Wynak’s eyes narrowed. “You mean more mouths to feed?”
Kyran was taken aback for a moment before he saw the grin lurking on the chief’s face. “More mouths to feed,” he agreed with a laugh. “Which reminds me, the dead wyverns. Make sure your tribe harvests all the meat you’ll can get from the three.”
Wynak’s gaze drifted to the three wyvern corpses. None of the tribe had gone near them, assuming their remains belonged to Kyran. The old chief’s eyes widened as he took in the size of the beasts. “Are you sure, Kyran?”
Kyran nodded. “Will the food be enough to carry the tribe through winter?”
“It might,” said Wynak. Hope, shining and bright and achingly painful to see, suffused the old ogre’s face. “But even if it is not, it gives me renewed hope that we will survive. Thank you, Kyran. This is a priceless gift.”
Kyran smiled. “It is my pleasure, my friend.”
The old ogre went down on one knee again. “Kyran Seversan,” said Wynak, “you have proven yourself a true lord, one worthy of following. Proudly do I pledge my tribe into your service. Call upon us when you have need, and we will be sure to answer.”
His own eyes brimming at the old ogre’s gesture, Kyran murmured, “Thank you, Wynak.”
✽✽✽
The next few hours passed quickly as both the party and reunited Balturra tribe prepared to abandon the camp. It had been evident to both Wynak and Kyran that with Xetil knowing the tribe’s location, the tribe could not remain where they were.
“Where will you go?” Kyran asked Wynak as the two watched the tribe, reinvigorated by hope, pack up their meagre belongs.
Wynak shrugged. “There is a network of caves east of here that reaches deep enough into the mountain to shelter the tribe from the worst of the cold. We will see out the winter there.”
Kyran nodded, chewing over something else that had been bothering him. “Wynak, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Kyran.”
“Why is your tribe still in these mountains?”
Wynak looked at him blankly. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.
“Why stay here, I mean. The mountain is clearly too barren to sustain your tribe.”
“Where else can we go?” asked Wynak, confused. “The Wazrak plains are closed to us.”
“What about Crotana?”
“Crotana?” Wynak shook his head. “We ogres are not built for life in the forests.”
“Perhaps not,” said Kyran. “But you can scale the escarpment yourselves and make a home on the northern slopes of the Skarral range, hunting and even gathering food from the forests.”
Wynak fell silent, thinking. “It’s not something I ever considered,” he said finally. “Now I wonder why. Perhaps we’ve always held out a hope of returning to Xetil’s fold. Crossing into Crotana would destroy any hope of that.” He heaved in a deep breath. “It is a good suggestion, Kyran. Thank you.”
“Why not leave now and cross the escarpment with us?” suggested Kyran.
But Wynak shook his head. “No, the path up the escarpment is hazardous. The injured legionnaires will not manage the trip. Besides, it is too close to winter to risk such a journey now, not with the entire tribe. We might find ourselves stuck out in the open and at the mercy of the storms when they arrive.”
Kyran bowed his head, respecting the old ogre’s decision. “Well, don’t delay too long,” he warned. “I expect, come spring, Xetil will send more troops into the mountains.”
“We will leave as soon as the winter breaks, I promise you,” said Wynak, understanding even better than Kyran the vindictiveness of his former god. He glanced at Kyran. “You should not delay your own departure either.”
Kyran nodded in agreement. “We will leave at first light tomorrow.” Kyran hesitated, then said, “Xetil already knows of Gnarok’s defeat. If the goblin-god has any other forces to call upon in the mountains, expect reprisals.” He looked around at the camp. “When will you leave?”
“We will begin the journey further east today,” said Wynak, looking thoughtful. “By tomorrow, this camp will be empty.”
Kyran reached out and clasped the chieftain’s hand. “I guess this is goodbye then, Wynak. Farewell, and I hope we meet again.”
“Me too, Kyran. Fare thee well, free agent.”
