City of Delusions (The Dying World Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Boos and catcalls began to erupt from the impatient crowd. The crier nodded as he took instructions from the remaining matriarchs before finally ascending up to the podium to address the audience. “Citizens and slaves of Lethe. It has been decreed that the fighters of House Yidaar had been using poison on their weapons, giving them an unfair advantage! The honorable matriarchs of the great houses have therefore decreed that the remaining matches of House Yidaar have been forfeited, and their stable has been banished from the rest of the games!”

  The crowds started to chant for the games to continue. The matriarchs began to make their way back to their respective partitions. Cirine had an exhausted look in her face when she sat down at her chair. Rion shuddered at the thought that Miri may have been poisoned, but he surmised that she wasn’t wounded at all, and it gave him some comfort.

  Holding his arms up, the crier sought their attention. “Despite the poisons of their opponent’s arrows, the glorious fighters of House Oranto still prevailed. Let us applaud their courageous effort and congratulate their surviving warriors, especially … the Red Gorgon!”

  The audience stood up and cheered while Miri was led back into the tunnel. Rion had been so excited that he too stood up and started clapping, a big grin on his face. Now he needed to find a way to get to her, so they both could escape from this horrible city.

  Miri was in a foul mood as she made it back to the barracks. Most of the stable had been wiped out; only a few of them remained. A sense of fatalism began to permeate through her mind. Someone in the nobility wanted her dead. She sensed a presence behind her so she turned around, ready for anything.

  It was Korbius. “I did what I had to do to survive today. It is best that you withdraw, for you shall doom the rest of us.”

  She didn’t say a word. Korbius scowled and walked away, peeling off his armor. Todrul came out from the staging area and walked over to her.

  Miri sat down on a stone bench with a tired sigh. “You were right. There is another house that gave House Yidaar enough coin to bring that hellish machine upon us.”

  Todrul sat down beside her. “House Yidaar is finished, but I believe it will be the least of our problems.”

  Miri looked at him while untying the leather straps of her cuirass. “What do you mean?”

  He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “Whoever is after you will be providing extra coin to any of your opponents. You have become a crowd favorite, but I believe that they will attempt to pit you in the final match against Demalion. It is being arranged as we speak.”

  Chapter 12

  Eventide had fallen, but the city was still in a celebratory mood as the festival of the Great Games continued. Most of the populace that were still awake thronged the taverns and bordellos of the merchant district, while leaving the central area relatively quiet. The streets along the temples were deserted, aside from the occasional drunken reveler who stumbled around the empty plazas and avenues. Consequently, most of the City Watch had been deployed in the livelier areas, with only a skeleton crew stationed at their headquarters in case of an emergency.

  Zeren looked up at the sides of the massive stone structure in front of him. The Temple of Vis was a sprawling compound behind a high wall of stone. Word on the street was that most of the Magi were performing rituals at the temple hall, and that meant that there would not be too many of them in the other buildings. Zeren knew that he had to take one of those mindless men prisoner, and show him to the mercenary leaders in order to be believed- otherwise his doom would be certain. It was a desperate gamble, but he felt he had no other choice.

  Ylira emerged from the nearby shadows of the high wall, a leather rope coiled over her shoulders. “I have rounded the length of the entire compound, and there are no roving guards at all,” she whispered.

  Zeren nodded as he stood just below the wall. “Stay out here and hide yourself, I shall be back soon,” he said softly.

  “I do not like this,” she said. “You are going into the dargon’s cave, right at the heart of the enemy. I think it is best we go away from here.”

  Zeren shook his head. “I cannot. I must prove to the other mercenaries that there is truth in my words. This is the only way.”

  Ylira placed a hand on his forearm. “We have been partners for a long time, Zeren. I have always stood by you. I was but a slave when you first found me, and I owe you my life and freedom. A thought had occurred to me.”

  “If you have another plan, then be quick about it,” Zeren said. “The darkness of eventide will not last forever.”

  “Hear me out,” she said. “You have listened to the tales about a boy and the Striga who were let in through the supposedly sealed gates, yes? It proves that the nobles are lying to us. It was said that the rest of the world outside has died and we are the only surviving bastion of humanity left.”

  “Even if such a tale was true, the fact that the boy and the Striga were begging to be let in only supports the notion that there is nothing out there,” Zeren said. “All our futures lie within this city. The outside is nothing but dust.”

  Ylira pointed out at the gloomy horizon. “Let us take our chances out there. You and I would certainly survive the wastes. It will be less of a danger than staying in here, amongst those that would try to kill us both.”

  “We do not know what is out there, Ylira, it could be hordes of norpions beneath the sands or even worse, it could be nothing,” Zeren said. “We could die of thirst within a matter of days. I was born in this city and lived here all my life- I could think of no other place to live in.”

  “Or die in,” Ylira said. “Please, Zeren. I … have a bad feeling about tonight.”

  Zeren shrugged. “Do you wish to return here at next eventide then?”

  Ylira looked away. “I do not wish to return here at all.”

