Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  Reuben crawled over to his door, it was still closed. Fumbling around in the hazy room, his hands passed over a gap where none should be. Broken stone edges scratched at his arms as he inspected the hole. It might be big enough to wedge himself through. He did so, wriggling himself into the hallway. It was a mess, now he could see the tunnel in the settling haze. It was curiously small, but he knew it for what it was. It came up from somewhere, straight into the hallway. The scorched rock added to the burning ash smell. It had been so out of place that he’d forgotten it. Really, he’d hoped he’d never recall it at all. It flooded him with emotion and memory. He could have stayed there, dumbfounded and nonplussed, if not for the sight of bodies. An imp, here in the city of Entigria, at the hole in the twisted metal cage of Chester’s cell. He picked up a chunk of rock, the only weapon close to hand. He walked into the cell. What he saw made him hang his head. Chester lay there, three imps around him, but himself dead as well, with his throat torn open. First Reuben made sure that the imps were dead, they were a tricky sort, sometimes feigning death only to spring on whomever came near. These three looked rather dead, two still in the hands of Chester, his grip viselike around their throats. The third was lying on its back, legs and arms splayed and still. He stoved the head in to be sure. The small crunch of stone on bone, the sad song of his grief and anger. Doing the same with the others took but a moment. He didn’t bother checking to see if Chester was alive, the glassy eyes told him all he needed to know. It seemed wrong to leave Chester here. He pried the hands open and piled the imps in a heap in one corner. Then he shuffled Chester’s corpse away from the wall where he had taken his last stand to the opposite corner from the imps. He folded the arms and closed the eyes.

  “Goodbye Chester, find peace on whatever road you walk now.” He turned back to the mound of rubble and earth that was the tunnel entrance. If he hunched over he might fit through it. It wasn’t a pretty thought, but better than waiting around here. He went to the stairwell back along the hall and grabbed the torch from its wall socket. Here was his chance, if he wanted to escape, he could. Reuben decided to investigate, not committing to anything just yet. The tunnel was dark and he had to brace his hand against the wall to steady himself on the uneven floor. He was bent nearly double, tall as he was compared to the tunnel height needed by the imps. The torch flame flickered as he passed as quickly as he could down the sloping curve. His heart was racing, if he came across an imp could probably use the torch as a weapon, but if a tunneler was still around, or worse, one of the smoke knights, then he knew he was a dead man. Still, if he was going to be imprisoned anyway, he might as well go down fighting. His search did not bring him in contact with any enemies. He reached the end of the tunnel suddenly. It passed through a layer of bricks and into a dark room, empty and unswept. He was underground, in some forgotten cellar space or unused room that belonged to the city below. The torchlight revealed the hideous prints of the imps and that of the mole-like tunneler, but nothing else. He went to the doorway and looked out, a dark hallway and at the end, faint light under a door. There were no prints in the hallway.

  He had known, in a roundabout way, that most of the city had magical wards placed around it to prevent incursions either from outside the city or from those below, whether it be those enterprising minds searching for treasure or from someone that meant to do harm. But something had broken through here, and had been intent on one thing only, not bothering to rampage in the streets but rather do the hard work to break into the prison. He could still see a slightly shimmering layer of magic that betrayed the presence of a veil on the bricks that remained in the broken wall. It had been breached by whatever force of power that the cinder lands employed. It had been some feat though, to judge by the scorched rock and even the burnt smell of stone, but it was broken all the same. The acrid reek was nearly overwhelming and caused his torch to flare and spurt. In the dancing light he was able to discern what must have been the origin spot, a large, still-warm crater of rock. Questions raced through his mind, why, if there had been such an attack, would they go towards his prison cell? Why, if horror of horrors, the cinder lands had reached Entigria, they had not run rampant killing and marauding? Where was he now? In the whirling confusion he stood thinking. Finally, down the tunnel he could hear the echoes of what must have been the guards finally responding. He had to make a choice, he could stay and try to warn the council that had refused to help or listen, or he could run and survive. That would mark him as an outlaw, he would need to live a life on the edge. It went against his nature as a soldier, and one who had protected for so long, but he’d be damned if he’d stay put in a cell to please some fancy lord.

  The room he was in had nothing but a few broken crates and some scattered straw. He was still in his clothes that he had been wearing when he arrived in the city. The torch clattered as he tossed it to the ground and felt this way in the dim light towards the door that he had glimpsed before the fire went out. He put his ear to the door, listening carefully, the sounds of the guards coming down the tunnel occupied most of his attention, but he couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. He tried it, luckily it opened. He cracked it open, looking into yet another empty storeroom. He passed swiftly in, closing it quietly. And then it was through the maze of whatever he had popped into. He kept his head down, his eyes open, and his ears alert. He moved quickly but quietly, hearing the astonishment of the guards as they reach the origin point of the tunnel. Leaving behind the sound of alarm that the barrier had been breached, he continued on. After a few minutes he started to hear the hustle and bustle of the members of the lower city. Some of these were folks who were beyond the law, others were those who could not afford a better life above. Something about the nature of the under city resonated with Reuben, something about the denizens’ hard-working and inherent nobility, though on the surface they were as crass and opportunistic as they needed to be to survive. It was with these people now that he would have to blend in for the time being. The best policy for him would be to leave the city entirely. That would be a difficult task, most of the goods coming into or out of the city including passengers were checked at the gates.

