“Me too. I need to get to practice,” Nyset said, getting up and gathering a bag brimming with books.
Walter walked with Nyset, following her down the stairs from the healer’s spire and exiting onto the great parapet overlooking the Tower’s bridge. The bridge wound like a sea snake over the crystalline water from the falls, glistening like emeralds. There was enough room for four people to walk beside each other, wider than some of the makeshift streets in Breden.
Walter stopped near the end of the wall, wedging his boot up on the battlements beside Nyset. He peered out over the water, using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. A pair of dark skinned guards walked past, frowning at him. The points at the end of their spears looked sharp enough to get through heavy armor.
“The armsmen take their work awfully seriously,” Walter said once they were out of earshot.
“Protecting the Tower is serious work,” she said.
“I suppose, but they could lighten up a little.”
She bobbed an eyebrow at him, then stared off into the distance. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the view was so nice, he thought it better left alone. Things seemed to go better for him when he stayed quiet when he wanted to speak.
Nyset stood still on the wall, framed in by the bright sky. She drew the Breden short sword on her hip, hefting it in her hand, face impassive. It didn’t seem to leave her side lately, which was odd for her, as she didn’t seem to care much for blades. She held the blade by her side, sinewy arm making a line, perfectly straight from shoulder to point. The steel was mirror bright, tendons taught on her forearm, the back of her neck beading with sweat.
“Have you been training the sword? Your grip looks good,” he said with an approving nod.
“I have. Apprentice women are taught the sword in the House of the Dragon. Have they been teaching you weapons?” she asked, giving it a twirl, then dropping it with a ding.
One of the guards whirled around near the end of the wall, his spear leveled. “Damn apprentices,” he said loud enough for them to hear.
She knelt before he could help her, snatching the sword from the ground and sheathing it. “Like I said, I’m still learning,” she said with a shrug and a half-smile, her cheeks reddening.
“We all need to start somewhere, I would suggest you train the lash, but I’m biased.”
“Didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
Thunder roared from the sea and a wall of gray clouds were sweeping inland. Walter’s grin slipped away as the gray veil started pulling over the Tower. The wind came next, blowing cool sea air through their clothes.
“I love it when it rains,” Nyset said, clasping her hands.
Walter grunted, already missing the sun. A stroke of distant lightning illuminated the now wet village roofs. A few minutes later, a bolt crackled in the gloom and dulled as it spanned across the distant villages and over the parapet.
“Don’t you have practice?”
“Dragons, I do. You’re a distraction,” she said, winking at him.
Rain started pelting the wall with drops the size of eggs. She laughed as they ran into the other spire, trails of water streaming from their faces.
They made their way to the House of the Dragon, looking much like the House of the Phoenix from the outside. Its entryway was supposedly warded such that only those that could use the Dragon could enter. Walter was tempted to test it to see what would happen, but thought better of it.
“Best of luck with the Arch Wizard,” she said, grabbing his shoulders and kissing his cheek. She pushed herself off him, her warmth lingering as she strode through the archway, gilded with a waving red Dragon. He watched her walk away, eyes transfixed on her swaying hips. She looked back before turning down a corridor, smiled and waved before slipping away, a bag dangling from her arm.
* * *
Naturally, the Arch Wizard’s office was at the tallest spire with the most stairs conceivable. She must have not liked having visitors, not that a few stairs would deter Walter. Bezda’s room was large by any standard, not nearly as big as King Ezra’s throne room, but about the size of Master Grozul’s classroom.
She had fine taste. Bright silken pillows in blues and greens sat on couches of the most bizarre sort surrounding the perimeter of the room. In the center was a spotless desk, legs carved like swirling Dragons, where Bezda continued writing after waving him in. A bust of a man Walter didn’t recognize scowled from a shelf above the fireplace, fat embers burning bright. Behind the shelf was a massive mirror, beautifully crafted without a single bubble, trimmed in red glass. Two magnificent vases loomed over her desk, filled with exotic flowers with purple, white, and orange petals. They didn’t seem to be the flesh eating type. Along the walls were evenly spaced canvases, finely detailed works of the heroes of the past in gilded frames. He was surprised she didn’t have any paintings of herself, though there had to be one somewhere.
