City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Nylius crouched down and held the old man’s baggy forearm. His voice was muffled underneath the filter, so he spoke louder than usual. “It is I, Father. Your dutiful first son has come to visit you.”

  Jetan continued to stare blankly, a brief flicker of recognition in his milky eyes. “Ah, Styr. It has been so long … since we have spoken to one another, how I missed you so.”

  It was disappointing that he got it wrong, but Nylius let it go, for the old man was barely coherent now. “No, father. I am Nylius, your oldest son. Remember the time when I carried you after you fell?”

  The Grand Magus made a faint smile, bits of plant juice dripping down his chin. “Ah yes, my loving son. How I am blessed ever since the children gave me back what was once lost. Oh yes, we must not … forget the children.”

  Nylius nodded. “Yes, the children have been all taken care of. I had given personal instructions to Slane, and he most certainly succeeded by now. I await his return.”

  “Good, good,” Jetan said softly. “The Maker must not be disturbed. His work continues. You must see to it, my boy. You must … see to it.”

  Nylius rubbed his eyes. The floating spores of the mutated otus were only dangerous when inhaled, but they nevertheless proved to be a mild irritant to the naked eye. It would have been easier if he had gone to his personal quarters first and retrieved the gas mask, with its glass lenses giving him full protection from the plant’s effects, but Nylius yearned for the Grand Magus to recognize him. “Worry not, Father. I will make the Magi Order powerful once again. You will see our brotherhood rise from the ashes to claim our rightful place as masters of this world. We shall prove to the Maker that we are worthy.”

  Jetan nodded. “Good, good. Thank you, Styr. I shall always be … proud of you.”

  Nylius patted the old man’s hand before standing up. He walked back to the exit and closed the door behind him. While on the way back to the ground level, he made a quick detour to the old palace. Their numbers had dwindled to less than a few dozen now, and the Order had recently employed outsiders to help with the daily tasks of running the temple. This meant that there was a good chance that the great houses had spies within the organization, but due to the serious shortage of manpower there was nothing to be done about it. Nylius did what he could to weed out any potential informers, but it was a constant struggle. In the end, he handled the most pressing affairs on his own, hardly telling his fellow Vis users as to what his true intentions were. He knew that the other Magi weren’t too happy with his secretive dealings, but there was also nothing that they could do about it, for it was he alone who had access to the Grand Magus. The last time his rivals in the Order had attempted to defy his new decrees, it ended in blood, for Nylius left three dead Magi lying on the floor of the great hall. After that, no one dared to question him anymore.

  The two guards at the entryway bowed slightly in respect as he passed through the outer doors and into the anteroom. The temple of Vis was a sprawling compound, with separate structures that were now cut off from the rest of the organization. The seeming unity of the Magi was in fact an illusion, their members were split along generational lines. The older ones confined themselves to the library and the archives, forever toiling away at preserving what little knowledge of the world they had left. The younger Magi had begun to embrace new rules, and became increasingly less disciplined, for Nylius allowed them to indulge in whatever whims they wanted, as long as they kept to themselves. Duels between them became more common, until Nylius commanded them to stop in order to preserve their dwindling numbers. He stressed patience, promising the younger ones that he had secret plans to bring the Order back into prominence, to stop the decay and bring about their eventual preeminence over Lethe. To that end he needed to deliver, and his strategy had been in the final phases of fruition, until this recent, unfortunate turn of events.

  Nylius strode into a laboratory that fronted the gardens. Each building had an inner courtyard, and it allowed the ones in charge complete privacy with whatever schemes they were devising. The room was full of stone tables, with glass beakers and leather sacks full of strange substances that only its healer would be able to identify. Much of the stone wall that once faced the side of the garden had been torn down and replaced by a transparent glass divider, so that the healer could view what was occurring outside in safety.

  Standing in front of the smoky glass was an old man wearing a tattered black robe. His long gray beard fell to his chest while his eyes darted back and forth, carefully observing the experiments out in the garden beyond. His name was Belgos, and he was the chief healer of the Magi Order. Belgos pledged himself completely to serve under Nylius, for he was eager to bring forth the ancient, forbidden knowledge that had once been suppressed by countless Grand Magi, and put it back to the forefront.

  Nylius walked up and stood beside the healer. “There has been a setback.”

  The old healer turned to look at him. “Oh? That is unfortunate. I had hoped perhaps that we may finally unleash these men upon the city to cleanse it of our rivals. What happened?”

  Nylius looked past the glass wall. Lying on the ground were fifty men, all were once mercenaries who had been recruited by the Magi to seemingly serve as guards for the temple. Each one had been deposited into the garden in order to breathe in the fumes of the mutant otus plants that were growing all around them. “The weapons were stolen while they were being transported across the cemetery.”

  “An unlucky event indeed,” Belgos said. “I am not sure how much of these men’s memories were destroyed by the spores, and there may yet be a few shards of their previous lives within their minds. One of them awoke the other day by himself.”

  “What occurred then?”

