Thankfully, the arrow had missed Gaesin’s heart. Such damage would have been beyond his meagre skills to heal. The seconds ticked by, and encouraged by his success, Kyran’s hope grew.
Then he made a mistake—and the entire spell construct collapsed.
Kyran’s cure wounds has failed to heal Gaesin’s wound (67 health restored, wound status: untreated, damage: 1 HP per second). Remaining health: 77 / 279 HP.
Damnit. Kyran sagged back in disappointment. He had failed to heal the wound, but at least he had managed to restore some vitality to the imperilled youth.
He gritted his teeth and set himself to begin again. At a distant roar, he paused. That was Aiken. Some of his tension eased. Adra and Mirien had done their part. He looked down on the half-elf’s pale face. Now, he had to do his.
I will not fail you, Gaesin.
✽✽✽
Mirien emerged in the treetops, arms outstretched and feet delicately poised. After a swift glance around to make sure the tree was free of goblins, she tilted her head to the side and listened. Mirien had not been completely truthful with Adra earlier. She did not know where the goblin witches were.
But she hoped the trees would tell her. It was a gamble, but also her best hope of finding the concealed witches.
Reaching out into the ether, she sought out the spirit of the elder tree in whose branches she walked and woke him from his slumber. “Grandfather, hear my plea,” she whispered.
The ancient oak shook. “Who…?” called a voice, filled with the rustle of leaves and the creak of a bending bough. A moment later, the tree swayed gently in a non-existent breeze. “Ah… I see now. Tolyrandil… Daughter. Warden.” Leaves showered down on Mirien. “You have… returned… to us… at long last. We feared… the worst.
“I’m sorry, ancient one. Time is short,” Mirien said, bowing her head. “I have need of your aid.”
There was a momentary silence, as if in rebuke for her impatience. “What is… your need?” asked the grandfather eventually.
Relief surged in Mirien. She pushed the images of the ones she hunted to the fore of her mind.
“Theeeree… Daughter.” Five trees over, the leaves of another ancient oak rustled. “They are… there.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” she whispered as she fixed the tree’s position in her mind. She had not been sure the forest would remember the Tolyrandils, or care to aid her, not when her family had abandoned its ancestral duty.
Seeming to read her thoughts, the ancient oak spoke again. “We… have not… forgotten… our ancient bonds… Tolyrandil. Do not… forget us, Daughter. Seek out… my brethren… when your task… is done. Duty… can yet be… redeemed.”
Mirien ducked her head, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I am humbled by your aid, ancient one. And I will not forget, Grandfather, I promise you. On my honour, I will return.”
“My thanks, Warden… Goodbye.” Before the ancient tree—eons old and perhaps one of the first sentients on Myelad—returned to his slumber, Mirien felt the feathery touch of his spirit on her own being, marking her in some way.
She cast a quick gaze inward, but she wasn’t able to discern the effect of his touch. Nor did she have time for more detailed study. She had goblins to slay.
A roar shook the forest. Aiken. She smiled. Adra had done it.
Now it is my turn, she thought and shadow stepped into the marked tree.
✽✽✽
A knife swished through the air as Mirien emerged from the shadows. She ducked and rolled out of the blade’s path before bouncing nimbly back onto her feet.
Boots firmly planted on the stout bough, Mirien eyes darted left, right, up, then down and took in the tree’s entirety in a swift glance.
The ancient oak was crawling with goblins.
Mirien had no time for a second look as arrows whistled towards her. She floated into the shadows and out again, this time stepping out on a bough much higher—and behind her chosen target.
The hapless goblin was still turned the wrong way and firing down at the shadows where Mirien had disappeared. Before he could react, she buried her blades into his unprotected back. She kicked away the corpse and studied the goblins clinging to the tree’s many branches again.
There!
Amongst the many goblins on the oak two stood out. Smaller than their companions, each was surrounded by the flickering bubble of a magic shield and carried a gnarled staff instead of a bow.
