Walter’s eyes were glowing in shimmering oranges and reds. “What are you? What do you want?” This man looked like the others he had seen while traveling to Shipton and outside the forest behind the Hissing Gooseberry. He hadn’t seen them since the Cerumal armor had been removed. What were they? A spirit of some sort, he guessed. He had forgotten about them, along with other memories that had been dashed away with the Death Spawn armor’s removal.
“They come,” the spirit said, its voice was like being spoken into a bucket.
“I think I know you, spirit,” Walter said, recognition dawning from the vaguely familiar face. There was something about the cut over his eye that triggered it.
“You do,” the spirit replied.
“I remember now. You were Hassan’s messenger. Carlin, was it?”
Carlin nodded, and smiled broadly, cuts on his face yawning open. “The beasts caught me on my way to get help in Midgaard, had their fun with me.”
“Sorry—I…” Walter stammered, unsure of what to say.
“Can’t stay long. I’m here to pay my debt to you, for burying my body and allowing me to move onto the Shadow Realm.”
Walter scanned the practice yard, not a soul in sight to witness this madness.
“The dark ones come,” Carlin groaned, clutching his guts.
“What do you mean?”
“The ones without souls come to this place, in great numbers,” Carlin said, his voice a whisper in a gust of wind, his body shimmering away and fading like it was never there.
“Carlin?” Walter whispered, spinning around the empty grounds. Was he hallucinating? No. He had to tell someone. Baylan would know what to do.
He started digging a hole next to the figurine, sand easily parting. He dug until it was about as deep as his arm and placed the figurine in, then covered it up. He backed away, taking a mental image of where he had placed it, affirming the vision in his mind.
Walter carefully worked his way back to the House of the Phoenix, head on a swivel for patrolling guards. He reached the door to his room, fumbling the skeleton key into the lock and dropping it on the ground.
“Damn it,” he hissed. He was no better than the armsmen.
He closed the door behind him and turned the key, locking the door with a click. He leaned against the door, eyes aching and a muscle in his cheek twitching. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly beard and let out a long breath. If you could say one thing for Walter, his life never lacked in excitement.
His throat was dry, raw like he had swallowed glass. He downed the glass of water he left on his bedside table the night before, knocking a book onto the floor in the process. The water was stale, but wetness was all he needed. The book was a real bore, The Death Spawn Compendium by Nazli Tegen, something Nyset and Baylan would have liked. All he wanted to know was the best way of killing them, not their tolerance to pain and their food preferences.
The sun was starting to rise, blue shafts of light streaming through the seams on the shutters. Another sleepless night was about the last thing he needed. He pushed his breath out from gritted teeth.
“Walter?” Baylan muttered, stirring in his bed and squinting at him. “What are you doing? Get some sleep.”
“Baylan, wake up. I need to tell you something.”
Baylan rolled onto his side and onto the edge of the bed, sitting up, rubbing his eyes. The morning light cast the scars crisscrossing his face from the Black Wynch’s claws in menacing lines.
“I need to tell you something,” he repeated.
“Why do I suspect this news is not the pleasant type?”
“This may be hard to believe—or perhaps not. I spoke with a spirit about an hour ago.”
“Why am I not surprised? This is another talent that has long faded away, few wizards are gifted with the ability now,” Baylan murmured.
Walter shrugged helplessly. “I—” He paused, weighing the words about to come from his mouth. “I found an artifact and I was playing with it, seeing what it could do… and I think I figured out how to use it. I don’t think it’s some latent talent.”
“Go on, what did the spirit say?”
“It wasn’t a trick of my mind. I know what I saw,” he said, more for himself than for Baylan. “The spirit warned me, said that Death Spawn are coming, a lot of them.”
“We—you need to tell the Arch Wizard,” Baylan said. He shook his head, “I can’t go to her. Grozul already figured out who I am. I can’t have her or Tamia looking too closely at me, you understand.”
“Right,” Walter nodded, eyes drooping with the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. “I’ll go to her tomorrow. I don’t think I could put many more words together at this point.”
“Don’t worry, Walter. The Tower is very well fortified and we have the best defense in the realm. Between the wizards and armsmen, this place is impenetrable. It would only be suicide for Asebor to try launching an attack here. Let’s get some sleep now, eh?”
“Yeah,” Walter said quietly.
He gave his possessions a glance, the small closet door left ajar. His battered armor sat propped up against the inside of the closet like a mishmash of human limbs, dull, dented, and still speckled with brown blood from the Battle of Dressna. He would have to eventually give that a cleaning. A stack of five blue robes sat neatly folded on top of a shelf. Another shelf above it held a few books that soaked up most of the dust in the room. Beside those was the broken Breden long sword hilt that Hassan had given him. A few water skins hung from hooks, left empty and inverted to keep from harboring mold. There was a heavy cotton coat he picked up from the market earlier this week, as the wind was awfully bitter here at times. In a drawer, he had a few sets of small clothes and some disgusting herbs Nyset had given him to help with the exhaustion. Gross as they were, they did seem to help better than a cup of elixir had.
