Lord Sorcerer: Singularity Online: Book 3

by Kyle Johnson

  Golloron, who was bound to Eredain’s Tree-heart, just as Aranos was bound to Antas’, but did nothing to stop Keryth, who’d sent the fallen Dirue exactly where Keryth had needed her to be to draw Aranos away from the Heart’s defense.

  Golloron, who had plenty of Skill in mind mana to weave a barrier around Lythienne’s memory stone, but who somehow always left the tiniest flaws in his weavings, as if so confident that no one would even look that he didn’t bother to clean up after himself.

  As Aranos felt the rage building in him, he withdrew from Rhys’ mind and banished the Void Prison. The Druid blinked repeatedly, shaking his head, his face puzzled. “The anger is fading from me, Liberator,” he said slowly. “I can remember it – I can remember why I felt it – but it seems a distant thing, as if recalled from a dream. That must be your doing.”

  Aranos nodded, tamping down the anger. It wouldn’t do any good right now, and Rhys would misinterpret it. “I figured out what was happening. Someone had gone into your mind, changed your memories. I don’t think you were as jealous as you imagined you were; they took a tiny spark of it and magnified it, making you remember things differently than they happened. As time passes, they’ll fade even more, and eventually you’ll forget them.”

  “While that is heartening, and I am grateful,” Rhys said softly, “one wonders if it would not have been better to have removed those memories entire.”

  “I could have done that, but it might have driven you insane,” Aranos said bluntly. “I’m not as skilled as the one who did this to you; I would probably hurt as much as I helped.”

  “And do you know who did this, Liberator?” the Druid spoke, his face darkening. “Whoever they are, I owe them a debt, I believe.”

  “I do,” Aranos nodded. “And later on, I’ll tell you all about it. I promise. For right now, though, I need you calm and focused, because I need your help with Saphielle’s funeral.”

  “What?!” Rhys half-shouted, struggling to rise from his chair. “Saphi – the Avenger? What? Did I?” Tears sprang once more from the man’s eyes, and Aranos patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

  “No, that had nothing to do with you. That was my….” Aranos stopped, remembering Saphielle’s courage, her strength, and her insistence on being the shield against his harm. I won’t apologize for that. I won’t cheapen her actions by taking credit for them. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he said quietly. “It was a battle, and Saphielle was a Warrior. She chose to give her life to give us the chance to win. That was her choice, and knowing her, it was the only one she could have made.”

  Rhys nodded, sniffing. “She swore to be your shield, Liberator,” the Druid murmured. “You honor her memory by acknowledging this.”

  Aranos blinked away the sudden tears and summoned a quick knife, parting the Druid’s bonds. “Geltheriel told me that elven funerals are held at sundown, and that a Druid or Priest usually presides over them. Meridian is willing, but it would be better, I think, if you did it. You knew her longer, and you know the customs better than Meridian does.”

  “I would be honored – and deeply saddened, at the same time,” Rhys replied, bowing his head. “Liberator, I – I never intended…”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Aranos said firmly, cutting the man off. “You need to believe me in that. There was nothing you could have done.” He gazed seriously at the man. “If anything like this starts happening again, though, you need to tell me right away. If I catch it early, I can stop it, okay?”

  “I will, Liberator,” Rhys promised. “And thank you.”

  The other party members had grumbled a bit at seeing Rhys walking toward the simple stone bier, upon which Saphielle’s body lay, but Aranos silenced them with a glance. He would explain later, but now wasn’t the time for it. They were here for something far more important.

  The woman’s body lay uncovered, her ravaged and burned face peaceful in repose. She was still wrapped in her shattered armor, with her broken shield upon her chest. Her spear, however, rested in Aranos’ inventory. It was a weapon against the Darkness, and it would be used that way again someday. Aranos knew Saphielle would have had it no other way.

