City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  The pit crier was a portly man wearing a ragged robe who stood at the middle of the crowd on a slightly upraised slab of stone. “Citizens and slaves of Lethe, I present to you a great match this day.” He gestured over at her opponent. “On that side stands a people’s favorite, known as the great sewer ret. I present to you, Ohmhizig of House Yidaar!”

  The crowd roared with applause. The more rambunctious of the audience tried to pelt Miri with dried excrement and shouted curses at her, while others began exchanging small bets with one another, using their hard earned coin.

  “And in the other side,” the crier bellowed. “A new recruit from the venerable stables of House Oranto. We have … the red woman!”

  Howls of laughter and derision were directed at her, but Miri used her skills of mental concentration to block out the distractions. She needed to win this if she ever had any hope of finding Rion.

  The crier held both his hands up in the air. “Let us not tarry any further, let the game begin!”

  Ohmhizig let out a blood curdling squeal as he cracked his spiked whip, snapping it out towards Miri, who quickly sidestepped out of the way, the length of the weapon threw up a few grains of coarse sand where her leg was standing in less than a second ago.

  The great sewer ret sensed that she would be a better opponent than his last one, so he continued to snap his whip at the right while closing in from the left, hoping to give her less room to maneuver. Miri tired to use the club to catch his whip, but Ohmhizig always made sure to snap back the length using short cracks of the weapon so that she wouldn’t be able to grab onto it. When Miri lunged too far to her left side while trying to snag the whip, Ohmhizig snapped it back at her again, this time catching her bare shoulder. The resulting attack left a jagged gash just behind her shoulder blade. Miri screamed out while recoiling in agony, the pain made her inadvertently stagger forward.

  Ohmhizig took advantage of the opportunity and lashed out with the bronze hook in his left hand. Miri sensed the attack at the last minute and tried to block it with the club, but Ohmhizig brought it down along the length of her arm as the hook tore through her improvised bracer, leaving a nasty incision on her forearm. The great sewer ret then retreated as she fell on her knees in pain, drops of her blood commingled with the sandy ground.

  Miri was in trouble and she knew it. The clamor of the crowd seemed distant from her mind as the searing pain on her shoulder and right forearm was making her dizzy. When she had the power of mindsense, she could use it to dampen the physical pain, but now she had nothing. Her eyes were tearing up from the frustration as she noticed Ohmhizig showing off at the crowd, already reveling in his eventual triumph. Both her hands were on the ground along with the club, for she could barely muster the strength to even stand up.

  Ohmhizig swaggered around the length of the arena, playing to the crowd, waiting for them to chant the butcher’s song, which would spell the final act of the match. When the mob began to sway back and forth, and began the crude melody of a hardworking slave who toiled all day at the kitchen and would chop up carcasses of rets to please his master, Ohmhizig turned around and cracked the whip again, the length of the weapon reached all the way into Miri’s lower back and tore a thin strip of flesh away.

  By the time Ohmhizig strode towards her, Miri was on all fours, blood oozing from her back, her leather bodice in tatters. Just as the great sewer ret leaned over and made a downward swing with his hooked arm, Miri suddenly jerked upwards and threw a fistful of dirt into his face. The crowd gasped as Ohmhizig staggered backwards, half blind. The great sewer ret dropped his whip as he used his one hand to wipe away the grains of sand from his eyes.

  Miri moved quickly, leaping up and pushing her opponent to the ground. The pain of her wounds was almost unbearable, but she fought through it, knowing full well that she would soon be dead if she faltered. Ohmhizig knew his advantage was lost, so he thrashed about furiously while on the ground, hoping to spike Miri with his elbows or put his hook into her. Blinking a bit of the dust away, Ohmhizig grabbed her by the throat with his right hand while swinging the hook round her back to rip her spine out. Miri noticed the left hook coming at her back and she was able to grab hold of the forearm before it connected with her torso.

