“Kharmadon’s armies approach, Divine! An army of thousands marches upon our fortress, accompanied by no less than three champions.”
That can’t be right, thought Iyra. Pulling together the threads of her being, she rushed her consciousness through the conduit conjoining her champion to her. Devlin has to be mistaken. The border with Kharmadon had been quiescent for years. What would spur him to attack now? And with no forewarning?
But as she rifled through her champion’s memories, she saw he was not wrong. In fact, if she read the signs correctly, Devlin was understating the threat. Kharmadon had begun a major incursion, she saw with alarm.
What had spurred him to act? And why had her Hounds not uncovered the threat? Had Kharmadon’s call to council only been a ploy to disguise his invasion? Alarm transformed into rage. She had been fooled! And too distracted by the free agent to see what Kharmadon was about.
She would not let him steal what was hers. “Devlin, call up the surrounding militia. You must delay Kharmadon’s forces for as long as you can, however you can. Help is on the way.”
She withdrew from the champion’s mind before he could respond. Sending her thoughts winging eastwards, she dipped into the mind of the First, where he was still encamped on her eastern border with Turon.
Sensing Iyra’s presence in his mind, her champion-prime stilled. “Divine, you have need of me?”
“Kharmadon is invading through Longhorn valley,” she began without preamble. “Our forces there will not be able to hold him long. You must hurry to reinforce them.”
“Your will, Divine,” said the First, unquestioningly accepting the orders to abandon the campaign he had laboured on for months.
Iyra exited her champion-prime’s mind as quickly as she had Devlin’s and sent her consciousness flying to the next link in the chain of the defence she had to marshal together. Her conversation with Sara and her efforts to capture the free agent would have to wait.
She had her empire to defend.
Chapter 3
08 Octu 2603 AB
The physical plane, often referred to as Myelad or the ‘real’ by mortals, is an unnatural habitat for beings of pure spirit. While spirits can enter the physical realm, they can only do so with considerable effort. When on Myelad, spirits must constantly expend essence to remain anchored, or find themselves drawn back into the ether. For this very reason, gods and divines do not enter Myelad often in spirit-form. —Johlya Seerixa, naturalist.
Ten minutes later, the party was gathered around the whiesper’s campfire. Adra had been wrapped in her blankets and made comfortable. Kyran inspected her wounds, ignoring the interested gaze of the elf who sat on the opposite side of the fire with the party arrayed across from her.
Adra has been healed of a moderate wound (concussed). Due to the severity of the wound, Adra’s body is weakened. Debuff: In recovery (-75% stamina, remaining duration: 2 days).
Kyran stood up and turned to Gaesin and Aiken, who were sitting on either side of the wolven. “Keep watch on Adra,” he said to the pair. “I need to see to something first.”
Gaesin glanced up at him after shooting an uncomfortable look at the impassive elven maiden. “Where are you going?”
“I need to close the gate so that nothing follows us out.” Making sure he did not look at the whiesper, he added, “I didn’t want to do it with her looking on. Will you be alright here with Aiken?”
Gaesin swallowed nervously, but nodded.
“I won’t be long,” he assured the half-elf.
He stepped away, feeling the curious gaze of the elf on his back. She did not say anything, however. “And Gaesin, the less she knows of us the better. Don’t answer any of her questions while I am gone.”
“Of course, Kyran.”
He didn’t know who the elf was, and he was loath to leave the others on their own with her, but the gate had to be sealed or worse yet might befall the party. Aiken will keep them safe, he reassured himself.
Kyran walked rapidly towards the south gate, reaching across his link to the settlement guardian as he did. He had tried contacting Durn while seated at the campfire to no avail. His attempts now likewise failed.
He had hoped to avoid further notice from the too-perceptive elven woman and to close the gate remotely with Durn’s help. But that did not appear possible. He would have to seal the gate himself. Walking up to the massive structure, he scrutinised the doors carefully.
They had fully retracted into the mountain, and he felt a momentary flicker of concern. How was he going to close the gate without being able to access the doors’ sigils?