  Rhys took his place at the side of the body and began to speak. Later, Aranos couldn’t really recall exactly what the Druid had said. Rhys spoke of Saphielle’s bravery, her sacrifice, her prowess, and her devotion, but the individual words didn’t seem to catch in the Sorcerer’s brain. He recalled the feeling of it, though. He remembered his sorrow, the tears that rolled down not only his face, but those of most of the party. He remembered laughing as they recalled her blunt humor and plainspoken speech. He recalled Geltheriel’s hand in his, warm and comforting, and he glanced around to see the others standing close, seeking solace in each other’s company.

  As the last rays of the sun bathed the city, Rhys finished and motioned to Aranos. The Sorcerer moved forward and stood over the Warrior’s fallen body, standing silently for a moment.

  “Saphielle once made me a promise,” he began softly. “She swore that she would be the shield that kept me from harm.” He looked up at the others. “She was all of our shield. She stood when no one else could, she held when we would have run.

  “But she was more than that. She was the simple voice of reason. She was the truth, when we might have lied to ourselves. She was our teacher, our guardian. She was our friend.” Aranos paused as Longfellow sniffed loudly, wiping at his eyes.

  “Elven custom is to return the fallen to the forest,” Aranos continued. “We can’t do that, here. At least, not yet. Antas isn’t fully Redeemed – but we will finish what we started.” My love.

  “So, we’ll do the next best thing.” He took out a sliver of oilarie that he’d cut far more smoothly and easily than the last time, using a light-infused deepsteel knife, and placed the sliver on Saphielle’s chest. He closed his eyes and reached down into himself, pulling up his vital mana and infusing it into the wood. Beside him, he felt a similar warmth flowing from Rhys as the Druid cast his own Spell.

  As Aranos felt roots bursting from the sliver and reaching down into Saphielle’s body, he used his High Mastery Ability to lower the stone bier to the level of the flagstone paved courtyard. The stone crumbled at his mind’s touch, filling with vital mana that left it a patch of rich, dark soil. More energy flowed through him, even as Rhys’ Spell petered out, and he heard a gasp from the others. Still, he poured power into the new sapling, shifting his SP into vital mana; Saphielle deserved a true memorial.

  At last, he cut off the flow and reached out to touch the tree. Its bark was warm and smooth beneath his hand, and when he opened his eyes, he stared at it in amazement. He’d expected to see the golden, rune-etched bark of an oilarie, but this tree’s bark was a swirl of pallid white and emerald green, with only traces of gold gleaming here and there throughout the trunk. The leaves overhead should have been needle-like, shedding a glowing radiance similar to daylight upon the party. Instead, the palmate leaves were shaped like tendrils of silver flame, interlaced with strands of electric blue and ruby-red radiance that blended together in seamless harmony.

  “It is fitting, Oathbinder,” Geltheriel murmured as she walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It is something new, the perfect melding of you both. In this, you are together, forever.”

  Aranos nodded, almost afraid to speak, but touched the tree. As he did, a voice seemed to whisper in his mind, one last time.

  Goodbye, my love.

  Epilogue

  Lily cursed and raged as the world formed around her once more. She fucking hated dying; it was three hours of darkness and silence while she waited for the damn AIs to respawn her. Now that she wasn’t a real player, she didn’t get one of the fancy rooms – that, or the AIs didn’t want her to be able to talk to the outside world. That was just as likely, since an email from her to the wrong person might screw a lot up for them, but it didn’t matter. What was important was that they still her wait the whole, three h
ours but wouldn’t give her the simple, fucking courtesy of a goddamn light.

  It wasn’t just the respawn that enraged her. That fucker, Aranos…he’d promised to… A stab of panic went through her as the image of being bound in the darkness, helpless, forever flashed in her mind. It was her worst nightmare, her greatest fear, and that asshole had…

  Fear shifted once more to fury, and Lily lashed out at whatever was nearby. It all deserved to burn; Aranos, Geltheriel, that damn city…the whole, fucking world. As she raged, black fire ripped from her hands, consuming the trees around her hungrily. Ropes of purple lightning smashed rocks into dust, and shards of ebon ice shredded any hapless creature that didn’t flee her rage too quickly.

