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

by Rohan M Vider

  “I told you, I am no champion,” Kyran said quietly.

  Wynak studied him expressionlessly. “I am old, elf. I have seen much of the Game and its players. I know well the convoluted plots the champions partake in. I will not have my tribe embroiled in the gods’ schemes again. Please, I beg you, tell me your true motives in coming here.”

  Kyran ran his hand through his hair, at a loss for words. He understood and even sympathised with everything Wynak had said, but he didn’t know how to convince the old ogre of the truth of his words.

  Mirien stepped in. “If I may, Wynak?”

  Wynak inclined his head, indicating that she should go on.

  “I am of the Brotherhood,” Mirien said.

  Wynak’s face tightened, but he said nothing.

  “I can tell from your expression that you understand what that means.”

  Wynak nodded curtly.

  “Then you will know that a Brotherhood soldier would never be in the company of a champion. Believe me when I tell you that Kyran is no champion. He is a player, but one not beholden to any god.”

  Wynak stared at Mirien with an inscrutable expression then shook his head. “You could be lying about being Brotherhood.”

  Mirien sighed.

  “But,” said Wynak, “assuming I believe you.” He glanced from Mirien to Kyran. “Both of you. It still does not answer why you, Kyran, a player, would request our help.”

  “Ah,” said Kyran. “Is this what is troubling you?”

  “It is a large part, yes,” Wynak agreed.

  Gathering his thoughts, Kyran answered slowly. “You are right…my party did not think we needed help defeating Gnarok. But you are wrong in believing we didn’t want your aid.”

  “Speak plainly, elf,” growled Wynak.

  Kyran sighed, then said bluntly. “I needed your help with the survivors. My party is small, and I was afraid, once we defeated Gnarok, the remains of the tribe would attack us or perish from the winter.” He looked up to stare into Wynak’s eyes, his own hard and unbending. “Whatever I am, whatever I may become, I will not be party to the slaughter of innocents.”

  His shoulders sagged. “But I could see no way of saving the tribe’s survivors on my own. When I learned from my…uhm…reconnaissance of what occurred between you and Gnarok, I hoped you would be able to make those left after the battle see reason and perhaps even offer them aid that I could not.”

  Wynak stared impassively at him. “And the burden of feeding another two hundred mouths? Did that not occur to you?”

  “It did,” said Kyran, shoulders slumping further. He bowed his head, unable to meet the old ogre’s eyes. “But I could see no other solution.”

  For an interminable period, Wynak remained silent, staring down on Kyran’s bowed head. “I believe you,” he said at last. “And for what it is worth, I thank you for showing my people mercy.”

  Kyran’s head whipped up, his mouth open in shock.

  Seeing Kyran’s expression, Wynak smiled bitterly. “They are my people, no matter their pledge to Xetil, and no matter their foolish choice to follow Gnarok.” He sighed heavily. “They are still my responsibility. Even if, like you, I can see no way to save them from what must surely follow on the heels of today, I must try,” he whispered.

  Kyran bobbed his head awkwardly, understanding only too well Wynak’s sense of obligation.

  “Now I have something to show you,” Wynak said, shaking off his morose thoughts. “And my own confession to make,” he added grimly. He ducked inside Gnarok’s tent and walked over to an open chest.

  Following in the ogre’s wake, Kyran peered inside in the chest. His hopes plummeted as he identified the contents. It was the climbing cable. Cut into ribbons, each piece no longer than his hand. Mirien, following on his heels, gasped at the sight.

  “The old women tell me Gnarok did this as soon as he returned from the escarpment,” said Wynak. “I am sorry, Kyran. There was never any hope of recovering the rope.”

  Kyran bowed his head again, choking down bitterness. It had all been for nothing.

  No, not for nothing, he scolded himself. They had freed the tribe from the demon worshipper and reunited its split halves under Wynak.

  “Thank you, Wynak,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “You have kept your bargain and have no further obligation to my party.” Turning around, he made to leave the tent.

  “Wait, Kyran. There is something else I must tell you.”

