The Twilight City

by Gregory Mattix

  A talon raked across her shield. She bashed the fiend in the face with it and swung her mace to crush its skull, but the beast fell back below. A blow struck Idrimel in the back, and she lost her balance, upended from the saddle, and fell heavily to the muddy ground.

  The stench of the fiends and their corruption was nearly overpowering down amongst them, and she nearly retched. Her training kicked in, and she rolled over, instinctively blocking a snapping maw. Three-inch-long teeth clamped around the haft of her mace, and steaming saliva poured from a fiend’s mouth, its small red eyes filled with hate. Claws raked her breastplate, and the beast growled. She smashed the fiend away with her shield, rolling over and regaining her feet just as a group of the monsters tried to bear her to the ground. Talons tore at her plate armor but couldn’t penetrate it. With a cry to Sol, Idrimel threw her arms wide, casting the fiends off her and stunning them with a purifying blast of radiant light. She waded through the chest-high creatures, striking them down as she made her way toward the cohort.

  The horde appeared to be in a full-on retreat. The paladins slew them, showing no mercy for those that would despoil the purity of Ellorya.

  Idrimel hammered a few final opponents before breaking into the clear. Before her stood her brother. He turned and cleaved his last remaining foe, hewing it apart from neck to groin. Ichor and offal rained down as the creature practically exploded.

  “Sister!” Athyzon smiled broadly behind his helm. “What brings you here?” Her brother was a towering figure in his shining plate armor. His bright blue eyes gleamed, and his platinum hair fell down his back. The pure white tabard of Sol he wore was stained black with ichor from the battle.

  Idrimel returned the smile, nodding at Athyzon’s men. “It’s been so long since our people have tested our might against the fiends, I thought my sisters and I could use a little practice.” She looked over her shoulder, pleased to see her fellow priestesses felling the last of the demons that were too slow to flee. Her steed had broken free of the combat and was grazing a short distance away, as if nothing more exciting was happening.

  “Indeed, it’s been many years since the hordes have been so bold as to invade Ellorya, and in numbers not seen for a generation or more.” Athyzon watched a moment as his cohort continued to mop up the fleeing demons. “This must have been a random opening from the Abyss. There is no fixed portal within days of here that leads to Nexus.”

  “That is troubling, Brother,” Idrimel replied. “The question is: who opened it and how?”

  Athyzon nodded. “A matter to be pondered once this is done. We must consult with the priesthood and see what they can divine. We’d best mop up the rest of this horde before they taint any more of our beloved Ellorya.” He clapped Idrimel on the back, his great strength nearly knocking her over. “Let us evaluate the skills they are teaching you at the temple!” He whistled, and his massive warhorse trotted up. Swinging back into the saddle, Athyzon called orders for his cohort to contain the horde.

  Idrimel grinned at the challenge and summoned her own mount, eager to follow her elder brother into battle.

  ***

  Flurbinger Flent stalked through the twisting warrens deep beneath the city streets. The gnome was at home amid the clanking and rumbling of gears and pistons, the hissing geysers of released steam, the persistent smell of hot oil, and the cozy passages. Up on the surface of Nexus was where he felt uncomfortable, with his beloved Machine’s clamor relegated to the background and the vast, daunting open spaces surrounding him. As he moved through the maze of metal, his sharp eyes took in the mass of pipes curled like the nest of a great mechanical bird, seemingly chaotically built, but all with a great purpose.

  Flurbinger knew more about the great Machine than any living being, save the Pale Lord himself perhaps, but he didn’t pretend to understand more than a small fraction of how it all worked. He did know that when one of his underlings summoned him in the middle of his sleep, something had gone wrong.

  He stepped out onto the Level-Three catwalk surrounding the atrium where the heart of the Machine lay. The rumble and clank was nearly deafening so close to the churning activity, but Flurbinger was so used to it that he wouldn’t have noticed, except that something was off. He stopped and stared, placing gnarled hands on his bony hips as he focused.

  What in the Abyss is different about it?

