✽✽✽
Hours later, Hamen knew that the time to stop had come.
The biting cold had taken its toll, and the tips of his ears and nose were turning blue. Hardy as the dwarves were, they were not immune to the weather. Frostbite would set in soon.
Hours ago, the trolls’ tracks had disappeared altogether. Hamen had no idea what had happened to them. Neither he nor his men had caught sight of the scouts, but rather than stop, Hamen had chosen to forge ahead and follow the tracks of the troll’s quarry.
He raised his head, which had been bowed against the wind all this time. Snow stung his face as he peered for somewhere to rest. Earlier, the trail of the elves had swung towards the escarpment wall—for which Hamen and his men had been grateful. In the leeward side of the precipice, the dwarves had been sheltered from the worst of the storm’s fury, and it had allowed them to continue on for much longer than Hamen had expected.
In between flurries of ice, he spotted a patch of blackness in the sheer rockface that seemed darker than the surrounding rock. He narrowed his eyes.
Yes… it was a crevice. Hopefully it was large enough for his men to squeeze in.
“There is shelter up ahead,” he called. “We will rest there.”
There was no response; the men were too exhausted.
They reached the spot and Hamen saw that it was a crevice, but it was too shallow to provide shelter from the storm or even fit all his men.
“Bloody hell,” he swore. They could not stop here. He glanced back at his men huddled along the wall. Why had he not stopped earlier? I have killed us all with my foolishness.
With a sigh, he turned away. They would continue for as long as they could, but he had no illusions.
They would all be dead soon.
“Hamen, wait! Stop!”
At the shout, barely audible over the wind, Hamen turned around. It was Dhoven, hurrying forward and pulling the men tied behind him along.
“What is it, apprentice?” he asked tiredly.
“Here,” said Dhoven, placing something in his hand. “This might help.”
Hamen stared in befuddlement at the gold ring, set with a single ruby. He looked up in confusion at Dhoven. “How is this going to—”
He paused. His hand was suffused in warmth. Blessed heat was spreading outward from the limb clutching the ring to the rest of his body. His eyes widened as he stared at the thing in disbelief. He was not imagining it. The ring was glowing a soft orange. “What is this?” he whispered.
“It is a magic ring, infused with warmth as protection against the cold.”
“You had this all the time?”
“No, I only realised we might need it after we got caught in the storm. I’ve been enchanting it since then.” Dhoven’s head dropped in shame. “I’m sorry, I should have realised earlier.”
“Enchanted—? You mean you’ve created this?”
Dhoven nodded. Then his face fell further. “I’ve only managed to make three though. Not enough for the entire squad, but if we share…”
Hamen thumped a mailed fist down on the apprentice’s shoulder. “Bless you, boy! You’ve saved us all.” Reignited with hope, Hamen turned back to the men. “We march on, lads. Three cheers for our young enchanter here! He’s just saved your hairy hides.”
The men roared, relief palpable in their voices. Under the cover of their shouts, Hamen bent down towards Dhoven and asked in a low whisper, “How long will the enchantment last?”
Dhoven licked his lips. “About an hour. But I can re-enchant them. At least for as long as I have essence.”
Hamen straightened. It will have to do. He had to hope he could find shelter for his men before then. There would be no escaping the mountain’s clutches until the storm broke. He glanced up at the dense blanket of grey. And this storm is likely to last days.
Swinging around, he pushed his way through the snow, wondering as he did how Yiralla and the Dread Spear company, on the same trail behind them, was faring against the storm’s wrath.
✽✽✽
Yiralla bowed her head and closed her eyes against the strain, both mental and physical, as she tried hold the divine dome in place above their heads. It was her company’s only shelter against the battering winds and swirling snow.
The last twenty-four hours had been trying. The storm had hit before the company had ventured more than few miles from the abandoned ogre camp.
Despite the Dread Spear’s famed discipline, the troop had taken too long to muster. Yiralla had watched in tight-lipped silence as the company had slowly reformed their ranks. She could hardly blame the men, though. The company had already been pushed to the brink from days of hard marching.
