City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Isryk held his hands up in triumph. The boy was an excellent student. “Yes! Even rarer than gold is iron, and iron must be mined to produce steel. You should realize that metals are so rare that if a single vein of iron is found, then whichever slave chances upon such a prize is immediately elevated to become a freeman, forever unbound from his shackles. Every thrall in the mines works hard, not just from their master’s whip, but because each of them hopes that they would find that most precious vein. Even just finding a copper vein in one of those lightless tunnels is enough to buy one’s freedom as well.”

  “So the most precious thing to be found in the city is metal?”

  “Correct,” Isryk said. “Many of us consider metals to be even more precious than life. Steel weapons are the most treasured items one can have in their possession. A bone sword is next to useless against a skilled swordsman with a steel blade and armor. House Aranida produces a small quantity of metal weapons and armor and sells them at the highest price. Only the few in the Magi Order and the City Watch could afford them, along with the great houses. Much of the older equipment is passed down from fathers to sons and are considered treasured heirlooms. Magi and Watchers do not even have a uniform set of weapons- each individual has their own kit, depending on how prosperous they are.”

  “So House Aranida is the most powerful family in Lethe,” Efrin said. “Why have they not conquered the other houses then?”

  “Because all the other houses will rise against them, including the Magi,” Isryk said. “While House Aranida has the most of the Watchers in their pocket, the Order of the Magi have stayed neutral. House Aranida does not have the manpower or the weapons to fight against them all, so an uneasy balance is maintained.”

  “So who rules Lethe then?”

  “The Council of Shadows once did,” the teller said. “They were a small group of ministers, one from each caste, for even the slaves were represented, and they meet at the Great Room in the Palace of the Gorgons, which is located at the city center. The Grand Magus was also considered as a member of that council. It was they who decide how the city is run and to resolve disputes between the castes, the great houses and the Magi. Sadly, the council no longer meets, and any disputes between the nobles are handled privately.”

  It was a lot of information, but the boy was taking it all in. “Why does the Magi stay neutral? Surely they can conquer the city if they wished.”

  “The Magi are but few in number,” Isryk said. “While it is true that they have the power of Vis, their membership has steadily declined over the countless eons. There were tales of them once numbering in the tens of thousands, now there are less than a hundred of them left, and mostly old men with waning powers. The Magi were once as active as the Watchers, looking out for the citizens and slaves by hunting down robbers and murderers. Nowadays no one bothers to even petition them for help any more. They have closed off their doors and only a few Magi venture out from their temple of Vis, mostly to buy food and supplies from the outside. Who knows what goes on inside that sanctum of theirs?”

  Efrin gave a sly smile. “Do you think perhaps my mother would use her influence to enable us to visit the Magi temple? I would love to see what kind of secrets they have in that building.”

  Isryk had a surprised look. “I suppose it is possible, but why would you go to such a mysterious place?”

  “Curiosity,” the boy said. “I just want to see what is in there.”

  The old man sighed. “Might be dangerous. Perhaps it is better to leave this topic for another time.”

  Efrin was somewhat disappointed, for his curiosity was piqued and he felt some impatience at being confined within the Kentis mansion. “Alright. So if the Magi are so few, then how can they stand up to the City Watch?”

  “The City Watch has several thousand men to ensure the safety of the people of Lethe,” Isryk said. “But they have very few metal weapons and armor. Even though House Aranida contributes the most to their upkeep, that family prefers to equip their own household guard with the majority of the metal weapons they produce. The Watchers are supposed to be neutral in all affairs, and instead focus purely on resolving disputes and bringing criminals to heel. The truth is that the Watchers are internally divided, for each of the great houses is trying to influence their members to side with them.”

  “I see,” the boy said. “So there are factions within the City Watch, the Magi are few and keep to themselves, and the great houses have their own armies too. I am surprised the city has not dissolved into chaos yet.”