“This had better be important. I have a lot to finish today.”
Walter turned to her, meeting a different set of eyes than he’d seen before. These eyes were distant, red with exhaustion. How does one broach the subject of demons at your door? How about an artifact that renders the most powerful woman in the world weak as lamb in the butcher’s hands? Walter rubbed the bridge of his nose and shifted his weight, floorboard creaking underfoot. Her forehead wrinkled up as she waited for him to say something.
“Uh—I was visited by a spirit last night, the spirit of a man that I gave a proper burial too after being murdered by Death Spawn,” he said quietly. The story sounded more and more preposterous as it left his lips.
“A spirit? And what did it tell you?” she asked, tilting her head, her short yellow hair creeping across her cheek.
She believed him and Walter felt this was starting off better than he’d anticipated. She started tapping her quill on the other hand. It was best to get to the meat of it then, no sense in dancing about what needed saying. “It told me that the Death Spawn come, a great mass of them specifically. I’m not sure entirely what that means.”
“It would be only suicide for them to strike here.”
“That was what Bay—my mentor said. It seems to make sense to me as well. I was just up on the main parapet. With the bridge being the only way in, I can’t see how the place could be breached.”
“The Death Spawn are innovative, according to the Age of Dawn, their tactics can be as unpredictable as one who can use both the god’s essences.”
Had he given himself away? She was looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought perhaps. He realized Stormcaller was exposed, glinting bright and catching a stray beam making its way through the sheet of clouds. She would know what it was. He rolled the sleeve of his tunic down as inconspicuously as he could manage.
“Thank you for bringing me this news. We can never be too cautious during these black times. I will bring it to the council,” she said, her eyes tight. This wasn’t the sultry temptress he had encountered on the Tower grounds before. This was the leader, decisive and forceful. Her body was the same; that was certain, round in all the right places.
“What news does the apprentice bring?” a sharp voice snapped from behind. The treacherous voice that had already come to grate on his ears. Tamia stood in the doorway, wide enough for a cart, white arm stretched out overhead along the gilt frame. Her timing was impeccable.
“Walter,” the Arch Wizard emphasized the word, then ran her tongue along the front of her teeth and making a sucking sound. “Brings a warning from the Shadow Realm.”
“Is that so?” Tamia said, striding from the door and around to the side of Bezda’s desk. Her scowl seemed to grow with disdain, shadowy lines forming around her narrow mouth. What had he done to earn this woman’s contempt?
“Yes. He believes he was given a warning about the Tower’s future, from a spirit,” she added, looking at Tamia. She sauntered around to Bezda’s side, her black dress hissing on the floor, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. It
was starting to look to Walter that Tamia was assisting the Arch Wizard in other ways than just with the goings on in the Silver Tower. They both regarded him with flat expressions, looking for a chink in his story. He forced his arms to be still by his side, though they were pleading to tug at the bottom of his shirt.
“What sort of warning?” Tamia asked. A humid breeze came through, fluttering strands of charcoal colored hair around her pale neck. The shutters beat against the window, rain trickling through their slits and down the wall.
“That—uh,” Why was it so much harder to say to her? He felt like he was a child having to admit a wrong-doing to his mother after lying to maintain his innocence for far too long.
“Out with it, boy,” she said with a swing of her arm, the wide sleeve curling in the air.
“It said that the Death Spawn will attack here,” he said, voice hard as iron.
“Nonsense. A ridiculous notion!” Tamia laughed, though not with a shred of humor.
“There’s something else,” Walter said, fingering the flat sides of the Equalizer crystal in his pocket.
