Sovereign Rising (The Gods' Game, Volume III): A LitRPG novel

by Rohan M Vider

  “Yes…” he replied, struggling to keep any hint of a whine out of his mindspeech. “This new nose caught me by surprise, that’s all. But I think I’ve managed to isolate the wyvern’s scents. There are three…or maybe four of them.”

  “Four? That’s more than we bargained for,” said Adra, with undisguised concern. “You still want to go through with the plan?”

  “Yes,” he replied firmly. He was not going to back out now. “I’m going in.” Whirling around, Kyran padded into the wyvern lair.

  ✽✽✽

  Gnarok stood amidst the charred remains in the blackened and scorched cul-de-sac and felt ripples of fear run up his spine. They were gone, all gone.

  The entirety of the tribe’s worg pack, destroyed by what was supposed to be easy and helpless prey. He bowed his head, forcing his trembling limbs to still. He could not let his men notice his weakness.

  It had taken them three days to track down the missing hunting packs. Three days of bitter and fruitless searching. Never had he expected to find this.

  What is the tribe going to do now? he wondered. Not only had they lost their only means of tracking their quarry, but they had also lost the tribe’s best hunters. How were they going to survive the winter now?

  Was Wynak right?

  No! He refuted the possibility. The tribe had been dying, failing for years; the loss of the hunting parties had only accelerated the inevitable. Xetil was their only hope. And it was only Gnarok’s pledge to the goblin-god that could save the tribe. He—not Wynak—had been the one to give their people a chance.

  His people would live because of him. He tightened the grip on his new warhammer, his fury reignited. He would not fail his god; he would catch the vermin that had done this.

  “Gnarok!” shouted a voice.

  “What is it?” he growled irritably.

  “We have found the elf’s trail. He is heading east. Do we follow?”

  Gnarok hesitated, studying the wreckage in the cul-de-sac again. This must have been done with magic, he realised. Powerful magic. How strong a mage was the elf to defeat the three hunting packs at once? Twice now his warband had faced the elf, and both times they had come away undone.

  He shivered, remembering his own brush with the elf’s party. Being trapped in the shock wall had been bad enough, but the bite of the jade monster, that…that had been something else entirely. He hadn’t been scared. Of course not.

  But never in all his life had he felt the likes of whatever spell the foul bear had cast on him. Despite all his strength, he had been helpless, imprisoned within a shell of crystal. He couldn’t risk that again. He wasn’t afraid. Never that.

  But the elf couldn’t be defeated without magic. Gnarok realised that now. He nodded emphatically to himself. Of course, he should have realised it before. He needed magic of his own.

  Though he reviled the old dog, he would have to bargain with the warlock, it seemed. Wynak and Gnarok had never agreed on much, but both had been united in their hatred of Nekuhr and his unclean magics. Yet what choice did he have now?

  Xetil would not accept failure. And he knew the goblin-god would not care how Gnarok got the deed done.

  “Gnarok?” repeated the ogre hunter. It sounded as if he had been trying to get his attention for a while.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “What do we do? Do we pursue?”

  “No.”

  “No?” asked the hunter incredulously.

  Gnarok turned to face the ogre fully. He couldn’t have the warband doubting him. “We can’t defeat the elf without magic,” he said. He folded his arms and stared down at the smaller ogre.

  The hunter lowered his eyes, too smart to challenge the bigger and stronger Gnarok.

  Gnarok grinned, his dominance reaffirmed. “Never fear,” he continued. “We will return again. But only after we have secured the warlock’s aid.”

  The ogre paled at his words.

  Gnarok chuckled. Whoever the elf was, he would be no match for Nekuhr’s demons.

  Chapter 20

  18 Octu 2603 AB

  Out of chaos, order took shape, birthed by unintentional patterns, unconscious routines and inadvertent pathways. And from order, sprang life and the Gods, the second immortals. —Matriarch Duhara, jade great bear.

  Mirien watched Kyran enter the lair, Aiken following on his heels. This was her chance, but she stilled herself to patience. Haste would ruin everything. She had to wait until the pair got deeper into the lair.

