Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5)

by Robert J. Crane

  Terian gave a subtle laugh. “There’s some irony in you killing undesirables, since it wasn’t that terribly long ago that you might have been counted as one yourself.”

  Xem’s dark blue lips became a thin line. “You well know I am entirely focused on my own survival. When the choice was presented to spend the rest of my life in the Depths or to turn about and give my full service to the Sovereign, it was easily made.”

  Terian looked around the Unnamed. “You even got to keep all your stuff. The Sovereign is not usually so forgiving of the sort of transgressions that would leave your survival in question.”

  Xem’s face puckered slightly. “There were others much less fortunate than myself, I will say that much. Your father’s assistance was vital. There was no one else whom the Sovereign would have listened to who would have interceded on my behalf. He sold the Sovereign on what an asset I could be, how much I could help him by being in his service.” Xem looked down. “I have not seen your father so persuasive ever before.”

  Terian’s hand went back to his neck. “He has a way of getting his point across, however he needs to do it.”

  Xem looked up. “I owe him much.” He poured another round. “Therefore, drink as much as you like, and I shall have you taken home at the end of the night, or to a brothel whose owner I have an arrangement with. All this I do in service of what I owe him, which is more than I can possibly repay.”

  “I find myself strangely not in the mood for female company tonight,” Terian said, letting his fingers drift from his neck back to his glass. “But I’ll keep in mind in the future that you’re the one to go to for all my baser needs.”

  “It is what your father has instructed me to do,” Xem said. “To keep things quiet. To keep your indiscretions out of Shrawn’s sight.”

  “It’s touching how much he cares,” Terian said then paused. “About not allowing his house’s reputation to get sullied. Not about me, obviously.”

  “I do not think he would have sent for you if he did not earnestly desire to have you with him—”

  “You don’t know him all that well, then,” Terian said, hot blood running through him. “This is all about appearances. He has no heir without me.” He was just beginning to feel the drift of the alcohol in his veins even though he’d had three times more already than he’d have had on an ordinary night in Reikonos. “I’m his greatest failure, the fact that I so greatly deviated from the path and shamed him.”

  “He was so proud of you up until Ameli died,” Xem said. “You were his most devoted follower. Then you leave? Without notice, without a word—”

  “Oh, there were many words,” Terian said dully. “Loud ones. Unforgivable ones. Ones he’ll never call me to account for, thankfully. This is how I know it’s all for the sake of appearances.” Terian leaned closer to the table, almost conspiratorially. “Because if he truly cared about this gaping rift between us, he’d actually address the night that rift happened.” He leaned back. “But he won’t, because he doesn’t care about my respect for him as a father, and he doesn’t respect me as a son. He only wants to ensure that the House of Lepos survives his death without pitching back into the abyss of Sovar.” He smiled at Xem’s expression of near-disbelief. “I take it now that the Sovereign has returned, the Shuffle has resumed?” He waited for Xemlinan to nod once. “Then you know as well as I do that if my father died without a loyal heir on hand to take up the reins, within a year House Lepos would be housed toward the gates of Saekaj. Within five they would be back in Sovar, without a piece of bronze to bite on.” He shook his head. “No, my father feels the clutching fingers of mortality, and he wants to make sure his name and his retinue continues past his death.”

  Xem said nothing at first. “Is he so low in your estimation that your mother does not even rate a mention in that concern?”

  “I’m sure he cares for her somewhere in there,” Terian agreed, “but I’m not sure it matters to him as much as knowing his name will live on after he dies.”

  “A grave assessment,” Xem pronounced and took a hard drink.

  “I’d forgotten how much more it takes to get drunk down here,” Terian said, staring at the glass in his hand. “I barely feel it yet.”

  “You’ll feel it more acutely as you rise back to Saekaj,” Xem said grimly, “so go easily on it. We have an early morning tomorrow, after all.”

  “And what is this about?” Terian asked, studying Xem as he drank.

  “I have no idea,” Xem replied. “Your father will talk about our assignment on the morrow.”

