Perilous Paths

By Tomas Liedman

Tazardriulen is a subterranean dark elven city crafted by dark magic. It is a society where a brew of deceit and multilayered plots complemented by assassinations and swift violence provide the principal way for elevation and prosperity.

Demordin, a dark elven noble, returns to the family mansion after 20 years at the warrior academy. His mother, who is the head of the House, hated mages already before he left but upon his return he finds out that it has escalated. He comes to realize that his birthright and position as well as that of his House is at stake and his siblings are too pre-occupied by petty squabbles to save the House. His sense of urgency slowly grows as he gradually discovers more about the present conditions during his struggles to navigate the web of intrigue and betrayals around him. He embarks upon a course to become a true power within the House and rectify the disastrous developments of the last decades. But will he be able to move fast enough or will another House destroy them before he can enact his plans?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483571584

Book preview

Homecoming

It was with mixed feelings Demordin walked through the city with slow deliberate steps. He thought of what his homecoming would entail and what could have happened at the family mansion during his absence. He had spent two decades at Beleg Makar, the Academy of War and his teachers enforced a strict discipline which forbade all students to leave the training ground except when in company of the teachers. This effectively prevented the students from getting too involved in the complex politics that governed all dark elven societies. The training was harsh enough as it was, without adding the burden of additional intrigues beyond the normal ones among the students. Only one in five students passed the full training regimen. The policy could of course not completely eliminate all such politics, nor would it have been desirable to do so. But it now presented Demordin with something of a problem. He had no idea what really awaited him when he came home. He had of course considered the subject thoroughly from every conceivable angle but without more information he was forced to just wait and see what would happen.

He walked down the long wide street through the inner core, the Haerh Hog, of Tazardriulen without any apparent care for his surroundings. The streets were relatively unlittered as they were swept clean by squads of goblin slaves on a regular basis. Lined up along the main street were a multitude of shops like jewelers, tailors, leather workers, cobblers and barbers. Most fronts bore artful decorations with silvery runes and patterns in the stone along with gargoyles leering down from alcoves, wide windows with goods tastefully displayed and sometimes even small statues flanking the arched doorways. Outward appearances were very important to dark elves as it signified rank and fine exteriors led to better business for the shops. There were also weaponsmiths, merchants dealing in minor magical items, herbalists and a myriad of other shops along with quite a few taverns. The houses were generally several stories high and topped by pointed roofs and some of them had graceful slender towers as well. Many of the houses had been built by grey dwarves, dwarves who, like the dark elves, had turned away from the surface world to carve out empires deep down in the bowels of the earth. They all lived in the vast Netherworld that was made up of underground caverns connected through a myriad of tunnels; some artificial, some natural and some too old for anyone to even be able to tell the difference. Not all of the houses had been built by grey dwarves; some were far more graceful than the robust dwarven constructions indicating dark elven crafting which surpassed even the dwarven stone-craft when they applied their incredible magical abilities. Another indication of dark elven work was the extremely lifelike demonic heads and figures that adorned those houses. The grey dwarves preferred straight robust lines with geometric patterns, much like their cousins from the surface but with a bit more sinister design. The Haerh Hog consisted of a few thousand buildings where all unaffiliated dark elves lived alongside with representatives from other races; mainly human merchants and mercenaries drawn by the incredible fortunes they could make down here, grey dwarves who traded and offered services as smiths and stone masons but also other inhabitants who were more difficult to identify, partly because of their preference for deep hoods and cowls and partly because they never had walked the surface of this world. There were also some half-orcs and other of the slave races that often served the dark elves, more or less willingly.

He reached the center of the Haerh Hog and the Lethe Maar, a gigantic square where slavers and other temporarily visiting merchants traded goods. It was located on a small rise which gave it a slight overview of the city. The most prestigious and expensive inns and taverns could be found here at the square.

Demordin’s path took him across the square where large obsidian statues of demonic warriors peered down on him as he walked by them. Some rumors claimed that these statues were actually golems under the control of the ruling council and could be activated to slay those the council commanded them to, be it for defense of the city or to break up a crowd displeasing a council member. If he had looked up, he would have been able to see the great pyramid platform over the heads of the throng around him. If was from there the Council of Nine made their announcements, proclaiming the general policies and punishments of Houses that had drawn their wrath by failing in their endeavors. But even if he appeared too deep in thought to pay any attention to those around him, usually an expensive sin because the unwary never lived long in Tazardriulen, it did not mean that no one paid attention to him. There was something about him though, a certain arrogance and air of contemptuousness for those around him, that made the pressing throng melt aside before him. Halfway across he stopped and looked around him, as if he suddenly had come to his senses and tried to make out where he was. Built on heights surrounding the Haerh Hog he could make out dozens of great mansions where the nobles lived. At one of those heights he spotted his own House and a rare smiled creased his countenance.