Chapter 27
25 Octu 2603 AB
All we do is worthless. Assassinating the lone priest, inciting the odd village to rebellion, stealing divine artefacts, all of it, is meaningless. No more than pinpricks. It does not hinder the gods or their vile Game.
No, my brothers, such pointless violence does not serve our cause. Bend your efforts rather to finding free players of our own. The Game’s design makes their existence inevitable. We must find them!
Only with such players on our side, will we ever manage to overthrow the yokes that suppress us. Give up this futile violence I say, and search out the free players. —Agriel, brotherhood scholar.
Early the next morning, the party set off for the escarpment, accompanied by two ogre legionnaires.
Despite the warband’s disappointment, Kyran was only able to take on four more vassals before they left. Yet Wynak and Kyran were both in agreement that the party should not delay their departure. The first storms of winter, the old ogre was sure, would arrive any day.
Before they left, Adra and Gaesin had lectured Wynak and the four other legionnaires that had become players on what they needed to know, while Kyran had taken Limeira aside and taught her what he could of beast bonding and the tamer class. Kyran wished he could have had more time to prepare the youngster, but he knew that time was against them.
It took them two days to reach the escarpment. The climb up proved every bit as difficult as Wynak promised, yet Adra scaled it easily enough, and Gaesin, for all that he struggled, managed well enough with the help of the two ogres, who lifted or pulled him up the difficult, sheer sections.
At the top of the escarpment, the two legionnaires—newly made into vassals—left them to return to the tribe, and the party completed their last section of their journey through the mountains alone. The hike, while long, was uneventful and, in happy contrast to the rest of their journey through the Skarral range, mostly downhill.
Four days after leaving Wynak’s people, the horizon changed, no longer filled with barren mountain or empty sky, but instead filled with the welcome green tops of the Elder Forest.
All the party members heaved a relieved sigh at the sight—visible proof that they had finally escaped the grasp of the Skarral inner range. The forest’s edge was still a day’s hike away, but staring at the expanse of green, Kyran felt as if they were at last free of the mountain.
“Let’s rest here awhile,” he said. “We will enter the forest tomorrow.” He wandered a few steps down the mountainside. Behind him, he sensed the others do the same, stretching sore limbs and shoulders.
It was time to see to his civilian training again. He had used every opportunity over the past four days of travel to further his skills and had managed to gain two more levels.
Footsteps behind him heralded the approach of one of the party members. He turned around and saw that it was Adra.
“Kyran,” she said, glancing furtively behind her, “can we talk?”
Kyran looked at the wolven woman curiously. “Of course, Adra. What did you want to talk about?”
“Not here,” she said. “Let’s walk, please.”
Growing concerned by the wolven’s strange behaviour, Kyran acquiesced and followed Adra in silence until she judged they were far enough away from the rest of the party.
Finally, Adra stopped. “It’s about Mirien,” she said.
Kyran winced. Of course. He should have guessed. He still hadn’t gotten around to speaking to Mirien, even though he knew by now he should have.
The whiesper had already approached him several times, but he had put her off every time. He was not sure himself why he had. Perhaps it’s b
ecause I already suspect what she has to say.
“What about her?” he asked warily.
“Remember at the wyvern lair, I told you I thought her behaviour suspicious?” He nodded. “Well, that night, when I saw Mirien leave camp, I followed her.”
Adra paused and looked at Kyran to make sure he was listening. He nodded for her to go on. Taking a deep breath, Adra continued, “I saw Mirien pull out two items from her pocket. A communication crystal and a white cloth emblazoned with the symbol of Iyra.” She threw Kyran a gaze, heavy with meaning.
Kyran frowned. What was Mirien doing with a symbol of Iyra? But there was nothing overtly suspicious with that in itself. There could have been any number of reasons for Mirien to have one. So why is Adra staring at me as if she uncovered some deep treachery? “I don’t understand,” he said eventually.
“What do you know of communication crystals, Kyran?”
He had never heard of them. “Nothing,” he said.
“They are enchanted artefacts that enable communication between two parties nearly any distance apart.”
