by Jean Johnson
“Because I’m not looking for a wife, and most of the women I asked assumed this meant I was automatically going to propose to them afterward.” He had the grace to blush a little harder this time at such blunt words, blush and apologize. “I’m sorry if that implies I wouldn’t value any moments of intimacy we might share, but I am the Guardian of the Tower. I do not have the time for all the trappings of marriage . . . and the Tower is no place to raise a child. That’s why I’ve refused to date adventurers; the few times I tried, they assumed that I’d want to settle down, raise a family, and be someone, well, other than me.”
“That . . . wouldn’t be a concern with me,” Myal murmured, thinking of the tattoo encircling her navel, the one empowering all the rest. Impossible, even. Out loud, she said, “I can understand why you’d not want to be entangled in that way. As the Master of the Tower, your job is to keep adventurers out of the heart. It’d be a conflict of interest.”
“Mostly only if that adventurer were a fellow mage,” he amended, checking the Truth Stone more discreetly this time for darkness. Nothing stained the pristine marble. “A non-mage would not be much of a threat to the Tower’s control, and a dedicated, professional adventurer such as you even less so. I sorted out a list of women who have been here for at least a full year, and have shown every sign of wanting to stay here near-permanently—the kind of women whom the Adventuring Hall staff have already recommended as making potential future employees, when they’re ready to cease risking their lives in the gauntlets and settle down to help manage and maintain the Tower’s games.”
“Oh. I hadn’t considered joining the staff,” Myal admitted, thinking about it, “but I suppose I very well could. I certainly know more traps and tricks than anyone outside of Nafiel and maybe a dozen of the others. I’ve also offered suggestions on ways to improve or alter some of the gauntlets I’ve run . . . unless that’s . . . what’s the Aian word . . . hubris?”
“You see, that is something I could use,” Kerric told her, shifting to face her a little more. Their knees almost touched as he gestured. “Someone whose mind is on the Tower’s needs, and not on their own personal . . .” He stopped, abruptly realizing just how unflattering that sounded. Wincing, Kerric gave her a rueful smile. “I apologize, Mistress Myal,” he said. “I did not mean to trivialize anything we would share if you went with me into the Tower. I may not want to turn my life upside-down for a relationship . . . but I would cherish any time spent with you, and I would not take any lovemaking we did for granted.
“In fact, it would have to be above a trivial, grab-whoever-and-go-at-it liaison in order to break through the geas involved with the least chance of failure. Which brings me to my next Truth Stone question. Do you, ah, find me attractive enough for lovemaking?” he asked. Again, his lighter skin turned pink along his brow and cheeks.
It was her turn to blush. Her skin wasn’t as dark as that of those who lived along the southern coast of Aiar, so she knew he could see it. Gripping the Stone, she spoke bluntly, braving the truth as she braved far more deadly hazards in the Tower. “I do find you attractive, and I do hold you in high esteem. And if you find me equally attractive, I would not be . . . adverse to sharing lovemaking with you.”
Uncurling her fingers, she showed him the all-white disc. He nodded slowly. Biting her lip, Myal shrugged mentally and added more to her statement, once more holding the Stone.
“I’m not looking for anything permanent, either. I . . . like my life as it is.” That was safe enough to say truthfully, and a brief flick of her fingers showed it was indeed the truth. Honesty prompted her to add, “I’ve never really thought about working for the Tower or the Adventuring Hall, but I am flattered to be considered. As dangerous as it is, this is a . . . a fascinating thing you have here. The Tower is truly unique in the world. I am glad to be a part of it. If I can help you regain command of it, I’d be happy to help.”
Again, he checked the Truth Stone. Again, it was blemish-free. Kerric felt relieved. Myal the Mendhite was imposingly tall, exotically beautiful, and very competent. She had been fourth on his list of top five choices of women to approach, and fourth only because of the path he’d had to walk to get to each woman’s residence. Myal was one of his top ten favorite adventurers, for those times when he had a chance to sit down and watch the various gauntlets and games on his own private mirrors. Graceful, competent, gorgeous, courageous . . . Kerric hoped she was the right woman for his needs.