  “Lethe has not experienced open war since the days of the Gorgons, and everyone wants to keep it that way,” Isryk said, before leaning closer to the boy so he could whisper in his ear. “Instead, the numerous factions fight a hidden war, a war of shadows and intrigue. That is why very few venture out at night and the houses of the nobles are heavily fortified.”

  They both heard the sounds of footsteps on the nearby stairs. It was Kardra, and she held out her hand in greeting to the both of them. “Hail, master teller and Efrin. My lady says that it is time for lunch.”

  Isryk stood up and stretched his legs. “And so we conclude our lessons for today, young master. I shall be seeing you again in the next few days. You have done well. Keep up with your studies and we shall see as to asking your mother for permission to come visit the temples.”

  Efrin nodded and bowed in respect.

  After a lunch of more salad and roasted meats, the boy was sent over to the rear courtyard and underwent instructions on swordsmanship, for it was an unwritten rule that every male noble would at least know how to fight. The head of the household guard commended the boy for being an equally fast learner with the proper stances, and figuring out how to parry numerous attacks from different angles. Efrin liked the physical training, but he was exhausted by the time the sun had begun to set. He had not seen his mother all day, for the matriarch of House Kentis was out on official business.

  Efrin was soon back in his chambers while standing naked on the large water bowl. Kardra had just finished pouring a jug of water over him and he was clean once more. The boy took the towel by the chair and dried himself while the servant girl finished making the bed. He had eaten his dinner of algae soup and another bowl of salad less than an hour ago. Efrin was getting tired of eating the otus leaves, but Kardra insisted, telling him that it she would be the one facing punishment if he didn’t consume it.

  His mind and body now exhausted, the boy climbed into the bed and rested his head on the fur pillow. He looked up at the servant girl who sat down beside him and had kissed his forehead. “Kardra, could you please tell my mother I am weary from eating more otus salad? I seem to have it with every meal.”

  Kardra smiled as she stroked his smooth golden cheek. “Your mother says that the salad which is prepared for you will make you strong, but I will ask anyway.”

  “I do not know why,” the boy said. “But there is a part of me that remembers drinking from a fluid sac of a poisoned norpion.”

  Kardra had a disgusted look on her face. “Norpion fluid? How disgusting! Was it from your dreams again?”

  “I believe so,” Efrin said. “The details escape me, but I still recall the foul taste. Nevertheless, I would rather drink another of that beast’s fluid sac than have to chew on more otus leaves again.”

  Kardra giggled as she bent down and rubbed noses with him. “You better get some sleep. I will ask the cook to prepare the salad differently this time, perhaps a bit of norpion fluid on it would make it taste better for you, yes?”

  Efrin laughed. “You are funny. Pleasant eventides to you.”

  “And a pleasant eventide to you, my handsome young master,” Kardra said to him before she got up and left, taking the lantern with her.

  The boy waited until the crystal door to his chambers was shut before leaping out of the bed. Efrin slowly made his way over by the window. His bedchamber was located at the highest part of the manse, and the steep drop to the outer
gardens down below would break his legs if he ever jumped. The boy looked out into the star-filled night, seeing the distant lights of the nearby compounds. He could see that the winding streets around the area were sloping downwards, towards the freemen section and onto the city center. The massive temples stood out in the twilit distance, beckoning him with their secrets. A part of him wanted to leap out of the window that very moment, for he had a sense that he would not be killed somehow, yet in the end, his own doubts overtook him.

  Efrin dejectedly walked back to bed, his body felt leaden and his mind yearned for sleep. He lay back onto the bed and pulled the fur blanket over his body. Why was he so forgetful, and why could he not recognize the ones in his dreams? He was impulsive, but the boy knew he needed more time to find out why he couldn’t remember much. He mustn’t arouse suspicion, so he needed to play the part of the dutiful son, until the time was right, and then he would make his escape.

  Just before sleep overtook him, he unloosened the small part of his mind that he had kept hidden away using the skills that he still remembered having. His true self became reawakened for a few brief moments. Most of his memories were a blank slate, but there was one thing he still remembered clearly. “My name is Rion,” the boy said.

