I have no idea how the DokkAlfar do it, but the sigils are probably also intended to keep insects and vermin out. Gor'achen Citadel has a definitive lack of both. Whether in the sewers or the slave pen of the Fifth Layer, even with the filth in the back alleys of the Third Layer and Fourth Layer, I have never seen so much as a fly, let alone a mouse or rat.
With a plateful of meat and bread, I head back toward the mess hall but stop in the corridor. Coming from the mess hall, I can feel a maelstrom of emotions from over twenty humans. When I probe the room, I find the cold shields of seven DokkAlfar in there with them.
As I enter the mess hall again and stare at them, they all stare back. The Throd'nahk is among them, along with the DokkAlfar guard commander, whose name I do not know, next to him. Tyrend is sitting off to one side, and Mungo is in the back with a couple of his faggots. Broken Shoulder and Keratin are squatting next to Mungo, while holding onto his loincloth. The rest are gathered into three groups, which pretty much represent the cliques in the stable. What the fuck is going on?
Even though the humans' emotional state is turbulent, there does not seem to be any hostility directed toward me. Well, there is no hostility with the exception of Mungo. His dislike for me seems to be as strong as my disgust toward him.
The Throd'nahk and the guard commander look at each other, and the guard commander nods fractionally. With his slight nod of acknowledgment, the Throd'nahk steps forward a pace.
“You have been holed up with the Smith since yesterday. Is the Smith going to intervene? What are you going to do?”
So, they do not seem to be aware that Thrall is not in Gor'achen. It is not surprising, since not even Elan'fer'sha knows much about him and his business. They will probably easier to deal with if I do not let them know, but I may have to in the end.
“The Smith has his own affairs and is not getting involved. As soon as I have an opening, I am going to take Elan'fer'sha back.”
The Throd'nahk becomes worried, but keeps his expression unchanged. “Do you know where she is now?”
I shrug. “Not yet. There are too many wards throughout Vardne'tar Castle. I can't really spy on them too easily, but when Aluras'bektsh'tar makes a move, there will be an opening.”
“How do you know? Do you have knowledge about what she is doing?” The guard commander's voice is soft, but it has a hard edge to it. The look in his eyes says that he has seen the bad side of life and has no qualms about being violent.
“What are all of you planning?” I stare the guard commander in the eye. “I know what you are, but what's your name?”
The guard commander holds my stare for a few moments. He is clearly measuring me, just like I am weighing him. We do not know each other, and without some idea of what he is after, I am not going to tell him more. Before figuring out how they are going to jump, I am not going to tell any of them more.
“Kanchek of no Provenance.” Kanchek's tone is challenging. He is about average height for an Alfar male, 6'6” or so, but he is surprisingly heavily build, almost reaching the bulk of an average human. While he is wearing the usual chainmail made from the DokkAlfar's favorite oily black alloy, he has a pair of war hammers hanging from his belt, and I have seen him carrying a polearm similar to a Lucerne hammer at times.
“If you don't go off on some half-assed suicide attempt, we seven are going to help you retrieve the Mistress.”
“All of the Gladiators in this room will be going too.” The Throd'nahk's tone leaves no room for doubt about his intentions.
“What about the people not in this room?”
Kanchek's mouth has a hostile twist that is almost a smile. “They are in holding cells and will remain there until we succeed or die.”
I look around the room. “Why? I've never known DokkAlfar to be loyal to anyone or anything. You serve the boot that is on your back. As for you gladiators, you're slaves. DokkAlfar are going to die. You'll be tortured to death.”
The Throd'nahk and Kanchek glance at another. Maybe looking to see who will go first.
Tyrend's voice fills the momentary silence. “Only if the Smith allows us to be killed. He's a god. Even if no DokkAlfar will say so, you can see it in the way they look at him. I'm not sure even the Priests of the Church of the Jotun Lords would defy him.”
I shrug noncommittally. “That doesn't tell my why you want to save her.”