When the storm struck, Yiralla and her men had been caught unprepared on the open mountain slopes. Even the trolls, famed for their toughness, were dismayed, and their shoulders had slumped even further.
Xetil had been furious, and it had taken a minor miracle for Yiralla to convince her god not to order the soldiers’ execution then and there. But that was the extent of Xetil’s mercy. He had refused to let the company retreat or find shelter.
Xetil had exhorted her company onwards. The god, still in her mind—is he ever going to leave?—had been unrelenting, and to please him the company had travelled through the night, though at a pace that hardly made the hardship they sustained worth it.
She had not dared argue or seek to soothe his impatience again. Xetil’s mood had soured, and at the oddest times he had been given to muttering about the vengeance he would wreak on the ogres, the free agent, and even the undead. While she was not opposed to dealing retribution in Xetil’s name, she worried at the cost.
Since the storm had hit, they had been travelling under the cover of a divine dome Yiralla had summoned, one barely large enough to shield the entire company. Magic, divine or otherwise, was not Yiralla’s strength. In fact, she was entirely dismissive of magic as a whole.
Most things that could be done with magic could also be done without, she maintained. She had decided against bringing any mages on the expedition, which she now regretted.
Yiralla’s reserve of essence was nearly depleted, and the company had ground to a halt. Despite her determination, she couldn’t maintain her spellcasting much longer.
She had no choice now but to turn to Xetil for aid. “Sire,” Yiralla gasped. “My strength fails me. Please lend me your aid.”
Xetil was silent for so long Yiralla thought he would refuse her plea. Her god was ever sparing with his own strength. But she had nearly nothing left to give. If her god did not lend his aid, she and her company would die here.
“Very well, Yiralla,” replied Xetil quietly. “Prepare yourself.” A conduit reached out from the ether to her, carrying with it a torrent of life-giving divine essence.
“Thank you, Divine,” Yiralla whispered, gratefully accepting her god’s gift. Channelling essence as fast as her chattering teeth allowed, Yiralla dropped her paltry divine dome. Then, using her god’s own essence, she wove the conduit spell, celestial shelter.
Yiralla has cast celestial shelter (duration: 10 days, buff: sheltered).
Sheltered: Cannot be attacked, +100% regeneration, immunity from environmental effects.
A sparkling dome, thirty metres in radius, sprang into existence on the open mountain slopes, and in defiance of the furious storm outside the air inside was suffused with sudden warmth.
“Captain,” Yiralla called out to her subordinate. “Have the men break camp. We will wait out the storm here.”
Then she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.
✽✽✽
Thoril stepped forward. The clan had finally reached the gate to Durn Duruhl. In awe, he beheld the immensity of the stone doors. How did our ancestors ever craft this marvel?
“It is beautiful,” whispered the thane, staring up at the gate.
Thoril turned his way. Tears streamed unheeded down the ancient warrior’s face. “It is,” Thoril said
with a nod, his own voice choking up.
“This sight alone has made the journey worth it for me. And for that I thank you, Thoril,” said the thane. He fixed the enchanter with a stern eye. “But our people need more. Can you open the gate?”
The thane’s words recalled Thoril to the thousands waiting behind them. He glanced back at the seemingly endless line of dwarves stretching back to the west and disappearing over the mountain horizon. Men, women, and children, all starving and bedraggled.
The journey to the city had taken longer than expected, and the dwarves had been forced to make the last part of their exodus under snow-filled skies. The mountain had claimed hundreds of lives already. And it will claim many more if I fail to open the gate, thought Thoril.
“I can,” he said, then ground out with renewed determination, “I must.” He stepped forward, leaving the thane and his attendants behind as he moved to inspect the gate.
Ancient lore passed down over the centuries held that the gate could be unlocked only with a key, the same enchanter’s guild master symbol which rested on Thoril’s chest. Pulling it out of his robes and clutching the pendant comfortingly in his hands, he squinted at the gate as he searched for the locking sigils.
