She swallowed painfully. “But the ambush failed, the champion survived, and instead, the entire Brotherhood expedition was lost—except me.”
“Who was the champion?” he asked.
Her face expressionless, Mirien answered, “Sara Milton.”
“Sara?” Kyran blew out a sharp breath. “So, you lied to me that first day we met. You knew all along who Iyra had sent to find me?”
“I did,” replied Mirien.
Kyran rose to his feet. “You have given me much to think upon, Mirien. I must—”
“Wait, Kyran. There is more you must hear.” He paused and looked at Mirien, waiting for her to go on.
“I told you I was sent to find you, though that was not all of it. My primary mission was to recruit you, but if that failed, I was to kill you.”
Gaesin jerked upright, and Adra dropped her hands to her knives. But Kyran was unsurprised. He had already suspected as much, he realised. He raised his hand to still the others. “The wyvern lair?” he guessed.
She nodded. “But I could not go ahead with it.” She glanced at Aiken. “Not after Aiken reminded me of honour.”
“And now?” he asked, keeping his eyes locked on Mirien.
“And now,” she said, not backing down from his stare, “I am undecided. But if I choose to complete my mission, I will give you fair warning, I promise.”
✽✽✽
That, of course, was not the end of it.
Adra wanted to eject Mirien immediately from the party—or failing that, keep her under guard—while Gaesin wanted to convince the whiesper to set aside her mission. Aiken steadfastly refused to comment.
Kyran left them to it. He realised he believed Mirien and trusted her words. She would not turn against the party—not without warning him first—and given Aiken’s unhappiness with his interrogation, he realised, the great bear felt the same way.
Finding a distant ledge, far enough away that he could not hear the still-heated voices of his companions, Kyran sat down to think, trusting Aiken to make sure matters didn’t get out of hand back at their camp. It was not Mirien’s admission that she’d been ordered to kill him that troubled him most, but the revelation that it was Sara herself who was in Crotana.
Given Mirien’s history with Iyra’s champion, the whiesper might choose to abandon the party if he pursued his current goal of meeting with Sara. And what if he changed course and headed east into the domains as Mirien desired? That meant turning his back on Sara, and likely an end to any further friendly overtures from her goddess.
The domains would be rife with danger and full of perils, too. But by all accounts, heading into the Elder Forests was also dangerous. The forests teemed with life, most of it hostile, and trying to navigate its depths to find one small company of paladins would not be easy. And then again, Mirien would not be happy.
Only then, did he realise with a start that he had already made his decision about Mirien. She would remain with the party—if she so chose.
But where do we head next? he wondered, staring up into the sky.
✽✽✽
Mirien allowed Gaesin and Adra’s voices to wash over her.
The two had long since forgotten her presence—for all that she was at the centre of their argument—and had taken to vehemently barking at each other as only family or the closest of companions could.
At least, she thought, wryly, they don’t seem to be afraid of me. She was still unsure if she had done the right thing in telling Kyran everything, but the free agent had taken it much better than she expected. He had hardly flinched at hearing of her orders to kill him.
Did he know already? she wondered, eyeing the sleeping bear. Had Aiken told him? But it didn’t matter. She had unburdened herself and already she felt better for it. She would face the consequences, whatever they were.
At the sound of approaching feet, she raised her head. Kyran was back. Gaesin and Adra fell silent as he resumed his place next to Aiken. With his hand buried in Aiken’s coat, Kyran said, “I have decided on our course. But before I share it, Mirien, will you tell us the full tale of your Brotherhood’s expedition into Crotana?”
She nodded. Perhaps, in its telling, she could convince Kyran to see the truth of the gods. She told them everything, leaving nothing out, from the time that Elasien had first approached Deegan, to the disastrous attempt to ambush the company of paladins.
