Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV)

by Vider, Rohan M.

  Kyran nodded. Unable to risk the temptation, he asked, “What’s in the lockbox?”

  Cilantria snorted. “Foolish hope,” she replied dismissively.

  He didn’t believe her. Her attempted disinterest didn’t quite square with her earlier eagerness to see it. He let her response pass unchallenged, though. She, like Zarr, seemed intent on keeping him ignorant of the lockbox’s contents.

  “You realise this changes nothing,” she said.

  “It doesn’t,” he agreed.

  “Good, then let us continue. Sula cannot be far now.”

  ✽✽✽

  The Eater was no more.

  All that remained of its bulk were shrivelled, burnt, and desiccated corpses. The creature’s hefty mounds had caved in as the false-life animating the monstrosity escaped to the Wheel.

  Kyran tiptoed through the dining hall, doing his best not to breathe in the rancid air or step into the puddled remains. “What has happened to the trapped spirits?” he asked.

  “They will have floated free and rejoined their incomplete selves. Their spirits are finally whole again.”

  Kyran nodded. Whatever else happened, he and Cilantria had at least accomplished some good in the Tower.

  The pair navigated their way through the rest of the floor and made it to the next level without mishap. The twelfth floor, crowded with all manner of spirits, was little different from the first ten levels of the Tower.

  But on the thirteenth floor, things changed again. The number of freely roaming restless dead on the level were significantly fewer than on the twelfth floor.

  The fourteenth floor was almost entirely barren. Less than ten spirits remained on the level, and all of them kept themselves concealed from the passing pair.

  Sula was close.

  When spectre and elf reached the orichalcum doors at the end of the level, they found the entrance guarded. Forewarned by show hostiles, Kyran stopped short of the sentries’ sight and concealed himself behind a pile of rubble, then peered warily over.

  Standing sentinel against the barred doors were two armoured skeletal figures and at their feet, six dog-like bone creatures.

  “Sula’s pets,” hissed Cilantria. “She must be on the floor above.”

  Kyran nodded in agreement. The fifteenth floor was the highest floor still standing, and the only one the pair had not ventured through yet. He pursed his lips in thought as he studied the guards. They looked formidable.

  The two humanoid sentries were plated from head to foot in darksteel plate that was oiled and well maintained. Only their open helm revealed their undead nature. Their bleached white skulls, empty eye-sockets, and death-grins marked them as skeletal warriors.

  The half-dozen four-footed creatures were likewise absent of any flesh. Formed only from aged bones, the undead mastiffs were unarmoured and unadorned save for the spiked metal collars around their necks. Reaching out with insight, he probed warriors and dogs.

  Creature: Skeletal knight. Type: Reanimated dead.

  Level: 41. Health: 700. Rarity: Uncommon.

  Attack: 60-80 (slashing).

  Defences: Physical (54), psi (immune), spell (41).

  Traits and abilities:

  Defenceless against divine: +75% holy damage received.

  Vulnerable to fire: +25% fire damage received.

  Fleshless: -75% physical resistance to piercing attacks.

  Description:

  Skeletal undead are near-mindless creatures that have lost all semblance of sentience and rely solely on their master for direction, fulfilling any given task even if it means their own destruction.

  Creature: Bone hound. Type: Reanimated dead.

  Level: 21. Health: 300. Rarity: Common.

  Attack: 20-30 (slashing).

  Defences: Physical (23), psi (immune), spell (21).

  Traits and abilities:

  Defenceless against divine, vulnerable to fire, and fleshless.

  “Let me separate from you. Then we will make short work of them,” Cilantria growled. “With Sula this close, none of the Tower spirits on this level will dare intervene.”

  Kyran studied the eight undead and the sealed doors beyond as he considered the spectre’s words. “Wait,” he said finally. “There is a better way, I think.”

  ✽✽✽

  A few minutes later, the pair was ready and Kyran began without preamble.

  Kyran has delay cast shock wall (length: 10m, chance to resist: 5%, duration: 82 seconds, damage: 8.2 HP per second), 2 skeletal knights and 6 bone hounds stunned.