“Good . . . good.” Taking the Stone from her hand, he clasped it in his fingers. “For the record, I find you admirable, lovely, and intelligent. In no particular order. And your help will be deeply appreciated.” Revealing it for a moment, he showed her the all-white sides, then pressed it back into her hand. “Now, answer me this very important question. If I take you with me on a run for the Fountain Hall at the Tower’s heart, will you do everything in your power to ensure we arrive there safely, and that I regain control of the Fountain as its proper Guardian?”
“I promise,” she agreed, clutching the Stone. Opening her hand, she showed him it was still white, then gripped it one last time. “I am covered in blue fur.” Fingers shifting, she showed the black marks on the surface, proving the Truth Stone was still working correctly.
The smile he gave her was warm, relieved, and rather handsome. “Good. Good! How soon can you be ready?”
Myal quirked one eyebrow. “How soon? Do we not get a good night’s sleep, first?”
Kerric shook his head quickly, his shoulder-length curls bouncing with the movement. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get there. If we need rest, I can set a spell that will speed-trance us, but I’d like to get started right away. The longer we take, the more risk there is that someone or a group of someones will dare the Tower anyway, despite the lockdown status. There are plenty of adventurers who have made a point of studying the stories and the scryings of past attempts, and in those records are at least partial details of the successful routes one could take to the Fountain Hall. I want to be several jumps ahead of anyone else on this. As it is, I’ve already spent a couple hours looking up and sorting through a list of possible partners.”
“I suppose that makes sense. You’re lucky I’ve already eaten, or we’d be delayed that much longer,” she said. “Do we need to pack food supplies? How long is the route?”
He grimaced. “We’ll need a few rations, for safety’s sake. I cannot guarantee more than three refreshing rooms along the route, so don’t count on vendor cabinets—not to mention those refreshing rooms might already be occupied by refugees. There is one spot for a solid meal, but just the one. And it all depends on how quickly we get through each of the traps, and how wounded we are, and how long we may have to rest. But I can guarantee the absolute shortest anyone could ever run a five-man team through this route will be a full eight hours, if not longer.
“With just the two of us, it could be anywhere from twelve hours to two days or more. It depends on just how far into emergency mode the Tower defenses have been pushed,” he finished.
“Then I’ll get my armor, and make up a multiday pack. Ah—do you have any armor?” she asked, eyeing his brown linen tunic and trews.
Kerric winced again. “No. I’m not a fighter, and even if I were, it would have been stored with the rest of my things in my quarters deep inside the Tower. I’ll have to go dig through the odds and ends from the armory at the Adventuring Hall. Meet me there,” he directed her, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave word at the front desk they’re to pass you into the employees’ section, and they’ll let you pack up whatever supplies you think the two of us will need. We’ll also be approaching the base of the Tower through the maintenance tunnels, which link from the Hall. I don’t want anyone to know I’m going in until it’s too late for some ambitious mage to speculate, grab a pack, and try to follow us—oh, you can take off the bracelet, now.”
Nodding, she removed the geased piece of jewelry from her wrist and offered it to him. H
e accepted it back and offered his hand in return.
“From this point onward, you can talk about the fact that the two of us are going into the Tower to repair it,” he told her, giving her a point of conversation she could use in the face of the geas spell otherwise compelling her silence. “It’s the why we’re going in that I don’t want anyone discussing.”
Myal nodded. Accepting his hand, she let him help her to her feet. Escorting the Master of the Tower to her front door, Myal unlocked it and let him out. Once the panel was closed, she sagged against it for a long moment while she worked through the turmoil of emotions his words and intentions toward her had stirred, then gathered her energy, pushed away from the wood, and started running through a mental list of everything they might need based on her five years of experience.
She hadn’t run the Seraglio gauntlets herself, but she had heard rumors. And from the sound of it, the Master of the Tower knew every inch of what they had to face. As for the rest of it, she was fairly confident she knew most of what awaited the two of them, or at least could handle any surprises. She just didn’t know how well a non-fighter could handle the dangers of the Tower, even if her partner was the Master of the place.
