Contents
Doors of the Dark
Front Matter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Author's Note
Also by Gregory Mattix
Acknowledgments
About the Author
DOORS OF THE DARK
NEXUS OF THE PLANES
BOOK 2
GREGORY MATTIX
Doors of the Dark
Copyright © 2016 by Gregory Mattix
Cover art by dleoblack
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business establishments, events, locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Corpses littered the streets, and smoke filled the air as Nexus burned from numerous small fires. Rumors fueled panic, which in turn led to looting and rampaging mobs. The city’s nobility and its wealthy had walled themselves off in their safe districts. Nearly the entire mercenary population had become in high demand practically overnight, providing private security for the well-heeled. Outside of those fortified enclaves, gangs and thugs ran rampant, the strong preying on the weak. An outbreak of disease had begun in the slums, likely from the lack of fresh water and food. The Nexus Watch had been hastily fortified by the Magehunters in an attempt to bring order, but that didn’t seem enough.
The rule of law was near to crumbling, strained beyond its resources. Such was the way of things when chaos took hold.
Only three days have passed, and already the city tears itself apart. Give it another week, and it will be inhabited only by the dead and dying. Nera had no doubt once the nobles’ food and coin ran out, their hired swords would turn on their masters like starving hounds, biting off the hands that fed them.
Nera pulled the cowl of her cloak lower as she made her way through the mob gathered in the High Market. Although still wanted by the Magehunters and Special Judiciary, she figured they had more pressing matters than searching for fugitives. She saw no reason to tempt fate, however, and wore a minor illusion to conceal her distinctive features.
Tempers flared and elbows flew amidst the mob as people jostled nearer the front. Angry shouts and curses rang out around her as people implored the guards to let them pass.
“We just needs a bit o’ corn and flour ta feed the younguns! And some fresh water. Please, sir!” shouted a man next to Nera. He was disheveled, with tattered, dirty clothes.
She wished she could help out some of the more honest people, but her own belly was empty, her coin purse nearly so. She thought yesterday was the last time she had eaten, but she couldn’t remember.
The stony-faced guards ignored the crowd, holding their positions behind a barricade fashioned from overturned merchant wagons propped up by great stone blocks. A few members of the Nexus Watch, reinforced by a greater number of hired mercenaries, kept the mob at bay with pikes and loaded crossbows.
The decorative gates of the Merchant District had been torn loose from their hinges by an angry giant in search of food the day past. Following a bloody battle, the giant had been slain along with a dozen mercenaries and members of the Watch. A number of citizens unfortunate enough to have been caught up in the violence had also fallen from crossbows wielded by the overeager mercenary guards. The makeshift barrier had been erected to block off the Merchant District from the rest of the city. Nera knew a similar barricade also fortified the locked gates of the adjoining Noble District.
The chain of events leading to this crisis had followed the explosion that had rocked the foundry, halting the Machine beneath the city and possibly destroying it altogether. All portals to other planes had been shut, cutting off trade to Nexus. Fresh water had stopped flowing to the Molten Canal, which had become a stagnant, fetid channel. She guessed the air had stopped as well, though she didn’t know whence it issued.
Assuming violence doesn’t destroy Nexus first, it will die of starvation and lack of oxygen in a matter of weeks, if not days. The city is doomed.
The High Market, where the mob was gathering, resembled a war zone. Stalls and carts had been destroyed during rampant looting and rioting following the shocking rise in the price of goods due to lack of supply. After a couple days of doubling and tripling their prices, the sellers and merchants had feared for their lives, abandoning their shops and stalls and fleeing for the closed districts as, more often than not, their wares were taken by violence. The Watch occasionally still patrolled areas of the city when manpower allowed, but they couldn’t be everywhere and only halfheartedly intervened when crimes were unfolding.
For the time being, everyone seemed to have adapted to the new status quo. The wealthy hid behind their guarded barriers while the common folk rationed what goods they had and sheltered in place, wary of emboldened gangs of vicious thugs prowling the streets.
Two days past, Nera had ventured into the sealed-off districts by crossing the rooftops and hopping over the walls. She had managed to make off with a small stash of provisions although she was in no hurry to attempt the feat again. The crossbow bolts loosed in her direction indicated that whatever remained of the Watch, and certainly the mercenaries, had little interest in arresting people. The rooftops were guarded now by mercenaries with crossbows. A bolt through the chest would be the best outcome any thieves caught in the closed districts could expect.
A mercenary guard with a shaved head stood up on a crate behind the barrier so the crowd could get a good view of him. He made a big show of taking the last bite from a green apple, letting the juice run down his chin. With a flourish, he tossed the core into the crowd. People jostled to catch it, shoving each other down in the process. A fat man knocked an old woman down and caught the apple core. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked the remaining juice from it.