  Kyran stopped and turned around to look at the ogre. “I, too, was not completely honest with you.” Wynak fell silent and fidgeted uncomfortably. “There was no need for you to assault this camp,” he said eventually. “There is another path up the escarpment, a goat trail—difficult and hidden, but navigable nonetheless.”

  Kyran’s eyes shone with renewed hope.

  “The route Gnarok’s warband used,” Mirien whispered breathlessly.

  “Yes,” said Wynak.

  Kyran met the old ogre’s eyes again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly.

  “I didn’t trust you,” said Wynak. He paused, then added, “and I needed Gnarok dead.”

  Kyran nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said.

  The old ogre heaved in a deep breath, then said, “And now I must ask you a great favour, Kyran.”

  Kyran looked at him questioningly. Wynak went down on bended knee, and Kyran’s look turned to alarm.

  “When I said earlier, ‘I believe you,’ I meant about all of it,” Wynak said. He looked up at Kyran. “I accept that you are a player unbeholden to any of the gods.” Visibly gathering up his courage, he said, “I request you take me and my warband as your vassals, Kyran. Please. If my people are to have any hope of surviving the winter and Xetil’s vengeance thereafter, my warband and I must become players.”

  Kyran stared down at the kneeling ogre in shock. He had not expected this. There was no question the old ogre wanted this, not for himself, but for his people. But…would it help the Balturra tribe? Twenty legionnaires—turned into players—might help the tribe escape Xetil’s wrath. But it would not help them survive the winter. For that they would need hunters or…

  “Wynak,” he asked, “are you sure you want this? This is no small thing you ask for.”

  “I have served in Xetil’s legions,” replied the old ogre stiffly. “I know well the burdens the vassals bear. But if you will not do this, I understand.”

  “Wait, hear me out before you speak. I do not deny your request. I only mean to be certain you understand fully. You must know that your warband alone—even turned into players—cannot help your tribe survive the winter’s fury. But there may be another way.”

  “How?” asked Wynak, brows lowered in confusion.

  Kyran breathed in deeply. “You will not like it.”

  ✽✽✽

  Kyran was right. Wynak did not like it.

  In fact, the ogre was so vehemently opposed to Kyran’s proposal that at one point Kyran had feared the chieftain would attack him. But eventually, Wynak calmed down and listened to reason. While Wynak had not exactly accepted Kyran’s proposal, he had wavered enough in his opposition to allow Kyran to make his case.

  They now stood waiting. While they did, Kyran turned to Mirien. She had listened intently to both Wynak’s requests and Kyran’s arguments without comment.

  “Mirien,” he whispered, “when we first met, do you remember what you told me about players?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “You told me the Brotherhood had a way, besides the oath of fealty, of turning norms into players. Will you tell me how?”

  “Ah,” she said, her face falling. “I’m sorry, Kyran. I may have stretched the truth a little. The Brotherhood has a…theory, and an artefact that may work. However, it has never been tested before. And without the artefact…”

  He nodded, understanding. Without the artefact, there was no way they could put the theory to the test here. “Thank you for telling
me anyway.”

  The tent flap was pushed back, and Limeira slipped within, Gnot following on her heels. “Grandfather,” she said, her attention fixed on Wynak, “you called for me?”

  “Limeira,” answered Kyran in Wynak’s place, “I have a proposal for you.”

  Limeira’s eyes flitted to Kyran and then back to Wynak, who nodded his head. “A proposal?”

  The worg pup, tail wagging furiously, ran to Kyran. He bent down and picked the little beast up. “How would you like to become a player?” asked Kyran, turning back to Limeira.

  “What?!” she exclaimed, her eyes growing wide.

  “Sit down, Limeira, and let me explain, please.” The young ogress sank into one the chairs, still seeming a bit shocked.

  “Your grandfather has requested I take him and his warband on as my vassals. I have not refused his request, but I don’t believe your grandfather’s legionnaires are the ones best suited to save your tribe”—he held up his hand to forestall Limeira’s protest—“not because I don’t believe them worthy, but because I believe they don’t have the skills you do.”

  “Me?” gasped a surprised Limeira.

