by C. M. Carney
“He’s one erudite guy, and beside books ain’t my thing.”
“You’re the Lexicon of Cerrunos, supposedly the greatest repository of knowledge the Realms has ever known. Though I find that ever harder to believe. How are books not your thing?” On the surface it sounded absurd. Most days Lex’s wisdom and maturity hovered barely above an affluenza stricken teenager, but occasionally bits of insight bubbled to the surface.
Silence hung heavy for a few moments as the player and the NPC stared at each other. A moment later, with an exaggerated harrumph, Lex returned his attention to the book and flipped through the pages.
“Cerrunos is wise and mighty, blah, blah, blah. He talks about himself in the third person a lot. I don’t know what that word means. Ah, here’s something.” Lex’s lips continued to move, but no sound came out.
Gryph’s irritation grew, and he was about to pester Lex again, when a bright light flared from the book, startling Lex and causing Gryph to shield his eyes with his arm. The book fell from Lex’s grip and thudded to the stone floor.
“Son of a bitch. You are one sneaky bastard Cerrunos.” Lex looked up at Gryph, a snide smile crossing his lips. He nodded like a bro about to get into some trouble. “Dude, we’re going on a road-trip.”
27
A crack of thunder roused Zeckoth from his pained slumber and fear took hold of him. He begged his eyes to focus, but the dust and dehydration made that impossible. The rumble of thunder drifted into the distance and went silent. Just thunder then, Zeckoth thought in relief. The fear dimmed, and the pain returned.
Everything ached. The ever-present throb of the gunshot wound in his shoulder was the worst, but not the only pain. The constant burden of his unsupported weight on the stone floor made his knees throb. His manacled arms were wrenched behind him. His back and neck were bent at an uncomfortable angle, forced into an odd twist by the heavy chain around his neck. He’d long ago lost most of the feeling in the right side of his face, the side pressed onto the stone slab at the center of the pit in which he was a prisoner. Though the stone itself was smooth, a scattering of jagged glass shards from the vial of Counteragent Elixir he’d been unsuccessful in using, dug into his face with each movement.
Even the slow drip of water, as much a torture as a kindness, had gone dry the evening before. Soon he would die of dehydration, a most terrible death. A bigger torture than all the pain, was the chunk of bleed metal lodged in his shoulder. Its anti-magic properties preventing him from casting any of his considerable repertoire of spells, the simplest of which could have long ago freed him.
He coughed pushing a cloud of dust into the air. It made both breathing and seeing more difficult. The spasms in his lungs brought pain to every part of his ravaged body. The bitch had left him, not to die, for he was a player and would respawn hours after death, but to suffer. She was torturing him, as he had once tortured her.
He focused on his breathing and his heart rate, willing both to return to normal. Once he’d regained a modicum of composure, he turned his mind to escape once more. Just as he began to cycle, again, through the long list of failed escape attempts, a wave of panic took him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, the constant pain, or the dehydration, but it took several seconds for his conscious mind to understand what his primal instincts had noticed. He was in danger.
A shadow crept over him, cast down from above like the shade from the wings of an angel. Fear bit into him and the shadow moved. A rush of wind descended into the pit and then the light clash of metal on stone announced something heavy, but agile had landed.
The man stayed out of Zeckoth’s line of sight, allowing the bound god a chance to feel hope. Perhaps it is just a brigand, or maybe a Loremaster of the Foundation who’d returned to find his brothers dead. But Zeckoth knew he was deceiving himself. Zeckoth knew exactly who stood above him now.
“You have failed me James,” a voice both familiar and terrifying said.
Fear spiked through Zeckoth at the use of his human name, his Earth name. It was a breach of protocol that did not bode well. He tried to speak, to offer some explanation, some defense, but no sound came forth. His throat was too dry, his voice too long silent. The creak of well-oiled armor came to his ears as the shadow grew closer and a god came into view.
The High God Aluran, Arche of the Pantheon, Prime Mover of the Realms, Father to All, had come. He knelt down to ensure Zeckoth saw him, his resplendent golden battle armor shimmering in the dim light. Piercing eyes of shining silver burned at Zeckoth through the slits in his helmet. Zeckoth held the gaze for several seconds before his will failed and he closed his eyes once more.
