Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5) (8 page)

Guturan stopped and used a solid metal knocker built into the door to sound a heavy, thunking call that echoed down the stairwell through the rest of the house. Terian remembered that noise as well, all the way back to boyhood, awakening him at times in sleep. The smell of something deep and earthy was in the air: the gruel his father had eaten every day for as long as he could recall.

He never made any of us eat it, though
, Terian thought.
Not even once
.

“Come,” came the voice from within the study, and Guturan shot a look at Terian, something between disapproval and a warning to behave, something that had roots in Terian’s childhood. He felt himself subconsciously straighten as Guturan pushed open the door, and Terian stiffly went up the last steps into the study.

Chapter 8

“Your son,” Guturan announced as Terian strode through into the study. The aroma of the gruel was even stronger in here, in spite of the weak nature of the stuff. It was hardly fit to feed the poor, yet his father consumed at least a bowl of it per day along with all the other meals that were served in the house.
Doesn’t affect the old man’s waistline, though
, Terian noted.

“So it is,” Terian’s father spoke. His hair was a dark, lustrous black, like the oil that came from the Depths, and his skin showed nary a wrinkle in spite of his several centuries of life. It was all combed back in smooth lines and slicked down, as though it had been wet with water from the well. Not a strand was out of place and Amenon Lepos stared at Terian down a nose that was as pointed as his son’s.

There was little enough noise in the study, an almost ominous silence in the book-lined room. A few lamps hung in the corners and a small hearth blazed with heat and light to Terian’s right, the only sign of comfort in the room. A picture of a dark elven girl was hung above the hearth, but Terian averted his gaze from it as quickly as he saw it.

Ameli
.

The chair behind his father’s desk was a simple thing, functional wood and not nearly enough to be considered extravagant. His desk was a table, well crafted but spare, and with parchment carefully organized in stacks on top. A quick look toward the hearth showed Terian his memory was not in error; the remains of parchment turned to ash lined the front of the hearth. The fire was as much for the destruction of the countless secret missives his father received as it was for any sort of warmth. The smoky aroma filled the room, reminding him of more than one uncomfortable memory of this place.

Terian’s eyes fell upon a single red gemstone centered in the middle of the desk on a small pillow. He pursed his lips when his gaze fell upon it; it was the lone decoration on the otherwise Spartan surface, the only item not made of paper. “You still keep that?”

Amenon Lepos did not even raise an eyebrow. “I prefer to surround myself with reminders of the blessings of the Sovereign, to always keep my remembrance centered on thoughts of gratitude for what has been given unto me.”

Terian stifled the bitter reply he wanted to make. He shuffled from foot to foot for a moment before he spoke again. “You summoned me, Father? Called me home?”

Amenon looked past Terian. “Leave us, Guturan.”

Guturan nodded. “If I may, m’lord, do you require—?”

“I need nothing further right now,” Amenon said curtly and turned once more to look out the large window behind him. Terian stole a glance and saw that it was as he remembered, a full view of the approach to the house. And directly across from it, clear and proud against the far cavern wall, was the manor of Dagonath Shrawn. “My son and I have things to discuss.”

“As you wish,” Guturan said, making his retreat with a last bow. He shut the door behind him, the sound of the stone’s heavy weight on the hinges as they closed almost palpable to Terian.

They stood in silence, Terian’s skin prickling at his last memory of this place, of the last conversation he’d had within the walls of this study. Echoes of that conversation
 
had played in his head for years, but not a word was spoken now.

“I heard you fell on hard times,” Amenon said, turning at last to face Terian. “That you had taken to selling yourself in menial guard duty, drinking and whoring in your off time.” His countenance was dark and serious; grave.

“Well,” Terian said with lightness, “I was all about the drinking and whoring in better times, too, but I had more money to pay for it then.”

Amenon studied him without amusement. “I’ve told you this before, but it bears repeating. The wit that comes so naturally to you is familiar to me. Your grandfather made a constant jest of everything in his life, and it took him no farther than the vek’tag pens of Sovar. You would do well to remember that when next you interrupt a serious topic with your pointless levity.”

