City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  “I-I am sorry, milady,” Kardra said. “I-I had not realized that the day went by so quickly, I…”

  Cirine strode forward a few steps and delivered a hard slap to Kardra’s face. The slave girl cried out as she fell on her side, nearly falling down the stairs. Rion quickly moved over to the fallen slave and held her by the shoulders. Acro winced at the severity of the blow and looked away, hoping that it would not be repeated. Corym gave a smirk while continuing to puff up his chest.

  Rion looked up at the matriarch, a flash of dejection in his eyes. “Please do not strike her any more, Mother. The fault is mine, for I had gotten carried away by all the wondrous stories in the telling stones. I ran off into the many hallways to be by myself and I ignored Kardra’s summons.”

  Cirine grabbed the bow by his slender elbow and she looked closely into his eyes. “You are never to protest my actions, young one! I have the power of life and death over any member of my household, including you.”

  Rion nodded, his pleading eyes trying to put her at ease. “Of course, Mother. You have every right to be angry. All I am saying is that mercy is superior to punishment.”

  Acro stepped forward and stooped beside the matriarch, the thick whiskers almost covering his mouth. “I think the boy is wise beyond his years. And he makes a good point. The slave girl cannot be faulted, for she cannot compel the lad to obey her- it is the other way around.”

  Cirine’s anger had apparently abated. She let go of the boy’s arm and gestured at Kardra to get up. “Oh very well, this affair is over. Give the boy a bath and prepare one of his better tunics. Our guests shall be arriving here at any time, so do not tarry any longer.”

  Kardra quickly got up and ushered Rion up the steps. “Yes, milady. At once.”

  Back in his chambers, Rion toweled himself dry while Kardra laid out a clean tunic for him to wear. The distant sounds of music could be heard and it meant that the guest had already arrived and was being seated at the dining hall below. The boy had been felling guilty and he tried to speak to her about what happened, but Kardra didn’t answer him as she continued her duties with glum silence.

  Tying the collar of the tunic around his neck, Rion glanced over at the slave girl who was busty dusting off his shoes. “Kardra, please accept my apologies. I-I was not aware of the time.”

  Kardra looked up at him. There was a red welt on the side of her cheek. “Your mother would never strike you, for you are of the noble class. I hope that from now on you can see life through my own eyes.”

  Rion’s lips trembled and he blinked a tear away. “Yes, you are right. A slave’s life is indeed harsh. If there is anything I can do to repay what you have done for me, I promise I will do whatever I could to fulfill it.”

  Kardra placed the shoe back on the floor and walked up to him. “All that I ask is for you to trust me. Let there be no lies between us. You are a loving and handsome boy, and I would sacrifice my life for you.”

  The boy nodded. “Alright, let us trust each other with our lives then.”

  Kardra took out a pair of sandals from a shelf and set it before him. “I forgive you. Now please tell me what you were doing down there in the passageway of the library.”

  “I-I was searching for a friend,” Rion said softly.

  “A friend? What kind of a friend?”

  “A woman named Miri,” Rion said. “Would you help me find her?”

  Kardra gave him a quizzical look. “Who is she? Why is this Miri so important to you?”

  “Do not tell the others,” Rion whispered. “But she is a Striga.”

  Kardra’s eyes opened wide. “A Striga? But only matriarchs can be Strigas.”

  Rion shook his head. “She is not a house matriarch. Nevertheless, I know she is somewhere in the city. If we find her, she could solve the riddle of the dreams that I have been having.”

  Kardra thought about it for a minute before looking into his eyes again. “But I am just a slave. I could not possibly help you in finding her.”

  “I believe you can,” Rion said. “Ask the other servants around if they know of a slaver named Duamuket. He would know where Miri is.”

  Kardra let out a deep breath. “What you are proposing is very dangerous, Efrin. If you mother finds out about this, we both shall be in great trouble.”

  Rion bit his lip. He was feeling guilty by using her, but his desire to be reunited with Miri proved overwhelming. “I must take that chance. I need your help in this. Please.”

