The thug stepped past me, moving me aside with a gentle push, and stepping into the oncoming soldier. He brushed aside the sword stroke with the haft of the hammer, and pivoted it, slamming the head into the soldier. Shatter lives up to its name. The soldier shattered into chunks of bloody flesh. More than a few people lost their stomachs that day, and I was the only one with Sources as an excuse. To his credit, even Horralain looked horrified with the consequences of his single hammer blow. In the confusion that followed, more of the scabs broke free from their guards and ran toward us. Horralain held his hammer up as a ward, but he needn't have bothered. More men and women threw themselves at my feet and begged for my protection. Suddenly I found myself offering asylum to not one or two, but fifty inmates from the Pit. Some offered meagre belongings in exchange, while others offered their fealty. It made me smile that one man offered a particularly long length of rope from around his waist. Whether he knew it or not, he and his rope had been instrumental in our escape from the Pit years earlier. Perhaps even stranger than the scabs, many of the soldiers came forward as well, laying their weapons on the earth and offering service in return for home and protection. I will admit, this confused me somewhat. It was not until I took the time to speak to some of the soldiers, that I discovered the Pit was as much a punishment for them as it was the prisoners. Men and women of the Terrelan army were sent to the Pit for life, to carry out the full term of their careers underground, or close to it, guarding nothing. The Pit had been run by the inmates, and most of the scabs never even saw a soldier after they were sent into the lower levels. Many of them wanted out, a new career or maybe just a new master.
By the time that day was done, I had one hundred and sixty-two members of my new little kingdom. Soldiers and prisoners, and many had trades they could still remember working. I should have looked more closely at those I was accepting into my service. I would have noticed one of them was off. One of the scabs did not belong. For a start, she was far too beautiful to have spent time down in the Pit.
Chapter 17
In the days that followed I let Tamura take up much of the heavy lifting in regards to organising my new little kingdom. It was more like a collaboration between Tamura and Imiko, as most people needed someone to translate his mad ramblings into something approaching workable orders. The old Aspect was a natural, easily listening to others and directing them where they were most needed, and where they could benefit us most. Before long we had scavengers out for food, foragers picking their way through the forest, people with axes chopping down trees, and small patrols to act as an early warning, should the Terrelan army turn up in force. I hoped they wouldn't, we were not ready for such a conflict. I was not ready for such a conflict. But our enemies rarely wait for us to be ready.
We had moved into the city I raised from the earth, occupying the ground levels and keeping close to one another. There were no windows in any of the rooms and all were interconnected, such is the problem of occupying a city that was built underground and never intended to see the light of day. Luckily for us, the scabs from the Pit were nothing if not experts at digging, so we set about shining light onto the upper levels of the city, while the lower levels would remain in darkness. Most of the city was still buried and unexplored. There were imps down there somewhere, and Damned too. Enemies infesting the lower levels of my empire. I had two choices. Either we sealed off the lower levels as best we could and ignored the problem, or we ventured out into the dark to deal with the monsters beneath us. You can probably guess which option I chose. I've never been very good at leaving a thing alone.
Somewhat predictably, not many of the scabs were willing to join my little expedition into the dark. I couldn't blame them, they had so recently escaped a life without light, most of them spent as much time as possible outside, staring at the sky in wonder. Though there were a few who had a very different reaction. Some of the scabs feared the sky and the daylight. They had spent so long down in the Pit, the idea of freedom, of open space where walls cannot be seen, scared them. I could feel the fear and detect its cause without even being told.
My bond with Ssserakis was deepening, and with it came a deeper connection to my horror's powers. I think it was that deepening bond that allowed Ssserakis to control my shadow more easily. What once had been a draining struggle, was now easy for it. I wore my own shadow like a cloak, hood pulled up so only my flashing eyes could be seen in the depths of that darkness. It was an image I was keen to maintain. Shadow is an odd thing when made tangible by magic. It felt like silk beneath my fingers and flowed easily while also clinging to my form, yet Ssserakis could dismiss it at will and it would simply fade away, my normal shadow returning.
Horralain was, of course, the first to my side when I announced I was heading into the depths of the city. Hardt attempted to join us, but I convinced him otherwise. Isen had died down there, and it was a pain Hardt did not need to revisit. Besides, I knew there would likely be killing involved. The Damned would not be cowed or parleyed with like the feral pahht. They were vicious and animalistic and would attack us on sight. We had no choice but to exterminate them like the pests they are. We terrans share far more than we would like to admit with our ancestors. We are good at making war and confused by peace.
By the time we set off, my little group of explorers was ten strong. Horralain and I, six soldiers eager to do something other than patrol, and two scabs who seemed more scared of the sky than the dark. One of the scabs claimed to be a cartographer, at least in her earlier life, and volunteered to map our progress. We took chalk to mark our way, torches to light our way, and weapons to cut our way.
I went first, much to Horralain's grumbling. It was his job to protect me after all, but he soon relented when I made it an order to stay behind me. Besides, I could see in the dark, he could not. With the torches to my back, I let Ssserakis' sight guide us. My horror painted the tunnels in black and white, details clearly defined but devoid of colour. With that sight I could see dozens of feet down the corridors of the city, far more than any torchlight would reach. I am told Photomancers can achieve a similar effect with their magic; they can sap colour from sight, or bring those colours bursting to life so much more vibrant than before. They see in spectrums the rest of us cannot even begin to understand. It is perhaps why so many of them are driven mad by their magic. Photomancy rejection takes an interesting form. The Sourcerer begins to blur, then their colours separate in seven different versions of themselves, each cast in a different hue. Eventually all seven of their forms simply shatter, and they become one with the light. I'm not sure what that means, but the result is like any other rejection. They die. Painfully.
Progress was slow as we checked every room, our cartographer making notes as to possible purposes. Some were designated as living quarters, others as places of industry or storage. I'm not sure what qualified each room for its intended purpose, but then it's a ruler's job to delegate tasks to those best suited to them. My own version of rule was not so much delegating the tasks, as allowing others to take them upon themselves. It seemed to work out well in the beginning.
I was not as graceful as I would have liked, especially considering I was ahead of the others with their torchlight illuminating my every move. My left arm was heavy and awkward. Hardt had advised resting it in a sling to take some of the weight off, but I could still move the arm itself, only the hand and wrist and much of the forearm were stone. It was useless, but I would rather have it free than strapped to my chest. I carried a Sourceblade in my right hand, short and perfect for close confines, sharp as a razor. It glowed with an inner light, Kinemancy and Pyromancy mixing together inside. A sword that could burn and cut at the same time.