Claw leaned back in his chair, eyes crinkling with amusement. He stretched his arms out overhead then folded them, watching Senka and Isa. Nyset sipped her elixir, turning her attention back to her warring friends.
Isa was straddling Senka, his hands locked in a death grip around her throat. Her dark face was blushed in angry reds. She choked out a sound and her legs squirmed. The muscles in Isa’s sinewy forearms wriggled and flexed with crushing tension. Why wasn’t he letting her go? Nyset put her mug down with a thump and shielded her eyes from the sun, getting a better look. She felt the others mirroring her worry.
Senka’s eyes went from tight with pain to the relaxation of unconsciousness. Isa’s hairless head glinted with a thin layer of sweat. Nyset’s guts clenched with panic. She embraced the Dragon, eyes filling with red fire. Isa let her go and rose up onto his haunches.
“Isa! Is she alright?”
“Fine, Mistress.” He slapped her across the face, but she remained motionless, her head flopping uselessly over. His brows drew down and he stood up. He shuffled back to her legs, grabbed her ankles and brought them up to his hips. Senka’s eyes snapped open, mouth parted in a triumphant smile. Her leg jabbed up into Isa’s jaw, sending him staggering back.
“Bitch!” Isa grunted.
“Surprised that worked on you, Isa.” Senka arched onto her upper back, then sprang up to her feet in one motion. They were on each other again, arms and legs blurring, interspersed with grunts of pain and limbs crashing into bodies. Senka cried out as she was somehow thrown from Isa’s hips, thumping into the ground.
“A barbaric art, I say.” Grozul bit into a honey cake and golden crumbs clung to his beard. “Hand to hand combat is a strange thing. Two people trying to kill each other by throwing their bones into one another’s bones.”
“Interesting way of saying it,” Nyset said.
“Ah, young love,” Claw grinned.
“What?” Nyset laughed.
“No, he’s right. Look at them, they fight for an excuse to touch each other. Look at the eyes.” Lena dreamily smiled.
Nyset shook her head, watching their eyes. She saw it now, the soft creeping of smiles when they were almost close enough to kiss. Why wouldn’t they just do it already? Maybe they had. “A strange way of showing one’s affections.” Nyset snickered.
“Not the strangest I’ve seen, Mistress,” Grozul said. “I’d like to discuss the defenses you’ve erected around the city.”
“Alright.” Nyset peered at him over her mug, a tendril of steam briefly masking his face. “What did you have in mind?”
“Most of the men are on the walls now. I believe some should be sent out as scouts, to watch and report of potential incoming attacks.”
“How many were you thinking?” Nyset asked.
“Maybe a hundred or so men should be sufficient,” he squinted into the wind.
“That would considerably reduce the numbers on the walls.” Nyset wrinkled her nose. “Claw, have you any input?”
Claw was wordlessly talking to himself, or more likely to Ghostwalker. “What didja say, Mistress?”
“Master Grozul is suggesting we take men off the wall and send them out as scouting parties. I know you have some experience with war in the north, Claw. I wish you’d speak up more often, I could use your advice. Do you have any input for this idea?”
“A terrible idea!” His leathery hands went to his chair’s arms. “Who’s was that?”
“Mine.” Grozul’s eyes narrowed behind his cracked spectacles.
“And what sort of experience do you base this idea on?” Claw rose to his feet, leaning over the wizened wizard.
“Hundreds of years of experience, you mongrel dog.” Grozul’s eyes burned with an icy blue.
Claw sniffed. “Tower wizards…what war have you fought in? Oh, I know. You mean books, don’t you?”
Grozul looked away and swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
Claw chortled out with a belly laugh and squeezed Grozul’s shoulder. “You’re a funny man. I like you. Stick to spells, war’s for men of physical learning.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” Grozul fumed. “Get your hand off me, you’re hurting my arm.”
Claw released Grozul’s arm and scratched his mangy beard. “You’re meaning that for all seriousness. You know our numbers and you’d send half out on scouting missions? Have you lost your brains?” Grozul unsuccessfully tried to inch away from Claw’s reach and he rapped Grozul on his spotted pate.
