When I check her study, Elan'fer'sha is at her desk absorbed in poring through a stack of reports. She looks up as the study door swings open.
A frown fixes itself on her face. “Announce yourself, when I have not already summoned you.”
“Knock. Knock.”
The frown on Elan'fer'sha's face deepens, and her eyes move to the satchel I am carrying. “You never come here without a reason. Is there something you do not understand about the assassination.”
“Ha! I understand it alright, but do you understand it?”
Elan'fer'sha's expression becomes more irritated. “What are you insinuating?”
Since Elan'fer'sha brought me the satchel, her emotional state has shifted again. Even with her mental shields, I can feel a simmering anger radiating off of her.
“I am not insinuating anything. I am asking if you know about this target?”
“No!”
I almost sigh with discouragement. “The target is Sinla'aveyka'tar. Aveyka'tar is the line of Provenance of Talchok'aveyka'tar isn't it?
Elan'fer'sha's brow wrinkles. “She is his second or third cousin. Clan Aveyka'tar split from Clan Gor'achen in the time of Sinla'aveyka'tar's grandfather. He founded a new clan, but I do not know what his reasons for leaving Clan Gor'achen were. All the clan members are direct descendants of the Aveyka'tar line, but not of her grandfather. If anyone is given the benediction of a new Provenance, they are ejected from the clan.”
“Why would Aluras want her dead.”
Elan'fer'sha frowns hostilely when I use Aluras' name without any title or Provenance. “Clan Mistress Aluras'bektsh'tar has probably come into conflict with Clan Aveyka'tar in her search for her line of Provenance's murderer. I cannot think of any other reason she would send you as an assassin.”
“She can't only be chasing vengeance. There is no way she could keep control of a clan, if the only thing she cared about was vengeance. What else is she doing?”
Elan'fer'sha leans back in her chair. “Aluras is one of the Citadel Lord's advisers, the Minister of War. She is the person in charge of the Gor'achen Citadel Legions. It is a position that has been held by the Clan Master or Mistress of Clan Vardne'tar for tens of millennia.”
Elan'fer'sha does not seem to see anything off about this assassination, but I have a bad feeling that there is something wrong with it. I have no reason to trust Aluras'bektsh'tar, and that may be why I am so uneasy.
“Did anything seem odd about Aluras, when she brought this?”
Elan'fer'sha looks at me like I am an idiot. “Aluras did not bring this. Coming to meet with an animal assassin is beneath the dignity of a Clan Mistress. The only reason she came in person last time was to take your measure. She sent a courier with the satchel.”
Now, I know there is something wrong. Since Elan'fer'sha did not know the specifics of the assassination, she did not look through the satchel, but she knew it was an assassination. The courier had to know the contents of the satchel, so I cannot assume that the mission is a real secret. I told Elan'fer'sha that I would make this kill, so I will carry though with it, but I will be on the lookout for a trap.
*** Gor'achen Citadel - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 288
When I open the secret teleport gate, the apocalyptic red skies of the Life and Death furnace dimension meet my eyes. Thrall said that the Seven Great Citadels come here for meetings or conferences. Just how long is this conference going to continue? What are they meeting about?
Could Thrall's disappearance have something to with this meeting or conference? He claims to be a half-blood Aesir, who has more or less been cast out by the Aesir, and the Jotun Empire does not interfere with him, as long as he does not interfere in their business, but I am not very clear on Thrall's position among the DokkAlfar. At least some of the DokkAlfar seem to be terrified of him, and the non-citizens in Gor'achen seem to look on him as a living legend and something akin to divinity.
When I step through the teleport gate, the gale force winds tear at me. I am not even going to attempt to guess how far the roiling sea of Trinity is below us. With no point of reference, I can only stare down at the raw Power that I cannot use yet. While the waves of Power from Life and Death beat against me, I cannot even feel the faintest hint of anything that would let me know the sea below is Trinity and not water.
