Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (20 page)

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.”

I am not sure how to react to Thrall's statements. I do not know if I should believe him, or if everything is an elaborate setup. If it is a setup, what does he hope to achieve?

After attaching a soul thread to the belt, I look inside and find all of my other storage devices, as well as my weapons and armor.

As I raise eyes back to Thall, a great axe appears in his hand. Even with my pattern sight spell active, I still cannot see what his storage device is, but at least now, I have an idea of why I cannot identify it.

When Thrall throws the axe to me, I catch it, but nearly let the butt of the haft hit the floor. This axe weighs over three hundred pounds, and it is probably closer to four hundred pounds. The metal has the same reddish color as the bars in the arena. It is an Elemental metal alloyed with some type of steel.

“From now on, you will use that axe in the arena. It has not been patterned, but the Blood Iron mixed with the steel makes it stronger than virtually any weapon you might encounter in the hand of a gladiator slave. The beings living in Gor'achen Citadel need to forget that you are dual-wielder, so it will be less likely that you will be connected with the assassinations you are going to be involved in.”

“Axes are not a suitable weapon for Shadow Fist.”

Thrall stares at me without any discernible expression. “You are to become the only true Third Generation Master of Shadow Fist. Improve my Shadow Fist. The basic movements of circular punches and kicks exist, even if they are not strongly developed. The spear techniques include several sweeping attacks, as opposed to linear point work. Develop a complete understanding of those movements and techniques, and expand on that base to properly use the axe.”

The leather armor provided by Aluras'bektsh'tar is a high quality item of power. Even though it is not a named item, it has spell patterns bound into it that make it fit whoever binds it like a second skin. There are also straps for securing weapons and equipment, and I have the two short-swords secured to my back upside down. This allows them to be drawn from beneath a cloak instead of over the shoulder.

I do not particularly like short-swords. I never have. That said, these weapons are well crafted and patterned. The metal of the blades has a naturally sooty black color that will not reflect light, and the edges are many times keener than my bastard swords. I cannot identify the metal used in their crafting, but it does not have the signs of being Elemental. When I asked Thrall about it, he told me to research it myself.

Since I agreed to perform the assassination for Aluras'bektsh'tar, Thrall has been focused on training me in my use of the Shadow of the Od and the arts of stealth, but his stealth arts are different from what I have encountered in the past. In Thrall's worldview, the Shadow of the Od is the ultimate source of stealth, and he may be right. Without even using the Od, I can still shift partially outside of my current dimension, becoming nearly invisible. This technique is a subtle version of a brute force Dark Od technique I used in my Half-Dvergar body.

Thrall appears in the doorway to the training hall. “A message has been delivered. Tonight, Orton'vardne'tar will be going out. The assassination is confirmed.”

Taking my black leather cloak from the storage belt I am wearing over my armor, I wrap it around my shoulders.

“Come with me. There is a secret way out of my territory.”

A secret way? I follow Thrall, who leads me to the ritual chamber where he contacted Boran.

“Take this.” Thrall holds out a pendant made of silvery metal. Its oval surface contains an extremely delicate and intricate pattern.

As I take the pendant, I feel the energies throbbing within it. Their feel reminds of when Thrall used his psi to tear open the scars on my mind and soul patterns. That Power felt completely different from Aluras'bektsh'tar's or Canth's Power, when I was in the arena. Considering Thrall claims to be a Triune, could this be because it is Trinity?

When Thrall touches a place one the wall that looks no different from any other, a silver-grey pattern becomes visible. Reaching from floor to ceiling and spanning six feet in width, it is as intricate as the one on the pendant and seems similar in nature, but I have no clue what either pattern's purpose is.

As Thrall touches the pattern in several places, a view of a shelf or ledge made of red stone becomes visible. The shadow of a tunnel can be seen at the far end of the ledge, but the angle of the tunnel makes it impossible to see inside. Clouds and what appears to be water are visible off the side of the ledge, both tinged with an apocalyptic red color.

After touching two pieces on the patter still visible on the sides of the image, Thrall glances toward me.

“Come!”

Thrall steps through the image on the wall and appears on the shelf. Being familiar enough with teleport gates, I follow him.

