Page 16 of The Immortal Covenant

Another deflection. Despite his burning curiosity, Sarilian decided it was best not to push. Given Malorg’s current tense demeanor, that might only make him close up even more. Instead, Sarilian focused back on their surroundings.

“You said this was a market? Does that mean this is where your people come for supplies?”

Malorg gave him an odd look. “It means this is amarket. Surely, you know enough of the Mortal Realm to recall those. Where people exchange currency for goods and services?”

Sarilian’s brow shot up. “Hold on—you’re telling me you Infernals stillchargeone another for things?” It seemed like such an outlandish concept to him. In the Mortal Realm where resources were scarce, such systems made sense. But the Immortal Realm provided all they needed. They could shape their magic into anything they desired, and nothing ever wore down or degraded. “What do you even use for currency?”

Malorg produced a small pouch and proffered it to Sarilian. Curious, Sarilian reached inside, pulling out a black coin with a gray mark on it depicting a stylized crown.

“Courtesy of the Dusk Aspect of Ambition,” Malorg explained with an odd note to his voice while Sarilian turned the innocuous object over in his hands. “Imbued with the duskflame signature of his seat to thwart any attempts at counterfeiting.”

“But…why?”Sarilian demanded, flabbergasted. “What’s the point?”

“There isn’t one—at least, not that I ever saw.” Malorg turned his head to take in the stalls and haggling Infernals around them. “But I suppose for others, it represents something to strive for beyond slaying voidspawn. Those with more wealth are afforded greater prestige and granted better assignments, more luxurious quarters, and increased favor by the Dusk Council.” Malorg’s expression darkened. “Such achievements give their lives meaning.”

Despite the tightness on Malorg’s face, Sarilian didn’t miss his wistful tone.Meaning that you feel your own life lacks, Sarilian guessed, studying the Infernal’s back as they resumed walking.

He wished he had the words to offer comfort, but he wasn’t certain what more to say than he already had. Besides, no matter how desperate Malorg’s need for purpose was, Sarilian doubted he’d find it here. The pursuit of wealth might be ingrained in Infernal culture, but to Sarilian, it seemed like a poorly disguised ploy to raise the few while suppressing the many.

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 wedohave 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 entirepurposeis 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 areyouto 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, perhapsyoucould 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?”

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