  Minutes later, she judged enough time had lapsed. Anxiety coursed through her, and her hands were suddenly sweaty. She could not recall when she had ever been this nervous.

  She glanced sideways at Gaesin and Adra. Both seemed distracted, with their gazes focused inwards. No doubt they were communicating with Kyran through the battlegroup.

  “What’s that?” she said abruptly, picking a mostly concealed spot beyond the lair’s entrance.

  Adra’s eyes cleared and snapped into focus. “Where?” she asked, sharply.

  “There,” said Mirien, gesturing to an empty pile of boulders. “I saw movement.”

  Adra followed the direction of the whiesper’s pointing hand before peering at Mirien in confusion. “I don’t see anything,” she said doubtfully.

  “There’s something there. I am sure of it.”

  “Very well,” said Adra. “Let’s keep an eye out. If we see further movement, we can—”

  “I am going to investigate.”

  “What? Wait, Mirien!”

  But it was too late. Mirien had already shadow stepped away.

  ✽✽✽

  The tunnel plunged deep into the mountain peak. So deep that Kyran was certain it reached all the way to the bottom of the summit they had just spent the day scaling. Now, why couldn’t there have been another entrance at the bottom? he wondered wryly.

  They had been in the tunnels for a good while and thus far had not encountered any of the wyverns. Still, they have to be somewhere in here, Kyran thought. He would not give up so easily. Thrusting his head out and following his worg nose, Kyran led Aiken deeper into the lair.

  They came to a branch in the tunnel. One scent dominated the right tunnel, and two others the left tunnel. The fourth scent, the most confusing, was so mixed in with the other three scents Kyran was still not certain if it was a separate scent yet.

  “Well, brother,” he said to Aiken. “I guess we go right.” Aiken huffed his agreement. It only made sense for them to limit their first encounter to as few wyverns as possible. Kyran still did not know what level the creatures were, or even if taming them was possible. For all he knew, like the tunneller worms they had encountered so long ago in the labyrinth, the wyverns would be beyond his ability to befriend.

  They had just begun to move down the right tunnel when Adra’s voice came through the battlegroup. “Kyran, Mirien has gone to scout the far end of the mountain.” She paused. “She spotted movement there.”

  “Damn,” said Kyran. “What was it? Another wyvern?”

  Even through the bond, Kyran could sense Adra’s hesitation. “I’m not sure…”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Adra?”

  “I didn’t see any movement. Nor did Gaesin.”

  Kyran sighed. Adra was still suspicious of the whiesper’s motivations. “Alright, keep an eye out for…anything. This tunnel seems to be heading much deeper in, so we may soon drop out of communication range.”

  “Be careful, Kyran,” Adra said, her voice laced with concern.

  “You too, Adra.”

  Given new urgency by Adra’s communication, Kyran trotted silently down the passage. He and Aiken needed to finish up matters in the lair quickly before heading out to attend to matters above.

  ✽✽✽

  A little later, as Kyran was half-expecting, Gaesin and Adra dropped out of the battlegroup’s range. He had still not caught sight of any of wyverns, but the musky odour of the beast in this passage had been getting steadi
ly stronger, and any minute now, Kyran expected the two of them to encounter the creature.

  Rounding a bend in the tunnel, Kyran stopped short and dropped into a crouch. Ten metres behind, and still concealed by the bend, Aiken stilled. Thirty metres away, the tunnel opened into a cavern. The scent of wyvern lay thick in the air, and in the enclosed space ahead, Kyran finally spotted the beast responsible.

  Curled up in a tight ball, its whole body gently heaving up and down in time to its breath, the wyvern slept.

  Even from this distance the beast appeared large, nearly twice Aiken’s size. Covered in glittering brown scales, the wyvern had leathery wings and a razor-sharpened tail. With the beast curled up on itself, he couldn’t judge its length, but he guessed it to be at least nine metres from snout to tail.

  Behind the black-scaled lips that curled upwards with every exhaled snore, he saw teeth stained yellow and glistening with salvia. To his worg-enhanced sight, the spittle that pooled on the sharpened ends of the wyvern’s teeth was vividly clear. He watched in fascination as the venomous liquid dripped down, splashing to the ground with an acidic sizzle that sent smoke curling up from the dissolving rock.

