“What?” Juzo asked. “Why are you smiling at me like the village idiot?”
Grimbald’s roommate swept between them, closing the dormitory’s door carved with a lion’s face at the front, then strode with purpose down the hall.
“I hadn’t realized I was,” Walter said, starting to walk down the hallway. Simple arches stretched across the hall of the House of Arms, giving the ceiling support and functional beauty. Lofty windows strolled in processions along one side, a sharp breeze sweeping in and making the vivid paintings rustle. Beyond the windows a wide terrace seemed to hover in the air, overlooking the harbor. The sun was high and the world was full of vivid color. The blood had drained from the clouds and left it with a cool blue.
“How’s your training going so far?” Juzo asked.
Walter recounted the story of his ego getting the best of him as they walked, doing the opposite of what Baylan had suggested he do: blend in. They worked their way down a spiraling staircase, polished handrails on either side. Walter didn’t know where they were. There was still so much to explore. The place seemed to have an endless amount of spires, rooms, and vast spaces. The stairway emptied into an expansive chamber, a pair of students lounging on a plush leather couch.
One wall was covered with massive panels, painted by the most well-known artists of Zoria, highlighting the glorious battles of its history. The victories of generals Walter didn’t know, all preserved in swathes of color. The biggest painting of them all faced a door, eight arm’s lengths at least. Who else but Arch Wizard Bezda? She was seated upon a metallic throne, her glimmering staff held at her side, blue eyes piercing the viewer.
Walter strolled past the massive fireplace held up by carved figures of Death Spawn in obsidian, a reminder of their true enemies. The carvings had the level of detail that could only be produced by one who had seen them up close. The students got up, laughing and pushing each other as they bounced down an adjacent hallway. Walter led the way down a neighboring hall from the incredible room, cups carved in the likeness of various birds covered the walls.
“Sounds like you,” Juzo finally said. “You always had trouble with subtlety.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Walter stopped to peer down the four-way intersecting halls, iron torches forever burning with tongues of Dragon fire.
“Wow, what do you think all of this is?” Juzo said with wonder, striding down one of the paths.
The hallway was short, expanding into a squat room with trinkets behind glass panels, the first he had ever seen without a single bubble forever locked between the glass. They seemed to lack any logical order. There was a sword with the scales of a snake, a tiny dagger that could be hidden in the palm of your hand, a finger of an animal large enough to span Walters’ arm, and a poorly cut dark gem, were just a few of the hundreds of artifacts.
They were all clustered together and poorly organized. There were no guards around, so they must have not been that important. Something pulled at the corner of Walter’s eye and Juzo’s eye glowed with a faint blue, reflecting off the glass and giving the room a dim glow.
“What are you doing?” Walter whispered, getting the feeling they shouldn’t be in here.
“Relax. Just checking things out. I can see magically enhanced objects, things imbued with unique forms of the god’s powers. Remember?”
“You can? How did you learn to do that?”
“You need to pay closer attention,” Juzo said, chuckling softly. “It’s one of the things that bastard Terar taught me to do… with my abilities,” he said, rubbing at the glass and narrowing his eye.
“Right,” Walter said nodding. “What do you see?”
“Not much. Most of these seem weak—” Juzo stopped, shielding his eyes. “Except this one,” he said as if in pain.
“Are you okay?”
“The more powerful the object, the brighter they glow. This one is like looking into the sun,” Juzo said, his eye fading with the bluish glow and reverting to its menacing red.
Walter walked up beside him, his face pressed against the glass. “Which one?”
“That,” Juzo said, tapping the glass, pointing at a porcelain white crane about the size of Walter’s thumbnail, nestled between other figurines.
“Shit. Where have I seen something like that before?” He could see a slice of the memory, like looking at it through a narrow tube. There was a dark hand holding it, the hand attached to a body with a multitude of black daggers. The Black Guard in Midgaard. He remembered now.
“It’s an invocation detector,” he whispered.
