Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV)

by Vider, Rohan M.

  Turning to the protector, the dowager said, “Lothar, the player and his vassals cannot stay. They will only endanger us further. Make sure they are gone by tomorrow morning.” Lothar opened his mouth. “The girl may remain—if she wants,” she added before the protector could protest. Lothar closed his mouth with a snap and nodded curt thanks.

  The dowager began to hobble slowly away, clearly having already dismissed the party from her thoughts. “Wait!” shouted Kyran. “At least do us the courtesy of explaining why we have been dragged all the way here!”

  The dowager paused in her steps. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “I’m too old for courtesy, boy.” She spat to her side. “And I have far more important things to do with the time remaining to me than to waste it with the likes of you.”

  Kyran had had enough. Such high-handedness, he thought, fuming. He had no claim to the dowager’s respect, but he wouldn’t let himself be treated like an errant child. “Brother, your help please.”

  Understanding what Kyran wanted of him, the bear lumbered to his feet and roared with the primal fury of his kind.

  All the elves froze. Even the dowager. Setting hands to weapons, Talien, his two rangers, and Lothar spun around to face the party.

  “Kyran, what—?” asked Gaesin nervously. Adra, moving purposely, pulled the half-elf to Kyran and Aiken’s side.

  Mirien followed on their heels. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispered urgently to Kyran.

  Kyran spared her a tight smile. “Me too,” he whispered back. Even in the midst of his fury at the dowager, Kyran felt a sharp sense of relief that Mirien had chosen to remain with the party. Lothar had noticed the directions of the whiesper’s movements too, and seemed to be the throes of suddenly conflicted loyalties. But Kyran had only a moment’s pity to spare for the old warrior: the rangers were advancing, weapons drawn.

  “Stop!” ordered the dowager. The whip of command in her voice was unmistakable and jerked the rangers to a halt. The elven leader speared Kyran with her gaze. “What is the meaning of this childishness, boy? Do you really mean to make me your enemy?”

  Kyran laughed. He was done being polite. Throwing caution to the wind, he met the dowager’s challenge with one of his own. “Childish? You have no right to level such accusations against us, Lera,” he said.

  The elves around Kyran tensed. He ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on the dowager. “I have done everything to comply with your wishes despite being coerced here by your men. If any have cause to be insulted, it is me and my party. And if any is guilty of churlishness, it is you, not I. Respectfully,” he said, in a quite-obviously-disrespectful tone, “I submit the elves’ revered leader seems to have gone senile.”

  Talien’s face turned purple with rage, and even Gayla’s face was screwed up in anger. Behind them, Kyran sensed the mage draw on his essence. The elves were only a second away from attacking. Kyran gulped. Perhaps he had taken it a step too far.

  A melodious laugh shattered the tension.

  It took Kyran a few seconds to realise that it was the dowager herself who had laughed. “Senile?” she repeated then chuckled again in helpless mirth. A moment later, she bent over double and clutched her cane for support as her laughed transformed into an ugly wheeze. The young elf Gayen hurried to her side and supported her until she recovered.

  Patting his arm in thanks, she turned back to Kyran. “It seems I have misjudged you, boy. You have more spirit than I gave you credit for. I apologise. Unconditionally.”

  Kyran’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t keep up with dowager’s rapid change of emotions. Perhaps she was senile.

  The dowager hobbled back to her chair and sank back down with a sigh. Looking up, she saw her followers still eying the party warily. She waved her hand at them in irritation.

  “Enough of this posturing! Talien, Gayla, sheathe your weapons.” She glared at her fellow councillors. “And you lot, take your seats.”

  Meekly, the dowager’s people did as she asked, and shortly, a tense and brittle silence descended on the hall. The dowager leaned forward and eyed Kyran shrewdly. “Now, boy, care to explain your performance?”

  Kyran glanced from the angry face of the rangers to the stiff faces of the councillors and shrugged. “I needed to draw your attention,” he said.

  “And you risked violence to do it?”

  Kyran shrugged again. “I did not think your people would attack.”

