“There is something bothering me, Isa. Something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”
He waited for her to go on, but she went quiet. “Yes?” he prompted, eyes narrowed as he started working the sword’s point in a series of pings.
“What we did in Tigeria… I can’t stop thinking about them. The villagers of Beachmarsh. Stawford, Nadja, and their wives, Gallena and Thelsa. The boy, Gikta. When I’m alone… I hear their screams in my head, I see them dying over and over. I can’t make it stop. Do you remember them?”
Isa noticed the heat of the Black Furnaces for the first time. His skin prickled with sweat, brows drawing down so hard it almost hurt. He had a sudden urge to smash the almost perfect sword to a mess of ruined metal. “I remember. We did what we had to do,” he said through clenched teeth, not looking at her. “Not the first time, certainly won’t be the last.”
“I know… but we killed them. We killed them all…” Senka trailed off, quiet for a moment.
Isa stared at the flames, daring them to scorch his eyes. He set his gaze on the sword, fire flaring in his belly, and swung the hammer too hard, denting the sword’s spine. “Shit!” He set both hammer and sword to rest before he laid waste to all of their work.
“It’s okay, Isa. We can fix that, I think.” Senka swallowed, taking a step away from him. “If we hadn’t gone there, they would’ve lived. The Shadow Princess followed us, and she killed them. She only wanted us. I don’t know what to do… it eats at my heart. The boy, Gikta, never had a chance at a good life. We stole it from him. If we never—”
“This is what we are, Senka,” Isa said, slowly sliding the hammer across the bench to rest beside the anvil. He wanted to scream because he knew she was right. She brought those buried thoughts to the surface. He faced her, bridged the distance between them, and placed his hands on her shoulders. They were small under his palms and hard with muscle.
“They were kind to us, Senka.” He gave a stoic nod. “But this is our life. We must bear the burdens that make most men crumble. We are the ones who cope and move on. Sure, it tortures me too. It makes it hard to breathe sometimes. But I won’t scream. I want to. This darkness… it chips away at us, but we’re endless, you and I. We sleep, but we don’t dream.” His throat felt horribly dry, forcing him to take a gulp of water before going on. “This is the price we pay so others can live. We have to master our fears. Your mind is a vulture, waiting to feast on the carrion of these thoughts. You have to bury them. I’ve been on this path before… it leads to nowhere good.”
“I know,” she said quietly, head hanging low. “I almost did it again, you know?” She raised her face to look at him, a fierce hardness to her eyes. “But you helped me.”
“Did what?” He was genuinely puzzled.
Senka bit her lower lip, fishing something out from her pocket. She raised something in her palm to the light of the fires, a square of bright yellowish-green moss. “My old companion…”
Angel’s Moss. Before she could react, Isa plucked it from her hand and tossed it into the flames. The fire flashed in a swirl of blues, a second later resuming its usual white.
“Isa!” she shrieked, leaping back, jaw slack. “Why did you do that?” The muscles in her throat tightened, hands balling into fists. “Y-you-you did that,” she stuttered, head shaking. Her eyes bulged at the furnace he’d tossed it in, staring as if debating whether or not to make an attempt at retrieving it. “Do you have any idea how hard that was to find?”
“You know why,” he said deadpan, turning away from her with a scowl and setting his hands on the workbench. His fingers scraped through a layer of soot as they wound into fists. “I can’t believe you brought that here. After everything in Tigeria… after us. And it still wasn’t enough to sate you?”
Senka slid back, shadows clawing at the hollows of her neck and cheeks. “I don’t know why I did either. Maybe I just thought a little would help with the memories, the pain of them. I’m not like you. I can’t just make them go away. It’s not easy for me.”
“And you think it’s easy for me?” He balked, eyes filling with heat. “Do you know how many children I’ve left fatherless and motherless at the last Arch Wizard’s behest? I’ve created more monsters than you could possibly know.”
“I’m sorry. I know.” Senka sagged. A long and heavy breath hissed through her swollen lips. She shuffled over to him and pressed herself against his side. “I’m just doing the best I can.”
