Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (36 page)

“You already knew Thrall wasn't here.”

“I know many things.”

“What do you know about Talchok'aveyka'tar, Sinla'aveyka'tar, and Aluras'bektsh'tar.”

“That depends on what you are asking. What was your impression on meeting Life?”

I pause for a second. Boran asking that question is surprising for a moment, but he is a Priest of Life and Death.

“She is more than just a little overwhelming. After asking who she was, I never had a chance to ask anything else. She said to give you her love. Why is Aluras'bektsh'tar staging a coup?”

Boran smiles. “She is a DokkAlfar. Does she need any other reason?”

“I've been feeling like someone's been fucking with me. How are you involved in the shit I'm in the middle of?”

“Thrall allowed it to happen, because I asked him to. You needed more training and real conflict to hone yourself.”

“Eleven years in the Lands of Despair wasn't enough?”

“You are now in your real body, and it has formidable potential for a human, potential that exceeds anything I have yet to encounter in a mere human.”

“What about Elan'fer'sha?”

Boran shrugs. “She is just another Alfar. I have slaughtered billions of Alfar.”

“I'm going to get her back. She's my woman, now.”

“She is almost out of time. Her Umbral Channels were deliberately mislaid.”

“Because of you?”

“I do not know who instigated it, but there is no one in Gor'achen Citadel that should understand why and how they are mislaid. Instead of shielding her from Umbral corruption, they have been corrupting her in a specific way, confining the majority of the corruption to her soul.”

“Not even Thrall?”

“Thrall's knowledge is impressive for one so young, but there are no remaining sources for leaning about Umbral Channels that he should have access to. The DokkAlfar do it by rote memory. That is what makes the sabotage of your woman's Umbral Channels puzzling. Someone or something with extensive knowledge of Power Channels arranged it.”

“Can you fix them?”

“There is no point. The damage is already done. Even if she never touches the Umbra again, she will not last more than two thousand days.”

“I'm going to take her back.”

“The only DokkAlfar in Gor'achen you are not capable of killing has been lured out of Gor'achen by Thrall. You will have to struggle and overcome your limits, but if you do, you can succeed.”

“Why?”

“I have a task I need completed. You are the best one to carry it out, and I can provide you with rewards that will be beneficial to your future growth.”

“What is it?”

“You will learn, if you survive.”

“What is the relationship between Talchok'aveyka'tar, Sinla'aveyka'tar, and Aluras'bektsh'tar?”

“Thrall's mirror is both a window and a door.”

“I know. Life gave me the knowledge about it.”

“You have the tools you need. If you succeed, we will talk.”

The image of Boran disappears from the frame.

I am pissed, but everyone has their own agenda. Boran has no obligation to help me. What I am after and what he is after are not necessarily the same, but at least according to Boran, with Thrall's mirror, I have the tools I need to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Using the mirror, I scan through the layers of Gor'achen from a bird's eye point of view. The tension that I felt when returning to the Blood Rose Stable seems to have grown. No matter which layer I observe, the residents of Gor'achen are continuously looking around in a furtive manner, as they go about their business.

The way Thrall's mirror works is based off dimensional rifts. When being used to view a location, the beings there can only see the user of Thrall's mirror, if the user allows it, or if the beings at the target have spells or senses allowing them to detect and observe dimensional rifts. There are a number of ways to block the mirror from viewing a location, but that means that the location has wards or other effects inhibiting dimensional rifts. The number of locations and dimensional pockets in Gor'achen Citadel with those types of wards and effects is surprisingly limited. Even though I have seldom encountered dimensional magic or powers, they were almost always in the hand of DokkAlfar.

Vardne'tar Castle, Lord's Castle, and the Cathedral of the Jotun Lords are all filled with sections that are completely warded against dimensional magic. I could probably break some of those wards, but that would immediately alert the casters. In what I can observe of Vardne'tar Castle there is no sign of Aluras'bektsh'tar. It might be easier to make plans, if I locate the Nameless' cultists, but the problem is finding them. I am not certain, but I think that Woden has subverted the Stoics, and turned them into The Nameless' cultist. Unfortunately, I have no idea where that teleport portal took me, and no way to identify other cultists, unless I catch them entering one of the portals. There were no defining features about that room that I could use to lock onto it either.

The best time to fins the cultists will probably be at night, if you can really say there is any difference between day and night in this dimension. For now, I will sleep and eat, then begin searching again during the nominal night.

* * * * *

When I enter the mess hall, there are a half-dozen gladiators sitting in a group, quietly talking. Seeing me, they fall silent, and three of them leave through three different doors. Since the hour is already past the evening meal, there is no food out, so I continue through the mess hall toward the kitchen.

The kitchen is off the hall that leads to the baths, and the DokkAlfar guard at the door does not try to stop me. Even though Elan'fer'sha provided whores, booze, and a feast for the gladiators after winning matches, the regular food was always low quality crap. The actual ordering of supplies would have been something she would never waste time on, so who was buying the crap food? Keratin?

Despite the food being crap, the storeroom and cooler are high quality. They both have sigils crafted into them to prevent the decay of the food stored within. Like some of the human polities in the Battleground of the Damned, the DokkAlfar use a certain amount of magic technology. I suppose it is really Power technology or mana technology, but the word magic feels more appropriate for most things mana related.

The only place in the Battleground of the Damned that really goes overboard with the magic technology is the Kingdom of Toven, located in a backwater area of the Southern Reaches. Down there they are absolutely crawling with Artificers and Magic Engineers.

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?