The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3)
Page 29
The tunnel groaned, dust shaking down from the roof into her hair, brushing it from her brow. She followed closely behind Juzo, her nostrils filled with a mix of blood and moldy earth. She couldn’t stop looking back, imagining that at any moment the Death Spawn would be on her, tearing her apart. She had to push the thoughts away, had to look forward. Had to hope Burtz’s idea worked.
She could occasionally hear the muffled steps of other survivors on a long stretch before another curve, thought she might have been able to see Grimbald carrying Walter. She saw the gleam of Corpsemaker on his back. The dull axehead was a comfort, to know he was still alive, still with Walt.
“Things will get better, we’ll figure out what to do,” Juzo said looking back at her, reading her thoughts. Maybe he was actually reading them, she didn’t much care at the moment.
Maybe when she was younger and still had her hopes intact she might have believed him. Things used to be easy. The world was a dark place when you walked through a grave. She kept her silence, meeting his eye was all the communication they needed. He forced a smile and trudged on.
White light was blinding in the distance, arms reaching down from it and pulling survivors up the bright hole. She couldn’t help but smile at that, the light of the sun was starting to feel like an old memory. Juzo vaulted from the ground, turning over at the top of the exit and offering his hands, flaking with dried blood. She gladly took them with one arm, shielding her eyes in the light with the other. Another door much like the one they had entered was flopped open, studded with grasses and tree saplings, roots slithering on the underside.
To the east was the Far Sea; the south the Tower. They were on the plains, scrubby and boiling with the mid-day heat. From the west came a cloud of dust, within it a group of horses flying the flag of Helm’s Reach. The insignia was visible even from here, a Phoenix dueling with a Dragon in brilliant blue and red.
Nyset fell to her knees, sagging over onto her hands with exhaustion. The Tower was engulfed in a cloud of gray smoke arcing towards the sea. The spires had lost all of their opulence, dotted with ugly holes. She and the voices of others gasped as a spire shifted, stones crumbling all around as if a child had just kicked its sandcastle.
“This cannot be,” said an armsman, slamming his sword into the ground and leaning on it.
Grimbald was beside Walter, wrapping cloth around the wound in his neck. She crawled over to them, resting a hand on his chest. She jerked her hand back like she had been bitten. He was cold as a stone. What would she tell his parents? She grimaced with pain, eyes wetting again, scoffing at the foolish thought.
“What—what do we do now?” she said, swallowing hard.
“We do what we do for all of the fallen,” Grimbald said softly, wiping the dirt off Walter’s forehead. He would be put in the ground, with the dead. But he couldn’t be dead, can’t be.
“Not here, though. In a proper place.” She had to be reasonable, how Walter always said.
“Of course.” Grimbald shifted towards the riders, drawing nearer with grim expressions and hands on weapons. In addition to her friends, there were three armsman, the child she saved, the apprentice Vesla, and two Falcon soldiers left standing, most with wounds in dire need of a surgeon’s knife. No one else had made it out alive it seemed.
What had she done to deserve such luck? The future would be hard, but she was glad to be alive, though the horizon dark. She felt anger welling, her resolve hardening. Someone had to build a new Tower. She would find new apprentices, gather a force to resist the Death Spawn. She would not die on her knees with demons roaming the lands.
Juzo moaned as he tore an arrow head from his arm, the skin flapping open and pulling together. His pain was an injected seed of doubt, shattering what she now saw as fragile thoughts. She had to be stronger, but Nyset wasn’t ready for this. She wondered what leaders ever were.
The sigil of Helm’s Reach flapped high in the air perched atop a long shaft of wood. The horses came to a stop, snorting and foaming. A stout man rode up, tiny eyes squinting down at her, his polished armor clinking together.
“The name’s Farly, you all from the Tower?”
“We are,” she said, croaking. Farly popped the cork on his water skin, handing it over to her. The cool water was soothing, muting the sting of the cracks in her throat.
“Thank you,” Nyset said. She wiped her mouth, smearing brown dust across her lips, and handed it to Grimbald.
“You the Arch Wizard?” Farly asked, pushing his armored fists into his hips.
She exchanged a glance with Juzo, who looked away, face wracked in pain. Grimbald nodded at her, confirming it.
“I am,” she said, standing up and offering her hand. “Nyset Camfield, Arch Wizard of the Silver Tower.”
* * *
Walter was laying when he opened his eyes with a hissing breath, the air icy in his lungs. The Silver Tower, Nyset, Asebor, his neck. The thoughts were a torrent, overflowing and impossible to process.
“Where am I? What’s wrong with the light?” His voice was swallowed by the emptiness. He was encircled by a white light dispelling the dark.
He felt at his neck. His fingers were met with surprise, the skin coarse and thick with scar tissue. His hands pressed on the ground, square cut cobbles lining the street, pushing himself onto his backside. It wasn’t a street at all, just these damn cobbles as far as the eye could see.
“What is this?” he whispered.
Something was moving in the black, tapping like hundreds of pincers on stone. His stomach dropped, heart slamming in his chest. Walter’s eyes bulged as a long face came into view. It had six eyes stacked in a vertical line; below it a mouth gaped open. The mouth had four scaled arms emerging from within and oozing out, each terminated with gleaming claws. He could see its legs now, hundreds of them attached to a massive body, bristling with long hair.
“Where am I?”
“You are in my plane now,” the monster drawled, its tongue flapping over its arms. “The Shadow Realm.”
* * *
To be continued in Book 4 of The Age of Dawn. Go here to be notified once it is released http://everetmartins.com/newsletter/
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Acknowledgments
First of all, I would like to thank you, reader. Without you I wouldn’t be writing. I truly appreciate every one of you. I would like to also thank my editor, Lynette Patterson, and my book cover illustrator and map creator, Promit. Thank you for all of your help.
About the Author
Everet Martins writes stories of the fantastic. His first foray into the published realm is Stormcaller - Book #1 of The Age of Dawn Series. It has the type of visceral action and fun he had always dreamed fantasy could be.
Living in New Hampshire, Everet finds inspiration for his books within his exciting life. He has always loved getting lost in role-playing games and novels. In his youth, he was notorious for being found with his face lost behind the cover of a book. Fascinated by the written word and always wanting to try putting pen to page, he started writing short stories, and eventually a novel.
As a young boy he was exposed to the rigors of martial arts and continued to practice them throughout his adult life, dabbling in various styles. The love for physical fitness morphed into other bodily challenges such as strength training and long distance running.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters , places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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