City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Seating himself along the stone counter of the bar, Zeren made a low whistle. “Keeper, a cup of your best wine, please.”

  The tavern keeper was a former pit fighter, and was missing part of his nose. He turned around and leaned over the counter, making sure that Zeren could see his bloodshot eyes. “Are you gonna pay me for the drunken rampage you wrought?”

  Zeren scratched the side of his head. “I went on a drunken rampage? When did that happen?”

  The keeper grimaced. “Last eventide, you fool!” He pointed at a few broken chairs and tables near the far corner of the hall. “Look upon your handiwork! When two of my men tried to stop you, they ended up stunned and senseless on the floor!”

  Zeren pursed his lips. “I cannot seem to remember ever doing that. Are you sure that it was I?”

  The keeper seemed ready to explode and could hardly contain himself. “Drunken louts never remember!”

  Zeren shrugged. “Well you see, I am somewhat out of coin right now, but I shall surely pay you for the mess, as well as the cup of wine you are about to serve me in the next few days.”

  “Better give him the wine, keeper,” a burly voice behind them said. “For I shall pay for the cup, lest he destroy the rest of your establishment.”

  Zeren turned around and smiled as he recognized the rough, grizzled-haired man behind him. “Hreth! Fair eventide to you.”

  Hreth gave him a toothy grin as he strode forward and hugged the younger man. “It has been a long time, Zeren,” he said before throwing a few coins onto the bar counter. “It looks like I shall be buying the drinks this eventide.”

  The keeper grudgingly filled two cups with fermented algae wine and placed them on the bar counter before heading off to serve the other patrons. Both men strode over and started sipping the foul smelling liquid. It was rumored that the best wines came from the otus plant, but the distillation, production and consumption of it was a monopoly for the upper classes. Nevertheless, Zeren had pulled a number of robberies that enabled him to sell stolen jugs of otus wine at a handsome profit a few cycles back.

  Hreth licked his lips, favoring every drop of the wine. “This sewer drink may not be the best I have ever tasted, but it is better than nothing. How I would kill a score of Watchers for another bottle of that otus wine you had given me once.”

  Zeren chuckled while he held up his cup for a toast. “Yes, that brew was the best. Sadly, the noble houses that sell the stuff now guard their caravans well, and only transport them in broad daylight in front of everyone now. We would need an army just to take a few jugs, and all the blood that is to be spilled would not be worth it.”

  It was Hreth’s turn to laugh. “Did I observe a sense of mercy in your words, Zeren? The first time we met, you were willing to kill scores of people with hardly a second thought. You were as vicious as a mob of pit fighters. Now you seem to have a touch of melancholia in your demeanor. Has something happened?”

  Zeren glanced away as the keeper came by and refilled their cups. “The last errand I undertook was with a boy. He was from the streets and desperately needed coin, so we took him along. I should have been close to him, but instead I thought he could handle one of the men on his own. I was wrong.”

  Hreth took another long draught before answering him. “Ah, the one promise that the gods keep is that they kill us all in the end. Worry not about such things, for there will be other lads that need coin out there. If the city has one shortage, then it is always gold, for the nobles prefer to hoard their share in order to make the rest of us wallow in misery. So you came up with nothing? Well not every task succeeds- failure is part of life.”

  Zeren twisted his eyebrows. “I did not say I failed.”

  Hreth was confused. “Oh, so you did take something. Then why are you out of coin?”

  “I have not been able to sell the goods in question,” Zeren said. “I spoke to a number of my acquaintances, and they have been unable to identify the artifacts that I found.”

  “Perhaps the goods you stole were worthless,” Hreth said.

  “I do not believe that,” Zeren said. “For the paraphernalia was heavily guarded. Eight mercenaries and a Magus. The freight-master even put up a fight.”

  Hreth’s eyebrows shot up. “By the gods! A Magus? How did you survive such a battle?”

  Zeren started grinning again. “It took a little longer, but we defeated them.”