  Talien’s eyes narrowed, the dangerous glint in his eye seeming to imply Kyran was wrong.

  “And how did you reach that conclusion?” asked the dowager.

  Kyran studied the elven leader. Once more her face was expressionless. “I am an unbound player and despite your disdain, I must have some value to your people. It would have been foolish of you, Lera, to throw that away.” Kyran dropped the elven leader’s honorific again. He decided he would treat her as an equal.

  Talien growled at Kyran’s lack of respect, but quietened when the dowager motioned him to silence. “And is that all?” asked Lera.

  Kyran shook his head. “No. I am also allied to the undead, and I cannot believe you would so lightly risk Zarr’s wrath.” He was stretching the truth by describing him and the undead as allies, but none of the elves questioned his words. “And then there are Aiken and Mirien,” he continued. “Your people would not dare attack a great bear, and Mirien is a daughter of your royal house.”

  The dowager smiled. “All true.” Turning towards Mirien, she finally acknowledged the whiesper’s presence. “Welcome to Eldervale, scion of Tolyrandil,” she said formally. At the dowager’s words, Lothar’s seamed face broke out into a grin, making him appear decades younger.

  But the dowager’s smile faded only a moment later as her gaze returned to Kyran. “Everything you have said may be correct, but do not mistake me, free agent. If I truly believed you meant us harm, I wouldn’t hesitate in ordering you ripped apart,” she said.

  Studying Lera’s steely gaze, Kyran believed her. The elven leader was neither frail, senile, nor insane—just uncompromising in her pursuit of her people’s safety. “I understand,” he said, meeting the dowager’s eyes without flinching.

  “Good,” replied Lera. “Now what will you have of me?”

  “Why did you summon us here?”

  The dowager’s gaze slid towards Lothar. “Explain,” she ordered.

  “We are being hunted,” the old warrior said soberly. “By a champion of Misteria.”

  A ripple of fear surged through Kyran. Misteria had champions in Crotana? “Is the champion searching for me?” he asked, licking his lips.

  “We do not believe so,” said Lothar. “Misteria’s forces seem to be here for other reasons. She appears intent on invading Crotana.”

  “Invading?” asked Kyran, startled. “But… I thought the gods agreed to leave Crotana lie unclaimed.”

  “That is true,” said Lothar. “At least as far as open invasions are concerned. Yet it has not stopped the gods from trying more underhanded means. Over the centuries, many of the domains have attempted to gain a foothold in these unclaimed lands.”

  Mirien was frowning. “So what makes Misteria’s attempt any different from the others?” she asked.

  Lothar sighed heavily. “We have only survived this long by remaining hidden. In the six centuries since Eldervale’s founding, the gods have remained ignorant of its existence. Until now.” Lothar glanced at Gayen, who hung his head in shame.

  “But what about the concealment ward?” asked Kyran.

  “The settlement’s concealment ward only works against undirected scrying,” answered Tehrilan. “Against a concerted magical probe by a champion who is aware of the refuge’s existence, the ward will not hold.”

  Kyran chewed on his lip, puzzled by something else. “So why refuse our help?” he asked, addressing Lera.

  The dowager stared at him for a long moment before answering. “Because Misteria’s champion is far beyond your ability to
handle. He is an adept.”

  Both Adra and Mirien gasped. “Are you sure?” asked Mirien.

  “Yes,” replied the dowager.

  Kyran shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “Surely that is all the more reason to retain our aid—or any aid you can get. Why dismiss us out of hand?”

  Before the dowager could answer, Saven burst out in mocking laughter. “Because, boy, you are only level thirty-five. What help could you provide to us?”

  Kyran met the human councillor’s gaze. “I have defeated an adept-ranked champion.”

  Shocked silence filled the hall. “You have?” asked Tehrilan.

  Kyran nodded. “His name was Lesh Spizaxla, and he was Xetil’s champion.”

  “What class was he?” asked the dowager.

  Kyran frowned in thought. “An enslaver artificer, I think.”

  “Ah,” said Tehrilan, leaning backwards and seeming to lose interest while Saven shook his head sadly.

  “What?” asked Kyran, confused by their reaction.