  Terian nodded slowly, taking it all in. “That feels like a very long time off.”

  “It will be here before you know it.”

  “Perhaps,” Terian said and took a large enough swig to finish what was in his glass, then gestured for more. “But I have expectations to live up to,” he said with a twisted grin, “and I’m not nearly as drunk as I need to be in order to still be feeling it at his morning meeting.”

  Xem gave a slow nod of his own. “I suppose you expect me to join you in this bit of madness?”

  Terian grinned. “Why, Xem … how can I think of you as my only friend in Saekaj Sovar if you won’t get utterly, stinking drunk with me?”

  Chapter 10

  Dawn was irrelevant in Saekaj and Sovar. There was no sky to look to, just the steady, dull glow of the phosphors on the ceiling and high cave walls of the chambers. Still, even that faint blue glow, a pittance of light compared to what had shone down on Terian just yesterday, was almost too bright for his eyes this morning. The fire and lamps that lit his father’s study were oppressive. Take a man out of the light for a day, he forgets what a proper hangover feels like. It’s all perspective, I suppose.

  There was a small gathering crowded in the room, and no one was speaking. Guturan had fetched Terian early, far earlier than he had wanted after drinking the night away with Xem. He’d been carted back to his father’s house in a litter with dark shades. Frankly, he hadn’t even remembered getting there, nor being settled in his own bed, though the force with which Guturan shook him awake suggested to him that the steward likely had something to do with getting him to his bed.

  He stood near the hearth, in spite of the heat, so as to avoid looking up at the painting mounted above it. He kept his eyes fixed around the room. Two unlikely compatriots were seated at a small table in the corner opposite him, nearest the door and away from the desk. One of them was Grinnd Urnocht, the single largest dark elf whom Terian had ever laid eyes on. The man was enormous, not in terms of height but width: bulky as a troll, wide as a dwarf. He wore a perpetual smile, but not a stupid one. He was friendly and was even now whistling while studying the game board that lay between him and his companion. His black hair was short and carefully groomed, and he wore heavy mail across every part of his body. A large, visored helm sat precariously close to the edge of the table.

  “I’d ask you to stop that infernal whistling,” the slender man across from him said, “but I’ve known you long enough to know you’d never do it.” Verret Horras’s deeply contemplative look was hidden from Terian, although he’d known Verret long enough to know it was there. Deep thoughts were brewing; Verret kept his quiet, though, a long, white hank of hair was tied in a careful queue down his back. He wore gray clothing, a subtle shade that was dark enough to blend with the night itself. A cowl and mask lay around his neck like a scarf, ready to be pulled up when needed, and a long, curved sword was draped across his back.

  “Sorry,” Grinnd said with contrition, and the whistling stopped. He smiled, almost embarrassed, around the room at each of the other occupants of the office then turned his attention back to the board in front of him. After a moment, he began to whistle again, and Terian almost laughed when he saw Verret’s teeth appear in a grimace. The slender man said nothing, though. Those two haven’t changed. Never have I seen a greater contrast than them—large, friendly Grinnd paired up with quiet, slim, angry Verr
et.

  Xemlinan leaned against Terian’s father’s desk, which was now clear of any parchment at all. Xem wore a suit again today, but this one was much less flashy, without any shiny buttons to catch attention. It was a duller shade of grey, and he wore a cloak around his body that suited what Terian suspected was his role in this team; the quiet, stealthy member, prone to be in charge of slyer occupations.

  “You know, Grinnd,” came the voice of a man who stood across from Xem, wearing white robes and a sash that marked him as a healer, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were trying to provoke Verret into killing you.”

  “Hm?” Grinnd looked up from the board again, blinking his eyes in surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice filled with genuine contrition. “Was I doing it again?”

  “Always,” Verret replied across from him, his thin face pinched. He’s mellowed since last I saw him.

  “Verret, you’ve changed,” Terian said, breaking his own silence. “Before I left, you would have gotten fed up enough to draw a sword on him by now.” Verret looked over at Terian, unexpressive. “Have you grown more patient in my absence?”