“What’s that?” Juzo asked, his head turning towards him, pushing a gray strand behind his ear.
“It glows when someone close by is using the Dragon or the Phoenix powers.” Walter walked back into the intersection, straining his ears and peering into the flickering shadows. It was quiet and empty. A laugh echoed from the distance, almost imperceptible. One can never be too cautious, especially if you’re a man who can touch the Dragon.
“What are you doing?” Juzo asked, his fingers caressing Blackout’s hilt.
“Making sure the walls don’t have ears.”
Juzo nodded and Walter opened his palm, allowing a tiny ball of fire to spring to life. The white figurine glowed with a brilliant red. Walter closed his palm, dissipating the fireball and the glow of the tiny crane followed.
“The Black Guard used one of these in Midgaard to detect when Malek was controlling the mind of the King,” he said, coughing on the dusty air.
“I see… sounds useful,” Juzo said.
“Very.” Walter nodded.
“Do you want it?”
“What do you mean?” Juzo wasn’t really thinking about robbing the Silver Tower, was he?
Blackout was out of its sheathe with a hiss. Walter involuntarily stepped back, self-preservation mechanisms taking over. Juzo made three cuts, forming a square large enough for his hand. Juzo glared up at him, a scowl touching his face. What did he expect? The last time he saw Blackout it seemed to be swallowing the spirit of a Death Spawn giant. And how did he get so damn good with the sword? After the last cut, his other hand snapped out, catching the square of glass as it dropped out from the rest.
“Wait—” Walter said far too late. “We don’t know if it’s warded or protected somehow. It must be, right?” Walter focused his attention to the hall, waiting for the ominous sound of Milvorian steel pounding on the stones.
“No. It’s not. I can see the inscriptions of wards too, remember?” Juzo said calmly, a smile tugging at his lips as he gingerly set the square of glass down.
“Shit,” Walter breathed. “Now we’re going to steal from the most powerful group in the realm?”
“Men have done much worse throughout history to protect themselves. You’re not just any person, Walter. You’re the fucking dual wielder. You need to stay alive,” Juzo whispered, reaching his hand through and picking up the crane.
He handed it to Walter, who received it in cupped palms, stuffing it into his pocket. Juzo’s reasoning made sense. What was a little theft if the world was torn asunder? The thought drew a sick smile from his lips.
“Something funny?”
“No,” Walter shook his head. “You’re right,” he shrugged.
“Melt the glass back together, no one will know we were even here,” Juzo suggested, sheathing Blackout. Something skittered in the shadows. Juzo whipped his head towards it. “Just a rat,” he said.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Walter muttered, looking from the empty square of glass and back over his shoulder.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Juzo said.
Walter used his arm to direct Juzo away from the glass and he complied, taking a step back. The square shard levitated into the air, wobbling as it rose in front of Walter’s face.
“Nice!” Juzo whispered.
Walter ignored his voice, blocking out anything that didn’t involve placing that piece of glass in its pe
rfectly cut spot. When he first tried to set it, the corners were askew, clipping and chiming on the long edges.
“Almost got it,” he said, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his jaw. It finally slid in with a soft hiss. Now to bond it with just a bit of Dragon fire. Walter bit the insides of his cheeks, concentrating on the sprig of fire extending from his fingertip. His throat felt dry as a bone, pleading for an itch.
He drew a thin line of flame along one side, melting the glass together. It looked good, clean even. He breathed deeply, still embracing the calm of the Phoenix to levitate the glass section, while managing the swirling chaos of the Dragon to melt the glass. He cleared his throat, sealing the bond across the top.
He started working on the last side when a fit of coughing started assaulting his throat. He lost control of the Phoenix and the Dragon surged with fury, flames leaping from his finger in a cone of molten red, blinding him with its brilliance. He fell onto his back, releasing his hold on the Dragon, gasping and coughing. A yawning hole had been melted through the center of the window, big enough for Grimbald to crawl through, glass dribbling along the edges and onto the floor. The artifacts behind it were burned to ashes, streaks of char fanning out from the blackened hole.