Lena shrugged helplessly, eyes relaxed and lips fixed in the start of a smile.
“You can’t deny the knowledge of our forefathers. What was the purpose of transcribing their knowledge if not for future generations?” Grozul balked.
“He has a point,” Nyset said.
Grozul crossed his stick arms and peered off into the distance, clearly ready for a conversation change.
“Can’t learn war from no books. Sure, sending a few scouts is a fine idea, one we’re already doing.” Claw snorted. “But half the men on the wall? Well, that’s just fucking stupid.”
Lena snickered and tilted her head to the sky.
Grozul shot her a glance. “Do you have something to say, Herbalist?” he said the last word with a touch of venom.
Nyset thumped the table with her hands, rattling mugs. “I need you all to work together. Disagreements, debates are fine and good. In fact, we should always be disagreeing. I don’t want you all complying with me like blind sheep. So please, debate the ideas, but we must work together. Don’t forget where the enemy looms.” She pointed to the old Tower, a speck on the horizon.
Lena turned to Claw, a dreadlock wrapped a few times around her ring finger. “Yes, you are right that you can’t learn war from books, Claw. But there are other things of value to be gleaned from them,” she said with a drawl.
“Like what?” Claw shuffled his feet and cocked his head.
“Like this, for one dear…” Lena reached over the side of her chair and into her satchel, her small mouth working as she fished for something. She produced an amber colored wine bottle filled with a clear liquid and corked with scraps of cloth.
“What is it?” Nyset’s posture perked up.
Lena lowered her voice. “Well, it doesn’t have a name I’ve settled on yet, but I think I’m going to stick with ‘Glass of Fire.’ It’s quite remarkable, took me weeks of preparations and experiments, researching oils, a few almost killing me in fact…” Lena paused for dramatic effect, peering around the intent table. “The oil you see floating on the top is the essence of Silver Tulip, the petals only.” She used her fingers to point out the inch or so layer of oil floating above the rest of the liquid. “Fortunately, Silver Tulip grows well here and are quite resistant to desiccation. The rest is a mix of olive oil and lard.”
“Fascinating. An interesting use of Silver Tulip’s volatile oil.” Nyset tapped a finger against pursed lips.
“Volatile oil?” Grozul asked.
“Silver Tulip bushes can spontaneously burn if it gets hot enough,” Nyset explained. “Their oil being the combustible component when isolated. What a brilliant idea, Lena!”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Lena cooed, her ringed hands tapping against the glass bottle.
“So you’re saying this thing could blow up?” Claw asked, backing away from the table.
Nyset narrowed her brows at Lena.
Lena inhaled, started to speak, then stopped, seeming to gather her thoughts. She heard Senka grunt and Isa let out a laugh. “The color of the bottle matters. These brown glasses appear to prevent spontaneous explosions. I’ve tried other bottle colors, green, clear, red…all have exploded when left out long enough. So not to worry, dear, er, Claw. The brown bottles have been stable.”
“What’s the other oils for? Lard and olive oil? In case you want to have a meal of it instead?” Claw asked.
“It would be unwise to consume the bottle’s contents once the Silver Tulip has been added.” Lena frowned. “T
he olive oil is merely a carrier oil. The lard is a bit of a nasty addition. It helps the oils cling to the target and burns with a blindingly dark smoke. Perhaps I can demonstrate?”
“Wow, I’m stunned Lena. I didn’t know herbalists were typically making such destructive concoctions,” Nyset crossed her arms. She and Senka might have a lot in common, she realized. They should work together and combine their knowledge sets.
“Well, all discoveries are to be shared with other Sisters. Remember your vow you took so long ago in Midgaard, when you joined our ranks?”
“I do. But they’re not Sisters.” Nyset gestured to Claw and Grozul. “Not that I care if they learn of this, of course.”
Lena scratched her cheek, smudging bright orange pollen down her face. “I had assumed they would learn of it eventually, but you’re correct in assuming we keep the oaths. That is good, dear. My folly, of course. It should have—”
“It’s fine, Lena,” Nyset cut her off. “Can we see it in action?”
