The spectre’s nonsensical words almost made Kyran think Gaesin was correct—that the spirit was mad. Yet, she claimed to hear the chimes too. Maybe there was some truth to her words.
He parsed over the spectre’s words again. He was ‘its bearer,’ yet did not ‘bear’ it? He frowned. Was whatever the spectre sought an item he carried? Perhaps one in his inventory?
Closing his eyes, he dropped his awareness into the ether and delved into his inventory. Almost immediately, he uncovered the source of the chimes.
It was the lockbox.
The vibrations were coming from the lockbox Zarr had given him so many months ago. It had seemed to mean more to Crota’s undead than freedom from their curse of undeath itself. “Ah,” he exhaled.
“You do have it!” exclaimed Cilantria, seeing his dawning understanding. “Give it to me. Now.”
Kyran shook his head. He couldn’t give this creature the owl lockbox. “I cannot,” he said.
The spectre’s swirling clouds darkened, and jolts of red lightning struck the floor.
“Please don’t anger her, Kyran,” Gaesin squeaked.
“It is not yours!” Cilantria thundered.
“It is not,” Kyran conceded. “But I made a Vow to hand over the lockbox only to its rightful owner.” Was he mistaken? Were the chimes an indication that Cilantria was the rightful owner? No, he didn’t think so. But he couldn’t be certain. Zarr’s instructions on the item had been maddeningly vague, and now he wished he had questioned the lich king further.
Cilantria’s violent churning subsided slightly. “A Vow? To whom?”
Kyran pursed his lips and considered not answering, but Gaesin was right. He didn’t know whether the spectre was mad or not, but it was best not to anger her further.
“I made the Vow to Zarr, the lich king in Crota.”
The clouds of Cilantria’s being seethed again. “You speak nonsense, Bearer! Zarr has been dead for more than six hundred years. And he was no lich!”
“I do not lie,” he said carefully. By now, Kyran realised the spectre’s body reflected her mood—and she seemed to be feeling particularly belligerent at the moment. “Zarr is an undead now, like you,” he said, trying to soothe her rage. “To this day, he still holds Crota safe from the gods.”
Cilantria didn’t not respond immediately. Closing her eyes, the spectre bowed her head in thought.
“Do we flee, Kyran?” asked Adra.
“No, we wait. There is a mystery here we must solve. And with Mirien injured, we wouldn’t be able to flee fast enough.”
“She is alive?!” exclaimed a surprised Adra. “I thought… Thank the gods!”
Kyran said nothing. Mirien was alive, but how much longer she would remain that way, he wasn’t sure. We will find a way to cure her. We must.
“Show it to me!” demanded Cilantria finally. “I must see it.”
Kyran hesitated. Zarr had not expressly forbidden him from removing the owl lockbox from his inventory, only from opening it.
Yet he had been cautioned against revealing it to anyone. Cilantria was already aware he carried it, though, and truthfully, Kyran dared not deny the spectre further. If she attacked, there was no chance of the party emerging victorious. He had no choice.
Reluctantly, he held out his hand and willed the lockbox from his inventory.
Removed from inventory: Mysterious owl lockbox.
Type: Item. Rank: Unknown. Special properties: Unknown.
Description: A wooden lockbox, carved with a hunting owl and, by all appearances, ordinary.
Cilantria blurred forward so fast Kyran had barely registered the motion before the spectre’s hands hovered hungrily over the closed box. He almost yanked the lockbox away, but despite Cilantria’s obvious eagerness to reach into the box, she made no move to actually touch it.
“It’s true…” she whispered. “After all this time, it remains whole and intact,” she mumbled, seemingly to herself. “What can it mean?” Abruptly, Cilantria spun away.
Kyran opened his mouth to question her on what she meant, when the chiming stopped. It was so sudden and so abrupt that Kyran was left reeling. A Game message dropped into his mind.
Cilantria has rejected ownership of the lockbox and its contents. Search out other potential recipients.
