Beside Elan'fer'sha, there are two other DokkAlfar and one Half-Alfar in the room, and I recognize all of them from the arena. The Half-Alfar is Alva. The female DokkAlfar is Aluras'bektsh'tar, the one who was finger fucking Alva. The male DokkAlfar is Canth, the one that was dressed in black. Standing next to Aluras'bektsh'tar's chair, he is still dressed in the exact same style of black clothing.
As I enter the room, my eyes lock with Elan'fer'sha's. We do not need to speak to communicate. I can feel that she wants me to comply with her patron's demands. I can feel her intense longing to be fucked and hurt. In the slight change in her expression, she shows her satisfaction from knowing I want to fuck and hurt her, right here and right now. We really are so fucking twisted.
“Brand, this Aluras'bektsh'tar Clan Mistress of Clan Vardne'tar. She is the patron of the Blood Rose Stable. She has a task for you, and I want you to help her.”
Still naked, Alva is kneeling on the floor. There is not even a shred of pride or defiance visible in her demeanor. She has the appearance of a marionette waiting for her puppeteer to move her, but I do not think she is quite broken yet. If she were given a chance to fight or run, it would be interesting to see what would happen.
Canth's eyes are filled with contempt and derision, but Aluras'bektsh'tar is staring at me with intense interest. Like so many others in this citadel, she seems to be weighing and measuring me, as though she is looking for what use or value I might provide for her. She is clearly accustomed to using other people, and since she is Elan'fer'sha's patron, her station in DokkAlfar society has to be fairly high.
I shift my gaze to Canth. He is a killer. No matter what else he might be or what role he might serve, Canth is first and foremost a killer. It was not obvious when he was in the box and I was on the arena sands, but never before in my life have I seen anyone who radiates such a murderous aura. His body may be alive, but his soul is dead and discarded. How many lives does one have to take to become like him? How many centuries or millennia does one have to spend killing to take so many lives?
Thrall saunters between Canth and myself, moving to a sideboard with glasses and bottles of alcohol. Even at a distance of thirty feet, I can smell the strong odor of the exotic liquors. I acquired a taste for ales, beers and malt liquors in general, when I had my Half-Dvergar body, but I still do not particularly like hard alcohol.
Glancing around the room, I see that it is filled with heavy wood furniture. Desk, chairs, cabinets, and bookshelves, they are all made from the same mahogany colored wood. The style does not seem to fit Elan'fer'sha, and everything has an air of age about it. This room feels like it is out of time and place.
I sit down in an empty armchair.
Thrall chuckles nastily. Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes narrow slightly as she continues to stare at me. Canth's glare becomes more hostile, but he does not say anything. Elan'fer'sha seems like she cannot decide whether she wants to smirk or frown.
In the eyes of Canth and Aluras'bektsh'tar, I should be nothing but a slave. It seems unlikely that they are aware of the Od shattering my collar and Thrall reforging it into a fake. If neither of these DokkAlfar is objecting to my simply sitting down in their presence, Aluras'bektsh'tar wants something from me that she cannot compel me to give.
I learned patience over the years. Hunting and killing humans, Alfar, grey-skins, beast races, beasts and other things, I learned to wait and watch. Even Canth's cold hate is not enough to spur me into voicing words or acting.
My wait is rather short. Only a few minutes lapse, before Aluras'bektsh'tar opens her mouth. “You are rather impertinent for a human.”
I am curious to see where she is going to go with her words and do not respond.
“Your skill with swords is very advanced, but even though I only saw a few swings, it looked like you are much more skilled with and axe. Why do you not use an axe?”
I glance at Thrall, but his attention appears to be focused on the alcohol in his glass.
“Shadow Fist is not well-disposed to axes.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar frowns slightly. “Shadow Fist is not well-disposed to anything except that human god you follow. All of his students have died as miserable failures.”
I shrug, not bothering to say anything.
After a few moments Aluras'bektsh'tar smiles faintly. “The more I see of you, the more you intrigue me. You have no fear of my race. No matter where they come from, or how powerful they are, all humans have an inborn fear of DokkAlfar.”
