The Twilight City

by Gregory Mattix

  Nera wrinkled her nose as she looked around the Beggars’ Temple. This place reeks of sickness and death. Those tight-arsed bastards at the foundry wouldn’t even pay for decent healing services, she thought angrily. Instead, they just dumped him off with the lepers, drunkards, and victims of cock-rot. The Beggars’ Temple, as indicated by its name, was understaffed and underfunded. It was a place of last resort for those seeking any type of healing service. Nera thought of her meager stash of clink at her hovel. I’m going to get Arron out of here and treated at the Temple of Sabyl. Then I’ll inform the guild. They owe us and should see that he’s taken care of. I’ll make sure I get reimbursed.

  Nera winced when she hunkered down next to the pallet and got a good look at her brother’s sorry state. The half-elf’s head was completely bandaged, with holes cut out for his eyes, nose, and mouth. The tip of his nose had been removed. His once dextrous hands, which could pickpocket nearly as well as Nera’s, were as useful as clubs, wrapped in gauze. Angry red burns covered his bare shoulders, neck, and upper chest and back. A grubby sheet covered him from the waist down. Unsurprisingly, the collar around Arron’s neck remained untouched by the foundry’s heat, the ugly construction of leather and metal conspicuous around his blistered neck.

  You tough bastard, I know you’ll pull through. Throughout their years of thieving and adventuring together, the half-elf had taken quite a few beatings, and surprisingly, his constitution was as hearty as any dwarf’s. But this time he looked bad. Nera felt the tears threatening to come and angrily blinked them away. Again, she was struck by her brother’s loyalty—he had been in a position to escape capture on their ill-fated last job but had instead selflessly remained to aid her. He stuck with me, and now he’s here on the verge of dying, courtesy of that thrice-damned foundry.

  Arron’s eyes cracked open, bright green against the angry red welts and pale bandages that composed his face. He tried to smile, not noticing that his cracked lips split open.

  “It’s my guardian fiendling,” he rasped. “You’re the only one that’s come to visit me, Sister. I think everyone else has written me off for the book of the dead. From the looks of this place, they’re probably taking the smart wager.”

  Nera squeezed one of his wrapped hands. “They can all go get buggered by larval muck hoppers in the Abyss. I’m getting you outta here and over to a decent temple.”

  “Oh? Who’s going to spring for that, I wonder. You sitting on a stash of clink you haven’t told me about? I hope you aren’t back to pickpocketing again, are you?” Arron frowned with disapproval. “You gave me your word—I want you to keep your head down, lass, and get your sentence done. Don’t risk yourself for me.”

  “I’ll risk myself if I damn well please.” She glared at Arron. “I never had anyone else to look out for me, growing up, so I’m not going to lose you now. Besides, that fat arsehole Rollo owes us—I mean to see him cough up some clink to help out.”

  Arron smiled gently, and his fingers twitched as he tried to squeeze her hand. “That’s the Nera I remember.”

  Nera returned the smile and poked his small belly. “You better lay off Sven’s stock of ale—those scaffolds can’t take such a heavy load.”

  Arron chuckled. “Aye, suppose you’re right. This thin gruel they consider food here will cut the fat off my belly, and I’ll be clambering around as easily as Osric.”

  “You won’t be here long enough to lose weight—I’ll talk to Zita and ensure you get taken to the Temple of Sabyl. You better hang in there until I get you transferred, or I’ll kick your arse all the way to the gates of the Abyss.”

  “What else am I gonna do?” He gestured at the sorry masses of sick and dying around them. “I can’t bear the thought of missing out on the next ninety-eight years working in that hellish foundry.” He rolled his eyes. “Why couldn’t they have sentenced me to the brothel square instead? I knew a dwarf once that swore he’d served his time in a brothel as a bouncer. He had all kinds of stories to tell of things he saw there… things that would make your face turn even more red.” His eyes twinkled.

  Nera elbowed Arron sharply in the ribs, causing him to wince. “You’re insufferable. Besides, I look like a porcelain-skinned goddess compared to your ugly burnt-red mug.”

