The spectre gazed piercingly at him. “Nonetheless, you have my thanks.” She floated away. “I will watch over your camp while you and your companions sleep.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
She stopped and spun about. “Oh, and one more thing. I still don’t know your name, Bearer.”
“Its Kyran Seversan,” he replied.
“Kyran,” she said, as if tasting the name. “Sleep well, then. I will see you in the morning.”
✽✽✽
The others—predictably—were not happy. The arguments had gone on longer than Kyran expected, but finally they had all agreed: the party had no choice but to trust the spectre’s words.
Blearily, Kyran rubbed at his eyes and choked down his morning drink. He had gotten less sleep than he liked last night, and what sleep he did manage had been plagued by nightmares.
He glanced across to Mirien’s prone form. All her wounds had been healed, yet she had not surfaced from her unconscious state. Gaesin believed it was the disease that was responsible. The half-elf thought she would not wake up at all unless she was cured… or fully turned.
Kyran’s hands tightened around his mug. He could not let Mirien die or turn. The whiesper was… He was not sure what Mirien was to him yet, only that she was important.
He could not fail her.
“You will succeed, brother,” Aiken said confidently.
“Thank you, Aiken,” Kyran replied, slightly reassured. He rose to his feet—it was time. “Take care of the others.”
Adra and Gaesin looked up from where they were gathering materials to fortify the doors and windows. The party would remain encamped in the building while Kyran ventured into the Tower. “You go now?” asked Adra quietly.
He nodded.
“Save her please, Kyran,” whispered Adra. “There is much I have to make amends for.”
Kyran nodded again. In some ways, Mirien’s condition had hit Adra harder than the rest of them. The whiesper’s actions yesterday had finally convinced Adra once and for all of Mirien’s integrity. He laid an arm comfortingly on the wolven’s shoulder. “I will,” he said firmly.
“Where is the spectre?” asked Gaesin.
“Here,” said Cilantria, appearing behind Kyran.
Kyran glanced at his companions and briefly held each of their gazes in turn. “I’ll see all of you later,” he said.
Turning around, he walked up the sunken pool steps and out of the bathhouse.
✽✽✽
Up close, the Ivory Tower was just as daunting as it had been from afar. The Tower’s base seemed large enough to house a small village. If not for its impressive height, it could just as easily have been named a castle.
Standing on the threshold of the barred entrance, Kyran laid a hand onto the Tower’s still-gleaming ivory surface. Though slightly seamed and cracked, its resemblance to the ivoranors’ armoured hides was unmistakable.
He turned his attention to the Tower’s metal door. It seemed to have been forged from solid orichalcum, he noted with interest. And unlike the rest of the city, it appeared whole and unmarred.
“Sula restored the enchantments powering the door,” Cilantria said, noting his gaze.
Kyran raised one brow.
“The necromancer has an access key,” the spectre explained. “It was easier for her to open the door using its enchantments than to break down the door altogether.”
“How is this door still standing when the rest of the city is a ruined mess?” Kyran asked.
“The divines’ armies did not need to break their way into the Tower,” Cilantria said bitterly. “They… persuaded the occupants to open the gate.”
Something about the way she phrased the word sent a shiver down Kyran’s spine. He decided not to inquire further. “How do we enter?” he asked instead.
“I have the access key,” she answered.
Kyran nodded. “Let’s begin, then.”
“Before we do, we should see to your glamour,” replied Cilantria. “It is unlikely, but there may be spirits near the door.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Only stand still a moment,” replied the spectre.
Kyran did as she asked and watched with trepidation as Cilantria floated towards him, the darkness and spinning red fire at her centre growing more ominous the closer she approached. Suddenly this didn’t seem such a good idea. Perhaps he should have first questioned Cilantria further—
The spectre engulfed him, and Kyran was consumed by a raging maelstrom. For a moment, he feared Cilantria had deceived him and was about to do to him what she did to Sivero.
