War of the Posers Page 3

  “I don’t exactly know,” I admitted.

  “Nine. Fuck me. And I suppose you have some awfully generic Choice?”

  “Rogue?”

  “Well, this is off to a fantastic start.”

  “I mean, the evening did kind of start off bad—“

  “Let’s just both pretend I knew you could, you know, whatever with spawning, before I brought you to this.”

  “Am I going to die in there?”

  “Fairly good odds.”

  “What the hell, Titus?”

  “I didn’t know you were level nine. Who in the Empire is head of a guild at level nine?”

  I raised my hand.

  “Besides you, you dingus.”

  “Dingus?”

  Just then the door wavered, like someone was passing a filter over it. Then it disappeared, revealing a stone staircase heading down into the ground.

  “Guess we’ll talk about this later,” Titus said, and walked through the archway.

  I shook my head, really wishing I’d had more time to prepare.

  Titus went first, then me in the middle, and Klara took up the rear. It was unnerving going down into the darkness, and I felt my heart starting up my throat. I didn’t like walking into the unknown. At least I wasn’t going alone.

  Chapter Five

  We went down and down and down, I think seven flights of stairs before we got to a small landing. A single glow light struggled to illuminate the space, and three candles in less-than-ornate holders on one wall. A large man stood in front of a red rope draped between two stanchions. The kind of thing you’d see in front of the door to an exclusive club, with one exception. There was no door here.

  The man looked us over. I felt a slight tingle of magic wash over me.

  One of the candles flared, and light from an orange flame filled the area.

  The man gave us a smile, pulled the rope away from the stanchions, and stepped to the side.

  “Enjoy,” he said.

  I looked at Titus, but he just walked straight ahead, slipping through the wall. I closed my eyes, knowing that trying to walk through was going to be hard enough without seeing the bricks come closer and closer to my face. Even as it was, walking with eyes closed, I found that I was stepping with hesitation. Someone pushed me in the back, and I stutter stepped forward, feeling a brief cool mist float across my face. Then I was through.

  We’d stepped into a tavern. Of sorts. It was a high-class institution, with red carpets on the floors, reasonably high ceilings for being so deep underground, and dark wood everywhere. There was a large bar along one wall. Small tables that were exceedingly spread out with almost dainty chairs on either side of them dotted the rest of the room.

  It wasn’t totally crowded, but it did feel full. Far across the room, I could see a short stone wall coming out of the ground, almost like a fence, about three feet high. Most of the customers were gathered around this wall with drinks in hands. Some looked down into the hole the fence surrounded, but most were just talking to each other.

  Titus headed over to the bar. I looked over to Klara, assuming she’d disapprove, but she’d already followed Titus.

  The bartender was a nice-looking man with slicked-back hair, a starched white shirt, and a jeweled dagger tucked into his belt. He had the look of a man who’d seen a little of everything, and therefore was bored with the world. I found that thought astounding, considering the world we were living in. Maybe it was an act.

  “Drink?” the bartender asked as Titus sank into a stool.

  “Four dashes bitters in a tumbler of fermented wormwood,” Titus said. “Poured over ice.”

  “Sounds delicious,” the bartender said. “I can get you none of those things.”

  “Do you have any spirits?”

  “Only the finest,” the bartender said, stepping to the side and gesturing at the bottles behind him.

  “The bottles look the fine,” Titus said, leaning over the bar to peer at the proffered liquor, “but I’m not sure what’s in your bottles matches the labels.”

  The bartender scowled at Titus. “Are you saying—“

  “I’m saying I know the color of actual Rotgut, and it’s considerably darker. And Tennyson’s Screech is clear, not amber.”

  The man snatched a bottle off the counter. He examined it closely, then poured a small shot of it, and sipped it.

  He quickly spit it out, and set the bottle on the counter.

  “Seems like a surprise to you,” Titus said.

  I sat down and looked over at the bottle.

  “I certainly paid Tennyson prices for it.”

  “Apologies for the way I spoke then,” Titus said. “I’ve had my own problems with distribution of late.”

  “It’s getting so that an honest man can’t run an underground illicit establishment like this without having to watch his back.”

  “No honor among thieves,” I said softly.

  “That seems to be the way it is going,” the bartender replied. “My daddy’s day, this would never happen. Sure, they might try and fleece some upscale assholes in The Bright, or slip a bottle of colored water to a Senatorial soiree, but down here? This was treasured and honest work, even if it was underground.”

  “Titus Calpernus, owner of the Heavy Purse,” Titus said, extending his hand.

  “Norris Rule,” the bartender said, shaking Titus’ hand. “I’ve been there. Fantastic fare, rustic. You had a monopoly on near everything in Old Town for a bit, eh?”

  “Bit of luck, that. Plus a landlord with a backbone of solid mithril.”

  I shook my head.

  “You here for drinks and discussion?” Norris asked. “Or for the Gathering?”

  “Hinges a bit on it being a good night for it.”

  “Great night to watch, but not sure I’d want to be involved.”

  “Good wagers?”

