Knowing that all these individual souls were waiting for me was surprisingly terrifying. Despite the burden of responsibility I’d endured for weeks—for months—it felt like I was only now beginning to appreciate the true scope of what it meant to be the god of an entire society.
Warmth and reassurance flowed into me from both Ket and Ris’kin. I rallied myself, reminded that I was not alone, and we began our final journey toward the new altar.
Coll and Benin’s tent rose alongside the gnomes’, and I felt a flash of concern when I realized both humans were absent, as were Pyra and Binky. Nor was Bekkit anywhere in sight. I tried not to think too hard about what that might mean. Instead, I focused on my denizens’ faces, rejoicing with each one I mentally tallied. General Hoppit, Graywall, Pan, and Buttress; Sergeants Magnus and Serene. Scout Hindmarch and warrior-nurse Emrys. Hammer and Nails, Twain the sawyer and Catgut the bowyer. I even spotted Dovetail with the other two remaining carpenters; her legs were swathed in bloody bandages from her near-miss with the fangfins, but her expression was focused and hopeful.
One by one they looked up from their vigil as we wound our way amongst them. Wonder and relief filled their faces, mirroring the gratitude I felt towards them for their faith in my return.
Beyond them all, on a raised dais inside the domed building, stood Gneil. Behind him was a carved stone plinth that could only be an altar. Eyes closed, my high priest’s face was lit with an expression of serenity, though I also picked out lines of worry and tension. The acolytes knelt before him, praying, the hoot-hoots huffing impatiently among them. I smiled to see Gnils the acolyte trying not to giggle as one of the fluffy birds stuck its head in her pocket in search of treats. She cracked an eye open to see what it was doing, then gasped when she spotted Ris’kin.
Her gasp alerted the rest to our arrival. Gneil and the other acolytes lifted their heads and stared wide-eyed as my avatar approached the altar, my gem held before her in both hands. Though I was blind and deaf to the effects of their prayer while Exodus was engaged, my worshipers were clearly convinced they had delivered me. I glanced back at the weary-looking Longshank. In a way, they had.
Gneil was also looking at Longshank. After a moment, my high cleric grudgingly nodded to his rival, on whom the surviving scouts were converging with relief. Their reunion was enthusiastic but brief, and soon all eyes were once more upon Ris’kin as she handed my gem to Gneil, who bowed his head reverently. My high cleric ascended the steps of the dais, his boots crunching on the shards of shattered crystal; then, finally, he lowered the gem until it rested upon the altar.
I waited expectantly for the Augmentary’s golden text to appear in my vision. To announce that the exodus was complete, a success, and to begin restoring my abilities and expanding my Sphere. I couldn’t wait to see the blue mana globes full and glowing, to once again taste my denizens’ affectionate Faith.
When it came, though, the text was red.
Sanctification failed!
Exodus cannot end with hostile enemies in the immediate vicinity.
Panic whirled through me as I focused on the word “failed.” After all this time, after everything we’d endured, we’d failed?
Then I saw the timer was still blinking, informing me we had twenty-four minutes remaining in which to end the exodus. I stared again at the red notification, and this time I registered the even more alarming part.
“Hostile enemies.”
But where? Ris’kin’s vision wasn’t a patch on my god’s-eye, but it was still sharper than most, and we hadn’t seen anything untoward on our way down here. Had a pyromander followed us up from below?
“Corey…”
I was straining my avatar’s senses for any sign of the supposed danger, but stilled when Ket’s sudden fear and disbelief crept into me. “Hmm?”
“Look up.”
Sixty
Gardos
Tiri
Varnell’s eyes widened, and for a moment Tiri was confident she’d hit the mark. Then he barked a laugh.
“If only.” He snorted. “If only that were true.”
Of course he wouldn’t wish to accept that he was being deceived. From what she understood of the elves, the loss of their god had hit them hard, and they’d dispersed into reclusive clans. She’d assumed Varnell had bought into this “Lord of Light” stuff out of a desire to make his people great again by restoring their old glory.
That didn’t explain why he seemed so fearful of his patron, but then again, “god-fearing” was often used to mean something positive.
“Can you be certain it isn’t true?” she asked as gently as she could bring herself to. “Sometimes we believe so strongly in what we want to believe that it blinds us to what’s really—”
“I’m sure.” He held up a hand to stop her speaking, and a bit of the old derision was showing again on his face. “I’m sure my patron is not the Tyrant of Darkness. Old Garim R’ok—or Grimrock, as he goes by nowadays—has actually been working alongside me for decades now. We share a common enemy, you see.”
A common enemy? Who? What?
“Though we haven’t spoken recently. We… lost touch, you might say. Actually, that’s your fault.” He grinned at her confusion. “Oh yes, you’ve met him yourself, though you didn’t realize it. I’m sure you remember him. Red, shiny, about this size.” He cupped both hands together to form a rough oval.
The red God Core…
She barely had time to reel from the revelation—she, Benin and Coll had played a part in destroying the last remnant of the ancient night elf god?!—before Varnell was throwing more at her. The words were spilling out of him now, almost as though he were relieved to finally have his secrets out in the open.
“Melakor is my patron. Mela K’or. The