Leaving the ledge, I travel though tunnel, until I reach the fork. After the first assassination mission, I explored the right hand tunnel. It is only a few hundred yards long and it exits into a pocket dimensional side cavern off the Third Layer, like the one occupied by the Blood Rose Stable. Like the Labyrinth itself, this citadel is a warren of pocket dimension, though they are on a much smaller scale and far fewer in number. At least, I think they are far fewer in number. I have to wonder what the power source for Gor'achen Citadel is. When I asked Thrall, he just said it was an Elemental Furnace and did not elaborate. What the hell is an Elemental Furnace?
After taking the left hand tunnel, I reach the carving that could be of Thrall. I still have no way to determine if there is anyone on the other side, but I suppose it does not matter. If anyone is there, I will just kill them.
Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. Channeling my mana into the carving, I am surprised that it takes less than a quarter of what I am capable of channeling to activate the spell formation. When I came this way the last time, it took over three quarters of my mana. Continuously burning through all my mana, while repeatedly Patterning my armor and attempting to alter that Pattern, has had an impressive affect in opening up my latent mana pool. Thrall talks about activating my latent Power, before attempting to become a Triune, but I wonder how much my pools of Power can be expanded beyond my latent levels.
There is no one visible, when the wall becomes transparent. I step out into the sewers and do not hear anything to indicate the presence of anyone nearby.
I do not want to use the same tunnel as last time. Since I destroyed the lock, there is always the possibility that there might be a monitor or ward spell of some kind set on it. After moving through the sewers for half an hour or so, I pick an access tunnel at random.
Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. Applying the pattern sight spell to my left eye, I carefully search for any signs of spell patterns but find nothing. Casters have a number of ways to conceal spells and wards that I have heard of. There are similarities to the techniques I know to conceal my Power, when I use it, but I do not know how effective they are or how to break them.
I use a different symbol than last time and the bolt that the lock secures turns into rust in seconds. The rest of the lock and gate are completely unaffected.
Screech. As I open the gate, the faint sound of unoiled metal on metal seems loud, but it should not be audible more than a hundred feet or so from the access stairs. Ascending the stairs, I find myself in another empty back alley.
At one end of the alley, a crew of slaves is working under the watchful stares of their whip masters. The whip masters are two humans and an orc, and the slaves are a mixture of humans and orcs. While scarred and missing a few eyes and ears, their limbs are all intact. Since they are performing the heavy and semi-skilled labor of replacing some damaged paving stones, they would unable to do the job properly, if they too badly mutilated.
Each paving stone in the roads of Gor'achen is about a yard square and so perfectly cut that there are almost no gaps between them. After the slave in the work gang destroy the damaged paving stones, another slave, dressed in a loincloth and decidedly lacking in scars, measures the space and cuts a new paving stone from a block of dark stone in a wagon. Considering the way the dressed slave uses his mana, he must be a Maker.
The DokkAlfar in Gor'achen have hundreds of thousands of slaves, and among them are many highly skilled artisans. Whether or not it has always been so, with the exception of weapons and armor, the DokkAlfar of Gor'achen Citadel and presumably the Atran'ler Empire as a whole consider even skilled labor benea
th themselves. Even among the High Clans, they are all involved in the military or ownership of mercantile operations, unless they are not part of the clergy of the Church of the Jotun Lords. Only DokkAlfar who have fallen into the lower ranks of the second class citizen or to non-citizen status will deign to perform any form of manual labor.
Elan'fer'sha's DokkAlfar guards are an example of the lowest tiers of second class citizens and non-citizens. She probably uses low class DokkAlfar like them, because they are DokkAlfar. The gladiators have been conditioned to fear the consequences of laying hands on a Master, which is any DokkAlfar from a slave's perspective. For a slave to harm even a criminal condemned to death, the punishment is death by protracted torture.
The most humiliating form of execution for a DokkAlfar convicted of a crime is Death By Slave, which amounts to being beaten and abused until death by a group of slaves. The slaves, who know they will be tortured to death afterwards, tend to make the DokkAlfar's death as excruciating and degrading as they possibly can. To prevent the slaves from committing suicide, before they can be tortured, the DokkAlfar put geasa type spells on them that forbid any form of self-harm.