  Kyran has cast oil slick (radius: 5m, chance to resist: 5%, duration: 82 minute), 8 enemies slicked.

  Ignorant of Kyran’s presence amongst the rubble, the eight undead were caught unaware and unprepared as his spells ripped into them. White lightning blazed across the stairway and created a humming field of energy that stunned the guards.

  An instant later, oil ran down the staircase, coating the trapped undead in dense, viscous liquid. And before the guards could recover from the double-blow of his first two spells, Kyran followed up with a flaming dart and ignited the oil.

  Kyran has set an oil pool aflame (damage: 4.1 HP per second), 8 enemies trapped in the flames.

  The skirmish—such as it was—was over before it had even begun.

  “Well done,” said Cilantria approvingly.

  Kyran didn’t reply. With his eyes fixed on the orichalcum doors, he dashed forward. The undead’s master would be aware of her guards’ fate. If she did not come herself to investigate, she was sure to send more of her minions. Before that happened, Kyran wanted to be on the next floor and safely concealed.

  Closing to within teleportation range, Kyran stepped into the mindscape, and a second later stepped out next to the enchanted doors. Moving fast—there was not a moment to spare—Kyran ignored the lightning and flames that licked at his magic shield and slapped a hand to the door.

  The enchanted metal slid back smoothly and Kyran slipped through without taking the time to seal the doors behind him.

  Behind him, Sula’s pets continued to burn.

  ✽✽✽

  Battle Log (Sula’s guards)

  The battle has ended.

  Combat results

  Creatures bonded: 0.

  Hostiles killed: 2 skeletal knights, 6 bone hounds.

  Levels gained

  Kyran: 1 level (9 SP, 2 AP). New combat level: Level 33.

  ✽✽✽

  The moment Kyran stepped onto the fifteenth level, he reactivated show hostiles. A radar pulse exploded outwards and set his map blazing with new icons. The closest two—about a hundred metres out—sped towards his position.

  Heart racing, Kyran chose a side passage at random and pounded down its length. The two hostiles rushed down the main corridor.

  Once he judged himself safely out of sight, Kyran slowed his mad dash and crouched down into the shadows. Dismissing his magic shield, he spun weaves of air around him.

  You have cast blend. Based on the prevailing light conditions and your skill level, you are invisible (duration: 51 minutes).

  Kyran’s pulse slowed. He turned his attention inwards and watched the red icons on his map. They had slowed. Moving cautiously now, the pair were approaching the branch leading to his own passage.

  He stilled his breath and swung carefully around to face back the way he had come. He was about fifty metres away from the main corridor, far enough—he hoped—to escape detection, but still close enough to spy on whoever—or whatever—Sula had sent to investigate the disturbance.

  Two ethereal shadows slipped across the opening of the side passage. To his immense relief, they did not turn into the corridor concealing him.

  Cilantria’s reaction, however, was altogether different. “AAAHHRRR!” the spectre howled in his mind, her rage as formless as it was loud.

  Kyran winced in pain and fought back the instinctive desire to slap his hands to his ears. The two hostiles had stopped—almost as if they had th
e caught an echo of spectre’s cry.

  Even worse, renewed streaks of red were flickering through Cilantria’s form layered upon his own.

  “Quiet, Cilantria!” he hissed. “Contain your anger, or they will find us!”

  Surprisingly, the spectre stilled.

  Kyran’s gaze darted towards the passage opening. The billowing cloud forms of the two creatures were not unlike Cilantria’s own being. Was that the reason for her disquiet and anger? The two had to be spectres as well. And possibly even ones Cilantria knew.

  Reaching out with his will, he probed the hostiles with insight.

  Name: Tiara. Race: Spectre (spirit-bound to Sula).

  Level: 81. Health: 790.

  Stamina: 0. Will: 740. Essence: 910.

  Attack: 94 (death).

  Defences: Physical (immune), psi (immune), spell (95).

