Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (41 page)

The Blood Rose gladiators and guards are watching the battle with a detached air, as though it has nothing to do with them. In a way, it probably does not have anything to do with them. It is doubtful there is even one of them with a vested interest in who rules Gor'achen Citadel.

I stare at Elan'fer'sha's patterns, trying to identify her Blood Oaths. I know what Blood Oaths are, but I do not know what form they take on a pattern. Her pattern is already covered with abnormalities because of her her Umbral Channels and the damage done to her by the Umbra. How can I identify the Blood Oath?

With so much damage in Elan'fer'sha's pattern, how I can separate the alien from the natural? Blood Oaths are tied to the pattern and the blood, but they are not natural to it. They are not something of the Umbra, but there are a number of other patterns or pattern fragments not of the Umbra attached to her pattern than are not natural to it. Some of the other DokkAlfar in this auditorium appear to have pattern fragments as well, but they are not similar to Elan'fer'sha's. Are they from her upbringing as a Wytch?

The damage and pattern fragments aside, Elan'fer'sha's pattern is still very different from the gladiators and somewhat different from the DokkAlfar guards. The only exceptions are Kanchek, the Throd'nahk, Aluras'bektsh'tar, and the Citadel Lord. There are odd similarities in the appearance of the threads making up all their patterns. Looking at the cultists, the SvartAlfar has them as well.

Ki, mana, and psi are normally pooled withing reservoirs, but all three Powers are embedded into the bodies, minds, and souls of these beings that should all be Coalescent. When they use one Power, they wield the combined strength of all three. When I forcibly braid my Power, it seems that I am artificially mimicking being in the First Circle of Coalescence.

Stepping back from the battle line, the SvartAlfar stares at me. The cold, malevolent hatred radiating form him would be palpable even if I were not an empath.

*So, can you actually see it human?*

*You are Coalescent.*
I let the thoughts form outside of my shields, certain that the SvartAlfar will be able to understand them.

The SvartAlfar sneers.
*You sound more like a sanctimonious Dvergar ape than a human. Only Dvergar use that term, but still, you are the only one in this place to have seen the truth.*

*I get along with Dvergar. They don't go all bitchy, because they have needle dicks like you skinny-ass Alfar.*

The SvartAlfar starts laughing. The sound causes both the rebels and the DokkAlfar they are fighting to shiver.

*You have a vicious mind, human. You target what you perceive as other's lesser qualities in relation to yourself, but you need to better understand your targets. Do not run away human. I will play with you after killing this fool of a Citadel Lord.*
The SvartAlfar plunges back into the battle, seemingly ignoring me.

Several of the the alien pattern fragments are clustered together, tied to what might be the representation of Elan'fer'sha's heart in her pattern. They are so deeply entwined with her pattern that trying to remove them would almost certainly destroy that section of her pattern. Could these be the Blood Oaths?

Greenish-silver Power fills me. As a Half-Dvergar, I seldom used Light Od, unless it was in tandem with the Dark Od. Since returning to my human body, I have almost never used it. The Dark Od has always felt more natural to me, but I do not think Dark Od can be used for what I need to do.

The Od can destroy the Blood Oath patterns, but it cannot restore the damage done to her by the Umbra. If it is tried, she will be purified of the Umbra, but she will die.
The thought is not my own, but I am not sure whose it is.

Elan'fer'sha's eyes open wide, as the thought flits through my consciousness. Did it enter her mind, as well?

The Light Od is not as destructive and domineering at the Dark Od, but my body, mind, and soul are still strained from trying to contain it. I focus the Light Od into a lance of energy and drive it into the first of the patterns. If I am wrong, I may kill Elan'fer'sha, but being bound by Blood Oaths, she might be better off dead.

The patterns barely lasts more than a few seconds under the touch of the Od.

“One of the Oaths is gone.” Elan'fer'sha's voice is barely more than a whisper. With the destruction of the Blood Oath pattern, she does not show any adverse effects, and instead, she smiles giddily.

