by M. S. Farzan
His eyes fluttered open, and they were raw with pain. He lifted a hand weakly, and I kicked it away, almost falling over myself. I grabbed the sword and pulled it out of him, eliciting a grunt.
“You should have killed me,” he wheezed.
“I still might,” I said, bashing the hilt of the blade into his temple. He rolled over onto his back, unconscious.
I stood there, bleeding, catching my breath. The sky was still dark, but I noticed for the first time since entering the airpad the brilliance of the city to the west. It was bright with building lights, neon signs, and a few burning explosions here and there. By dawn, it would belong to Thog’run.
I sheathed my sword, clearing my throat. “Gloric,” I said into the night, “be sure to send a healer.”
TWELVE
We have neither the military might nor the political acumen to challenge the NIGHTs on their doorstep, yet we need neither. We need only look to the truth in our minds and the certainty of our hearts to know that one day, they will answer for their crimes against the aurics of our great country. And that answer shall be heard across the planet, so that one name will be pronounced among all of the realms that have sought to oppress our fathers, our mothers, our brothers, our sisters, our children. And that name will be Aurichome.
-Thog’run II, King of Aurichome
Thog’run’s summons took about a week to reach me. I had done something unorthodox and gone completely off of the grid, hiding in my apartment and watching reruns of forties’ holovids while my wounds healed. Reheated flash-frozen meals had never tasted so good.
The city, now under auric control, had changed immeasurably and not at all. The blue and white colors of Aurichome now decorated City Hall, the bridges, and most of the other recognizable monuments. Over a hundred underrace communities in the United States and several small nations formally swore fealty to Thog’run, forcing the American government to reconsider its stance towards Aurichome, tentatively opening the channels for a parley. A celebration was scheduled for the following week to inaugurate the reopening of the Golden Gate, and Thog’run’s conquest of the West Bay, from Skaggs Island to Pacifica, was now complete.
Regimes may change, but people don’t. After Karthax fled San Francisco, the Pacific South NIGHTs were without a leader, and either retreated to Alcatraz, were captured, or blew town to seek refuge at Pacific North in Seattle. The mayor, knowing without question which way the wind was blowing, obsequiously and publicly gave Thog’run the key to the city, a ludicrous gesture given that the auric king had already assumed power through force. Yet, for all the media vamping and political commentary that ensued, the city was still standing, the trains continued to not run on time, and people returned to their daily lives.
When I finally re-enabled the network on my digitab, I had over a hundred messages waiting for me, mostly from independent media agencies wanting the full story of my attempted assassinations, the Inquisitor General’s multiple betrayals, and what was colloquially being called “Ragegate 2076.” Gloric had uploaded the video and audio from my lens recordings onto the network, and they had gone viral. We were all of us celebrities overnight, though none of us embraced it as fully as the gnome, who had private corporations approaching him left and right to volley for his technomancy against their competitors. Even Alina’s name was cleared somewhat, demonstrating that while she wasn’t on the all-American side of the fence that was expected of her, she was still on the ethical one.
Only a handful of the messages were from people I knew, with several from Madge and Gloric, and one from Alina. The Daypath had been hastily elected as the interim Inquisitor General by the NIGHT council at large, which was more of an attempt at saving face than anything truly repentant. Karthax’s collusion with the auric king, coercion and torture of NIGHT and revolutionary forces, and near-assassination of multiple agents looked really bad, and the NIGHT leadership was quick to pillory the former Inquisitor General as an independent actor. They stripped him of his rank in absentia, promoted Madge without her having any Inquisitor experience, and opened up official lines of communication with Aurichome so that the Alcatraz facility could remain in operation.
I opened the message from Alina, which had a simple note: Thog’run wants to see us. Tomorrow, 11PM, Aurichome. Pick you up at 9.
It had been sent yesterday, giving me less than an hour to get ready for an official audience with the king.