Kyran, Adra, and Gaesin listened patiently, not interrupting. “Thank you, Mirien,” said Kyran gravely when she was done. “The dragon…Yddreinth, how did he know of my entry into Myelad?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Mirien, “but elder dragons are one of the powers.” Seeing Kyran’s blank look, she explained, “One of the major players in the Game. While they are not immortal themselves, like gods and demons, their lives span eons. Some, like Yddreinth, are reputed to have been alive since before the chaos wars.”
Kyran nodded. “And your communication crystal. It does not work anymore?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s functional, or least this half of the matched pair is,” she said, raising up the communication crystal in her hand. “The other is held by Elasien, and until she has charged and activated it, this one will remain inoperable.”
“Thank you, Mirien,” Kyran said again. “Now, if you wish to hear it, I will share my own tale in the labyrinth.”
Mirien sat up, interest piqued. “I do,” she said.
Kyran nodded, then went on to tell of his own adventures in the labyrinth, from his encounters with the rock beetles, undead, and kobolds, to his meeting with Zarr, the matriarch, and Lesh.
Mirien clasped her hands firmly together. Zarr, she breathed to herself. He met Zarr and lived to tell the tale. And Aveyad himself had given him the book. She could scarce believe his tale. Kyran had met the legendary king of Crotana and not only survived, but seemed to have forged an alliance with him.
What would the Brotherhood make of it? For years, Zarr had rebuffed all their overtures, until eventually, the council had given up, deciding the undead were beyond reasoning.
But as spectacular as Kyran’s tale was, she noticed he had made no mention of how he had opened the south gate. That was the greatest mystery and the most troubling. Yet he had shared far more than she expected.
His time in Myelad had been more tumultuous than she expected. It explained some of his distrust at least, she thought. She schooled herself to patience. Perhaps, in time, he would share with her how he had opened the south gate.
“Thank you, Kyran,” she said. “I am honoured by your trust.”
Adra, who had remained silent thus far, spoke up. “What have you decided, Kyran?”
Kyran glanced at her. “Mirien may accompany us, should she so wish. And she will have our full trust.” Gaesin and Adra ducked their heads in agreement.
“And,” continued Kyran, “we will continue into the Elder Forest as planned, in search of Sara.”
Mirien had been dreading this. She had hoped—prayed, almost—that he would not choose this course.
Kyran turned her way. “I know, given this, you may not want to continue your journey with us, Mirien. But I ask that you accompany us into the forest. We could do with your aid. I promise, I will not let any harm befall you from Iyra’s people.”
Mirien shook her head sadly. “I almost think you believe that you have that power,” she said. “But you will learn, I fear, that the divines respect no other power than their own.” She heaved in a deep breath. “Nonetheless, I will accompany you into the forests.”
Epilogue
29 Octu 2603 AB
We destroyed Crotana. We defeated Eld. We burned his cities and drove out his people. But did we win? I am uncertain. Somehow, Zarr managed to keep us from Crota, and Aldanna… I fear our actions there may have given birth to a greater menace than Crotana ever was. —The First, Iyra’s champion-prime.
Sara’s mount inched forward again, delicately testing the ground before each step. This
section of the trail was particularly treacherous, and the company’s progress had slowed to a crawl. They had to be careful or risk fatal injury to their few remaining mounts.
Sara and the paladins had been travelling on the game trail for days. They had been fortunate to find the downtrodden path a day out of Crota and heading south in the same general direction of Iyran company’s destination. It had saved them from cutting their own path through the forest and allowed them to make better time.
But now, the path had begun turning east, away from the direction in which the tracking crystal pointed. In the days since they had set out from Crota, the pulsing of the tracking crystal had steadily brightened. They were closing in on their quarry.
But how far away is Kyran? Sara wondered. She was wearily tired of the forests, and she wanted nothing more than to return to the more civilised confines of Durham. Yet she still had no idea how long they would be stuck in Crotana.
“How much farther do we persist on this path, Commander?” Sara asked Ruben riding next to her. “It seems to be angling further east with each passing hour, taking us away from the direction we want to go.”