The goblin witches.
Just as the confused goblins realised she was no longer in the lower boughs and looked up to track the falling corpse, Mirien shadow stepped away. Emerging behind the first witch, she struck out in the ‘real’ with twin strikes that shattered the witch’s magic shield, while in the mindscape her psionic blades bit into the defenceless witch’s mind core with esper’s fury.
The witch fell, dead in an instant.
Mirien’s attack did not go unnoticed. Two metres away, the second witch spun around. Snarling in fury, she lowered her staff and sent a flurry of missiles towards Mirien.
But Mirien was no longer there.
The whiesper slipped out of the shadows behind the witch and dispatched the enemy as effortlessly as she had the first. The other goblins, having witnessed the spectacle of their spellcasters’ demise with open-mouth horror, turned tail.
Or at least most of them did.
One who was braver—and smarter—than the rest, pulled out a curved horn and blew on it. Buuuuhhhhhh, the horn sang, a long, drawn-out, sonorous call.
Mirien cursed and blinked out. A second later, she bent back the horn-blower’s head and slashed open his throat, silencing the booming call.
It was too late, though.
In the far-off distance, other horns rang out in answer. Mirien ground her teeth in frustration. There were more goblin war parties in the vicinity. The goblins sounded like they were several hours away, but alerted to the party’s position, she was sure they would attempt to close the distance quickly.
Mirien could not do anything about them, though—not just yet. Her gaze lowered to the fleeing goblins, and she tightened her grip on her blades. These goblins however, she could see to.
Shadow stepping away, she set to her grim work.
✽✽✽
“Mistress,” Vyne’s mindspeech reached her, heavy with misery.
Misteria frowned. Why was her champion bothering her again, and so soon? He knew she did not like being disturbed unnecessarily. “What is it?” she asked.
Vyne was silent for so long that Misteria about lost patience and closed the mind-link. “The settlement stone, Divine,” he said eventually. “It has been stolen.”
Misteria stilled. Then, in an eye-blink, she rushed her consciousness through the conduit to her champion and tore through his mind, ripping open his memories. She coldly read the unhappy tale they told.
“You have been a fool, Vyne,” she said.
“I am sorry, mistress, I did not think—”
“You did not. What possessed you to leave the stone in the forest? Why was it not in your inventory?” she asked, her tone deceptively mild.
Vyne shrunk back from her anger. “I thought… I thought to free up space to carry away more essence crystals from the dungeon. I did not suspect the stone to be in any danger, I swear, Mistress,” he finished, eyes wide and pleading.
“I should kill you for this,” Misteria replied icily.
“Mercy, please,” Vyne whined, openly grovelling now.
Misteria let the silence grow. “I will stay my hand,” she said at last. “For now. Retrieve the stone, or your death will not be easy, I promise you.”
“Thank you, mistress! Thank you!” Vyne bleated.
“This is your last chance, Vyne. Do not fail me again,” Misteria said, withdrawing from the champion’s mind.
Chapter 18
05 Novo 2603 AB
Orichalcum. It is not the rarest metals, nor the hardest, yet it is highly sought after for its
unique properties. Even as unrefined ore, orichalcum has the ability to disrupt psi and magic abilities. But while this is useful in simple applications where the quantity of material used is not of consequence, truly utilising the ore’s special properties requires the metal to be properly aligned to its purpose by a high-ranked enchanter or inscriber. —Lillian Aimes, sorceress.
Kyran was onto his seventh attempt at healing Gaesin. During his spellcasting, the wound’s damage had been kept at bay by the cure wounds spell itself. And while all his efforts had ultimately failed so far, they had served to preserve the half-elf’s life long enough for him to keep trying. This time, he would succeed.
This time I have to succeed, he thought desperately.
He was minutes into his latest attempt, and he had already restored the burst vessels and ruptured organs around the wound’s rim. Now came the most difficult parts: healing the spirit, pulling out the arrow, and restoring the damage at the wound’s epicentre.