  That pleased Lily, and that pleasure calmed her rage. While she hated dying, she was not hating her newfound power. Power meant control; control of others, control of herself. Her power let her decide who lived and who died, and who deserved to suffer. Really, power was everything in this world or any other. You either had it or you didn’t, and if you did, you used it. That was the way, the only way.

  She had real power, now. She wasn’t crippled by the damn Corruption anymore. She wasn’t bound to a dead thing or in service to a dumbass god. She was powerful in her own right. If she hadn’t been so torn up already, she probably could have taken on Aranos’ party, at least with the Sorcerer out of the picture. She figured she might even be able to take Aranos one-on-one right now, but the asshole wasn’t likely to face her one-on-one anymore. He knew that she’d Ascended, become something more than a plain elf, and it scared him. She could see it in his eyes.

  That wasn’t fear, that was respect, her inner voice corrected. He Ascended too, after all…

  Lily sighed. As always, the voice was right. It was always right, had been since she was a little girl. Aranos wasn’t afraid of her, but he respected her. He knew her power now, and he was treating her carefully. “Because I am a badass supervillain, and he knows it,” she muttered, conjuring another gout of black flames. He’d threatened her because he didn’t want to fight her. He wasn’t sure how it would turn out, either.

  She supposed she should be happy about how things turned out. Zoridos was dead, and she was free. She’d gotten the power she wanted, and she’d managed to miss the entirety of the battle thanks to that asshole lich sending her out to check out that stupid-ass tower. She rubbed her nose as she remembered that; the undead hadn’t even been able to get close to the thing. Stepping into the clearing weakened them instantly, and then something in the air of the place burned them from the inside out. Lily had held back as long as she could, but Zoridos had ordered her to take the tower, and once her minions were dead, she had no choice but to try it herself.

  That hadn’t been a hell of a lot of fun. There was something in the air around the tower that seared Lily’s nose and lungs, and the light shining on her sapped her Strength and left her feeling weak. Her LP bar was dropping steadily, and she was just about to hightail it out of there when Zoridos’ voice slammed into her mind like a ton of bricks.

  Get back to the Tree-heart! Now!

  She’d grumbled a bit, of course. The stupid lich had a shit-ton of power but no Skill whatsoever. Lily had learned that it hadn’t been anyone important or powerful before the Feast, and it had used the Tree-heart and a ritual like hers to gain that power. That was a dumb-ass thing to tell her, because it had taught her to use the ritual already, and now she knew that the ritual would give her power similar to its own. Its days had been numbered from that point – eventually, she’d grow strong enough to do the ritual despite its commands, and then she would be the Master and Zoridos the slave.

  When she’d realized that Aranos was attacking the Tree-heart, though, she’d jumped on her summoned karkadann and jetted for the city as fast as she could. The Sorcerer had figured it out: he knew that the Heart was Zoridos’ weakness. Somehow, he’d tricked her into thinking he’d made a mistake. That was good – Aranos was probably the only one besides her who could destroy that thing and sever it from the Tree-heart – but it occurred to her that the damn Sorcerer never did shit by halves. He wouldn’t just sever Zoridos from the Tree-heart, he’d take it for himself somehow, and if he Redeemed it the way he had the Vault…

  The black-skinned, blood-dripping equine was disgusting but fast, faster than any damn horse, and it had only taken her minutes to reach the gates. She’d rushed inside, ridden the creature to death trying to get to the Tree-heart – and arrived too late.

  The wave of mana that hit her when Aranos restored the Tree-heart had very nearly killed her, and the weakening effects of the damn Redeemed Heart meant that, really, she was probably just about as badly off as Aranos looked like he’d been. Sure, she’d at least kept her clothes on unlike the Sorcerer, but she hadn’t even been able to bring up a shield before that stupid spear stuck in her throat. That wouldn’t have stopped her, normally, since one of the lessons she’d wrung from one of her victims’ minds was how to do silent casting, but her LP and SP were just too low for her to fight at the moment. She’d been bluffing, and they called her bluff.

