Chapter 141 – Unintentional Guests
“MUM!” Ollie mentally calls. “I FOUND ANOTHER ONE BY EYE TOWER!”
Mirzayael winces. “Ollie, you don’t need to raise your voice when it’s telepathic. I can hear you just fine from the other side of the city.”
“OH,” Ollie says, lowering his volume just a fraction. “RIGHT. SORRY. BUT THERE’S ANOTHER CHAMPION OVER HERE.”
“Thanks for the head’s up, Ollie,” I reply, mentally reaching for the Dungeon Core. “Do they appear hurt?”
Through the Core, I can sense the layout of the city in broad strokes. If I focus on any one area, details resolve in mind, and if I try to envision what I’m looking for—like species the Core has previously consumed—I can start to sense their presence. It’s nothing like when I had access to the System; the Map Interface had been so concrete, nearly like exploring a three-dimensional rendering of the city. Without it, everything has become more vague and instinctive. I still have access to all my spells and all the Core’s capabilities, but now there’s a distinct lack of structure.
I think I can detect the individual Ollie has identified; a dryad. Male, possibly? Without Echo, I can’t get any information on their title or level. Though, I suppose, those attributes were only a construct of the System anyway.
“YEAH, HE’S BLEEDING,” Ollie says. “BUT HE’S AWAKE. AND SHOUTING A LOT OF MEAN THINGS AT ME. OH, THAT’S A BAD WORD. THAT’S A LOT OF BAD WORDS!”
Mirzayael’s mind ripples with amusement. “I’ll send some guards over to evaluate. Thank you, Ollie.”
“YOU’RE WELCOME!”
I attempt to activate a Psionic Sense to look through Ollie’s eyes and judge the damage myself, but of course there is no response from Echo. Frowning at myself, I focus on what effect I want to manifest, and I feel something click into place. Ollie is perched on the city wall, looking down at a dryad resting against the side of Eye Tower. The champion in question is, indeed, letting out a steady stream of profanities directed at Ollie.
“Ollie,” I start to remind him.
“I KNOW,” he thinks with an eye roll. “I CAN HEAR BUT CAN’T REPEAT.”
I decide to let the eye roll slide. “Very good.” I let go of the psionic sense spell and his vision and hearing fades from my mind. So odd.
“Welcome to using magic like the rest of us,” Mirzayael thinks, amused.
“It’s going to take some getting used to,” I admit. “I really did enjoy how concrete the magic felt within the System’s structure.” Alas, some things are more of an art than a science. “The most unsettling part is not knowing how much mana everything costs.”
“You get a feel for it,” Mirzayael assures me.
I’m sure I will. Still, I wonder if it’s possible to reverse engineer that aspect of the System; the amount of mana it takes to activate spells is quantifiable. I just need to design a tracker spell of some sort. It would certainly make me feel more secure about the city’s spell network if I knew how much mana we were consuming at any given time.
“Really?” Mirzayael teases. “You find a way to get rid of the System and your first instinct is to try to bring part of it back?”
“Just the good parts!” I object, but I smile guiltily to myself. “It was only a thought. I assure you, I have plenty more immediate concerns to address.”
Like the handful of injured champions and gods that were left behind in the chaos of the pantheon fleeing our city. The gods who were sympathetic to us stayed out of the conflict, so unfortunately, everyone injured and left behind are those who chose to pick a fight.
The one thing we have going in our favor is that, without the System, all of them are healing at mortal rates, and given many of them are not used to this, they’ve posed very little threat. So far, Blair and Gardi have been keeping an eye on them, but we’re quickly approaching the breaking point for necessary healer intervention. And that is precisely the situation I am heading to address at this moment.
When I reach the pantheon’s infirmary, I arrive in time to find two guards moving the injured dryad inside. I automatically attempt to Check him and learn his name, but of course, there is no Echo to respond. It’s fascinating how quickly I became dependent upon such skills when I spent an entire lifetime with nothing like them on Earth.
Injured Fyrethians are being tended to in the main infirmary in the palace, separated from the pantheon for obvious reasons. The gods and champions are being held underground, in the same prison cell we’d once kept Gardi, in fact. The current facilities have been enlarged and are much better furnished than the slap-dash room we’d made for the Jorrians—not that the pantheon has expressed much gratitude for our hospitality. They aren’t prisoners, but most also aren’t exactly capable of walking out of their own volition at this time. It will be up to them, of course, if they’re willing to accept medical care from our healers.