But then the storms quietened, and Cilantria’s darkness, riddled with veins of scarlet, settled on him like a second skin.
Cilantria has cast host rider on Kyran (duration: until deactivated).
Host riding is an ability unique to spectres that loosely binds a spirit’s form to a targeted host. The relationship between host and foreign spirit is symbiotic, and can be freely severed by either at any time. While the spell is in effect, the spirit may take no hostile action against any entity, has limited access to its own abilities, and is affected by hostile spells cast upon the host.
Cilantria has cast cloak of undeath (duration: until deactivated).
Kyran-Cilantria has been covered by a glamour: wraith-knight.
Kyran held up his arm for inspection. His mithril-scale armour had been coated by smoky blackness. It seemed his appearance had been changed to match a wraith’s. Cilantria’s spell had worked.
“Can you hear me, Kyran?”
Kyran started in surprise. “Cilantria? Is that you?” He looked around, but could see no sign of the spectre. “Where are you?”
“I am on you,” replied the spectre, amusement tinging her voice. “While I remain in this form, we can speak mind to mind.”
“Alright, how do we enter the Tower?”
“Lay your hand on the door. It is keyed to my spirit.”
Kyran studied the doors, deliberating. He had little idea what he would face within once he entered the Tower, or even if he would return.
“What are you waiting for?” Cilantria asked, sensing his hesitation.
“Before I enter, I need to know: how do I heal my companion’s disease.”
The spectre didn’t answer.
“Tell me,” Kyran pleaded. “I have accepted your task, and you hold me in your grasp already. If I betray you, there is no danger of me escaping your vengeance.” When Cilantria still offered no response, he spoke out loud, “Please. There is no reason for my companion to die if we fail. Tell me, and let them heal her while we set about this task.”
“Telling you will not help your companion.” Cilantria sighed. “Necromancers have little healing magic themselves, yet accidental infections have been known to happen. Both Sula and Sivero carried wands inscribed with the cure disease spell.”
“And Sivero’s wand was destroyed during your attack,” said Kyran with a sinking sensation as he recalled the splotches of red that were all that remained of journeyman Reaper.
“I’m sorry,” said Cilantria. Contrition laced her voice. “Getting hold of Sula’s wand is your companion’s only hope.”
Kyran bowed his head, feeling sick to his stomach. As convenient as he found Cilantria’s tale, his gut told him she spoke true. He sighed. Nothing had changed, then. He was Mirien’s only chance. He reached out and laid one shadowed hand on the orichalcum door.
The door responded to his touch and slid open. Squaring his shoulders, Kyran stepped forward.
✽✽✽
The door swung shut behind Kyran as silently as it had retracted.
Kyran turned his head from side to side. The Tower’s interior was pitch black and deathly silent. No light penetrated. He shuddered. The heavy darkness reminded him of the Labyrinth.
Drawing on his essence, he wove strands of air magic into his eyes and scanned his surroundings.
Kyran has cast truesight
(range: 51m, duration: 8 hours).
Kyran has activated show hostiles (radius: 144m).
The world brightened as Kyran’s gaze sharpened to pierce the darkness. He was in a large entry hall, bare and filled with crumbling relics of the past.
Hallways marched off from the room’s other three exits, all likewise empty. Show hostiles reported no nearby entities. Although, at the very limits of the spell’s detection range, he saw stationery red dots on his player’s map.
But for now, he appeared safe.
“I’m inside the Tower. All clear so far,” he reported through the battlegroup.
There was no response.
“Gaesin, Adra? Did you hear me?”
He was met by stark silence again. Huh? He waited a beat longer, but none of his companions responded. Even his mental-link to Aiken had been blocked.
“Cilantria, why can I not reach my companions?” he asked carefully.
“The Tower’s walls are lined with orichalcum. No magic may cross its boundaries.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?” he asked.