I was wrong. Cilantria is the rightful owner of the lockbox. But only one of many, it seemed. How many others were there? And why would Zarr want him to give the lockbox to a spectre? None of that made sense.
Seeing his look, Cilantria said, “It is not for me. Not anymore.” Her words carried more than a hint of wistfulness and much of her previous anger seemed to have dissipated.
“What do you mean?”
The spectre waved away his question. “Put it away.”
Kyran didn’t waste time arguing. He willed the lockbox back to his inventory and sighed in relief when the chiming did not resume.
“You will help me,” Cilantria pronounced once he turned back to her.
Kyran’s brows flew up. “Help you?” he asked cautiously. “With what?”
Cilantria waved her arm towards the corpses of the dead Reapers scattering the bathhouse. “These are not the only necromancers that came to Celne. Their master, Sula, remains alive. You will kill her for me.”
“Why would you need our help with that?” he asked with a frown. “You killed Sivero easily enough.”
Cilantria shook her head. “He was only a journeyman. Sula is an adept and immune to the undead.” Cilantria swirled angrily. “She is beyond my reach.”
“An adept?” asked Kyran, slightly alarmed. Going up against such a foe would not be easy. The party’s first brush with the necromancers had already cost too much. He had no right to imperil the group further.
“I’m sorry, Cilantria,” he said, shaking his head in regret. “We cannot help you. Our companion has been injured and we must seek a means to heal her.”
Cilantria glared at him for a long moment before turning to study Mirien’s downed form. “I will aid your companion, if you help me,” she said at last.
“You can heal her?” asked Kyran, with sudden bursting hope. He drew in a few deep breaths to settle himself and keep his tightly clenched emotions from unfurling.
“No,” said the spectre, her words washing over him like cold water. “But if you aid me, I will tell you where to find the means to restore her.”
Kyran closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples as he tried to give the matter careful thought. If Cilantria spoke the truth, he would accept her bargain in a heartbeat. But how could he trust her?
“What does she mean, Kyran?” asked Gaesin, breaking into his train of thoughts. “Why do we need her? I can heal Mirien, no matter how severe her wounds.”
Kyran sighed. He had wanted to spare the party the news until they could better deal with it. “You cannot, Gaesin,” he said softly. “She is diseased.”
The silence in the battlegroup was palpable.
Leaving his companions to deal with their own grief, Kyran raised his head and met the spectre’s gaze. He would accept her bargain, even if he doubted the truth of her words. Slim hope was better than none.
“I’ll do it,” he replied. “Tell me what needs to be done.”
You have received a new quest!
Quest 15: Kill Sula.
Objective: Your companion has been infected by a ghoul. The spectre Cilantria has suggested the leader of the Reapers, Sula, has a means of curing her. Find and slay Sula.
Rank: Epic.
Reward: Unknown.
✽✽✽
Battle Log (Reapers’ camp)
The battle has ended.
Combat results
Creatures bonded: 0.
Hostiles killed: 15 necromancers, 18 of 100 ghouls.
Allies killed: 5 beast-bonded forest serpents.
Levels gained
Kyran: 2 levels (18 SP, 4 AP). New combat level: Level 32.
Adra: 1 level. New combat leve
l: Level 29.
Gaesin: 1 level. New combat level: Level 28.
Aiken: 1 level. New combat level: Level 30.
Items acquired
5 x forest serpent hides.
5 x forest serpent toxins.
✽✽✽
Misteria was swimming through the ether currents, enjoying the freedom of the spirit realm, when Vyne’s call reached her. “Divine One, I must speak with you.”
The goddess felt a moment of surprise. Why was Vyne contacting her? He had only entered the dungeon a few days ago and it was far too soon for him to be done.
She sent her consciousness flowing down the conduit that linked her champion to her. Entering his mind, she observed his surroundings through his eyes. He was still in the Fellmist dungeon, surveying the aftermath of his team’s latest skirmish. She could feel the flavour of his anxiety. Something was wrong. “Vyne, I am here,” she whispered.
