The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3)

by Everet Martins

  “Down, of course,” Grimbald said, watching her with his thick brows furrowed and then bouncing back up.

  “How do you know it won’t launch into the air?”

  “Hm. I see your point. But it could go into the air if a wizard was using magics, right?”

  “I suppose,” Nyset agreed.

  “It’s just not natural, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Grim,” Walter said, smiling and showing some teeth. “Do you understand that your dislike of magic makes other’s feel how you feel when people are jealous of your size and strength, and tease you for it? It’s not something we asked for.”

  Grim’s light brown cheeks reddened around his bushy beard and he scratched it, unsure. “I see,” he said quietly and giving a quick nod.

  Walter met Juzo’s eye, which bobbed up at his gaze, mouth forming an amused smile. Juzo crossed his arms and pushed his coat back, flapping and waving with the refreshingly cool air.

  “Something to add?” Walter asked Juzo.

  “Just enjoying the walk.” Juzo had a contented smile touching his lips.

  Baylan led his gelding down the fork towards the Silver Tower and the other’s followed. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Baylan said over his shoulder.

  “Sure is,” Walter felt his stomach rumble. He wasn’t sure if that was hunger or mounting anxiety, likely a combination of the two. If what Baylan said was true, they would train as apprentices. He gathered that his life was about to change in ways he couldn’t imagine. He wondered if he would still have time to see Nyset. Of course, he’d find a way. He never liked going to school when he was young, but this was something he was looking forward too. Hopefully, it would be enough to prepare him for the challenges to come.

  They arrived at the endlessly stretching bridge before the Silver Tower, the most gorgeous construct Walter had ever laid eyes on. It wound in perfect curves, converging into a point before a gaping archway, not a single stone with crumbling mortar or sloppily placed. It was pleasing to the eyes. Order made life easier, more manageable, something he missed about his old life. Today, he had to embrace chaos and the ever-changing way of things. It was refreshing though. He craved adventure years ago and fate found a way of over-delivering that.

  The stone was a deep blue, great arches the size of the Blood Gates allowing the rushing waters from the Lich’s Falls to tunnel through below the bridge and out to the Far Sea. Nyset was rocking in her saddle, unable to contain her excitement while Grimbald eyed the bridge with suspicion as though it might crumble at any moment.

  Juzo scratched Marie’s flank, leisurely strolling beside them, the other hand resting on Blackout’s leather wrapped hilt. That sword, hopefully something can be done about that here too.

  “You must be excited about the potential of being rid of your blood curse,” Walter said.

  Juzo looked up at him, then out towards the shimmering Far Sea. “I’m not so sure I want to be rid of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Walter said, unsuccessfully masking the concern in his voice.

  “I mean—I don’t like what I have to do to get the benefits. But the benefits are nothing short of amazing. I wouldn’t have survived without them,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have been able to help you on the plains against the giant.”

  “A fair point. But you need to kill people to get the benefits, right?”

  “Not always…” Juzo rubbed at his mouth, pressing down on his teeth through his lips. “I drank the blood of a Reaper, a type of Death Spawn I think.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” Walter said, coughing on the sick that tried to push its way through his lips. He spat and a glob of yellow bile came with it, tarnishing the immaculate stone. Walter caught Grimbald’s face to his left, lips pulling down into a disgusted frown. Even Grimbald’s Blood Donkey bayed, taking a few clopping steps away from them, seeming to sense Walter’s feelings on the matter.

  “And you wonder why I keep to myself,” Juzo hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Sorry Juzo, that was just so… unexpected,” Walter managed to get out between coughs. “That’s a suitable solution then, I suppose. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of those bastards.”

  “Wait. Did I hear correctly?” Baylan said, carelessly pushing his horse between Walt and Juzo. “You can sustain your constitution via the blood of Death Spawn?”

  “Yes—”

  “Why, that’s marvelous!” Baylan said, his jaw hanging open. “A note for the histories, I must say, a true marvel for the ages.” He stopped his horse and fished out his notebook.