  Biting down on an instinctive whine of terror, Kyran remained motionless while he extended his worg-senses to the fullest extent, straining to see, hear, or smell anything out of the ordinary. All his senses agreed: the wyvern was alone. He glanced back at Aiken. “Wait here, brother.” Sensing the bear’s rebellion, he added, “If it makes you feel better, stone dive into the tunnel beneath, but do not approach the wyvern too closely. We still don’t know what it is capable of.”

  Aiken bobbed his head in acknowledgement and slipped silently into the ground beneath. Kyran waited two or three heartbeats for the bear to move into place before reaching out with his mind to probe the wyvern with insight.

  Creature: Mountain wyvern (dame). Type: Beast. Rarity: Epic.

  Level: 61. Health: 610 / 610.

  Attack: 60-90 (piercing, acid).

  Defences: 60 (physical), 61 (psi), 63 (spell).

  Traits and abilities:

  Acid spittle: Breath-attack that projects a spray of corrosive acid.

  Non-corrosive: Scaled hide that is immune to acid (-100% acid damage).

  Fear aura: Passive aura that terrifies its opponents.

  Scale armoured: +60% resistance to physical damage.

  Description:

  Wyverns are enormous winged lizards, often mistaken for dragons. Yet unlike their large cousins, wyverns possess no sentience and are simple beasts. As diverse as their habitats, each wyvern sub-species possesses traits and abilities adapted for their environment.

  Beast bonding probability:

  You have a 60% probability of forming a beast bond with this creature (an effective skill level of 63 against a mountain wyvern’s psi defence of 61).

  Kyran ran his tongue nervously around his muzzle. The wyvern was a much higher level than he expected, which made the whole exercise far trickier.

  It is asleep, he reminded himself. That gave him at least one uninterrupted attempt at beast befriending. But it was possible his first attempt would fail. He wondered if he should transform back into elf-form and cast his protective spells.

  No, he decided. Even with all his defences in place, going toe-to-toe with the wyvern was a chancy prospect—at best. If the beast awoke, he and Aiken would be forced to flee. His worg-form, quicker and with superior sight, was better equipped for a flight through the dark confines of the tunnels than his elven-form.

  “Aiken,” he said, reaching out to the bear, “if I fail, jade bite the beast and dive back into the earth.” Aiken sent his assent and swam closer to the surface in preparation.

  His plans in place, Kyran cast beast befriend. Slipping into the mindscape, he sent tendrils of psi reaching out to the sleeping consciousness of the wyvern. Its mind, he saw, was encased in a sickening pale-yellow bubble that reminded Kyran of the acidic spittle filling the creature’s mouth.

  Sure enough, as he sent a single delicate psi thread to probe the barrier, it was burnt away with an acidic sting. Wincing at the psionic bite of the wyvern’s defences, Kyran withdrew from the beast’s consciousness and took the time to study its protective shields from afar.

  Rushing would only lead to mistakes, he reminded himself. The beast was asleep. There was no need for impatience. Cautiously, he scrutinised the wyvern’s acid bubble for weaknesses.

  On closer inspection, he realised the bubble was not as seamless as he’d first thought. In places, the creature’s protective walls thinned into nothingness, exposing the mind inside. Choosing the largest such opening, he slipped his awareness within.

  The wyvern’s mindscape was a pitted and pockmarked plain of rotted and smoking trees, shrouded beneath billowing clouds of sulphur. Ignoring the desolation, Kyran searched for the creature’s mind core. He spotted a tree larger and more ravaged than the rest, yet seemingly hale for all its decay. The mental construct bore closer investigation, he decided, and sent his consciousness streaming towards it.

  As he neared the tree, he saw that he had been right. The tree was the wyvern’s disguised mind core. Now, how to persuade the creature to his cause without alerting the beast to his invasive influence? Acting on instinct, he wove a shield around the tree, sheltering it from the acid raining down from the yellow clouds. In the ‘real,’ the wyvern shuddered and growled restlessly in its sleep.

  “STOP.”