  Zeren chuckled and shook her shoulder gently. “Do not fear. You have seen what I can do with my Vis. This will be an easy task, I promise.”

  She bit her lip. “You may have the gift of Vis, but so does every Magus within those walls. I … I am afraid you could end up becoming one of those mindless ones.”

  “Have no fear, the gods are with me,” Zeren said. “Have you moved those guns from our hiding spot?”

  “No,” Ylira said. “They are still in the same place.”

  Zeren tightened his belt. “Good. If I do not return, then you may do what you wish with those things. Selling them to one of the smaller houses would net you enough coin to buy yourself a tavern of your own.”

  Ylira crossed her arms and frowned. “Do not speak like that, Zeren. I … I would not know what to do if you were killed.”

  Zeren winked at her. “I will not die.” He then turned and faced the wall. Using a small reserve of Vis, Zeren jumped up thirty feet into the air and landed on the top of the stone wall. Crouching down, he looked around briefly while keeping his arms out, ready to use his mindforce to deflect any arrows or spears being thrown his way. Seeing no sentries, Zeren then used some Vis to cushion his landing as he jumped down into the interior of the compound.

  Instead of his usual hard-soled boots, Zeren wore shoes of soft leather as he silently kept to the shadows while working his way towards the main temple. He saw a few burning torches coming from the interior buildings, but he had yet to see a living person. Zeren knew that the Magi had been using hirelings from the outside to bolster their dwindling numbers, but with the festivities of the Great Games, those ordinary folk would surely not be present at this time of the night. If he were to encounter anyone, then it would either be a Magus or one of those mindless men. In order to move quickly, Zeren had forgone his usual brigandine and instead wore a thick leather vest, but he retained his vambraces while his trusty broadsword lay sheathed by his waistline.

  Keeping low, Zeren slowly made his way towards the Magi quarters, using the shadows as best he could. While passing along the sides of the main temple, he sensed movement at the corner of his eye and immediately crouc
hed down, behind a stone bench near the side of the high wall. Two Magi carrying torches emerged from the temple entrance and proceeded towards the barracks. They were wearing ceremonial black cloaks with blue trim, indicating that they had been assigned as torch bearers for the all night ceremonies. The rituals were a celebration of the god Vis, and of the gifts he had bestowed upon the Magi, a weeklong observance that coincided with the month of the Great Games. Once, these rituals had been open to the public, but with the neutral stance that the Magi had adopted dozens of cycles ago, the people were no longer allowed into the temple. The freemen caste had protested, but their complaints fell on deaf ears as the Magi Order gradually turned inward until only a few of them ever ventured out from their walled compound.

  Zeren waited until the two Magi were well past him before resuming his movement. Just as he got to the doorway, he noticed that it had been left partially open. The two that had just entered were evidently planning to go back to the temple after their rest. Zeren pushed at the crystal door slightly to widen the opening and the old hinges let out a short creak before giving way. Seeing that the vestibule was empty, Zeren slipped inside. The foyer had low stone benches along the side walls. There were racks with unused cloaks and a small table which contained a pair of full-faced leather masks, embedded with glass goggles to cover the eyes. Zeren wasn’t sure what the guises were for, but he sensed an opportunity as he took one of the masks and slipped it over his face. Grabbing one of the larger cloaks, he wore it over his back, making sure that his sword was hidden behind its folds. If he encountered anyone now, he could easily pass for a Magus. Wrapping the cape over his entire body, Zeren walked out into the hallway.

  The corridor was deserted. It had been a long time since he had last set foot in this place, yet the memories as to which corridors would lead to a particular room seemed fresh in his mind. There was a feeling as if he had just stepped outside for a few hours, and then returning back home once more. Passing through the mess hall, he noticed an old Magus looking up at him briefly before returning to drinking his wine. So far his disguise was working. All he had to do was to find the place where they kept the mindless men so he could take one of them and get out alive with his prisoner.

  After exiting from the dining area, Zeren entered another corridor. He immediately remembered that the end of the passage would lead to the archives, but since he didn’t know how to read the glyphs on the telling stones, going in there would be a useless diversion. Just as he turned around to walk back into the previous room, he saw a narrow flight of stairs in an alcove to his right. He had tried to forget about what was up there, yet his own inner self yearned to see him one more time. Zeren knew it was a diversion not worth taking, but his longing needed to be satisfied. A seeming sense of duty overwhelmed his mental state, perhaps he needed a final reunion for a proper closure of the mental wound that plagued his mind. Throwing caution and necessity to the wind, Zeren walked up the stone steps.

  The ascent to the top of the tower didn’t take long, but he was shocked to see a sentry, sitting half asleep on a chair by the landing. The guard blinked a few times in surprise upon seeing him, and quickly stood up while keeping his hand on the hilt of the bone sword on his belt. Zeren silently cursed, he wasn’t expecting anyone guarding the stairwell.

  “I am sorry, but this tower if off limits to all except Lord Nylius,” the guard said.

  “I came at Lord Nylius’s request,” Zeren said, his voice muffled by the leather mask. “I must speak with the Grand Magus.”

