As the ogres neared, they accelerated into a flat-out charge. Lowering the shield around his mind, Kyran slipped into the mindscape and drew deeply on his psi. Then waited.
Given the ogres’ previous experiences with his spells, he expected them to attempt to break through his defensive perimeter at the ice wall. They had proven strong enough to do so already.
In fact, the true purpose of his magical defences was not to stop the ogres, but to concentrate their numbers. It was why he had cast a much smaller ice wall than normal and placed it at the centre of his defences, with slippery ice on the left, and oil slick and the burning grasping roots on the right. The shock wall and poison ward, he’d hidden behind the ice wall.
He was taking a risk by concentrating his magical defences in the centre, he knew. But a small one. Even if the ogres ignored the ice wall and attempted to surmount his defences by crossing through the magical fields to the left or right, they would be slowed enough for him to delay them further with confusion.
But he was betting the ogres wouldn’t do that.
Obligingly, the ogres did as he expected. A grin slipped onto his face as the thirty ogres closed ranks into a densely packed line headed squarely at the ice wall. “Get ready,” he murmured to Mirien.
He watched only long enough to make certain the ogres did not divert from their charge towards the ice wall, then dropped his awareness into the mindscape and began channelling purple threads of psi into a roiling wall—like a mind shock, yet many times larger and wider. In the real, he sensed the ogres crash into the ice wall, and a little latter, a large number become entrapped in shock wall beyond.
Kyran’s ice wall has been destroyed.
30 ogres have entered a shock wall (chance to resist: 8%, remaining duration: 40 seconds, damage sustained: 5.1 HP per second), 25 ogres stunned, 5 ogres resisted.
Kyran’s poison ward has been triggered by an ogre, 2 ogres poisoned (damage: 260 HP over 10 seconds).
Only five ogres made it out of the shock wall, two of which immediately fell prey to the poison ward beyond. Still, the five doggedly resumed their charge towards where Kyran and Mirien stood guard over the crossing Gaesin. But before the ogres took more than few steps in the party’s direction, Kyran’s psicasting completed, and the entire warband was engulfed in the psi wave.
Kyran has cast psi wave (wave length: 25m, debuffs: mind shocks).
The psi wave’s mind shocks have hit 30 ogres for a total of 1200 damage (psi).
The five ogres staggered backwards and clutched their heads. But they were still unimpaired, and only open ground separated them from the party. Mirien moved forward to engage them. “Wait,” Kyran said, setting a hand to her arm.
“Why?” she asked.
“Just wait. I have one more trick up my sleeve.” Dipping into the mindscape, he began casting.
The ogres, recovered from the mind shock’s dazing aftereffect, hurtled forward again. “Kyran…” Mirien said warningly as she watched their approaching forms.
In the midst of his casting, he didn’t respond, only clutching her arm tighter to prevent her from advancing. When the ogres were nearly upon them and Mirien’s patience had almost run out, his spell completed, sending psi flooding through the behemoths’ consciousnesses and sowing confusion.
Kyran has cast confusion (chance to resist: 25%, duration: 8 minutes), 5 ogres confused (2 enraged, 1 unconscious, 1 charmed, 1 terrified).
“What—?” asked Mirien in bewilderment as the five ogres inexplicably devolved into chaos less than a few feet away from the pair.
“Confusion,” replied Kyran with a small smile.
“That’s…that’s…” Throwing up her hands in disgust, Mirien rammed her blades back into the sheaths and shadow stepped across the gorge.
Now what’s got her so upset? wondered Kyran in bemusement. He followed the elf maiden with his gaze and noticed Gaesin was already nearly across. The half-elf would manage the crossing before the ogres freed themselves of either the shock wall or confusion, he saw with satisfaction.
Stepping gingerly away from the five afflicted ogres, who were striking at each other with murderous rage, he turned his attention to the rest of the ogre warband. They would be stuck in the shock wall for another thirty seconds.