I quickly showered, shaved, and changed into a clean set of clothes, three things I hadn’t done in a week and hadn’t realized I had been missing. I holstered my weapons and a good amount of ceridium capsules, tugging on my coat as I hurried down the twelve flights to street level.
Alina was already waiting for me, her black SUV double-parked in the alley behind my apartment building in Silver Terrace. Gloric sat chatting with her in the front seat, so I pulled open the rear door and jumped in, being greeted laconically by Vasshka and more warmly by a freshly-brushed Buster.
“Where’s Tribe?” I asked after we exchanged pleasantries and were on our way.
“He’s already there,” Alina explained, taking us onto the freeway and the Bay Bridge beyond.
The evening traffic was a nightmare, and we were grateful for the SUV’s antigravity boosters, which allowed us to keep moving, albeit slowly, over the bridge and north through the East Bay. I wondered irritably why Thog’run had chosen to delay the long-anticipated re-opening of the Golden Gate, but supposed he had his own priorities.
As we drove, my friends caught me up on their activities and that of the outside world over the past week. Alina had initiated the long, grueling process of rebuilding They Might Be Giant, and had received the open support of the underrace community for what was to be their official taproom in San Francisco. Gloric was up to his considerably large ears in media and business requests, being not only one of the heroes of Ragegate but also the Captain of the Sigil. Vasshka had taken a trip to Mystic to pay her respects to her brother, and returned with renewed vigor for what had once been the revolutionary cause. She remained a gun for hire, but her allegiance was exclusively to Aurichome.
I was delighted to hear that Striker had made a full recovery, Alina’s terramancy and Madge’s stasis spell keeping him alive until he was able to get proper medical attention. The human would wear a metal breastplate and use a mechanical arm for the rest of his days, but he would live to irritate other NIGHTs until he pissed off someone else. The thought made me smirk.
As for Tribe, my companions informed me that he had indeed returned to Thog’run, patching things up with his surrogate uncle and taking a seat at his side as a prince of Aurichome. The king had several biological children and relatives of his own, so there was no danger of the frivolous auric becoming sovereign someday, but it was still a step up in the world.
Reluctantly, I asked about Agrid the Destroyer, feeling guilty in my hopeful speculation that he may have succumbed to his wounds after the copter took us away from Alcatraz. Vasshka explained that he was in the king’s custody, which, if the stories of Thog’run’s behavior towards his enemies were to be believed, would not prove to be restorative to the entromancer’s well being.
The assassin may have been right after all. I should have killed him.
We took the 580 west through Richmond and over the newly named Aurichome - Richmond Bridge into the North Bay, stopping briefly at an auric checkpoint to verify our identification. Alina took us off the freeway and followed several local roads into the forest, the neighborhoods around us slowly changing from coastal suburbs to rural encampments. Our route led us into the woods and eventually underground, into the warrens underneath Aurichome.
It was my first time in the underrace nation, and although I had seen pictures of the country, no images or holovids could do justice to the real experience. Compared to the incessant bustle of the city, the forest and underground were positively tranquil, rugged landscapes that blended country living with bleeding edge technology. Elegantly carved
stone walls surrounded the road we traversed, and shops cunningly built into the sides of the tunnel stood closed but bright with neon AR advertisements. The structures were still new but boasted the best of auric stonework, and I wondered what the aboveground forest cities looked like during the daytime.
We made our way through several subterranean neighborhoods, my companions making small talk while I gawked like a tourist. There were quite a few cars and pedestrians at this time of night, aurics returning to their homes and carousers making their rounds at various pubs and nightclubs. It wasn’t the buzz of New Castro or downtown, but it had the feel of a living, breathing city nonetheless.
Alina drove us through a gigantic rotary with a huge stone statue at its heart and several spokes leading off into different directions. The sculpture, a twenty foot monstrosity carved from limestone, sandstone, and granite, depicted Thog’run in all of his glory, his foot placed triumphantly on the throat of a coiled dragon and his axe lifted for the killing blow. Yellow and white lights ensured that the statue was the focal point for anyone entering the roundabout, and small fountains sprayed at intervals opposite the roads.