This teleport gate does not look or feel like any I have seen before, but with the variances I have seen in how Power is used in the Battleground of the Damned and the Plains of Despair, I am not particularly surprised. If the Power in the pendant really is Trinity, that alone would be enough to make it clear why this teleport gate is different.

The howling of the gale force winds was not audible from inside Thrall's ritual chamber. My cloak snaps and pops, as the wind tries to drag it from my shoulders. Not too unexpectedly, Thrall seems to be completely untouched by the wind clawing at me. Not even a single hair on his head is moving.

Brilliant greenish-silver and lambent purplish-black light draws my attention. Turning my head, I see a ball of roiling energies, with the exact same coloring as the light they are emitting. Slowly spinning in midair, the ball looks remarkably like a yin-yang symbol.

“What the fuck . . .” The words are involuntarily drawn from my mouth, as my jaw hangs slightly open.

The Power from that ball of energy is blasting against me like a noontime sun in an equatorial desert. It reminds me of the Od, but it is not. If I was just a little less hard-headed, the sheer intensity and immense sense portent embodied in the ball would make me want to bow down and worship it.

“That is what Boran calls the Furnace of Life and Death, but I do not really understand what he means. I am incapable of saying the words in the way he does, so all the meaning to them is lost. I can feel the reflections of that Power in the Od, but beyond that, I cannot understand the connection. It is supposedly the Power source that allows the Labyrinth of Yggr to contain all of the hundreds of thousands of pocket dimensions that exist within it.”

Dragging my eyes away from the Furnace of Life and Death, I intently examine Thrall's features, but I cannot see any sign that he is lying to me. With what Boran taught me while I was in my Half-Dvergar body, I may know more about what that ball is than Thrall.

According to Boran, the Od is a Power exists between Life and Death, but could Thrall not know that? What does this mean about the relationship between Boran and Thrall? What does it mean about my own relationship with Boran? What does each of them want from the other? What does each of them want from me? I have too many questions, and not enough answers.

Thrall just stares at the Furnace of Life and Death for a few minutes, without saying anything.

“According to Boran, this dimension is the core, the center, of the Labyrinth of Yggr. Below us is a sea of pure Trinity. In over fifty thousand years of life, I have never seen another place like this.

“I exposed you to it now, so that you would not be caught blind by it when you emerged on the surface level. Take as long as you need to accustom yourself, so that you do not give yourself away. All the normal residents of Gor'achen have seen this place before, and most do their best to ignore it, when Gor'achen is here.”

“Why is the citadel here now?”

“This is where the Citadel Lords come to meet, when the citadels are on patrol. This dimension can be directly accessed from a great number of places in the Battleground, if you know how. As long as you can fly for the entire time you are here, there is generally little danger. Anything that touches the sea is dissolved in a short period of time. Even Elemental matter and entities will be destroyed by that much raw Trinity.”

After a while, Thrall turns toward the tunnel. “Come.”

A thick layer of dust and dirt covers the floor of the tunnel. No one has come this way in a very long time. Barely a hundred yards from the entry, we reach a fork.

“The right tunnel leads to a deserted part of the Third Layer. The left leads to the sewers under the First Layer. When you are ready to return, the charm will allow you to activate the teleport gate from the ledge. Without the charm, you will not even be able to find the gate.”

Thrall disappears as soon as he finishes speaking. It looks like I am on my own from here, but I prefer it this way.

Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a count of three hundred. As I release it, all the built-up tension from living in Elan'fer'sha's slave pens leaves my body. There is no one riding herd on me. If I wanted to, I am sure I could find a way to leave Gor'achen, but I have no reason to leave for the moment.

I do not know what the protocols are for moving between the Layers in Gor'achen. Looking at the two tunnels, I take the left hand one. There are no other branches, and after walking for over an hour, I reach a square room with a carving etched into the wall opposite the tunnel entry.

In the carving a massively built human is fighting a giant, while being stabbed in the back by another human. The faces of all three fighters are hidden by their helms, but the human being back-stabbed has a build as massive as Thrall. He has a huge war hammer in one hand and a massive shield on his other arm. The human stabbing him in the back is about the same height but much more slightly built.