Unfortunately, the damage inflicted by the lightning field was not nearly enough to kill any of them, but that would have been too much to hope for. Although perhaps he could still kill a few of them with mind shocks and fire darts. It might discourage them from further pursuit. Not that he held out much hope of that.
It would be more safely done from the other side of the gorge, though. Teleporting across the deep chasm in the earth, he resumed his attacks on the ogre warband with fire darts.
Battle Log (Ogre warband)
The battle has ended.
Combat results
Creatures bonded: 0.
Hostiles killed: 4 of 30 ogre mountain guerrillas.
Levels gained
Gaesin: 1 level. New combat level: Level 21.
Aiken: 1 level. New combat level: Level 20.
Items acquired
None.
✽✽✽
Kyran exhaled a heavy breath and leaned on Aiken for support. His attacks against the ogres from across the gorge had depleted all his remaining essence and much of his psi, and he was beyond weary. But the task was completed and the ogres neutralised, at least for now. Eventually, the enemy would reorganise and likely continue the chase, but for now the party was safe.
Kyran glanced to Aiken sitting beside him. “Well, brother, it seems like our work here is done.” Yet still he lingered, curious about the ogres who had pursued them so persistently.
He wondered, too, whether the warband would attempt to cross the gorge in some manner. He doubted the ogres had the means to do so, but if they made the attempt, with Kyran and the others arrayed along the edge of the gorge, the party was well positioned to foil the attempt. It was why he had not drained his psi completely or allowed any of the others to deplete their reserves either.
A few minutes later, while the party looked on curiously, the ogre commander restored order to his ranks, and the twenty-six ogres—three limping and bleeding—lined up against their edge of the gorge and stared hard-eyed at the party nonchalantly watching them on the far side. Reaching out with tendrils of will, Kyran probed their leader with insight.
Name: Gnarok. Race: Ogre (goblinoid).
Level: 45. Health: 956 / 956.
Stamina: 1760 / 1760. Will: 580 / 580. Essence: 300 / 300.
Attack: 148 (blunt).
Defences: 91 (physical), 49 (psi), 42 (spell).
Class: Mountain guerrilla.
“Elf!” shouted the ogre leader, Gnarok. “You should give up now. We will chase you down and feed you to our god!”
Kyran stilled. Now why didn’t I expect that they could speak? He looked across at the looming figure of Gnarok. The ogre in question was slightly larger than his fellows, and his armour had been studded with what appeared to be animal teeth and bits of bone.
Before he could frame his reply, the ogre continued shouting. “I can feel your fear from over here, little worm. It is good that you cower. Give up now and maybe Xetil will show you mercy!”
A mocking laugh peeled through the air. “Xetil, merciful?” exclaimed Mirien. “Do you even know the master you serve, young warrior?”
Kyran glanced at the whiesper. She had risen to her feet and was shouting back at the ogre.
“It is you who should be trembling,” Mirien continued. “Have you any idea what your glorious god will do to you for your failure here today? He will rip out your innards and mount your bloodied corpse atop his tower in Wazrak!”
“Shut up, you fool woman. You know not of what you speak!”
“No, no, my dear,” said Mirien with a sardonic grin. “It is you, not I, who is in need of schooling. Perhaps you should seek your elders for advice.” She frowned, scrutinising the assembled w
arband with exaggerated care. “Come to think of it, where are your elders? All I see are young boys. Is this hunt sanctioned by your chief, ogreling?”
Kyran glanced from Mirien to the ogre. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Gnarok, not so much. Now that Mirien had mentioned it, Kyran realised, the ogre warband was young.
Was Mirien onto something? Was she throwing out more than idle insults? Whatever the case, she seemed to be handling the young ogre leader well. He decided to remain silent and see where this led.
“I am the chief!” growled Gnarok, his face turning purple with rage.
“And a poor one you seem to be, too!” Mirien retorted. “Look at your men! Half-starved and without supplies. Tell me, oh great chief, what are you going to do now, without food and supplies? Or did you not think of that?”