A rapidly charged spell pattern, fired by the Citadel Lord, streaks toward me. Rather than take it on my shields, I drive the lance of Od through the spell patter, and it busts into a spray of prismatic light. The backlash from the destroyed spell rebounds on the Citadel Lord, and he drops to his knees clutching his head, while hissing in anger.

Keeping the Citadel Lord in the periphery of my awareness, I drive the lance of Od through the second Blood Oath pattern, then the third. Releasing her neck, I put my arm around Elan'fer'sha, as she sways slightly, and drop the pattern sight from my right eye, so that I can gaze at her inhumanly beautiful face.

Letting the Light Od recede from my body, I feel like I have been pushing myself to my limits for an extended period of time, but there is no sign of damage. Either I am getting considerably stronger than I realized, or the Light Od by itself is not as destructive to an Amalgamate form as the Dark Od.

“AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!”

The Citadel Lord slumps to the ground, as Aluras'bektsh'tar pulls her spear out of his back. With three quick steps, she makes a running leap that takes her over the heads of the legionnaires defending the Citadel Lord. Caught by surprise, the Citadel Lord's bodyguards react too slowly to stop her.

Elan'fer'sha stares at the tableau, conflicting emotions playing across her face. She seems to settle on hostility as she watches Aluras'bektsh'tar, before schooling her face into an emotionless mask.

One of the bodyguards kneels next to the fallen Citadel Lord and examines him.

“The Lord still lives! Defend him with your lives!” The bodyguard's shout echoes in the auditorium, and he triggers a device that brings up a domed shield covering himself and the fallen Citadel Lord's body.

Aluras'bektsh'tar's face turns so ugly from her rage that is almost impossible to recognize it as being the face of an Alfar.

“Are you going to back your friend?”

Elan'fer'sha looks at me for a moment. “I am going to kill her. Defend me, while I cast my spell!”

At my gesture, with the exception of the Throd'nahk, the guards and gladiators for a defensive line in front of us. The Throd'nahk deliberately stands next o Elan'fer'sha, almost as though he is trying to stake his territorial rights. After watching their actions, Elan'fer'sha stares at me for a few moments. Her gaze seems to be appraising me, as though I have suddenly become something she does not recognize.

Deliberately turning away from me, Elan'fer'sha begins to weave a spell pattern. I do not remember exactly what the spell she used in Castle Vardne'tar looked like, but I clearly remember large sections of it. This one is similar to that one, but there are some definitive differences.

The battle in the center of the auditorium is spreading, as the wings of the defenders are being eroded by the rebel forces following the SvartAlfar. Seeing the spell pattern being woven by Elan'fer'sha, the SvartAlfar's eyes widen slightly, and he steps out of the battle line with the Citadel Lord's defenders. Quickly slipping through the mass of his own forces, he engages the thinning defenders on the wing closest to our group.

There are no signs of Umbral Power in The SvartAlfar's pattern, but he seems to know enough about Umbral Power or Umbral casting to be aware of the threat in Elan'fer'sha's spell.

The SvartAlfar does not hold back in the least, revealing his strength as Coalescent being. With him adding his skill and Power to the attack on the Citadel Lord's defenders' flank, they quickly begin to fall apart. As the rebels force their way through, the SvartAlfar orders most of them to keep the Citadel Lord's forces tied up, while he advances on my group.

My heart is steel. My soul is the forge. My thoughts are life to my blade.
Even though I activate the dancing weapons spell on my short-swords, I keep them in their sheaths and draw my bastard swords. As much as I love the axe, the SvartAlfar is too fast, and I am still to match his speed if I use it.

“Keep the trash off Elan'fer'sha. I'm going after that SvartAlfar.”

As I move down toward the SvartAlfar, my feet barely touch the stone benches of the auditorium seating.

“Kill the Wytch! Brand is mine!”

The SvartAlfar's movements are smother and faster than my own. He is using a mana based ability that allows him to run on the air, his feet always a few inches off the ground. As he charges toward me, the area dims and shadows close in around him. His inky black skin and soot black armor seem to blend into the lack of light. There is something strange about those shadows, making even his pattern nearly impossible to see within them. If it were darker, he might become impossible to detect.