Walter laughed mid-cough, “Well, that was unexpected.”
“That’s not good. Let’s get going, we really don’t want to be found here,” Juzo said, hooking him under his shoulder and dragging him to his feet. Walter stumbled from the force of Juzo’s strength, fumbling back the way they came. They passed a few students, none that could possibly know Walter could use Dragon fire though, right?
They dropped themselves onto the leather couch in the expansive lounge they had passed through earlier, Bezda’s knowing eyes staring down at him from the immense painting. Walter threw his head back on the couch with a breath of relief, staring up at the ceiling and seeing a horde of demons carved in the domed ceiling. They were frozen in time, crawling down from the center, horns, teeth, and claws all reaching towards him, wanting to tear him limb from limb. Their black eyes were goading him to make another transgression against the Tower.
“Think anyone saw us?” he asked, looking at Juzo who was also studying the carvings above.
“Nah, don’t worry. We’re fine,” Juzo said, craning his head over his shoulder.
Walter scratched his jaw. “They’re going to think it was one of the women,” Walter said, lowering his voice as a pair of male students walked by arm in arm, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. One of them smiled at Walter and he felt his cheeks burning. He had read about same-sex couples, but this was his first time seeing one in person.
“Wait—were those both men walking so close like that?” Juzo asked quietly.
“You really should have paid more attention in school.” Walter grinned. “It’s quite common for men and women on this side of the realm to get together, as it were.”
Juzo’s fist thumped into his arm. “Dragons! Things are different here, that’s for sure. What’s the point though?”
“Love, lust, they have no bounds I’d say.” Walter shrugged.
“Aye,” he nodded, watching the blue robed couple turn down a hall, light shimmering around the archway’s frame. “What did you mean when you said they’re going to think it was a girl?”
“Only women are supposed to be able to control fire, the Dragon.”
“Ah—yes. That’s right. They’ll never know it was us then,” Juzo said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.
“I hope so. Here, you should take this,” Walter said, opening his closed fist in Juzo’s hands, dropping the tiny crane into it. “It’ll be glowing non-stop in my classes. Not the best way to hide the thing and I sure can’t keep it in my room.”
“Alright,” he said, dropping it into a small pouch on his sword belt. It was good to be like this with Juzo again, having a somewhat normal conversation, causing mischief. He had to cherish the moment though, for it might not last too long given the state of things these days.
“Why do you still have your hair?” Walter asked, rubbing at his stubbly head.
“They don’t make Arms apprentices follow that stupid practice,” Juzo said, stretching his arms out overhead.
“I’m in the wrong House,” Walter scoffed.
“Can you switch Houses?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Baylan said there’s a lot for me to learn in the House of the Phoenix, anyway.”
Juzo nodded. The dying flames sputtered in the grand fireplace, in sore need of more wood. Walter’s eyes were drawn to the handle of Blackout. It was about time to do something about that. That damn sword had caused them far too many problems.
“Juzo, that sword,” Walter said, shaking his head.
“What about Blackout?” Juzo asked, his hand protectively covering its handle.
“We have to do something about it. It’s been nothing but trouble for us and you know it.”
Juzo’s shifted on the couch, his back stiffening and a scowl spreading across his face. “If you want me to give up Blackout, then you give up Stormcaller.”
“I don’t want you to give it up… I talked to Baylan. There are healers here who can remove its curse.”
“It’s not cursed!” he snapped, his hand tightening around the hilt.
“Juzo.” Walter said flatly and blew out his cheeks. “I’ve heard you talking to it, okay? Stormcaller doesn’t talk to me.”
“No, no. Why does that matter? It’s fine,” Juzo said, standing to his feet, running his tongue across his bladed teeth.
“What did Terar call you when he opened the portal, taking you in the Shiv Fang tunnels?” A cool gust swept through the chamber, twitching Bezda’s portrait, and causing the torches to sputter on the walls. The torches were shrouded in colored glass spheres, staining the walls in blue, yellow, and green, casting the hue of nightmares upon the stone.