I do not think you could call the expression on my face a smile, despite its appearance. “If something lives, it can die. DokkAlfar are no exception. I've killed enough to know. Why should I fear you?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar tilts her head slightly to the side, and schools her face back into smoothness, so I cannot tell what expression was beginning to appear. “Are you deliberately trying to anger me?”
“Does my killing DokkAlfar anger you?”
“Not particularly. I have killed many of my race myself.”
“You are too arrogant, Aluras. The human tribes and races that have been ground under DokkAlfar empires may fear you, but the Aesir and Vanir have never feared your kind.” At Thrall's words, Canth glares in his direction, but Thrall ignores him.
Aluras'bektsh'tar frowns and introspectively looks toward Thrall. “Both those tribes are part of the Jotun Lords' hegemony. They cannot be considered mere humans.”
Thrall chuckles. “Were the Vangrade Empire also part of the Jotuns' hegemony?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar's frown deepens. “The High Men? Do you truly think to call them humans?”
Probably aware of my confusion, Thrall looks at me. “The Jotuns, the Aesir, and the Vanir are separate races, but they are all under the domination of the Jotun Lords. While the Aesir and Vanir are human tribes, the Jotuns are not human.
“The High Men of the Vangrade Empire were completely human, but every one of them wielded strong Power. They conquered a large section of the Norgat continent on Taereun. The strongest of them were the Dread Reavers, an order of knights that were all Triunes. They crushed two LjosAlfar kingdoms and a DokkAlfar empire.”
“Enough of your lies!”
“Canth!”
As Canth's head snaps around towards Aluras'bektsh'tar, I briefly see contempt and disgust in his eyes, before it is masked. Aluras'bektsh'tar does not give any indication that she aware of Canth's emotions. Canth seems to be Aluras'bektsh'tar's servant, but what exactly is the relationship between them?
Thrall's nasty laugh draws Canth's attention back onto himself. “Watch yourself, servant. Unless, you want me to teach you manners.”
Thrall looks at Aluras'bektsh'tar. “You, stop wasting time and tell my disciple what you want.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes widen fractionally, before narrowing, as she turns her attention toward me. The obvious air of weighing and judging is back in her demeanor.
“I need someone killed, and I need it to be done by someone with no direct connection to my clan. I have chosen you to do the killing.”
“What's in it for me?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar smiles, though the smile never reaches her eyes. “I will compensate Elan and free you from slavery.”
I look at Thrall, and he shrugs slightly.
Releasing the collar around my neck, I take it off and close again. Spinning the collar around my index finger, I smile at Aluras'bektsh'tar. My smile does not reach my eyes either.
“Brand is my disciple. He aids Elan'fer'sha of his own will.”
After glancing at Thrall, Aluras'bektsh'tar's gaze settles on me again. “What do you want?”
I look at Elan'fer'sha. She has remained silent, but there is something in her eyes. As much as Aluras'bektsh'tar, she is watching and evaluating me.
“I want a status that will allow me to move around Gor'achen Citadel more or less freely, and I want information. I want to know the reason the target must die.” I gesture at Elan'fer'sha and Aluras'bektsh'tar. “I wan
t to know what the connection is between you two females, and I want to know what both of you are after.”
With her head slightly tilted, Aluras'bektsh'tar stares at me for a few moments. From her face, there is no telling what is going on inside her mine.
“The status is simple to provide, but you will only get it after you make the kill. You will perform the assassination, if we tell you the things you want to know?”
Again, the smile I show her does not reach my eyes. “As long as I believe you are telling me the truth.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar nods slightly. “The target is a member of my clan. He has betrayed the clan by joining a dissident group that calls itself the Stoics. Because of clan politics, I cannot directly move against him.”
“What are these Stoics?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar snorts in decidedly unfeminine manner. “Fools and idiots who think that our empire has lost sight of the Will of Yggr. They believe that by refraining from bestiality, orgies, and homosexuality we will be stronger. They blame the lack of expansion of the Atran'ler Empire on our culture and our pleasures.
