My sudden, profound clarity led me back to Vyranthas—back to the hell where I was reborn.
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Sel woke to some inconsiderate tool shaking her and Kadran prodding her mentally, each jab making her twitch. She let him shake her once more before whipping around and grabbing their hands, twisting to break—
“Damn it Sel, quit it!” Ryn winced.
She let go and noticed her previously consumed liquor trying to make a break for it. Fighting down bile, she turned to the tall, narrow faced and handsome assassin. She tried to glare into his dark eyes, but there instead her bloodshot eyes just blinked slowly, heavy with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with her daily self drownings.
“How did you even find me?” She slumped against the bar with a groan.
He scratched at his short, messy brown hair before joining her and taking a seat at an empty barrel. He grinned at her, his face bright and cheerful. She hated him for that.
“Matron has a fun little mission for us. I assumed you might want a break from the Ashen Hand hunt and that booze,” he said, nudging her with an elbow. His proud, almost elegant features took on odd contours in the light of the room, his violet tinged black cloak, clothes and leather vest nearly identical to Sel’s
“You assumed wrong, Ryn. Maybe you could join me, see what you’re missing out on.” Despite Kadran prodding her even harder, she was determined to revolt—by slumping further against the counter.
“Come on idiot, it’ll distract you.” He stood, then practically dragged Sel out of the building by her limp arms.
He’s right, you know. Focus on earning aurons, appeasing the Matron, and getting to the point where you can find your brother, Kadran whispered in her aching head.
It’s not like she’ll send me to the south, or like I’ll even buy my freedom by then, Sel shot back.
We’ll pull the right strings to get us there, Sel, he hummed. I thought I was supposed to be the weird, pessimistic one, not you.
Ryn pulled her out of the Ossuary caverns, through two long tunnels, and they started skirting around the Pit Circuit before she even realized it. Maybe she should slow down on the drinking a little—though that sounded suspiciously sane and logical for her.
They stepped carefully in these outer tunnels—the Pitlords weren’t as friendly as the gang ruling over the Oss. She ignored the press of bodies as they went up the curving tunnel, thinking instead of what she remembered about The Patriarch. Her memory got jogged a bit when one of his gladiators basically robbed a brawny thug, less than twenty feet away.
They were one of the rising stars of underground—one of the five Alchemical Sovereigns who’d risen to power in the last year. She didn’t know much about The Patriarch, besides that he was some famous ex-gladiator from the south. That, and he ran an outfit that was both well-oiled machine, and messy as hell. The barrel-chested ‘gladiator’ wore minimal armor—really just bulky iron pauldrons and arm plating.
The gangster brandished his short sword, face hidden by an odd full helm, with the front half little more than a cage of metal bars. Veins of pulsing red energy crept below the surface of his skin, spreading erratically across most of his body. The sign of a frequent user of the alchemical drug known as bloodmist, a nasty piece of work that’s only been refined further in the last ten months.
Though they saw a few patrols of the generally massive and rowdy gladiators—they even drifted past two of the less popular fighting pits—they made it to the shafts heading up to the Upper Depths. It was generally a neutral area, but recently The Murder, the Crow ruled gang who oversaw the Oss and several areas in the Warrens, had taken it upon themselves to provide some security to the so-called communities residing in the Middle Depths. Lackeys hovered around the electric lift leading upward, not at all alert.
She joined the small crowd piling onto the lift, though she eyed the Crow’s enforcers. They wore drab, uniform black long coats of stiff cloth, bone shards replacing the buttons doing it up. Aside from their dark, vicious looking claws they had slipped around their hands, their most distinctive feature were the metallic corvid skulls they wore.
They were ignored as the pair entered the lift, then the lift master started their slow ascent. The hot press of filthy men and women, their clothes unwashed more commonly than clean, annoyed the hungover and irate Sel. She had to close her eyes and bite her cheek in order to resist breaking the nose of a man who jostled her on the right.
Ah, the benefits of living in both the Aether, and the physical realm. I think I’d have to say that’s an even better advantage than my other powers. Too bad you’re stuck with your fellow, smelly humans, Kadran hummed flatly. He’d been working on his quips and delivery in his spare time, apparently. They still needed intense work.
After a few claustrophobic minutes, they reached the Upper Depths and started down the Tunnel of Stars—the largest, most central route of the level. Shards of white glowing crystals peppered the walls sporadically, mixing curiously with the flickering oil lanterns lining the tunnel. Ryn still tugged her along until they reached the spiderweb of tunnels that made up the Charnel Markets.
It was like The Depths was a darker mirror of certain areas above ground. From the people, to the drugs and gangs—everything was simply worse here. The Markets were run by Madame Morana, leader of the Twilight Serpents. The entire area made all the pleasure and gambling dens above look like upstanding establishments. Here, Morana satisfied every need—until the patron couldn’t pay. Then they payed with their heads.
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They reached a surface shaft after another thirty minutes, where a lift led to a certain tenement that lay deep within the Shadowed Court of the Warrens. There were a handful of other well-known or secret passages to the surface—they used this one since they didn’t want to risk going to other parts of The Depths, plus this shaft didn’t force them to head through the city’s sewers and original tunnels to get above ground.
Another slow ascension later, they made their way down the streets of the Shadowed Court, the night sky either overcast or invisible in the smog that settled at the deepest part of the city. This early in the morning the streets only held a trickle of traffic, nowhere near as much as below ground. The stone tenements loomed around them, bridges or planks spanning the gaps between most of them. The majority of these buildings were vacant besides numerous illicit businesses and merchants, and along the street and each alley sprawled endless hovels—minor swindlers, food stalls, and other less reputable merchants.