One of the great luxuries of being an apprentice was that the Tower servants did all of the laundry and cleaning so the students could focus on training. If only his parents could see him now, living like the damn King of Midgaard. They were employed from all over the realm, as many were as curious as he to discover what life was like in the Tower. He had noticed a certain lackluster look in the eyes of the servants as the novelty of being here wore off, likely realizing this was just a job, not unlike any other. The plague of all men, he reckoned.
He stripped off his sandy blue robe, leaving him in his small clothes and climbed into his bed on the opposite side of the dormitory. He drifted into sleep, the spirit’s words resonating over and over in his mind with the cadence of a beating drum.
“They come. They come. They come… ”
Chapter Sixteen
The Infection
“Darkness marches to us, before it fire and wind.” -The Diaries of Baylan Spear
Walter whistled tunelessly as he marched up the stairs in the healer’s spire, breath starting to puff from his lungs. He still wasn’t used to these damn robes, legs rubbing together and hood chaffing his neck. They weren’t made for men with a soldier’s body and really limited one’s ability to move normally. Maybe if he lost twenty pounds and just read books all day they’d be more comfortable.
He passed a window and a blast of cold air washed over his face, cooling his skin and drifting down his neck to his back. It was just what he needed to continue on before breaking a sweat. The sun was bright in the sky, not a cloud in sight. It was one of those days where he really just wanted to forget that he was one of the few living people capable of killing a demon god, and instead stretch out in the grass, staring up at the blue.
It was as if the world knew just what to do this morning to make his day better. The morning supper was better than usual, maybe they finally got rid of the last atrocious cook. The biscuits were cooked just right and the butter was so marvelously spreadable. The elixir not overcooked, burnt, or bitter. It was smooth with hints of vanilla, chocolate and cinnamon. He felt his stomach rumbling and mouth filling with saliva
. It was a long way from dinner, as his afternoon classes had just finished and he had some time before meeting Baylan in the yard. It was best not to think about food for the time being.
Why do people who think themselves important always live in the places with the most stairs? Perhaps they just enjoyed the exercise. Or maybe it was a way to keep lazy people away.
Soft footsteps came from above, scuffing against stone and echoing down the chamber. The conspiring whispers of women hissed from above, then grew even softer as they drew nearer.
He rounded a curve in the stairway, meeting the arctic blue eyes of Bezda. Seeing her here, so unexpectedly, gave him a start and all that came out of his mouth was an awkward grunt.
“Walter,” the Arch Wizard said smoothly, regarding him with a nod and a wry smile as she passed. Walter’s eyes unconsciously lingered on her round face, on her full lips, and then at her wide hips as she continued down the stairs.
Something interrupted his leering. Tamia’s hard eyes stared into his, her jaw tight and her mouth set in a firm scowl. He forced his head down, embarrassment filling his tanned face in shades of red.
“Something to say, apprentice?” she barked, emphasizing the last word.
He wanted to say ‘You should try having some fun once in a while’, but went with, “No, House Master.” He carried on, springing up the last of the stairs.
He reached the top of the stairway and entered the hall, the healer’s shield of bright silver emblazoned into the stone. Eight doors were lined up on either side with pleasing symmetry. He passed under a marble arch in the middle of the hall with the words charity, comfort, safety, inscribed in a flourishing gold script.
He made his way to the third door on the right and shouldered the door open. It banged against the wall with more force than he’d anticipated.
Nyset started, dropping the book in her lap. “Do you have to be such a brute?” she said, shaking her head. She sat propped up on a made bed, the heavy tome opened across her legs.
“Sorry, lighter than it looked,” Walter said, gently closing the door behind. “How are you feeling, Juzo?”
Juzo rolled over, lazily pulling the covers from his shoulders. “Much better now, thanks to you two,” he said, grinning and pushing himself upright. “I’ve had enough of being trapped here. But the healers say there is still work to be done. They say the curse of Blackout has left some sort of after affect that they’re still trying to figure out how to remove.”
Walter dropped onto the bed perpendicular to Nyset, flashing her a quick smile, which she returned behind her book. He placed his hand on his chin, reaching for the right words. “You don’t think—” he dropped his voice low, “that they figured out that other thing do you?”
“I don’t see how they could’ve. I’m uh—fasting, still. Though starting to get very hungry.” Juzo ran his narrow tongue over the front of his bladed teeth.
“Hm. Alright,” Walter said, not really sure what to do about that.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out,” Juzo said. Hopefully, that didn’t mean he would be sucking down the blood of an armsman or two. Walter blew out his cheeks, awkward silence filling the room. He looked at Nyset, who seemed to be sharing his thoughts based on her poorly suppressed wince.
“I’m not going to be killing anyone, okay?” Juzo said, reading them. Walter had to admit that he felt a pang of relief.
“You guys aren’t helping me by looking at me like I’m a fucking monster,” Juzo said flatly.
“Sorry Juzo, you’re right,” Walter said, nodding. He was tempted to say more, and bit his cheeks to prevent more words from coming out. It took him a long time to learn that less was more in situations like this.
