City of Delusions: The Dying World, #2

Chapter 1

By the seventh hour of eventide, the small caravan was halfway across the old necropolis, when the left front wheel of the wagon finally gave out. A number of the builders who had been in charge of maintaining the antique vehicle had already complained numerous times to the Order, telling their masters that the cracked stone wheels needed to be replaced, but their pleas were ignored. The only answer they ever received was that their requests had been forwarded to the Grand Magus, and that he would decide on a course of action soon. But as the countless cycles wore on, the wagon crew was ordered to make do with what they had, so they continued to use the same battered transports day in and day out, hoping that the little patches and glues they had placed on the creaking things would somehow hold out. So when one of the stone wheels finally cracked in two and tore itself away from the bone axle of the wagon’s undercarriage, the freight-master knew that their luck had finally run out.

The team of eight slaves that had been pulling the lead wagon with their backs continued to strain forward, for the order to halt had not yet been given, and they had been conditioned to keep moving, lest they incur the wrath of the freight-master's whip and dagger. A few of them groaned as they strained against the massive weight, but the wagon was now leaning to one side while the broken axle dragged itself on the rocky ground. The oil lanterns that hung along the sides of the wagon began to sway back and forth, their yellow illumination casting shifting shadows along the silent tombs that were all around them.

Myvo made his way to the front of the caravan, his forehead was drenched with sweat despite the chilly air. He turned to face the slaves and held his hand up in the air. Stop already!

The movers knew he commanded the entire expedition and was therefore more powerful than their immediate superior. Catching their breaths, all eight slaves stood upright as they slid their shoulders away from the leather and bone collars that were attached to the wagon’s yoke. A few stretched their aching backs and shoulders, while the rest just sat on the rocky ground, using the time to rest their emaciated bodies. They couldn’t move far, since their collars were roped to a metal padlock at the front of the vehicle.

Thufur the freight-master was a short, squat man who walked with a limp. He always wore the same old leather tunic when he made his forays at night, for he was the superstitious kind. He never washed his clothes, and his foul odor could be whiffed at a long distance. Thufur had been sitting on top of the second wagon before the caravan stopped, now he had dismounted and slowly waddled his way to where the Magus was. What happened now?

Myvo pointed at the broken stone wheel lying on the ground. Look for yourself, freight-master. Your old wagon has finally joined the gods in the afterlife.

Thufur grunted as he crouched down to take a closer look. He was close to sixty cycles old and his eyesight was slowly fading away. The dim light from the lanterns only made it worse. He could see that the crack on the wheel had overcome the leather bindings and had split the stone disk completely in half before it separated from the axle. He ran his stubby fingers along the lip of the crack, wondering if he had enough leather to bind the wheel back in place. Most importantly, he wondered if it would hold, for their destination was still halfway across the city.

Myvo stood a few feet away as he crinkled his nose. The freight-master's stench was even fouler than those pitiful slaves he was lording over. Well? Can you repair it?

Thufur stood upright once more while scratching his chin. We could use leather bindings on the wheel and place it back onto the axle, but I am not certain that it would hold for the rest of the way.

Myvo looked away and snorted. He had once been proud to be a Magus, to serve directly beneath the Grand Magus and to bask in his glory. But as the cycles came and went, he soon became disillusioned by it all. The endless drudgery and corruption had torn away all the faith in his soul. He looked up and saw the sixth phase of the crescent moon above, and he knew that they would be here all night, at the very least. Do we have an alternative?

Thufur made a sarcastic chortle. We have two wagons full of whatever it is that you ordered my team to bring, and they are quite heavy. Both vehicles are overloaded and that is why the wheel on the first one gave out. The best thing to do is to leave your men here to guard the first wagon and we continue on with the second. Once we empty the other wagon at the destination, then we make our way back and transfer the goods onto it.

Myvo drew his cloak around his body and shook his head. Impossible. I was ordered to bring both shipments in without delay.

Thufur patted the coiled whip that was strapped to his bulging waistline. I can whip my slaves to death, but they do not have the strength to pull a three-wheeled wagon.

Then we must improvise, Myvo said. Do you have the tools to construct a wheel?

With what?

Myvo spread his arms out wide. Look around you. We are in a graveyard of stones. If we were to find perhaps a circular stele amongst the many tombs here, then I am confident that we could make do. If you brought your tools, then I am certain that you have included a chisel as well.

