City of Illusions

by Kim ten Tusscher

  They were uncertain on how to proceed. They looked at each other, hoping that someone would provide a solution. Some of them secretly hoped that this was the end of their adventure.

  Siard examined the wall, carefully stretching out his hand toward it, almost afraid to touch it. For a moment he pulled back, but then he gently touched the metal. It was slightly warm, and it vibrated. He started walking, keeping his hand upon the wall, and Elion motioned for the others to follow. He was not about to let anyone get separated from the group.

  They walked slowly, and Siard stopped for a moment every now and then to listen with his ear pressed against the wall. Finally, he found what he was searching for, and though he looked at Elion, his words were meant for the whole company.

  “This is the entrance. It’s probably the only one, and we’re likely to be discovered as soon as we go through it.”

  His voice sounded doubtful. The group stood around him, their shoulders slumping. The wall barred their way, and even if Siard managed to open it, death was waiting behind it. Nobody dared to voice what they were thinking, but Elion spoke up.

  “We all knew that victory would not come easily, though we might have hoped for it. We don’t know what’s behind this door, we can only guess. There’s a big chance that it will surpass even our worst nightmares. But we are armed, and prepared. Siard, Lumea and I have come a long way already. We have no choice but to go on, unless we want our hardships to have been for naught. Many of you have already fought this thing, and I do not blame you if you don’t wish to face it again. I would be glad for the honor of fighting alongside you, but I will not force anyone into something that they don’t want to do. If you wish to go now, you may. We will wait for a few hours before opening the door, so that you have a fair chance to escape.”

  Elion looked around to gauge their reactions. Lumea agreed with him, there was no way the three of them were going to back down now. They would not blame anyone if they lacked the courage to go on. She could see the fear in everyone’s eyes. One man, standing to the back of the group, was shaking and had tightly shut his eyes, as if that would shut out reality, but otherwise, nobody moved.

  “You will all stay to fight?”

  Again Elion waited, but everyone stood their ground. Elvire, Zephyr and some of the others nodded their consent.

  “In that case, the time has come to fight for ourselves, for Omnesia, but most importantly for everyone who has suffered and died here in Hydrhaga. Let it never again be repeated!”

  Everyone righted their shoulders and lifted up their heads. They had a determined look about them now, in sharp contrast to the defeatism they seemed to carry about earlier. Even if each and every one of them died here, the Hosts and their army would be greatly weakened. The King would be warned as well, so the Omnesian army could finish what they had started. Before it came to that, however, they had the chance to get revenge on the people who had used them for their own gains. Elion nodded, and Siard concentrated on the door again.

  Long minutes passed in which a number of possible scenarios flashed through Lumea’s mind. Before she could dwell on the bad ones overlong, Siard figured out how to open the door. The group prepared themselves to fight. Siard stood to Elion’s right, next to the wall. He held his sword in his left hand so that he could open the door with his right. Elion himself was placed squarely in front of the door, one arrow nocked and another at the ready, and Lumea stood to the left, with her sword raised.

  Behind them, everyone else was ready to spring into action as soon as the door opened. They were all determined to fight for their own lives as well as that of the others. Almar, to the side of the group, had drawn his two short swords. Like all Omnesian men, he had received training since childhood, so he knew what to do, but the women stood with their weapons at the ready, too, as if they had done this all their lives.

  Siard looked at the group one last time, and then he pressed one symbol after another. He had seen this kind of lock before, so he knew how it worked. There were many different symbols, but the ones that were often touched by human hands betrayed a minimal discoloration of the metal. When he pressed the last symbol, the plate slid to the side with a long sigh.

  With only the smallest of openings, Elion could see two men already and he fired two arrows in quick succession. As the men fell, the door opened farther and Elion fired another two arrows, both of them hitting their targets. The workers hardly knew what had hit them.