“It’s okay—oh shit.” Juzo started digging in his pocket, “Walter! I forgot to tell you. Bezda and Tamia were just here and guess what I found warm and glowing in my pocket?” Juzo asked.
“Huh? Why were they here?”
“Just checking in,” Nyset said.
“Huh,” Walter said. He supposed that an apprentice’s cursed weapon killing a healer would warrant some higher level scrutiny. “The invocation detector went off, then?”
“Ssh,” Nyset hissed. “Not something we want the world knowing he has, right? There are always healers moving about these halls.” Nyset put the book down and wriggled up next to him, draping her arm across his shoulders.
“He told you about it?” Walter asked, meeting her eyes.
“Oh, yes. Glad to know you were the reason my room was upturned. Somehow I wasn’t very surprised,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. He was finding her touch distracting and making it much harder to keep his mind on the artifact. She knew just the right amount of pressure, not so much that it was painful and not so little that it was simply annoying.
“What were you talking about when you started to feel it getting warm?”
“Well,” Juzo began, looking up and pushing his white hand through his white hair. “I might have accidentally told her I was at the Battle of Dressna, and how Blackout helped me kill Death Spawn—”
“What!” Walter cut in, eyes wide, jaw going slack. “You told her we were there? That’s going to blow Baylan’s cover. If anyone knows that I was there, they’re going to know I’m the dual wielder. There are already reports coming in of me—”
“Relax,” Juzo said over him. “I didn’t say we, I said I was there, not you. I said you found me wounded, after the battle on your way here.”
“Are you trying to give me a heart rupture? I’m too young to die,” Walter snickered. “Okay, good,” Walter breathed, the mounting tension in his chest slipping away.
“At the mention of the battle and the Death Spawn, Bezda reacted as any leader would. She started to command Tamia to fortify the walls and told her to ready her soldiers, to stay on high alert. The crane started getting warm in my pocket, then she stopped, became numb and soft as a fucking cooked potato.”
“Not this again,” Walter said, walking over to one of the two windows, sticking his head out to get a breath of air.
Wide streets fanned out from the Tower bridge, dotted with houses constructed with cream colored stone, surrounded by green leafed trees. Windows glinted, statues of colored glass shone on the roofs of the more pompous buildings catching the high sun and gleaming like jewels. There were a few archer’s towers interspersed among them, each casting its own shadow across the village, but nothing like the massive wall before the Tower. If Death Spawn, Asebor, were to attack here, the dead would be piled high, much higher than the corpse wagons in Midgaard.
“You think Tamia is using a Mind Eater on Bezda?” Nyset surmised.
“Exactly. I have to warn Bezda, try to get to her when she’s alone. There’s also the issue with the Equalizers,” Walter said, drumming his fingers on the windowsill.
“I’m sure you would love to spend some time with her alone,” Nyset said, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Juzo groaned, standing to his feet and stretching his arms overhead. “I’ll give you two a little privacy. I could sure use some exercise right about now.”
“The healer said you should rest, Juzo,” Nyset snapped.
He raised an eyebrow at her, slipped on his shirt, and waved at Walter as he closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?” Walter said, his eyebrows knitting together. Was she really jealous of the Arch Wizard? Granted, she did seem to take an interest in him, but it didn’t matter if he didn’t act on it.
“Never mind, well—it’s just that I saw her looking at you—and she’s very pretty.”
He smiled at her, warmth tingling in his chest at her distress. He never would have guessed Nyset, the girl he’d always dreamed of being more than friends with was jealous of him. “Yeah—she is pretty, but she’s not you,” he grinned broadly, reaching his arm out and sliding his fingers under the back of her silky hair. She was a deadly warr
ior in battle, but felt gentle as flower petals in his hand.
He gently pulled on her head, guiding it to his, staring into her eyes, amber pools in the light. She yielded after a token resistance, pink lips parting, doe eyes growing wider, breath warm on his lips. His heart pounded like it was the first time he’d ever touched her, pores tingling open on his palms.
He closed his eyes, pressed his lips to hers, soft and full, her lilac scent engulfing his senses. He sucked on her upper lip as he pulled away, tugging and sliding his tongue under it. He could feel her lips pulling into a smile and found himself doing the same. He looked at her, her eyes still closed, long lashes caressing the tops of her cheeks.
He pulled her in again, pressed his cheek against hers. It was soft, warm, and smooth. He brushed his face down to her neck, nibbled on her ear lobe, tongue tracing a line down her neck.
Walter thought he heard the door creak open, but it sounded like a murky dream. “Excuse me,” a voice cut into his mounting ecstasy. “Where is my patient?”
“Uh—” was all Walter could manage, his hand falling from behind her head.
“He went for a walk. He’s doing much better now,” Nyset said, recovering much better than he, even smiling at the healer.
“I should be going,” Walter mumbled, standing up and jamming his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against the cold Equalizer crystal. It reminded him that was the other reason he needed to speak with the Arch Wizard. He didn’t have a lot of time to himself lately, and had to take advantage of it when he could.
“I think that is wise,” the narrow faced man said, his voice serene.
The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) Page 20