  Ohmhizig was too strong however, as the hook in his left arm slowly titled downwards until it pierced the skin by Miri’s side. The great sewer ret held her throat in place as the hook inched its way deeper into her torso. Miri shrieked as she brought her left hand down towards Ohmhizig’s leg, pulled out the bone knife from its leather scabbard and plunged it into his groin. The great sewer ret howled as his hand momentarily slackened on her neck. Miri pulled out the bone dagger and stabbed him in the abdomen this time. Ohmhizig’s strength began to rapidly leave him as Miri was able to pull out the hook from her side and brought his whole arm to the ground. Ohmhizig became desperate as he grabbed Miri’s knife arm and tried to wrench the weapon away, but she tilted the sharpened blade until it hovered at the base of his neck before she used her body as leverage while leaning down on him with all her weight.

  The point of the dagger pierced through the neck and into his trachea. Ohmhizig began to choke on his own blood, his breath suddenly taken away from him. The crowd above was stunned into silence. Miri let out a soft moan as she staggered up on her feet. A single trumpet bellowed, which signified the end of the match. Looking up, Miri saw shocked faces with goggle eyes and gaping maws. She noticed Magub standing beside another surprised noble, and he gave her a respectable nod before she was led back into the adjoining tunnel by Todrul.

  The crier hesitated for a bit before throwing his arms up. “And the victor is … the red woman!”

  Miri winced in pain as the final stitch was sewn into the back of her shoulder blade. She had been returned to the House Oranto compound after the match. Adaste the healer was standing over her while the old woman tended to her wounds. The pit healers did some minor suturing, but Adaste complained that they did a horrible job, so she cut the strings away and started all over again. It took a few more hours of pain, but Miri felt confident that the personal healer of House Oranto was better than the slapdash job that was done earlier, so she endured it.

  Adaste stood beside her while taking a wet fur cloth from a bowl of crimson colored water and handed it to her. “Here, use it to clean the blood from your back. I would have done this service in my younger days but I am old now, and too tired to do it all.”

  Miri gasped when she started to rinse the blood from her body. “No major wounds?”

  The old healer shook her head as she sat down beside her with a tired sigh. “You will have some scars, but that is a given. You have won your first match, and people will begin to hear of your exploits.”

  Miri looked down at the droplets of blood on the stone floor. “Is this my life, then? Just days of pain and killing?”

  Adaste snorted. “Would you prefer endless toil in the sewers? The training is hard, the matches even harder, but with a little luck you may just buy your freedom in the future. The slaves who work in other professions have no such hope other than the luck of the gods.”

  “I was not born a slave,” Miri said softly. “My tribe never had any.”

  “And where is your tribe now?”

  Miri’s lips trembled. “Dead. All dead. I am now the last of my people.”

  With a tired groan, Adaste stood up and began to reassemble her healing tools for the next patient. “A child of the wastes, eh? There were many stories told that said the desert was uninhabitable, and the last bastion of humanity lay here in the city. This is the reason why the gates were closed for an untold number of cycles, for there was nothing but desolation out there. During my childhood, a few caravans still entered and left through the northern gate, until they stopped coming altogether. Then the City Watch decreed that everyone beyond the gates had died out and the entryways would be sealed off forever. Of course, there were rumors that the Magi and some of the more enterprising g
reat houses would send out secretive expeditions to explore what lay beyond, but nothing was ever uttered in public. Things continued this way for as long as I could remember.”

  “There were a few tribes out in the wastes, and we still followed the old ways,” Miri said. “The Magi still maintained citadels to check on us and make sure that we adhered to the old treaties. Then the Magi became corrupted and I was forced to kill one of them in order to protect a boy that had run away from their outpost.”

  “So you spelled doom to your entire tribe because of your actions?”

  A single tear slid down Miri’s bruised cheek. “Yes.”

  “Then why did you do it? The child was not of your people.”

  “I had to,” Miri said. “He was being used by the Magi in horrible ways. They would bleed him for his vitae, to be used for some strange, nefarious things. I could not stand by and return him to those that made him suffer so. My own tribe forced me to, so I went into exile instead.”