“Life's good in this stable. Most of us have been in the pens, and we don't want to go back. Fer me an my boys, we get to fuck lots of other stable's bitch boys in the ass, an the crowds cheer us on fer it. If the Mistress ain't here, life might not be so good.”
I cannot keep the shock off of my face, as I stare at Mungo. The glare he gives me in return is filled with arrogance. He probably has no concept of real pride, after growing up in the slave pens.
Keratin falls to the ground, as Mungo slaps him. His face and most of body look like one huge black and blue abrasion. Blood and drool drip from his slack his lips, which appear sunken like an old man's, now that he has no front teeth. His eyes and mind are filled with fear and resentment, as he stares at me.
“The only bad thing around here's been the food. Now dat Fuck Boy here ain't gonna be in charge of buying it, it should get better.”
Mungo's two butt boys laugh nastily, and Keratin shivers with fear.
“Mungo may be a twist, but he is more or less saying what we all feel. Under the Mistress, this wasn't a bad place for us as gladiators. If she's gone, a bad Master could take over, or we could get sold off to other stables. There's no telling what the Smith will or won't let happen. But if we save the Mistress, the Smith should see that we're not killed. Right?”
Tyrend is not stupid. It is no secret that I am Thrall's disciple, and he is trying to get me to commit to their safety, if they help me. Their help would make it easier to retrieve Elan'fer'sha, but do I trust them?
There is nothing that I can find in the emotions of the humans that leads to think they are lying or will betray me, but emotions and thoughts are two different things. As for the DokkAlfar, their minds are closed to me. Unless they are really worked up, their emotions and thoughts remain firmly locked behind their natural shields.
I nod to them. “If you want to stay, the Smith should protect you, but I can get you all out of Gor'achen. It's up to you.”
The gladiators look at one another, with surprise and hope in their eyes. Freedom is a powerful enticement, and one that may guarantee their loyalty, but it means nothing to the DokkAlfar. Looking at them, I cannot decide whether or not I should trust them. What do they have to gain from Elan'fer'sha's return?
From the way he is looking at me, Kanchek seems to understand my wariness. “None of us have Provenance. In the Atran'ler Empire, without provenance, you are nothing. You can serve the Clans, but you're never going to amount to shit. They will use you, until you are used up, then they will cast you aside. The Mistress pays us well to keep the stable in order, and as long as we do that, she leaves us to our own devices. You were the only anomaly that we didn't know what to do with. If the Mistress is gone, there is no telling what the next owner will be like.”
Among DokkAlfar, that pretty much passes for enlightened self-interest. It is not something that you often see among them. Normally, DokkAlfar are lusting after power. Since they are looking out for their well-being, I think I can accept that. At least, I know what I am working with.
I sit down and eat. The gladiators and guards watch me intently, but they refrain from questioning me. More than half the gladiators seem to be on edge and irritated, but the Throd'nahk's impassive stare mirrors his stoic resolve. On the other hand, Kanchek seems strangely satisfied by my actions. He is probably a strange one among the DokkAlfar.
After eating, I stand up. “Kanchek, Throd'nahk, and Tyrend, come with me.”
The three follow me back to Thrall's territory, and I disable the wards that I set when I left. Besides the rock wall that only Thrall can raise or lower, there are other wards that eithe
r restrict entry to people attuned to the ward or completely block entry. The wards are breakable with enough Power, but that would alert Thrall or myself. I am unsure of the distance that the alerts will function across, but I think they will work as long as we are within Gor'achen Citadel.
As far as I know, of the three, only the Throd'nahk has been in Thrall's territory before. Tyrend and Kanchek look around with unabashed curiosity at the simple appearing forge and workbenches as we pass through the Smithy. From the Throd'nahk's expression, when we enter the ritual chamber, he has not been here either.
Casting and linking the control spell to Thrall's mirror, I center it on Vardne'tar Castle. “As far as I know, Elan'fer'sha has not left Aluras'bektsh'tar's castle since entering. When I performed my last assassination for Aluras'bektsh'tar, it was a setup that was intended to see me captured, but only after I had already killed the target. The trap was manned by Aluras' personal legion.”