  “Alright,” Kardra said. “I will do this for you. Give me a few days to ask the other slaves.”

  There was a knock on the door. Another servant peered inside. “The matriarch wishes that her son join her for dinner.”

  The dining hall was one of the largest rooms in the manse. It was an open area that overlooked the courtyard and studded with thick marble columns along the sides. As was customary there was a long dining table with fur padded stone chairs that the participants could recline and indulge in whatever whims they fancied. Since nobles could afford the best kind of food, over a dozen canibus pets had been slaughtered, skinned and roasted, along with the usual dishes of stuffed rets and otus salad. A thick algae stew fortified with the more expensive blue shrooms and grub cakes topped off the feast. Otus wine was brought up from the sealed storerooms and partaken with proper gusto.

  Rion had been escorted to the hall by one of the more muscular slaves, for the matriarch felt it would be a good show if the boy entered with a man. As soon as he was led in through the entryway, Matriarch Cirine gestured at him to come over to her as she sat at the head of the table, with two of the guests sitting beside her. Rion could tell that they were both Magi: a pale man and what seemed to be a boy with close cropped hair.

  “Allow me to introduce my son,” Cirine said with a sense of pride in her voice. “His name is Efrin, and I have been keeping him mostly within the confines of my manse all these cycles, which is why most others in the city have never heard of him. Efrin, meet our special guests this evening.” She gestured at the man first. “This is Nylius, Lord Executor of the Magi Order and his protégé, Elevis.”

  Rion let out a big smile and bowed slightly. By the time he had walked into the room, his real persona had been buried beneath his other self. He had to think away all the other thoughts in his mind and focus on strictly being the matriarch’s son. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the Magi in person. I had heard so much about you.”

  Nylius chuckled. “I do hope the things you heard were of a beneficial nature, young master.”

  Rion nodded eagerly. “Yes, wondrous stories of the Magi and how they use their gift of Vis to maintain order in the city.”

  Cirine gestured at the chair to the opposite of the guests. “You may sit, my child.”

  As Rion sat down, the dinner slaves immediately began to hover by his side, offering him servings of food. The boy was quite hungry, and he took the fattest meats and placed them on his plate.

  Nylius nodded. “Yes, aside from the traitorous Kaelr, the Magi have been the protectors of Lethe ever since the Gorgons returned to the heavens. Sadly, our Order has not done much since those times. Of course, if all goes well, then I foresee that the Magi will return to prominence in the very near future.”

  Acro had been assigned to a more distant chair at the other end of the table, but he wanted to be very much part of the conversation. “I must say, it would be better if the Magi took over the duties of the City Watch, because I for one have had enough of their corruption. Why, just less than a half moon ago, there was a commotion at the slave pits and a near rebellion. I was standing near the trading block when I heard someone yell that there was a battle. Looking down over the dividing wall that led to the sewers, I saw a red headed slave woman beat two of her masters senseless. The law states that any slave who fights back must be killed immediately- but what did the Watchers do? They captured her instead and brought her over to their dungeons, to be auctioned off as a fighting slave, no doubt.”


  Rion’s hand hovered in front of his face, he was just about to place a morsel into his mouth when Acro’s words made him pause. A red headed slave who fought off the guards? His uncle might have just described Miri. As his eyes darted back and forth, he realized that the young Magus named Elevis was staring at him. Rion quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, putting them away beneath layers of innocent reflections, nonsensical songs, and harmless trivialities.

  “Yes, that is indeed disturbing,” Nylius said. “I can see that respect for our laws has broken down and there is a serious need for reform. This is why I have come to call on House Kentis to support my future plans once I become Grand Magus.”

  Corym was sitting beside Acro at the far side, and he felt he needed to say something too, if only to appear wise. “And how is the Grand Magus Jetan? He has held that position for as long as I know- he surely must be over a hundred cycles old by now.”

  “Closer to two hundred cycles,” Nylius said. “His power is great, but I fear that he may not be long for this world.”

  “As Lord Executor, you will be the natural choice to succeed him, no doubt,” Cirine said.