Gnarok had had enough. Swinging back his arm, he heaved his warhammer across the canyon in a deadly arc aimed squarely at Mirien.
Kyran jerked to his feet with a sudden burst of adrenaline, but he needn’t have worried. Mirien swayed out of the flung weapon’s path with contemptuous ease.
“Now that was stupid,” she said. “Where are you going to find another hammer?”
For a second, Gnarok seemed nonplussed. Then, grinding out the words between clenched teeth, he said, “When we catch your pathetic band, I will kill you last.” He glared daggers at the elf maiden. “Your death will be long and painful, I promise you.” Not waiting for Mirien’s reply, he spun round and marched away, his men trailing after him.
A Game window opened in Kyran’s mind.
New quest!
Quest 11: A chieftain’s hatred.
Objective: You and your party have earned the enmity of an ogre chieftain. Defeat Gnarok before he kills you first.
Rank: Common.
Reward: 2 skill points.
Kyran’s eyebrows flew up as he read the message. Mirien’s display had drawn an interesting reaction. Closing the unexpected quest notification, he turned to his companions.
An astonished silence had fallen over the party.
“Was that wise?” asked Adra eventually, her voice studiedly neutral.
“I’m not sure,” Mirien said with a breathless laugh. “But it was fun.” She grinned, but the smile faded a moment later. “It did no harm, truly. Xetil’s soldiers never give up. The price of failure is too high. We lost nothing by riling up that young bull. And this way, perhaps he will act rashly.” She paused. “Or more rashly than he has already.”
Kyran nodded. Mirien had undoubtedly knocked the ogre leader off balance. “And that crack about the elders, what was that about?”
Mirien turned his way. “That warband carried no tribal banners, which is unusual. And whatever that youngster said, there is no way he is a tribal chief. I have yet to hear mention of an ogre chief less than a hundred years old.”
Kyran glanced at Adra. She nodded reluctantly. “The whiesper is likely right. The ogre did seem a touch too young and…excitable to be chief.”
Kyran snorted. That was an understatement. Throwing his only weapon away in a fit of petulance was an unforgivable blunder. He stepped over to the fallen warhammer, studying it curiously before trying to pick it up. He failed miserably. The thing had to be twice his own weight.
Abandoning the weapon where it lay, he turned to the rest of the party. “Well, we best get moving.” He glanced at Mirien. “How long till we get reach the escarpment?”
“Two days, I think. If we move fast.”
He glanced back at the disappearing warband. “How long do you think it will take them to find a way across the gorge?”
“A day, at least. By the time they catch up to us again, we should have scaled the escarpment and reached the northern slopes.”
“The ogres won’t follow us up?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not likely. The escarpment is a sheer vertical section, impossible to scale without climbing gear, which this bunch doesn’t seem to have.”
“Alright, let’s get going then. The sooner we get out of these mountains, the better.”
✽✽✽
Iyra withdrew from the mind of her champion-prime and slipped back into the ether, finally given a moment’s respite.
Over the past week, her attention had been consumed by Kharmadon’s incursion. During the constant and gruelling battles, Iyra had expended a wealth of divine essence, all channelled through her champions on the front, and all merely in an effort to hold the line. Such a waste, she thought regretfully.
If only she had been more prepared, or if only her Hounds had uncovered word of the attack earlier. It was her own fault, she admitted bitterly.
If she had not set her spies to rooting out the Brotherhood so fervently, perhaps they would have been more attentive to other matters. Though at long last, her champion-prime had reached the front.
With the First’s arrival, Kharmadon had been forced to consolidate his forces again to face the new threat, and the invasion had ground to a halt—if only temporarily—earning Iyra a brief reprieve.
But worryingly, Kharmadon showed no signs of de-escalating matters or withdrawing. Did he still mean to press the invasion, even with her champion-prime in the field? To do that, Kharmadon would have to field his own champion-prime.
And if he did that, then the giant god’s manoeuvring was no mere feint, as she had first suspected, but the opening gambit of another full-scale war—one that would likely last for centuries.