The twelve winding, disorganized blocks passed in a haze, then they strode along one of the three main avenues of the quarter, passing swaths of tenements in varying degrees of disrepair. The Warrens was in rough shape, especially after recent events.
They passed by a section of newer wooden tenements, then several blocks where they were still being rebuilt. A little over six months ago, a fire raged through the city—mostly affecting the commoners, of course. Thanks to worsening conditions, it wasn’t long after that before a damned plague broke out. They’d finally ridden themselves of it a few months ago, but the damage had been done.
The commoners had been simmering with anger for years now, and the Lightsworn’s and Church’s response to those events hadn’t helped. The poor living conditions still persisted throughout the quarter, though housing wasn’t such an issue now. Not when thousands of commoners decided they’d fare better serving the newer gangs in The Depths.
Then there was the wholly unnecessary wall they erected after the disasters. The tall walls sealed in the Warrens, and they certainly didn’t help with the smog. She thought it was some noble’s idea of a sick joke—now, with the tenements of the Warrens and the crescent of the Bellows on the edge of it walled in, she could only imagine what would happen during another major plague or industrial fire. The commoners would be locked in without a second thought, left to fend for themselves like before.
“Can’t say I blame the increasing amount of people turning to crime or drugs. I probably would too if I were stuck here,” Ryn said as they neared the Bellows, eyeing the still active factories, forges and refineries still belching chemicals and black smoke into the quarter.
“I’m already ahead on those accounts.” Sel gave him a lopsided grin, though it grew as Kadran considered that, then gave a hum of agreement.
Industry soon gave way to warehouses, then the walls. The lightly armored garrison guards waved them through with barely a cursory glance at the papers they flashed at them. On the other side, even more warehouses stretched to either side of them for blocks—the western edge of the Commerce Quarter.
Sel started bothering Ryn for the details of their mission as they drew closer to the Imperial Boulevard, warehouses replaced with wide blocks of workshops, shops, and countless other business. He kept a smug, amused expression plastered on his face and refused to answer. They turned left onto the grand marble boulevard, heading north toward the Suncrest Quarter—to the Heaven’s Flame castle.
They skirted around the new, somewhat impressive cathedral that’d been erected at the center of the quarter five months ago. It was grand, she supposed, but it made her shake her head in disgust. The massive building was marble, all tall arches and towering spires, sweeping up to a central point like the spires were grasping for the stars. Broad pillars and statues of Starborns littered the thing, each one a careful work of art, inlaid with crystal or silver. The Defenders of Light guarded their holy site like always, the clanking of their heavy plate armor distinct and muffled.
They had, of course, built that instead of focusing on the plague or rebuilding efforts in the Warrens first. It wasn’t surprising—just disappointing, like much of Vyranthas. They left it behind as they followed the curving boulevard, and after twenty more minutes they turned left onto the avenue that marked the end of Commerce, and the start of Suncrest. It didn’t take long for the castle to emerge from the smog.
It was a squat, ugly dark gray thing—immense, walled, and out of place among the grand keeps and manors of the noble estates visible to the northeast, past high-end markets, vibrant gardens, Charter House estates and other things. She slowed as they neared the open gates—she was both hungover and still drunk, and did not at all look forward to being in her master’s presence. If only she’d grab a bottle of that Vornish swill before she’d left that tavern…
It’s probably a good thing you forgot to do so. That liquor is so strong, I could feel the bitter burn through our Bond. It wasn’t very pleasant. Kadran, lord of advice and all things sensible, was promptly ignored by Sel. She had a stockpile in her room anyway.
The stoic guards—clad in blackened chainmail and breastplates, wielding short spears and shields—waved them through. One was a little less stoic, and the broad, tattooed Farik winked at her slyly as she passed. The courtyard ringing the castle was empty, oddly enough. The guild must be taking up an increased workload all over the region, if even the trainees weren’t around.
They passed more guards as they strode through the long, thin entrance hall. The familiar cold, austere place was the same as it always was…but darker somehow. Sel sighed.
The pair entered the quiet rotunda of the central communications hub. Unlike most mornings, only a handful of brothers and sisters moved about the large, circular room. Besides several guard posts, a dozen long, curved tables made a ring in the center of the room. Usually over a dozen scribes or agents would be scribbling away there, but she only saw three right now. One whistled a specific way, calling down a hawk from the rookery built into the ceiling near the second floor.
She followed Ryn past two guards stationed in front of the War Room, keeping her eyes downcast, trying not to think of how horrid she must look right now. They passed shelves of scrolls and missives, stopping at the overly large stone table occupying the middle of the room. A detailed map of Vyranthas was chiseled into its surface, her ex-mentor Veldar and the sneering Veera bickering softly as they moved pieces around a section of the map.
“So nice of you to join us, Seluna. You can report on the Ashen Hand later—we have more pressing issues,” the High Matron said, her yellow, almost reptilian eyes not even glancing up as she drummed long, claw-like nails against the table.
“Since Ryn wouldn’t tell me, despite asking a few dozen times, what’s more pressing?” Sel asked. She glanced at Veera, but looked away when their gazes met. She looked especially pissed.
“We’re going to shut down a major Darkin cultist operation.” A cold, humorless smile spread across the matron’s flawless, angular face.
That got her attention.
“What’s the plan?” Sel asked, trying to sound curious instead of exhausted.
“I think you’ll find it agreeable, child,” the Matron said, amusement bleeding into her voice.