There is only one exclusion to this rule. When a DokkAlfar willingly enters the gladiatorial arena as part of gladiatorial stable, he or she is relinquishing any protection as a Master. The rulers among the DokkAlfar have so far not dared to pervert their blood sport entertainments for the masses by showing any kind bias that would cause the slaves to fear fighting against stables that include DokkAlfar gladiators.
Turning to the opposite end of the alley, I move onto the streets. Moving in the Shadow of the Od, I am like a ghost moving through the sanguine tinged light and shadows. The world around me has a surreal appearance. The castles and compounds, which have a Baroque or Gothic appearance, are built with predominantly black stone that looks stained with drying blood. I feel as though I am moving through a land of the dead. I suppose you could say I really am a ghost. I was murdered once and still walk the planes of the metaverse, so who is to say if I am really alive.
The home of Clan Aveyka'tar is a single tower, surrounded by a wall about fifteen feet high. On top of the wall, several wards are visible, but it is not the visible wards I am worried about. The visible ones can be circumvented, but the ones I cannot see, I cannot avoid. Sinla'aveyka'tar can barely be called a Binary, since her psi is so weak as to be nearly useless, but her skills as a caster have been developed over more than six hundred years. I cannot begin to guess what level her knowledge and ability might have reached.
The wards extend about fifteen feet above the walls fifteen foot height, but there does not appear to be anything beyond that. Somehow, I doubt that is the truth. There has to be something beyond the obvious ward that is simply hidden. After all, I know of three ways to hide their spells, so there have to be more than just those few methods.
All of the other structures in this district are small like the tower: small mansions surrounded by similar low walls; other towers; small keeps, with high walls. It is a quiet neighborhood that reeks of old power and unannounced prestige.
The fifth through ninth floors of the Aveyka'tar Tower contain only suites for the clan members. The floors below the fifth contain offices, common rooms, and an audience hall. The tenth floor is the province of the Clan Master or Mistress. With only six actual clan members, including the Clan Mistress, and a few concubines in residence, Aveyka'tar Tower is practically deserted. The servants and guards, quartered in the subterranean levels outnumber the clan member by more than ten to one, and with the exception of performing their assigned duties, they are not allowed above the first floor.
After moving into the alley separating the Aveyka'tar tower from the small mansion behind it, I slip deeply into the Shadow of the Od and move sideways in relation the to the pull of gravity. The world grows dim around me, turning into a pink tinged grey. To anyone looking in my direction, I should be no more than a darker shadow in the night. Fuel by ki, my running leap takes me into the air, soaring above the height of the tower. If there are still wards at this height, I will have no way of avoiding them. Slowly sinking through the air, I use the little bit of traction I can get on it, to rapidly run to an unlighted window in the eighth floor of the tower.
As my feet touch the outer sill, I let the faint gravity of the tower take hold of me and extend my empathy into the room. Nothing seems to impede my power, and there is no hint of any minds or shields. The window is hinged so as to open into the room and appears to contain Elemental material in its construction. There are no signs of active wards, so hopefully there is nothing that will trigger an alarm.
Running my hand down the sides of the window, I identify what should be the hinges and the latch. Wrapping the latch with the corrosive symbol of breaking, I turn it into rust, but it takes much longer to corrode than the lock on the sewer grate.
Pushing open the window, I find the room is empty as I thought. I examine the remains of the latch and see Elemental metal mixed in the alloy. It is not Blood Iron or any other Elemental that I have seen.
The room is lavishly furnished, but has the air of disuse. Everything is clean, maybe a bit too clean, and there is a complete lack of personal affects. The delicate appearance of the furniture and the four-poster bed give the impression of the room having been furnished for a female. The floor is covered in dark polished wood, with several thick rugs atop the flooring.
Moving to the door, I listen for any sounds that would indicate guards standing or patrolling in the hall outside. Hearing nothing beyond the door, I slowly open it. The circular hall is empty, as far as I can see around the tower, but the central shaft, containing the stairs, blocks my view of more than a third or the floor. Slipping quietly into the hall, I find nothing, when I check the rest of the hall.