Vyne stilled and his eyes went vacant as he returned her greetings, “Divine, I have grave news.”
“Tell me,” she demanded.
Misteria tasted the sense of his frustration and anger before he spoke. “We have encountered some… difficulties in the dungeon, Divine. The six hundred years the dungeon has lain dormant have made farming it a much harder prospect than we expected. We are only halfway through the second level.” Vyne hesitated before continuing, “We have lost two of our party already.”
Misteria frowned and let her displeasure colour her voice. “How?” she demanded. She felt Vyne’s mental wince.
“We were caught off guard by successive ambushes.” Vyne offered up his memories of the battles to his goddess. “Forgive me, Divine, but I don’t think we can face the floor’s captain and triumph.”
Misteria perused her champion’s memories of the battle, then fell silent. The demons’ numbers and strength were far greater than she had expected. If the second floor was this difficult, how much harder would the lower floors be? Should I rethink my plans for Crotana?
Not yet, she decided. Vyne’s foray into the dungeon had not been a complete failure. Despite his losses, from the first two floors alone, he had accumulated a significant pile of essence crystals. Her champion had not been wholly wrong, she mused. There was a fortune to be had in Crotana’s abandoned dungeons, but it would require more effort than they had realised.
“I agree with your assessment, Vyne. Withdraw from the dungeon and begin with the second stage of your plan. You have selected a location for the settlement?”
“Yes, Mistress. The marines are at work on it already.”
Her champion’s relief was palpable, but she did not remark on it. “It seems you entirely underestimated the difficulty of this venture, Vyne. You will have to work hard to ensure it does not end in abysmal failure. I expect to hear soon on how you intend to rescue this disaster.”
Vyne’s thoughts turned dark and fearful at the less-than-subtle threat in Misteria’s words. Good, thought Misteria. She had planted the seed. He would work that much harder now. She left it at that.
“But the dungeons are not your only concern,” she continued. “There are other happenings in Crotana that may complicate your mission further.”
“Divine?” asked Vyne confused.
“The free agent I told you about, he has escaped the Labyrinth.”
“Impossible,” gasped Vyne.
Misteria laughed. “So thought I and my fellows. The agent has defied all our expectations. Though, it is not his escape itself that interest me, but the manner of it.”
“I don’t understand, Divine,” said Vyne, his brows furrowing.
“The free agent exited the Labyrinth through Durn Duruhl. The scouts caught sight of him when he killed Xetil’s champion, Lesh.”
Misteria felt Vyne’s surprise mount. He floundered, uncertain what to ask first. “How did the agent reach Durn Duruhl, Divine? And did you say he killed Xetil’s champion? How is that even possible?”
“Good questions, and ones for which I don’t have the answers—yet. My interest, however, lies with something else he did. While searching the city, the scouts found golems fighting the kobolds. The golems were part of the missing obsidian legion. It could only have been the free agent that awoke them.”
Vyne’s interest sharpened as he realised the significance of the goddess’s words. “The free agent has found the lost armoury of the enchanter’s guild?”
“He must have. Not only that, he has found the means to open the armoury and activate the golems.” Misteria paused. “I don’t have to tell you what it could mean for our plans for Crotana if we got control of the golems, do I?”
“I understand, Divine,” Vyne said, thoughts racing. “Do you wish me to head to Durn Duruhl and seek out the free agent?”
Misteria laughed again. “No, we are too late to that hunt, I fear. Others are already ahead of you.”
Vyne remained silent, waiting for the goddess to go on.
“Iyra and Xetil are both searching for the agent. Iyra has sent a young champion that should be an easy enough foe for you to defeat, but its best you avoid detection altogether.” She paused. “Xetil has sent Yiralla.” She smiled cruelly as she felt Vyne’s tremor of fear. “Good, you understand what that means,” she continued. “Avoid Yiralla at all cost. Do you understand?”
“I do, mistress.”