I hold up the two rings taken from Aluras'bektsh'tar's commanders.
Kanchek nods. “That's the insignia from the Warlord's Fist Legion.”
“What I don't understand is why the setup. Elan is a Wytch. She's basically and outcast from DokkAlfar society. Aluras'bektsh'tar is the War Minister of Gor'achen, so why didn't she just kill Elan'fer'sha?”
Kanchek stares at me for a moment, but his flat expression does not reveal anything. “All the Wytches in Gor'achen are sworn to the Citadel Lord. No Wytch is allowed to reside in a Citadel or Imperial city without swearing herself the Citadel or City Lord. Wytches may be outcasts, but they are still a valuable resource to the Empire.”
It makes sense, more or less, but if that is the case, Aluras'bektsh'tar could have just waited until after her coup to move against Elan'fer'sha. There is still something missing.
“Aluras'bektsh'tar is planning a coup against the Citadel Lord.”
Shocked surprise lights up the faces of Tyrend, Kanchek, and the Throd'nahk. No matter how well they keep themselves under control, my statement sends their thought whirling. None of the three says anything for more than a minute.
“How do you know this, and is the information verifiable?” From the tone of his voice, Kanchek's surprise seems to have settled into suspicion.
“One of Aluras'bektsh'tar's company commanders told me, before I killed her. She said that they are instigating a revolt by cultists of The Nameless God. I think the Stoics may actually be The Nameless' cultists.”
I change the view in the Thrall's mirror from the First Layer to the Third Layer. There are not enough people on the streets to call them crowds, and the tension has become even more pronounced since I was last monitoring them.
“It's not so obvious on the First or Fifth Layers, but when you watch the other layers, you can see that the people know something is coming. Everyone is tense and afraid.”
“Tyrend, you have connections with the slave networks.” The Throd'nahk's tone of voice is decisive.
Tyrend's eyes widen in apparent surprise, but the feeling he is giving off is apprehension. “What do you mean slave networks.”
The Throd'nahk turns to stare at Tyrend. “This is not the time to fuck around. You know what I am talking about, and if you hold back on us, we may fail.”
Tyrend looks at me in an innocent manner, but I keep my expression neutral. I have no idea what the Throd'nahk is talking about, when he says slave networks, but Tyrend always seemed to be unusually well informed about the goings on in Gor'achen.
“If we die, do you really think you'll survive?” Kanchek's tone gives a clear intimation of a threat to his words.
Tyrend scratches the back of his head, while wearing a sheepish grin. “There are five networks, and slaves are only a small part of them. There are even DokkAlfar with no Provenance among the network I know.”
An angry glint flashes in Kanchek's eyes. Does he suspect someone among the Blood Rose guards is part of Tyrend's network?
“Can they find anything out about what's going on out there?”
Tyrend shrugs. “Probably, but I can't get in touch with them from here.”
“Where do you need to go?”
“The Scarlet Lilly.”
I gesture in confusion. “What's that?”
“The brothel the Mistress gets our whores from.”
I point at Thrall's mirror. “Direct me to it.”
Following Tyrend's directions, I locate the brothel. It is in one of the seedier section of the Third Layer, but it is solidly built and well maintained. Finding a dark corner in the alley behind the brothel, I change the window into a door.
“Come here.”
Putting my hands on Tyrend's collar, I reach into it with my awareness and find the trigger to release it. With a faint click, the collar come off in my hands.
All three of them look at me askance, but I ignore their blatant curiosity.
“The mirror is a portal. Go find out what you can.”
Tyrend gingerly reaches his hand toward the mirror. It appears to stretch out, but he gives no sign of discomfort. With a nervous grin on his face, he practically leaps through the portal and appears in the alley.
“It's not often that you find easily relocatable gates.” Kanchek's tone is clearly approving, and maybe, a little impressed.
“The Smith made it. I'm just using it.”
Time seems to drag, but I do not intend change the mirror's focus, until Tyrend returns. I am not sure why I expect him to return. His collar is already gone. He could run as fast and far as he wants, but I expect him to come back.