“In fairness to him,” Terian said, without much levity at all, “anyone who worked the vek’tag pens for very long would need to have a sense of humor about them. After all, shoveling spider dung? When does that get fun?”

Amenon did not even blink, keeping his gravely serious aura. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to listen to the words I speak to you.”

“I’m listening,” Terian said. “I’m taking it all in. I’m here, ready to serve as your adjutant, if that’s what you want.” He didn’t have to force his face to turn serious. “But if you think I’m going to do it without making light of amusing situations, then I’m not sure what you expected when you summoned me here.”

Amenon wore a wary look. “I expected you to have matured, perhaps. To be ready to assume your duties as my heir.”

Terian gave a moment’s pause. “I’m as ready as ever I’m going to be for that.”

Amenon studied him shrewdly—
looking for a smile or laugh to mark the joke, probably
. “I expect you to fulfill your unquestioned duty to the Sovereign and to the Noble House of Lepos. Do you think you can do that without exposing us to too much embarrassment and scorn from your … eccentricities?”

“I’ll keep the drinking and whoring at levels acceptable for the nobility,” Terian deadpanned. “It’ll require me to step up my efforts in both of those areas to keep up with that old sot Mangrein or to bed as many whores as Lady Irinset does serving boys, but I’m willing to apply myself in order to properly represent our house.” He snapped to formal attention, just as he had learned in the Legion of Darkness. “I shan’t fail you in this endeavor, Father.”

Amenon Lepos did not so much as narrow his eyes, but his hand rose faster than Terian could react. A vise grip found its way across Terian’s neck in spite of Amenon being a good ten steps away from his son and having a desk separating them. Terian dropped to his knees immediately, prying at his throat, trying to rip off the gorget that was there to protect him from attacks to his neck.

Terian gagged as he felt the pain of his fall on both knees, the shock of the drop not nearly as heavy as the pressure on his throat.
Can’t breathe …!
He tried to mouth the words for the countercurse to Lockjaw, but his sublingual casting skills were mediocre at best, and he knew it even as he tried and failed the first time.
It’s not fatal
, he told himself.
Not fatal.
The crushing pressure around his windpipe was only in his mind, the logical part of him knew, and yet it felt as though a pearl as large as a troll belly had been forced down his gullet and he choked again, making the same gagging noise that he’d heard the night before in the Brutal Hole.

“Perhaps you labor under the illusion that your wit impresses me,” Amenon said calmly. Terian had a dim vision of his father standing behind his desk, unmoved, not even watching the spectacle of his only son crawling on the floor, fighting for breath, trying to reverse the spell that had been cast upon him.
It will pass.
Terian tried to force the thought to calm him, but failed.
It will pass it will pass it will pass—

“It does not,” his father went on, still calm. “Skill in battle impresses me. Dutiful service impresses me.” He looked back at last, now, and Terian met the cold, disinterested gaze of his father as his own surely screamed
Help me!
to the man who could spare him. “A good jest is fine for a working man of Sovar, whiling away his nights drinking the mulled brews that allow him to dull his senses. Not for a man of purpose. Not for a scion of one of the most noble and exalted houses of Saekaj.” He flicked his wrist toward Terian and the pressure in Terian’s throat released in one gasping outrush. Terian collapsed to his face on the stone floor. “Not for a Lepos. Not for you.”

Terian saw boots appear in his vision, the clouds of red in his eyes finally starting to dissipate. “I summoned you here to take your place at my side.” Terian looked up and saw his father looking down, examining him dispassionately, as though he were something accidentally scraped onto the floor by an ill-cleaned boot. “I expect you to perform your duty as part of my unit, to give me your all in battle, and to keep your indiscretions well and truly under our feet.” Amenon did not deign to lean down. “If you find yourself compelled to drink and whore, do it the way the other nobles do—in Sovar, in quiet, deniable secrecy. Shame me, fail me, fail in your duties, and you won’t need to look to the Sovereign for punishment.” His expression remained level, as though he were talking about nothing more vexing than the weather. “For I keep my house in order in his name, and I shall not suffer weakness or foolishness within it that does not aid in our ascent.”