  “There’s some coin to be made if you’re a gambling man, but nothing I can really twist your way.”

  “Is this—“

  Norris shook his head with a wry smile. “I know the question you’re about to ask, brother, but no. I just run the drinks part. Everything else goes through, well, those who it goes through.”

  “The ol’ if you know, you know.”

  Norris confirmed that with a wink.

  “Well then,” Titus said. “I suppose you’re not exactly the man we need to be talking to.”

  “If you need anything more than a drink, I’m afraid I’m not.”

  “If you are interested in, perhaps, changing alcohol distributors, considering...”

  Norris gave a sort of bemused shrug. “Perhaps.”

  Then, quick as can be, Norris set three pints of ale in front of us, and Titus slid a coin across counter. We took our ales and sat down at one of the small tables, the three of us facing the area with all the people and the small stone wall.

  “You think this might be a good time to tell us, in a more detailed manner, perhaps,” I said, “what exactly is going on here and why I’m about to die?”

  “I didn’t say you were going to die--“

  “You said it was a definite probability.”

  “I believe I said that you had fairly good odds, but considering how dangerous this city is, wouldn’t you agree that there are fairly good odds you’d find death in any random underground illicit tavern you visit?”

  “No.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  “I would prefer if we had some actual information about this place,” Klara said, her voice quiet, but firm, making her irritation quite clear.

  “It’s a place where people — uh, magicians, that is — they fight,” Titus said. “For the entertainment of others.”

  “Like a magic fight club?” I asked.

  “It’s not exactly a club. It’s more like a small version of the arena where magic is the only means of fighting. More like magicians’ duels. They call it The Gathering.”

  I blinked a few times. “So all t
hese guys are Mancers?”

  “Mancer is what the Empire calls their magic users, like an earned title. If you go to one of the magical colleges or guilds, you’d come out as a Mancer. If you just sling spells you discovered on your own, you’d be called a hedgemage. That sort of a thing. All magicians, though. At least, that my take on it.”

  “And it’s called The Gathering?”

  “Yep. Been going on here for years, and I always wanted to go. Never had the, well, courage isn’t the right word, but magic doesn’t sit right with me all the time, and The Gathering is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Are the duels to the death?”

  “I don’t know. Likely some are. I doubt all of them, because where are they going to keep finding new magic users? But I also wouldn’t count on anyone in here having substantial control over their spells.”

  “Are you, I mean, am I supposed to be fighting in this?”

  “I don’t exactly know. But I figured if any group could point you toward this ‘The Fayden’ person or creature or whatever, it’d be this one.”

  “Is it a group like us?”

  “Humans and elves? Probably—“

  “I meant a guild.”

  “Not exactly. They’re more of—“

  “A criminal enterprise?”

  “I was going to say gang, but, sure, class it up a bit. The Street Kings.”

  “That’s the name of the gang?”

  “It is. And I’m going to set you off on your own now,” he said, pushing his ale away from him without drinking it.

  “Wait—“

  “Better for you to be seen asking the questions yourself,” Titus said, getting to his feet. “Won’t do having me make the introductions for you. Best o’ luck.”

  Klara was still seated. She hadn’t touched her drink. “You want me to stay?” she asked.

  “Not the best idea, lass,” Titus said. “Bit of a thing he’s got to do himself, elsewise, he’s likely to be seen as weak.”

  “I’m here to keep him alive,” Klara countered.

  Titus leaned down on the table.

  “The elf just got done telling us not so long ago that he comes back when he dies,” Titus said. “He’ll have no problems here.”

  “Go with him,” I said.

  She nodded. “Good luck,” she said, and followed Titus out the door.

  I sat there with the three full ales for a moment, knowing I wasn’t going to drink any of them. I needed to be clear-headed about what I was going to do: try and get a group of people who clearly didn’t like being found out to give me the location of another person who clearly didn’t like being found. I didn’t have high hopes.

  Chapter Six

  The stone wall surrounded a pit about fifteen or so feet deep and fifty or so feet wide. It looked quite old. There was a metal grate in the center of the circle, about the same size as a man-hole cover. When I walked over to the pit, people were standing around, talking. A young woman was bringing drinks to patrons, and taking coins back to the bar. On one wall was a chalkboard with names and numbers on it, a basic betting board. Matches were queued up with duelist’s names on either side, and then the middle had the odds. An older man sat at one corner of the board, his sleeves covered in chalk dust, sipping from a small cup that he held in his gnarled hand. The other hand was missing, and in its place was a chalk holder.

  The crowd was affluent, that was easily identifiable. They looked down their noses at me as soon as I made my way into the mix. Instead of interacting with me, they moved out of the way so I didn’t touch them — or make the horrid mistake of thinking I could join their conversation.

  I walked over to the betting board and took a second to look over the matches and names. Nothing jumped out at me; it was just a list of names. And the odds weren’t really out of control, the highest I saw was 1:5. Not bad, but it seemed like most of the opponents were reasonably evenly matched.

  “Bit late for that,” the chalk-hand man said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Placing bets.”