  Kyran froze, the voice reverberating across his mind.

  Where had the mental sending come from? All was still in the wyvern’s mindscape. It couldn’t have come from the beast. Where then? On the periphery of his own mind, he sensed a cascade of arriving images.

  Images that showed the wyvern stir in its sleep and nearly awaken from Kyran’s meddling. Aiken, he realised, with a thrill of joy. It was Aiken. His brother had stopped him from making a fatal error.

  Aiken was learning to speak!

  He throttled back his excitement; he could celebrate later. Right now, he had a much too delicate matter to attempt while distracted. “Thank you, brother,” he said gravely to the bear before returning his attention to the wyvern’s mind.

  What did I do wrong? he wondered.

  The tree that was the wyvern’s mind core arched over its fellows and bore the brunt of the rain falling in a ceaseless torrent from the clouds. Yet the acid did not seem to have stunted its growth. Perhaps, he thought, what the tree needed to thrive was more acid rain, not less.

  Gathering his courage, he wove tendrils of psi into a large funnel that concentrated the falling acid into the central tree of the wyvern’s mind. The tree began to glisten, and its branches grew upwards and outwards, extending towards Kyran’s own consciousness. It’s working!

  He channelled more psi and increased the size of his funnel. The reaching tendrils from the wyvern’s mind extended further and grasped those from his own mind as the creature willingly bound itself to him.

  You have successfully befriended a level 61 mountain wyvern. Duration: 2 days.

  You have gained a level!

  Aiken has gained a level!

  The wyvern’s eye opened and fixated on Kyran, and if the creature’s gaze was not brimming with joy, then at least there was no sense of animosity within the stare it turned upon him. Through the bond, he tasted the beast’s loyalty and acknowledgement of his dominance in their...clutch?

  Kyran rose from his crouch. Still wary, he stalked forward. The wyvern watched his approach and made no move to rise from its—no, her—curled posture.

  As he closed, Aiken surfaced and padded at his side. The wyvern’s gaze momentarily flicked to the bear before, sensing the bond between the pair, she returned her attention to Kyran. He reached the beast and cautiously circled her, keeping his paws well clear of the spittle dripping from her snout.

  The wyvern was as large as he suspected, her scales shades of brown, and the claws of her four great limbs sharp and gleaming. T
he beast was healthy and in good shape. The cave, he saw, was barely large enough to house her great bulk and, sniffing at the walls that stank of sulphur, he realised that the cavern had not been naturally formed. The wyvern had probably burned out the cave herself.

  Completing his circle, he reached the entrance again. Looking over his shoulder, he commanded, “Come.”

  The wyvern rose fluidly to her feet, her leathery wings flaring and her tail whipping back and forth. She dipped her head into the tunnel, and slipped forward with sinuous grace, but took no more than two steps before she stopped.

  Surprised, Kyran turned around and repeated his command. “Come,” he said. Instead of the expected compliance, he felt her resist his command through the bond. Startled, he sat down on his haunches and studied the wyvern.

  Alarmingly, through the bond, he felt her thoughts full of rebellion and a steadfast refusal to leave the cave. He dropped into a predatory stance, a low growl rising from his throat as he wondered if he would have to fight the beast after all.

  From Aiken, came a single image. Shocked, Kyran jerked to his feet and stared at the bear. “Brother, are you sure?”

  Aiken bobbed his head in confirmation. Kyran scrutinised the wyvern anew and realised Aiken was right. He padded towards the creature and, suppressing his worg-self’s instinctive terror at the wyvern’s proximity, slipped past her looming bulk and into the cave again. The beast swivelled her head towards him, but made no move otherwise.

  In the cave, he lowered his head to the ground. Sniffing delicately, he followed his nose to the far-left corner. The cavern floor was not rock there, he saw, but loosely packed shale that had been recently overturned. Cautiously, he pawed back the shallow layer of covering stones and sand.

  Buried just beneath the surface was an egg. Aiken was right, he thought. Reaching out with tendrils of will, he probed the egg with insight.

  This is a fertile mountain wyvern egg. Formed of a granite-like substance, this egg is impervious to nearly all forms of damage.