  Two women in bright red, Walter guessed a few years younger than himself, passed them as they edged closer, inspecting them and giggling. Their skin was a ghastly white, likely from the Great Retreat. Walter couldn’t help but feel his cheeks grow hot. He looked himself up and down. Were they laughing at him? Did he do something foolish?

  “Apprentices of the House of the Dragon,” Baylan said.

  “Do apprentices get free time?” Nyset asked.

  “Oh yes, most afternoons, though they’ll keep you busy.”

  “This is so amazing, I can’t believe we’re here,” she said, looking the Tower up and down.

  They passed other students, dressed in blues and reds signifying their houses. It was late afternoon and Walter guessed they were out for some fresh air and a dose of nature. There were other students too, dressed in gray and well-muscled, from the House of Arms, Baylan had said.

  Baylan pulled his hood up as they came upon a curving archway, inlaid with silver spirals under a great parapet, stretching at least thirty paces into the air and just as wide as the bridge. Men patrolled the wall above, walking with a determined pace. At either side of the arch were groups of four guards in armor made of a strange white metal, polished to a murderous sheen. Their eyes were hard and staring ahead. They held menacing spears tipped with waving blades as long as a sword.

  “Tower armsman,” Baylan whispered beside Walter. “Their armor is made of Milvorian steel and unbreakable. They’re like the Black Guard, but train twice as long before granted the armor.”

  “Can the armor be penetrated by Dragon fire?”

  “It resists Dragon fire quite well,” Baylan said, nodding. One of the nearest guards rolled his shoulders, looking Walter up and down with cold eyes, then set his gaze into the distance. Walter looked away, not wanting to confront the iron he felt in those eyes.

  The archway was dark and unadorned on the inside, a brief reprieve from the heat and a sharp contrast to the blinding light pouring in from the other side. They walked through it, clopping hooves echoing like an emperor’s tomb, and into a bustling square while the clouds parted overhead.

  “They’ve fortified the walls since last year,” Baylan muttered, peering up at the battlements looming behind them. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one trying to get in here.”

  “You think you’d have the guts to climb the siege ladder?” Juzo asked.

  “Hm. Allow me to clarify. I would not enjoy telling someone else to storm the Tower walls.”

  “You would want to lead the men and give the orders?”

  “I wouldn’t want to watch someone else give orders to get through these walls,” Baylan chuckled.

  “No, that would not be fun,” Walter said, leaning from his saddle and looking up at the sheer wall, the battlements menacing with sharp edges against the bright sky. “It’s almost as if the Tower was worried about someone trying to get in…”

  “The Silver Tower does have enemies,” Baylan breathed.

  “Only in Midgaard? The Purists?” Nyset asked.

  “That, and half of the realm.” Baylan frowned.

  The square reminded Walter of the Midgaard Market Quarters, though a much smaller, and much tamer version of that. Instead of screaming vendors and haggling men, it was a more civilized affair. People conducted transactions in cheerful tones, exchanging glittering marks for chickens, elixir beans,
tobacco, and healing herbs. There didn’t seem too much haggling at all, an expensive mistake. The group walked to the side of the archway, taking in the scene and getting out of the way of a heavily armored carriage. It was carrying marks, Walter guessed.

  It was a different world through the tunneling archway. The air was heavy with exotic scents from the bright flowers, edges lined with perfectly clipped grasses decorating the area. Hedges were tortured into incredible spirals and magnificent animals, some Walter had never laid eyes upon and hoped it keep it that way. A fountain threw up a glimmering spray of water in the middle, speckled with Silver Fish. Grim armsmen, with clenched fist in front of an image of the Silver Tower stitched into their tabards darkened the mood with black stares.

  “The locals come here to trade during the day, making living in the Tower quite convenient,” Baylan said. “There are many small villages to the south along the coast, much like Shipton.”

  “This I didn’t expect,” Grimbald said

  “What did you think? You would walk in and people would be sitting around chanting?”

  “Closer to the idea,” Grimbald said, tilting his head.

  Walter’s eyes were fixed on the Silver Tower ahead, his eyes squinting against the reflecting light. “Why is it so bright? I suppose this is why it’s named so?”