There was not much light down here. The only light came from glowing pillars scattered around the Haerh Hog which provided the dark elves with more than enough light to see but humans were almost blind in the dark gloom if they had not figured out how to enhance their vision magically. Out among the mansions it was even darker since there were no pillars there though many mansions had traces of luminous materials lining the walls which allowed the dark elves with their extraordinary vision to see unhindered there. It almost never happened that visitors tried to conjure up more light or light anything beyond a lantern since the terrible tales of the punishments for such actions were among the first things visitors heard.

Cocking his head slightly, as if he heard something strange, Demordin paused for a few moments before he turned and headed off in the direction of his home. This section of the Lethe Maar was not as crowded. It held the Beleg Mord, where slaves and captured monsters fought for survival while visitors and dark elves betted on the winners. The Beleg Mord had been a brilliant idea when it was conceived, raising the minor house of Rath Laar from relative obscurity and insignificance in the social ranks to wealth and a prestigious position as the Fifth House. His steps took him past the gladiators’ houses, leaving the Lethe Maar behind him.

***

Orrin had never felt comfortable down here in the Netherworld and especially not while he was within the boundaries of Tazardriulen. There was never enough light for him to see comfortably, the gloomy darkness down in the inner core resembled being outdoors on a cloudy night. It was also impossible to keep a normal sleep pattern since those who ventured down to the Netherworld soon lost track of time. This never bothered the dark elves of course, since the only rest they needed was a few hours of meditation every now and then. But the worst with being here was the constant danger of assassination, a threat that never allowed you to relax. Humans could not stand that kind of tension for long, their nerves wore too thin. But the dark elves seemed to have learnt to live with it, many even thrived with the added spice of the danger. Most humans labeled the dark elves as evil, though the dark elves themselves considered that definition as narrow-minded. They argued that theirs was a society that closely resembled nature where only the strongest survived and thrived. The weak and the dull-witted were weeded out and gave room to those who were better, stronger and smarter. Orrin was not all together convinced that this was a society where he would like to live, but there was an undeniable logic to it. Unfortunately, this way of thinking permeated every aspect of life down here, which made Tazardriulen one of the most dangerous places in the world where someone could get attacked at any time for any number of reasons.

Orrin was far from defenseless however; his heavy stature and the worn hilts of his longswords promised a good match for any who dared to challenge him. He was one of the human traders who had decided that that the rewards outweighed the risks when dealing with dark elves. But it meant that he had to be extremely cautious and never draw their wrath upon him. Dark elves could explode for the slightest perceived provocation and often not even that was needed for a sudden eruption of violence. There was no law down here. Anyone could cut anyone else down if they wanted to. But such behavior could result in swift retribution from the victim’s allies. Humans didn’t have any strong allies down here though. Only dark elves could have any social ranking, all others were treated like vermin or slaves. The dark elves had a word for it in their tongue; Tarr. It was not possible to translate exactly but it could approximately be called social rank and honor. The more Tarr someone had, the higher their standing in the dark elven society. The dark elves had developed subtle and not so subtle insults into an art form. Insulting someone and getting away with it meant an increase of Tarr, Ky’Tarr, and the one insulted suffered de’Tarr, loss of face. This also applied to the different Houses, killing members and business associates of a rival House meant Ky’Tarr if the perpetrators got away with it.

Some of the other human traders had elected to trade with only one of the Houses down here which meant that they were allowed to wear the Symbol of that House. This gave a measure of protection since not many of the unaffiliated dark elves, who lived down in the main city, dared to invoke the wrath of the House by harming one who wore a House Symbol. It also gave some protection against dark elves from lesser houses. Unfortunately, it had one drawback; it meant you became a target for greater houses that wanted to strike out at the house you were affiliated with. And that was the reason he always had avoided to become too closely affiliated with any one House.