Kerric was her greatest concern for their safety, now. Traps, she knew. The enigmatic, handsome Guardian, she didn’t.
* * *
The Guardian looked a little . . . odd, the next time she saw him. Actually, he looked a bit silly.
Eyeing the Master of the Tower in his selected pieces of armor, Myal quickly stuffed her tongue between her molar teeth and bit down. The pain kept her from so much as twitching her lips, never mind outright laughing. She didn’t know what the others in the Adventuring Hall thought of his outfit, because she had been taken down a long set of stairs and nudged through a door into a subterranean hall lit by suncrystals embedded in the ceiling. She only knew what she thought of the matter.
At least Kerric had the foresight to get a helmet, but it fitted his head like a second skull, and left his brown curls poking out all along the edges like a demented, curly-haired bit of fur trim. His breastplate looked a little bit large and a little bit long, and he had bracers laced on his wrists, with the opening gaping just a little too much and the knots placed a pair of holes short, proving the wax-stiffened leather had been crafted for someone with thinner forearms than his.
The brass-and-leather strips skirting his thighs from waist to knees, however, that made him look absurd by local standards. While Mendhite war-kilts were not too dissimilar, here at the Tower, leather strip skirts were usually reserved for female adventurers running the lighter, less deadly gauntlets. Those were the ones where the audience cared more about the agility and grace of the adventurers, and the flash of nubile bare legs, rather than the complexity and dangerousness of the traps involved. Myal wore a variation on the same mostly because they were similar to the war-kilts she had been trained to wear, but she wasn’t used to seeing them on a non-Mendhite male.
At least he kept his trousers and tunic on, she acknowledged. I hope he remembered groin protection too. Particularly if we’re running the Seraglio, as he claims. He’ll want those bits to arrive intact.
Her own armor actually bared more skin than his, but in her case it had to, as some of her tattoos worked best when not muffled by excessive layers. She had a close-fitted helm, breast and back plates, shoulder and elbow guards, bracers, and a strip skirt of her own, but underneath the skirt lay thigh, knee, and shin guards. The segments of hardened leather weren’t overly large, but they covered enough of her body to cut down on major injuries. None of it had brass plating, unlike his, but all of her armor was rune-carved with spells to help guard against major injuries above mere scratches, bruises, and strains. The rest, her spine tattoo should be able to heal.
That did bring up a question about his own capabilities. “Master Kerric?”
“Just Kerric,” he directed her, lifting and shrugging into the backpack provided by the Adventuring Hall workers. “You adventurers don’t waste your energies on such formalities when you’re running a gauntlet, so why should either of us when it’s just you and me?”
“Then you may call me Myal,” she acknowledged. “Kerric . . . what sort of healing knowledge do you have?”
“Enough that I could’ve made a living as a semi-competent village healer,” he admitted, adjusting the lay of one of the buckles on his breastplate so that it didn’t pinch under his backpack strap. “Not so much the herb-lore to augment my abilities, but enough to set bones, seal wounds, and banish infections. I can even reattach a severed limb, if it’s done swiftly enough. Plus I have a good knowledge of the various poisonous traps of the Tower and their antidotes.” Poking a thumb over his shoulder, he indicated his pack. “I have a spell-cushioned pouch of vials with all the antidotes and antivenoms we’ll most likely need. Hopefully we won’t actually have to use them.”
That relieved her. Not just that he had the pouch, but that he’d thought of needing it. She nodded. “Good. I have tattoos that can cleanse poisons, but if you have specific antidotes, those always work faster and are less exhausting. I also have almost a hundred feet of silken rope, bandaging, a trio of sticks for splints, and some painkiller possets. Do you have gloves?”
He nodded, patting the pouch at his waist, the belt for which he had slung over the front of his strip skirt. “Waxed to prevent poison contamination. I don’t have any fancy tattoos.”