“Now, now, now James, we’ll have none of that.” Rough, metal clad fingers forced the bound god’s eyes open. “You cannot hide from your failure.”
Zeckoth moved the small amount of saliva he had left around his tongue and croaked a few words. “Release me, my god and I will find the Seeker for you.”
Aluran’s lips split into a wide humorless grin. He stood and left the field of Zeckoth’s vision. A moment later the sound of something heavy being dragged filled Zeckoth’s ears. The High God took his time, dragging the item the long way behind Zeckoth. The God of Knowledge recognized the psychology of the tactic, for he had employed it many times himself. Despite this understanding, it had its desired effect and fear took Zeckoth.
A few thunderous heartbeats later, Aluran reappeared dragging a blood-soaked corpse. The High God gripped the robed body by the scruff of its neck and pushed it mere inches from Zeckoth’s face. “You mean this Seeker I presume.”
Zeckoth opened and closed his mouth, begging his mind to find some reason, some excuse for his failure that Aluran would accept. But there was none. Nothing he could say or do would change his fate now. The man who had once been James Sloane knew this, but the god Zeckoth opened his mouth to beg, nonetheless.
“Give me a chance my High God. I will find Eris and make her tell me where Cerrunos is. Then I will secure the information you seek. Please, I beg you.” The moment the word beg passed his lips Zeckoth knew he’d made a fatal error. Begging was the mark of the weak and the High God did not tolerate weakness.
“No James, you do not deserve another chance. You let a mere human truss you like a hog. You would be no match for Cerrunos. He is my brother, one of the Old Gods, a bearer of a Prime Godhead. Your Minor Godhead is but a shadow of the Motes of Creation he and I bear. You are small, a weak false god of the Pantheon made only to serve me, and you no longer deserve even that.”
Aluran snapped his fingers and Zeckoth weakened in an instant. Every Perk, every Boon, every Attribute and Stat increase granted him by his Minor Godhead in his fifty years in the Realms disappeared before the echo of the snap faded.
Pain exploded into Zeckoth and he grew weaker than a decrepit old man. His life, once measured in days as a god, now dwindled to hours, or perhaps minutes. Aluran stood, hoisting the body of the Seeker with him. Silver-white energy thrummed about the High God’s body and down his arm. It flowed into the Seeker and the corpse began to shake. A moment later the Seeker’s eyes opened.
Several seconds of confusion clouded the Resurrected man’s mind before his gaze fell on Aluran and with it understanding. Aluran saw the man’s fear, but he also saw something else, defiance. “I will tell you nothing,” the recently dead man said, his voice cracking like dried tinder. Aluran stared at the unblinking man for several moments and then smiled.
“Oh, I believe you Seeker, for I know your true measure.” He turned his gaze on Zeckoth. “Perhaps I should have made you a god instead of this disappointment.” He turned back to the Seeker. “But I do not need you to tell me anything. You will show me instead.”
Aluran’s free hand lashed out and grabbed the Seeker by the head. The shimmering nothingness of Thought Magic flowed down the High God’s arm, distorting the air around him like a mirage on a hot desert highway.
The Seeker tried to fight against Aluran’s invasion, but
few could resist the power of a Master thought mage. The Seeker grunted and small trickles of blood began to flow from his nostrils.
“You fight valiantly, but to no avail. You will show me what I need to know. Trust me on this, your master does not deserve your loyalty. He is a coward and a betrayer, and I suspect deep down he wants me to kill him. He wants his pain to end.”
The Seeker clawed at Aluran’s golden arm with no more effectiveness than a kitten fighting a bear. The Seeker coughed, spitting a gobbet of blood onto the chest plate of the High God’s armor. Aluran paid it no heed. “You cannot stop me. Your resistance will accomplish nothing but the scalding of your own mind.”
The Seeker continued to fight, hitting Aluran’s arm with weaker and weaker blows until blood exploded from his ears and he went limp. A trickle of bloody drool flowed down his chin. But the High God had what he sought, and he smiled.