Blair steps out as I approach the room. She appears surprised to see me, but greets me with a smile.
“Lord Fyre,” she says. Aquenno, ever her shadow, steps out of the room after her. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”
“Do you think it’s too dangerous to see them?” I ask, nodding to Aquenno as well.
“Not at this time.” Blair glances back toward the room. “Though, that is only because I don’t believe any in there are capable of picking a fight. If you heal them, that might change.”
About what I expected, to be honest. But if I want to speak with any of them, it sounds like this is the most ideal window to try.
“And how are you feeling?” I ask. “I’m sure this is quite a change for you.”
She shakes her head. “Not as much as you might think. I was a champion for centuries before taking up the mantle of godhood—I’m more used to a lack of System access than having it. This feels like a return to the familiar more than anything.”
“But it’s not,” Aquenno interjects, an edge to his voice. “You house a refiner now.”
Blair absently touches a hand to her chest. “That is true. Without the System to reinforce it, it will likely begin to weaken.”
“Do you need to leave the city?” I ask, alarmed. I knew there would be side effects to blocking the System’s influence, but I hadn’t realized the refiners were being sustained by the System as well.
“Perhaps one day,” Blair admits, her indifference a striking contrast to Aquenno’s clear concern. “Though due to my excommunication, I doubt it would be any safer for me out there. At any rate, older gods are at a higher risk than myself.”
I frown, looking at the infirmary’s door. Another complication I hadn’t foreseen. Perhaps we need to get them out of the city soon whether or not they accept our help. At least for the two gods in there.
“What will happen when a refiner fails?” I suspect I already know the answer, however.
“The remnant will escape,” Blair says matter-of-factly. “Though before that, its influence will begin to leak.”
“And since you’re a new god, you think that process will take longer?” I ask her.
She smiles apologetically. “Perhaps, though I wouldn’t count on it. Rather, I consider myself at a lower risk because my remnant came from Kanin’s. It hasn’t spent centuries imprisoned in a refiner, stewing in resentment. You’ve claimed multiple times you believe they can be reasoned with—now we will be putting that to the ultimate test.”
My stomach lurches. “I suppose so. I’ll be here to help in whatever way I can.”
She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I know you will. Between you and Kanin, I can think of no better individuals to help me through this.”
I hope to death I can live up to her expectations.
“So,” she says, letting go of my arm. “You came down here to speak with the gods?”
“Check up on them, really,” I say. “But first, I wanted to speak with you: What can you tell me about the individuals in that room?”
It’s lucky we have Blair to identify them for us, because without Echo, I would have only recognized one of them. Two of our unwilling guests are gods while the other three are champions.
The worst off is Kero, a lamia god of illusion and life magic (ironically). He sustained a chest wound from Salvia that has him in critical condition. One of his champions, a dwarf named Coral, is also with us. She’s injured as well, but only superficially, and she was taken in because she stayed with her god when we transferred him to our makeshift infirmary. So far, she hasn’t acted hostilely toward anyone, but she’s also stopped anyone from trying to heal Kero, insisting the System will repair his body once we let them leave.
The other god in our care is Relona, a dracid god of stone and crafting. With a broken leg, her injuries aren’t life threatening, but it also prevented her from fleeing with the others. None of her champions were apprehended along with her.
There is also a new champion Blair can’t recall the name of, and who hasn’t volunteered to give us one. He’s the dryad Ollie found earlier. Which leaves our final guest: Mura Tal, Lorata’s new champion who had the pleasure of fighting us before we broke into the Heavens. He’s been full of spit and vinegar, though his barbed words don’t land quite the same with him laying in an infirmary bed with bruises, lacerations and broken bones throughout. He’s the second worst-off, after Kero.
I hesitate before opening the infirmary door, my mind automatically going to Ollie. But I don’t have to worry about him when I’m in danger, anymore; Role Requirements are one thing I definitely won’t miss.
I step into the room, and all eyes turn toward me. Ignoring the stares, I head over to Coral and Kero, first. The god is breathing but his eyes are closed, and his champion sits at his bedside.
“The healers tell me he is deteriorating,” I say.
The dwarf glares at me for a moment before lowering her gaze. “I know. I can feel it.”
“Why won’t you allow them to help?” I ask. “Why don’t you help? As a champion to a god of life arcana, surely you know some healing spells.”