When Orrin spotted a lone dark elf casually striding along the streets of the city he thought nothing more of it at first. It was not that uncommon after all, but then he caught sight of the expensive clothing and chainmail and reconsidered. And if that wasn’t enough to mark the dark elf as a noble, his weaponry surely spoke eloquently of his heritage. The long slender blade at his side, the Caraug, was made of Adon Mar – an extremely valuable black metal that was said to be even more magical in nature than Mithrel. As far as he knew only the dark elves used Caraugs, which resembled a mix between longswords and rapiers but were so perfectly balanced that skilled wielders could throw them up to two dozen paces with as much accuracy as an archer could aim at that range. On his other hip he wore a complementary blade, a de’Caraug, a smaller version of the Caraug, which was wrought of the same material. Rumors had it that expert wielders of the de’Caraug could throw these with devastating accuracy more than fifty paces, but that was a secret skill and those not initiated to it usually only saw it used moments before they met their doom. Another thing that set this dark elf apart was the lack of a Tarek, the small dart guns that most dark elves were so fond of. He had heard that Tareks were powered by some sort of springs which gave them a surprising power, almost equal to that of a small crossbow. But it was not the small bolts themselves that made the Tareks fearsome, it was rather the dreadful poisons that the dark elves coated the bolts with.

Most of the nobles that ventured down to the inner city from the mansions encircling Tazardriulen were usually accompanied by a number of guards. Walking alone like this was to invite trouble. When the lone dark elf came closer Orrin spotted his House Symbol, a Black Vorden, which signified that he belonged to Baen Drûl, one of the middling houses. The Black Vorden was a small spider known for its aggressive behavior and much revered within the dark elven society. He had learnt a lot of the various species of spiders since he began to trade with the dark elves. It spelled quick doom to fail to recognize the different house symbols. Anxious to not offend, Orrin studied the dark elven warrior from the corner of his eye. Like all dark elves he had an oval, androgynous face and pallid skin. Their hair was uniformly coal-black and usually worn long though it did not cover the tips of their pointed, lobeless ears. He had never seen any obese dark elves, as a rule they were tall, slender and lithe with a cat-like grace and arrogance in their bearing. It had taken him a long time before he had learnt to recognize the features that set different dark elves apart, at first they had all looked the same to him. This dark elf had uncommonly high cheekbones and his iridescent eyes were slightly more tilted than normal, features that were considered the marking of a true noble down here. High cheekbones were often synonymous with good breeding. A cold unfriendly smile from the dark elven warrior revealed that he had noticed the attention and panic gripped Orrin’s heart like ice-cold claws as he quickly averted his gaze.

Two large orcs suddenly stumbled out from of an alley with drawn blades and attacked the dark elf with the Black Vorden who reacted instantly by diving sideways. While he still was in the air his left hand blurred as he made a throwing motion upwards to the side. It was not until the entire thing was over that Orrin realized the warrior had flicked a dagger at an opponent on a nearby roof. The dark elf landed in a rolling motion that took him up to the entrance of the alley where he drew his long slender blade, the Caraug, and lunged at something cloaked in shadows. When the blade struck, Orrin saw the shape of a dark elf fade into existence but the lone warrior was not there anymore. He had already encircled the slow orcs who died before they even felt his blades – the de’Caraug had somehow materialized in his other hand – pierce the soft spot in the back of their skulls. With casual flicks of his wrists he shook the blood off his blades and resheathed them. Then he continued his stroll before their dead bodies even hit the ground.

Amazed by the display of speed and skill, Orrin drew up against the wall to not give the dark elf any further cause for taking offence. A soft thud marked the landing of the opponent on the roof and when Orrin looked up he saw a dark elf body with a small slender dagger sticking out of one eye socket. Promising himself, yet again, to never underestimate the dark elves, Orrin crept closer to see if there were any riches he could filch from the bodies. He had been so sure that the approaching dark elf warrior was more or less unaware of his surroundings but the quick smile he had flashed Orrin and the casualness with which he had defeated his opponents indicated that he had known about them all along. He had even known that Orrin had nothing to do with the assault otherwise there would have been five bodies in the street instead of just four.

***

The houses in the outskirts of the Haerh Hog were a bit smaller and less extravagantly ornamented but he paid them no heed. He was completely focused on what lay ahead of him the next few hours and would determine his Tarr within the house for quite some time. His siblings would certainly try to assert themselves. He had held a higher rank than all of them but his twin sister before he left. But while he had studied the martial aspects they had devoted themselves to priestly studies. And considering how Matron Anglamor, his mother, disliked everything but fanatical devotion to the Dark Lady Khizatien, mistress of deceit and intrigues, it was likely that everyone expected him to be at the bottom of the social ladder. Truth to be told, it was more than likely, it was a certainty. The correct question to ask was rather whether he dared to assert himself or not and if Matron Anglamor would intercede against him if he did assert himself.