  “Indeed. The stone is a special variety, each block hand crafted with bits of crushed silver in the mix. It was once believed that it would repel demons and other evil forces, but most of that has long been disproved. A lot of wasted money and time if you ask me, though the Tower does like to keep an air of mystery and flagrant displays of wealth. Men fear what they don’t understand,” Baylan said with a sigh, eying Grimbald.

  Grimbald rolled his eyes at him.

  “You are a studious apprentice,” a cool voice said. Walter shifted his gaze from the glimmering spires to the stunning woman gliding towards them. He swallowed hard as he took in her form.

  Her eyes seemed to glow with a crystalline blue and white hair curled around her flawless skin. She wore an ornate robe, dark blue and accented with swirls of cream. It had a V-cut so deep that it opened at her chest down to her waist. Her breasts were so flimsily covered that a gust of wind might have revealed them. Walter was hoping that a gust would come any minute now. On her waist were scrolls and trinkets secured to a gemmed belt. Her legs shimmered with a tight black cloth and her knees were covered with gold plates formed in the shape of Dragon’s heads.

  “Thank you, Arch Wizard,” Baylan said, rolling from his horse and bowing low. Walter watched him, wondering if he should do the same, then looked back at the woman, his eyes trailing down the expanse between her breasts then back into her arctic eyes. She stared back and Walter slipped into her eyes, seeming to see through him, his mouthwatering with a strange blend of fear and lust.

  “Bow before your Arch Wizard,” another woman behind her hissed, one Walter hadn’t noticed until now. She wore a flowing robe, black as shadows, that started at her chest and opened to her stomach. It wrapped around her legs, opening again around her thighs. Her eyes glowed with scorn. Walter deftly dismounted Marie then prostrated himself like Baylan, looking to him for guidance.

  The Arch Wizard in blue said softly, “You may rise. Why are you not wearing your robes?”

  “They are new apprentices Mistress, just recruited from the far west,” Baylan said gesturing to the others, pulling his hood off and keeping his head down. Walter guessed it was to hide his face, but had the effect of conveying respect too.

  “Very good. Welcome to the Silver Tower. I am Bezda, the Arch Wizard of the Tower. This is my assistant, House Master Tamia of the House of the Dragon,” Bezda said, her eyes fixated on Walter.

  Walter looked away, doing his best to show deference and remembering the lessons he learned from Baylan with King Ezra.

  “Lift your face,” Tamia said, gliding towards Baylan. “You have a familiar appearance. How long have you been an apprentice?” She barked with annoyance.

  Shit. Did she know him? His fingers brushed the tails of the Dragon flitting in his mind. What would they do if she recognized Baylan? Maybe they should have done something else, give him some new scars, give him a different outfit. Walter’s world quickly shrank, the background noise fading out along with the glimmer of the Tower.

  “Not long my lady, just over six months now. I was sent west for the last three months by the Phoenix House Master, told not to return until I found recruits for all the houses,” Baylan said, sweat glistening around his neck, waiting for her to say something.

  She looked him over like he was horseflesh for sale. She slowly walked around Baylan taking deliberate steps, dark fabric rustling behind her, narrow chin jutting out. There was hardness to this one, likely the person who got the ugly things done, Walter thought. Her face was all sharp lines, thin lips, and hair as black as her robes, except for wisps of stark white extending down from behind her ears.

  Walter looked back to Bezda and watched as she licked her full lips and ran a small hand down her chest. His eyes widened and mouth parted as he met hers. He started to look away but his eyes were intractably pulled to hers, then to her hand tracing down her milky skin, to her waist then falling as it slid by her crotch, certainly purposefully going there. His eyes flitted up to her chest, drawn to her deep valley of cleavage like a bear to honey.

  He felt his body tingle and his heart pounded in his head as his groin filled with blood. He forced himself to re-discover the beautiful stone underfoot.

  “And did you succeed?” Tamia asked. Walter let out a heavy breath at the broken silence, feeling the pressure to look at Bezda slip away. He turned his head to Nyset, staring at Bezda through the corner of her eye, jaw flexing with tension. She would not be pleased at that, but he was a man after all.