  “I hurriedly put on the filter mask and went out into the garden. I ordered him to lie back down on the ground and return to his slumber, but he disobeyed my command,” the Magi healer said. “I had to use my club to hold him steady and placed the otus flower directly in his face so he could breathe more of the spores.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Yes, the powers of the plant finally overwhelmed him and he closed his eyes once more,” Belgos said. “This has made me somewhat concerned about your plans.”

  Nylius crossed his arms. “State your worries.”

  “While it is true that the spores make oneself more pliant to suggestion,” he said. “What if our own enemies command these men? Since these mercenaries of ours can be controlled by anyone, then surely the house matriarchs can turn them against us since they are Strigas, and this army we are building against the city will turn into a detriment, yes?”

  Nylius made a slight smile. “Leave that problem to me. All I want is that these men will fight and that they can be controlled. When we hired these mercenaries, very few of them were willing to battle the Watchers when the time came. Now that we have exposed them to the spores of your mutated strain, they must be fearless, and willing to give up their lives for us.”

  “Assuming that we solve the dilemma of being able to fully control them while denying that very opportunity to our enemies, we must still consider the fact that these men will fight sluggishly, for that is the reason why we needed those weapons in the first place,” the old man said.

  “Can these men not use spears or swords?” Nylius said. “They had been trained as such prior to their indoctrination. Surely the skill of thrusting and swinging a blade must still be in those minds of theirs?”

  “Oh, they are able to do that, of course,” Belgos said. “But they will be slow, and not very good with them. That is why those weapons that were stolen from us were needed, for they could have been unstoppable if properly equipped.”

  Nylius frowned. Even though this old healer was loyal to him, Belgos was a worrywart, completely lacking in any confidence whatsoever. “I will find those weapons, this I promise you. Just be sure that these men of yours are ready, for I may have some use for them very soon.”

  “Then you
must have some knowledge as to who stole the shipment?”

  Nylius nodded. “Yes. I had my two Magi bodyguards make some inquiries based on a dagger I found in the necropolis where the goods had been stolen from. I expect them to return before eventide with the proper information. Can you spare me a few of these men?”

  Belgos smiled as he spread out his hands. “Of course, Lord Executor. I can have four dozen at your disposal, ready to kill whoever it is that you wish.”

  Nylius turned away, looking at the sleeping mercenaries out by the garden. “Three dozen is all I need. We shall see if these experiments of yours can truly be worthy of battle.”

  “Your wish is my command, Lord Executor,” Belgos said eagerly before pausing. “But, what about the possibility of your enemies wrestling control of these men away from you?”

  Nylius made a short chuckle. “My dear Belgos, have you not realized that this was never a problem to begin with?”

  The old healer looked at him quizzically before finally giving an agreeable nod. “Ah yes, I had always suspected of such a possibility, but never truly believed the rumors that swirled around here. It seems that I should have placed more confidence in you, Lord Nylius. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

  Nylius turned and headed for the exit. “No need to say you are sorry, Belgos. Just make sure a dozen of those creatures are ready at dusk.”

  “At once, Lord Executor,” Belgos said before the door was shut.

  Nylius walked through a corridor before going up a flight of stairs and into his personal quarters. He poured himself a cup of water and downed it before making his way into the bedchamber. The moment Nylius entered the room his reserved demeanor changed instantly. He could see the lithe figure was still asleep on the bed. Nylius strode over by a stone chair and began to undress himself. His cloak came off first and it fell onto the base of the seat. After loosening the leather straps, he eased himself out of the steel breastplate and placed the armor onto the shiny floor. Within minutes, all he was wearing was his loincloth, and he quickly shed it as well, exposing his intact genitals to the warm, afternoon air. The one gift he was truly grateful for was when the Grand Magus had exempted him from enduring the emasculation ritual, when so many of his batch had died in agony, for only a lucky few would usually survive such a procedure to become full-fledged Magi. The other Magi who knew howled in protest, but his father was able to suppress the rumors that the great commandment had been broken through bribery and even murder. In the end, most of the others within the Order had assumed that Nylius’s loins had been taken from him, and he took great care in keeping his secret safe, never appearing naked in front of the others as he rose quickly up the ranks.

  The moment he began to wash his shoulders using a water bowl, a pair of soft, slender hands came up from behind him and caressed his torso. Turning his head, Nylius’s eyes locked into the face of a smiling teenager with close cropped hair standing behind his back.

  “Elevis, how I have missed you,” he said while turning around and kissing the young juvenile. Nylius placed his hands on the youngster’s bare, hairless torso before making his way up to the scarred chest and began to gently massage the bony shoulders.

  “I missed you too, Lord Executor,” Elevis said in between the kisses. The others in the palace believed the youngling was a Magus, since Elevis wore short hair and had a flat chest while generally behaving like the other youths that ran wild in the temple these days. Only Nylius had ever seen Elevis naked, and he was the only one who knew that Elevis was in fact a Striga, for her genitals were that of a female’s and she too had been exempted from the emasculation ritual. The other Magi had believed that Nylius had taken on a young lover was equally blasphemous, but the influence and power of the Lord Executor had grown to the point where no one could question or protest his actions any longer.