He wrapped an arm around her. “I know. I am too. It’s all we can—”
A thundering crack cut the air, and Isa dragged Senka to the floor with a yelp. A line of pure white light sliced through the chamber’s distant shadows, turning clockwise to reveal itself as a portal. The silhouette of the Arch Wizard stepped into the room, and portal crackled shut behind her. Her eyes glowed amber with the telltale sign of a wizard holding the Dragon. “Hello? Senka? Isa?” she called, raising her palm. A dozen balls of fire sprung to life, rising up to hover among the twisting exhaust pipes and dispelling all but the most stubborn shadows.
“Over here.” Isa waved, rising up with a grunt and lifting Senka up with him. “Sorry,” he said to her.
“Don’t be.” She smiled at him, then frowned at the approaching Arch Wizard, crossing her arms. “Is something amiss, Mistress?”
“Nyset,” the Arch Wizard said, then waved her away. “Ah, why do I bother?” She chuckled, tucking a stray length of blonde and gray behind her ear. She surveyed them for a moment, took in the glowing sword and hammer. Her countenance went dark. “There are some things. In an effort to avoid repeating myself, I came to summon the pair of you for a meeting. Now before you say anything… you don’t have to come now,” she said, lifting her palms. “Finish up your business here, and I’ll have Claw weave a portal for you at sundown. Do you think that’s reasonable?”
Senka scratched the back of her neck. “We just have to close up the hut and prepare it for the sands. Isa?”
Isa eyed the half-finished sword, now only holding a hint of its glow. He shrugged one shoulder. “My blade is always yours, Mistress.” And he meant every word of it. If she asked him to impale himself upon his sword, he’d seriously consider doing it. He owed the Tower his life. Without the Tower taking him in, he’d likely be dead or a diseased urchin, cutting purses in the alleys of Midgaard.
“Good.” Nyset nodded a few times, her gaze shifting between them, her lips pulling into a thin smile. “Good,” she said again, resting her hand on Senka’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I apologize for the interruption, this is the only spot in the Nether that was clear enough in my mind for traveling.” She clasped her hands against her breast then gave a little wave. A portal sprung to life behind her, and she turned and stepped through before Senka could say goodbye.
Senka sighed. “Seeing us together makes her sad.”
“It does?” Isa couldn’t help but feel that there was something he missed.
Senka gave him a sideways smile. “Let’s get ready to leave.”
EIGHT
Plans
“There is a salient lesson that resonates with me after the wars I’ve fought. Stratagems are useless when the battle starts, but crucial for its end.” - The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
A gigantic round table striped in gradients of wood transitioning from deep red to light brown sat in the center of the Arch Wizard’s meeting chamber. Upon the table were candelabras where white flames crackled as they hovered over trays. There were plates with shining apples, cheeses, nuts, and berries along with pots of fresh elixir and steaming mugs. Inscribed in the table’s surface was an encompassing figure eight shape, though only bits of it showed between all the sundries. The sigil reminded her what the Shadow Realm once was, mirroring the branded scar on her neck.
The walls were cylindrical like most of the rooms in the Tower’s spires. This room was at the base of the Arch Wizard’s spire, the ceiling stretching up at least thirty feet and the floor
broad enough to comfortably accommodate fifty dinner guests. Stained glass windows depicting the Dragon and the Phoenix in frozen poses glowed brightly with the morning sun. On the floor before each window were potted Sand Buckeye plants with multiple bulbous heads lolling open, waiting for an unsuspecting insect or rodent meal.
Nyset was seated at the table with fingers flaring over the pages of a worn tome, quill and ink poised at its side. She glanced at her notes, reminding herself of everything she wanted to discuss at this meeting. She licked her lips and sipped from a heavy mug of elixir. She wore pure blue silks cut in ornamented angles around her torso. Over her shoulders was a deep blue cape, waist covered in a thin blood red sash. The murmur of her assembled guests reached her ears.
She pushed her chair back, the legs unintentionally squealing on the marbled floor, and rose with a nod. “Thank you all for heeding my call.” Conversations dwindled down as everyone looked at her. “I know getting here isn’t always easy, especially for those of you who must travel vast distances,” Nyset said, gesturing to Thalia Treeborn, seated across from her. “I wasn’t sure if you would come, Thalia.”