“Of course, dear. I saw your practice yard. Shall we use it?”
“Let’s go.” Nyset groaned as she stood, muscles tight from sitting too long. Nyset peered through the door cracked open behind them. It led into the main hallway and she saw Aris enthusiastically working a broom and sweeping up yesterday’s sand. She was glad to give the boy from Dirt Ring a job and hoped that eventually she would have the marks to employ more people.
The group made their way around to the side of the Silver Tower’s house and down the path leading into the cleared land of the practice yard. Grozul trailed behind, balancing an overflowing mug of elixir in one hand, a few honey cakes in the other, the gnarled cane tucked under his armpit. Two apprentices were in the practice yard, working derivatives of fireballs and air blasts into armored dummies. Bria, the apprentice she had helped a few days ago, was one of them, now conjuring a twin pair of fireballs roaring into a target. It looked like her practice had been paying off wonderfully.
“Morning, Mistress.” Bria curtsied at Nyset.
“Beautiful work, Bria. Your skills have really improved. I think you’re ready to train with the veterans now.”
“You think so?” Bria wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow.
Nyset nodded. “Find Vesla in the veteran’s yard in the late afternoon.”
A few apprentices worked to build up the dirt mound on a currently unused half of the yard, throwing shovel fulls of earth back on top. They stopped to wave at her, resting on their shovels. It had to be done every day, as so much earth was thrown about from missed projectiles. The high bar of earth served to prevent stray fireballs from hitting unsuspecting victims. So far, it had been working well.
A pair of Armsman were shirtless, their hammers thudding into a skeleton of a woodshed behind the Tower. A man dressed in the padded armor of the Falcon sat perched on the Tower’s roof, bow and quiver slung over his back. His watchful eyes peered out over the land, legs dangling off the edge. He was under Claw’s orders, no doubt.
Along the other side of the Tower, a garden was being tilled and invasive roots excavated by apprentices and soldiers alike. They had planted rows of beans, melon, squash, and corn for the warm season. Nyset nodded approval at the workers, enjoying seeing the Tower transforming into much more than just a house for meetings. It was becoming a place where people could live, eat, and work. When they finally reclaimed the old Tower, this could be an auxiliary Tower she thought. Soldiers marched in pairs around outskirts of their land. The patrols were there night and day, dutifully protecting the Tower from drunks and greedy vagrants.
“Which one should we use?” Lena asked, clutching the Glass of Fire in her arms. Nyset gave the bottle a distrustful eye, but if Lena didn’t seem to have a care, why should she?
“This one will do,” Nyset pointed to a wooden dummy whose limbs were already blackened and charred, its Cerumal armor melted in some spots.
“Would you like to do the honors, Mistress? Not much of a thrower, I’m afraid,” Lena softly drawled, offering the bottle to her.
Claw grunted and huffed. “I’ll do it, against my better judgment.” He snatched the bottle from Lena’s gripping hands. She frowned at him.
“How is it lit?” Grozul asked through a mouthful of cake.
“Could use Dragon fire, though it doesn’t matter. I’ve been using fire strikers since I haven’t been given the Dragon’s gifts.” Lena crossed her arms over a roughly woven hemp shirt.
“You’ll might want to step back, I suppose. If this starts burning me, I’ll only have myself to heal,” Claw muttered.
Everyone took a few steps away from him and the apprentices turned to watch the spectacle.
“Mistress?” Claw held out the bottle for her to light it.
Nyset embraced the Dragon, felt her posture go rigid and muscles quiver with the urge to move. It was difficult to down-regulate how much of the power one drew. It was like trying to pull a needle out from a jumbled stack of them without touching the others around it. She held her breath and a sliver of Dragon fire emerged from Nyset’s fingertip like a narrow snake, curling in the air and inching for the strip of rags. The rags burst alight and the snake of fire puffed away.
Claw grunted and hurled the burning bottle into the air, spinning and sloshing its way towards the target. His aim was true, the glass bottle cracking over the top of the dummy’s helmet, bathing it in flames. The air filled with dark smoke, flickering flames darted in and out of the armor’s arms and neck holes.