Thufur was aghast. He was a religious man, and always made his prayers and sacrifices to the gods on a regular basis. To desecrate tombs would have been an affront to them. No, I shall not violate this place!

Myvo scowled at him. What are you afraid of? Spirits? For a man who wields a blood soaked whip, you act like that of a scared little child when being told of a ghostly legend by an old teller.

Thufur was taken aback by the slight. He wanted to hit this man for insulting him in front of his slaves, but he knew better. Magi were ardent students of Vis, the power of the mind. He had heard that Myvo was one of the better swordsmen in the Order as well, and his chances of beating him were nigh impossible. Better to try and reason with him then. Most of the monuments in this place are rectangular in shape, it would take days for us to fashion anything resembling a wheel. And if we do this, we shall incur the wrath of the gods, for Death does not look kindly upon those that defile his domain.

Myvo looked at the dumpy man with rising scorn. Even though he hated all of this, he had his orders, and the last thing he wanted to do was to disappoint his superiors. And if we should find an old stone wheel lying about, or a stele that resembles a disk, would that not be sufficient?

Thufur shrugged. If this foolish Magus was willing to dishonor the gods, then it would be on him, for he wanted no part of it. Perhaps. But I need to keep my slaves in sight at all times, lest they run away into the darkness of the eventide.

I have a troop of guards with me. They can supervise your slaves. Myvo snapped his fingers, and eight mercenaries that carried bone axes and obsidian swords stepped out from the gloom. They had been stationed at the flanks and rear of the caravan when the accident happened. Myvo glanced over at their commander. Daalo, have each of your men take two slaves and scour these grounds for anything that resembles a wheel. Keep these thralls on their leashes, if any of them get away from you then you shall pay for it.

Daalo nodded. Thufur took out a set of golden keys from his belt. He unlocked the iron padlock and loosened the leather ropes that bound the slaves to the wagons. Each serf wore a leather collar to which the straps were attached, and a guard took hold of a pair while Daalo used flint and iron to light up the torches they carried. Moments later there were several teams of guards and slaves moving out in an ever widening circle around the two wagons, their flickering torches like tongues of flame spreading out into the night.

Thufur groaned as he leaned over near the front of the second wagon and pulled out a leather sack containing his tools. Dropping the pack onto the rocky ground with a loud clang, he reached into it and began rummaging for his mallet and iron chisel. He hated transporting jobs like this, but the pay was good, and he looked forward to enjoying several weeks of rest with his wife after the task was done.

A shrill scream coming out from the distance made him look up. Thufur glanced around nervously, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the radius of the lanterns. The search teams had already moved out far enough that their torchlights were no longer visible. The freight-master stood frozen, waiting to hear something, anything that would indicate that the noise he had just heard wasn’t part of his imagination. The night air seemed unnaturally still.

Myvo ran up to him. Did you hear that?

Thufur’s lips trembled. W-what was it?

Myvo looked out into the night. His eyes were better, and he could still see a few torchlights at the far end of his vision. He cupped both hands around his mouth to increase his voice. Daalo! Call out your men!

For a brief moment a few of the mercenaries answered, but Daalo was nowhere to be heard.

All of you men! Return to me now! Myvo said.

A few of the torchlights wavered, and then became more pronounced as the mercenaries began to make their way back. Myvo noticed that one of the more distant lights suddenly vanished, as if it was never there. As three men with their pairs of slaves made it back to them, Myvo drew his steel sword before turning to look at Thufur. Lash those slaves to your wagon, he said to the agitated freight-master, before glancing over to the mercenaries. You three, weapons ready! Watch the flanks and rear.

Thufur’s knees started shaking uncontrollably. He could barely stay upright as his quivering hands held onto the leather ropes of his six remaining slaves. What i-is it? What is happening?

Myvo ignored him as he made his way to the front of the wagon train. The Magus noticed something out in the hazy distance as he gathered his reserves of Vis. He had been briefed before he set out in this task that there may be bandits in the area. While standing near the side of the slightly tilted wagon, he noticed the figure had moved closer. Myvo unfurled his cloak, revealing a coat of rusty chain mail. There was a necklace hanging around his neck with the seal of the Magi Order embedded on it.

You out there, I demand you show yourself! Myvo said. We are running a shipment of goods for the Order of the Magi. Any attempt to rob us, or harm any one of us shall result in immediate death!