“Yes?” Bezda said, leaning onto her elbows, chest bent over her desk. Walter’s eyes drifted down to the furrow between her breasts. She was too old, much too old for him. And then there was Nyset. He loved her, didn’t he? There wasn’t any harm in looking, he rationalized. He saw Tamia smirking out of the center of his focus and averted his eyes to the floor.
“I came across this,” he said pulling the glowing crystal out of his pocket. Tamia’s smirk dropped like it had been slapped off, replaced with her fingers pressing into her parted lips.
“Where did you get that?” Tamia snapped, her chin tilting up.
“What is it?” The Arch Wizard asked, grimacing at him. Tamia shuffled towards him, her bony fingers outstretched and pointing.
“A very dangerous artifact. Give it to me,” Tamia said, palm expectantly open, silver rings reflecting torchlight.
Walter dropped it in her hand, as if he had any other choice. She walked over to a shelf behind Bezda’s desk and placed it in a simple box. He could feel its affect waning, the Dragon and the Phoenix once again within his grasp. The box must have disabled the effect of the Equalizer.
“When we were traveling, we came upon one of the beasts. We killed it, and I found this on it,” he lied, hopefully convincingly.
Something glowed out of the corner of his eye, somewhere above. He lifted his head to find the source and the glow seemed to follow its motion. His scalp prickled like there was a Rot Fly biting it. He waved at it, hand passing through unexpected warmth.
“What’s happening?” Bezda asked, frowning and scratching her head. Her eyes drooped, staring at something behind Walter.
“What are you…?” Walter trailed off, forgetting what he was going to say.
Walter saw an encompassing, ethereal creature on Bezda’s head, inserting its legs and pincers through her skull. It was something he had seen before. There was a man he knew, an older man, who knew what the white insect was called. Now he found himself unable to remember the name or what it did. It was in his head somewhere, like trying to fish a dropped mark out of a foot of mud at the bottom of a river. Why was he here? Who were these women?
“This is a strange place,” he murmured, twirling around with his mouth hanging stupidly open.
“I like this chair,” Bezda said as if in a dream.
The face of Tamia bobbed in front of him, twisting with scorn, eyes glowing with violet. “You lost the artifact crystal on your way here. You did not come here, in fact. You decided to find a quiet place to take a nap. If anyone asks you, tell them it is none of their business what you do with your time. This business with the spirit was probably nothing to worry about.”
“Now,” she smiled broadly, and Walter smiled back, mind useless as polished armor. “Leave here and do not turn back until you’ve reached your quarters.”
Walter blinked, feeling very tired. “I think I’ll come back later… I’m going to my quarters now, need some rest,” he said, pushing through her banded door, strangely forgetting why he had even come here. It must have not been that important.
Chapter Seventeen
The First Day
“All flames beget a spark. A snowball becomes an avalanche, a breeze a tidal-wave.” -The Diaries of Baylan Spear
Walter found himself returning to the parapet after class the following day, enjoying the hour before his training started with Baylan. The view was gorgeous and the sound of the fresh water dumping into the sea was soothing. He stood in his usual spot, boot planted between the battlements and leaning on his knee, staring off. He found it surprising other students didn’t take advantage of the space. The guards didn’t seem to mind his being up there. He even knew some of their names now.
Boots scuffed on the stone and he turned expecting Nyset, finding the lumbering form of Grimbald sauntering over to him. He was a changed man, dressed in a fitted uniform of the Falcon, silver Captain’s bar glittering beside his neck. He carried himself differently, spine erect, eyes leveled and no longer looking at the ground.
“Thought I saw you up there,” he said, clapping Walter on the shoulder.
Walter groaned under the man’s incredible strength. “How are you, friend? It’s been a while. Too busy for the common people now, are you?”
“Didn’t think dual-wielders were common.”
“You know what I meant.”
“For only being here for what? Two weeks?” Grimbald asked, counting on his meaty fingers. “It’s been challenging. Much more difficult than managing the tavern. I haven’t forgotten you, but two-hundred and ninety-eight men is a lot of people to wrap your head around.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Hopefully, you haven’t had to give anyone a ‘haircut’ with Corpsemaker yet,” Walter said, nudging him. Walter squinted into the distance and felt his stomach twisting at the strange sight.