“Effective.” Claw grinned. “This could be a devastating weapon. How much work is it to make one of these?”
“It takes me a few hours, but I’m sure with all the help we have here, we could find a way to make it faster.”
Nyset watched the oil burn with increasing intensity. It spread out over the ground below the first target and reached the neighboring dummies, scorching the earth below them. “Lena, work with Grozul between his classes on figuring out a way to produce as many of these as we can. This might give us the strength we need to match the Death Spawn’s numbers. This would be a powerful tool for the defenders on the wall.”
“Oh!” Lena squealed. “I wanted to show you this, Ny-Mistress.” Lena went red.
Lena was taking to calling her Mistress, showing her proper respect. Even if she didn’t respect her, she made a passable show of it. “Yes?”
Lena produced a scroll from her back pocket and started unfurling it. “What do you think?” She held the top and bottom of the small rectangle and thrust it before Nyset’s eyes. The pamphlet depicted an image of a man and woman shaking hands and smiling. Above the man was a small image in the likeness of the Phoenix and a Dragon above the woman. The headline read: “Unite: War is coming.”
“It’s a start, Lena, thank you for following up with this.” Nyset met her eyes, glittering like amethysts.
She beamed. “I’ll see what else my printer can come up with. She’s quite talented.”
Nyset imagined where a new structure could be built on their property, perhaps behind the Tower. “We need to get you a workshop here, a place where you can work on more projects like this.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise, Mistress,” Grozul said between taking a big swallow of elixir.
“And why is that?” Nyset asked.
“Well, well it’s just that.” He laughed nervously. All of their eyes turned on him and sweat beaded from his brows. “The Tower has a tradition to uphold. We’ve never let the Sisterhood into the Silver Tower in the past; can’t have all our secrets revealed, after all.”
Nyset shook her head at him. “It’s too late for that, Master Grozul. Lena has been given a place in the Tower, much like you. The Sisterhood—”
“What!” His long fingers gripped her shirt. “You can’t! Years of tradition—”
“I can.” She disentangled his fingers and gently pushed his arm down. “Tradition is the only reason I’ve discovered as to why the Tower prevents the Herbalists from living amon
g us. Tradition is a prison for the mind Grozul, you must realize this. Tradition keeps you locked into old, dead paths. It’s an illusion, a way to exert power over people for no purpose but its own. There’s no room for mindless tradition in the Age of Dawn.”
“But tradition,” he moaned. Grozul’s eyes flicked from Nyset to Lena. “I’ll be in my quarters, or more accurately the attic.” He trudged off towards the house. “This is no condition for a master wizard! No condition at all,” he grumbled, finger jabbing at the sky.
Nyset turned, staring into the sputtering flames consuming a dummy. What a stubborn old fool, she thought. Not that Nyset would go back on her word, but she had questioned her decision to let Lena join them all night. There was strength in unity. What secrets could be stolen when the Tower was in the hands of a demon god? Grozul’s reasons were groundless. It didn’t matter any longer; the decision had been made. There was wisdom to be gleaned from elders, but none here. One of the dummy’s stout arms cracked and lanced into the ground at an angle, burning at the top like a discarded torch.
Three sharp whistles pierced the air from the new Silver Tower, breaking her reverie.
“Mistress,” Claw’s voice was spiked with urgency.
Nyset turned to see what he saw. A dark mass had boiled out from Helm’s Reach like a kicked hornet’s nest, fanning out over the greasy horizon. “Must be the men the Earl promised us, glad to see he delivered on his word.” Why did it make her heart beat like she should be preparing to fight these men?
Claw’s man on the roof whistled again and frantically waved. Claw waved back at him in acknowledgment and whistled. Nyset’s ears rang for a few seconds from the sharpness of it.
Senka and Isa rounded the bend skirting the house. Their boots pounded down the path to the practice yard, puffing dirt into the air. Nyset raised her arms, palms out in a calming gesture.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 23