  Traits and abilities:

  Grief-stricken: The strength of this spectre’s attacks is proportional to its sorrow.

  Defenceless against divine: +75% holy damage received.

  Vulnerable to fire: +50% fire damage received.

  Ethereal: -100% physical damage received, -100% physical attacks.

  Name: Tulkarmar. Race: Spectre (spirit-bound to Sula).

  Level: 71. Health: 1030.

  Stamina: 0. Will: 540. Essence: 510.

  Attack: 74 (death).

  Defences: Physical (immune), psi (immune), spell (71).

  Traits and abilities:

  Hateful: The strength of this spectre’s attacks is proportional to its hatred.

  Defenceless against divine: +75% holy damage received.

  Vulnerable to fire: +50% fire damage received.

  Ethereal: -100% physical damage received, -100% physical attacks.

  Kyran’s heart sank as he read the spectres’ Game data. Both creatures were far beyond him, and one was actually a match for Cilantria. Just how strong is Sula? he wondered despairingly. If even the spirits bound to her service were so powerful, how could he defeat her?

  He suspected Cilantria’s task might be beyond him.

  But there would be time to worry about that later. Now there was a more immediate danger to see to. The two spectres had still not broken from their frozen posture.

  He kept himself motionless and, just in case, began delay casting. After a long-drawn moment, and as Kyran started to suspect the worst, the pair moved off towards the level’s exit.

  His whistled in soundless relief and sank back. “We have to talk, Cilantria.”

  ✽✽✽

  “I cannot defeat those two,” said Kyran a minute later. He had waited just long enough to make sure the two hostile spectres had slipped down to the fourteenth level before broaching the subject of his concern with Cilantria.

  When the spectre did not respond immediately, he went on. “I probed them with insight. Even with my entire party in support, I doubt we could defeat one of those spectres, much less both.”

  “You don’t have to,” Cilantria said quietly.

  Kyran’s ears perked up. “What do you mean?”

  “If you kill Sula, the spirits bound in her service will be freed.”

  Kyran shook his head. “Judging from her bound spirits, Sula must be powerful. Just how strong is she, Cilantria? Can I defeat her?

  “I don’t know,” said Cilantria, uncertainty clawing at her voice. “I no longer bear the gift of insight I once did. I cannot judge Sula’s strength exactly; I only know she must be at least adept-ranked to have achieved immunity from the dead.”

  Kyran’s brows shot up. Cilantria did not appear aware of what she had inadvertently revealed. To have possessed the insight ability, the spectre must have been a player. Had Cilantria once been a vassal? A more startling notion occurred to Kyran. Or… a champion?

  Unaware of Kyran’s musing, Cilantria continued, “I have not shared with you why the necromancer has come here.” Her tone turned pensive. “Perhaps it is time you knew.”

  With difficulty, Kyran wrenched his mind back to the matter at hand. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “For all that the Ivory Tower swarms with restless spirits, my kind are rare on Myelad,” Cilantria began. “Few places have the abundance of undead spirits Celne does—or did. For a necromancer, the Ivory Tower is a treasure trove.” The spectre fell silent for a moment. “Sula is not the first necromancer to attempt entering the Tower; she is only the first to succeed breaching the city’s defences.”

  “What defences?” asked Kyran, puzzled. “I did not notice any on the way in.”

  “Me.” Cilantria laughed hollowly. “I am the city’s protector. Or at least I was. But even in this task, I have failed.”

  Kyran frowned as something nagged at him. “But… if adept necromancers are immune to the undead, how did you protect the city from those before Sula?”

  “Sula is the first adept-ranked necromancer to have entered the city. It is rare for any necromancer to live long enough to attain that rank. I never imagined I would face one like her,” she said bitterly. “Do you know why necromancers are so hated and feared?”

  Kyran blinked at the question’s seeming irrelevance, but he suspected Cilantria was leading somewhere. “Because they raise the dead and bind spirits to their service?”

  “That is only the lesser part of the answer. The true reason necromancers are feared is because of their ability to consume the dead.”