  Sounds filtering into the alleys from the metropolitan and exotic causeways of the under city informed him of such important things as rumors of a new drug, guards purportedly raiding next week, and the cost of a good night with a woman. All of these were mentioned in coded language. Reuben felt the heat on his face as he remembered how when he visited here as a soldier and had mistaken someone as literally selling spices for cooking. Luckily, his friend Donovan had been nearby to pull him aside and explain that he was not in fact being offered what he had expected. Those same words were still being cried on the street corners. Food from market stalls, earthy and spicy, wafted into his nostrils as he neared the populated areas. Down here people were not concerned about what was the proper etiquette of the rotating seasons of dishes in the above world. They knew what they liked, whenever they liked it, and whatever it was, if it would stay in the pot that is, maybe bashing it on the head a time or two to make sure it stayed down.

  Well, he was out of the prison, that was a start, at least. The first step of freedom, not bound by parameters of duty, or magic confines, or stone walls. He should feel happy, he thought, an escaped prisoner ought to be ecstatic, maybe not on the outside but should surely feel the heady rush of liberation. Not for him though, he had seen a poor soul die and inside all he felt was anger, ready to boil over at any moment. He hated the way the council had wanted to treat him like a piece on a board, it was enough to make him sick. Then he’d seen the way the guards dealt with Chester. He felt the urge to cough, he had forgotten how lived-in the breath could be in the under city, too many folks down here probably didn’t mind, they had forgotten what fresh air tasted like. That was one thing, one of the few, that he could honestly say he missed about the cathedral, the air inside had been clean.

  Reuben reached the populated area. Folk pai
d him no heed as he stepped out from a darkened alley into the more well lit courtyard filled with stalls. People tended not to notice things down here, it could be very dangerous to see things, even worse to remember them. One unforeseen but beneficial outcome of Reuben’s unexpended anger was his unconscious stance, his walk. It lent him a berth that a newcomer down here might not otherwise have been granted. But whether he knew it or not, it also singled him out as one that was looking for a reason to expend some energy. The majority decided they did not fancy finding out whether or not this new person in their midst was as rough as he looked. Reuben’s mind was occupied in trying to fit in. With his current clothes Reuben knew that he stood out, it would be a good idea to find something that better matched the pathos of this underground community. When eventually one foolish and young thug of the deep was put off by his appearance and followed Reuben as he went into another alley, Reuben became the proud owner of the combatant’s hat and coat, leaving the grovelling loser to nurse his bruised ego and body in the corner of an alleyway. Reuben was feeling generous, with his anger that is, and had taught the youth the importance of protecting your vitals with a practical demonstration. It almost made him smile to hear the would-be attacker being heartily sick as he adjusted his new floppy hat to his liking. Luck might be returning to him too, the lad had even had a few coins on him, not much, the lad clearly had been hoping to increase his revenue stream, but it was enough to look into getting a proper meal. He resisted the urge to whistle a tune as he walked away. He was feeling better already.

  4 SUBRIA

  The dense crystalline nature of quartz, especially those in the chalcedony family, are best used for precision strikes. Onyx, always a favorite for sheer power, has the unfortunate property of being rather brittle. Much research continues for stable alloys. Until that happy day, the great passed Master Gerimal showed us the value of metal network channeling into the surface of the stones. Karthild stones produced after this manner take a considerable amount of time but their shelf-life and stability are greatly improved.

  Research notes from the personal archive of Lucius Orramar, Master of Karthild

  The under city. There was no formal designation for it, though sometimes it was referred to as Subria. In many ways it was a second city, a different world with different ways of operating. The under city, Subria, developed from its parent, Entigria. Though it was not beyond the law, neither were its citizens terribly concerned with obedience to the world above. Their morals were about reputation and actions, the here and now. Reuben had been here once or twice as a cadet, but Subria was largely unknown to him still. Reuben had heard of its peculiarities in passing. He’d been there as a messenger as well, when in training, sent by more senior troops who wanted to procure indulgences down where their commanding officers were not going to find out about it the next day. It was a rowdy place, undisciplined, and what law that was kept down there was done by anyone with enough power to enforce their own rules. It was also the perfect place for malcontents to hide. The council was well aware of their city’s less scrupulous underbelly, and periodically sent local forces to snoop around and corral troublesome folks; otherwise they felt it fit for the rest to fester down in the shadows, out of sight and hearing. Their reasoning for such an arrangement was rational and practical, there were always going to be those who were not exactly happy with the way things were and it was best just to give them a place to go about their not unprofitable work. Some were just born that way, unable to fit into the natural and logical cogs of a working city. Others, down on their luck and willing to take a chance at a different approach, gravitated towards the dark below. Best to let them sort themselves out; as long as they did not disturb the delicate machinery above, the grit was allowed to collect on the floor of the workshop of wonder that was Entigria. They were responsible for the illicit trade, the type that the city above could not do in their political posturing with the other city-states. So the under city was a good excuse. Every city had an equivalent structure, though perhaps not as literally underground as Subria.

