Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2), G.O. Turner [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

“And what is it they mine for again exactly?” asked Liv.

“Raw materials like iron and other metals are only valued by the citizenry. But what really stokes azer flames is the assortment of gemstones. Seems they’ve come across all sorts down there. Not just diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, but some of the more…exotic stones as well.”

She cocked Ruein a look. Liv sure-as-shit had her fill of gemstones after that last batch of baubles.

“The metals are passed off to Haraden craftsmen,” Leafar continued. “Those rescued aren’t just grateful but crafty as well. The azers take pride in how many have developed their own artistry. They forge in their ways to create the Haraden steel that the world is only just now becoming aware of. It’s providing quite a bit of wealth from deliveries to the outside world.

“As for the gemstones, the azers keep those for themselves. Damned if I know what for. Maybe they’ll trade off one day to retake their home city. Not really my business.”

Trundling to a valley, Liv focused upon one of the daylight poles shining over a wheat crop. The oddity of the scene toyed with her. Radiance cast from above, while deep warmth came from below. Gusts swayed over the field. It blew her way, the damp warmth clinging to her skin. It wasn’t the brittle harshness of their artic passage. These high snows gave way, saturating the air. Yet, also not the tropical winds she knew. This was a swirl of scattered pines drawn over an earthy undercurrent.

Here was a form of day unlike any Liv was familiar with.

She surveyed as they meandered the long road. Leagues were covered before Liv caught sight of those who worked the fields. Not the underdarkers she was expecting. No. These people could have been plucked right out of Deepwater. Shit. They probably were. Made sense. Those born in the deep wouldn’t know how to cultivate up here. Better to have the surfacers work the lands.

Humans reaped the stocks, collecting husked pods from each. Their baskets overflowed with their hauls.

Here they had fresh water, light from above, warmth, and enriched soil below. These survivors, those of Haraden, had found a way to adapt in this pocket realm, a world away from all their homes.

Shegar had said they were godless. Yet, surely some faith carried them through. Could all of this replace any light they’d lost in the underdark?

Farmlands tapered off as the volcano filled the horizon before them. Skies opened up over meadows. Amber grasslands grew wild in rolling swathes before the capital. Twigs’ gleeful eyes darted about, following the flit of minute winged-specks.

All the while, the immensity of Haraden rose before them.

Great ramparts surrounded the city proper. Parapets grew higher as their carriage drew closer. A broad arch stood open, as spikes of a portcullis loomed overhead. Beyond was the cacophony of a bustling metropolis and the brass citadel hovering over it all.

“Heh, not heads of state, Ceer guess.”

“No. They are not,” Leafar agreed from his driving seat.

What’re they going on abou—

Liv followed Ceer’s gaze to the rampart’s base. Two rows of pikes had been driven upright, the tops of which served as posts. Upon each, the slack-jawed heads of nearly a dozen men. Judging by their scruff, Liv hallmarked them as brigands. More than severed, they were charred black and scar-riddled.

“Those were my abductors,” Leafar continued as they passed. “Already served their terms, I see. They chose a sentence in the mines instead of summary executions. I’d have taken a simple death. Would’ve been far less painful.”

Not an unusual show of law for some cities. Liv wouldn’t expect underdarkers to be…forgiving. The number of heads though—was it simply that the raiders had no idea what they had walked into?

Liv lost sight of the posted heads as the carriage rolled through the outer walls. Stationed within their inner postings, a squad of dark-orcs did not motion for them to stop. No doubt, familiar with Leafar’s self-drawing carriage and their Elite escorts.

Now Liv’s sudden surroundings weighed in. The pressure on her chest wasn’t from the half-plate. Still, she tugged at her straps, stretching for relief. The moisture about Liv’s collar, more noticeable. Years of Lightbringer experience wasn’t about to be easily dismissed. Those born of the dark were the sorts that she’d always striven against.

However, her expectations fell askew as their carriage bounced along city streets. Where was the animosity? Both drow and duergar went about their way. Peoples’ expressions were not disdaining…but curious. Orcs and ogres lugged burdens up and down the streets, while pings of metal rang from deep, gnome tinker shops. Liv spied for glimpses through windows of various huts and buildings. These were not hovels; no one languished on the street. This was a proper city, one with ornate signage, many brass or bronzed.

They rolled along a main thoroughfare, watching braceleted citizens going about their day.

Springing from a side road, a cadre of human, dwarf, and drow children cajoled each other. The lead cluster faltered to the ground, tussling for command of a ball.

Ruein leaned in. “Plenty of men-kind here. There are mothers of most races… Have you noticed any of the drow?”

“I gotta imagine.” Liv frowned. “Matrons and dominatrixes…not so much with adapting.”

Crossing a set of inner-city gates, they passed another guard post. Taller buildings and more artisan shops appeared as they approached the mountain’s base.

At no point did Liv discern any houses of worship, no temples to Lolth, no sacrificial altars. At least in that respect, being godless was an improvement.

With a turn to an even wider thoroughfare, Liv’s eyes grew. This was unlike anything she’d beheld in Deepwater. Masterful woodworkings arced overhead—more sculpted and ornate than most high-elven art she’d laid eyes on. These were artful workings of interspersed hardwood and brass filigree. Carved lines, smacking of silken threads, yet devoid of any spider references. More than treats for the eye, they were skyways for crossing streets. Functional without impeding mounts