It concerned her gravely. She had not foreseen this war, and becoming embroiled in one with Kharmadon now would wreak havoc on her other plans.
She needed to resolve her other ventures swiftly, she knew. Kharmadon would not delay long before pressing the attack again.
Spreading out the threads of her being like a great sail to catch the ether winds, Iyra sped westwards. It was the fastest way to navigate the spirit world, but it diffused her mind, making thought much harder.
When she reached Crotana, Iyra reknit the threads of her spirit and slipped along the ley line binding Sara to her service. She frowned as she saw where the conduit led. What was the girl still doing in Crota?
“Sara,” Iyra called as she approached.
“Divine!” exclaimed the champion, relief palpable in her voice as she opened her mind to the goddess.
Annoyed by her champion’s inaction, Iyra ignored the girl’s greeting and rifled through her mind. The girl had tried to contact her multiple times, Iyra saw. While she had been peripherally aware of the communication, Iyra had been too involved with matters on her southern border to pay her calls much heed.
She stopped short as she ran across the memory of the undead. “Zarr?” she breathed.
“Yes, Mother,” said Sara, the strains of anxiety clear in her mindspeech. “The undead showed up days ago and erected a containment ward across our encampment. Can you remove the barrier?”
Iyra turned her attention to the ward even as she wondered what the undead were up to. Why had Zarr interfered? Before this, he had never resorted to engaging any of the divines outside the citadel itself. Could he be allied to the free agent?
Her gaze drifted to the citadel and the Essence Well within. It was quiescent, and no ley lines extended out from it.
She heaved a sigh of relief. The player had not bonded the Well. And that was all that mattered. Whether Zarr chose to aid the player or not was immaterial so long as the undead did not grant the free agent access to the Well. That would be a disaster.
But Zarr’s interference was still troubling. What had caused him to act? She needed more information. Misteria had still not responded to her requests for parley, and that, too, was worrying. There was no reason for the goddess to refuse to meet with her, no reason unless…she, too, had her own game in play in Crotana.
Matters seemed to be spiralling out of control, and Iyra knew she had to regain control quickly. She would have to contact Misteria again, no matter how much it grated on her to go abegging for information.
Iyra returned her attention to her champion. “The ward is a master-ranked spell, Daughter. You cannot channel enough of my divine essence to shatter it. But the ward is too large for even the undead to maintain for any length of time. I suspect it will fail in a few more days. Be ready, and don’t let the undead catch you unawares when it does.”
“They will not, Mother,” said Sara, her voice hard with determination.
“Good. I have other matters that require my attention in the empire, so I may not always heed your call. Your task remains unchanged. Bring the free agent to Durham, however you can.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“It’s unfortunate that Zarr has chosen to interfere. I am not sure what he plays at, but I doubt he will attack you when the ward falls. If he intended such, he would have done so immediately. When you escape, you will have to hurry south. Both Xetil and Misteria may be present in Crotana. Under no circumstances, are you to allow the agent to fall into their hands. Do you understand, Daughter?”
Sara swallowed. “I do, Mother.”
Chapter 13
15 Octu 2603 AB
When summoned, a god’s presence is anchored by the champion who called him. In this case, the god enters the physical plane as an aspect of his true self, with a portion of his power intact. While summoned a god may unleash his might, his only limitation being the strength and duration of the aspect summoning spell. —Jostfyler Graldvir, Game scholar.
The party resumed their march north through the mountains, this time at a more sustainable pace. For the rest of the day, they encountered no one—neither ogres, nor any other creatures. When they made camp that night, it was in the secure knowledge that they had escaped Gnarok’s band.
“How are you doing, brother?” Kyran asked Aiken through the bond as they sat around the campfire for supper. The last five days had been long and hard, spent in constant travel beneath a wide-open sky and burning sun, and while Aiken appeared to be coping, Kyran wanted to be certain.
Sovereign Rising (The Gods' Game, Volume III): A LitRPG novel Page 18