  Kyran nodded. “You have a natural talent for handling animals.” He held up Gnot by way of example. “I’ve seen it with the worgs, and I have seen how drawn you are to Aiken. I believe if you are made into a player, you could grow to become a tamer.”

  “A tamer? How would that help the tribe?” asked Limeira, confused.

  “You have seen the power of the wyverns. Now imagine if the tribe had such a pack ranging for prey on its behalf, or if you could communicate more directly with your worgs or, even better, see through their eyes.”

  Kyran could see the rising excitement in Limeira’s face as the possibilities dawned on her. She has already bought into the idea, he thought.

  But a second later, the young ogre’s face blanked as caution reasserted itself. “Will I have to leave my tribe?”

  Kyran shook his head. “No, I do this for your tribe, not myself. Your grandfather already has my word you will not be made to abandon your people.”

  Limeira’s face turned solemn. “Then I will do it.”

  “Are you sure, granddaughter?” broke in Wynak. “Once you do this, there will be no turning back, and if Xetil ever found out, there would be no telling what vengeance he would wreak.”

  “Will it help save our tribe grandfather?”

  Wynak sighed. “It might.”

  “Then I will do it,” replied Limeira, her face hardening with determination. “It is time someone other than you shouldered the tribe’s burdens.”

  Wynak bowed his head, but said nothing. Limeira turned towards Kyran. “How do we do this, Kyran?”

  “Repeat after me,” said Kyran, gesturing to both ogres to do so, “‘I, Limeira and I, Wynak Balturra, will be faithful and true to Kyran Seversan and by the Rules of the Game shall never, by will nor force, by word nor deed, do aught against you.’” Both Wynak and Limeira sounded out the words after him.

  “Now it is my turn,” he said. “I, Kyran Seversan, accept your vassalage, Limeira Balturra, and yours, Wynak Balturra, and by the Rules of the Game declare myself your liege. Henceforth, I shall shelter, protect, and aid you. As my sworn vassals, you will for evermore bear the right to demand my protection for you and yours.”

  Placing his own hand upon Limeira’s and Wynak’s outstretched hands, Kyran willed the vassal bond to form with the pair. Tendrils of energy reached out from Kyran and wrapped around each ogre, illuminating their presences in the mindscape and ether.

  Limeira Balturra has made an oath of fealty to you and is now your vassal. She has been transformed into a basic player in the Game, and her actions will reflect on you.

  40% of your will, essence, and stamina has been drained from the formation of the vassal bond. Vassals: 3/165.

  Name: Limeira Balturra.

  Class: None (rank I, novice).

  Inherited trait: Beast master (beast bonding modified by + 25%).

  Wynak Balturra has made an oath of fealty to you and is now your vassal. He has been transformed into a basic player in the Game, and his actions will reflect on you.

  40% of your will, essence and stamina has been drained from the formation of the vassal bond. Vassals: 4/165.

  Name: Wynak Balturra.

  Class: Legionnaire (rank III, journeyman).

  Inherited trait: Combat specialist (2 additional combat skills per level).

  Kyran closed his eyes and studied his new vassals in the ether and mindscape. Limeira and Wynak’s metamorphosis was complete. Reviewing Limeira’s skills, Kyran saw with relief that he had been right. The young ogress was inclined towards animal handling and beast mastery.

  “It is done,” said Kyran wearily to Mirien, who had been looking on in fascination.

  Limeira stood up shakily, dazed by the bond’s formation. Her gaze turned inwards as she marvelled at the changes in her. “Thank you, Kyran, for this gift.”

  Kyran waved her thanks away. “It is no more than you and your tribe deserve,” he replied.

  “Did it work?” asked Wynak, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice.

  “It did,” Kyran said, smiling broadly. “Limeira can in time, with the right skill selections and choices, become a tamer, and you, Wynak, are now officially a legionnaire-classed player.”

  “You have my thanks, Kyran,” Wynak said solemnly. “If my tribe had aught of value remaining, I would shower you with gifts. Sadly, I have only our knowledge of the escarpment to offer you.”

  “And that is more than enough, Wynak,” Kyran said. “But I have one more thing to show you and Limeira yet. Come with me.”