“I don’t know how I do it—something wrong, Walt?” Grimbald said, shielding his eyes and peering out.
“I’m not sure. Do you see that odd mirage in the distance, on the hills overlooking the village?”
“A trick of the light, maybe?” Grimbald suggested, tucking his thumbs into a wide leather belt.
“Yeah, you might be right,” Walter said, frowning at the dark line on the horizon.
Footfalls echoed down the stairs from the spire to his right, familiar voices in spirited conversation. Nyset laughed as she stumbled through the door, dodging Baylan’s attempt at ruffling her hair. Juzo followed through the archway after them, grinning.
“Well look at this, the whole crew together for once!” Walter laughed, leaning into a deep lunge on the battlements.
“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” Nyset said, hugging him from behind, then sliding over beside him, her back against the wall.
“I knew I could find you up here,” Baylan said, yawning and stretching his arms out overhead. “We should go and break bread together. It seems like it’s been years since at least one of us wasn’t occupied.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Grimbald said, straightening his belt.
“You look quite regal Grim, almost like a regular commander,” Juzo said, giving him a soft elbow.
Grimbald nodded, thick eyebrows knitting. “Almost,” he said briskly.
“Hey, relax Grim! I’m serious. You do look the part,” Juzo said, the same goofy smile Walter remembered growing up, now twisted with those teeth he still couldn’t get used to.
“Walter,” Baylan said, coming up on his other side, eyes hooded with sleeplessness. “What happened last night, with the Arch Wizard?” he said quietly. The other’s pulled in closer, Grimbald crossing his arms, Nyset tapping her fingers on her lips, Juzo glancing over his shoulder.
“Huh? Oh—right. Unfortunately I dropped the Equalizer on my way there, lost it.”
“You lost it?” Nyset said, craning her neck towards him.
“I—I think
so,” he said. The thought was fuzzy. He couldn’t remember where he’d lost it, but knew he had, like an old childhood memory, long tucked away.
Baylan sighed, lowering his head, scratching his eyebrow. “How did she take to your warning from the spirit?”
“Equalizer? Spirit?” Grimbald asked. Walter quickly told Grimbald what happened and filled in the gaps for Juzo.
“I was on my way there and I instead decided to find a quiet place and take a nap,” the words came out mechanically, as if they weren’t his. “It was probably nothing to worry about.”
“Okay…” Baylan said, eyes scanning his face with concern.
“What?” Walter asked.
“Are you feeling alright, Walter?”
“Sure. Why? Just a little tired from all the training. Ah—maybe I need a break.”
“That may be prudent. Let’s take tonight off. Please get some sleep, will you?”
Walter kicked his heels together, snapping his bladed hand to his forehead, “Yes sir!” He broke out into a smile at Baylan and Grimbald’s frowns. He saw Nyset inching away from him, looking at him differently.
“What?” he said to her.
“You’re acting strange.” She squeezed a pouch full of herbs and started massaging it.
“Am I? Hm.”
Juzo was leaning between a set of battlements, hand curling around his eye like an eyeglass, jaw bulging with tension. “Look!” he pointed to the horizon towards the shadowy line, now swimming with shapes.
“What do you see?” Walter said, standing next to him and grabbing the wall.
“Death Spawn,” he said through gritted teeth, gust of air fluttering gray strands over his head.
Walter’s heart skipped a beat, hammering in his chest at the words. He had sincerely hoped it was a mirage and what the spirit warned him about was indeed nothing to worry about. Oh how wrong he was. He stared out, shadow stretching wider as more humanoid forms crested the hills. Walter’s fingers felt sore, straining against the bricks. He released his hands, giving them a shake. “They shouldn’t be here. It would only be suicide for them to attack, wouldn’t it?”
The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) Page 21