  “The advantage is mine,” Nylius said. “But with the Order so weakened, there may be some problems.”

  Acro gave an inquisitive look. “Oh? What kind of problems?”

  “There may be some spies within the walls of our temple, and I must root them out,” Nylius said. “The Magi were once incorruptible, but many of us now fall for a few bags of coin these days. I fear that we could very well become like the City Watch unless I put things in order.”

  Rion suddenly felt the unmistakable tendrils of a mental probe weaving itself into his mind. The sensation of another consciousness was present, and no doubt probing his house of memories for any suspicious motive or recollection. Each mindprobe left a distinct impression, and Rion could usually tell who was delving into his brain by the way the tendrils would worm their way across his psyche. Miri’s mindsense was always soothing and gentle, while Cirine’s was blatant and abrupt. But this one was different- it was an almost subtle sensation, as if the one who was making the mindprobe didn’t want him to know that he was being examined. Rion instantly suppressed the urge to look up as he continued to chew on a morsel, for he did not want to alert whoever it was that was probing him. If he had activated his thought defenses, then he would have been instantly found out as someone with the training to resist the Vis. Instead, Rion continued to keep his thoughts clear and above suspicion while he remarked to himself as to how good the food was. After a few minutes, the mental tendrils were withdrawn, and he withheld a sense of great relief.

  Cirine gave an approving glance to her son. “You seem to be enjoying this eventide feast, Efrin. The last time we had a formal dinner, you would only pick at your food.”

  Rion gave her a smile. “I spent a long day at the Great Library, Mother. Reading all those telling stones gave me quite an appetite.”

  Acro made a short chuckle. “The boy is learning quickly. He will soon be a great addition to this house when he comes of age, I definitely foresee it.”

  Rion turned to look at the old man. “Uncle Acro, I am curious about your hobby of watching the fighting slaves. Could I accompany you to watch your next match?”

  Cirine stared at him quizzically. “Come now, Efrin. The fighting pits are no place for children.”

  Rion turned and gave his mother a pleading look. “Please, Mother? I have spent most days practicing my sword skills with our household guard, but I long to see some actual fighting with real weapons. I beg you, please let me accompany Uncle Acro. I promise that I shall obey his every word.”

  Nylius gave a short laugh. “Let the boy have some fun, matriarch. He shall be a man soon enough, and it is best to get him educated in the arts of war.”

  Cirine pursed her lips. “Very well. But if you misbehave again, it shall be the last time you venture out of this manse- until you come of age, at the very least.”

  Rion was beaming as he leaned over and kissed the matriarch’s hand. “Oh thank you, Mother!”

  The boy was all smiles for the rest of the eventide. After another hour he was feeling sleepy, and he dutifully bid everyone goodbye before he was led back upstairs to his bedchamber. While lying on his fur bed in the darkness, he had concluded that there was another Striga present at the dinner banquet. Since his mother Cirine was the only female there, then it had to be someone who was posing as a man, or perhaps even a boy. Just before he fell asleep, his thoughts were of the young Magus they called Elevis. It was clear that Nylius’s companion was either a girl in disguise, or she might be something else completely. Lethe was even more deceptive than what he imagined, for everyone was not what it seemed. This game had no rules, and he needed to be more careful than ever.

  Chapter 7

  Miri wound the leather straps around her right forearm until it was thick enough to stop a glancing blow. She was sitting in a subterranean corridor, a gate made of solid obsidian in front of her. The bars in the ceiling were made of bone, and enough light had filtered on down to give her illumination with which to prepare for her bout. They didn’t give her any armor, for it was going to be her first match, and new fighters were hardly ever given anything until they proved themselves. When they placed her in the tunnel, Miri had found some leather scraps lying about and she did what she could in fashioning them as makeshift armor. She didn’t know what her opponent would be equipped with, so it was best not to take any chances.

  The inner door behind her opened, and in stepped Todrul, head instructor for House Oranto’s stable. He eyed Miri for a short minute before sitting down beside her. “Most first timers seem tense and jittery when they finally get to this place,” he said. “I sense the opposite in you.”

