticed, another ghoul crept up on her, and in a fell swoop raked twin slashes across her back.
✽✽✽
Adra’s gaze darted back and forth, searching for a means to extract the besieged party members.
The battling trio had diverted attention away from her and she had worked her way stealthily through the room to an unguarded window.
The ghouls that had responded to the necromancers’ call had already forced their way into the bathhouse, which made her present perch relatively safe.
By Adra’s count, there were about fifty ghouls crowded around Kyran, Aiken, and Mirien. While the number of undead was still formidable, it was well shy of the hundred the party had originally seen in the patrol cordon.
It seemed killing the undeads’ masters had caused at least some of the ghouls to turn feral. Yet the ghouls crammed into the bathhouse were still too many.
“What do we do, Adra?” asked Gaesin again.
“I don’t know,” she repeated for what felt like the tenth time. Adra couldn’t blame Gaesin though. She was just as anxious as he was.
Her whiskers twitched unhappily. She feared that this time there was no way out of the party’s predicament. There must be, she insisted stubbornly. Her eyes roved the chamber again.
The ghouls were packed tightly around the trio, most seemingly hellbent on reaching Kyran. Sivero’s orders to his pets must have targeted Kyran specifically.
Adra swallowed painfully. Given the ghouls’ narrow focus on Kyran, she could see no way for him to escape, even if the others sacrificed themselves on his behalf—as both Aiken and Mirien seemed intent on doing.
Adra could not ignore the fact that the whiesper had placed herself in harm’s way for Kyran’s sake. If we ever walk away from this, I will have to make it up to her.
Just then, Kyran’s shield collapsed. “No!” she blurted out, unable to stop herself.
“Adra? What is it? What’s going on?” asked Gaesin frantically. “I’m coming in!”
A ghoul snuck up on Kyran. Adra raised her bow. She knew it would do no good, but she couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing. She took aim.
An instant before she released, Mirien stepped in the ghoul’s path and fended away its attack. But Adra’s relief was short lived as a second ghoul dove at Mirien.
Adra fired, suddenly numb fingers releasing the arrow.
She was too late, though. The ghoul’s claws tore through the whiesper’s armour and raked deep gouges across her back. Struck hard by the whiesper’s selfless sacrifice, Adra bent over.
Mirien had fallen.
✽✽✽
Heart in mouth, Kyran watched the ghoul leap at Mirien’s unprotected back. Spinning around, he recklessly exposed his own back, and shouldered away her attacker.
But he was too late.
Game messages flickered through his vision. He paid them no heed. All he could see were the twin lines of red cutting across Mirien’s back, and all he could hear was her anguished cry before she fell silent.
Kyran let his sword fall from suddenly numb fingers and dropped to his knees. Bending down over Mirien’s fallen form, he turned her over.
Then time stopped. Or nearly so.
Adra has fired a webbed shot (radius: 3.1m, chance to resist: 6%, duration: 3 seconds), 15 enemies and 3 allies slowed (-90% movement speed).
Mirien’s eyes were closed. Her breath was still and her face empty of expression. Unconscious—or dead. Kyran forgot to breathe.
“She lives, brother.”
Kyran blinked, not understanding. Locked in Adra’s webs, he could not turn to stare at his companion. Nonetheless, Aiken understood.
“Inspect her, Kyran,” the bear added gently. “She is not dead yet. There is hope.”
Doing as Aiken bid, Kyran reached out to probe Mirien.
Mirien has sustained a moderate wound (debuff: bleeding, damage: 30 HP per minute). Remaining: 320 / 555 HP.
Mirien is diseased (debuff: undeath’s corruption, damage: 0 HP per second.
Undeath’s corruption: Turns the victim into an undead. 24 hours remaining until the affliction sets in permanently.
Kyran’s breath exploded out of him in a rush. She is alive. He trembled, shaking from the sudden relief of tension. She is alive!
A second later, his elation faded and the reality of their predicament crashed down upon him. Adra’s webbed shot was instants away from expiring.