The path up to his family mansion took him past groups of gigantic black and violet mushrooms which were twice as tall as he was. More than a few nobles had fallen prey to ambushes launched from beneath those mushrooms but he deemed it unlikely that he would be counted among those today. He would not be considered much of a threat nor much of a target since the rival houses knew of Matron Anglamor’s disposition towards warriors and mages. But he still sharpened his attention a notch further. Those who relaxed or felt too secure were those who fell without even knowing that they had been in danger. The trick was to not let anyone know that you were fully alert. He had learnt that lesson thoroughly at the Beleg Makar. Enemies who thought they caught you unaware were less cautious themselves.

His path took him past the ruins of an ancient house, House of Paendral, who had fallen because they had committed the greatest sin of all. They had waged war on another House but had left witnesses to point them out and the Council of Nine had ordered their destruction. The Council consisted of the leaders of the nine most powerful houses in the city. His uncle had been but a youngster at the time the House of Paendral was destroyed, but he had heard rumors that there perhaps were more to that story. Those rumors spoke of how another House had constructed evidence against the House of Paendral. Those rumors were never spoken aloud however, since the House they indicated had had a quick rise through the ranks of Tazardriulen but made itself known to strike without mercy at anyone who spoke against them. Connecting a House with such a clever plot would not normally have been considered as speaking against a House, it would rather have been as praise to have eliminated two competitors at once in one such bold stroke. But his uncle, Dhargan, had warned him thoroughly against speaking about those rumors. Dhargan had even been so careful that he had refused to even mention the name of the House those rumors implicated. He took it one step further, advising Demordin to not even thinking about the implicated House. A warning Demordin found rather mystifying and strange.

When he came out from a grove of mushrooms he could suddenly make out the silhouette of his family mansion and he quickened his steps slightly. Like all other mansions it was surrounded by a wall which was adorned by gargoyles and stone golems sitting on the wall at regular intervals, peering down at would-be attackers. But there were no magical auras around the guardians which indicated that they were active. Those auras were not readily visible to everyone, but dark elves were inherently skilled in magic. Even most commoners would be able to see such auras, at least those that surrounded the more powerful of golems. The gate was guarded by half a dozen soldiers but the two great warrior demons that had flanked the gate were gone. Warrior demons were the perfect sentinels, once bound they would take on a statue-like stillness and remain so for decades or until their service was needed. Once bound, they did not even require anything of the mage who had summoned them. The pair of demons who had guarded the gate had been bound by his uncle decades before Demordin had been born. Instead of the demons there were now two great obsidian black spiders guarding the gate. The spiders did however look like formidable guardians, standing almost as tall as a dark elf with mandibles the size of short swords. But that was not the only change; the gate had also been replaced. When he had left the mansion there had still been two stout doors of Mafkieth, a wood-like material derived from the stems of great petrified mushrooms, but they were gone now. In their stead was a web of wrist-thick dull silvery cords that somehow took his mind to a spider web spun by gigantic spiders. The impressive web which was spun inside two gigantic frames of black metal was a clear sign that the Dark Lady Khizatien favored this house. Personally, he would never have wanted to show off such a sign. It was to invite trouble the day her patronage was gone and dark elven deities were known to be fickle. All enemies of the House would know that she had taken her hand away from them the moment those cords crumbled to dust.

Having seen his family symbol, the soldiers opened the gate when Demordin came closer. But none of the soldiers inclined their heads in greeting, nor showed any other signs of respect. For a brief moment Demordin considered putting them in place for this neglect but there was too little to gain by it. In a few days he would have re-established his Tarr in the family and the commoners would know to pay him respect by then. It was possible that none of the guards here even recognized him, he had been gone for two full decades after all. Fixating the captain with a chilly stare that held the promise of retribution, Demordin marched right past the soldiers. After a curt nod from the captain, two of them fell in behind him as an escort. A path paved by octagonal blocks of obsidian took him up to the main mansion, past a few smaller buildings which served as soldiers’ barracks, stables and holding pens for some of the slaves. As always, the sight of their family mansion filled him with pride. They had one of the most beautiful houses in all of Tazardriulen, four stories tall with a dozen tall slender towers that ended in drop-shaped minarets. Most of the house had been built by obsidian but there were also some parts that were made up of black marble with purple veins. Both these types of stone were highly prized in Tazardriulen and had, to a great extent, been responsible for the prosperity of the House of Baen Drûl since they had possessed one of the few quarries that contained those stones. Their wealth had elevated them to the position of the fourteenth house of Tazardriulen.

