Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5) (6 page)

Guturan Enlas approached a carriage that bore a familiar sigil. Two vek’tag were harnessed to the front of it. Enormous spiders, large as oxen and nearly as docile, clicked their broken mandibles while waiting, chattering to each other. The carriage hitched to their backs was draped in red cloth, though it was hard to see in the fading light. It was built of fine wood which showed from underneath the velvet coverings. Wood was a luxury in Saekaj, necessary for so many things that it was carefully rationed. Terian knew the display of even this much rich wood was a statement about the owner of the carriage. Most wagons or sleds were simple things, with no more material than necessary to get the job done—and sometimes less.

The sigil on the velvet coverings was a darkened eye, stylized with lightning bolt-shaped protrusions from the top and bottom. It gave the whole thing an angry appearance, to Terian’s mind.
Which seems appropriate
.

The carriage driver gave them a nod as they approached, and Guturan opened the door for Terian with a short bow. Terian climbed in and seated himself on the hard bench in the back. Guturan sat across from Terian and slapped the wall behind him. The carriage drew to motion with the crack of a whip.

Terian endured the bumps and turns silently for a few minutes as they left the great courtyard and the tunnel took an easy slope. After only ten minutes, however, he knew his face was showing discomfort.

“It is a fine carriage, is it not?” Guturan asked, apparently unaware of Terian’s expression.
Or ignoring it. That wouldn’t be surprising
.

“I could do with a little less Saekaj opulence.” Terian adjusted himself on the hard bench. “I know wood is a sign of wealth that should make the lessers heed their betters, but they have this thing called padding now. Sure, it gets in the way of showing off, but it certainly eases the passage.”

Guturan snorted. “Human and elven comforts,” he said, making it sound like a curse of the lowest sort. “Let them have them, their pampered ways, their soft luxuries. Our people are of the earth, hardened. We are one with the darkness, and enshroud ourselves in the righteousness of Yartraak. When the day of our reckoning comes, the humans and elves shall be ill-prepared, having grown cumbersome and fat on their comforts.”

“Right.” The carriage bumped along down the tunnel, slowing and speeding up as pedestrians moved to the side to allow their passage. Terian heard the driver’s shout more than once followed by the crack of a whip and a cry of some poor soul who hadn’t moved out of the way fast enough for the driver of the noble carriage. “Well, there certainly isn’t much comfortable about life down here.”

“As it should be,” Guturan pronounced haughtily. They lapsed into silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I presume by your earlier jibe you have not heard the glorious news of the Sovereign’s return?”

Terian’s ears perked up and he looked away from the window, where he had been studying the narrow line of foot traffic that was heading up to the surface, broken by the occasional open-topped wagon. He had seen no noble carriages heading in that direction. “What?”

“He has returned, our Sovereign.” Guturan said it with the satisfaction he might have expressed over a bountiful meal being served. “Returned, and has taken up his rightful place at our head once more.”

“That’s …” Terian remembered Guturan’s earlier chiding and suppressed his first response. “Marvelous. Simply wonderful.”

“I can tell when you’re feigning.” Guturan’s reaction was one of measured annoyance. “You have not lived under the glory of the Sovereign. All you have known is the weakness of the tribunal that has led us since before your birth. This last century has been dark days indeed for our kind, with the withdrawal to lick our wounds, sulking about here in our own dark territories and not reaching forth our hand to take rightfully what has been ours—”

“Because it worked out so well for us last time we tried that,” Terian said without enthusiasm.

“You know nothing of our last war,” Guturan said with a scoff. “You are not yet a half century of age, yet you think you know all about things that came before your time. We were a power on the rise, destined to engulf the whole of Arkaria.”

“Until the wretched humans and hated elves banded together in the lightest alliance,” he gave the word ‘lightest’ all the vitriol due it in Saekaj, being the curse it was within the city, “and sent us running from lands that we had, blah blah blah—”

“Curb your wicked tongue,” Guturan hissed. “Lest you land yourself in the Depths for sedition.”

Terian blinked.
This may be more difficult than I thought
.
 