  “My name is Rion, and I am a child of the Arum Navar,” he said again, repeating it a few more times before he finally closed his eyes and slumbered.

  Chapter 3

  The recollections of her ordeal came in brief flashes of pain and horror. Shards of memories would be suddenly remembered out of nowhere, piercing her mind like daggers made from the stuff of nightmares. Of standing outside the city walls with Rion, wounded and exhausted, pleading to be let inside. The days of anxious waiting while staring up at the ancient gates, wondering if there was anyone still inhabiting the place. When the loud rumbling of the massive doors began and the ground shook beneath them, Miri had thought that it was an earthquake. The first ones they met were carrying weapons, and the protector had already hidden her own spear behind a set of rocks, not wanting to appear hostile. The men who surrounded them had suddenly smiled, telling her that they were the first outsiders to visit the fabulous city in many cycles. They were given food and drink, and soon the boy fell into a deep, restful slumber. She was then taken to see the woman they called the matriarch, and then the betrayal had begun. Miri had been caught unawares, and in her exhausted state fell quickly against the other woman, who she realized was also a Striga. The matriarch used a mental attack to strike her down, before the healers came upon her to do their grisly work. The last thing she recalled before she opened her eyes were the screams coming from the boy, begging her to wake up.

  Miri sat up with a jolt. Her memories had come back to her in dark dreams. Her breathing was rapid and her half naked body drenched in sweat. The stench coming from the nearby sewer trenches was ghastly, but she was slowly getting used to it. She had been resting along the stone walls of the upper part of the gutters, since slaves of her ilk weren’t given any quarters. The rays of the morning had begun to seep down from the sides of the upper walls. Looking around, she noticed that the other slaves in her group had begun to stir themselves awake. Everyone had gotten used to waking up before the slave-masters arrived, for they preferred to be roused by their own body clocks as opposed to the crack of the whip.

  Rubbing the back of her head, Miri’s fingers felt the soft part where they had bored through her skull. She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth to prevent herself from crying. Her gift of Vis had been taken away from her, and it was hard to go on living without it. Ever since her mindsense had manifested itself all those cycles ago, she grew to depend on it, believing that the power would always be there should she ever need it. Now it was gone, and she felt crippled without it. A part of her just wanted to die, to put an end to this horrid existence, yet Miri knew she had a duty, a promise that she made to the boy. Her anger was hidden deep in her subconscious. She realized that if she was to fulfill her pledge to Rion, then she had to be patient, for the right time only comes to those that wait.

  A bald, emaciated man wearing only a loincloth lay adjacent to her. He was still asleep, and his breathing was labored. His whole body was covered in sores, and the filth that they wallowed in wasn’t making his ailments any better. When Miri was cast down to the slave pits, he was the first to comfort her, and she looked to him as the first friend she had in this forsaken place.

  Miri leaned over, placed a hand on his shoulder, and shook him gently. “Zuuaz, you must rise. Our shift will start soon.”

  Zuuaz blinked a few times before getting up slowly. He tried to say thanks, but all he could muster was a series of coughs. He had recently lost his voice, and could only verbalize in faint whispers.

  Miri gave him a faint smile. “Do you wish something to drink?”

  Her fellow slave smiled back and just shook his head.

  Within moments, two slave-masters, dressed in leather tunics and carrying their ubiquitous whips, strode along the narrow pathways, making sure that their boots wouldn’t slip on the slimy cobblestones that lined the trenches. They looked around, checking to see if any of the slaves were still asleep, but all were ready. Chenyk was the shorter one and he treated them fairly most of the time. Buarl was the complete opposite. Towering over everyone else, Buarl was a sadistic bully who loved to inflict pain upon the merest slight. The slaves would always look down every time he glanced their way, hoping that they wouldn’t get a taste of his obsidian spiked whip. He had taken an intense dislike to Miri, for she was a natural leader and her influence had grown among the other slaves, despite being cast down to the sewers less than four moons ago.