Thalia sat with her back rigid, wearing a headdress of a series of intertwining twigs, leaves, and feathers that gave her the silhouette of a cobra’s hood. Her long midnight hair fell down behind her shoulders. Over her eyes was a broad stripe of red going from temple to temple. Her lithe arms were wrapped in leathery cords from shoulder to wrist, bony spikes jutting out from between the windings, torso covered from neck to waist in blackened leather armor. On her hip was a wide sheath, blade curved and almost longer than her. She looked like a terror Nyset wouldn’t want to meet on a battlefield. She met her eyes with a hard nod, a deep brown with greens at the center. “There are many debts the Great Tree owes to The Shadow Slayer and his kin. Without his and Master Grimbald’s help, the Great Tree would have fallen to Alena and finally… the Shadow’s touch.” She shivered, peering down into her glass of water. “Our blades, arrows, and spears are yours to sling, Arch Wizard.”
Seated on either side of Thalia were two of her advisors, Vanya and Arl, Elders from the Great Tree. They both wore headdresses like Thalia’s, though smaller and more subdued in their colorings and ornamentation. Like her, they were armored and armed, though their bodies didn’t seem to have the vitality for fighting. Appearances could be deceptive. They nodded their approval at Thalia’s words.
“Thank you, Thalia, I appreciate you being here. Please know there is no unpaid debt in my ledger. Any debt you might’ve thought owed to the Tower had been more than paid the day you helped us reclaim it from Asebor.”
The Elders both smiled, creases rising to touch their dark wizened eyes.
“I can think of no reason more fit for the Tree Folk to fight than against the Shadow,” Thalia said, voice steeled and chin raised. Nyset nodded at her in understanding, brow furrowed.
Next along the table were Senka and Isa, her favorite killers. Nyset hated to take them from their well-earned rest, but duty demanded their presence. Isa stared into a mug of elixir, the steam wafting over his square chin. Senka furtively watched him over her mug, a slight smile resting on her lips. By the Dragon, she was in love. Was Isa? He was impossible to read, face a mask of chiseled stone. How had she missed it before? Nyset was glad for her. She deserved it. “Senka, Isa, thank you again for making time for this.”
Isa gravely nodded, gently setting his mug down. He wore a billowing dark cloak, beneath it studded leather armor and at least four visible weapons. She noted a hatchet, a hammer, a dagger, and a sword hanging from the chair’s back. She hated to admit that, deep down, there was something about this man that scared her. She didn’t like to be alone with him. It wasn’t his killing prowess, his grisly stare, or his battered weapons. There was some part of him that seemed to have gone missing after his return from Tigeria.
Senka postured up, broad smile raising her full cheeks. “Glad to be here, Mistress,” she said, meeting Nyset’s eyes and lighting her chest with warmth. She wished then that she only had pleasant tidings to share.
Farther down the arc of the table sat Juzo, his black leather boots propped up on the table’s edge, arms crossed behind his head. “Juzo. Must you?” She regarded him with a look of disgust, breaking into a laugh at his cheerful smile. His sharpened teeth gleamed in the firelight. She thought him handsome despite the bevy of scars canvasing his body. Despite his attractiveness, he could never be more than a brother to her.
“Must I… what?” he asked, blinking his lone scarlet eye at her, the other covered with an eyepatch embroidered with a huge cartoonish eye. “Thank you for attending, Juzo. We’ll have to catch up later. I like your eyepatch, make it yourself?”
“I did! Sounds good, Ny. I’ll make sure I schedule an appointment with Vesla,” Juzo said with a sly wink. Nyset didn’t have to look to know that Vesla standing behind her was likely rolling her eyes. He ran his hand through his gray shoulder-length hair, tucking it back behind his ears. He wore a long beige duster opened to show leather breeches and a loose fitting shirt. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his sternum, showing the majority of the bright white flesh of his chest.
Grimbald shifted his balance from hip to hip, standing behind Juzo, hulking arms crossed while eying a plate of honey cakes. His shoulders and torso shone with polished plate armor of the Silver Tower’s Armsman. Embossed in the center of his breastplate was the Tower’s insignia, a circular emblem of the Dragon and the Phoenix intertwined. Slung across his back was the great axe Corpsemaker, a weapon so large and menacing that he was one of the few capable of even wielding it.
