The Abandoned Sorcerer

by Nefarious

  “You two are good kids so I’ll tell you. I work for a man who knows a lot about the city, and he’s told us to be ready. You don’t have to be a genius to link being ready and Rat’s celebration together, y’know? So be careful,”

  “Thanks, Skitters. Hope you get that home in town,” Kora said as Skitters stopped and gestured them to go.

  “As do I, girly. It’ll be a few months with my leg but you two better come and visit me then,”

  “We will, we will,” Orion said, smiling.

  Skitters twirled his curly hair as he watched the two Seekers walk off into the distance. He leaned his weight off his walking stick and onto his feet once they disappeared. One job down, so many more to do. It seemed there would be no rest for him in the coming days.

  26. The Underkings

  * * *

  “How bad is his injury?” Orion asked.

  “Not as bad as it looked, Jax. I think he spun when he got hit so the blade didn’t pierce through his muscle. Still, it’ll be a few weeks until that’s healed, months if he keeps moving around like that,”

  Orion nodded, before switching his attention to the fort ahead. There were more guards at the entrance than usual, but this was a mere curiosity to the Seekers as they were let in as easily as usual. The loud commotion in the distance led them in and met them at the food court. Ginger had swapped out his dirty jacket and trousers for cleaner and more colourful sorts. He barked the Sticky Fingers around, the tension clear in his voice.

  Next to him was Nanlong, his washed and combed hair revealing light brown strands instead of the dark mane he normally sported. He solemnly sat there, his mercenaries nowhere to be seen.

  It was only when the Seekers stepped in front that Ginger noticed them.

  “Ah, that’s all of us ‘ere. Let’s get going,”

  “What’s the rush? I thought you said Rats’s celebration was at noon? The fog’s still out; we’d be straggling like blind mice if we left now,” Kora said.

  “The rush is that he doesn’t want to keep Fatso waiting,” Nanlong said while rising to his full height.

  “The rush is that no one keeps Fatso waiting,” Ginger corrected. “Oh, are yer guys gonna take in anything with yer?”

  “I’ll leave my bag here, hopefully, you can keep it safe. But I’m taking in these daggers and sword,”

  “Same,”

  Ginger checked their weapons and grunted. “Yeah, those are fine. Don’t worry, none of my boys will touch anything of yers,”

  The Seekers left their bags with Thimble and passed the gates with Ginger and Nanlong. Ginger clearly knew where they were going off by heart as he navigated the fog with ease. While walking deeper into the slums, they finally saw the size of the celebration: market stalls had set up over the filthy roads, offering food and wares to the criminals; bands of people moved along with them, their steps softs and words whispered, fully aware of who had set up the celebration; hard-eyed men and women watched from every nook and cranny, searching for those who didn’t belong.

  They walked for an hour, most of it spent queuing behind others as the streets grew clumped and the celebrations grow thicker. The nervous quiet transformed into a boisterous joy as the fog lifted and the alcohol stalls set up. Orion could spot tens of people high on Gajoi nuts, and even a stall wafting the arresting smell into the crowd in a bid to earn more.

  The immensity of their situation dawned on him simultaneously, realising all these people were celebrating simply because Rats had told them to; the man they had to meet and betray was alike the Lord of Visgamar, on the other side of the city, sure, but still on the same side of the spectrum.

  The shouts and cheers and singing had given Orion an earful when they reached Rats’s pavilion, or more precisely, his garden. Four guards around Nanlong’s size checked Ginger’s identity and invitation at the entrance. The multiple scars ranging their mountain-like muscles made it clear how they would act if they caught anyone sneaking in.

  Compared with the stench of the streets, Rats’s garden smelled like paradise - various scents bubbled and popped in the air. Looking around, Orion recognised many exotic flowers and plants, all of them surrounded by skulls and broken bones for compost. The noises from the garden were much more restrained, and the nervousness was palpable. Despite the plethora of drinks and drugs orbiting the guests, none of them seemed to partake as they stood with backs straight and fists clenched.