“During the Jotun-Dragon War, enough of the Atran'ler Empire's population was killed that barely one in five DokkAlfar remained at the end. Our pathetic system that allows other races to have limited citizen status was created, because there were not enough DokkAlfar remaining to continue dominating all the Empire's territory.
“The Stoics are fools that cannot understand or refuse to accept the true meaning of Yggr's Will. Those who have greater strength and Power will dominate over and use those who have lesser strength and Power.”
Over the year, I picked up a little bit of knowledge about the Church of the Jotun Lords. Like any religion, the Church has its dogma and religious theory. There must be tens of thousands of books and scrolls locked away in Church libraries. They contain a myriad of stories, philosophies, and legends about the Jotun Lords. Aluras'bektsh'tar is reciting the generally accepted tenets of the Central Fane of Yggr. There are almost certainly other beliefs about Yggr, with the only commonality possibly being dominance.
It is not like I care about their internal political and religious conflicts. I do not care about killing off a few extra DokkAlfar either, but I still need information about the Gor'achen's current status, to figure out where and what my own target may be. Thrall said I will encounter slaves that will help facilitate my own plans by entering the arena, but he never said I would meet them in the arena. I enjoyed killing those stupid fucks in the arena, but I need to make some headway. If I am going to keep moving forward, I need get out and about, to learn more.
“So what's the ties between you and Elan, and what are your goals?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar glances at Elan'fer'sha, before answering. “Her clan and my line of provenance were both exterminated. We are the last survivors, and we met in an orphans barracks. We became friends, because we both have the same goal, revenge.”
There is a lot being left unsaid, but that is fine. I understand the desire for revenge. I have been getting revenge for most of my life, and I still have a lot of vengeance left to take. Assassinating her clan member will be another good test of my skills.
“Alright, I'll do it. Give me the details.”
Surprise flashes in Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes momentarily, before it is replaced with hate and fierce satisfaction. “The target is Orton'vardne'tar. He is a descendant of the founding line of Clan Vardne'tar. You will be provide with maps of the clan's manor and information on his habits.”
“Brand's temperament and habits are not suitable for an assassin.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar turns to stare at Thrall. “Why did you not tell me this before? Are you going to interfere in this matter?”
The smile Thrall gives to Aluras'bektsh'tar is cold, before he turns his stare on me. “Brand, your choices are your own, but if you try to play the part of an assassin, you will most likely be killed.”
Without elaborating, Thrall simply watches me.
“Why?”
“An assassin's purpose is to kill. Using all the skills and Power at his disposal, he kills as quickly and efficiently as possible. You have a problem with just killing. Every time you fight, you pass up opportunities to finish your opponents off quickly. When you fight, you fixate on beating your opponent down. You fight like you are playing a game to see who is stronger. If you do that during an assassination, you will give yourself away and probably be faced with odds you cannot overcome.”
I fixate on beating my opponents down? I guess I do. I have been that way for almost my entire life. It started with the bullies that targeted me because I was fat and had both a father and mother. They came after me, and I set them up and crushed them. I became even nastier about it after the accident. I began to cripple them whenever possible. They always attacked me in packs outside of the range of the social cameras, and I turned that against them. Because I was a minor, the authorities held off on pressing charges.
By the time they stopped attacking me, I only had to wait a little more than a year to start playing Taereun. I did not simple kill inside of what I thought was a game. I crippled. I tortured. I mutilated. Most of all, I always wanted to destroy my victims, while not using all of my strengths.
“As long as I do not hold back, I will kill the target with a single attack.”
Thrall stares at me for a moment before nodding. “See that you do not hold back.”
Thrall looks at Aluras'bektsh'tar. “I will have him ready in three ten-days.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar nods. “I would prefer it to be sooner, but if that is what you need, the assassination will take place in forty three days. If the target keeps his pattern, he should be going to the Stoics' regular meeting on that day.