  That stupid party. If it had just been her and Aranos – well, she supposed she had no idea how that might have gone right then. As weak as they both were, it might have been like a battle between a couple of level one casters, shooting flames and ice balls at each other. Still, without them, she might have won. If she’d killed him, she might have been able to steal the Tree-heart and its power…

  Maybe, maybe, maybe, whispered the inner voice. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter; what will you do now?

  Yeah, the voice was right. Going over that shit wasn’t helping. She needed to move forward, and Aranos had shown her the way to do that. He’d become Lord of a damn city – some kind of Lord Sorcerer, she supposed – but there were other cities, other places.

  Let Aranos keep his fucking party. She was gonna go raise an army.

  David Newsome was in the middle of a call when the message from Veronica came through. He glanced at it briefly – it was a reminder that tomorrow morning was logout, and that they had their scheduled meeting to discuss how the beta test was proceeding – without missing a beat of his conversation. The face of the Iraqi President was perfectly clear in his holoscreen, and although David knew that the President was speaking Arabic, the translation software rendered his voice into American English clearly and precisely.

  “…some concerns among members of my brother nations that our visions are not being adequately represented in your game,” the man was speaking. “While we understand that much of this world was based on Judeo-Christian myths and legends, we feel we should remind you that Islam is the second largest religion in the world. Surely, not including our beliefs is somewhat – remiss.”

  “You’re being misinformed, Mr. President,” David replied calmly, mentally triggering a control on his screen and loading up a video he’d had prepared specifically for this conversation. The President’s Chief of Staff was secretly on Neo-dyne’s payroll and made sure that David knew what was going on in Baghdad almost before the President himself did.

  “As you can see, any player from your region is placed into an instance of the game that is based very loosely around a combination of the “1001 Arabian Nights” tales and the Golden Age of the Caliphates. There’s a much higher focus, for example, on learning and technology than in other instances, and divine magic is generally considered to be ‘good’, while arcane magic is usually seen as ‘bad’ unless the practitioner has a license and works for an existing mosque. You won’t find dragons or knights in armor, but you will find camel warriors, dervishes, and afrits.”

  The President’s eyes goggled as he watched the 3-D video play out. “This is very reassuring,” the man finally spoke. “I’m glad to know that Neo-dyne is being culturally and religiously sensitive. Thank you for the clarification.”

  The two men chatted idly for a few minutes, but David had tuned out the conversation and proceeded on autopil
ot. What he’d told the President was the truth, so far as it went, but there was more to it than the simple overview he’d given the politician. The company’s research had shown that many of its Islamic participants preferred a setting just as he’d described, and the company had given it to them. However, there was also a strong undercurrent of people who secretly wished they could escape from under the gaze of the imams, and the game had built an entire underground empire for them, as well. It was a place where divine magic was forbidden, arcane magic flourished, and psionics were commonly practiced.

  Newsome didn’t care about the political or religious struggles; he just wanted to create an environment people would want to live in, to play in. He wanted them to want, with all their hearts, to be there. That seemed to be one of the keys to high connectivity – the more you wanted to exist in the game, the better your brain responded to the mappings. In the Alpha testing, most of the participants hadn’t been willing and hadn’t really wanted to be there, except for one – and she’d balked at the last minute, ruining the experiment.

  As he disconnected the call, David put the President’s concerns out of his mind as if they’d never existed. It was a strength of his: he was able to focus on what mattered today and ignore what he couldn’t do anything about. He glanced at the picture on his desk, the reminder of why he was doing this. Well, mostly, he acknowledged.

  He tapped a flashing icon on his screen, and an image of Veronica appeared before him. “Good evening, Mr. Newsome,” the AI spoke in a crisp, professional tone. “I have the numbers from this week’s beta tests…”

  As the woman went on, David alternately smiled and frowned. A few of the participants actually had connectivity scores that dropped as time passed. At first, there had been some talk among the board of kicking them out of the program just to shore the numbers out, but he’d easily talked the members out of that. Failure was an important learning tool, after all, and figuring out why these were struggling could only help others succeed.