After more than half an hour, Tyrend's figure appears in front of the gate. He looks around in confusion, not being able to see the gate. I adjust the gate, and his eyes widen fractionally, as he is suddenly staring at the dimly lighted ritual room. With his normal cocky grin back in place, he steps through the portal.
Whether or not Kanchek and the Throd'nahk can smell it, I cannot say, but I can smell the odor of pussy emanating from him.
Tyrend glances from one to another of us, and his grin changes from cocky to shit-eating. “Hey, I had to do something to keep myself occupied, while I was waiting for the information.”
“So you were fucking that sausage with tits again?”
“You just like your women too skinny.”
“Whatever. What did you learn?”
Tyrend's smugness disappears in an instant. “Something is going down. Thousands, probably more like tens of thousands, of people have disappeared. No one knows what happened to them or where they went, but most people seem to think it's the DokkAlfar's doing.”
Kanchek snorts. “That's idiotic. It would take the Citadel Lords forces to make thousands of people disappear at once, and he would not be secretive. He would just have the legions crush anyone that got in the way of his arrests. Disappearances are the work of the minor houses and merchant guilds, when DokkAlfar are involved, and no small house of merchant guild has the resources to make thousands disappear at once.”
“I never said I thought it was the DokkAlfar's doing, that is just what most people think. But that doesn't matter. No one is going to get involved that isn't among the missing. Wherever they are, they've all disappeared in the last two days.”
I move the focal point of the mirror back to the First Layer, but there is no sign of anything happening. Even searching the sewers does not turn any p signs of anything afoot. Where could they all be hiding? There are probably some hidden dimensional pockets inside of Gor'achen, but how can I find it?
“Mikumi's brother is among the missing.”
I shrug. “I didn't know she had a brother.”
“Different fathers. He's older and is one of the bouncers for the brothel. He got more attitude than skill, but that's typical for the job.”
Could that brother be the asshole I saw Mikumi with? I never looked at his pattern, but I more of less remember his features and his physical presence within my spatial awareness. Would that be enough?
Concentrating o
n my memories of the asshole, I try to center the mirror on him. There is a faint pulling sensation from the mirror, but the image does not change. I do not think he is behind wards, this does not have the same feel as the ward blocking me from Castle Vardne'tar. Is my memory of him too weak?
I settle in a lotus position and enter into a trance. In this state, I can access my memories in far greater detail. Picking out every characteristic of the man I can remember, I build a new pattern for the control spell.
Opening my eyes and rising to my feet, I cast the pattern onto the mirror, and the image shifts to a huge stone room. At a glance, there are probably three to four thousand people in the room.
“That's Toki, Mikumi's brother.” Tyrend sounds more than a bit surprised.
“I guess we won't have to wait for your information, to learn more about what it going on.”
“Kanchek, is that anyplace you are familiar with?” The Throd'nahk's voice is pensive, as he stares at the image revealed in the mirror.
“I don't remember ever seeing anyplace in Gor'achen similar to that room.”
The room is the size of an auditorium but trapezoidal in shape. There are more than a dozen arched exits, irregularly scattered along the walls. Even though the room is fully enclosed, on the short side of the trapezoid, about sixty feet above the floor level, there is a porticoed promenade made of stone. Looking at the room, I have no clue what purpose it might have been built to serve.
The inhabitants of the room are mostly male, but maybe one in ten or twenty is female. Humans are the majority race, with DokkAlfar coming in second. There are also orcs and ogres in the mix, but they are clustered together in their own grey-skinned groups.
Having found the room, I have no trouble moving the focal point of the window around. The corridors exiting the trapezoidal room are part of a warren of passages, but no matter where I search the only entries and exits I find are teleport gates. Also, there is no sign of anyone in charge beyond what seem to be cell or group leaders in the mass of beings.
“There are legends, more ghost stories than legends, about lost dimensional pockets within Gor'achen. The legends say that they can no longer be found because distortions from the Elemental Furnace blocking the spells that would be used to search for them. This may be one of those pockets.”
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 33