“Canth.” Despite the casual tone, Aluras'bektsh'tar's statement of Canth's name is clearly a command.
Canth takes a bag similar to a duffel bag out of a storage device and throws it to me. His actions do not give any indication of what the storage device is. If my pattern sight spell was active, I might have bean able to tell where he pulled it form.
Catching the bag, I look in side. There are two short-swords, suit of leather armor, and six scroll cases.
“When you make the kill, drop this next to the body.” Aluras'bektsh'tar holds out a broken half of one of they Yggr's eye badges.
Taking it, I drop it inside the bag.
Aluras'bektsh'tar rises to her feet. “I know the way out. I will contact you in a few days, Elan.”
Elan'fer'sha rises to her feet walking to the door of the room with Aluras'bektsh'tar's group. “Be wary Aluras, I do not like the speed with which the Stoics are increasing in numbers.”
Elan'fer'sha stiffens fractionally, as Aluras'bektsh'tar pulls her into a firm embrace and kisses her, probing Elan'fer'sha's mouth with her tongue. A more than slightly predatory smile is on Aluras'bektsh'tar's lips, as they separate.
“When will you stop with your games, Aluras?”
“The day will come, when I teach you the only true sexual pleasures are female love.”
Elan'fer'sha's eyes flicker momentarily in my direction. “I am Wytch. I am well versed in homosexuality, but I have no interest in it. Homosexuality is an aberration, it is not the perversion of the natural order. There is no exchange of life between females, because there is not true intercourse. There is no way to claim Power from a female with sexual play. Homosexuality is nothing more than a mental defect. To take Power and life a Wytch must use a male.”
There is a faint sheen of hostility in Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes, as she stares at me. “The only purpose for males is procreation, and to do that you must mate with your own race not with animals.”
“Enough, Aluras. We have had this conversation thousands of times.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar looks back to Elan'fer'sha, with a sad smile. “I will see you soon, Elan.”
As Elan'fer'sha closes the door, I am hit with the skin crawling sensation of active Umbral Power being used.
“The room is warded.”
Elan'fer'sha returns to her chair behind her desk. Her expression is mixed between annoyance and petulance. “I cannot understand how you managed to make Aluras upset with you. What is it about that continually angers people, even when you are not being insulting or obnoxious?”
“You're fucking me.”
Thrall chuckles. His sense of humor is annoyingly warped.
Elan'fer'sha glares at me. “What would possibly make you think my engaging in bestiality upset her?”
“She's a fucking dyke who wants to eat your pussy, and my dick is inside you every night. What the fuck do you think is upsetting her? You might think I'm an animal, but that cunt thinks I'm competition for your love or lusts or something!”
“You are delusional. No DokkAlfar would ever become jealous of an animal!”
“Silence! The pair of you can continue your pre-fuck banter after I am gone.” In contrast with his voice's enhanced volume, Thrall's demeanor is calm.
Elan'fer'sha's face flushes slightly, as though from embarrassment. Despite her lust for getting fucked by me, in her DokkAlfar centric worldview I am human, therefor nothing by an animal. It must be galling for her to be called out for arguing with an animal.
My storage belt appears in Thrall's hand, and he throws it to me.
“I have modified it. As long as you do not give away its function, the thread point will be almost impossible to detect.”
How did he do this? I can only fell the thread point, because I have my hands on the belt.
“Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.” With the whispered words, I apply the pattern sight spell to my left eye.
My jaw drops open. Even looking at the belt's pattern, I am still unable to see the thread point. It is also impossible to tell the that belt is an Item of Power. I have no clue what Thrall did this belt.
“How? Why?”
Thrall grins faintly. “There is too much you do not know about Smithing. Virtually no mortal Smith in the Labyrinth is more than an apprentice.
“As for why, you are my disciple. If you die, it could be another fifty thousand years before I find another with the potential to truly master Shadow Fist. You need to have access to your gear, but others do not need to know that you have access to your gear.”
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 17