  When the door was open far enough, Lumea and Siard ran inside. The guards, now prepared, tried to defend themselves. One of them managed to sound the alarm, but he was immediately hit over the head and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  A door to the right of the room opened and some workers stormed in. From the left came some Swintheri to the worker’s aid, but the small army the three fugitives had put together was still in the majority. Elion drew his own sword and fought his way to the left door, because almost all the soldiers had come from that direction. Lumea tried to follow him, but there was always a new opponent blocking her way.

  Everyone fought with grim determination. Lumea tried to give one woman some cover, but she had joined the training late, and was quickly killed. Lumea did not have any time to feel sadness about her death, though, because she was suddenly faced with two soldiers. She fought bravely, but they were stronger than her and they knew it, as was obvious from their taunts.

  “Hey little lady, think you can manage the both of us?”

  It made her furious, because she had heard that tone of voice too often already. Many men did not see her as a complete person simply because of her gender. That was exactly the reason she had started fighting against that prejudice.

  “Too bad a pretty little woman like you has to die.”

  “Maybe we can just knock her unconscious, that way we get to have some fun with her later.”

  The words brought her back to reality. “They’ll never get me alive!” she swore. She ran forward and turned behind the left soldier. He was the older of the two, and he had obviously not been expecting her move. She mercilessly stabbed him from behind, and followed up with an attack on the younger soldier, who was now the only remaining focus for her fury. They were equally skilled, but Lumea’s weapon eventually found its way into the body of this soldier as well.

  The moment’s lull let her ascertain that Elion had taken up a position next to the door, and his arrows buzzed across the room. Siard saved many people from certain death, and Almar was like a typhoon with his two swords. It was impossible for the Swintheri to dodge his blades. Lumea dove back into the fight, overcoming opponents and sending her own people to the relative safety behind Elion’s arrows.

  One by one, all the soldiers that had come into the room were defeated, and the workers gave up the fight when they saw the odds. The survivors were quickly bound and gagged. Lumea allowed herself some time to think about the losses they had suffered and silently asked the gods to usher them safely into the afterlife. Everyone was relieved about how well their first fight had gone, despite the sadness for their slain friends.

  There was not much time to think about their feelings, though, because Elion immediately led them deeper into the building’s center. They passed some smaller laboratories and rooms where the workers lived. The few people that they met were immediately slain. At one point they passed a high window of stained glass. On the other side of the window there seemed to be a chapel of some kind. When Lumea looked through it, all she could see was the shape of a large number of people. She looked at Siard, who had joined her.

  “The army?” she whispered.

  “I think so,” he answered just as quietly.

  Behind them, Elion nodded. They proceeded quietly, until they reached a large doorway that was flanked by two bronze statues, which they supposed led to the chapel. The statues depicted slim creatures that looked down condescendingly upon the group. Both of them held spears, which were aimed at the intruders. Next to each statue, two tor
ches burned, and their reflections in the illuminated bronze made the statue’s eyes seem threateningly alive. Elvire and many others felt the cold clutches of fear, and everyone huddled together a little closer.

  28

  Gîsal had retired into his study, where he pored over an old parchment that had yellowed from age. Strewn about his desk, in between candles that offered scant illumination, were various volumes and loose papers. Though his eyes seemed glued to the parchment, he was feeling impatient, as was obvious from his fingers that drummed incessantly upon the surface of the desk. His thoughts kept returning to the Thuranc. Some time ago his creation had finally reached perfection, and since then, his men had been working long hours to build him an army that would be large enough to launch an attack on Omnesia. Gîsal looked up at the painting of Arminath that dominated most of one wall.

  “My wondrously fair city,” he said lovingly.

  When a knock sounded on the door, the leader waited a moment before he opened it. The messenger on the other side bowed low.

  “My Lord Gîsal, your army is ready and waiting for you in the Chapel of Justice.”

  “Wonderful! Tell my body servants to join me and send everyone else to the chapel. This is the moment that we’ve all been waiting for.”