  “Get up and get going, you pathetic lot,” Buarl bellowed, gesturing with the coiled whip in his hand. “Your shift begins now.”

  As the slaves began to move single file towards the main drainage area, Zuuaz doubled over in pain the moment he tried to stand up. Miri quickly moved to his side, placing a reassuring hand on his back. “Are you alright?” she asked.

  Zuuaz tried to stand, but he began to cough violently, the pain was so intense that he fell to his knees. Miri crouched down beside him, rubbing his back with her hands.

  Chenyk was at the rear of the group and he noticed what had happened. He quickly made his way over to the pair of slaves. “What are you two doing? You must head over to the drainage without delay.”

  Miri looked up at him while still comforting her sickly friend. Unlike the other slaves, she never bothered to eat the spikeshrooms, for she knew it made them all docile. “He is too sick to work today, you must let him rest.”

  Chenyk could see that Zuuaz was indeed ailing, but they were already behind schedule with regards to clearing the main drainage channel. His superiors had told him that if the work wasn’t completed by the end of today then the cost would be taken out of his pay. “No, we cannot spare any slaves. The task must be finished before the arrival of eventide.”

  Zuuaz’s coughing intensified. He started retching on the dank stones, bits of blood and bile spewing from his mouth. Miri kept rubbing his back, hoping that his suffering would somehow alleviate itself.

  Buarl strode over to them, his anger clearly rising. “By the gods, what is the meaning of this delay? Everyone should be at the drain by now!”

  Chenyk pointed down at the pair of them. “That one is coughing blood, he is too sickly to work it seems.”

  Buarl snarled as he grabbed hold of Chenyk’s arm. “Are you mad? Were you not aware that we had to finish today’s work no matter the cost?” He pointed a stubby finger at Miri. “You, get up and move before I hang you with my whip!”

  Miri stood up and glared at him. Buarl was ready to strike, but he sensed something dangerous behind those emerald green eyes. He had yet to use his whip on her, even though she was the most rebellious of the bunch. There were rumors about a Striga that had been taken in from the wastes, and he suspected that it was her. If he could just goad Miri enough so that she woul
d attack him, then he would be within his rights to kill her. On the other hand, he needed to do it in such a way so as not to get hurt, for he would rather punish the ones who wouldn’t fight back.

  Chenyk sensed a brewing conflict. He preferred that they concentrate on what was needed that day, for a fight right that very moment would be counter-productive. “Miri, you need to go, now.”

  Miri looked away and started walking towards the drainage area. Her own instincts told her not to fight, but she couldn’t stand the sight of someone suffering like that. Chenyk moved slowly behind her, making sure that she couldn’t see what was going to happen next.

  With the rebellious one finally turning the corner and out of sight, Buarl loomed over the still stricken Zuuaz. “What’s the matter, slave? Feeling unwell today?”

  Zuuaz tried to look up at him in respect, but all he could do was to retch and cough even harder while spitting out more blood.

  Buarl hated having to wade through the sewage, but he figured that he could sell this slave’s body to the fertilizer merchants, for there was a constant need to feed the shrooms and otus plants with nourishment. After all, it didn’t look like he had much time left anyway. The hulking slave-master grabbed the sickly slave by the throat and threw him into the adjoining trench.

  Zuuaz trashed about in the muck. He tried to scream for help, but all he could do was gasp and wheeze some more. Buarl made sure his boots were tightened prior to placing them into the thick sewage. The large slaver waded over to the struggling peon before grabbing the back of the poor man’s head and plunging it down into the semi-liquid discharge. Zuuaz tried to struggle free, but Buarl was too strong as he kept the slave’s head underneath the unholy mixture of excrement and trash. Within moments, the slave stopped struggling as his arms and body became limp. Buarl kept the head down a little longer, wanting to be sure that the deed was done before pulling himself back onto the dry access way.