Behind the SvartAlfar the cultist forces are splitting into two wings, so they can move past without interfering in our imminent battle. They outnumber the Blood Rose gladiators and guards three to one, but they lack the aura of strength and competence that the Blood Rose defenders have.

The SvartAlfar is using a pair of swords that are too long to be short-swords and too short to be long swords. The blades are about thirty inches long, with a width of almost three inches at the hilt that tapers along a perfectly straight edge to a needle point. Their shape and probable balance would them almost useless for edge work, so they are almost strictly stabbing weapons. If I had not already seen the SvartAlfar's formidable fighting skills with them, I would think that the lack of blade length would make them awkward for fighting on a battlefield.

As we come within striking range, our swords begin to clash violently. The SvartAlfar is faster, but I have an advantage in reach. For an Alfar, the SvartAlfar is decidedly short, barely an inch or so taller than myself. With the slightly more than forty inch long blades of my swords, my reach exceeds the SvartAlfar's by a solid six inches. It may not seem like much, but in a contest of almost pure point work, it borders on overbearing. The SvartAlfar's slight speed advantage is not enough to overcome it, and he ins continually forced to abort his attacks, as I parry and riposte with smooth motions.

Despite his beanpole build, the SvartAlfar does not lose to me in strength and is probably a fair bit stronger. I do not know exactly how strong I am now, since I have had more important things to do than testing lifting ability, but I have easily lifted objects that should be more than seven hundred pounds, if I weighed them. In the Labyrinth of Yggr, even your common trash humans are usually twice the strength of your average Earthling.

Dancing up and down on the uneven footing of the steps and benches, we circle one another, lunging and withdrawing. When the SvartAlfar jumps to move up several levels in a single move, my short-swords fly out of their sheathes, attacking his calves. Defying gravity and momentum, the SvartAlfar twists in midair and deflect my short-swords away, before finishing a complete somersault and landing on his feet.

The smile on the SvartAlfar's face is a challenge, not an expression of pleasure. “You are a Smith. I was beginning to wonder if my information was in error.”

“And you're an orc fucking backstabber. So, what's your point?”

The smile disappears from the SvartAlfar's lips. “Pathetic human, I told you to understand your targets better. I am a Chosen of Kah Lee, Mistress of Murder.”

We never stop attacking, even while talking. Our fight taking us farther and farther up the the stands, as the SvartAlfar keep springing back out of my reach to deal with my dancing swords.

“Oh! So, sorry! You bend over while Kally shoves her fist up your ass! Got it!”

The SvartAlfar stiffens momentarily, before wiping all expression from his face. I smile behind the visor of my helm and press my attack. The SvartAlfar stops retreating when my dancing swords strike and starts circling. We are done feeling each other out and are looking for the kill. With four blades against two, we are evenly matched.

Below and to my right, the Blood Rose defenders are decimating their attackers. Kanchek and his guards formed the center of their line, and the gladiators had taken the wings without arguing. I had thought that the only thing really keeping the gladiators in check was their collars, but the fighting skills and ability of these seven DokkAlfar is several steps above the gladiators. Every one of them would easily be able to stand in a battle line with the elite among the DokkAlfar forces.

Below, to the side of the stage, Aluras'bektsh'tar's legionnaires are still penned by the Citadel Lord's force, but with the Citadel Lord down, his defenders are wavering. It is just a matter of time before Aluras' legionnaires break through.

As I remain caught in a stalemate with the SvartAlfar, Elan'fer'sha's spell pattern dissolves into a cloud of purple blotched black gas. It flows down the stands and into the battle line between the Citadel Lord's and Aluras'bektsh'tar's legionnaires. For a few moments, nothing appears to happen, but then Aluras'bektsh'tar's legionnaires begin to visibly slow and weaken. The Citadel Lord's troops rally and begin to press their attacks, striking down their enemies one after another.