  Adaste looked away, lost in thought. “I remembered an old tale of children who came from the sky. They too had gifts of Vis, but instead of the power of the mind, they had the power of blood. Their essence could restore life and they were healers of the sick and the crippled. The Magi that brought me to the Watch had strange thoughts in his head. I gleaned of his mind just before they took my powers away from me.”

  Despite her aches, Miri was intrigued. “Children that came from the sky? I have not heard of these tales before. Where there any more stories of this?”

  “My grandmother told me of these tales before she died, for she was a scribe assigned to the Great Library,” Adaste said. “Alas, that is all I can remember about it. Perhaps you might find more if you ever get the chance to visit the library of Lethe upon gaining your freedom. Do you know how to read glyphs?”

  Miri shook her head. “I do not.”

  Adaste gave her a faint smile. “Come see me after your daily training, even if you are not wounded. I shall teach you to read glyphs and such. I have a few telling stones in my possession, and I shall allow you to read them when you have mastered that skill.”

  Miri grinned despite the pain. “You are very kind to me, Adaste. Thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Adaste said. “Of all the pit fighters that have come and gone here, you seem to be the most intelligent. Perhaps you may find work as a librarian or a healer once you retire from pit fighting.”

  Miri stretched her sore shoulder. “I will need to survive first. This first match nearly killed me.”

  Adaste nodded. “You will learn, or you will die. It is much about taking pain as giving it. Be prepared for agony, yet you cannot be distracted by it. Focus your mind to fight through the pain, and you will be victorious.”

  Five men walked through the entryway. Two men carried a third on a leather stretcher. Miri immediately stood away from the stone slab as the bearers placed the wounded man on it before leaving the room. A slightly wounded Korbius limped over to a chair behind the three, followed by Todrul. Miri stood nearby as Adaste started working on the man on the slab. She recognized him as Wenk, one of the newer pit fighters of the stable. There was a huge gash on his throat, and he was missing a number of fingers on his right hand. Blood was pouring down the slab as Wenk’s breathing slowed.

  Miri stood beside the old healer. “Do you need help?”

  “Put that compress on his hand,” Adaste said tersely as she tried to stem the bleeding of Wenk’s throat.

  Miri wrapped the fur bandage around Wenk’s injured hand but she could feel that the body was already cold. Adaste kept working on him for another minute before she sighed and stood back, her hands still dripping crimson stains onto the floor. Wenk had lost too much blood, and his glassy eyes were indicative of death.

  Todrul stepped forward. He had seen so much death to betray any emotion. “Any hope for him?”

  Adaste let out a deep breath. “No, he has lost too much blood.”

  Korbius tapped the floor with his good leg. “Then it is my turn, healer.”

  Adaste turned and bent down while examining his leg wound. “It is not mortal, just a flesh wound. I shall sew it up- no more than one or two stitches should do the trick.”

  Korbius waved her away as he gingerly stood up. “If that is all it is, then it is of no consequence. Just give me a poultice to ward off the infection.”

  Adaste reached over the table and gave him a small leather pouch with some mold on it. “Place that over your wound after you have washed it.”

  “My thanks, healer,” Korbius said while limping towards the exit. Just before he passed the threshold, he turned in Miri’s direction. “See, I have won an upper tier match with just one small leg wound. That is more that I can say for you, fire haired harlot.”

  “Leave her be, Korbius,” Todrul said. “This was her first match. She will only get better.”

  Korbius sneered. “Look at her, she is so torn up, there is no chance she will win her next fight.” With that, he shuffled out of the room.

  Todrul looked at Miri. “Do not pay him any heed. Korbius is jealous of you, for he has no longer any hold over the other fighters in this stable, and I have you to thank for that. I had plans of disciplining him over his bullying, but you seemed to have done the job for me. Now that you have won over the great sewer ret, everyone now looks to you for leadership.”