The metallic gleam of finely etched symbols, partially obscured by a thick layer of dust, caught his eye. He heaved a sigh of relief. Another set of dwarven symbols had been carved into the gate’s threshold. Hurrying over, he placed his hands over the sigils and commanded, “Close.”
The gates rolled into motion, extending out from the mountain’s sides again. Trusting the gates to close on their own, he rushed back to the party. At the campfire, he found everyone sitting in watchful silence. Not saying anything, he took his place beside Aiken and rested a hand on the bear’s head.
The whiesper, sitting cross-legged and patiently still, watched his interaction with Aiken with great interest. However, when he had settled himself down, her first question was not about Aiken, as he half-expected, but about the gate.
“How did you close it?” she burst out. Planting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward, almost as if she wanted to pull the answer out of him. “What you did should be impossible. How—”
“You promised to explain your presence here,” said Kyran, cutting her off and ignoring her question altogether. Letting her pursue that avenue of inquiry was dangerous.
At his rebuff, she sat back and studied him. He did his best to remain impassive under her examination. “I did,” she said evenly. “But before I do, perhaps some introductions are in order. I am Mirien Tolyrandil, a high elf from the city of Bein Tor. And you are?”
“Kyran Seversan,” he answered tersely. He didn’t want to give her any more information than he had to, but he also did not want to be caught in a lie.
She waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she turned to Gaesin with a disapproving shake of her head.
“Gaesin Illineiros,” said the half-elf, following Kyran’s example. Pointing to Adra’s sleeping form, he added, “And that is Adra Maeko.”
The elven woman inclined her head and then swung her gaze between Aiken and Kyran, no doubt waiting for Kyran to introduce the bear. Kyran remained silent and let Aiken introduce himself.
Mirien’s eyes widened ever so slightly as the bear sent her images that conveyed the sense of his name. “Aiken?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in inquiry.
Kyran nodded curtly.
“It is a pleasure to meet one of your clan, great bear,” Mirien said solemnly, before bowing in Aiken’s direction. Her respect seemed sincere. “I beg forgiveness for my earlier attack.”
Aiken lifted his head, growling softly as he studied the woman. Beneath his hand, Kyran could still feel the tension gripping the bear. Aiken, he knew, was still mistrustful of the woman and didn’t understand why they were humouring her. But as quick as the bear could be to anger, he was as swift to forgive.
The whiesper held herself still under the bear’s scrutiny, meeting Aiken’s eyes fearlessly. The tableau held for a long moment, and Kyran had just begun to wonder if he should intervene when, to his surprise, he felt Aiken reach out to the elf in the mindscape.
What is Aiken doing? Dipping into the mindscape himself, Kyran tried to follow the threads of psi Aiken sent seeking towards the woman. But where Aiken slipped easily through the whiesper’s mental defences, Kyran was baulked. Mirien’s consciousness was opaque and shielded to his senses. “What is it, brother?” he asked curiously.
Aiken didn’t answer, but a second later Kyran felt the tension drain out of the bear. Raising his head,
Aiken huffed once to acknowledge the whiesper. Then, lowering his head to his paws, the bear closed his eyes.
Kyran struggled to keep his expression free of any sign of astonishment. Now what was all that about? he wondered. What had Aiken done, and why was his bond-mate suddenly so unconcerned by the threat of the elven warrior?
Before Kyran could probe the bear’s unusual behaviour further, the whiesper began to speak. “I am ready to begin my tale now, if you are prepared to listen,” Mirien said.
Kyran pulled his gaze away from Aiken to stare at her. He nodded slowly.
“Before I begin, will you tell me what you know of the Gods’ Game?”
She was still fishing for information, thought Kyran. “Enough,” he answered shortly.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Then I can assume you know how champions enter Myelad?”
He nodded.
“Very well,” she said, her lips thinning at his lacklustre responses. “A few weeks ago, the organisation for which I work obtained word that a new player had entered the Game, and that this player was different, unique even. Unlike all others summoned to Myelad, he was not made into a champion. He was a free agent, with ties to none of the gods.” She paused, observing his reaction.