  The garden itself was as large as a field, maybe larger as the horizon was hidden by overgrown willow trees. Shamrock-green grass filled the space between the various flowers planted here and there to fill the space. Behind the willowy branches in the distance, Orion spotted a large curved dome the colour of clouds with golden scribbles over it.

  Closer to him, he could see a mansion made from beige stone with doors and windows the size of horses. It was from this house the servants kept bringing the food and drinks, and it was through these doors he expected the host to stride through.

  There were two loose factions in the garden, one around an old yet dainty woman and the other around a man the width of a table, the height of a door, and the build of a wardrobe. Ginger walked to the obscene mix of fat and muscle and kneeled to him, to which the man nodded and shooed the gang leader to the edges of his faction. He was Fatso, the Underking of trade, and the woman on the other side was Madam Rischei.

  Both of the Underkings’ factions were similarly built, with larger-than-life characters around the centre and affiliate gang leaders near the edges. The biggest difference came from who protected each Underking. Around Fatso were ten Black Hearts, their clothes sable and a sliced heart symbol stitched over their chests. Moreover, they clearly weren’t novices either, their calloused eyes scanning the crowds with scrutiny. Although their weapons were hidden into their get up, Orion intuitively knew they were armed to the teeth.

  Around Madam Rischei were two men and two women the width of Fatso but half the height. If the ornate staffs they used as walking sticks weren’t enough to identify them, their size was. And if their size wasn’t enough to identify them, the contempt with which they looked around was. And if their glares weren’t enough to identify them, the glowing orbs circling theirs and Madam Rischei’s figures were.

  It didn’t surprise Orion to see the Underking of brothels guarded by pigs addicted to Asarte’s juice, but their roundness declared them to be high-ranking Mages, which did startle him. The higher they went, the more prideful they were, so Madam Rischei must have offered a lot in return for their services.

  Rats’s entourage would only come out with the man himself, so it was Grima, the last Underking, he was puzzled not to see. But thinking on the matter, it made sense why Grima wasn’t here and why there wasn’t a faction dedicated to him, after all, his men were the ones standing tall in the other factions.

  Time passed by and the underworld waited. Ginger and Nanlong understood their places in the grand scheme as they stood meekly like everyone else of their status. Madam Rischei stood likewise, showing no signs of impatience at being stood up. She understood it was all a power-game and the first to snap would lose - she also knew who would be the first to lose.

  Fatso’s ego got the better of him as the man began to pace around, his jeers against Rats sounding far and wide. Coincidently, it was when the man-mountain wanted to storm the mansion that a few men strolled out from behind the willow trees in the distance.

  “Our master invites all of you to his pavilion,”

  Furious at falling for such a juvenile trick, Fatso thundered towards and past the willow trees, his faction and Madam Rischei following. After a ten-minute hike Orion saw the pavilion. It was of a similar size to the Temple and built with horse-thick pillars arranged in a circle, holding up the cloud-coloured dome at the top. It was encrusted with gold and the floor of the pavilion was milky marble.

  Sitting on a red throne fashioned with cushions in the pavilion was the star of the show. Rats was a slight man compared to Fatso
, his height and build similar to Orion. He wore a black tunic and black trousers, showing off the corded muscles fastened around his forearms. His simple, albeit dauntingly scarred, look was finished with slicked-back hair and bright green eyes, his skin paler than the eastern norm.

  His men and women surrounded him. They wore no uniform, regardless, their clothes looked of high quality. They made up the biggest faction and each of them looked ready to fight, if not, kill.

  Rats waved his hand to the space in the pavilion, inviting the other Underkings in with a sneer. His eyes smiled as he saw them follow, taking their places in his play.

  Knowing it was time, he stood and stretched out his arms.

  “The Empire, aren’t you all sick of it?”

  …

  27. Casting Words and Knives

  * * *

  Silence washed over the pavilion, one born from shock and respect.

  “But, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” Rats’s smirk turned lopsided. “Welcome to my party. I am Rats, and you are my guests, my minions,” He paused. “Or, you will be soon,”

  “Minion? Me? HA,” Fatso said, breaking into a guffaw.