  “Surely I would not have returned otherwise. These two are ripe for the Houses of the Dragon and the Phoenix respectively, and these two are perfect candidates to join the House of Arms,” Baylan said, motioning to Juzo and Grimbald. Grimbald shuffled nervously and his fingers twitched.

  “Hm. You are a curious one. Where are you from?” Tamia asked, now standing in front of Juzo, who stared at the ground.

  Juzo grinned at the stone then closed his lips, leveling his gaze upon her. Walter could almost hear the reply his friend wanted to say… “I’m from the pit of hell.” Thankfully, he went with, “Breden.”

  “Ah Breden. We heard the news of your village regarding the Death Spawn attack,” Bezda said, stepping towards Juzo. “I hope you’ve made a swift recovery.” There it was, out in the open and as it should be. At least the Arch Wizard was wise enough to know reality when she saw it, unlike that old fool King Ezra.

  Juzo snickered under his breath. “Recovery, if you could call—”

  Baylan cut him off. “The losses were grave, Mistress, and we deeply appreciate your condolences.”

  Walter watched as the tendons under Tamia’s neck flexed for an instant, tension traveling through her bony shoulders then down to her fingers and into tight fists. “Once we received word of the attack, we sent a small party to ensure the village’s safety, they should be there within the next couple days. Our resources have been stretched. Other villages have been attacked to the north and the far south.”

  Hopefully, these wizards are capable of providing a better defense than doubling the Breden guard had. He couldn’t imagine Breden bearing another attack from those Death Spawn bastards.

  “It seems the Falcon has finally sent another commander to lead the rabble in the barracks,” Bezda said, sizing up Grimbald. “The barracks is over there,” she slightly nodded her head to the left, as if that were clear enough direction through the busy market square.

  “Do either of you know what happened to the other commander?” Grimbald asked flatly.

  Tamia started and Bezda held her hand up to silence her. Tamia scoffed, her jaw ever tightening. “I keep out of the Falcon’s affairs. As much as we do l
ove having the Falcon here to defend us useless and defenseless wizards,” she said, her full lips broadening to a wide smile, apparently very amused at her little joke. “I don’t like dealing with Ezra’s tantrums though, so if there is anything you need you can come directly to me, commander.”

  “Thank you, uh—Mistress,” Grimbald stammered, bowing awkwardly. He peered off into the distance, a hand over his eyes to shield the sun, searching along the walls where Bezda had directed.

  “When is your open audience, Mistress? I have questions and ideas regarding how to fight these beasts,” Baylan said.

  “I must go, but why don’t you tell me what you have in mind now?” Bezda said, slipping a scroll from her waist. “There’s no need for all these formalities.”

  “But Mistress, surely we must go and the apprentices must wait until your open audience,” Tamia said with annoyance, staring daggers at Baylan.

  “Remember your place,” Bezda snapped, her silky smooth voice growing hard. It seems she does have teeth, Walter thought. “Go ahead, what is your name?”

  Baylan’s eyes shifted from side to side. “Zane,” he said with a quick breath.

  Bezda beckoned for him to speak, handing the scroll to Tamia who angrily fumbled a quill from a pouch.

  “Well,” Baylan hesitated, sounding even more unsure of himself than Walter had ever heard. “I believe that…”

  “We don’t have all day, out with it already,” Tamia said. A team of brown goats clanged bells as they walked behind the group, followed by a man whacking them with a switch.

  “My idea is that it might be beneficial for the realm if the Tower were to align and work together with Midgaard,”

  “A preposterous notion!” Tamia laughed with the nastiest dose of scorn she had delivered yet.

  Bezda paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “I will take it to my advisers. If things come to that, we may have to consider it. We don’t know where these beasts have come from, or what they want with us, but so far they’ve been only an annoyance.”

  “Innocent people, soldiers slaughtered and gutted? That’s just an annoyance to you?” The words tumbled out from Walter’s mouth in a flood he couldn’t control, wishing he could suck them back in, but there they were.