  ***

  Malek stumbled and nearly fell, his sense of balance turned upside down from passing through the portal. He went down on one knee, trying to recover from the vertigo. His stomach clenched, and he vomited his breakfast onto the gray sand he knelt in.

  Looking up, he quickly forgot his stomach’s plight as he saw Nexus for the first time. The city was like a vast disc with a bowl-shaped depression in the center. The city looked as if it was sliding inward, its weight causing the disc to sag in the middle. A high hill thrust up out of the center of Nexus, upon which sat a massive structure that was belching a thick cloud of smoke and ash into the air. Malek had never seen such a great building—he bet the great keep of Ironhaven would’ve fit inside twice over.

  On the opposite side of Nexus rose a large fortress, nearly level with the foundry. Massive parapets soared high overhead, watchfires giving off a bright glow atop the spires. Angus had called it the Twilight City, and Malek could see why. Twinkling lights lit up the vast city below while overhead, the thick plume of smoke spewing from the foundry blotted out a dimly glittering field of stars, which he could barely make out. The reflection of lights from the cloud of smoke gave the city a faint illumination, which he assumed was where it got its nickname.

  From his vantage point at the edge of Nexus, and away from the worst of the smoke, Malek could make out a silver crescent of moon off to the right while a second orange-red moon was low in the sky to the left.

  Thwaap. Fifty feet to Malek’s right, a portal popped open, and a thick-necked man with a bald pate stepped through, a heavy pack on his back. The man was evidently used to the portal’s effects as he collected himself with minimal disorientation before striding confidently across the sandy field.

  Malek looked around the wide arc surrounding the city and saw portals opening and closing sporadically, and travelers issuing forth. A number of portals remained open permanently, and some were heavily guarded. Caravans of loaded wagons passed through several of the largest permanent portals. The gray sand covered a vast, fan-shaped area, and Malek watched as travelers wound their way down in streams to some type of collection point at the bottom, where the city’s walls rose up ominously.

  “First time making the trip, friend?”

  Malek looked over and saw the man with the backpack watching him curiously a short distance away.

  “Tyndaria, right? I’m from Ironhaven, myself. Never knew there were two portals, though.”

  Looking around in confusion, Malek spotted a glowing set of runes inscribed in the archway where his portal had opened. The runes were fading since the portal was again inactive, but he was able to make out “Prime, Tyndaria Two.” The archway was fashioned of some dull metal, inscribed with a number of glyphs and radiating a powerful magic. The gray sand stretched into the distance a few dozen paces before apparently dropping off into the abyss of the starry horizon.

  Realizing he was still on his knees, Malek picked himself up. “First time, yes.” He laughed, aware he was gawking around like a fool. He dusted off his robes. “I had no idea there were two either.” He made to join the other man. “I’m Malek, by way of Hollowcliff. I take it you’ve been here a few times?”

  “Halloran Keel.” The man shook his hand. “Aye, I’m a trader. Prices here can be much better than what you’d find in Tyndaria, depending on the demand and what you’ve got to trade.”

  They walked down the sandy slope, the soft sand cushioning their footsteps. After a while, Malek noticed fine bits of ash raining down from the sky, and he realized they were walking on a whole layer of ash, apparently the residue collected from the smoky cloud spewed out by the foundry.

  Noticing his glance, Halloran spoke up. “We are traver
sing what are called the Ashen Plains, Malek. This area holds the portals to the Prime planes, which allow for free trade to flow fairly easily. Other, more dangerous planes are sectored off and much better guarded, for obvious reasons. Don’t want a legion of greater demons popping through and devouring all the travelers,” Halloran said with a chuckle. He gestured toward the choke point at the bottom of the fan-shaped waste they were crossing. “And down there is what many call the Funnel. Everyone is sent through checkpoints. They’ll want to know your business and make you sign your life away if you’re a mage.” He glanced at Malek’s robes curiously. “That’s one thing they don’t tolerate here—unauthorized magic. Oh, that and random portals opening up inside the city proper. Those are contained by the city to prevent a public health risk and all that. See over there?” He pointed to a district near the entrance to the city.