His heart sank. Mirien would die, he realised. And she would not be the only one. He and Aiken would not last much longer.
“Goodbye, brother,” he whispered.
✽✽✽
Cilantria watched the churning chaos below and struggled hard to hold to her disinterest. It will be over soon. Just a little longer.
Despite herself, she felt emotions long dead quicken at the sight of the great bear and the elven woman hurrying to the Bearer’s rescue. It spoke to her of mortal niceties Cilantria thought she had long since abandoned.
Of honour. Of loyalty.
Bah! She quelled her foolish sentimentality. I am beyond such trivial nonsense. The Bearer is unimportant. Only the artefact matters.
Yet… as Cilantria saw the elven woman fall, and the Bearer’s grief, she was reminded of her sister.
Tia would be most disappointed.
Help them, Cila, Cilantria heard her sister’s voice as clear and full of sorrow as on that fateful day when Sula dug her clutches into her.
Cilantria hesitated. She could not command the ghouls, not as the necromancers did. Nor would her attacks harm them, since they were immune to death magic.
But ghouls, like all undead, possessed the ability to communicate with others of their kind. They would hear if she chose to speak, and without the necromancers’ interference, perhaps they would even listen.
Cilantria spun around in agitation. To act or not? If she was going to intervene, it had to be now. The wolven’s spell had almost expired.
They are worthy of your aid, Sister.
With a frustrated growl, Cilantria decided, and in a whistling dive, threw herself into the sunken pool.
“GO. LEAVE NOW. THEY ARE MINE.”
✽✽✽
Adra’s spell lapsed and Kyran rose to his feet. Squaring his guard over Mirien’s prone form, he prepared himself for the inevitable.
But before the ghouls could resume their attack, an unintelligible howl soun
ded from above, and the undead craned their heads upwards.
What—? thought Kyran. Following the undeads’ gazes, he saw the forgotten spectre charging down.
With eerie uniformity, the ghouls parted to make way for her. Then, seemingly by mutual agreement, they turned and fled the bathhouse.
Bewildered, Kyran watched them go. What now? Prepared for what seemed the party’s certain demise, Kyran struggled to come to grips with their unexpected reprieve. His gaze slid to the malevolent cloud of churning shadow and crimson fire. The spectre was bearing down on a direct course towards Aiken and him. He tightened his hand on his sword. The party’s stay from death looked like it would be short-lived.
But the creature did not engulf the party in her form as she had Sivero. Nearing the trio, the spectre floated to a stop before Kyran.
What was this creature? How had she commanded the ghouls? And why was she causing his being to resonate?
With the spectre’s approach, his spirit’s chiming had risen to a fever pitch, leaving Kyran with no doubt it was the spectre herself that was responsible for the odd sensations. Kyran could barely think through the ‘noise.’
Preoccupied with his concern over Mirien’s condition—how were they going to heal her?—Kyran’s thoughts were a roiling mess. But now was not the time to deal with his worry. Burying his emotions deep, he gave the undead spinning in agitation before him his full attention. “Who are you?”
“Give it to me,” demanded the spectre.
“What?” he asked, taken aback.
“The artefact,” repeated the spectre. The burning orbs of her eyes flared ominously. “It does not belong to you. Give it to me, and you may yet live.”
“Does anyone know what she is speaking about?” asked Kyran as Aiken pressed up against him.
“No,” said Gaesin. Standing on the rim of the sunken pool, the youth studied the spectre warily. “But dark spirits like her are frequently insane, driven mad by the grief and rage that gave birth to them. Be careful, Kyran, she is powerful.”
Kyran nodded imperceptibly in Gaesin’s direction. Turning his attention back to the spectre, he said carefully, “I am not sure what you mean.”
“You have it!” insisted Cilantria. “Do not deny it. You are its Bearer—I hear the chimes!” She cocked her head at an unnatural angle. “Yet… you do not bear it.”
Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV) Page 13