We took a northerly passage, driving deeper into Aurichome and coming to another checkpoint. The troll at the guardpost took one look at our credentials and waved us through, into another cavern that dwarfed that of the rotary. Four roads led into the cavern from opposite directions, diverting around a central square. The cave’s single establishment was a squat, severe-looking building that was imposing in its austerity, situated at the center of the square. It was evidently still in construction, as scaffolding encircled the entire western wing of the structure, but long blue and white pennants sprouted proudly from the marble walls.
We parked at a small lot near the south side of the cavern, leaving the paved street for a marble walkway that led into the king’s palace. Auric guards were stationed at intervals, looking all the more dangerous in the half-light of the cavern’s street lamps. Very few people populated the area at this time, but there were still a number of officials bustling about the square, and a handful of tourists attempting to capture holovids of the structure.
Wide stone stairs rose up to the palace, leading us to a third checkpoint in front of the building’s troll-sized wooden doors, which stood open. Four auric guards stood in the livery of the king, flanking the portal. A fifth guard, a gnome, examined our IDs carefully before allowing us to proceed.
Two of the king’s guard detached themselves from the entryway and followed us into the palace, silent sentries who matched our pace. We entered a large, unadorned vestibule whose only decoration was a simple Aurichome flag stuck in the middle of the marble floor. Ceridium-powered construction lamps stood at intervals, bathing the vestibule in soft cold light, and passageways led to the north and east wings. The west passage was blocked with yellow construction tape.
We followed the north entrance into a cavernous auditorium, a thick blue and white carpet softening our footfalls. The room was considerably more furnished than its antechamber, with augmented reality paintings projecting images of Thog’run I and II and their families, historic underrace battle scenes, and Aurichome in various states of construction. A dozen chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, creating an equal amount of light and shadows, and rows of stone pews lined both sides of the carpeted walkway.
I exchanged a look with Alina, who lifted an eyebrow playfully in response. Buster led our little party proudly forward, and Gloric and Vasshka sauntered comfortably behind. I seemed to be the only one who was nervous.
A small, oval dais was built into the northernmost wall of the room, with two curving staircases hugging it on either side. The front of the platform stuck out like a prow into the auditorium, no more than six feet tall, but requiring anyone approaching the back of the room to split off onto one of the staircases. A podium stood at the fore of the dais, allowing a speaker to address the room and be easily seen by all.
One of the king’s guard moved in front of Buster and guided us up the leftmost stairs while the other auric brought up the rear. We walked up onto the dais, which extended back forty feet to a little reception area decorated in blue and white. Sapphire and cream curtains were roped to the walls, providing a little color in the ascetic room, and the dim ceiling lights turned the blue carpet underneath a deep azure. The sharp smell of stone was offset by a small metal brazier that held burning incense.
A small party awaited us at the end of the dais, chatting quietly among themselves. Thog’run II sat patiently atop a raised marble and sandstone throne, his giant hand resting on the head of a battleaxe. To either side of him stood several family members and functionaries, all eyeing us cautiously. I recognized his wife, Fazgha Hezdottr, and their firstborn, Thog’run III, hovering protectively next to the throne, and one or two dignitaries. Tribe was one of many aurics, standing the furthest away from the king, but dressed in fine clothing of royal colors. A half-ring of guards stood around them all.
The king’s guard walked to within ten feet of the royal party and stopped, saluting Thog’run with a fist in the air. The king returned the gesture, and the guard moved to the side, mirrored by his compatriot behind us. We spread out in a line in front of the party, who had stopped talking at our approach.
Gloric and Vasshka dropped to a knee, followed by Alina. I caught Tribe’s eye with mine, and the thief smiled slightly, inclining his head towards the king. I glanced back at Thog’run, who looked on amusedly, wondering what I would do. Never one to be outdone by my companions, I took a knee, sweeping my coat out behind me.