Ruben glanced at her. “I have been expecting something like this for some time now, my lady. I fear we have no choice but to follow the trail.”
“You have? We don’t?” she asked, jerking upright in her saddle and staring at Ruben in surprise. He had mentioned nothing of the sort. “Explain, Commander,” she demanded.
“What do you know of Crotana’s forest Heart?” Ruben asked quietly.
“The Heart?” she repeated blankly. “I’ve never heard of it,” Sara admitted. “What is it?”
“The forest Heart was the geographical centre of Crotana, a forest within a forest, and home to Aldanna, one of the kingdom’s largest cities. As much as Crota was political capital of Crotana, Aldanna was said to be its cultural heart. The City of Trees, it was called: ancient, awake, and aware trees.”
“Aware trees?” asked Sara disbelievingly.
Ruben nodded grimly. “The elven family that used to rule these forests had a unique bond with its eldest trees—grandfathers, they called them—and the trees in the Heart were said to be the most ancient. Through their mysterious bond, the trees were awakened.”
Sara frowned. “I assume from your tale we near the forest Heart?”
Ruben nodded. “By my calculation, we are close to its northern edges,” he replied.
“But why the concern? Surely the Elder Forest’s elven rulers, like the rest of Crotana’s people, have disappeared.”
Ruben rubbed his face unhappily. “In recent times, the Heart has become a corrupted and tainted wood from which few who have ventured within have ever emerged.” His face hardened. “Especially divines. The heart is said to have an especial hatred for those bound to the gods.”
“Why?”
“I don’t rightfully know, milady,” answered Ruben, avoiding her gaze. “What I do know is that not even the First would lightly enter the Heart.”
There was something Ruben was not telling her, Sara knew, but she let the matter lie. The commander had earned her trust. “Alright,” she said, nodding slowly. “So the Heart’s corruption is why we have to skirt around it?”
Ruben nodded. “East or west, it doesn’t matter, but to enter the Heart would be to court death.”
✽✽✽
Vyne stared at the trees looming around the edges of the clearing, his scales rippling in discontent. He hated this place. All the trees and abundant greenery were foreign to him, nothing like the dry scorching heat of the deserts of his island home.
But, he reminded himself, the Crotan venture had been his idea, and much rode on its success, not least of all his life and his own ambitions. He could not afford to fail.
“Champion,” hissed a voice behind him, “we have found it.”
Vyne turned and fixed the waiting saurian scout with an unblinking gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked, his own tail swishing ever so slightly as he failed to contain his rising excitement.
The scout bowed. “Yes, milord, the grove containing the dungeon was overgrown. It is why it took us so long to uncover its entrance.”
Vyne ignored the scout’s feeble excuses. He had been made to wait about for days while the scouts searched for the Fellmist’s location. This despite the many maps they had pinpointing the dungeon! “And it is Fellmist Dungeon, you are sure?” he asked.
“Yes, Champion.”
“Good,” said Vyne. He reached across the mental link to his vassal. “Lanhalamar, the scouts have found the dungeon. Assemble the team. We leave at once.”
“As you wish, milord,” replied Lanhalamar. “What about the Islander marines? Do we take them with?”
Vyne gazed across the small clearing. In the few days, Vyne and his troops had been encamped here, it had changed remarkably. The thick underbrush and dense foliage had been cleared away, the ground levelled, and a rough palisade erected around the perimeter.
As rough as their accommodations were in the camp, it was a whole sight better than what Vyne had to cope with on the march to get here. It would be a shame to dismantle all this, thought Vyne.
“No,” replied Vyne. “Order the marines to remain here and expand the camp. This location is ideal for a settlement.”
“Ah,” replied Lanhalamar. “Then are you ready to initiate the settlement stone?”
“No, not yet. The goddess deigned only to provide us with the one. We cannot found the settlement prematurely. We must still confirm that we can extract enough essence crystals from the dungeon.”