Kyran was still not sure what Adra was getting at. While it was concerning that Mirien had not informed them about possessing such an artefact—and the fact of its existence raised interesting possibilities—it did not warrant the concern Adra was expressing.
“They are priceless relics, and strictly controlled by the divines.” She paused, then added, “In fact, no one outside the highest echelons of the divine orders are allowed to possess one.”
Kyran blinked. Then his eyes widened as he realised what Adra was suggesting. “You can’t possibly believe Mirien is an agent of Iyra?!” he sputtered.
“Think of it,” suggested Adra. “What better cover for a divine than to pretend to be one of the hated Brotherhood? No one would think to look further.” She shook her head ruefully. “I was so caught up in my own hatred and fury, I did not think to question the elven woman’s motives further. Consider, Kyran. Was it not convenient that Mirien was waiting for us exactly where we exited the labyrinth? How could the Brotherhood have known where we would surface?”
Kyran waved this away. “She explained that already. But what possible motive could Iyra have for spying on us? I have already admitted to Mirien I hope to forge an alliance with Iyra. Surely if she was Iyra’s agent, this would cause her to reveal herself or at least support the notion of an alliance with her god?”
Adra shook her head, then said gently, “Kyran, you are still ignorant of much of the gods’ ways. Have you heard mention of Iyra’s Hounds?” He shook his head, confused once again.
“They are a secret organisation, famed for both their fanatical services to their goddess and the ends to which they will go to fulfil their goals. They are reputed to spend decades fulfilling a role, never once breaking cover, all in service to their mission.”
He stared at Adra. “And you think Mirien is one of these Hounds?” he asked sceptically. “That her anger, when I told her of my intent to meet Iyra’s champion, was part of her cover?”
Adra nodded. Kyran didn’t buy it. He was perhaps not the most astute at reading others, but Mirien’s reaction—fury and hurt—had seemed genuine to him.
He frowned at Adra. She was not the most neutral of parties. From day one, she had distrusted the elf. But then, as much as it pained him to admit, he was not neutral either. He did not want to believe Adra’s tale. Some gut instinct made him believe he could trust Mirien.
But despite this, he knew had to think this through and try to be objective. “What about Aiken?” he asked finally. “He has sensed no deception in her.”
“I confess that has confused me, too,” said Adra. “But you yourself admitted that Aiken is not full grown. Perhaps she has been able to deceive him as well.”
Kyran chewed on his lip, thinking. “And why only tell me now? Why not earlier?”
“Because I was not convinced myself,” she admitted. “And truthfully, I am still not certain of my conclusions.” Adra sighed. “I wanted proof before I brought my concerns to you, but if we are going to enter the forest tomorrow, we need to know what we are walking into.”
Kyran bowed his head in thought. Could it be? Could Mirien be an agent of Iyra? And what did he do if she was? He didn’t believe Adra’s suspicions were true, but the wolven was right about one thing: it was past time Mirien either became a full and trusted member of the party…or left.
He raised his head abruptly, coming to a decision. “Come with me,” he said to Adra, his mouth set into a firm line.
“What are you going to do?” Adra asked, worry evident in her voice.
He didn’t answer.
✽✽✽
Mirien and Gaesin were talking softly, and Aiken—as usual—was sleeping. But sensing Kyran’s emotions, the bear sat up and raised his head. Gaesin looked up in alarm when he noticed the direction of Aiken’s gaze and Kyran’s purposeful stride.
“What is it? Are we under attack?” asked Gaesin.
“Nothing like that,” replied Kyran. “But we need to talk,” he said. He sat next to Aiken and motioned the others to seat themselves.
When the others took their places, shooting questioningly glances at him, Kyran heaved a deep breath and took a moment to calm his scattered thoughts. “We have been travelling together for close onto three weeks,” he said quietly into the silence, “and while we have fared well enough together, there has been tension and mistrust lurking beneath the surface. If we are to continue much farther together, we have to put that to bed.”
He looked at each of them in turn. Gaesin looked confused, Adra was tight-lipped with worry, and Mirien was frowning. He let his gaze rest on the whiesper. “Mirien, you have not been honest with us.”