He could do with Dhoven’s sharp eyes now, but the boy had still not yet returned. He hoped the thane’s son had not gotten his apprentice killed. The boy was important to him. He sighed. It was his own fool fault for sending Dhoven. He had thought… but never mind what he had thought, he should not have sent away his apprentice.
As Thoril paced deliberately down the gate’s length, searching for the access sigils, he could sense the thane’s impatience. But he would not be rushed. When he neared the gate’s centre, where the two halves met, the pendant in his hand began to glow.
He looked down and caught sight of a similar glow on the gate’s doors. Hurrying over, he saw that the light emanated from ancient dwarven inscriptions carved into the rock—the locking mechanism.
With trembling hands, Thoril removed the pendant from his neck and bent over the sigil. He looked over his shoulder at the expectant thane. “Prepare yourselves,” he called out.
The thane nodded sharply and, raising his hand, motioned the waiting warriors forward. A double line of armoured dwarven fighters stomped to the fore, warhammers and shields held to the ready as they faced the gate. They were primed to cut down whatever emerged, or to charge within for the glory of the clan.
Seeing that all was in readiness, Thoril prayed to his ancestors one last time and set his pendant to the sigil. For a second, nothing happened, then with a groan and the grinding of working gears, the gates began to roll back.
“Welcome to Durn Duruhl, Guild Master,” a voice spoke in his mind.
With tears streaming shamelessly down his face, Thoril dropped shakily to his knees. He had no idea who or what the voice was. But he didn’t care.
They were home at last.
Game Data
As of the end of Book 3.
Kyran’s Quest Log (Open Quests)
Quest 3: Be not a pawn.
Quest 4: Find Eld.
Quest 5: Free the undead.
Quest 6: Deliver the lockbox.
Quest 9: Restore the enchanters.
Quest 1: The journey to becoming great (3).
Quest 10: Multitasking.
Quest 12: Protect the eggs.
Kyran’s Profile (Class Data)
Name: Kyran Seversan. Race: Elf.
Player type: Advanced player, free agent.
Combat level: 29. Civilian level: 32. Health: 320.
Stamina: 500. Will: 1020. Essence: 1200.
Attacks: 44.2 (slash), 55 (psi wave), 68.9 (shock bolt).
Defences: Physical (39.7), psi (32), spell (32).
Class: Jade wild druid (rank II, apprentice).
The wild druid is a psionic-magic hybrid with class abilities fashioned for beast mastery.
Class traits
Incompetent summoner (-1 summoned creatures): Current limit = 0.
Wild tamer (+1 tamed creatures per rank): Current limit = 7.
Class skills
Beast bonding (70.7), body control (44.9), light armour (24.0), psionics (49), telepathy (55.1), air magic (68.9), earth magic (68.9), supportive magic (68.9), spellcasting (61.2), water magic (51), nature lore (24.0).
Class abilities
Wild shift: Druids can shift into a beastform.
Beastform: Druids can learn the beastform of a befriended creature. Known beastforms: 1 / 4.
Other skills (20 combat and 8 civilian SP available)
Fire magic (43.4), longsword (10.4), telekinesis (26.5).
Commander (16.0), governor (14.4), mage lord (48.0), scrying (14.4), travelling (14.4), feudal lord (14.4).
Vassals: 8 of 167.
Combat abilities (5 AP available)
Beast bond, rank II: Beast befriend, beast bless.
Air magic, rank II: Shock wall, mirrored selves, shock bolt.
Earth magic, rank II: Oil slick.
Telepathy, rank II: Psi wave, Mass sleep.
Supportive magic, rank II: Cure wounds, magic shield.
Spellcasting, rank II: Delayed casting.
Beast bond, rank I: Calm beast, beast bond, extend bond, enrage beast.
Body control, rank I: Mind-over-matter, boost speed.
Telepathy, rank I: Mind shock, confusion.
Telekinesis, rank I: Teleport (self), hold, teleport (object).
Air magic, rank I: Blend, truesight, shocking hands.