  Hreth knew the young man was cocky, but he always believed him when it came to such things. He had fought with Zeren before, and he knew that the man they called Grimgrin was one of the best fighters he had ever seen. Deep in his heart, Hreth understood that Zeren had the gift of Vis, but he never openly confronted him about it, nor did he inquire as to his past. “So this Magus was guarding a caravan and you waylaid it. But how did you not know what it contained before you attacked them?”

  “It was actually a stroke of luck,” Zeren said. “We were at the necropolis, looking for some tombs to rob, when we chanced upon them. The sheer numbers of guards made me realize that the cargo must have been valuable.”

  Hreth nodded. “I see. Well, unless I get to see whatever mystery it is that you have taken as booty, then I shall not be in a position to help you.”

  Zeren turned and started moving towards the end of the hall. “This way.”

  Hreth followed. Both men entered a twisting passageway that held supplies for the tavern along its walls. Flickering torches had been fastened along the sides and they gave the whole scene an orange hue. Zeren took out a torch from its holder and continued on until he got to another entryway. Beyond the threshold was a short landing and a set of stairs leading below to the cellars. Hreth accompanied him down into the next level. The bottom room was filled with numerous stacks of clay jugs and vases containing all sorts of wine and dried foodstuff. Leather tarpaulins were draped across most of the goods. A small ret they found moving on the floor made a tiny squeal before it ran off into the shadows.

  Zeren stood in front of one of the covered tarps near the back end. He peeled away the covering and used his free hand to rummage through a stack of dusty old bones. The moment he felt something solid and heavy he pulled it out, revealing a long and narrow object that had been wrapped in leather. Zeren placed it on top of another container. “This is one of the things we found.”

  Hreth leaned closer while Zeren unwrapped the item. He made a muffled gasp when it was finally revealed. The object looked like a long metal tube, with a triangular attachment made out of some strange material at the end of it. The tip of the cylinder was hollow, with a large hole at the end. A leather strap underneath was hooked from end to end. The old mercenary held it up, marveling at the smooth but solid design.

  Zeren kept the torch above them to allow proper illumination. “Well, what is it?”

  “It i-is a weapon of some sort,” Hreth said. “The ancients called it a gun.”

  Zeren gave him a quizzical look. “A gun? I have never heard of such a thing. What is a gun?”

  “As I have told you, a gun is a weapon used in ancient times,” Hreth said. “I was but little when my grandfather told me stories about these things before he died. He owned a gun similar to this, but his was old and rusty, and it was no longer in working order. My father tried to get it repaired, but no one had the knowledge to mend it so he threw it away.”

  Zeren tried to peer into the end of the tube but he couldn’t make anything out. “How does it work?”

  Hreth held up his thumb and forefinger. “You need to place a spherical rock into that hole, and then put in some sort of special healer’s powder afterwards, I believe.” Hreth held up the other end of the weapon so that he could see a metal protrusion that was shaped like a hammer on the top end of it. “Then this tiny hammer strikes down on a piece of flint and creates a spark. Then something happens and the rock flies out of the tube.”

  Zeren remained unconvinced. “That is all? How could a little stone that fits into that little hole kill a man? It
seems one would need the luck of the gods every time they would be foolish enough to use a weapon such as this.”

  “My grandfather told me that the rock coming from the weapon travels so fast that no one, not even a Magus, would be able to see it,” Hreth said.

  Zeren’s eyes narrowed. That part made sense. A Magus would normally be able to defend himself against bone arrows since he usually saw them coming, and would subsequently use his mindforce to deflect the flight away from him. But if what Hreth said was true, then a Magus would not have the chance to defend against a projectile that could travel at such a speed. “If any of the houses would have this weapon in enough quantities, then they could very well rule this city,” he mused.

  Hreth nodded. “How many of these did you find?”

  “Both wagons held close to two hundred of these weapons,” Zeren said. “There were also hollow ivory horns containing fine dust that smelled of brimstone, and sacks of metal spheres.”

  Hreth bit his lip. “These metal spheres you mentioned, would they fit in the hole of this gun?”