  “Consume?” asked Kyran, startled.

  “It is not widely known, but adept necromancers like Sula can feed off an undead’s spirit to raise the strength of her own spirit sparks.” Cilantria paused. “Permanently. It is why most are killed off before they can attain higher ranks.”

  Kyran’s mouth worked wordlessly as he thought through the implications. “It makes sense now,” he murmured finally. “Most of the spirits in the Tower are under level forty. I had wondered why an adept would bother binding such low-ranked spirits. But she isn’t here to bind them, is she?” he asked, though it was rhetorical. “She is here to consume them.” He paused as a new thought occurred to him. “On the other hand, I can see her desperately wanting a spirit of your strength.”

  At his words, Cilantria’s form rippled in seeming dread. I’ve struck a chord, he thought.

  But when the spectre spoke, her voice was even and free of fear. “Your conclusions are correct, Kyran. It is not for the strength of the Tower’s spirits that Sula has come here, but for their numbers. Each spirit she consumes increases her power minutely.”

  Kyran bit his lip. “What happens to the spirits she feeds on?”

  “They are destroyed utterly.”

  Kyran shivered. It was the same fate the gods had threatened him with. He realised Sula was a greater menace than he had first supposed.

  “There is more,” Cilantria said.

  Kyran winced. Given the bleakness of what the spectre had described already, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what else she had to tell. Still, ignorance would not protect him. “Go on,” he said with a heavy sigh.

  “I do not—did not—guard the city alone,” Cilantria said, fresh pain underscoring her words. The spectre paused and seemed to search for the words or the courage to go on. “My twin accompanied me. We were inseparable, even unto death. Until—” The spectre broke off, unable to continue.

  “Tiara,” Kyran breathed. “The spectre we saw earlier. She is your sister.”

  “Yes,” said Cilantria mournfully. “She serves Sula now.”

  Kyran bowed his head, finally realising the extent of the spectre’s loss. She has suffered in both life and death.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said gently. “I will do everything I can to free your sister. But… this task. You realise it may be beyond me.”

  “I know,” said Cilantria sadly.

  ✽✽✽

  Kyran spent the next few minutes quizzing Cilantria on everything she knew of Sula and her minions—which was less than he’d hoped.

  It turned
out that Sula had been scavenging in Celne for years. Over the last decade, the Reaper had visited the city on multiple occasions, yet always alone and never approaching the Tower.

  This journey had been different, though. The necromancer had arrived in force and gone straight to the city’s heart. It had spurred the spectre twins to act—with disastrous consequences for Tiara.

  Kyran ventured into one of the side passage’s smaller rooms while he chewed over Cilantria’s information. After securing the room, which had been a pantry in its previous life, he turned his attention to studying the floor with show hostiles and scrying.

  There were only seven red icons visible on his map. That excluded the two spectres who had yet to return from the fourteenth floor. Sending his consciousness roving across the level, Kyran meticulously scryed out each of the floor’s occupants.

  Six of the floor’s denizens—huddled and hidden in hard-to-reach locations—were ‘free’ spirits.

  The seventh was Sula.

  On first glance, the necromancer appeared innocuous and unassuming. She was shrouded from head to toe in form-fitting black clothing and had a midnight-blue cloak draped across her back.

  Nothing about her build or attire suggested she was capable of the terrifying feats Cilantria had described. But the very casualness of the Reaper’s demeanour set Kyran on edge.

  Twirling a wand in her fingers, Sula roved without concern through the floor. Kyran bit his lip. She appears supremely confident.

  Yet the necromancer’s nonchalance was a source of relief for Kyran, too. Sula did not appear aware she was under observation. Kyran had taken a calculated risk by scrying her out, but with the Tower itself already warded, he had judged the chances of the Reaper having further protections against magical spying to be small.

  “Have you found her?” asked Cilantria, impatience coursing through her voice.

  “I have,” Kyran said as he continued to observe Sula through the scrying spell. “She is alone.”