He slowed his breathing and dropped deeper into the healing trance. What little awareness he retained of the world around him fell away. He had no choice. If he wanted to succeed in the healing, his focus had to be absolute. Nothing could be allowed to break his concentration.
A wound as deep as Gaesin’s damaged not only the body but the binding between the spirit and its physical shell. Through his failures, he had discovered that he had to heal the spirit before undoing the body’s critical damage, else the flesh would remain lifeless.
Turning his sight inwards, Kyran dropped into the spirit plane. In the ether, Gaesin’s spirit was a luminous lattice of sapphire that pulsed gently with a soothing inner light of its own—everywhere except at the wound itself. There, the fine filaments that made up Gaesin’s spirit were snarled into tangled knots.
Narrowing his focus, Kyran studied the chaotic swirl and tentatively tugged on a single strand. After only a momentary resistance, the filament pulled free from the twisted knot of distressed spirit. Kyran released his hold of the filament and watched breathlessly as the strand snapped back into place within the lattice of Gaesin’s being.
Turning his attention back to the knot, he searched for the next strand to free.
✽✽✽
An interminable time later, Gaesin’s spirit was restored. Swaying slightly from his prolonged and fixed concentration, Kyran dropped his awareness back into the ‘real’ and into the youth’s body.
Nearly there, he thought as he studied the ugly tear of flesh from inside the wound. He set one hand to the arrow’s shaft and tugged gently, lifting the arrow an infinitesimally small distance out. Immediately, blood began to spurt and the half-elf’s pulse fluttered erratically.
But Kyran was aware of the danger.
Deftly wielding weaves of green essence, he reknit the torn flesh and sealed the damage before it could spread. A second later, Gaesin was stabilised again. Taking a moment to breathe, Kyran wiped away dripping sweat. So far, so good. He pulled the shaft out another millimetre and repeated the process anew.
Five minutes later, the last bit of Gaesin’s flesh had been restored and it was time for the final test of his handiwork. Not daring to breathe, Kyran brought the repaired halves of Gaesin’s being together and smiled wearily as spirit and body harmoniously rejoined.
Kyran’s cure wounds has fully healed Gaesin (wound status: mended). Remaining: 276 / 276 HP.
He sagged forward, head bowed as his body quivered in sudden relief from rigid tension. It felt like it had been hours that he had sat kneeling over Gaesin. It is done.
“Kyran! Are you alright? Is Gaesin…?”
Kyran turned his head and, looking up, saw Mirien. He grinned. “He’s alive, Mirien. I’ve done it. His wound is healed.”
The anxious concern in her face cleared. “That’s great news, Kyran,” she said with a small smile of her own.
Bracing his hands on the ground, Kyran creaked to his feet—and was nearly bowled over again as Aiken butted his head into Kyran’s back.
“Oof!” he said. Turning around, he smiled at the bear. “Sorry that I ignored you, brother.” He had been aware of Aiken calling to him through their psi-link, but deep in the healing trance he had not been able to respond. “Gaesin needed all my attention.”
“It is good that you healed him, brother,” said Aiken.
Kyran ruffled his hand through the bear’s coat and looked up at the light filtering through the trees. It was morning already, he realised with a start. He had been at the healing much longer than he’d thought.
He turned back to Mirien. The smile had slipped off her face, and she was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as she waited for him to finish with Aiken.
He feared she had grim news to deliver.
“I assume that since you and Aiken are here that the goblins have been seen to.” He stopped, frowning. “Where is Adra?”
Mirien shot an involuntary glance behind her and winced.
Kyran followed her gaze to a slumped form laid on the forest floor. “No,” he whispered, surging towards the body.
“Wait, Kyran!” said Mirien, stepping in his path. “She’s alive and recovering. She was wounded in the battle, but it’s nothing that the healing salves can’t handle. She is in a healing trance right now.”
Kyran closed his eyes, still shaky. He had feared the worst. Thank goodness.