Sure enough, the shape in front of him coalesced into a tall man wearing a cloak similar to his own. The stranger’s head was bare, revealing a tanned, angular face with shoulder length dark hair and squared jaw. The intruder had a sly smile in his demeanor which revealed his reputation among those that followed the tales of his exploits. For the past several cycles, the city had been rife with rumors about a brigand who went by the name of Grimgrin. Items of astonishing value had been stolen and the occasional corpse found in the street was attributed to his growing infamy. Whether all these tales were true or not there was no clear confirmation, for no one in the city could claim as to who he really was.

As to the stories, Myvo was having none of it. If this man was truly Grimgrin, then he would have the honor of slaying him and accomplishing what the Watchers had been unable to do. Who are you, I demand you identify yourself!

The man standing in front of him merely kept smiling as he threw his own cloak aside, revealing a vest of brigandine, a type of leather armor riveted with plates of metal. Steel vambraces covered his forearms. Along his narrow waist was a sword sheathed in a leather scabbard. His voice was authoritative, yet playful. Who do you think I am?

Myvo grimaced. I do not care. Let me warn you that we are on official business, sanctioned by the Order of Magi. If any of my men were harmed, then you shall answer for them with your life.

The stranger kept on smirking. If those men with you were Magi, then I must say that your Order is not what it used to be.

Myvo did his best to stay calm. He had a feeling that he might need all his Vis, just in case this stranger had the gift of mindforce as well. To get oneself angry was to lose concentration and deplete his reserves of the power, so he kept his emotions in check and stayed focused. They are not Magi, but I am. Nevertheless, all those men are under the Order’s protection. I would suggest you surrender now, for we outnumber you.

The man began to chuckle. Not for long.

Right after he said those words, a bone arrow whistled through the air and struck one of the mercenaries in the chest. The man screamed as he fell to his knees. The remaining two men dashed underneath the wagons. Thufur just stood there, his eyes bulging out of his sockets in both shock and surprise. The five slaves had not been tied down very well, and all of them silently ran off in wildly different directions, their leashes dragging behind them like long, narrow tails.

Myvo cursed as another arrow embedded itself on the left side of the rear wagon. Since the flight of arrows were few and far between, it seemed like there was only one other brigand out there, so he quickly moved over, behind the right wheel of the tilted wagon. The Watchers rarely patrolled the old cemetery, which was partly the reason why his superiors had tasked him to go by this route. This wasn’t the first shipment he had been guarding, but now his luck finally ran out. Nevertheless, a twinge of hope settled at the back of his mind. If there were only two assailants, then he still had the upper hand. Taking out a throwing dagger with his left hand, Myvo threw it at Grimgrin, all the while using his mindforce to increase its velocity and to steer it towards the bandit.

Zeren just stood there as the Magus ran behind the wheel to shield himself from Ylira’s arrows. When he first became a brigand, he hated being called Grimgrin, but as he continued to hear hushed whispers and rumors of his exploits among the city folk, he began to appreciate it as more of a title, like a badge of honor to help strike fear in his victims. Nowadays, most of the people he came upon would rather just give him what he wanted instead of resisting, so it made his living even easier. In this particular night however, Zeren and his two companions finally had a real fight on their hands, and against a Magus to boot. Something was clearly up in the air. They had initially set out to wander the necropolis at eventide, to search for any tombs that could be dug up and looted. As they strode along the dirt paths around the silent monuments, they soon heard the grinding noise of the wagon wheels and the tortured grunts of the slaves that pulled them. Sensing an opportunity, they began shadowing the carts, their suspicions having been aroused that perhaps the small caravan might be transporting something of value. Luck must have been with them, for when one of the wheels of the first wagon had broken off, the men that were guarding the shipment decided to fan out in search of a stone that could replace it. Zeren and his two companions quickly thought up a plan to eliminate the guards one by one as they wandered further away from the wagons. Ylira, his trusted partner in crime, was particularly adept at using her dagger while sneaking up behind her victims for the silent kill. Inchel was but a boy of sixteen cycles, but he was so eager to become part of his band that Zeren reluctantly allowed him to become the third partner just days before. The youth was inexperienced, but Zeren felt that there was no better time to learn the ins and outs of their profession, so he tasked him to kill one of the guards. But Inchel hesitated at the last minute, and the boy’s victim cried out before he died, thereby alerting the leaders who stood by the wagons. Zeren was hoping that he could intimidate the remaining guards with his presence alone, but he hadn’t expected to encounter a Magus. His bluff had failed, and now he had to fight.