  Miri tucked away the remaining scraps of leather that she had found into the sides of her bodice. “Who is my opponent?”

  “Ohmhizig, the great sewer ret,” Todrul said. “He is House Yidaar’s tester, so to speak. Not very high up in the hierarchy of battle thralls, but he has proved himself as the bane of all the newcomers in our stable.”

  Miri gave him a worried look. “He has fought before? I thought new fighters only fight others of their same experience class?”

  “There is a small class of fighters called testers,” Todrul said. “They are not highly regarded as one of the upper tiers, but they serve the purpose of blooding the new recruits. Testers are used as measurements to determine if a new recruit is destined to move up to the higher levels, or be relegated back to the sewers. House Yidaar has sought fit to use bribery and other unscrupulous means to keep Ohmhizig at his current level, and the matchmakers always seem to pit him against House Oranto and our new recruits. Needless to say, Ohmhizig is a butcher and a brute- and he enjoys killing. He is a big reason why our stable has not commanded any respect, for every time we train a promising new fighter, they unleash the great sewer ret, and our novices end up dead or too crippled to fight any more. That is why our stable always tries for new blood.”

  “So, I am to be used as a way forward for the other recruits,” Miri said with finality.

  Todrul placed a scarred hand on her knee. “In less than a moon you are now regarded as the leader by the other pit fighters in our stable. I have seen the way the others fight, and they will stand no chance against Ohmhizig. If House Oranto is to rise again, then you must find a way to win against him.”

  Miri looked down. It would be an uphill battle. She no longer had her mindsense, and all she could hope for was that her fighting skills would prevail. “Does he have any weaknesses?”

  “He does not know you,” Todrul said. “Ohmhizig thinks that you are just another recruit he will torture before he kills. He is overconfident, and will play with you before he goes for the killing blow. Use it to your advantage.”

  A horn blew and the roar of the crowd could be heard outside. The obsidian door in front of them slid sideways and the a
rena lay beyond it.

  Todrul unstrapped the club that was tied to his waistline and handed it to her. “May the gods be with you.”

  Miri took the bulky club in her hands and hefted it. The weapon was an old thigh bone from a long extinct beast, and had a leather handle. It might be able to do some damage, but the club’s surface was powdery, and there was a good chance it might splinter against metal. She would have to get close enough and be given time to swing it if it was to be any good. With nowhere else to go, Miri walked through the entryway and into the pit.

  The circular walls were made of mud dried brick and the whole area looked to be around thirty yards in diameter. The boisterous crowd was standing close to the top edges ten yards above her, their shouts and curses making a horrendous din and she could hardly think. The floor of the arena was powdery yellow sand with splotches of brown and bits of bone. Looking up, Miri could see that the crowd was mostly lower class freemen, the ones who could only afford to watch and bet on meaningless matches. On one side of the mob stood Magub, his fine tunic and jewelry being kept apart from the rest of the crowd by several bodyguards and slaves. The first husband of House Oranto gave her a confident wink before turning his attention to a fellow nobleman as they exchanged a few coins with each other, their wager quickly negotiated. Miri was slightly distracted at all the noise and spectacle when a glob of yellowish spit landed squarely on her forehead. Wiping the saliva away using her thickened bracer, she turned her attention to the opposite end of the arena as the adjoining glass door in front of her was opened.

  The crowd instantly erupted as her opponent ventured out into the pit. Ohmhizig was only of average height and he had a squat build. All he had on his scarred, filthy body was a leather harness and loincloth. The great sewer ret wore a mask and helmet made out of overlapping metal and leather bands, his swollen, grotesque face missing a nose and both ears. His left forearm ended in a metal hook that was strapped to his limb with leather strips. On his right hand he wielded a coiled whip studded with shards of obsidian. Small bronze spikes had been strapped to his elbows, while a bone dagger was sheathed in his right leg. Ohmhizig let out a loud squeal while tilting his head up, energizing the crowd even further.