“Establishing the settlement still remains your priority, but if you see an opportunity to capture the free agent, do so.”
“Your will, Divine.”
PART TWO
Chapter 9
01 Novo 2603 AB
Spectres are beings of almost pure-spirit. As entities nearly untainted by the physical, they may bond with creatures of flesh and blood. This conjoining can be consensual or invasive, but in both instances the spectre confers unique abilities upon its host that it could not otherwise. —Talys Madisine, necromancer.
“Sula is in the Ivory Tower,” said Cilantria.
Kyran unclenched his hands in relief. He’d half-feared the necromancer would be in some remote destination, and not a stone-throw away in the Tower at the city’s centre.
He glanced at Mirien’s unconscious form. They had moved her to the Reapers’ former camp after disposing of the necromancers’ bodies. The rest of the party were huddled around her while Gaesin healed her injuries as best he could.
“Alright, we’ll set off for the Tower at first light,” Kyran said. As much as he wanted to begin right away, both he and Gaesin needed rest to recover their essence first.
Cilantria shook her head vigorously. The tempest raging within the spectre had softened somewhat from earlier, but her mood was still far from gentle. “You will have to enter the Tower alone,” she said brusquely.
Kyran’s brows drew down in consternation. “Why?”
The spectre did not answer immediately. She appeared to be gathering her thoughts. “The Tower is infested with undead,” she said finally. “Their numbers are greater than your party can hope to overcome in the time left before your companion’s… transformation. Sula is likely in the Tower’s upper level. To get to her, you will have to traverse the entirety of the Tower.”
Kyran scratched at his chin. “How did Sula make it through the Tower?”
“I told you that already,” snapped Cilantria. “As an adept, Sula is protected from the undead. None of our attacks will harm her.”
“Alright,” said Kyran, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “But how do I make it through on my own? I don’t have the same protections as the Reaper.”
The spectre glared at him, seeming to consider the question a poor one. “I will protect you, of course,” she replied. “I will cast a glamour on you that will disguise your true nature. However, it will only be able to shield one of you, and not your entire party.”
Kyran rubbed at his chin again. The spectre seemed to dislike being questioned. He would have to be cautious about what he asked. “Why not order away the undead as you commanded the gho
uls here?”
That, surprisingly, did not earn him another glare. “The spirits in the Tower have all been driven mad by the suffering that birthed them,” Cilantria said, seeming sad. “None of them will heed me.”
Kyran nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t know enough to question the truth of Cilantria’s words, nor did he have time to verify them. He would have to trust her.
He glanced at the rest of the party. None appeared to be following his conversation with the spectre. If I have to do this alone, best they don’t know the details. It would make for less arguments later.
He walked away from the party and up the steps leading out of the sunken pool. “So, how would we do this?”
“I will wrap myself around your body, enshrouding it entirely. Your true nature will be hidden, and to all appearances you will seem one of the undead,” replied Cilantria. “It will not be an actual ward,” she warned. “While the Tower’s spirits should be deceived, it will not prevent them from harming you if they pierce the glamour.”
Kyran winced. It sounded risky, but Mirien’s life hung in the balance. “What about my party? Will they be safe here? Will the ghouls return?”
“They will not be in danger. There are no other spirits in the city. Sula saw to that,” said Cilantria, buzzing slightly in anger. “And as to the ghouls, they have gone fully feral by now. Nothing remains to bind them together as a pack. If they do return, it will be as individuals, but it is more likely they will disperse into the forest and seek out easier prey.”
He gazed out into the storm-wracked night. The tempest still showed no sign of letting up. “Alright,” he said, coming to a decision, “we’ll do it your way. I’ll enter the Tower at first light tomorrow.”
Cilantria floated in front of Kyran, and for a moment the frantic maelstrom of clouds within her slowed to a gentle swirl. “Thank you, Bearer,” she said, inclining her head.
“I do this for my companion,” he reminded her. “Not you.”
Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV) Page 14