“He—he called me the bearer of Blackout,” he said with a sigh.
“You have to be reasonable, Juzo. You’ll be able to keep the sword, we just need to break its curse.” Walter didn’t know for sure if that was the case, but he knew what had to be done. It may very well be obliterated like the Cerumal armor, but that was a chance they had to take. Juzo was changing in other ways, growing dark and brooding, like he had under the armor’s influence. Part of it could be from his horrific experience with Terar. Walter suspected the soul eating sword might have a part of it too. “Please, Juzo. Trust me,” Walter implored.
“Okay Walter. I trust you. You came back for me… I won’t forget it.” He nodded sharply, seeming to force his hand from Blackout. Juzo wasn’t one to show much in the way of emotion, but he thought he saw a little damp in his eye.
“We’ll go to the healers tomorrow. As exhausted as I am, Baylan wants me review Phoenix shields with him tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
The Killer
“The secret to a productive life was to act more and think less.” -The Diaries of Baylan Spear
The moon burned with the white of a flag of surrender, dimly illuminating the empty practice yard. The great trees leaning over the parapet surrounding the grounds of the House of Arms cast dancing shadows along the cool sand. An owl hooted in the surrounding forest and the leaves rustled with the cold wind.
The Silver Tower was a menacing vision in the evening, a bright beacon of light tearing a path in the dark sky from the tallest spire. Blue light pulsed like veins up and down the tower, glowing like the light of hope in land swashed in fear. It seemed to hum with power when he was close to it, like it was where the heart of the god’s essences lay, waiting to be unleashed.
Walter’s toes dug into the sand and his hands wound into fists, cool air tunneling through his nostrils. Baylan stood ten paces away, a sharp rock hovering in the air beside his bald head. His face looked like a corpse, deep shadows lining the hollow of his cheeks and painting his eye sockets black. The lack of hair didn’t give him a very friendly a
ppearance, more like that of an old mercenary or soldier that had tasted too much drink.
Baylan thrust his stump at him and along with it came the rock, a blur in the dark, headed straight for his skull. Walter squinted, preparing for the explosion of light that tore through the dark, illuminating the walls with the blue glow of the Phoenix. The rock bounced harmlessly to the ground on the other side of the translucent shield. He let the shield go with a breath.
“Not bad, but you’re thinking too much. This power is like blinking a new eye. You’re thinking about the eye and then blinking. Just blink. The second of difference could mean the difference between life and death if that were a blade,” Baylan said, crossing his arms over his hollow chest.
Just like blinking a new eye, as if that were a thing that happened on occasion. Baylan surely knew more about this than he did. It had to make sense eventually, right? Walter had managed to conjure a Phoenix shield before in a pinch, but it was a tremendous effort. Baylan said it had to become as natural as breathing. The Dragon came naturally to him. It was always there, bubbling at the surface of his mind, seeking a way to relieve its incredible force.
“Ready?” Baylan said with a nod.
Something bit hard into his gut, causing him to double over, his eyes watering, seeing the same damn rock rolling across the sand. “I wasn’t ready,” he said through gritted teeth, pain coursing up into his back.
“You think the Death Spawn will wait until you’re ready then?” Baylan said, starting to pace around him. “What about The Wretched? Asebor?”
“Why even ask—” Walter cut off as the rock lurched from the ground, catching him under the chin, smashing his head back. Spittle flew from his mouth and whitish-blue light sprung from the wound under his neck, stitching the skin back together. He stumbled back a few steps, catching himself before falling over, smearing blood onto the back of his hand.
The rock hissed through the air again and he snapped his arm out, stopping it mid-flight. “Not again,” he whispered. Baylan stood in front of him, eyebrows drawing down. The rock exploded, fragments whispering pain, cutting and shredding his cheeks, forehead, and lips. Walter fell onto his back, red streaks dribbling down his face, light erupting from the wounds.
The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) Page 15