“What about a map?” she asked next.
Kerric shook his head, then tapped his temple. “It’s all up here. Nobody gets a full map of the interior, not even the maintenance crews. Partial maps on crystal tablets, yes, but not full ones. For one, it wouldn’t work under normal conditions. For another, it’s a security hazard. The Tower is broken up into three major zones with a handful of people in charge of each, but nobody gets to know the whole thing except the Guardian. The maintenance crews are issued tablets that rely upon passive scrying spells built into the Tower stones, with a set radius of so many yards and so many floors, but that’s it. They have no way of discerning a path all the way to the heart of this place.”
“Then I’m glad you picked up that helmet,” Myal told him. “Your head is our most important asset, because you’re the one who knows where we’re going and what we’ll have to face—you will tell me in advance, I hope? I work better when I know what to expect.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “Ready?”
“As much as ever,” she murmured, and followed the short man as he strode down the stone-lined passage. The Tower Village had been built no closer than a quarter-mile from the base of the Tower, and the Adventuring Hall on the side of town closest to the structure, so the walk wasn’t technically all that long. It just seemed that way in such a long, straight, dimly lit tunnel.
Kerric Vo Mos might not have been an adventurer, and was nearly a full foot shorter than she was, but he set out at a brisk pace that caught her by surprise. One swift enough that it forced her to trot a little to catch up. After their paces fell into a two-steps-for-her and three-for-him rhythm, she eyed the swift-moving mage.
“Shouldn’t we pace ourselves, rather than race on ahead?” she asked. “Starting early and quickly is fine, but if we’re climbing the height of the Tower, and you said you could only guarantee three resting areas, we don’t want to exhaust ourselves. This is not to doubt your confidence in knowing the route, but I’ve run weeklong gauntlets and you have not.”
He craned his neck to look up at her, then shook his head, shrugging a little. “Actually, this is the pace I normally walk. Is it too fast for you? I can slow down if you like.”
Unable to think of a good reply to that, Myal shook her head. She hadn’t actually ever seen him walk anywhere for any real distance before now. Just a short walk up to her tenement, and short movements within the Adventuring Hall the few times they had been together in person before. Giving it a bit of thought, she realized she had just assumed that a short man, wi
th short legs, would have a short and thus slow stride. But he looked to be in his mid– to late thirties, which meant he had been walking this way for a long time.
As it was, he was probably used to walking fast to keep up with anyone who had longer legs than him. She certainly didn’t have any trouble. In fact, it was a bit of a relief not to have to slow down for once. And a relief not to have to walk over the cobblestone road that led to the flagstone-paved foundation ringing the base of the Tower. The road was getting a bit old and weatherworn, with the cobbles rounded and rutted from generations of use and centuries of weather; at night, the walk was a bit hazardous in certain spots, even under torchlight. By comparison, this dry, clean corridor was flat and level. With the suncrystals veining the rock of the ceiling, shedding a somewhat dim but serviceable light, they reached the far set of stairs fairly quickly.
Those stairs spiraled up to a short hall with a set of doors; Kerric picked the one that was obviously locked on the inside. Letting them through to the quiet, cool night air, Kerric carefully shut the door again, making sure it latched. When it did, it blended almost perfectly into the stonework of the tower. Accustomed to searching for secret doors, Myal marked its location in her mind.
She didn’t know if she would ever need such knowledge again, but one never knew. Some of the games she had run had been won with her fellow adventurers and her “cheating” by using the hidden maintenance corridors and stairs. Namely the ones where the exact gauntlet rules in use did not specifically exclude such things. This run . . . somehow she doubted they would be able to cheat via the maintenance tunnels.
The door he led her to was typical of most of the base entrances of the Tower. It had a broad curve of shallow steps leading up to a sort of porch or dais, a recessed, stout door with a pointed top, and enough room for two average people to pass through the door without touching each other. It was also tall enough that she didn’t feel like she had to duck to go through. Only a few of the passages and chambers in the Tower were shorter than average; most of those were strictly trap-related.