The mercenary yelled an insult and gave a rude gesture to the fat man. He laughed heartily and exchanged jokes with his comrades.
Nera spat on the ground in disgust. She wished she had Endira’s abilities sometimes—the ability to tip the crate over with her mind and send the bastard to fall and break his arse right then would’ve been too tempting to pass up.
The thought of Endira made her realize she should be getting back.
“When do they distribute the allotments?” she asked a middle-aged woman standing beside her. The mob was waiting for whatever small rations the Watch would distribute from the granary, under orders from the Pale Lord.
“Six o’clock, didn’t ye know?” the woman asked in surprise. “Haven’t ye been eating anythin’, dear?”
“Not lately. Thanks
.” She turned and ducked through the crowd. If worse came to worst, she might be begging for rations with the rest of them soon enough.
***
Nera returned to the Seer’s residence to find Endira preparing a pot of tea.
“Has there been any change out there?” Endira asked.
The elf and she had reluctantly stayed together after the battle with the Pale Lord three days past. The Seer’s parlor and suite of rooms in the back of Nihad’s Magic Emporium was as good a place to stay as any, Nera figured—more secure than most, at any rate. Her hovel had likely been looted and taken over by squatters days before, thanks to the dwarven retrieval officer who had pursued her—either that or burned down in the raging fires.
Nera declined when offered a cup of tea. “The mobs are relatively calm for now, but that won’t last long. I don’t know how long the food will hold out, but I think water and air are a greater concern.”
Endira nodded. “I consulted with Nihad while you were away. The only way to get off plane would be to find some type of artifact that allows portaling. He does not specialize in teleportation himself. His abilities would only create local portals. Those few mages of great enough power to reach other planes are likely already gone themselves or charging so much as to be unaffordable.”
Nera wasn’t surprised at the news. “I did pick up a piece of interesting information. Seems a fair number of the more powerful mages, those who maintain an uneasy peace with the authorities, have disappeared. Perhaps they fled, as you say, but some believe they have been rounded up and imprisoned by the Magehunters—on the orders of the Lord of the City.”
“A lord increasingly fearful of losing his power,” Endira said. “Yet these times will be the end of him and the city if he continues to do nothing about the situation.”
Nera scratched at a scab on her forearm, a reminder of the numerous cuts and bruises covering her body from the battle at the fortress. “He’s been sighted on occasion at the scene of the foundry, along with some work crews clearing rubble, but this place will be a city of the dead long before they can fix the Machine, it seems.”
She took a drink from her half-empty wineskin and nibbled on a heel of bread she had, left over from the food she had procured from the Merchant District earlier. The two of them had reached a consensus that they must find Malek and try to save him, but that required getting off plane, which was proving to be an impossibility. Guilt gnawed at Nera for being complicit with Endira by turning on Malek during the battle. The need to set things right with him was a powerful motivator.
“I did have an idea,” Nera said. “Might sound a bit mad, but we’re running out of options.”
“Might as well say what’s on your mind. Mad idea or not, it’s better than none.” Endira gave her a weary smile and sat on one of the low chairs with her cup of tea.
“This involves tracking someone. You remember that dwarf bastard that captured and nearly killed us?”
“You wish to seek him out?” Endira asked with raised eyebrows. “Might I ask why?”
“The retrieval officers can open portals off plane. I don’t know of any other retrieval officers personally, so I thought we might try to make a deal with that dwarf.”
“Sounds risky… He didn’t seem like the type to cut a deal with his quarry. Nera, there was a tinge of madness to him when I touched his mind at the warehouse.”
She shrugged in resignation. “That’s the only idea I’ve got at the moment. Well, there is one other possibility, but that would be even worse… Last resort, for certain.” Nera shuddered at the thought. “Can you find this dwarf since you touched his mind?”
“Yes, I believe I can. How do you plan to approach him before he tries to split you in twain with his axe?”
Nera smiled. “Sneaking up on unsuspecting victims is what I do. I’ll find a way to get the jump on him, and then we can have a chat.” She finished the bread and stretched. Weariness tugged at her, and she shrugged off the thought of taking a nap. They had been at a loss of what to do for almost three full days, and Malek needed their help.
Quit stalling and get to work. Find the dwarf. Pay the guild a visit. Then get off plane, hopefully.
Endira could certainly be useful, but she was preoccupied, caring for her ailing master and loathe to leave his side.
“How’s the Seer?” Nera asked.
“Not much change,” the elf replied with a sigh. “He has fallen into a deep sleep and may never waken. There is naught I can do but keep him comfortable at this point.”
“If you can get away for a bit, would you care to go on a walk with me? Pinpoint the dwarf’s location, and I’ll take it from there.”