  Zeren held the front of the barrel and looked into it a second time. “I believe that they would. Why?”

  “By the gods,” Hreth said softly. “Something is being planned, and you stumbled upon it like some drunken fool. You said it was a Magus that was guarding this freight. Do you know if he was acting under official sanction by the Order?”

  “He did make such a claim when he tried to challenge me,” Zeren said.

  “I have been having problems with my own men since several of them disappeared these past few moons,” Hreth said. “Were any of my men guarding this team?”

  Zeren shook his head while pulling out the medallion that hung around his neck and gave it to him. “I took a look at their medallions. They were all from the Sons of the Sun. Your own outfit is the Black Dargons.”

  Hreth snorted as he gave back the medallion with the sun’s insignia on it. Zeren never came into conflict with his men because he was once a member of Hreth’s unit before he became completely independent. “Something is amiss. The other mercenary leaders have all complained about several of their men going missing. It seems that some faction in the city is hiring large groups of our own men without telling us. The wife of one of my most trusted men came to me the other day, pleading with me to return her husband back to her, but I told her I had no knowledge of where he was. Do you recall knowing Lobron?”

  “Lobron? The leader of the Silver Shields outfit? Yes, I know if him,” Zeren said.

  “He told me that his second in command, a fellow named Yarbram, had suddenly gone missing. When he came and visited Yarbram’s family, his man’s wife told him that her husband had gone to seek employment with the Magi.”

  Zeren had a skeptical look on his face. “The Magi are hiring? That is news to me. Why would they need to hire mercenaries when they can easily overcome ordinary men with their Vis?”

  “It is an enigma- that is for sure,” Hreth said. “But there have been rumors about the Magi having dwindled in both their number and in their powers over the last ten cycles, at least. When Lobron came to the temple of Vis to seek any news about his second in command, the Magus who answered the door told him no such man came to see them.”

  “That is a very strange tale,” Zeren said.

  Hreth nodded. “If the Magi are indeed behind the shipment of these guns and if they are also hiring mercenaries, then they must be devising something. Why would they have need of such weapons and large numbers of men?”

  “The one faction that could stand up to their power is the City Watch, but both sides have never fought against each other, for the Watchers have the numbers, while each individual Magus is powerful enough to fight against groups of men,” Zeren said. “The great noble houses are the third camp, but they are somewhat fighting with each other to ever unite. If the Magi are planning something, who would they be conspiring against?”

  “I do not know,” Hreth said. “Are these other guns of yours within this very tavern as well?”

  Zeren smiled and shook his head. “No, I have the goods hidden in numerous places around the city. Did you honestly think that I would be so foolish as to place everything here?”

  “No, of course not,” Hreth said. “All that I am saying is since the Magi were guarding this equipment, then surely they must be looking for it. That places you in great danger.”

  Zeren rolled his eyes. “I have been living in great danger since I was but a child. This is hardly anything new to me.”

  Hreth let out a deep breath. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Ylira, and a few others that I had initially approached in order to determine what these weapons were. Why?”

  Hreth grimaced. “Name these others.”

  Zeren grunted. It seemed that his old friend didn’t trust him. “Oh, very well. Gaznal of the Black Hands, Khedli the crone, old man Merrurd.”

  Hreth cursed. “Did you bring them here to show this gun?”

  “Foretime, why?” Zeren said.

  Hreth’s face became flushed. He wanted to slap the young man. “You are a fool, Zeren. Merrurd’s body was found this morrow by the old wells- someone tortured him. If you had not slept with harlots all day you might have found out about it!”

  Vytor came into the front of the tavern with his steel short sword already drawn. The six glassy eyed men were right behind him. The patrons near the bar instantly noticed the lamellar armor they wore and the laughter and carousing suddenly ceased. A tavern maid carrying a leather tray with cups of wine let out a shriek as she came out from the kitchen and promptly dropped the containers on the floor as she stared at them with wild eyes. A hooded man with a cloak stood up and tried to get past the barmaid in order to get to the rear doorway, but he slipped on the wet floor and lay sprawled by her feet.