  “Oh, I—“

  “We’re mostly done for the night,” the guy said, taking another tiny sip from his cup.

  “I just got—“

  “I know.”

  “Good night?”

  “Eh,” he replied, leaning against the wall in his chair. “Dull.”

  “I bet you’ve seen a lot of these.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on, you’ve probably seen more magic than most in the Empire.”

  He chuckled. “Now that I would believe.”

  “Know any yourself?”

  “’Course.”

  “Learned here?”

  “Oh, I picked some up here and there. Few little tricks up my sleeve.”

  “Who’s that there?” a voice boomed from behind me. “Someone talking to our trained ape, I see.”

  I looked over my shoulder. The crowd had parted for a handsome man with striking high cheekbones and perfectly black hair. His eyes were also remarkably dark, and he sat in a throne-like chair that was raised up a little, either to be above the crowd or give him a better view of the fights in the pit. Or both. He held a gold goblet loosely in one hand.

  “I, uh,” the old man started, but then he just vanished with a pop.

  “Ah, the same old answer from Rees, eh?” the man asked. There were a few titters of laughter around him. Not the laughter of people who were actually amused, but the nervous stuff that comes when you’re forced to laugh because someone is more powerful than you. “So, who are you, speaker to apes?”

  Wow did I hate this man already.

  “I guess you could call me Tarzan,” I said.

  “Tar-zan?” the man said, like he was trying it on for size. “Interesting name. Stupid, but interesting.”

  “Mind if you tell me yours? You know, so I can make fun of it as well?”

  He barked out a sharp laugh. Just one.

  “I like that,” he said. “Not much spine around here any longer.”

  He used his goblet to gesture at the room, now gone silent, spilling drops of wine as he went.

  “But I wonder who would come to this particular event on this particular night without knowing my name. That is more intriguing, I think, than anything else about you.”

  “Oh, I bet there’s a few intriguing things about me.”

  “And I bet you think there are. But I have long grown weary of false surprises. Approach, young Tarzan, and speak to me of why you are here, a mystery guest in my home.”

  “You live here?” I asked, as I walked in front of the throne.

  “I might as well,” he said, and looked to his sycophants for more laughter. They complied, about as believably as the first time.

  “I came because I’m looking for someone,” I said. “Someone who is involved with magic. I was told if anyone knew where that person was, it would be you.”

  “And yet you don’t know who I am.”

  “I know you are the leader of the Street Kings.”

  He nodded. “I am.”

  “And that this is place where magic users congregate. And I’m looking for a magic user that isn’t an Imperial Mancer.”

  “Ah, aren’t we all?”

  More nervous laughter.

  “Why is it you look for this magician?” the man asked.

  “To learn.”

  “Better to learn at the Imperial Academy, Tarzan. There is little love down here for learning. Just for throwing the same five spells over and over again.”

  “I’d rather learn, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Ah, you finally realize that anything you gain from this meeting is at my pleasure.”

  “As long as one of us is getting pleasure,” I replied, trying to figure out if I wanted to get under his skin or just bow to his doucheyness, “I suppose it’s okay.”

  “You may call me Ignatius.”

  “Ignatius, I was wondering i
f you, perhaps, could tell me where to find something. Or someone.”

  “Those are very different questions, Tarzan. And each of them require more largesse than you have earned from me at the moment.”

  “Is there,” I looked around at the audience still watching us, “some method of gaining your, uh, largesse?”

  “I can think of one,” he said. “Provided, of course, you are an elf of courage and not—“

  “A craven piece of shit?”

  “Eloquently put.”

  “You want me to fight in the pit.”

  “We prefer to think of it as dueling in our arena, but you may sully the name if you wish to incur our ire.”

  Great. Nothing like dealing with picky assholes.

  “I’m not really, uh—“

  “It is a simple proposition, Master Tarzan. Either you partake in a duel in order to get the answer to this question of yours, or you don’t and you leave my premises, never to return.”

  “Those are my options?”

  “Indeed they are.”

  “Do I get to choose my opponent?”

  “I daresay that wouldn’t be close to being fair. Now, how about you let us know your level, and we’ll have a look-see to find a worthy adversary for one such as yourself.”

  “Just, uh, remember that I came here looking for someone to train me in the, uh, magical arts, so—“

  He waved his hand at me.

  “You are skilled enough to come through my doors and interrupt my fine evening. You will be skilled enough to handle not dying in the pit below.”

  “I need to win to ask the question, right?”

  “Lad, if you step into the pit, you need to win to walk out of here tonight. You have a moment to decide, after you tell us your level, that is.”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine?” he asked. “Did I hear that right?”

  “Nine.”

  “And you’re wandering around like you’ve got a reason to be here? I don’t believe you. You’re trying to deceive us, trying to get out of having to fight in the pit—“

  “You mean duel in the arena?”

  That was not the right thing to say.

  Ignatius’s lips turned white, and I could see his jaw muscles flexing. He gripped one arm of his throne, and hissed out a breath through clenched teeth.