Kyran worked hard to retain his mask of impassivity, although inside, he was squirming uncomfortably. Whoever this woman was, she and her organisation knew too much about him already. He would not let on any more than he had to, not until he knew what they wanted.
“Go on,” he said.
She let the silence linger a moment, perhaps as a sign that she knew that his frozen demeanour was a lie. Then she continued, “Our spies also discovered that two of the gods had already dispatched champions in search of the free agent, and that one of them, Lesh, was likely already in the labyrinth.”
Two gods had sent champions after him? He tried not to let his surprise show. Who was the other? he wondered worriedly.
Unaware of his thoughts, the woman continued, “My organisation believed it was for the best that Xetil didn’t claim you for his own and sent an expedition into Crotana to meet you.” She said this while staring directly at Kyran.
Kyran did not deny the implied assumption in her words, but nor did he give her the confirmation she seemed to desire either. “Where is the rest of your expedition?”
A crack appeared in the elven woman’s mask. Her face paled, and pain rippled across her expression. “They—” She stopped and swallowed painfully. “They are dead. We were ambushed on our way here. I am all that remains.”
Kyran hardened his heart to the woman’s obvious sorrow. This woman could still prove to be an enemy, he reminded himself. “How did you know to find us here?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” replied the whiesper as she regained her composure. “We knew you entered Myelad through the portal at Crota. We also knew if you were not killed off immediately, you would likely enter the labyrinth. There are only two exits from the labyrinth: the one through the Crota citadel, and the one here, in the city of Durn Duruhl. And only fools would attempt to trespass into the undead’s domain in Crota.”
Gaesin shifted uncomfortably at that. The woman, her gaze fixed on Kyran, didn’t appear to notice.
“Which left here. I’ve been searching for a way in for weeks, and I was close to giving up when the gates opened.” She fell silent, then added, “I was caught as much by surprise as you.”
Kyran chewed over Mirien’s story. As far as it went, it was consistent with what he knew. But how much has she left unsaid? It had not escaped his notice that she had not named the organisation she worked for, or mentioned why said organisation wanted to keep him out of Xetil’s hands, or even why they would be willing to venture into a region as dangerous as Crotana to do it.
She had to be working for one of the gods. The question was: which one, and could he believe whatever answers she gave? “What is the name of your organisation?” he asked at last.
Mirien studied him thoughtfully for a long moment. She appeared to be considering how to answer him. Which was already not a good sign. He had no way of knowing if her answer would be truthful. Or did he? A glimmer of memory surfaced. What had Zarr said in that long-ago conversation? That he could determine the truth of Kyran’s answers.
Before Kyran could pursue the idea further, Mirien answered: “The Brotherhood.” She studied him carefully as she said this.
Kyran stared at her blankly, not understanding the significance of her answer. On the other side of Adra, Gaesin’s face turned ashen and he shot upright. Mirien turned her head to him, a cool smile playing on her lips. This, it seemed, was more the reaction she had expected.
Kyran looked at Gaesin, pale and trembling, and seemingly caught between attacking the elven woman and fleeing. “Gaesin?” he asked softly.
The half-elf pulled his gaze away from Mirien and stared at Kyran. “What is it?” asked Kyran, and not, ‘What are you scared of?’ as he would have, if not for the whiesper’s presence.
“The Brotherhood are hated in the domains and killed on sight,” said Gaesin, swallowing nervously. “They’re terrorists, Kyran. Murderers, responsible for the deaths of millions. We have to get away from this woman.”
“Terrorists?” Kyran repeated with a frown. He turned his gaze to the elf. She had not lost her smile.
“Your friend is not wholly wrong,” she admitted. “Though he is not right either. The Brotherhood, or more correctly the Brotherhood of Mortals, are freedom fighters. And yes, we have been called ‘murderers,’ ‘terrorists,’ and other names, much worse. But while the Brotherhood has been responsible for no few deaths,” she dismissed this with a wave of her hand, “‘millions’ is a gross exaggeration. And I would argue that those deaths we have orchestrated were well-deserved.”