  Nylius was fully aroused and could no longer hold back his loins. He picked the girl up and carried her back to the bed.

  After the lovemaking was done, he sighed with satisfaction as his hands continued to touch the Striga’s scarred chest while lying across from her. Elevis’s mother had cut off her breasts when she had first manifested her mindsense, then cauterizing the wounds with fire before Nylius had found her and nursed the teen back to health. The burnt flesh on Elevis’s flat chest resembled a network of pink colored spider webs, but he was undaunted and soon fell in love with her. Wanting to strengthen her powers he used the Order’s archives to learn on how to instruct Elevis in the use of her mindsense. Elevis was a quick learner, and was able to find ways of learning how to use her powers without any formal training by another Striga. There had been times when she nearly lapsed into madness when her Vis went out of control, but by sheer luck they had found an old potion in the temple’s medicinal storerooms that was able to calm her mind.

  Elevis giggled as she sat up, leaned over and took a small vial from the stone table beside the fur bed. The young Striga took out the stopper and placed a drop of milky liquid on her tongue before sealing the small bottle once more. The drug was made from the mutant strain of fermented otus plant, and she had become addicted to it. As the effects of the tonic spread across her body, she could feel a mild, tingling sensation on her fingers and toes. Moments later, her mind had calmed down enough for her to be able to process information without being bombarded by the voices that would invariably come upon her every time she lay awake for too long.

  Nylius propped his head up on one arm while he continued to caress her slender body with the other. “The milk of the flower is a curse, you must not imbibe too much of it.”

  Elevis made a shot laugh as she curled up beside him. “You know that I cannot do my tasks without it, Lord Executor. It silences the voices in my mind, for without the milk, I shall no longer have the luxury of being able to think for myself.”

  He kissed the back of her head. “I have need of you. Vytor shall be returning soon and he will have the knowledge I seek. A few more things that must be done and then we shall find a better way to silence those voices. The milk makes you sleep too much and I will require your powers in the coming few days.”

  She lay on her back so they could see into each other’s eyes. “You found him?”

  Nylius blinked in surprise. He had forgotten about his mental defenses and she was able to probe his thoughts. Yet in the end, it really didn’t matter, for she already knew so much about him anyway. He silently cursed at himself for letting his guard down like that. “Please do not use your mindsense on me unless I allow it. I have told you this many times.”

  Elevis frowned. “I am sorry, but your thoughts were so strong it was like staring into the sun and not be blinded by it.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I forgive you, the fault was mine. I cannot become vulnerable like this for things will only get worse when we finally turn against the great houses. You must test me if I let my guard down like this again.”

  “By your command, Lord Executor,” she said. “Do you wish anything else?”

  “Yes, kiss me once more.”

  Chapter 5

  Zeren looked out at the setting sun from the window while buckling the sword belt to his waist. After placing the mercenary medallion around his neck, he took out the remaining gold bits in his hand and examined them. Three coins left. Damn. Neither the Magus nor his guards had carried any money, while the freight-master who had come at him from behind only had a few bits, probably expecting to be paid after the goods were delivered. Most of the coin was given to poor Inchel’s mother, and that left them with almost nothing. A part of him wanted to keep the money, but Ylira had insisted that they give the dead boy’s fair share over to his only relative, so Zeren upped the ante by offering most of his share as well, only to be completely surprised when Ylira found it to be a good idea and also threw most of her own portion into the dead boy’s pot.

  Glancing over at the woman still sleeping on the bed, Zeren smiled faintly while placing the remaining gold coins on the
stone table near the door. Now he was broke and he needed to make another pilferage soon. He could have paid her just the customary two coins, but Zeren was fond of Kyti, for she always allowed him the use of her bed even during lean times- to be paid later with interest, of course. She was also older than most of the other harlots plying their bodies along the street, but Zeren did have a certain fondness for her since Kyti had taught him much on how to please a woman. When he first started waylaying people, Zeren didn’t care much about his victims, but as he continued his profession, he began to realize that it was better to steal from the nobles of the city than from the poor, for the former had more coin, and the latter could be used as an asset in case of an encounter with the authorities. In time, his enhanced abilities and charming ways was instrumental to his long term survival. Zeren’s network of spies and black marketers enabled him to move practically any kind of stolen good and be rewarded handsomely for it. However, there were a few things he would never touch. Zeren never traded in slaves and he never robbed children, for even rogues like him had their own sense of honor and justice.

  Throwing the dark cloak over his shoulders, Zeren unlatched the obsidian door and strode out. Just before he closed the aperture, he heard a muffled voice from the inside. “My thanks, you handsome rascal,” Kyti had said, before he closed the door.

  As he went down the stone steps and into the ground level of the tavern, Zeren couldn’t help but curl his mouth into a wry smile. He may have spent the last of his money, but if he could find a buyer for the strange artifacts they stole, then he would be rich enough to afford a villa in the better parts of the city. Zeren wasn’t sure what they had uncovered at the raid, but it was certainly valuable since it had been heavily guarded. Hreth, a senior commander for one of the largest mercenary outfits in the city was due to meet him this eventide, and Zeren would be asking him for advice.