“Grim, help yourself. Please don’t feel as if you have to stop eating on my account.” Nyset chuckled with a gesture at the honey cakes. He glanced up at her for a moment, cheeks reddening before reaching out and grabbing a golden cake. He shrugged and snatched another with his other hand.
Claw sipped from a mug of elixir, eyes leveled on her, patiently waiting. He already knew most of what she’d say as her closest confidant. He was like a father to her. He took care of Gaidal when she couldn’t. He trained her son in the Phoenix while she taught him the ways of the Dragon. Nyset could, of course, use both sides of the power, but the Dragon was where she excelled.
Nyset let out a long breath, pressing her lower lip with an index finger. “Where to begin? Right to the heart of it, I suppose,” she said with a resolute nod. “As you all probably know by now, Ashrath, the capitol of Tigeria, is lost.”
Thalia and her advisors exchanged a flurry of hand signals, a language she had yet to decode. Thalia craned her neck. “We heard this but believed not these tidings. You can confirm them so?”
“I’m afraid so, Thalia. I have agents in Tigeria now, and it wasn’t more than two months ago when two of my best returned from the realm.” Nyset gestured to Senka and Isa. “Perhaps Senka can tell us a bit of what she saw? You can hear it first hand.”
Senka blushed, cup half-raised to her mouth. “Me?” she squeaked.
Isa touched her elbow, Prodal’s dark forearm brand creeping out from under his sleeve. Senka turned to him wide-eyed. He cleared his throat. “We were in Tigeria, the capitol. By the Dragon’s luck, there was a flash flood, the only way we’d escaped. In the flood, we saw signs of the Shadow. Her snakes were there, likely biting and corrupting the denizens. We can’t say for sure the city had fallen, but given the other villages we saw in our… travels,” he growled the last word, his jaw flexing, “the Shadow Princess wastes no time, an all-consuming parasite on the lands. If you’re not sure whether or not to be worried… be worried.” Isa placed his hands on the table, both wound into tight fists.
“I can assure you the capitol has fallen under the Shadow’s control. The last communication I received from an agent noted he was fleeing by boat. Even the countryside is infested with Shadow snakes,” Nyset said, hands clasped at her waist.
“It’s no longer a question of if, but when the Shadow will once again tou
ch the shores of Zoria,” Juzo said with a scoff. “It never fucking ends.”
A pregnant silence. Nyset tongued her mouth, cheeks drained of saliva. A mistake she’d live to regret. Not again, not Gaidal.
“We do what we always do, Ny. We fight!” Grimbald’s deep voice boomed from the walls, hand closing to crush a honey cake between his fingers. “Damn it,” he groaned, reaching for a cloth.
Senka opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. “Something to add, Senka?” Nyset encouraged with a bob of her eyebrows.
“I think.” She bit her lip. “I… well, I thought of something I had forgotten. The prince, Greyson Rogard, when we returned from Tigeria, I saw something on his leg. Something troubling.”
A wave of heat traveled from Nyset’s neck down to her ankles. If she didn’t immediately sit, she thought she might faint. She took a seat, careful not to reveal her state.
“You did?” Isa leaned back, scanning her face.
“It might be nothing. Or maybe something,” Senka said quickly. “His leg, there was a wound.” She peered at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, and lips drawn to show her teeth. “It looked like a Shadow snake’s bite.”
“No.” Isa shook his head. “All the bitten we saw transformed in mere days. If he were bitten we would’ve known of it by now, Midgaard… would’ve been overrun.”
Grimbald’s face tightened, and he crossed his arms tight over his chest. “I don’t mean to be rude, Senka, but why have you waited until now to mention this? Didn’t you think this was important?”
Her cheeks flushed, her posture crumpling in her chair. “I had forgotten about it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Senka,” Nyset said, trying her best to keep the warble from her voice. “You went through a lot in Tigeria. We couldn’t expect you to remember everything, could we, Grim?”
Grimbald regarded her with a raised eyebrow, then glared at the wall with a sigh. “No, I apologize, Senka. Know you didn’t mean bad by it, but these are important details.”
The Shadow Age (The Age of Dawn Book 7) Page 13