  Instead of responding, Rats looked down for a moment. His eyes shimmered and shadows cast over his skin. In a fluid motion, he moved from his chair to the centre of the pavilion where the marble darkened and twisted into macabre figures. His boots snapped against the floor and the sound rolled through the open-air building.

  “The Empire is fat like you,” he said while facing Fatso. He squinted his eyes, “Too much like you,”

  Fatso glared at Rats, holding his tongue for the moment.

  “Do you remember what I do to fat people? I dice them up and feed them to the plants,” He started laughing, a sleazy thing like his voice. “It’s ironic, eh? But it’s good: they make the flowers bloom brighter since they’re such good fuel. The Empire is fat, and the Houses have their eyes so high up their arses they’re blind to sense. But, break it down and let it act as feed, let it nurture us. The Empire must fall,”

  A pause.

  “The Empire must fall!” he repeated, his voice resonating across the pavilion.

  Orion looked around in confusion. Was he using magic? If so, how come Orion couldn’t sense it?”

  “The Empire must fall? Hmm, you see, Ratty, something just ain’t sitting right with me there,”

  “It’s already began, Fatso. Open your eyes: the tribes to the west, who will stop them?”

  “Of course, the Piros,”

  “Then, who’s protecting the capital?”

  “From what? It’s the bloody capital,”

  “Monsters,” Madam Rischei finally spoke. Her voice was artificially pleasing as if someone was cooing too close into your ear.

  Fatso’s mouth opened, then closed.

  “Go on, say your lines,” Rats said, taunting his fellow Underking.

  “Hmm, you’re scheming with monsters. I figured you were dumb, but not this dumb,” Fatso said.

  “Tsch tsch,” Rats shook his finger while clicking his tongue. “You can’t skip a whole act like that,”

  “Come clean already,” Madam Rischei said.

  “Silence, whore. I’ve been talking with a man, a smart man. Someone I’m sure you two know,”

  “Of course they’re involved.” Madam Rischei said. “No wonder you grew balls twice your size to do this,”

  Rats ignored her interruption. “He put me in contact with a certain thing. It talked about the age of the Empire, how it lay on its deathbed despite not knowing. How the time had come for it to enter the grave, for someone greater to take its place,”

  “And that’s you, I guess,”

  “No, us. This is our chance to leave the shadows,”

  “I’m not falling for some drugged-up illusion. Nor am I planning suicide anytime soon. But don’t worry, Ratty, I’ll glady take your place,” Fatso said.

  “I’ll be taking names - I’ll see how far you can run afterwards. Besides, this isn’t my fantasy. It’s our reality,” Rats said while clapping his hands. From behind the willow trees strolled out a group of figures. Even from a distance, Orion could tell they weren’t human.

  “So, are you with me? With us?”

  Fatso turned to his hired Black Hearts. The leader shook his head with an easy expression, putting the larger man at ease. He waited till the monsters were close enough before speaking.

  “You, is it your master who’s been organising attacks on my carriages? On my ships?”

  A 10-foot shaggy giant answered. “Dunno. I don’t see why not, human.”

  It was commonplace to see higher-tier monsters speaking the Empire’s tongue - it was a sign of civility. What made them bestial was their intolerance of each other, such as how Thunderfists couldn’t stand Cloudapes. It was something territorial or such, and yet, standing shoulder to… hips with the giant was a fleecy ape with smoky hair.

  Rats had clearly set the group to impress and impress they did as eyebrows raised and mouths rounded among the humans.

  “And how many of you are there?” Fatso asked, as intrigued as the crowd put together. A working monster population roused him in ways others couldn’t imagine. The growth he could make, the money he could make!

  This time it was a flesh-less, hollow boned Lich that answered. “To attack this city? Thirty,”

  If not for their bated breath, people would have gasped. Not due to shock but fear. Thirty higher-tier monsters in the city, all due to Rats. The maniac and his scheme, what could stop him?