  “More fond of Grinnd, I would think,” the healer—his name was Dahveed Thalless—said with a smile of his own, “or didn’t you hear about how Verret has spent the last couple of years?” Thalless had hair that was dyed a wild red color; it marked him as the lowest of the low class of Sovar, something Dahveed took exceptional pride in displaying—in spite of his high position in Saekaj.

  Terian shrugged. “I’ve heard very little, being away as I was.” He looked from Dahveed to Verret. “What? Did the two of you engage in that long-suggested deviancy while I was away?”

  Verret raised an eyebrow. “I was sent to the Depths.”

  Terian felt his own brow rise in surprise. “You?” He looked to Grinnd, who was studying the game board with exaggerated interest. Terian lowered his voice. “But … it wasn’t for deviancy, was it?”

  There was a moment’s quiet. “No,” Verret replied calmly. “It was for denouncing Dagonath Shrawn and his puppets, the tribunal, for having not even a thin shade of the Sovereign’s greatness yet using his name in their every proclamation.”

  “Oh.” Crossing Dagonath Shrawn was foolish indeed, Terian thought but kept to himself. “Typically, that would land you in the Depths for life, would it not?” Verret gave a slight nod. “I presume they haven’t changed the law while I was away, since Guturan cautioned me at holding my tongue and my opinions to myself while I’m here …”

  “No, they have not changed the law,” Verret snapped, looking back at Terian impatiently. “But the Sovereign has returned, and your father brought my plight to his attention. He immediately set me free, rectifying the wrongs done by Shrawn and his overbearing vek’tag calves.”

  “Ah,” Terian said and looked back at Thalless, who was still wearing an impertinent smile on his face. “So why would Verret be indebted to Grinnd?”

  “I visited him in the Depths,” Grinnd replied, finally making his move, sweeping the little piece of soapstone up in his massive palm and placing it on a space across the board. Verret ground his teeth at the sight of Grinnd’s move, which caused the big man to grimace in contrition. “Went and saw him every couple of days in the mines, helped him tunnel and break rocks.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Terian said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Hard labor keeps you in a good humor,” Grinnd said with a nod and something that was probably intended as sage wisdom. He caught a scalding look from Verret. “Well, it keeps me in a good humor.”

  “Probably because you were allowed to leave whenever you wanted,” Verret replied thinly. “Those of us who had to continue laboring into the night and who were forced to sleep in the rock piles, bereft of female companionship, did not find much good to keep humored about.”

  “Now, now,” Dahveed Thalless said with a little smile from where he stood near Xem, “I imagine that without female companionship, the rocks were scarcely the hardest thing you had to deal with in the Depths.”

  Verret opened his mouth to make a reply but shut it as the door to the study opened and Amenon Lepos entered in full armor, another man trailing just behind him. The follower was unfamiliar to Terian, but he walked in his father’s shadow, only a step or two behind, yet quietly. He wore no armor, but the sash around his shoulders marked him as a wielder of magics; upon further study Terian recognized the runes as those worn by druids, users of nature’s magic.

  The druid had a cloak of his own, as did the others—ready for travel, I suppose—and an exceedingly serene feel about him; he exuded an expressionless calm that put him at odds with the other druids Terian knew. He’s nothing like Niamh, that’s certain. Terian felt the twinge of sadness at the remembrance that he hadn’t even had a chance to say farewell to the red-haired elf before he’d left Sanctuary, and he immediately tried to push her memory out of his mind.

  “I believe we’re all acquainted here,” Terian’s father announced as he walked behind his desk, “with the exception of Terian and Bowe,” he nodded to the druid. “Bowe Sturrt, this is Terian Lepos, my son and heir. Terian, Bowe is our magical transport.”

  Terian gave Bowe a curt nod and received a calm inclination of the head in respect in return. Terian looked back to see both Grinnd and Verret on their feet at attention with the arrival of Terian’s father. Dahveed was similarly off the wall, standing straighter. Only Xemlinan remained slack against Terian’s father’s desk, but he watched every move Amenon made with careful attention.