“Do you doubt the dungeon’s richness?”
“No, but I will not act rashly,” Vyne said. This entire venture would have been much easier if Misteria had provided him with more resources. Yet as supportive as his goddess had been of his plan, she still considered the entire expedition a gamble.
After all, in the six hundred years since Crotana’s fall no one had managed to claim so much as a square mile of its territory. And most had long since stopped trying.
Which was why Vyne had proposed his daring scheme, nearly a year ago now. Most of the domains had forgotten the mountain kingdom, and the time was ripe to reclaim it.
He had advocated for establishing a foothold in Crotana with his goddess and she had agreed. In the months since he had launched the expedition, everything had proceeded without a hitch—not even Iyra’s Hounds had caught a whiff of his plans—until that is, the free agent entered the Game.
His entry in Crotana had thrown everything in disarray. Now with so many of the gods focusing their attention on the mountain kingdom, all his plans teetered on failure.
He could not afford to take any needless risks, he knew. “We cannot afford failure here, Lanhalamar,” he said softly. “We will proceed carefully.”
✽✽✽
Yiralla stared at the deserted camp.
The ogres were gone. Leaning forward, she rested her weight on her sword. Her company had travelled at breakneck speed over the last few days, and even she was exhausted.
All for nothing.
From long years of practice, she was able to squelch the thought almost the moment it occurred. She had to be even more careful than usual. Xetil was still riding her mind.
“Where are they?” her god demanded querulously.
“The trolls are reading the tracks as we speak, sire,” she replied. Which Xetil well knew already, seeing as how he had witnessed her give the order.
Before her god could reiterate his demand, the troll captain approached Yiralla. “Speak,” she demanded. In the back of her mind, she could feel Xetil’s interest sharpen.
“The elf and his party headed west, Champion.”
“How long ago, Captain?” Yiralla asked.
The troll scratched the back of his tufted ears. “Five days perhaps.”
“Five days! You almost had him. Set out at once!”
“The company is exhausted, sire. The men need rest before we
resume pursuit,” she said, a note of pleading in her voice.
“Bah!” exclaimed Xetil, but he subsided nonetheless.
“What else, Captain?” asked Yiralla breathing out slightly in relief as she returned her attention to the troll.
“There is a large pool of blood at the camp’s entrance. Wyvern blood. Two or three of the beasts were slain there.”
Yiralla frowned. Wyverns? How did they fit in the picture? Perhaps not at all. Ignoring the arbitrary piece of information, she asked, “And the ogre tribe? Where are they?”
The troll captain shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t know, Champion.”
“Imbecile!”
“You don’t know, Captain?” asked Yiralla, her voice dangerously soft. “And why might that be?”
“The ogres covered their tracks, ma’am,” said the captain, refusing to meet her eyes. “Almost as if they were expecting to be followed.”
“But your scouts are amongst our finest, Captain. Surely, the ogres cannot hide from you?”
The troll hung his head in shame, knowing his life hung in the balance. “I’m sorry, Champion. The rocky terrain does not hold tracks well, and the ogres are expert hunters themselves, well used to the mountains.” He glanced up at Yiralla’s impassive face, then finished in a rush. “Only give us a day or two, and we will find their trail, Champion. I promise.”
“We don’t have a day or two, Captain.”
Xetil had had enough. “Kill the worthless wretch, Yiralla. Now!” he demanded.
“He is one of my best vassals, milord,” Yiralla said, her tone slightly reproachful. “Killing him will serve no purpose.” She held her breath. She took a risk defending the captain, but she spoke the truth. The troll was one of her top men. She could ill-afford to lose him.
Xetil fell silent, fuming in her mind but thinking over her words—and thoughts. “Very well,” he replied.
Yiralla’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She glanced back at the troll. He had still not left. He should know better, she thought, frowning. “Is there something else, Captain?”
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