The elven maiden stared back evenly. She did not look surprised by the accusation.
“Kyran, what is going on?” said Gaesin unhappily. He was shooting concerned looks at the whiesper. “Mirien has been a faithful companion. She saved my life!”
Kyran raised his hands. “You are right, Gaesin. I do not question that, but Mirien may have secrets that could endanger us.” He turned back to the elven maiden. “You have something to say, Mirien?”
She studied him for a long moment before replying. “There are things I have not told you,” she allowed. “But you have secrets, too, things you have refused to share.”
He ignored her response. That was not what he meant, and she knew it. Was she stalling? “Are you Iyra’s Hound?” he asked bluntly.
Mirien gasped. Then laughed, in a manner that appeared unfeigned and natural. She seemed genuinely shocked by the accusation.
But he would have an answer. Narrowing his eyes, he repeated the question. “Are you a Hound?”
Mirien’s laughter faded. Seeing Kyran’s set face, she realised he was serious. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped, her own anger rising. “Iyra is the last god that I would ever pledge myself to!”
Now what was that supposed to mean? He bit his lip, not knowing what to make of Mirien’s response. She appeared…offended. He glanced down at Aiken. “Brother, what do you think?”
But the bear’s mind was closed, his thoughts opaque and sealed from his companion. Kyran frowned. Aiken, he sensed, was unhappy with him. But why?
“Kyran, this is ludicrous,” said Gaesin, speaking up in Mirien’s defence. “What would make you think such a thing?”
Kyran looked up at the youth. Gaesin, his face furious, was waiting for response. Kyran glanced at Adra and nodded.
“I saw you,” said Adra to Mirien, “holding a white cloth bearing Iyra’s symbol and a communication crystal. What else could it mean but that you serve Iyra?”
“Ah,” breathed Mirien, but said no more.
Gaesin’s head whipped around to face Mirien. “Is it true?” he whispered.
Mirien glanced sadly at Gaesin before turning to face Kyran. “It is true,” she said, pulling out a white piece of cloth and small blue crystal. Gaesin exhaled shar
ply in disbelief. “But Adra has drawn the wrong conclusions.”
Cocking his head to the side, Kyran studied the little crystal in the elven maiden’s hand. About half the size of his palm, it glinted with a blue inner light and was clearly enchanted. He cast insight over the object.
Found: Communication crystal.
Type: Enchanted item. Rank: Masterful. Requirements: None.
Charges: 1 / 1 (3200 essence required per charge).
Special properties: Ether comms (forges a communication ley line between itself and its matched partner).
Description: This communication crystal is one half of a matched pair. The natural frequency at which the two crystals vibrate is identical, allowing their holders to communicate across any distance with one another.
Returning his attention to Mirien, he asked, “How do you explain the items?”
“The communication crystal was given to my master, Deegan, by the Brotherhood’s leader, Elasien. The symbol,” she paused, unfurling the dirty and torn scrap of cloth, which looked like it had been ripped from a much larger piece, “I took from the paladins that killed my master.”
She fell silent, and the party with her.
Studying Mirien, Kyran saw grief hung heavily over her, and he realised it was same sorrow he had caught glimpses of before—whenever she spoke of the Brotherhood or her master.
Ignoring the bite of shame he felt for making her relive her pain—this conversation had to be had, he told himself—he considered what she said. Mirien’s grief appeared too raw to have been a distant event, and had she not said when they first met that her companions were killed in the Elder Forest?
“When was this?” he asked quietly.
“A few weeks before I met you. In the northern stretches of the Elder Forests. We received word through the communication crystal that Iyra and Xetil had sent champions after you, and we were given orders to stop them.” She glanced at Kyran. “This is how I knew of Lesh. But Lesh was out of our reach, too far south for us to intercept in time, so we turned north and ambushed Iyra’s champion and her company of paladins.”
Sovereign Rising (The Gods' Game, Volume III): A LitRPG novel Page 37