“Of course I do,” she snaps. “But he is connected to the System. It will restore him, once we are outside of this dead zone.”
Restore is an interesting choice of words for someone with healing magic. “How is that different from what you can do?”
She glares down at the bed, and I don’t expect to receive a response. Then she lets out a frustrated noise. “Healing magic only accelerates what a body can do naturally. The System is more complicated. It resets the body to a prior state. It can restore lost limbs—or irreparably damaged organs.”
Which means Lorata has probably gotten her hand back.
“Pity,” Mirzayael thinks.
I have to struggle to keep from smiling.
“Healing him will interfere with that?” I ask.
Coral nods curtly. “If he’s healed to a stable state before the System works on him, it might be permanent. He could be crippled for life.”
I worry my lip. This is an annoying development. Coral is playing a dangerous game of chicken, hoping we’ll cave and release them before he dies. But even if I call her bluff, keeping the gods here could be just as hazardous if their remnants become an issue. I’m not sure if Coral understands that risk. I look over at Relona, considering her. She’s wordlessly watched our exchange so far and doesn’t seem interested in starting to contribute now.
“Your remnant,” I say to her. “How much danger are you in?”
She matches my gaze with an impassive look. “None, once they return to rescue us.”
I manage to not roll my eyes. “They won’t be rescuing you if we release you, first. However, I want to make sure we don’t wait too long. Are you in imminent danger?”
A flicker of uncertainty passes over her face. “You intend to free us?”
“I would really like the chance to speak with you all first,” I admit. “But yes, that’s the plan. As you said, so long as there are gods here, it’s likely others will attempt to retrieve you, and we have no interest in prolonging this conflict. The plan was to fix you all up and demonstrate our hospitality before setting you on your way. I was hoping I’d have the opportunity to change some minds. But if either you or Kero are about to become overwhelmed by your remnants, I need to know.”
Relona stares at me for a long moment. Then she shakes her head. “Not immediately, no.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Is there anything else we can get you in the meantime?”
A smile cracks across the dracid’s face, revealing her alligator-like teeth. “We wage war on your city and you offer amenities. You are a strange one, Lord Fyre.”
The honorific does not escape my notice. “That’s what they all tell me.”
“Coral,” Relona says, turning to Kero’s champion. “You best accept their help for now. A scar is a small price to pay for the damage we’ve caused, and Lorata would not be pleased if she learned Kero died because you refused to heal him.” She turns to the dryad, who’s lying on a stretcher. “You, too, Ptol. The sooner we’re well, the sooner we leave.”
I turn toward Mura Tal next, who is unconscious in a nearby bed.
Relona snorts. “Don’t bother. If it’s productive conversation you’re after, I’d advise your healers to keep that one asleep.”
In fact, I’d been considering just that.
“Thank you, Lord Relona,” I say to her. “I’m glad you’re open to hearing us out.”
“I am,” she says. “But don’t expect the results of our discussions to be incorporated into the Heavens when you release me. Yua Tin is highly regarded in the Heavens, almost as much as Lorata. Blair was around for a long time as their champion and is well liked. You have sympathizers, but it will be difficult to support anything directly against Lorata’s will. Your clever magic certainly won you the battle this time. But it will be a much longer effort before we can achieve true peace.”
“I understand,” I say. In fact, I’d been expecting no less. “I’ve never thought I could change things overnight. But if I can change minds one by one, that’s more than enough.”
“I wish you luck with that endeavor,” Relona says.
We’ll certainly need it.
I leave the infirmary feeling much more optimistic than I’d felt entering it. Salvia is posted at the door; they must have arrived after I did.
“Glad to see you’re well,” I say, noting a few fresh scars on the harpy’s arms. A couple lines of feathers have been cut away, and the pink hue of newly healed wounds show underneath. “Would you fetch our healers? I believe our guests are ready to cooperate.”
“Of course, Lord Fyre,” Salvia says. “Though actually, I was sent to fetch you. You have a guest waiting for you in the palace.”
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “Of course, I’ll head there directly. Who is it?”
The harpy shrugs with one shoulder as we start up the stairs. “Some scholar. I don’t recognize her.”
But even from that brief description, I have my suspicions. And when we make it to the palace, those suspicions are happily confirmed.
A breeze ruffles my feathers, and Lisari turns toward me with a wide smile. “Lord Fyre!” She spreads her arms. “I believe congratulations are in order.”