Fire magic, rank I: Flaming hands, fire dart, fire shield.
Water magic, rank I: Water armour, slippery ice, ice wall, freezing hands.
Earth magic, rank I: Barkskin, grasping roots, earth tremor, poison ward.
Supportive magic, rank I: Restore health (self), restore health (others).
Civilian abilities (8 AP available)
Travelling, rank II: Teleport rings.
Mage lord, rank II: Magister’s gift.
Commander, rank II: Invigorating aura, commander’s gift.
Scrying, rank II: Improved scrying.
Travelling, rank I: Show portals, travel (self).
Scrying, rank I: Show hostiles, basic scrying, detect scrying.
Nature lore, rank I: Show plants, gather plants.
Commander, rank I: Inspiring, shared sight.
Governor, rank I: Detect truth.
Mage lord, rank I: Channel essence, channel novice spells.
Equipped items
Heir’s mithril scale armour (32 armour, +8% commander).
Elven mageblade (35-40 slashing damage, +8% longsword).
Bone shaman necklace (+2% earth magic).
Tamer's bracelet (+8% beast bonding).
Kyran’s Vassals & Party members
Party members:
Adra: level 26 scout (vassal).
Gaesin: level 25 hydromancer (vassal).
Aiken: level 27 jade great bear (companion).
Mirien: level 37 whiesper (norm).
Others:
Limeira Balturra: level 18.
Wynak Balturra: level 59 legionnaire.
4 Ogre legionnaires.
Name: Mirien Tolyrandil. Race: High elf (elf).
Level: 37. Health: 555.
Stamina: 750. Will: 750. Essence: 700.
Attack: 41 (slashing).
Defences: Physical (58), psi (37), spell (37).
Class: Whiesper (rank II, apprentice).
Name: Gaesin Illineiros. Race: Half-elf.
Player type: Basic player, vassal to Kyran Seversan.
Level: 25. Health: 225.
Stamina: 450. Will: 520. Essence: 800.
Attacks: 48 (water).
Defences: Physical (25), psi (25), spell (25).
Class: Hydromancer (rank II, apprentice).
Name: Adra Maeko. Race: Wolven.
Player type: Basic player, vassal to Kyran Seversan.
Level: 26. Health: 364.
&nbs
p; Stamina: 700. Will: 500. Essence: 500.
Attacks: 28 (piercing).
Defences: Physical (32), psi (26), spell (26).
Class: Scout (rank II, apprentice).
Name: Aiken. Race: Jade great bear (elder beast).
Player type: Basic player, bond-companion to Kyran Seversan.
Level: 27 (young bear). Health: 540.
Stamina: 1000. Will: 1200. Essence: 400.
Attacks: 54 (blunt, slash), 52 (earth).
Defences: Physical (40), psi (67), spell (47).
PART ONE
Chapter 1
29 Octu 2603 AB
Over the course of the Game, there have been many fabled champions renowned for their spectacular feats and great deeds. A legend whose name is mentioned nearly as often as that of the First and Zarr is Yiralla Sabut.
Yiralla is unique amongst the Game’s great, not only for her accomplishments, but for her class, one that eschews magic—divine or otherwise. While Xetil’s champion-prime is capable of minor magics, she is first and foremost a warrior, the likes of which even the First is said to fear. —Marcos Aurclasy, Silenheim librarian.
Kyran stared upwards and studied the blanket of overcast grey, barely visible in the rapidly darkening sky. He was cold again. Rubbing his mailed fists together, he blew into them for warmth.
Winter had finally arrived, and as prized as his mithril scale armour was, it did little to keep out the chill. He glanced into the dark depths of the Elder Forest. At least it will be warmer there.
The storm that had been threatening them for the past week had finally arrived. It had caught the party as they hurried across the mountain slopes. In a matter of minutes, the barren foothills had been buried beneath a carpet of white. Yet despite the biting winds and driving snow, the party had not endured the brunt of the storm.
Sovereign (The Gods' Game, Volume IV) Page 2