  The messenger bowed reverently again and left the room. Gîsal walked over to the wardrobe that spanned the left wall, and opened its doors. From the drawers he withdrew some pieces of armor. Suspended from hangers were soft green robes that were woven with a pattern of gold flowers. As he felt the soft fabric glide through his hands, he had a faraway look in his eyes.

  Soon, his two servants entered the room. They helped Gîsal to undress, and neatly folded his sombre black clothes, placing them on the sofa. Then, layer by layer, they dressed him, while he looked at himself in the old mirror hanging on the inside of the wardrobe door. The candlelight glinted off the golden decorations. He could still see the man he used to be, but he had grown old. The years he had spent working on the Thuranc had aged him more than he would have thought possible.

  One of the servants placed a stool behind Gîsal, and he sat down on it. From the wardrobe came leather shoes that were reinforced with silver. First one, and then the other were strapped onto his legs. As he stood again, another servant brought his golden armor. It encircled his waist like a corset and ran up to a point across his breastbone. This part closed with straps as well, and one servant pulled them tight across his back. The leader felt the air being pressed out of his lungs and his belly being pushed in.

  “Tighter!” he hissed.

  The servant tightened the straps until Gîsal’s ribs were pushed inward as well. The leader let his hand wander over the metal as he felt the decorations on the armor. Knowing it was time for the next piece, he spread out his arms. His breastplate and plackart would serve to protect his chest. Silver pauldrons were fastened to his shoulders and upper arms, and the gorget forced his head up into a regal cast.

  Over the suit he wore a heavy ocher cape, and the outfit was completed by a pair of golden gauntlets. Gîsal looked at the mirror once more, and, happy with the result, he sent the servants away and extinguished the candles with his fingers. His long strides caused his cape to swoosh behind him as he made his way through the corridors and toward the Chapel of Justice.

  Moments later, he stood before his army. The Thurancs were assembled in long, neat rows. As one, they saluted their leader. The gesture touched Gîsal’s heart, and his eyes shone with pride. Somewhere to the left, a door opened, and Ward was dragged inside. The moment his eyes met Gîsal’s, he started screaming, but when he turned his eyes away and saw the Thurancs, he realized just why he had been brought there. With his last ounce of strength he tried to fight the two Hosts that held him. Gîsal enjoyed the show. He no longer needed Ward to confirm the power he had over humans. After all, he now had his creatures of perfection, and the time had come to sacrifice Ward to his creations.

  Gîsal gestured at the two Hosts, and they threw the terrified man down before him. The elf bent his knees a little, wanting to smooth aside the mop of hair hanging before Ward’s eyes, but the former Host determinedly turned his head aside from Gîsal’s touch. The leader smiled affably at the man whose fumbling had been partly responsible for all the recent mishaps in Hydrhaga. He whispered softly enough so that only Ward could hear him, “You’ve served your purpose. Now is the time to punish you for all of the troubles that you’ve caused.”

  Ward felt a shiver run down his spine at the leader’s threatening words. There was no time for anything else, because Gîsal stood up and commanded one of the Thurancs to attack.

  Ward was torn to pieces, and Gîsal enjoyed the sounds that accompanied the exhibition. The former Host screamed and fought to the bitter end, though it was to no avail. It was surprising to Gîsal how much strength the man still managed to find. It took the Host a long time to die. The Thuranc was utterly silent as it finished the job, but the sounds of tearing flesh and snapping bones filled the chapel. When the robot was done, the corpse hardly resembled anything human. Gîsal ordered the Thuranc to stand down, as a feeling of euphoria washed over him.

  The band of resistance fighters had reached the door to the Chapel just as Ward was being ripped apart, and from outside they could hear the horrifying noises. Elion carefully opened the door, just in time to see Ward die, and he watched as Gîsal ordered the Thuranc to cease. Nobody paid any attention to the door, as riveted by the spectacle as they were. The fighters sneaked in and hid behind the statues that lined the back of the hall. Lumea tried to comfort the others. Everyone was shocked by the glimpse of pure evil they had just witnessed.