  He closed his eyes and concentrated, finally noticing a vibration that hadn’t been there before. It was a subtle grinding beneath the baritone rumble.

  “Flurbinger!” someone shouted.

  Flurbinger opened his eyes to see a grizzled dwarf walking toward him, waving his arms over his head. Dontarius was his foreman and second-in-command.

  “Talk to me,” he snapped at his old friend when the dwarf was within hearing range. “I can feel it. Have you isolated the problem?”

  “Not yet,” Dontarius replied, a bit sheepishly. “It is slipping a gear somewhere. But there’s something odd—”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Follow me.” Flurbinger gripped the rails of a ladder, slipped over the side of the catwalk, and slid down with agility that belied his age and stooped appearance.

  Dontarius labored down the ladder above him.

  The two hopped off at the bottom level, where a giant iron shaft passed from the shielded core into the bedrock at the very base of the Machine. Massive gears weighing more than ten oxen apiece rumbled just overhead.

  Flurbinger remembered when he had been an apprentice many years before and his hair had become caught in the gears. He was inches from his head being crushed like an overripe melon, had it not been for the quick-witted journeyman training him. With a quick slash of a knife, Flurbinger was freed, minus a good portion of his hair. Since that day, he had never again let his hair grow beyond stubble—not that he could grow more than a few wisps at his advanced age, but the old habit stuck with him.

  He clambered under a rotating axle and up inside the lowest level of the Machine. A short ladder led to a small platform inside. Steam that could boil the flesh off one’s bones blasted out of a curving pipe a short distance above his head. Pistons pumped to one side, and gears ground together in a panorama of meticulous craftsmanship. He briefly marveled for perhaps the thousandth time at the ingenuity of the ancients who had crafted such an amazing device.

  Dontarius slipped a thick, disc-shaped device out of an apron pocket. He frowned down at the large bronze timepiece he kept attached to his overalls by its chain. “It should be doing it again any time now, I reckon.”

  Flurbinger eyed the dwarf’s timepiece and was about to reply when the bank of pistons suddenly shuddered alarmingly, as if the entire thing would shake apart and collapse in an avalanche of iron and steel. A hideous screech resonated, which threatened to split his eardrums. It went on for what was likely only a second but seemed forever to Flurbinger’s worried ears. His eyes remained glued to the dwarf’s timepiece. The second hand, which had been ticking regularly through the seconds, was poised between twenty-nine and thirty.

  The ear-splitting screech subsided, and the Machine clattered and huffed and then resumed its normal operation once again. The second hand of the dwarf’s timepiece was suddenly at thirty-three seconds, ticking regularly once again.

  Flurbinger scowled at the timepiece. He was sure he hadn’t blinked, but even if he had, it hadn’t taken three whole seconds. “What the…”

  “Does it roughly every ninety minutes. The Machine is off-kilter somehow… I believe it’s losing its timing with the planes. A few seconds now, perhaps hours or days if it stops altogether.” Dontarius shrugged, but his face was pale and dead serious.

  Flurbinger felt a knot forming in his gut. “Aye. If she stops altogether… Well, we’ll be in a spot of trouble, I’d reckon.”

  He knew that if he and his crew were unable to find the cause of the fault and he determined it was beyond their skills to repair, then he would have to leave the comfort of his underground warrens and rep
ort the problem to the Pale Lord. The thought of that drove a sharp dagger of fear into his heart. As much as reporting to the Lord of Nexus scared him, that fear paled in comparison to the stark terror he felt at the prospect of the Machine he had served faithfully for decades failing. Total failure of the Machine could mean the end of Nexus altogether.

  Chapter 5

  Nera sat in a dimly lit corner of the Laughing Lunatic Zombie tavern and sipped her ale. Her eyes were fixated on the green at the bar. The young human looked lost, obviously a newcomer clearly out of his league in Nexus—her favorite type of mark, basically.

  She had paid a visit to the guild after visiting Arron. Rollo was conveniently absent, but Zita, one of his lieutenants, had promised to have Arron taken to the Temple of Sabyl straight away. Nera was glad to have dealt with Zita—she had always gotten on well with the female half-orc, perhaps since they were both half-breeds.