“Clever. You were always clever, brother. But it will not save you.”
The High God dropped the mindless sack of meat that had been the Seeker. He flopped to the ground inches from Zeckoth, his blank eyes staring, chest rising and falling in even breaths. Aluran turned and walked away, looking up to find a flight path from the pit.
“Your Eminence, please,” Zeckoth sputtered, stopping the High God’s departure.
“Oh, James, my apologies. I’d forgotten all about you.”
“I can still help you. Please.”
Aluran walked up and placed a gentle hand on the smooth skin of Zeckoth’s head. Another rush of mana flowed down the High God’s arm and Zeckoth’s eyes widened in confused panic. “You … you’ve changed my respawn point.”
“Yes, this place will be your new home.” He then knelt down and whispered into the comatose Seeker’s ear. “This man wishes to harm your master.” The Seeker’s dull eyes filled with a light as rage and purpose twisted his lips. He stumbled to his feet, looked around and then stumbled from Zeckoth’s view.
“Please Your Eminence, I can still be of service.”
“Yes, you can. You will serve as a warning to those yet to fail me. Failure comes with a very high price tag.”
The High God turned, paying no heed to Zeckoth’s pleading. He looked up and with a flash of light, he transformed into a bolt of living lightning and surged skyward with a thunderous crack. The burst filled Zeckoth’s vision with black spots and it took several seconds for him to blink them back to clarity.
When they cleared, he saw a shadow move over him. What remained of the Seeker stood above Zeckoth, a heavy block of stone held high in his wizened arms. Zeckoth screamed, trying to dissuade the Seeker from his purpose, but the mindless creature felt nothing but a deep-rooted need to protect his master.
The Seeker slammed the rock down. Zeckoth's jaw shattered and his skull split. The pain was incredible. He tried to speak, but his crushed jaw made intelligible words impossible. The muffled screams that chortled forth found no mercy in the mindless Seeker. It took several more blows to silence the screams.
Two hours later, amidst a flash of light, Zeckoth, the one-time God of Knowledge of the Pantheon respawned and once again the creature who had been the Seeker hefted his rock.
28
The hustle and bustle in the Nexus would have seemed chaotic to outsiders, but Gryph had seen Grimliir’s hollering and shoulder clapping method of staff motivation long enough to know the man had the keenest organizational mind he’d ever known.
The Steward had jumped into action within minutes of hearing Gryph and Lex’s tale about murdered gods who weren’t so dead, the ruinous tearing of space and time and how the mission Gryph and his Adventure Group were about to undertake could end the war against Aluran before it even started.
Gryph knew going after Cerrunos was dangerous, that it could mean his death, or the death of his friends. But, as he watched the people of the twin cities of Dar Thoriim and Sylvan Aenor marshal to the task, Gryph knew it was a risk worth taking.
“So, you think Cerrunos will be happy to see me?” Lex asked in an abashed tone, like a foster kid who’d learned his real daddy still lived.
“So, you’ve added a messy helping of daddy issues on top of your already hefty number of personal issues?” Vonn asked from his seated and feet up position at the Nexus control board.
“Daddy issues? I don’t have daddy issues. I’m just curious what the guy is like is all. Nothing wrong with wanting to get to know him, is there?” He looked sideways and clapped Ovrym on the shoulder. “Am I right?”
“Xydai youths are taken from their parents very early. Our martial lifestyles make familial attachments untenable. I have no memory of my father or my mother.” Lex opened his mouth to make some wry comment, but then thought better and closed it.
“Errat had many, many daddy issues, until his daddy woke up from his very long slumber and told Errat he loved him.”
“See that’s all I want,” Lex said.
“Lex, I know being you is difficult,” Gryph said, earning an annoyed glance full of suspicion from the NPC, “but you will find no answers with Cerrunos. He is a coward who betrayed not just those he called brothers and sisters, but all the Realms. We are only here because others sacrificed themselves to stop Morrigan. Your ‘daddy’ is responsible for the Ruin and for Aluran’s return to power. He is a nobody, and he does not deserve our respect.”
“Yeah, well …” Lex frowned at Gryph. “Your momma wears combat boots.”