  “An enslaver artificer is a civilian class,” said Mirien. “It means Lesh would have had almost no combat abilities, so he was unsuited for battle. Misteria’s champion will be a significantly harder challenge.”

  Lesh was supposed to have been an easy challenge? thought Kyran, shoulders slumping.

  The dowager’s lips turned down. “Despite the somewhat lacking manner of Saven’s delivery, he speaks the truth. As an apprentice, you cannot provide the aid we need against Misteria’s champion. And”—she held up her hand to still Kyran’s protest—“I promised Aveyad I would keep you alive.” She shook her head sadly. “If there was a chance your aid could turn the tide, I would not hesitate in using you. But our cause is lost. Better you flee and live.”

  She smiled wistfully. “Perhaps Aveyad’s dreams for you will prove true and one day you will change Myelad as he hopes.” Her eyes cleared and she pierced Kyran again with her gaze. “But that day will not be today. So go, live, and leave us to our doom.”

  “Bah!” exclaimed Saven. “Not all of us are fearful of Misteria’s champion as you are, Lera. We may defeat him yet.”

  The dowager sighed wearily. “Then you are a bigger fool than I credited you for, Saven. You have never witnessed the terrible fury a champion may summon, and I pray you never do.”

  Dismissing the human councillor from her thoughts, she turned back to Kyran. “You were right, though, free agent. I have not accorded you the courtesy I should have. I will allow you to remain Eldervale for three days. Use the time wisely. Trade with our merchants for what goods you can. But after that you must be gone.” She rose to her feet. “Now, this council is done.”

  Chapter 24

  08 Novo 2603 AB

  The Elder Forest’s grandfathers are one of the most unique and highly adapted species on Myelad. Like the elder beasts, they are originally of the world and predate the coming of the Game. While the grandfathers are doubtlessly sentient, to most they are indistinguishable from other trees. Grandfathers spend most of their lives asleep, and while asleep their sentience is hidden. So complete is their slumber that even divines cannot detect the spark of sentience in a sleeping grandfather. In fact, only one family has ever been able to identify a sleeping grandfather: the Tolyrandils. —Marcos Aurclasy, Silenheim librarian.

  Dumbfounded by the dowager’s final words, Kyran watched in silence as Lera, Saven, Tehrilan, and Talien strode out of the hall. He found the elven leader’s attitude incomprehensible. Why was the dowager, who was by every appearance someone willing to fight to the bitter end, lying down and surrendering to fate? Was the enemy champion so powerful that the settlement’s fate was already sealed?

  At the hall’s exit, Tehrilan paused before stepping out. “Free agent, before your party leaves, make sure to come see me. I must inspect your amulets.” With that, he turned around and left, leaving the party alone with Lothar and the two young rangers.

  Gayla immediately ran to the other youth and pulled him in a fierce hug. “Gayen, are you alright? I was so worried!”

  Seeing the two side by side, Kyran realised why the youth had appeared so familiar. They’re twins, he thought in bemusement. Leaving the youngsters to their reunion, he turned to Adra and Mirien. “Is the dowager right?” he asked. “Will Misteria’s champion be impossible to defeat?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Adra. “I know little of champions, other than they are revered as near gods themselves.”

  Kyran swung to Mirien. “The dowager is not wrong,” she said reluctantly. “In all its years, the Brotherhood has only managed to bring down a handful of champions, and not for lack of trying. Even then, it has always required overwhelming odds and resulted in grave losses. It is no easy task for norms,” she ended, shaking her head sadly.

  “What makes them so powerful?” asked Kyran, thinking back to his encounter with Lesh. The champion had been difficult to defeat, but not impossibly so.

  “It’s their ability to summon aspects,” replied Lothar, coming up from behind them.

  “Aspects?” asked Kyran, confused.

  “All champions can call upon divine spirits for aid, temporarily anchoring them to the physical plane. And while summoned divines possess only a fraction of their true power, they are engines of destruction that are nigh impossible to defeat.”