The treads of the stairs have some visible wards, with apparent gaps in their coverage. I do not trust those gaps, since they probably contain more wards that were cast in such a way as to leave them concealed from normal pattern sight. Everything that exists should be perceivable in some manner. Even if the spell patterns are not visible to my sight, there should be ways to detect them, but so far, I have not learned any techniques for doing so.
Despite the warding of the treads, the ceiling of the stairway shows no signs of being warded in any way. The dim light crystals in sconces on the walls, also leave the ceiling mostly in shadow. Is it an oversight or a trap?
Avoiding the pull of gravity from below, I jump up and use the minuscule gravity of the ceiling to traverse the stairway in the shadows. There are no signs of living beings, until I reach the last curve before the top floor of the tower.
The two DokkAlfar standing guard outside the door at the top of the stairway have an air of lax boredom about them. The pair of them are slouching, with the hafts of their ubiquitous glaives providing a third leg of support. From their position they will be aware of the impending presence of their Mistress by the opening of the door, and they probably thing the footfalls of anyone ascending from below will give ample warning of their arrival.
They are wearing chainmail, but their helms are not visored like the citadel military and church military. Their helms remind me of Greek hoplite helms with a nasal bar, leaving their faces partially exposed. Both their glaives and armor are made of the oily black metal that the DokkAlfar seem fond of.
As I seem to appear out of nowhere, crouching in front of them, the guards start to jerk erect, but they are too late. Both my short-swords are in my hands, and I stab through their helms, with the blades vertical so as not to get slowed cutting through metal. Blood and teeth splatter outward, and their limbs go slack as my swords pierce their palettes, and bursts of kinetic force destroy their brains. Driving upward I launch their bodies a few feet into the air. Releasing the hilts of my swords, I grab their glaives and stab them in the stomachs, before their bodies hit the ground. More blood splatters the area, but there is no clatter of armored bodies or heavy glaives on
the stairs.
After quietly setting the corpses down on the stairs, I retrieve my swords from their heads and listen at the door. No sounds are audible, but that does not mean anything. The door could be more or less soundproof. The wood seems to be thick and heavy, and the door is tightly fit into the frame. It opens inward into the tenth floor. Also, there is no trace of any emotion or mental shields, but when I try to actively probe beyond the door, there is a strange sensation of my empathic power attenuating.
The latch is firmly fixed in place, not moving at all when I try to open it. When I use a symbol of breaking, the latch comes free in my hand, and powdered rust falls from the hole. The door opens smoothly and silently at a touch. With the door open, its near two inch thickness becomes visible.
A curving corridor circles the top floor of the tower, just like the lower floors. There are still no sounds to indicate the presence of anyone. I move around the tower, listening at the three doors on this floor, but I still hear nothing. My spatial awareness is hazy, and when I try using psi, there is a clear sense of something damping the power. Sinla'aveyka'tar must have set up sigils of a kind that somehow dampen psi energy. Nothing in Aluras'bektsh'tar's information indicated that Sinla'aveyka'tar is a psi of any significance, so she might have done this as a way to restrict a Power that she cannot use.
Aluras'bektsh'tar's information did not contain anything about the layout of this floor. So still not hearing anything at the last door, I try the latch and it opens smoothly. The revealed room is a library, with packed shelves, more books stacked on the floor, and bins filled with scroll cases surrounding a reading table and overstuffed chair.
The two doors on opposite walls are both open. Beyond the left, there is a ritual chamber. Like Elan'fer'sha's there is an altar, but there is absolutely no similarity in the inlaid runes and patterns. The room on the other side is larger and contains a rather extensive laboratory. I looks like something that should belong to a mad scientist, with jars of chemicals and preserved organs lining shelves. A blood stained table in the middle has straps made of woven metal, thick to hold down bull orcs and maybe even ogres. I wonder if the table is used for research or enjoyment.
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 27