  “A loud mouth braggart if I ever saw one,” Adaste said. “He will not last much longer.”

  Todrul gestured at Miri to follow him. They both walked out of the healer’s place before passing through the deserted training field. At the opposite end was the armory, and Todrul used the key that hung around his neck to unlock the reinforced bronze door before ushering her inside. Miri had never been to this place, and she marveled at the countless racks containing assorted weapons and armor. During training, the pit fighters were only using blunt weapons, for the trainers feared a possible revolt if their students were ever armed in sufficient numbers, and it also lessened the chance for a grievous injury until the matches were played.

  There was another door at the opposite end of the room and it too opened. Magub stepped inside, flanked by two bodyguards. The first husband of House Oranto’s matriarch was all smiles as he held a jingling sack of coins in his right hand. “I must congratulate you, pit fighter,” he said to Miri. “It was a desperate match you fought, but in the end, my trust in you was well placed, for you finally killed that accursed Ohmhizig, and freed the schedule for your fellow stable mates to advance in the rankings.”

  Miri felt it was best to show some gratitude in order to stay in her master’s good graces. “I am honored that you think so highly of me, sir.”

  Magub kept bouncing the satchel of coins in his hand. Its incessant tinkling was highly amusing to him. “I won a large bet as well. The man who was with me was Gluza, first husband of House Yidaar, and he was most shocked and surprised that a mere woman could defeat the great sewer ret- his exact words to me. He had been so eager to take my bet because he had thought that you stood no chance, and I am quite sure that he shall be in a foul mood until the Great Games at the end of this moon. How are your injuries fairing- not too badly I hope?”

  “I am fair, milord,” Miri said. “Some rest is needed and then I shall be ready once more.”

  Magub nodded. “Good, good. Matriarch Silili has already been apprised of our stable’s performance on this day, and she is quite pleased. I must tell you however, House Yidaar is none too happy, and they will now set their best battlers against us. You were an unexpected draw, but now you are a known commodity—you must be prepared for harder battles from this day onwards.”

  “I am confident that I can deal with whatever they throw at me,” Miri said.

  “That is good,” Magub said. “As I stated, the Great Games will be held in the Central Arena, and this time, the entire city will be in attendance. It shall be a glorious festival, with a whole moon of non-stop combat between pit fighters. T
his is the event we have been waiting for. If our stable does well, then the most powerful of the great houses will take notice of us, and our fortunes will be ascendant once more. You, along with Korbius, are the best in our stable, and you must give the crowd a good, colorful fight- and you must emerge victorious. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Miri said.

  “Good, good,” Magub said before he turned around and headed for the exit. “I shall have much coin riding in the Great Games- do not let me down.”

  The moment the door closed behind the nobleman, Todrul walked over to the armor racks. “Over here, Miri.”

  Miri moved and stood beside him. She had worn nothing but a bodice and loincloth in her first match, and gazed with deep interest at the pieces of armor displayed in front of her. From bronze breastplates to thick furred gambesons, the room seemed to have it all. There was a wide-brimmed kettle hat made of rusty iron that she picked up and examined, before putting it back down. She then tried to lift the visor of a great basinet, but its steel hinges had been rusted shut. Miri then took out a metal greave from a pile on the table and placed it over her shin, but it was too large for her size, as it was probably intended for use with a man’s leg.

  “House Oranto has an extensive collection of armor and weaponry that dates back to the founding of the city,” Todrul said. “Most of these things are now curiosity pieces, since we lack the coins to maintain them properly. We equip our most promising pit fighters with these.”

  Miri turned and walked over to a stone table that arrayed a number of hand weapons. She lifted up a greenish colored bronze spear that was twice her height. “Do I get to choose my weapons and armor this time?”

  “For the upper tier matches, yes,” Todrul said. “But you shall be doubled with someone who will likely be armed and armored as yourself, unless it is a general melee. In that case, you may be armed similarly to whatever group you are assigned to. The people of Lethe want a fair match.”