  ✽✽✽

  Kyran led the two ogres out of the camp to where the party waited. “What is going on?” asked Adra, coming up to him.

  “The climbing cable has been destroyed,” he said. Adra’s and Gaesin’s expressions turned grim. “But Wynak knows a way up the escarpment.” The pair’s faces lifted at this welcome news.

  “What are we doing here?” asked Mirien curiously.

  “I have taken on Limeira and Wynak as vassals.” Gaesin and Adra exclaimed in surprise, and a hail of questions erupted. Kyran held up his hand for silence. “It was not done lightly, and neither will accompany us. They will use their player gifts to help the tribe survive.” He turned to the half-elf. “Bring the satchel with the eggs, please.”

  Gaesin’s brows furrowed, confused by Kyran’s request, but he said nothing as he hurried to where the party had stowed their packs. Returning, he placed the open satchel with the eggs at Kyran’s feet. The wyvern mother, noting the arrival of her clutch, followed the bag with sleepy eyes.

  “What is this?” asked Wynak quietly.

  “These are mountain wyvern eggs, birthed by the wyvern female over there,” he said, pointing out the wyvern mother. “And it is my gift to Limeira.”

  Wynak looked at him. “Why?”

  Kyran looked to the young ogre who stared fixedly at the satchel. “All four eggs are fertile. They are for Limeira to rear and train, and perhaps someday form into a wyvern pack for the tribe.”

  “Domesticated wyverns?” snorted Wynak. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “Perhaps it is not possible,” said Kyran, shrugging. “But with her skills, Limeira will have a better chance than most. Will you try, Limeira?”

  “Oh yes!” she said, eyes shining. After his granddaughter’s acceptance, Wynak did not question Kyran further, but he still looked doubtful.

  “There is one more thing. Come here, Limeira,” he said, and led her to the wyvern mother’s side. “Place your hand on her side,” he added to the uncomprehending ogre as Aiken padded over.

  Kyran was not sure if what he intended was possible, and this was more the jade bear’s idea than his. Aiken was convinced it would work, though. Closing his eyes, Kyran reached out to the wyvern mother and, with Aiken’s help, communicated their proposition to her.
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  The wyvern lifted her head and studied the young ogre with interest before her eyes flicked to her eggs. “They, and you, will be safer with the tribe and Limeira,” Kyran murmured. “The Elder Forest is no place for your kind.”

  The wyvern contemplated him for a second longer, then lowered her head in acquiescence. Kyran bowed his own head in thanks. He turned to the young ogre at his side. “Limeira,” he said gently, “listen to Aiken. If you are in agreement, follow his instructions.”

  From the ogress’ wide eyes and startled nod, he took it that Aiken was already in communication with her.

  “What is happening?” asked Wynak, who was looking on anxiously.

  Kyran held up one hand, asking for the chieftain’s patience. In the mindscape, he felt Aiken reach out to the two—wyvern and ogre—and bring them together. Limeira gasped as she beheld the wyvern’s mind.

  “She is beautiful,” she exclaimed. Without fear, and almost unconsciously, Limeira reached down and ran her hands gently along the wyvern mother’s scaled head.

  Almost of its own volition and, with less effort or help from Aiken than Kyran expected, the bond between the two was forged.

  A wyvern mother is no longer befriended.

  Your vassal, Limeira, has formed a companion-bond with a wyvern mother.

  Limeira has gained the companion-bonded trait.

  Your quest, protect the eggs has evolved, and your task has changed.

  Quest 12: Protect the eggs.

  Objective: See the wyvern eggs are safely hatched while in Limeira’s care.

  Rank: Unique.

  Reward: Four tamed wyvern younglings.

  Kyran smiled as Limeira fell to her knees and hugged the wyvern. “The wyvern mother is Limeira’s now. And she, hers.”

  Wynak blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “They are companions,” Kyran said with a pleased grin.

  Wynak’s mouth worked soundlessly. “What does that mean?” he asked finally.

  “It means,” Kyran said gravely, “that the pair will die to protect each other. The wyvern mother and her young are now part of your tribe.”