  Her keen ears picked up enough of the conversation at the bar to gather that the green was looking for his master, a mage named Magellan. The boy could have been an apprentice mage, but something was different about him. Whatever it was nagged at Nera, but not enough to divert her attention from her main focus, which was on the heavy purse of coin he had flashed around as he pinched a couple coppers out to pay for his drinks and the information he was prying the bartender for.

  Not only the purse but that fancy ring he wears. That alone has got to be worth some serious clink. To her sharp eyes, it looked like solid silver encrusted with jewels. Magical, it seems. Could be enough to bribe a magistrate to reduce my sentence. She could almost feel the magic radiating from the ring. If she focused enough on an object and the enchantment was strong enough, it gave her a tingling itch as though she had to sneeze, as did powerful ambient magic.

  She apparently wasn’t the only one taking an interest in the young man, however. A shady-looking trio of characters was eyeing him from across the common room: two humans, one large and the other scrawny, and a burly half-orc. She had seen them around before—they were cutthroats allied with a slum gang.

  Those bastards aren’t going to get my mark. Time to introduce myself. Nera drained the last of her ale and moved to the bar and the vacant stool next to the green human.

  “Hello there, luv. What brings you here?” She rested her elbow on the bar and leaned forward enough to offer the young man a good look at her cleavage. She was disappointed that he didn’t take her up on the offer, obviously too distracted by her face.

  “Oh, good day,” he replied. He did a double take when he took in her exotic features.

  “See something you like?” she prompted in amusement, an eyebrow raised.

  “Sorry, I… uh… Well, I’ve never come across someone like you before,” he stammered, hastily looking back at his drink. He drained the last couple fingers of the glass of red wine.

  “There is no one else like me, luv,” Nera shot back. Although slightly annoyed by his reaction, she quickly brought on her charm so she wouldn’t turn him off and lose her mark. “I take it you mean you haven’t come across one of us plane-cursed before. You probably haven’t been here long enough.” She waved the barkeep over. “An ale and another cup of wine for my friend here, Sven.” The barkeep nodded and went to get her order, a look of amusement on his face. Nera was a regular at the Zombie, and he no doubt knew what she was up to.

  “I just… arrived here a short time ago,” the young man said. “This place truly is something out of my wildest dreams.”

  “Or nightmares. Nexus is what you make of it.” She grinned at him. “I’m Neratiri, by the way. My friends call me Nera.”

  “Malek,” he replied. When they shook hands, she noticed his hand was rough and strong, unlike a typical mage. He seemed fairly well built for a mage and could have been handsome if one could get past the annoying wide-eyed greenness surrounding him. “It’s nice to meet you, Nera.”

  “Likewise. I couldn’t help but overhear you earlier. You’re looking for someone, are ya?” She thanked Sven as he delivered the drinks and nodded at Malek. Sven looked at the mage expectantly.

  “Oh, of course.” He plucked a few more coppers from his fat purse and handed them to Sven—a purse that was velvet, an exquisitely soft velvet that she could almost feel her fingertips caressing. Malek evidently didn’t notice her undue interest. “Yes, I’m searching for my master—a mage by the name of Magellan. He was abducted, and I need to find him.”

  “What makes you think he’s here in Nexus?” Nera took a swallow of ale and watched his hand with interest as he gripped the cup of wine. She could see runes on his silver ring as it glinted in the dim light. That thing has to be worth some serious clink.

  Malek sighed. “I was getting supplies from the town, and when I returned to his tower, he had disappeared without a trace. A local shepherd boy witnessed some armored soldiers led by a mage entering the tower. Their livery had the sigil of a red eye in the center of a hand.”

  “Sounds like the Magehunters. What would they want with your master? Which plane are you from, anyway?”

  “That’s what I gathered after searching for the past month. The concept of different planes is new to me. I came from a land called Tyndaria… uh, Prime, I think. And what they want with my master is what I hope to find out. Do you know where I can find him?” His blue eyes stared into hers, pleading.