  “Ha HA HA. Ratty, you sick cunt. I’m in,” Fatso said with a maddened expression, his sanity lost to greed or maybe fear. As someone at the top of the chain, he understood the implications of the numbers better.

  Rats smiled, a wide thing far more twisted than before. “What about you, Madam? Will you cast your dice for once?”

  “No, Rats, I won’t be.”

  The Underking of killers gnashed his teeth and stared at her. “I know the games you play, even more so Grima. You’ll wait till victory is assured to start sucking us off, won’t you? No point in taking risks when all you got to do is open your legs afterwards. Suit yourself, Madam, but don’t cast it your lot too late,” he said while wagging his finger, “after all, a replacement can easily be found,”

  She didn’t reply, instead, she stood unimpressed. The monsters, while eye-opening, didn’t scare her, neither did the scarred, deranged man broiling at the mouth in front of her. She had also received the invitation from Yhaoli months before. At the time, she had thought it a sick joke that had found itself through her guards, into her room, and under her pillow. Now, she knew better.

  Yhaoli was obviously using Rats as a tool, but knowing him, he would soon flip everything it wanted from the scarred man – she only knew too well. But, that was if they actually took over the city, which would be hard considering the Seekers and Imperial Guardsmen were already here; open legs spread a lot more than just disease and purse knots.

  28. Tactical Retreat

  * * *

  From the second the monsters came around the willow trees, Kora had started acting strangely. Due to her stronger senses, he realised she must have seen something, or someone, in the distance which had led her to shuffle behind him. She also crouched slightly, letting his figure mask hers. Things only got stranger as she whispered into his ear,

  “We need to get out,”.

  He tilted his head to the side as if to admire the pillars of the pavilion, acting non-suspect. “What? Why?”

  “Look at the ordinary one,” she said, before crouching lower as the monsters got closer.

  Moments later, Orion found the one she had singled out. Just like she had mentioned, within the dozen monsters, behind the Cloudape, was a man who stood out like a sore thumb. He had tanned skin, a well-groomed beard, and styled hair. He wore formal clothes but stood casually within the mix of monsters as if he belonged.

  Given Kora’s behaviour and the man�
��s appearance, Orion figured he was a vampire. But then why was she scared? The Cruorems were at the peak of vampirekind: even if he was stronger, she had no reason to fear him. That was, unless her own family was hunting her… Realising the seriousness of the situation, he felt cold sweat roll down his neck.

  It was while his thoughts were spiralling down that Fatso’s guffaw sounded out, “Ha HA HA. Ratty, you sick cunt. I’m in,”

  Orion glanced at the mountainous man and grimaced. He had to get to Smith and report; the city would devolve to death and destruction shortly.

  “What about you, Madam? Will you cast your die for once?”

  “No, Rats, I won’t be.”

  Orion zoned out and faintly smiled. At least there was a sign of resistance, albeit weak. Rats began shouting at Madam Rischei who passively stared back as if watching a child release their tantrum.

  “I’m terrified, Rats. Now that you’ve made your point, I better get back to running my simple whore business. Best of luck to you boys,” she said as she turned and waved.

  “Come on, Richy. You got a chance at making it bigger than a whore and you’re hesitating? Really?” Fatso called out.

  She didn’t reply.

  Her faction moved as a whole as they left the pavilion and strode towards the gate. Orion tapped Ginger’s shoulder and nodded to him, before walking into Madam’s faction, making sure his body overshadowed Kora’s as they moved. While their exit from Fatso’s group attracted curious glances, these were only momentary as the underworld understood their reasons. If they thought Madam’s side-line tactic was better for survival, then it made sense why the Seekers would curry favour with her and not Fatso.

  After they had all left his garden, the Lich spoke to Rats. “Since we’re done here, we’ll get in place for the attack,”

  The scarred leader nodded and ordered the rest of his troops out. The revellers outside would be their meatshields against the Palace gates and their primary source of terror. Once in, Rats’s men would go for the Palace while Fatso agreed to take care of the Imperial Barracks. Their dice were cast; their fates would be decided the very same day.