Thrall has a scar on his back in about the same place, where the man in the carving is being stabbed.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.
I do not voice the words. In the past month, I have learned how to focus Smithing with the thought and intent of the mantra.

As my spell shifts the vision in my left eye, I see the spell pattern laid into the carving. Some but not all of the lines used in the carving are the lines of the pattern. Even though the spell pattern is there, it has no Power tied to it. It is a spell formation, not a sigil. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, it is a pattern based on spell principles similar to Smithing. While it is not a Smith's pattern, it is still a Maker's pattern.

Thrall said that this tunnel led to the sewers of the First Layer, so this cannot be a dead end. The starting point for the pattern seems to be where the sword enters the larger human's back. With my hand on the head of the hammer, I channel my mana into the formation. It takes a ridiculous amount of mana to fully power the pattern, priming the formation. The level of my development in using mana is much less than my ability to channel ki, but it is no longer even close to weak. Sill, I must be pushing more than three quarter of the mana I am capable of channeling into it.

With the pattern fully powered, it is obvious how complex the formation is. However, despite its complexity, the is no way that this formation should take so much mana to power it. So exactly why that the case?

Even though it should be the sewers on the other side of this wall, it does not mean that there is no one there. As unlikely as the case may be, there could be sewer slaves cleaning the sewer tunnels in range of this section of the wall. If I could, I would like to see what is there, before activating the formation. Unfortunately, I have no abilities that can see through solid objects. If there is anyone there, I will just have to kill them.

When I active the spell formation, the wall becomes transparent and insubstantial. Even seeing the result, I still do not understand how this spell pattern works. There is entirely too much knowledge about patterns in general and Smithing in particular that I am lacking.

The reeking stench of the sewers hits me in the face. It is not the worst smell I have ever encountered, but it is pretty well up there on the stomach turning scale. Stepping through the insubstantial wall, I enter the sewers. There is no one that I can detect within range of my sight or spatial awareness, and there are no sounds that are likely to have been made by humans or other intelligent beings.

The sewers are lit by greenish crystals embedded in the roof of the tunnel. I almost laugh at the scene I have walked into. The tunnel is about fifteen feet wide, and the roof of the tunnel is more that fifteen feet over the walkway I am standing on. The walls are decorated with a series of constantly repeating arches, with a carving of a battle scene inside of each arch. Each scene is unique, without a single repeat visible from where I am standing. What kind of mentality does it take to decorate your sewers with artwork of this quality? It is not like any of the elite among the DokkAlfar will ever see it.

I feel my mana in the spell formation dissipate, and the wall behind me returns to solidity. This side of the wall has the mirror image of the carvings on the opposite side. Looking at it, I cannot see any signs of the spell formation. Even with my hand on the head of the war hammer, I still cannot feel its existence. Only by channeling my mana into the carving, I am able to feel the spell formation. Now, I can understand how the tunnel could remain secret. The likelihood of someone going around the sewers and channeling mana into all the carvings is rather minuscule.

While I may be in the sewers, I do not know where I am in the First Layer. None of the maps provided by Aluras'bektsh'tar contained the layout of the sewers. The first thing I need to do is to find one of the access stairs that are used by repair crews.

Turning right, I follow the tunnel, until I find a short side passage with no sewage channel in it. At the end of the passage a flight of stairs leads up.

Stopping halfway up the stairs, I listen for any sounds from above. It seems the wind screens maintained over the Seven Great Citadels are as effective as they are reputed to be. The soughing of the wind is only a soft background sound, and there is not the slightest hint of the noise of voices or footsteps.

Advancing to the top of the stairs, I find a locked gate blocking the exit. The metal used in this gate is the same Blood Iron and steel alloy that was used to make the gates in the arena. Despite its enormous weight, its strength seems to be fully equal to its weight. If I were to break the lock by force, the noise would be audible for miles around. Other than than the great axe Thrall gave me, I do not have a weapon with the strength sheer through Blood Irons, but there is not enough room to swing that huge axe properly. My kicks could probably do the job, but with the Blood Iron alloy, I am not certain I can hit with enough force. Not that it matters, since I am a Smith.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.
I draw up my still weakened mana and cast the pattern sight spell on my eye again.