“Rise, guests of Aurichome,” the king said with a chuckle. “And be welcome.”
We stood, except for Buster, who fell asleep at Alina’s feet. I shuffled from one foot to the other, self-conscious under the gaze of the royal party. My friends didn’t seem to mind the attention.
“So,” Thog’run continued, “this is the Nightpath who has caused me so much trouble, only to deliver the city to me in the swiftest victory I have yet won.”
The king’s voice boomed from the throne, but he sat stock still, a giant upon the massive stone chair. His jaw moved, but his body didn’t, and his hand never left the battleaxe propped on the floor. He might as well have been carved from the same marble as the throne.
I am not often intimidated by people, aurics or otherwise. I have wrestled trolls, fought off assassins, and been hunted by all manner of humans and beasts. Yet, in the presence of the auric king, I felt a strong urge to bow, flee, or a combination of the two, simply by virtue of his bearing and implicit command. He was huge, the grey muscles of his powerful arms naked from the shoulder down. His blue and white tabard and brown pants were tight on his stocky body, and a simple gold circlet sat atop his massive head, placed neatly around his long topknot.
It wasn’t his size, posture, or even the enormous battleaxe that impressed me. Nor did his distinctive face, with its protruding brow, menacing tusks, and strangely humanoid snout frighten me. What pierced me to my core, exhorting me to kneel or flee, were his eyes.
They were black, but not the flat emptiness found in a shark’s lifeless orbs. The king’s eyes were obsidian pools that were hard and calculating while still emanating pride and command. As I met his gaze, I felt that I was being laid bare in front of him, each part of my physical and mental form appraised and catalogued for another time. Not many could hold his scrutiny, and I nearly faltered, recognizing why so many humans and aurics alike continued to swear fealty in his presence. I had thought him imposing in our video call, but meeting him in person was a different thing entirely.
I managed to hold his stare, and realized awkwardly that he was waiting for me to respond. Not knowing what to say, I stupidly raised my fist in the Aurichome salute.
I could see Vasshka glare at me from the corner of my eye, but the king returned the gesture. “Tell me, Nightpath Eskander Aradowsi,” he said, “how you managed to defeat the Inquisitor General and his lackey, Agrid the Betra
yer.”
A dozen platitudes came to mind, unquestionably dug up from the tripe that one hears passively from commentators during televised sports games. I tried to keep it simple. “They underestimated us,” I said, opening my hands to include the group.
“They were not alone in that,” Thog’run rumbled, shifting his grip on the battleaxe. Slowly, the king rose from the throne, the light glinting from his eyes and tusks as he moved. Ponderously, he stepped down from the little platform upon which the throne sat, his heavy footfalls audible even on the thick carpet. His movements were slow but smooth, as though each step were precisely calculated. He reminded me vaguely of the Destroyer, but far more powerful.
The ring of guards parted as he advanced towards us, and Thog’run nonchalantly handed the battleaxe to an auric on his right as he approached. The king’s wife and firstborn peeled away from the royal party to follow him, standing slightly behind.
The king of Aurichome stopped in front of me, towering over me by a head and a half. He was well over six feet tall and as thick as a NIGHT double-cruiser, eclipsing the throne and people behind him. It took every ounce of will that I had to not take a step backwards.
“It seems that I owe you an apology, Nightpath Aradowsi,” he rumbled, “for thinking of you as collateral damage in my collusion with the Inquisitor General, rather than the savior of our people.”
I licked my lips nervously. “It was nothing,” I said modestly.
“On the contrary!” the king boomed, smiling a little. His breath smelled like cardamom. “Were it not for your efforts, and those of your companions,” he swept a hand to include the group, “we most of us would have perished in the worst way possible, according to the Inquisitor General’s machinations.”
I bowed slightly, not knowing what to say.
“You have delivered the city into my hands, and my nephew-” the king inclined his head in Tribe’s direction, “-home. For these deeds, I am in your debt.”