“Was it she who gifted friend Gryph with his extraordinary fighting skills?” Errat asked. Gryph smiled, but Grimliir approached curtailing his need to respond.
“We be ready Yer Lordship.”
Gryph nodded and let Grimliir lead them from the Nexus and down a recently carved tunnel. The 200-foot passageway was the last line of defense protecting the city from any incursion. Along its length were a variety of slits for delivering attacks, oil or other liquids. The spear like points of hidden portcullises poked from the ceiling at twenty-foot intervals, ready to fall at a moment’s notice. For more serious threats entire slabs of stone would crash from the ceiling. At the passageway’s end a thick set of double doors lay open, guarded by a pair of armored paladins.
Grimliir led the Adventure Group through the doors and stopped to admire the newest addition to Dar Thoriim’s extensive real estate. It was a spherical chamber, 800 feet in diameter, large enough to house a pair of football fields side to side. Circumnavigating the whole room, at the equator, was a thick ring of brass-colored metal.
From the entrance at the globe’s equator, a walkway stretched to the center of the chamber. At the end of the walkway a 100-foot wide hexagonal platform loomed over the empty space below.
“Woah! This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lex said, staring up in awe as they walked towards the waiting platform. “What the hell is it?”
“It be the Hub laddie, another brainchild of his Lordship’s mind and my skill.” The Thalmiir artificer explained the purpose of the room.
They had hollowed the massive complex out of the mountain in mere days using a tamed rock wyrm. The warborn had come across the monstrous creature while clearing the ancient tunnels below the city. They’d cornered the beast and fitted it with a Thalmiir control collar designed for just that purpose. Grimliir had explained the Thalmiir had built large sections of Dar Thoriim using the voracious creatures, whose appetites for rock and stone of all kinds made them perfect tunnel builders.
On seeing the beast a few weeks back, Lex had whistled in appreciation. “Elon Musk would have given his left nut for one of these buggers,” he said, citing the eccentric billionaire whose Hyperloop revolutionized public transportation back on Earth.
“We’re going to build something much cooler,” Gryph had said. “And I’ll get to keep both my nuts.”
Now, as he looked upon that vision fulfilled, Gryph conceded such a testicular trade might, almost, have been equitable. He chuckled as he stepped onto the walkway. He followed the Steward to a control pan
el at the end of the walkway. Grimliir tapped a few control runes and looked back at the others.
“Hold on to yer britches boys, she’s begging me tae power her up.”
“She?” Lex asked, looking around.
“Of course, she,” Grimliir retorted. “All the great projects are shes. And I’ve put my love into every inch of this beauty.” The dwarf caressed the control panel like a gentle lover.
“I’m sure you have,” Lex said with a snicker and elbow-nudged Errat, who grinned at him, amused despite not understanding the joke.
Gryph ignored the NPC and bowed his head to Grimliir. “You have gone above and beyond my wildest expectations. I thank you.”
“Psshaw. Enough praise. How ‘bout I show ye what this beaut can dae?”
“Please,” Gryph said, extending his hand in an ‘after you’ gesture.
Grimliir turned back to the control panel and roared. “Everybody get your asses tae safety. We’re gonna power this baby up.” The assembled workers moved to safe positions and then cheered. With a bit of flair unbecoming of a Steward of such a venerable city, Grimliir pushed a sequence of runes and then a large activation button.
A rumble filled the room as hidden machinery came to life. Opposite them, at the twelve o’clock position, two slabs of stone slid upwards. Then a thick section of the metal-plated ring snapped outwards.
With a burst of steam, the section pushed forward, revealing it was one side of another hexagonal platform. It was the same size and shape as the main platform and moved towards them on a pneumatic metal strut. It clanged and banged as it moved, reminding Gryph of the ancient steam locomotives from the history vids he’d watched as a child.
A minute later the platform’s edge clanged into the central platform. Grimliir tapped a few more runes, locking the platforms into place. Vonn, quick as ever, was the first to spot the two grooves cut into the center of the platform.
“This is where you want to move the Port Gate, isn’t it?” the wiry rogue asked.