  Nera almost felt sorry for the young mage. He was way out of his league. He’d be just another lost soul that ended up with his throat cut in some back alley. Great reason to relieve him of his belongings sooner rather than later so they could be put to good use—such as bribing a magistrate.

  A casual glance over her shoulder revealed the trio of thugs sitting with empty ale tankards, obviously waiting to make their move when Malek left. The buxom barmaid delivered another round to their table just then. Obviously, they had seen Malek and her get refills.

  She shrugged. “Never heard of this Tyndaria… just one of many Primes, to be sure.”

  He visibly deflated.

  “But… I might know something of interest.”

  Malek perked back up again.

  “I know there’s some cutthroats taking an undue interest in you. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to slip out of here and find somewhere quieter to talk.”

  Alarmed, Malek turned to look around but quickly looked back when she elbowed his ribs sharply.

  “What are you doing, fool?” she hissed quietly. “Don’t let them know you are onto them. Just act calm. Finish up your wine, and we’ll slip out of here when I tell you.” Nera took a large swig of her ale.

  Malek’s eyes became nervous, but he took a drink of his wine. He forcibly calmed himself and met her eyes. “So what do you know of my master?”

  “I know if the Magehunters have taken him, he’s in some serious shite. I can show you to the prison, but you’ll get rebuffed, most likely. I know a scribe that works there—I might be able to find out something from him.” The last bit was a lie, and the hope in his eyes made her feel a little ashamed. Just think about ninety-eight more years in that cursed foundry, she reminded herself. If I get enough coin from that trinket of his, I might be able to get that cut in half, even!

  Malek let out a relieved breath. “That’s great! I was afraid it might be hopeless. I can pay you for your help, of course. I don’t have much, but I’ll give you what I can if you help me.”

  That’s right, luv, you will. Aloud, she said, “Let’s finish up and sneak out of here quickly. Our friends back there are just getting into their tankards of ale.” Nera drained her tankard and wiped the foam from her lips on the back of her hand.

  The mage finished his wine. He hopped off the stool and stumbled against the bar.

  “Damn it,” Nera said under her breath. She caught his arm and steadied him. Normally, an intoxicated mark was a good thing, but escaping the three thugs with the tipsy mage would be more difficult than anticipated. Undaunted by the challenge, she tugged him toward the door.
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br />   “Sorry.” Malek looked confused. “That wine must be stronger than what I’m used to.” His cheeks were flushed as they slipped out the front door.

  With a surreptitious glance behind them, Nera saw the three thugs getting to their feet and knocking back the last of their ales. “Come on, luv. We have to be quick.” She gripped his arm and dragged Malek into a run.

  They turned down the alley next to the tavern. Malek stumbled and nearly fell, but Nera dragged him upright.

  “Hurry! They’re right behind us,” she said.

  She led him at a run through several backstreets and alleyways until they came into a quieter alley that was near enough to the main street that she could make a quick escape.

  Malek’s face was red, and he was breathing heavily. The outside air seemed to have sobered him up slightly. He looked around nervously. “Are they gone?”

  “Aye. And I’m sorry for this.” She leaped at Malek, ramming the curve of one of her horns into the back of his head.

  Malek groaned and fell. Nera caught his arm and eased his fall into a pile of garbage. The ring was warm and heavy as it slipped into her hand. With her left hand, Nera secured the fat coin purse at his waist. She darted away and slipped into the gloom of the alley, marveling at how soft and supple the velvet pouch was—exactly as she had imagined it would be.

  ***

  Malek rolled over and groaned, head aching. When he tenderly probed at the back of his head, he felt a lump forming there. The stench of rotten food assaulted his nose. He slowly picked himself up and brushed off some slimy mess that had stained his cloak. His eyes darted up and down the alley, but the woman was gone. She called herself one of the “plane-cursed,” whatever that is.

  “I’m a damn fool,” he muttered, realizing his purse was gone. Even worse, she had stolen his ring as well. He’d been in Nexus barely a couple hours, and already his quest was on the verge of failure. “Damn it! I can’t let her get away.”