  Malek watched in amazement as the ground seemed to bubble up, the buildings rising up over the top of the wall. They shifted about as if some giant was rearranging a game of tiles, moving the buildings about. After a couple minutes, they settled back down, but Malek was sure the buildings were changed from their original locations.

  “They must’ve found an unauthorized one,” Halloran said. “City works like a big machine… When they pop up, the cogs realign themselves until the portal is put in its proper place.”

  “I’ll be damned. This place is full of surprises, and I haven’t even made it through the gate yet.”

  “Oh, you’ve barely seen the beginning of it, friend. Just wait till you get caught between ill-tempered celestials on one side and demons on the other. Things tend to get interesting real quick.”

  Let’s hope that doesn’t happen any time soon, then. I just want to find Magellan and get out of this bizarre place. However, he could already feel the draw on his curiosity. The temptation to stray from his course and investigate the fascinating city would be hard to resist.

  Halloran bid Malek a good stay as they got separated at the checkpoint, with a final tip to seek a chroniker mast if he got disoriented by the apparent lack of passage of time. Armored guards of the Nexus Watch directed Malek into a line with a group of other mages. Many of them showed some type of official document with a magic seal on it and were whisked right through.

  “Name and occupation?” a bored guard asked Malek half an hour later, when he finally made it to the front of the line.

  The ash ended abruptly, and Malek stood on the edge of a cobblestone street. Low walls divided several lanes through the gates, some large enough for entire caravans to pass through, while the lanes flanking those were pedestrian lanes. A scribe with a ledger and quill was sitting at a desk beside the guard.

  “Malek of Tyndaria. Apprentice mage.”

  “Reason for visit?” The guard scratched his belly while the scribe’s quill scratched at the ledger.

  “I’m seeking my master, Magellan. He was uh… escorted away by what I believe are the Magehunters of Nexus,” Malek said, hoping he’d put it diplomatically enough.

  The guard looked at him a little more closely. “Aye, is that right? Is there a wanted notice for a Martin of Ty-whatever?” he asked the scribe.

  “Malek of Tyndaria,” he corrected the guard.

  “Right, that one.”

  The scribe unrolled and skimmed through a lengthy scroll as they both watched. After a couple minutes, he shook his head. “Nothing listed here.”

  The guard nodded. He proceeded to rattle off a long spiel that culminated with a threat to not use any class-three or higher magic upon penalty of imprisonment or execution. “You accept those charges?”

  “Yes,” Malek replied.

  “Right, then. Off you go. Next!” the guard hollered.

  The scribe stuffed a permit document into Malek’s hand, and then he found himself walking between a pair of massive steel gates and into Nexus proper.

  Smooth cobblestone tiles formed the street, cut and placed with a precision rivaling that of dwarven stonemasons. A square opened up just inside the gates. Two- and three-story stone buildings with thatch and tile roofs lined the plaza. Even though the square was a bowshot across, the buildings seemed to lean in, making the space feel claustrophobic, especially with the crowd of traffic moving in and out of the gates. Stables, inns, taverns, and brothels seemed to be the predominant establishments.

  People cursed and elbowed their way through the crowd. Mules bellowed, and whips cracked as drovers fought to keep their wagons of goods moving. A tarnished statue of some great warrior standing with hands on the pommel of a sword towered over the crowd in the center of the square. A sign pointed to the High Market straight ahead down a broad thoroughfare.

  In the streets of Nexus, the common races mingled with more uncommon creatures. Humans, elves, dwarves, and gnomes were common sights, along with various half-breeds. Malek was jostled by what he thought was a hooded child, but the creature turned and glared at him, and he realized it looked suspiciously like a goblin. Across the square, a pair of tall, blue-skinned giants twelve feet tall waded through the crowds as the people scattered to avoid the large creatures. Tall humanoids that looked like some species of canine weren’t uncommon among the crowds, and neither were slight birdlike creatures. A stunning, fair-skinned woman with feathery wings and white robes seemed to walk untouched within a bubble of glowing yellow light. A hulking, dark-skinned creature that seemed to be all teeth and claws seemed to absorb the lamplight, making it a black blotch that tugged at one’s vision. Malek hurriedly looked away, not wanting to draw the demon’s attention.