  Kyran chewed on his lip. Summoned divines? Now there was a scary thought. “Are you saying,” he asked slowly, “that the gods can take material form on Myelad and fight on behalf of their champions?”

  Lothar nodded. “But only a master-ranked champion is capable of summoning a deity’s aspect; other champions must be content with summoning lower-ranked immortals: demigods, lesser divines, and the like.”

  Kyran shook his head disbelievingly. He’d had no idea that was possible. He still had lots to learn of the Game, it seemed. “Then how do we defeat one?”

  “We don’t,” replied Lothar. “The dowager has given you three days, then you must leave.”

  Kyran remained quiet, letting the protector believe him resigned to the dowager’s ruling.

  “Lothar, the dowager left a few things out in the audience,” said Mirien. “How, exactly did Misteria’s champions discover your presence here?”

  The protector sighed, but before he could answer, another voice interrupted. “It was my fault,” said Gayen.

  The party swung around to face the youth. Standing beside his twin, the young elf clutched his sister’s hand for comfort.

  “Gayen—” began Lothar.

  “No, Grandfather, now is not the time for excuses,” said Gayen, his eyes glittering fiercely. The protector measured the youth for a moment before nodding for him to go on.

  Chin raised, Gayen turned to address Mirien. “Like Gayla, I am part of a ranger company. We were assigned to keep watch on Misteria’s champion. It is not easy to observe a champion unnoticed, but using the forest creatures as our eyes and ears, we managed.”

  Mirien nodded. Noticing Kyran’s blank look, she explained, “Champions have a divine sense ability that detects nearby lifeforms. It is similar to show hostiles, but less fallible. This, as you can imagine, makes sneaking up on a champion extremely difficult.”

  Kyran nodded his understanding and motioned for the youth to continue with his tale.

  “We were not sure where Misteria’s islander forces made landfall in Crotana, or even when they entered the forest, but from all appearances they had been in the forest for weeks before we discovered them in the northern reaches. As my company tracked them, two things became apparent. One: the champion was searching for something, and two: he carried something of value. The item, whatever it was, was constantly guarded, and the wards around it were regularly reinforced by the champion.”

  The youth paused for breath. He fell silent, only resuming after a gentle nudge from his twin. “Ten days ago, the islanders found what they were looking for. It was a dungeon.”

  Kyran’s
ears perked up. He recalled mention of them as a source of essence crystals, but he remained silent and allowed the youth to continue.

  “The champion entered the dungeon with a party of five others, who appeared to be vassals. That left the item they had been protecting so diligently less guarded.” He swallowed. “I… I… encouraged my captain to steal it. With the champion and his vassals occupied in the dungeon, the opportunity was too perfect to ignore. The troops protecting the treasure were, by all appearance, norms. It would be easy, I told him.” The youth bowed his head.

  “My captain was wise. He refused me. But I persisted, and he was eventually convinced. He relented and we stole the item. The raid went off without a hitch. We slipped into and out of their camp without detection, and made off with our prize, with the islanders none the wiser. We were jubilant. No one had suffered so much as a scratch. It was only much later that we realised what we had.” Gayen fell into a morose silence again.

  “What was it?” asked Mirien.

  “A settlement stone.”

  Kyran felt a thrill of excitement ripple through him, almost forgetting to breathe in the process. A settlement stone, he thought in disbelief. “Do you still have the stone?” he asked Gayen, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

  Gayen nodded listlessly. “Grandmother stored it in the council’s vaults.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Gaesin. “What does it matter if it was a settlement stone? Gayen’s company was undetected during their raid, so why would the islanders be hunting the elves?”

  “Because Gayen and his captain miscalculated the value of what they stole,” replied Lothar. “They also misjudged the lengths to which Misteria would go to reclaim it. A settlement stone is precious beyond measure. It requires a massive investment in both essence crystals and raw essence to create. A treasure like that is created less than once per decade. Neither Misteria nor her champion will abide its loss. Our scouts have reported that the islanders are already frantically searching for the stone.” He shook his head grimly. “But once the champion himself gets wind of the loss, the hunt will begin in earnest. Then, it will only be a matter of time before the trail leads him here.”