A broad flight of stairs took him up to the main gates of the mansion and into the entrance hall. A handful guards who wore slightly more elegant uniforms were posted outside the mansion and the gate-guards turned him over to them. There was a strict hierarchy among the soldiers in a dark-elven society and only the most skilled ones were elevated to the position of mansion guards. The common soldiers were rarely admitted into the main mansion, most had never even been inside it. He paused briefly to admire the great obsidian spider-statues that appeared to guard either side of the gate that led into the mansion. The craftsmanship that had gone into making them was beyond belief, they almost appeared to be alive and watching him where he stood.

With a rueful shake of his head he recomposed himself and passed through the mansion-gate. It felt good to be home again. A mosaic in the pattern of a Black Vorden took up most of the floor in the hall which had a domed ceiling several floors above them, decorated with a silvery web. Two rows of balconies overlooked the hall and when he looked up there he caught a quick glimpse of his twin sister, Kymerin, who looked down on him from the top floor. Seeing no point in delaying this, he took a few quick strides across the hall over to the great audience hall where he assumed Matron Anglamor would be waiting for him by now. He would have preferred to first visit his old room, to relax for a little while and compose his thoughts but she had always detested tardiness and he did not want to give her any reason to reprimand him. He paused briefly before the double doors that led into the audience chamber. They were made of Mafkieth and reinforced with dark metal as well as runes of power. These doors guarded the heart of the house, the seat of power. From there Matron Anglamor ruled the house with an iron fist. Before he could touch the doors they begun to swing open, pulled apart by two human slaves in loincloths with heavily scarred backs who struggled with the heavy doors.

The audience chamber had not changed much since he had last seen it. There was a smaller mosaic that resembled the one outside, but this was set in even greater detail and the spider-pattern took on an almost lifelike aspect as he walked across the floor. At the other end of the room was a small platform, elevated by three wide steps on which a great obsidian throne sat, carved into the resemblance of a spider. It was rumored to have been a gift from the Dark Lady Khizatien herself. Matron Anglamor watched his approach from her seat in the throne. Lean and muscular, she showed off a lot of her body in the flimsy black spider-silk vest and black leather pants. Her short-cropped black hair hid nothing of her beautiful yet strong and angular face. Two of his younger sisters flanked the throne on either side, shrouded in the priestly robes of black and purple silk that signified they already had attained the respectable rank of priestess in the hierarchy of the clergy. Sitch-Mor on the right side was tall even for a dark elf and despite her robes he could see her muscular torso which rivaled even the most muscular of the warriors at Beleg Makar. Vaerin, on the left side, was of average height with a face that betrayed no hints whatsoever about her thoughts or feelings. She had been that way since they were very small and they had nicknamed her the icicle. Since she was only a few years younger than himself she had quickly learnt to not betray anything of herself and make herself a target for Kymerin’s and his own harsh games. Judging from her relaxed posture he placed her far above Sitch-Mor. And judging by the contemptuous sneer on Sitch-Mor’s face, it was blatantly obvious that she now considered herself far above him in rank.

When he reached the base of the stairs he went down on his knees and bowed in the second lowest form of submission, one lower than custom dictated that he should use as a son of the House. But what little he had seen since he returned clued him in on that this was what was expected of him.

- I am home again and offer myself and my services to the House.

- And what would those services consist of? Blasphemy and usage of powers not granted by our lady Khizatien? Sitch-Mor spat in a contemptuous yet dark and husky voice.

- My services would be whatever you make of them, my Matron. Demordin replied, looking up at Matron Anglamor.

- And if she would not have you? Sitch-Mor pressed but he did not reply, did not even glance over in her direction. She did not press the question since it was obvious that he would not answer, and pressing would lead to de’Tarr then.

He had chanced that things had not gone so far that Matron Anglamor would allow the younger priestesses to utilize their powers on him in front of her when he came to present himself and offer his services. And obviously he had been correct in that assessment which resulted in a slight victory for him, though perhaps a costly one if Sitch-Mor got a chance at revenge later on when nothing held her back from using her powers against him. He had no doubt that he would unable

Reviews for Perilous Paths

[sulthon · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An interesting spin on the classical elves, the evil dark-elven cousins become protagonists in this story which portrays their society from the viewpoint of a dark-elven noble who is forced to unravel a web of plots. Family squabbles and conspiracies outline the plot of Perilous Paths. These aspects contribute to the depth and complexity of the storyline.

The magic system is well developed and consistent and the fight-scenes are well-described.

All in all, it was a great book and I hope there will be a sequel !