Seeing the flying dagger coming straight for him, Zeren held out his left hand, diverting the blade’s trajectory and sent it whizzing past him. There were still two more guards hiding underneath the second wagon, but he figured that Ylira and the boy could probably handle them, or at least keep them distracted while he dealt with the Magus. Drawing his basket-hilted broadsword from its scabbard, Zeren used his mindforce to leap up into the air, closing the distance between him and his opponent in a matter of seconds.

Myvo was momentarily surprised when Zeren used his own Vis to deflect his thrown dagger. So the brigand had the mindforce as well. Could he even be a Magus too? His eyes grew even wider when the bandit flew up twenty feet in the air and jumped straight at him. Myvo used his own mindforce to slide backwards, and Zeren’s strike narrowly missed him as the brigand’s blade slashed through the empty air where he had once been. Noticing a mausoleum to his right, Myvo used his Vis to leap backwards onto its flat stone rooftop.

Zeren noticed a cracked tombstone beside him. With a flick of his left hand, his mindforce levitated a half-sized chunk of it and hurled it against the Magus, who stood on top of the burial vault. Myvo held up his own hand to stop the stone slab from hitting him as both men used their Vis in a mental tug of war while the piece of rock continued spinning in the air. For a long minute, the stone moved a few inches back and forth, neither opponent gaining the upper hand.

One of the guards hiding behind the wagon noticed that Zeren had his back turned towards him. Clutching his bone sword, the man ran out from underneath the left side of the wagon and came up behind the man they called Grimgrin. The guard swung the bone sword on a downward arc, hoping to cleave through the notorious brigand’s exposed neck.

Zeren sensed the man coming up from behind him and he weaved sideways, tilting his body away from the blow and diverting the mental current he had on the floating tombstone above him. In a split second, the slab reversed course and slammed down on top of the guard’s head, smashing his skull in before he went down. Zeren had felt the guard’s attack, and also raised his own sword to cover his exposed neck at the same time, and the glancing blow had chipped away most of the embedded obsidian shards from the edge of the guard’s bone sword when it connected.

Myvo knew his side was losing, and he had to do something quickly. The Magus used his Vis to leap up into the air, hoping to come down on his opponent and strike before he could deal with it. Zeren was faster as he also leapt up in the air, and both men parried each other’s blows simultaneously before dropping back down to earth.

The moment he landed, Zeren backed up a bit so that he had a little distance. As both men circled each other, he knew that the armor the Magus wore would pretty much shield him against any attacks on his chest and upper arms. Zeren needed to strike at the unarmored parts. He noticed that the Magus always had his sword arm thrust out in an aggressive posture, and he wasn’t wearing any protective gauntlets. That was one. Zeren could also see that the man’s breeches were unarmored and he wore simple leather shoes. That was two. His bare head was obviously the third vulnerability, but the Magus would be on guard against an obvious attack there. Zeren knew he needed to wait for the right instant.

I shall have the honor of taking your head as a trophy! Myvo yelled as he thrust his sword forward, aiming the point of the blade at Zeren’s exposed throat.

Now. Zeren quickly ducked down and used just enough mindforce to slide forward half a foot. He then thrust the point of his blade to strike at the Magus’s exposed sword hand. The steel tip of his blade tore through Myvo’s middle fingers and mangled it. The Magus screamed in pain as his sword came loose and fell onto the dusty ground. Just as Zeren swung his own sword for a killing blow, Myvo used his Vis to strike up a cloud of dust to momentarily blind him. Zeren cursed as he took a few steps back while rubbing the grime away from his irritated eyes.

Grimacing in pain, Myvo hefted the fallen sword with his other hand. Zeren ran forward and their blades clashed. With the advantage now his, Zeren continued to rain multiple blows on his opponent, while all that Myvo could do was to stagger backwards as he parried each attack with his weaker arm, his defenses steadily declining as time went on. The Magus knew he was losing, but there wasn’t much he could do.

With a courage he never knew he had, Thufur the freight-master leapt up from the top of the wagon and landed on Zeren’s back. He used his husky body to pin the brigand down onto the ground. Zeren was caught totally off balance, and now the fat, smelly slave-driver was on top of him, trying to pry away the sword from his hand. Myvo was hurting, but he tightened his grip on his sword as he ran up to them, before thrusting the point of the blade at the brigand’s legs.