  Subria was akin to its own world, cut off as it was from the sky, some said cut off from all morals. And in some ways that was true. Law still carried weight but the priorities were different. Amongst themselves a different code existed, one that had nothing to do with law books and everything to do with reputation. Furtive figures were careful to keep to themselves; an unwanted look, a glance in the wrong direction, could mean the difference between safety and a quick blade at your ribs. Reuben could remember how he’d felt, with the other cadets, when they had been drunk and wandering around. Lucky for them they hadn’t been the first group to decide to go down there. The denizens had been used to a few silly cadets and knew that they were seeking cheap thrills without complications, they were not part of a raid, just a bunch of government-protected nuisances. But there were limits, and if you came up against them without realizing the boundary had been crossed, the lesson could be one of pain, protection or not.

  Smells down here could range from the extraordinarily exotic to the most foul and base olfactory experience. As he paced along the dark passages and open courtyards with shops all around, Reuben was not sure which was worse, the irksome smells or the choking cocktail that formed when the unmentionable aromas and sweet perfumes mixed in vile union. Faintly he thought he recognized some of the perfumes, yes, maybe it was even the same spice in the incense used at the cathedral. Maybe it was even the same supplier, you never could tell with some of the more enterprising merchants. The city above slept peacefully while below Subria went about its nocturnal affairs with little regard for time, down in the depths of the earth light had to be created by torch and fire pit, so the denizens chose their own schedule not based upon the light in the sky. There were places where drains in the streets above would let in light, but these were not numerous enough to provide adequate illumination even on the sunniest of days. So it was that this was a world of shadows, which mirrored the spectrum of activities, or “business ventures” as they were sometimes called, of the inhabitants.

  Reuben walked into the courtyard as nonchalantly as he could manage. This place was only one of several, he knew, that were usually linked up with courtyards in locations above. This one didn’t look too busy, with a handful of pedestrians looking through various stalls that had been set up. He could see all manner of hanging merchandise. He noticed kitchen gear, a knife salesman, spices of various sorts, and other goods dotting the place. He pretended to wander through aimlessly, but his eyes were constantly roving, hoping to find some place where he might find refuge. The excitement of his escape and subsequent fight in an alleyway was wearing on him and he felt the need for rest. If he recalled correctly, there was lodging in the under city, but you needed to pick your inn carefully if you didn’t want to end up robbed or worse. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any contacts here and making new acquaintances was not really his favorite pastime. Still, he knew he’d have to find someone to ask. It was either that or roam around until he found a place by chance.

  “Looking for some spices, mister?” Reuben turned to look at the merchant, standing behind a pushcart, several bags labeled with such innocent things as cinnamon and rock salt. Reuben smiled, remembering how Donovan had tricked him once into trying something off a cart like this. Reuben made a show of going over the goods. He was not interested in any of the various substances concocted for the enjoyment of humanity, though he thought it best to appear like an ordinary browser. The glassy eyes of the merchant were careful to follow all of Reuben’s hand movements as he poked and prodded amongst the different jars. Reuben picked up one jar and eyed its contents carefully, he had seen them before, small cigars that had yellow seeds about length of a fingernail studded irregularly throughout. The seeds were fennel, mostly inserted for aroma and flavor to the tobacco of the cigar. They had been a common pastime for many laborers at the end of a hard day’s work, back in Braldoan. They were mild, and he wanted to remember the folk that use
d them. “How much?” Reuben asked.

  Reuben found a likely looking corner, one where he could become part of the background and wait. How would he know which of the numerous shadowy creatures that populated this place might help him? None appeared sympathetic, as that would be a mark of weakness. Did he look like he belonged here, like he was worth the effort? No, of course not, he did not have the practiced ease that the others carried themselves with, assured of their place in the pecking order. He was the outsider, the mark, and he would be tested. He could feel the small glances in his direction of other market visitors, the waiting suspense. Who would be the first to see what this newcomer was all about? Maybe it would be that tall one over there, Reuben thought, or maybe that squat man with the hammer, idly tapping away at some small project. He figured he could take at least one of them, but if they ganged up he’d be done for. Was he supposed to make the first move or wait for them? The waiting was the hard part, there were too many unwritten rules down here; it was maddening, this place of lawlessness had as much etiquette involved as the council hall in its own fashion, little kings of a muddy and dark world. He could feel a wrath inside of him, tried to hold on to the feeling for when he would need it. Finally, the tension proved to be too much and he stepped into one of the little cafes that were numerous here.