  The tavern keeper’s mouth hung open, but he was able to recover his senses in less than a minute. “W-what do you want?”

  Vytor strode forward, the short sword in his hand was still pointing downwards to the floor. “By order of the Magi, no one is to leave.”

  Three men stood up from a nearby table. All wore the red cloaks of the City Watch. The shortest man with a mustache seemed to be their leader. “The Magi Order has no authority here. If an offense was committed, then it us up to the Watchers to dispense justice.”

  One of the glassy eyed men standing behind the Magus carried a bone javelin with a metal tip. He was unable to remember his name, but a voice kept telling him that the men with the red cloaks were the enemy. He was able to recall enough to know how to use the weapon he carried and he did, by leveling the javelin over his shoulder and letting it fly. The Watcher with the mustache took the throwing spear in the center of his unarmored chest and he went down with a grunt. The two remaining men wearing the red cloaks were off-duty, and neither of them carried their spears. All the two Watchers had on them were bone daggers, but they nonetheless drew them out, hoping that they would not have to die.

  Vytor gestured with his free hand as he used his mindforce to slam both Watchers into the side of the room. The two men were stunned as an unseen power hurled them into the wall. Vytor advanced and thrust the tip of his sword through the stomach of a young man who had just stood up from another table. The youth fell to his knees and began to gargle blood from his mouth. Vytor turned to look back at the glassy eyed men behind him. “Kill them all.”

  People began screaming as the blank faced men advanced, using their javelins and xiphos swords to hack and hew into the terrified crowd. The tavern keeper flung himself over the stone counter and tried to make a run for the front exit, but a javelin embedded itself at the back of his leg and he fell on his knees, the sharp pain overwhelming his thoughts.

  Vytor calmly walked over to him and grabbed the keeper by his hair, holding the sword point to his throat. “You know why we are here. Give me a name and I shall let you live.”

  Tears of pain fell down the keeper’s chin. “The
man called Grimgrin, his real name is Zeren!”

  “My thanks,” Vytor said softly as he plunged the point of the blade through the man’s shoulder. The tavern keeper rolled his eyes, falling head first to the ground, his blood steadily pooling on the dirty floor.

  Both men in the cellar suddenly heard numerous cries and shouts coming from the main hall.

  Zeren looked up in surprise. “What was that?”

  Hreth grabbed the gun, slung it over his shoulders, and sprinted to the stairwell. “What do you think, fool? The Magi are here!”

  They both ran up to the ground floor and tried to make it out through the rear entrance. As they got into the kitchens, they found six glassy eyed men in armor massacring the slaves there. The tavern keeper’s wife was sitting down beside her ovens with her intestines spilling out of her torn stomach, eyes open into space. Zeren remembered her infectious joviality, always offering him a bowl of stew during his lean times. Now she was dead because of him. Coming in through the exit in front of them was another man wielding a battleaxe, his dark cloak and demeanor clearly indicating he was a Magus.

  Zeren ran back into the corridor while drawing his broadsword. “This way.”

  Hreth ducked down as a javelin embedded itself on the wall where his head would have been, before accompanying Zeren on the flight of stairs leading to the upper floors. “They came in force,” he said calmly while drawing out his own blade, a cross-hilted arming sword. Neither of them wore armor, and they were in tight quarters against numerous enemies with short spears, putting them at a tremendous disadvantage.

  Just as Zeren made it into the upper level passageway, he ran into Kyti, who was still half dressed and barefoot, her long disheveled hair covering part of her face. The screams had awakened her and she was on her way downstairs. Their collision threw the pouch she was carrying onto the floor, gold coins erupting from its open top. Hreth was halfway up the stairs when one of the glassy eyed men moved up the stone steps and got within melee range. Hreth turned and parried a swing from the enemy’s leafy bladed xiphos, slightly dulling the other man’s bronze edge. Since he had the height advantage, Hreth kicked the man in the chest, sending him tumbling back down the stairs, crashing into the other men that were right behind him.