Zeren’s arms were pinned down underneath the freight-master's knees. He saw the Magus coming over to him and he pushed his legs up in the air at the last minute, the point of his opponent’s sword narrowly missing his right shin. Zeren locked his feet around Thufur’s broad neck and twisted, throwing the big man off of him before rolling away. Myvo wasn’t used to fighting with his other arm, so he merely kept thrusting at the wheeling brigand on the ground, hoping to skewer his torso. Zeren rolled closer to the standing Magus as Myvo swung the sword in a pendulum like motion with the aim of cutting across his arms, but Zeren used the metal vambraces on his forearms to parry the swing.

Die already! Myvo screamed as his boot came down and held the side of Zeren’s head on the ground. Zeren bent his right knee and reached down, pulling out the bone dagger from the side of his boot. Just before the Magus brought his sword down onto his face, Zeren’s dagger plunged into the side of his knee. Myvo cried out as he fell over to his side. Thufur had grabbed hold of Zeren’s sword and walked slowly towards him.

Wiping away the grit from the side of his face, Zeren stood up and stared blankly at the freight-master who was coming at him with his own blade. You smell worse than the sewer, o fat one, he said.

Thufur roared as he swung the sword. Zeren sidestepped the other man’s amateurish attack, turned, and kicked him in the buttocks as the freight-master lurched past him. Thufur fell forward, face down onto the ground, the sword clattering beside him.

The pain of his injuries was pure agony, but Myvo wasn’t giving up. He got to his knees and gathered up his remaining Vis, hurling an invisible wave of force towards the brigand, with the aim of crushing his enemy against the side of the wagon. Zeren held his hand up and redirected the power away from him, sending the cascading mental vortex into a set of nearby tombs, cracking their stone foundations. Myvo had used up the last of his Vis, and now he was vulnerable.

It seems you will have to find another profession in the afterlife, Magus, Zeren said softly as he gestured with his right hand, creating an unseen vise around Myvo’s head. The Magus screamed in pain as the sides of his skull caved in. The body fell back onto the ground, convulsing for a few seconds before it became still.

By this time Thufur had gotten up once more, and picked up the sword again. The freight-master was about to advance at Zeren for another try when his eyes bulged. A split second later, the point of a spear came out from the back of his mouth before he fell again for a second instance, never to get up anymore. Standing behind the freight-master's still warm remains was a woman with swarthy skin and braided hair. She wore a hard leather breastplate, metal bracers and knee-high boots.

It is about time you finally revealed yourself, Ylira, Zeren said as he walked over to where she was.

Ylira took his sword from the ground and gave it back to him. Apologies, but my hands were full with all those people running about the necropolis. I needed to make sure all the guards had joined their gods.

Zeren sheathed his sword and looked behind her. The body of the third guard was beside the wagon. Did you kill the slaves as well?

She flashed him an angry look. You know I would never do that.

Zeren coughed. He realized he had inadvertently insulted her. Apologies. Where is Inchel?

Ylira turned towards him in surprise. I thought he was with you?

After a few minutes of frantic searching, they found him. Inchel’s body lay slumped by an ornate tombstone, the handle of a bone dagger sticking out from his back. The guard that he had killed was lying by his feet. Zeren looked away and shook his head in disappointment. The boy had been reckless, but he had high hopes for him. Inchel was one of the many orphans who begged on the streets and was desperate to live a better life by any means possible. Zeren hoped that the youth would at least find a semblance of peace now.

Ylira arranged the boy’s body in a more peaceful position on the slab and retrieved the dagger. What a pity. He should have made sure that his opponents were dead before turning his back on them. I told him this many times.

Zeren was disappointed, but he had lost others before. Come, let us see what are in those wagons.

The night became still again. Ylira had assured him that the slaves would not raise any alarms since their tongues had been cut off. They were also fed on a steady diet of spikeshrooms which warped their minds and made them docile and forgetful. Zeren had always wondered why his partner took great pains to kill any slave-master they encountered, but he knew enough about her never to probe any deeper about her past. Ylira was dependable and a good thief, and that was what mattered to him. Their partnership would sometimes veer off into lovemaking when there weren’t other worthy partners to be had, but in the end it was all just professional, never personal.

It was Ylira who got to the rear of the second wagon first. The