Chapter 9

Terian scraped himself up off the study floor after lying there only another minute. There was nothing further to be said in his father’s eyes, apparently; Amenon had seated himself in the chair and begun examining parchments.

Son of a bitch
. Terian’s glare went unnoticed.
I don’t have to take this shit
. He wheeled and started to leave, but his father’s voice held him at the door before he opened it.

“Terian,” Amenon said. “See Guturan before you storm out. And be back tomorrow morning, early. We have an assignment from the Sovereign and shall be leaving after surface sunrise. Matters to attend to.”

Terian ran a hand across his throat. The pain was fading but still noticeable, so he said nothing, merely forced the stone door open and slid out.

“I have this for you,” Guturan said, waiting just outside. His hand was extended and a coin purse dangled from it, filled to the brim, a sight Terian’s eyes hadn’t beheld very often in the last few years.
Especially of late
, he realized with some chagrin. “You will of course have all the privileges of a noble heir, all the access, receive all the invitations to the balls and events while you remain with us.”

“That last one is not exactly a selling point,” Terian said hoarsely, his fingers massaging his throat.

“Nonetheless,” Guturan said without expression, “you will be expected to conduct yourself in the manner of House Lepos’s heir, including in the social arena.”

Terian eyed the money pouch and knew instinctively that it was gold, all gold. No bronze or silver needed, not for a true nobleman’s purse. He eyed it, gave it thought, considered passing, just brushing it aside and leaving. He wavered, stared at it, and Guturan moved it closer.

Terian thought about the boarding house again, of the communal kitchen, of his hour per day to prepare his meals. The memory of clutching his blanket tightly around him when he slept. Of the time that a street urchin hit him in the head with a snowball while he stood outside a warehouse. The thoughts ate at him and he tasted something sour on his tongue.
 

He took the extended coin purse.

“Your father told you to be back before surface dawn, yes?” Guturan called to him as he started down the stairs.

Terian thought about firing back a sharp look as he clacked down the wooden steps but he refrained. “I’ll be back by then.”

He didn’t see his mother when he reached the foyer, so he simply stepped out of the front door as the doorman opened it for him. One of the servants ran up to him and started to ask him about his need for a carriage, but he waved the man off.
Walking will do me good. Besides, there is no shortage of carts and wagons willing to haul me back from Sovar, if I so need it. And very few of them haul corpses
.

He passed the gate guards and they saluted him. He ignored it as his heavy footfalls clattered along the main avenue. He looked to his right at the Sovereign’s palace; at the enormous, smokeless fires that burned on the top of its guard towers, and he felt a seething anger at the mere sight of them. From there he turned his head to look at Shrawn’s manor, and felt his fury grow stronger.
You bastard, Shrawn. How different would my life be if my father didn’t constantly feel your dagger at his back?
His anger flashed, then settled.
Possibly not any different at all
.

He stormed off to his left, trying to control his steps lest they become a fitful stomp, petulant in his anger.

The walk to the square took only ten minutes, and it was bustling with all manner of servant activity. Terian felt the weariness in his legs from the morning’s long ride, and the thought began to settle in about the walk to Sovar.
Why am I even going there?
It was an idle question, one he didn’t really need an answer to. He already knew the answer, anyway.

Because it’s where I always end up. Every time. It’s the only place in this dank hellhole where I can be … me
.

By the time he’d come to the far end of the square, the novelty of walking had worn off. He was weary from the journey, and he ached from the Lockjaw curse his father had cast on him. A man with a small cart waited at the far end of the market, a wide bench pushed against the high back of the open cart. It was a vehicle with one purpose, and that was to convey passengers around the city.

He signaled the man as he approached and was met with a wide grin. The blue face of the cart man was made even more accentuated by the phosphorescence glowing above them like a milder version of an azure sky. It was not a blinding light by any means, but Terian could see well enough by it. The cart clacked through Sovar as the cart man hustled along, using his own legs to convey the vehicle and his passenger.