6. Sarilian #2
Still, as they perused the various wares on display, Sarilian had to admit a budding excitement at what they might find. Celestial goods were all uniform, the armor and weapons each Celestial learned to conjure as identical as their assigned quarters.
Here, however, enterprising Infernals had wasted time and effort learning how to forge their duskflame into desirable baubles and decorations. Ceramics engraved with eye-catching patterns. Tapestries enchanted to capture the outline of a specific face. Jewelry glittering with living shadows.
Mixed in with these, he spied all manner of blades, clothes, and armor.
Though functionally no different from what any Infernal could craft for themselves out of duskflame, these bore elaborate flourishes designed to make them stand out from their more common ilk.
Utterly unnecessary…yet oddly captivating in their lavishness.
Eventually, Sarilian and Malorg found themselves standing before the stall inspired by Daybreak’s spires. The Infernal manning the booth gave Sarilian a broad smile as he approached.
“Welcome, welcome!” The Infernal swept arms laden with enchanted bracelets out in greeting.
“How may I assist you? Perhaps you need a little trinket to surprise a special man or lady? Or how about a lovely new tunic? Forgive me for saying so, but yours appears a little patchy. Mine are of only the finest quality, guaranteed to withstand the wear of decades.” He gave Sarilian an appreciative once over.
“I have several that should highlight the gray of your eyes and emphasize your rather prodigious—”
“We’re just browsing.” Malorg stepped up beside Sarilian, crossing his arms with a scowl.
The merchant glanced between them before his gaze settled on Malorg. “Of course, Malorg, sir. Apologies if I caused any offense. Please, let me know if you require my assistance.”
Bowing his head, the merchant retreated. Like that pair of Infernals I bumped into all over again, Sarilian noted. Clearly, Malorg’s reputation preceded him.
Sarilian watched the merchant single out another passing Infernal to repeat his enthusiastic pitch. The man didn’t carry himself as one trained for battle—his movements were too uncoordinated, his balance completely off. “Don’t all Infernals learn how to fight?”
“In theory.” Malorg studied the merchant with a pensive frown. “The Dusklands receives fewer recruits, making those we do have all the more crucial. But that doesn’t stop some from weaseling their way out of it or seeking alternative occupations.”
Disdain narrowed Sarilian’s eyes. Bad enough to expend energy on so selfish a pursuit as personal profit. But to do so while shirking the Covenant…
“Our entire purpose is to fight. To protect the rest of Allaria from the Void. What right does he have to forsake his duty?”
The look Malorg gave him was sharp enough to pierce steel. “Weren’t you the one who told me there was more to this life than fighting?”
Sarilian winced at having his own words thrown back at him. “Well, sure. But—”
Malorg wasn’t finished, his dark eyes furious whirlpools that threatened to suck Sarilian under. “Who are you to condemn those who seek fulfillment however they can?”
To that, Sarilian had no answer. Malorg was right—Sarilian didn’t know what motivated this merchant any more than he understood the past pain Malorg carried. It wasn’t fair to expect others to honor the Covenant in the same manner he did.
He released a long breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to judge so harshly.”
Malorg grunted, a bit of his tension easing. Sarilian turned back to the merchant’s wares, trying to view them with a less critical eye. There truly were some stunning pieces. For all his pushiness, the merchant obviously knew what he was doing.
“If you tire of war, perhaps you could pursue a craft?” Sarilian suggested, his voice hesitant. He ran his fingers over a stunning jerkin shaped like the interlocking scales of a snake, surprised at how soft the woven duskflame felt. “Or find some other duty here in the city.”
Malorg huffed a humorless laugh. “What happened to defeating the Void together?”
Withdrawing his hand from the armor, Sarilian turned to face the Infernal. Determination thrummed through him. “I meant what I said about accomplishing the impossible. But that could take years. I don’t want you to throw your life away on unwinnable battles in the meantime.”
Malorg’s mask returned, his expression hardening.
“War is all I know. Besides, you were right.” He gestured to the room, a flicker of sadness lost in the smoky depths of his eyes.
“In the end, none of this matters. We exist to fight the Void—nothing more. And when we eventually fail, the rest of this will crumble to ash. Just as we will.”
Sarilian silently cursed his big mouth as Malorg started to drift away into the crowd.
Merciful Light, why hadn’t he kept silent?
Instead of offering Malorg hope, all he seemed capable of doing was bolstering Malorg’s own hopelessness.
So what if some Infernals wasted their time on frivolous pursuits?
As long as they maintained their defense of the Dusklands, let them do as they pleased.
Desperately, he tried to think of a way to cheer Malorg up—to shock him out of this fresh melancholy. His eyes returned to the wares, and he blurted, “Wait! I want one.”
Malorg froze, casting a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “You want an Infernal trinket?”
Sarilian nodded, raking his gaze over the assorted baubles. His eyes stopped on one, and he smiled, pointing. “That one!”
Malorg hesitantly followed Sarilian’s finger. When he saw what Sarilian had chosen, a surprised chuckle escaped his lips.
The pendant hung on a black chain so thin the entwined wisps of shadow seemed to disappear.
The pendant itself was circular and bore the Celestial crest in shifting grays: a triangle pointing upward with five diagonal lines slicing through it from different angles on the left like rays of light, all meeting in the triangle’s center.
Why an Infernal merchant was selling a Celestial crest forged from duskflame, Sarilian hadn’t a clue. Perhaps it was part of his theme, what with the spires of Daybreak on display. Either way, Sarilian couldn’t imagine a more appropriate gift to represent his time here.
Sensing a potential sale, the merchant wandered over, eyeing Malorg warily at first until he confirmed his instincts had been correct. They briefly haggled over the price, but Malorg didn’t much seem to care, handing over the requested coins with hardly any argument.
Within moments, Sarilian was following Malorg toward the Market’s exit. Sarilian rested a hand on the pendant around his neck. He’d worried how it might react to his dawnflame, but for now at least, it was a soothing pocket of cold against his breast.
Like Malorg’s hand when he touched me.
Sarilian hastily buried the thought and asked, “So, where to now?”
Malorg glanced over at him. “You haven’t had enough yet?”
“This might be my only chance to explore the city. I want to see all I can before I go.”
An almost mournful expression flitted over Malorg’s face that made Sarilian worry he might have overstayed his welcome. But to his relief, Malorg didn’t protest. “Very well. Follow me.”
Anticipation building for their next stop, Sarilian was only too happy to obey.