She leaned forward, making sure Kyran paid careful attention to her next words. “You see, the Brotherhood fights against tyranny. The tyranny of the gods and their champions.” She sat back. “We don’t consider ourselves terrorists. We are heretics, certainly. But more importantly, we fight to free mortals—all mortals—from the Game and the gods’ cruelty.”
Whatever Kyran had expected to hear, it was not this. He raised an eyebrow at Gaesin, who reluctantly nodded. “What she says is true, or at least it is the Brotherhood’s propaganda as I have heard it repeated. The gods’ faithful, however, tell a different tale.”
“And what do they say?” he asked softly.
“They call the Brotherhood anarchists, who seek to destroy the rule of law.” Lulled by the calm nature of the conversation, Gaesin’s panic had eased. “They claim the Brotherhood are demon worshippers. They say if the Brotherhood had its way, they would upturn all order in the world and give it unto chaos.”
Mirien shook her head, lips turned down as if she had bit into something distasteful.
Kyran turned to her. “You disagree?”
“While the Brotherhood does indeed seek to destroy the gods’ laws, we have never allied with demons,” she declared, her disgust at the notion plainly displayed. “Nor do we seek anarchy. Only a life lived free of the gods.”
Kyran pursed his lips as he considered her words. “And what do you want from me?” he asked.
Mirien’s eyes gleamed at his tacit admission. “We want you to join us. To take up our cause and help us overthrow the gods’ rule on Myelad.”
Kyran raised one eyebrow. “And what makes me so important that your Brotherhood would risk the lives of its people to find? It can’t be just that I am a player. After all, there must be many players of the Game, and I am only one.”
“You are only one,” she agreed. “But you are unique. There has never been a player not pledged to one of the gods before. With you at our side, the Brotherhood can finally face the gods’ forces on an equal footing.” Observing Kyran’s sceptical look, she gestured to Gaesin and Adra. “You have taken them as your vassals, have you not?”
Kyran remained tight-lipped. He had no idea
how she had figured that out, but he was not going to admit to the fact, even so.
Mirien ignored his reticence, and barged on. “Think. If you turned them into players, you could do the same for the Brotherhood’s fighters. With a company of such soldiers—all trained players—we would finally be able to inflict meaningful damage on the domains.”
Kyran frowned at her. “You want me to make you into my vassal?” he asked disbelievingly.
Mirien shook her head. “No. We want you to make us into basic players. A vow of fealty is not the only means.”
“How else?” he demanded. He did not believe her. Surely, Zarr would have mentioned if some other method of creating players existed?
“There are ways,” she said vaguely. “I won’t say more at this time.”
Kyran fell silent. Her words concerned him for many reasons. It was not the obvious danger of joining an organisation that battled the gods that he feared. After all, he had made the self-same vow himself. No, what worried him was that there was a nebulous organisation out there with plans for him already. Plans he might not necessarily agree with.
Whatever the whiesper said, the line between freedom fighter and terrorist was a fine one, and for all Kyran knew, the Brotherhood fell on the wrong side of that line. He would not so easily dismiss Gaesin’s fears. Despite their noble goals, the Brotherhood might actually be as evil as the divines made them out to be.
While he and the Brotherhood appeared to share common goals—and that was still unconfirmed; he only had the elven woman’s word on that—he was not willing to trade his own autonomy and freedom so easily. He strongly suspected that the Brotherhood would want to place him in a gilded cage. From what Mirien described, he was their ‘golden goose.’ And they would want to make sure he was secure.
On the other hand, he needed allies. Allies to help him escape the wrath of the gods and take the fight to them. If the Brotherhood had existed for any meaningful time, they surely were adept at hiding their heresy from the gods’ faithful.
Sovereign Rising (The Gods' Game, Volume III): A LitRPG novel Page 5