The spectre was silent so long Kyran thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I thought you knew,” she said finally. “But if you need to speak to your party, you can exit the Tower again,” she offered.
Kyran hesitated. The spectre had not shared the information earlier, but it didn’t really change what needed to be done. He decided to go on.
Stepping warily through the entry hall, he realised he knew nearly nothing of the spectre, and she likewise knew little of him. He realised their unfamiliarity with each other might lead them to make incorrect assumptions—which could get him killed.
“I know nothing of the Ivory Tower,” he said. “Or of the city. Assume, too, that I know little of the necromancers.” He hesitated, but didn’t add anything further.
“As you wish, Bearer.”
“That’s another thing I don’t understand. Why do you keep calling me that?”
“What?” asked Cilantria in a perplexed tone.
“‘Bearer’,” he replied. “I have no idea what it means.”
“How can you not?” asked Cilantria with undisguised shock. “You carry the artefact! And you claim Zarr himself gave it to you!”
“I do, and he did,” admitted Kyran. “But the lich king did not bother to explain what he gave me—or why. Only that I should hand it over to its rightful owner.”
Surprisingly, Cilantria laughed. “That sounds like Zarr.”
Kyran stilled. “You know him?”
“No,” she said. “Six hundred years ago, I knew him. A lich,” she mused. “I cannot fathom the man I knew making such a choice.” Her tone turned sombre. “But then, never would I have believed that the woman I was could become what I am today.”
Kyran remained silent. He sensed a deep sorrow behind Cilantria’s words. The spectre had to have been turned into the wrathful creature she was by the torture she’d endured. Yet her words hinted that her true nature was something altogether different. What had Cilantria been like in life?
Letting the matter lie, he took stock of his surroundings. He had reached the middle of the entry hall. “Which way?” he asked, looking at the three passages leading deeper into the Tower.
“The central hallway,” Cilantria replied. “It leads directly to the stairs going up to the next level.”
Spectre and elf made it to the Tower’s next level without needing to put Cilantria’s glamour to the test. The undead, show hostiles reported, remained concealed behind closed doors and walls, and none made any move to advance on the pair as they made their way through the first level.
“How many levels do we have to traverse?” Kyran asked after climbing the wide, marble steps leading to the second level.
“The Tower originally had forty floors. Less than half remained after its destruction.”
Still a long way to go, he thought.
✽✽✽
Halfway through the second floor, the pair encountered their first undead. It was a wraith floating unhurriedly towards them. Kyran froze, recalling his terrifying first encounter with the creatures in the citadel.
“Keep walking,” Cilantria hissed. “While the Tower’s spirits have been driven mad, they may still pick up on odd behaviour. If you show fear, you will give them cause to question the glamour.”
He gulped. The wraith was only level twenty-five, and well below his own combat level. Despite this, he was nervous. But he did as Cilantria bade. The wraith passed harmlessly by without even a glance in Kyran’s direction. He heaved a pent-up breath when it was safely beyond reach.
“The glamour works,” mused Cilantria, a thread of surprise in her voice.
“What!” exclaimed Kyran before he could stop himself. His voice reverberated loudly in the Tower’s silence. After the echoes died down, he whispered furiously, “What do you mean it ‘works’? You weren’t certain?”
“How could I have been?” replied Cilantria. Her nonchalance set Kyran’s teeth on edge. “It’s not something, I’ve ever tried before.”
He managed to hold onto his temper—barely—and the pair made the rest of their way through the level in silence.
✽✽✽
The third and fourth levels of the Tower were crowded, densely packed from entrance to exit.
So great were the numbers of wraiths, shadows, and spectres floating about that Kyran had to sidestep carefully, lest any of them brush against him. By now he was certain Cilantria’s spell worked, and his previous anger at the spectre had diminished. Yet he had no desire to test the limits of her glamour.