Mirien tugged at his arm. “But there is something else we have to speak about—”
She broke off as a strident call broke the quiet. Kyran’s head jerked up. “What’s that?”
“That is what I wanted to warn you about,” said Mirien, her face grim. “There is a goblin warband in the forest, and they’re hunting us.”
“How many?” he asked sharply.
Mirien’s look was bleak. “I don’t know, but likely too many for us to handle in our present condition.”
“Can we outrun them?”
Mirien shook her head. “The warband approached too close overnight. With our injured, there is no chance of escape,” she said, shooting a glance at Adra and Gaesin’s unconscious forms.
Kyran rubbed at his temples, struggling to get his brain working. The healing had left him both mentally and physically exhausted. “It’s only the one warband?”
Mirien’s lips turned up into a cold smile. “There were two others, but I’ve seen to them already. They won’t trouble us anymore.”
Kyran studied the whiesper carefully, only now noticing that her normally pristine armour was spattered with blood, and that her hair had come loose of its tight bindings and sported gore of its own. He decided not to inquire on how she’d managed that.
Mistaking the reason for Kyran’s stare, Mirien added, “Don’t worry, I didn’t leave you or Adra unguarded. Aiken stayed behind to watch over you.” Her lips thinned. “But my essence and psi reserves have been depleted,” she admitted. “I’m in no state to take on the third warband.”
Mirien had faced off two goblin packs all on her own, and yet still seemed upset with herself for not being able to handle the third? Kyran shook his head. The whiesper was scarily effective at times—hell, pretty much all the time. “What of the goblins that ambushed us?”
“All dead.” She paused. “The other warbands had witches as well.” She looked at him with tired eyes. “Judging from the horn calls, the third warband is moving much slower than the other two were. That also means it’s likely larger. It does not look good,” she said, loosening her blades in their sheathes. “Where shall we make our stand?”
Kyran eyed Mirien. She did not suggest abandoning the parties’ injured as she had the first time they’d met. Nor did she seek to remind him that if he had listened to her, none of this would be happening.
In spite of—or perhaps because of—their current plight, Kyran’s mind skimmed over their troubled journey through the Elder Forest. Time and again, the party had been imperilled and his companions placed in mortal danger. First Aiken, then Mirien, and now Adra and Gaesin. The enc
ounter with the goblins was only the latest in a string of similar situations since they had entered the forest. He realised then what he should have known all along.
“There is a grove not far from here, where I think—” Mirien began. Kyran stepped forward and grasped her hands. They were trembling. She is exhausted.
Mirien broke off and her gaze dropped to her gloved hands trapped between his. She flushed slightly, but made no move to withdraw from his grasp.
“I’m sorry,” Kyran said solemnly. “You were right about the dangers of the forest, and us being unready to face them,” he admitted. “Coming here was a mistake.” He paused. “I should have trusted you more.” He glanced at Gaesin, remembering their conversation of only hours ago. He sighed heavily. “And you are probably also right about Iyra… and Sara. For what it is worth, I will not doubt your counsel again.”
Mirien tilted her head and studied him in silence. Then she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Holding his gaze, she stared searchingly into his eyes for so long that Kyran began to shift in place, uncomfortable. “Thank you, Kyran,” she said at last.
The goblin horn sang out again, a long mournful sound. It was noticeably closer.
Kyran started. Looking down, he saw he still held Mirien’s hands. Hastily, he released her. He wondered what prompted him to such an impulsive gesture?
He shook his head at his folly. What must Mirien think? He shot her a sidelong glance as he stepped back awkwardly. Thankfully, she did not appear affronted.
The horn sounded again.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Alright, time to move on.”
“As I was saying,” said Mirien. Her own face was still flushed. “There is a grove not far from here where we can make a stand.”
“Do you think we will we be able to hold them off there?”
Mirien hesitated, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “The third warband is too big, I fear. They are too many for us to defeat.”
Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV) Page 27