Guturan’s slitted eyes receded as he seemed to faded into the seat of the carriage. “There have been many sent down to the Depths of late for saying less than you already have. Whatever leniency of expression might have crept into Saekaj and Sovar with the century of tribunal rule has been swept away in recent weeks.” He raised his voice. “And I think it a good thing. Traitorous thoughts should not be countenanced, and the Depths require the labor of our ill-behaved and wayward brethren to keep us marching forward.

Terian let the silence hang after that. He had been down to the Depths once to visit while in training at the Legion of Darkness to become a knight. It was a prison by any name. It was broken into segments depending on the severity of the crime: the uppermost chambers were manure composting sites; below that were mushroom gardens and root farms—where the natural crops that fed Sovar, bereft of the luxuries of the surface foods that were so enjoyed in Saekaj—produced the bulk of their daily sustenance. Below that were the mines, dank and forbidding, where the most heinous perpetrators were sentenced to be worked to death. Terian let himself shudder only slightly at that thought. While thieving could get one sentenced to the root farms, seditious sentiments were the quickest ticket to the mines and labor unto death.

Shouts rang ahead from the carriage driver, and Terian put his head close to the left side window, though he thought he knew what was coming next. Traffic stopped in the opposite lane, a wagon halting with a stream of pedestrians behind it, cowed by the shouts of the Lepos carriage’s driver. When the last of the slow-moving walkers was nearly clear of the lane, the driver sent the carriage into a turn to the left, crossing the opposite lane of traffic. Terian turned to look out the right window, caught the gazes of a crowd of haggard people walking behind and around the wagon, trying to get a glimpse of the carriage and the sigil it bore. When they saw Terian looking out, whispers echoed quietly in the tunnel as the carriage made a slow, careful turn into a side passage.

A gate lay ahead, and Terian could see it just beyond the walls of the tunnel they had crossed the lane to get into. It obstructed the view of the chamber beyond. Luminescence from the phosphors and fungi on the chamber’s ceiling lit the cave with a cool blue color. It was a cavernous place, beyond the gate, one of the great cities of the dark elves. They pulled up close to the gate, the wheels of the carriage clacking against the cobblestones beneath. They didn’t even grind to a halt, merely slowed for a moment as the shout went up to open the gates. Terian could hear the heavy wood pulled open with the effort of laboring workmen who were kept in place solely for the purpose of opening the doors. The hinges squealed the tiniest amount and a guard swore then appeared at the window of the carriage. “Apologies, m’lord. We’ll be having that oiled immediately.”

“Excellent,” Guturan answered for Terian.
Mustn’t have the gentry speaking to the lowborn soldiers himself.
“I expect no less from the Saekaj guard.”

The guard bowed and retreated as the carriage started to move once more. Terian did stick his head out the window this time as they passed through the gates.

Saekaj.

The upper city was spread out before him, the road dipping down into the main street that ran through the heart of the noble city. There were other avenues, to be certain, but the main road led through the primary square, where stood the markets, where stood the great fountain from which the servants and slaves drew water for the least of the noble houses.

The chamber was a roughly ovoid shape, and in the far distance against the opposite wall stood the Grand Palace of Saekaj, the seat of government for the entire Sovereignty. It was a blocky and boxy structure built into the far wall of the chamber, but with an unmistakable majesty of its own. Twin waterfalls flanked either side of the main tower, washing down into a moat inside the palace grounds. There was a wall surrounding the grounds, with great gates of metal and wood, fully displaying the opulence of the Sovereignty. Terian had been inside before, for formal events.
I doubt the Sovereign will throw nearly as many parties in his house as Dagonath Shrawn and the godsdamned tribunal did in his absence
.

The incline of the road leveled off as they reached the ground level of the chamber. The carriage’s smooth movement through the streets was unbroken. The avenue was teeming mostly with servants, though the occasional carriage was passing in the opposite direction, pulled by vek’tag as large as the ones which guided his own conveyance. The smaller houses in the center of Saekaj were those of lesser nobles. Greater nobles had their estates against the walls, with plenty of room to expand their houses by burrowing deeper into the chamber walls. Lesser nobles had to content themselves with the space they had.