  The pervasive amount of magic nearly overpowered his senses. The bones of the city radiated great power beneath his feet. The streetlamps lining the square burned with steady blue magical flames. Many of the more extraordinary races were like bright torches of arcane power in the night. Magic was intertwined in everything and everyone in the city.

  After walking aimlessly for perhaps a quarter hour and following the flow of traffic vaguely toward the High Market and the center of the city, Malek realized he needed to take a break and recollect his wits. He needed to formulate a plan. Walking idly through such a large, confusing, and likely dangerous city would get him nowhere fast.

  Fortunately, a carved wooden sign caught his eye a dozen paces ahead. On it, a colorful figure that appeared to be a zombie had its head reared back laughing, foam spilling out of the top of its tankard. Ale leaked out from holes in the zombie’s torso like a garden watering can. Laughing Lunatic Zombie, the sign proclaimed.

  Relieved to be out of the crush of people, Malek pushed open the door and entered the tavern. The smell of tobacco smoke and roasting meat met his nose. A hearty crowd of what looked like a mix of locals and travelers filled the common room, with a pair of serving wenches wending their way through, carrying fistfuls of tankards.

  Seems like a decent place. The clientele was neither wealthy nor poor but a decent mix of common folk. He found a stool at the end of the bar and had a seat, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He hadn’t realized he’d been sweating until he stepped inside the cozy tavern.

  “Looks like you’ve had a long day, friend. What can I getcha?” The bartender nodded at Malek.

  “That’s an understatement. I’m parched. How about a goblet of wine for starters?” Once his thirst was quenched, he’d try to gather some information and figure out how best to proceed.

  Chapter 4

  Idrimel could hear the sounds of battle ahead. Steel clashed with tooth and claw. Screams and curses were drowned out by the raised chorus of the paladins’ voices. Her brother and his contingent praised Sol as they fought the horde of lesser demons defiling the fair fields of Ellorya.

  Her horse snorted nervously beneath her as it cantered toward the battle. The steed was well trained, bred for battle, and wouldn’t lose its discipline in the face of minor fiends, but it sensed the wrongness of the creatures as easily as Idrimel did. She felt the foulness, the evil, emanating from the horde even at a di
stance of a half mile. The peace and tranquility of Ellorya had been shattered, as if during prayer services, some madman was banging crassly on a metal pot to interrupt the peaceful hymns.

  Idrimel grasped her mace more tightly in her hand as she rounded a bend in the path. Ahead, several hundred lesser fiends swarmed across a pasture, trampling the emerald blades of grass and the purple and yellow wildflowers into the mud.

  She immediately spotted her brother, Athyzon, at the head of his cohort of paladins. The fiends snapped and cringed away from direct contact with the holy warriors, unable to withstand a direct confrontation. They favored snapping at their heels, trying to score a blow from the rear.

  Athyzon raised Redeemer overhead, and the blessed two-handed sword blazed with Sol’s glory. His fellow warriors raised their voices in song, and they surged forward into the mass of demons, mowing them down as the holy light blinded the creatures and drove fear into their black hearts.

  Idrimel glanced behind herself, noting her dozen fellow priestesses had their maces and flails raised and ready for action. “Follow me, sisters!” With an invocation to Sol, she led them into the flank of the fiends that had swarmed around the paladins in an effort to completely surround them.

  Her mace blazed with holy power as she called down a blessing from Sol. A brilliant light streamed from the mace and blasted a path through the fiends, sending them flying away, burnt and stunned by the light. Her sisters echoed her, and bright rays stabbed amongst the dark, twisted beasts.

  And then Idrimel found herself among the horde. She began laying about her with her mace. Toothy maws were smashed in, and limbs bent awkwardly beneath her mace. The armored warhorse kicked and shattered skulls around her. The creatures flinched back from the holy aura she radiated.