The number of undead was a startling contrast to the near-emptiness of the first two floors. And even though most of the undead were a lower level than Kyran, there were hundreds of them. “So many,” Kyran murmured, more to himself than Cilantria. “Why are the restless spirits so numerous here?”
“The Ivory Tower was home to Eld’s priests,” said the spectre sadly. “Tens of thousands lived in the Tower. When the divines invaded, they saved the very worst for the Tower’s inhabitants.” She fell silent a moment before going on, “It’s a wonder, really, that more of my brother and sisters’ spirits were not chained to this plane by the sins committed against them.”
Kyran’s interest was piqued. She had been one of Eld’s priests? He didn’t broach the matter though. “But I don’t understand,” he said as the pair made their way down the packed corridor. “How can so many dead spirits still remain here if Sula passed this way?”
Cilantria let out a hollow laugh. “The dead know better to let themselves be seen by a necromancer, especially one immune to their touch. These spirits would have fled at Sula’s approach. They will not let themselves be easily caught. Sula would need to root each and every one of them out individually.” She paused. “Their undisguised presence here can only mean Sula is not close by. She must be near the very top of the Tower.”
Kyran nodded, and they forged onwards. The pair’s journey through the next few levels passed without incident. It was only when they approached the end of the tenth level that they encountered their first hurdle.
Game Data
Base skills in air magic, earth magic, and supportive magic have increased to 32. Effective skill: 81.6.
Base skill in beast bonding has increased to 32. Effective skill: 83.8.
Base skills in telepathy and body control have increased to 32. Effective skill: 65.3.
Base skill in light armour has increased to 32. Physical defence: 44.3.
Base skill in psionics has increased to 30. Psicasting cost reduced by 12.2.
Remaining: 0 combat SP, 7 combat AP.
Kyran’s Profile (Condensed)
Name: Kyran Seversan.
Combat level: 32. Civilian level: 32. Health: 320.
Attacks: 44.2 (slash), 65.3 (psi wave), 81.6 (shock bolt).
Defences: Physical (44.3), psi (32), spell (32).
Class skills
Beast bonding (
83.6), body control (65.3), light armour (38.4), psionics (61.2), telepathy (65.3), air magic (81.6), earth magic (81.6), supportive magic (81.6), spellcasting (61.2), water magic (51), nature lore (33.6).
Other skills (0 combat and 0 civilian SP available)
Fire magic (43.4), longsword (10.4), telekinesis (26.5).
Commander (16.0), governor (14.4), mage lord (48.0), scrying (14.4), travelling (14.4), feudal lord (14.4).
New abilities (7 combat and 4 civilian AP available)
None.
New items
None.
Chapter 10
02 Novo 2603 AB
Spectres are not demons. It is unfortunate that many scholars have compared the two. Some have even gone so far as to call spectres lesser demons. This, though, is palpably untrue. Spectres wield death magic and are the spirits of mortals freed from the Wheel. Demons are immortal beings of chaos, entirely unbound by the Wheel. Yet undeniably, spectres, like demons, can invade a host and occupy its body. —Gunta Helman, demonologist.
“Another door,” murmured Kyran, gesturing to the double doors at the top of the staircase that barred entrance to the eleventh floor. There had been no doors between the lower levels.
“The first ten floors of the Tower were public areas,” explained Cilantria. “Access to the upper floors was restricted to Eld’s priests. I sense that the enchantments on this door have been activated as well. Place your hand on the door.”
He did as she bade. Now that he knew Cilantria herself was a former priestess of Eld, he did not question why she had access. The door slid open as silently as the entrance to the Tower had, and he slipped inside. There were no wraiths and spectres near the entrance to the eleventh floor, which immediately put Kyran on guard.
“Sula must be near,” growled Cilantria.
Kyran nodded. Turning his gaze inwards, he checked his map. He frowned at what he saw. Show hostiles reported only a single red icon on the floor.
“What is it?” asked Cilantria, picking up on his hesitation.
Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV) Page 15