The noble houses grew more opulent and the chamber grew wider as they approached the market. At the square, the carriage turned to follow the circular road. The chamber reached the full extent of its width and height and began to taper again toward the back of the chamber and the Sovereign’s palace.

The smell of food and dirt was prevalent around them. Terian could see faces blurring into the crowds. A great many of them belonged to servants, obvious by the garb they wore. A few nobles were interspersed, always obvious by their black, white and greyscale garb.
Bright colors are still for the poor, I suppose
. The servants wore colors, but even their clothes were muted and fit within acceptable ranges for their station.
Enough to allow you to discern them for what they are, but not so much as to be an embarrassment to their masters
.

The carriage moved slowly, the noble traffic thick through the streets. The markets rang with the quiet voices of costermongers.
So different than Reikonos
, Terian thought,
where they raise their voices as loud as possible to advertise their low prices
. Here, the merchants kept almost silent, and the bargaining for low prices was done only in whispers.
Appearances are everything here. Better to have the watching eyes and listening ears believe you to pay too much rather than too little
. Terian smiled but knew it was more of a sneer.
The foolish preening of Saekaj is a constant
.

His eyes traveled over the crowd with dull disinterest.
Servants, merchants and nobles as far as the eye can discern.
The modest garb of the females in the crowd captured his attention. High noble girls were too prim for his taste.
Besides, every one of them has a parent over her shoulder telling them to wait until marriage.
He smiled.
They don’t all listen, thankfully, but still …

His eye fell on a servant, her hair dyed a faint blue.
It’s the servant women that pay the price for the nobles’ prurience
. He felt his lips curl in disgust at the thought.
I’d rather pay a whore than take advantage of the servants the way these chamber pot scrapings do
. He swept his gaze over the crowd, looking for a nobleman to fixate on, to direct his hateful gaze to. He found one and gave him a daggered look that was doubtless invisible to the recipient.
I may be here, but I’ll never be like you and your ilk, whoever you are
. He turned his eyes back to the blue-haired servant, finding her once again in the crowd.
I’d rather be like—

He paused as the servant girl turned her head toward the carriage. It took Terian a moment to realize she was unaccompanied, a strange thing for a servant in the Saekaj markets. He saw her face in profile as the carriage inched along. A slight bump on the cobblestones rattled Terian’s armor as he leaned toward the open window, mouth slightly open as he stared out.
It can’t be
…

It is
.

He opened the door to the carriage and jumped out onto the street as Guturan shouted, “Halt!” behind him to the driver. Terian ignored it; he would walk the rest of the way from here if need be.

His boots hit the cobblestones and a servant exclaimed quietly under her breath as he brushed her out of the way. His eyes were fixed on the blue-haired girl, only a half-dozen paces away now and caught in a throng as she moved slowly along.

Terian pushed people aside without shame or grace. He checked the nobleman he’d caught sight of from the carriage particularly hard and without remorse, drawing a sharp rebuke from the man that faded once he caught sight of Terian’s armor. Terian gave little thought as to whether it was simply the armor heralding him as a dark knight or whether the appearance of it gave hint to who Terian was that silenced the man.
Probably the former
, he decided.

He reached the blue-haired girl with a few more steps. She was in the midst of a throng of servants but headed in a different direction, crossing diagonally against the crowd. It was that which gave her away, he realized. Servants would not dare to come to the marketplace alone. It would make them prey for noblemen seeking easy conquest.

He came up behind her and grasped her upper arm as carefully as he could. She turned to give him a fiery look, speaking before she had even fully turned her head to take him in. “Release me, fool. I’ll have you know I am—”

“Kahlee Ehrest,” Terian said with a smirk, “in the market unattended, with blue-dyed hair and servant’s clothing. Tell me, are you looking for a nobleman to take advantage of you? Because there are easier ways; you could just show up at the gates of the House of Redrigh Thornn without a stitch of clothing on.”