Endira got to her feet. “Yes, I believe some air and exercise will do me good. I shall let Nihad know I’ll be out for a bit so he can keep an eye on the Seer.”
“It might do him some good to get out for a bit, too. Prickly old bugger.” She didn’t know the connection between the two old men, but Nihad seemed to care for the Seer as Endira did. Perhaps they were distant relations or just old friends.
The thought of family and friends steered her thoughts in a gloomy direction as Arron and Malek came to mind. Can’t do anything about Arron any longer, but Malek I may be able to help. But that means I need to get off my arse and get to work.
She went outside to await Endira, itching to take some action to find Malek.
***
Flurbinger Flent growled in frustration and pounded his fist against a massive gear, broader than he was tall. To the best of his knowledge, and that of his crew, the only ailment afflicting the Machine currently was lack of power. He and his crew had personally inspected nearly the entire Machine, excepting the internal parts in the core he couldn’t get to, and all seemed to be in order. True, something had been out of alignment previously, but that was a minor issue compared to its current dormancy. Mana supplied the foundry, which converted it to energy to power the Machine. With nothing remaining of the foundry but scrap metal and rubble, the Machine had no power source, so all the portals had been closed. Nothing could get in or out of Nexus, and as a result, the city would soon perish.
The gnome took a moment to calm himself and give thanks to Marakesh, God of Industry, that he wasn’t outside. Reports came in sporadically, each sounding worse than the last. At least that madness remains out there. Inside my realm is just iron and oil, sweat and work.
He took a deep breath and wondered if he should report to the Pale Lord or his damnable chamberlain on their lack of progress. Flurbinger had argued the point until he was blue in the face, but he’d been repeatedly sent back to keep searching for the elusive fix. However, none existed, save rebuilding the foundry. That would take years, short of some magical intervention.
Surely, the Pale Lord can use his magic to fix this. There must be a way.
“What do you have to report, Flent?” an unwelcome voice called from nearby.
Flurbinger sighed and straightened his back before turning toward the chamberlain. “The same report as last time you asked—the Machine is fundamentally sound. It requires energy to function, and until that is restored, it will sit here, still and silent.”
The chamberlain ran his long blue fingers along a cog on a gear beside him as he stared at the gnome with his bulbous pink eyes. “And you are confident of this?”
“Yes, as I’ve said many times now.” Flurbinger tried to rein in his frustration before he said something he regretted. “What is being done to restore power?”
“Come along, and you shall see.” The chamberlain gestured for the gnome to accompany him.
Flurbinger shook his head. “Nay, I should remain here in case my men find something—” His words were cut off as the chamberlain reached out and snatched hold of his upper arm in a bony hand. “Oi, what do you think ye’re doing?”
The chamberlain incanted a few words of magic, and suddenly Flurbinger’s home and workspace blurred and became the despised open air. He stumbled as his
stomach flopped from the disorientation of the sudden teleportation. After a moment, his urge to retch was overpowered by the sudden fear of the open air above him. Fortunately, his attention was captivated a moment later by a crackling surge of energy coming from nearby, throwing multicolored illumination off the blackened shards rising from the ground—what had once been the foundry’s skeleton.
“What in the Abyss?” he asked in startled awe.
A glowing rope of magical energy extended overhead, issuing from somewhere beneath the fortress, likely the mana warehouse, he guessed. Following the path of the energy, he saw the Pale Lord standing a short distance away.
The ruined foundry had been cleared of a majority of its debris over the past three days by the tireless work of teams of collared workers, motivated by frequent lashings from the overseers. The floor of the foundry was empty save for Flurbinger, the Pale Lord, and the chamberlain. The luminous rope of energy flowed into a massive pipe in the ground. The Pale Lord had his hands raised, directing the magical flow.
“Go ahead and approach, but do not disturb him,” the chamberlain instructed.
His awe overruled his fear, and Flurbinger stepped up near the Pale Lord. He peered into the ground, where he knew steam from the furnaces had been forced through the pipe to where it propelled pistons into motion to power the Machine.
“Can this work?” he whispered hopefully.
At first, he didn’t think his question had been heard, but then the Pale Lord replied.
“No, something rejects my attempts to restore power. I have pondered the problem, and this remedy should work, yet it resists my attempts. Therefore, the Machine is somehow impaired.” The Pale Lord’s voice was emotionless.
“My Lord, if there is damage, it is beyond my knowledge to detect and fix. I suspect it could be whatever caused the previous fault. Perhaps our enemies sabotaged the Machine directly as well.” Quenching his fear and keeping his voice steady took all his effort. Flurbinger felt sweat beading on his forehead at the proximity to the crackling energy. The heat beat at him like a forge.
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