  The guard frowned. “I was not privy to such orders. Do you have them written?” He held out his hand, expecting a stone document.

  Zeren sensed that the sentry wasn’t a Magus. The man wore no customary black cloak, nor did he move the same way as the Magi did. He was evidently a mercenary hireling from the outside, used to bolster the Order with extra men for the mundane tasks such as guard duty.

  “Here it is,” Zeren said, gesturing with his left hand. The guard was suddenly thrust sideways and his head collided into the side of the recess. The man groaned as he fell to his knees. The guard tried to get up while drawing his weapon before Zeren’s swift kick to the back of his head sent him sprawled on the landing. Zeren then used the man’s belt to tie his hands behind his back and tore off a part of his uniform to gag his mouth. Taking the key from the stunned guard, Zeren opened the golden door and dragged the unconscious sentry inside with him.

  The garden at the top of the tower was lit by torches along the sides of the place, but the plants that grew all around him emitted a strange, phosphorescent glow. As he placed the guard down by the side of the door, Zeren watched the unconscious man suddenly jerked his eyes open and stared back at him with glassy pupils, as he seemed to be breathing in a strange fume that permeated a few inches from the soil with his nose. Zeren crouched down and took the gag off the guard’s mouth, but the man didn’t cry out, instead he just lay there with his eyes open, like he was somewhere between the dead and the living.

  He heard a shrill chuckle coming from the far corner. “You need to let them breathe it in for a few moons … before they can do your bidding.”

  Zeren turned. Sitting by one of the plants was the Grand Magus, his robe filthy with dirt and excrement. The old man smiled as Zeren walked over and stood above him before crouching down once more. “What do you mean, Grand Magus?” Zeren said to him. “Why does he need a few moons?”

  Grand Magus Jetan shook his head listlessly. “Breathing the plant essences takes time. We … discovered it by accident, you see. I was near death, but our healer … he…”

  Zeren could sense the mask he wore was filtering the air, and he shuddered at the thought of venturing in this place had he not been wearing it. “What do these things do?”

  “They said it would keep me alive … as long as I stay here,” Jetan said. “I have been here … ever since … the children were … taken … taken away.”

  Zeren was intrigued now. “The children? What children?”

  The old man grinned toothless at him. “First it was … the children. They kept me alive. They made me young again … for a time. Their blood … returned my loins. I fathered you because of … their power. Then my oldest son … he…”

  Zeren held his shoulders. It looked like he was falling asleep. “What happened to these children?”

  “Killed … they were all killed,” Jetan said. “Nylius … my first son ordered it. He said … it was necessary. He sent my Magi out … to the wastes, to … kill … them all.”

  “Why?”

  “The children were … the enemy,” Jetan said.

  “Enemy? The children were enemies of the Magi?” Zeren said.

  The old man was drifting in and out of consciousness, and Zeren had to shake him gently in order to keep him awake. “No,” Jetan said. “They were the enemy … of the Maker.”

  “Who is the Maker?”

  “The Maker … of Entropy,” Jetan said. “Do you not see his … handiwork? His influence is … everywhere.”

  Zeren was confused. He had never heard of this being before. “Where is this Maker? What part of the city does he live in?”

  Jetan made a shrill laugh. “The Maker is not … in Lethe. He is … somewhere out there.”

  This was all new to him. Nothing in all the stories that he heard was there ever any mention of a Maker of Entropy. Zeren felt he needed to stick to the task at hand. “If these plants keep you alive, then they do the same to ordinary men?”

  “Yes,” the old man said. “My eldest told me … he will use the plants … to make the Magi powerful once more. But … there is a curse … if you breathe the scents … your mind … is lost. I … exist … through Vis alone.”

  Zeren knew he needed to make a decision. “Grand Magus, do you want me to take you out of here? I could bring some of these plants with us to keep you alive.”

  Jetan chortled as he tapped Zeren’s chest with a quivering finger. “My time … is over. I am ti
red … of life. Even though you wear a mask … I know … it is you.”

  Zeren cradled his frail shoulders. “Yes, it is me. I was but a boy when you sent me away from here.”

  Jetan smiled. “You have … come back to me. That was all … I wanted.”

  Zeren’s arms shook. He realized what the old man wished for, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Why not go with me? I can bring you before the mercenary leaders. You are proof that the Magi Order has been corrupted by Nylius. We can restore glory and honor back to the Magi.”

  Jetan shook his head. “No, I do not wish … there to be bloodshed. Your brother … he will not give in. Promise me you will not … fight him.”

  “But, there will be blood if Nylius’s plans come to fruition,” Zeren said.

  “You must … find a way,” the old man said. “Stop this madness … stop the killing.”

  “There is a way,” Zeren said. “Come with me! I need your help to end this!”

  “No,” Jetan said. “I know … what will happen. I do not wish … to be part … of the carnage to come.”

  Zeren turned away in frustration. “But there must be something I can do!”

  The old man gripped his wrist. “Free me from this … shell.”