  More than that, though, there was the fact that the Thurancs were tall and strong, while most of their force was inexperienced. How were they supposed to win this fight? They had nearly been killed when they had faced just one of the monstrosities, and that one had yet to be perfected, and yet here was a whole hall full of them. They all felt as though they were about to commit suicide. Just thinking about the upcoming battle made them die a little on the inside.

  Rather than joining in the general despair, Elion studied the room for something he could use to their advantage. Siard came up beside him. With gestures and minimal whispered words they discussed what to do. The place, with its high, vaulted ceiling reminded them of a sanctuary, though it lacked a blessed atmosphere that usually accompanied such places. This hall was built with the blood of victims of past wars in mind, and with the promise of more blood to be spilled. The vaulted ceiling was not so much a stairway to heaven as it was a heavy claw gripping all who were inside. The crimson pillars standing in between the statues looked like blood-soaked fingers. In the middle of the hall there hung a huge chandelier that suffused the entire chapel with a cold, white light.

  To the left there was a spiral stair running up to a bridge that spanned the space. It was relatively near the group, but with the people standing between them and the stairs, they would be discovered as soon as they tried to reach it. Elion tried to find another way in which they could use the high ceilings. Siard pointed to the right. Along that wall, right next to them, were ropes hanging from beams that ran just below the ceiling. If Elion climbed up, he could use the height to eliminate many of the Thurancs before they could fight back. In any event, he’d be well out of their reach.

  There were more archers in the group, so Elion gestured for them to rally to his side. He quickly and quietly explained the plan to them, so that they could decide whether or not to follow. It was a risky business, but they agreed to it, seeing how much advantage they would gain if they managed to succeed.

  Aeron had joined them as well, to listen to the plans.

  “My kite can give the cover that you need to climb up those ropes. I will let it up as far to the left as possible, so that the attention of the Hosts will be drawn that way.”

  Siard nodded his agreement. “I will join you. Elion. Wait for the eagle.”

  The
young man made to follow Aeron, but at the last moment he turned back.

  “Remember, their necks are their weakest spot,” he reminded the others.

  Lumea took Siard’s place, wondering what the two men had been planning. Elion took her hand, and the two of them waited while tension and adrenalin coursed through their bodies.

  Gîsal was just finishing his speech when some workers noticed Aeron’s kite. Everyone started whispering excitedly, trying to guess at what it might mean. The eagle climbed up to the vaults, then flew down in a large circle. Lumea could clearly see Gîsal’s confusion as he pondered on the nature of this strange object. Elion pressed Lumea’s hand once before letting go to start up the ropes. The other archers followed suit. Lumea kept her eyes on the eagle, which was just now flying in front of the chandelier, so that the light shone through the silk wings. Aeron had used the patterns inherent in the fabric as much as possible, but the wingtips were red. It gave the eagle, floating calmly through the chapel, a sinister look.

  The animal had a wingspan of a few feet, making it harder to steer than the kites that Aeron usually used. Siard still managed to make it fly through the whole room, so that everyone got a good look. It hovered for a brief moment before swooping down to the army of Thurancs. When it was near them, Siard flew it right over their heads, as if taunting them. When there was no reaction forthcoming, the eagle started climbing up again.

  At its highest point, it suddenly stopped. Its body opened and dozens of small objects, made by Siard, flew out. The chapel seemed suddenly filled with insects, descending rapidly and gaining speed. Then their purposeless descent changed direction. Attracted by the signal sent out by the robots, they plunged into the one weak spot of the otherwise invincible robots.

  Where most workers and Hosts at first had been surprised, their reaction now turned into utter shock. As soon as the metal pins plunged into the Thurancs’ necks, the robots fell down, no longer functioning. Up until that moment, everything had happened in complete silence, but now Gîsal screamed at his troops to attack. The robots, however, did not budge. Without a visible target, they stood their ground, even as large numbers of them fell down, completely useless.