  “We have a mission, sir?” Grinnd asked with some eagerness. Terian felt something entirely different at the thought of what might be coming.

  “Indeed,” Amenon said without preamble. “Information has fallen into our grasp that must be acted upon with utmost haste. We will be leaving immediately for Kortran, the city of the titans, upon completion of this meeting, and will likely not return for at least a day, possibly more.”

  There was a simple nod of assent and agreement from everyone in the room, though Amenon seemed to pay it no heed, gathering his thoughts and watching none of them. Figures, Terian thought, he doesn’t have to care about any of their opinions.

  “We have a fugitive from the Sovereign’s justice,” Amenon went on after a moment’s pause, “a heretic who has been on the run for some time. We’ve been sold a piece of information that he has found refuge in the city of the titans, hiding under their very noses unnoticed, much like a rat would do in one of the hovels of the poor.”

  “Only one solution for a rat problem,” Verret said with a cold edge to his voice.

  “I quite agree,” Amenon said, “as does the Sovereign. However, he wishes us to extract a piece of information from the prisoner, and so we shall, by any means necessary. If he parts with it immediately, we will leave his corpse to rot in Kortran. If he does not, he will return with us and enjoy our hospitality until he surrenders that which the Sovereign desires.”

  Terian watched the assemblage as they nodded idly along. Torture. He means torture. Terian blinked, and he tried to bury his growing unease deeper within. We’re going to torture this poor bastard until he tells us what we want to know.

  “Any questions?” Amenon asked, giving a quick look around the room. “Very well.” He shot a nod to Bowe, and the druid began to cast a spell.

  He’s not even really allowing time for a question, nor for doubts, nor for us to do anything save agree with him and go along. There’s no time to even grab anything, though I suppose Father expects we’ll all come to his meetings prepared. Terian felt his grimace deepen. Prepared for missions that involve capture and torture. His hangover felt suddenly worse.

  He said nothing, though, and the intensity of the druid’s magic kicked up, filling the study with a teleportation whirlwind that carried them away, off in the gale of a magical tempest to a destination far, far from where they had been standing only a moment before.


  Chapter 11

  Terian squinted his eyes against the brightness of the Gradsden Savanna. In contrast to the snows of Reikonos that he had left only a day earlier, it was miserably hot. The scent of the heavy grasses swaying in the delicate breeze hardly compensated for the oppressive warmth and humidity. The horizon shimmered in the wafting heat, and in the near distance he could see the beginning of mountains. And the gates of Kortran, I hope.

  “You look like a newling venturing outside Saekaj for the first time,” Thalless said to Terian with a grin. His healer’s robes looked cool and light in the oppressive midday sun, and Dahveed himself seemed to be taking the dramatic shift in temperature from the warrens of Sovar to the open savanna much better than Terian would have anticipated.

  “It’s the heat, the humidity and the flies,” Terian pronounced, swatting at a fly larger than his thumb and knocking the fat thing out of the air. “Actually, I can swat or curse the flies. It’s mainly the heat and the humidity.” Though should I run across one of the oversized animals that inhabits this land, I’ll be cursing them as well—as I run away.

  “It does have a way of making a body long for home, doesn’t it?” Thalless wore a wide grin, seemingly untroubled by the terrible weather conditions.

  “For the first time in a long time, yes,” Terian said. “I was here a few months ago and I’d swear it wasn’t this bad back then.” He struck another fly. “But then again, maybe I’m misremembering.”

  “The skywatchers say that the sun shifts,” Grinnd spoke up from behind them. “I was reading a book about the movement of the stars through the seasons, and they speculated that it changes position as the winter comes to us, and the southern lands grow hotter for some reason.” Terian shot Grinnd a quizzical look and was met by a shrug in return by the beast of a dark elf. “It’s all very fascinating.”

  “Reading is an unseemly hobby for such a dull warrior as yourself, Grinnd,” Verret said. “You should stick to breaking rocks and smashing skulls.”