Grimbald grunted with a nod. “Let me think.”
“Bridge is still in good shape then?” Walter asked.
“The bridge holds,” Isa said. He tapped a spot near the main gates. “Lots of damage near the gates from our defense. The main structure is Milvorian steel. The earth below it is likely to erode long before the bridge crumbles.”
“That rules out any possibility of the bridge being blown,” Nyset added.
Grozul narrowed his eyebrows and sagaciously nodded. “There is a third way into the Silver Tower.”
“A third?” Grimbald asked.
“Portals.” Walter grinned.
“Indeed, portals,” Grozul said. “But who among us can use them for traveling such distances?”
Walter bit the inside of his cheeks, caught sight of Thalia, Grimbald, and Nyset eying him. “I can,” he said reluctantly.
“And so can you,” Nyset said to Grozul.
Grozul flinched. “I suppose you are correct in that regard. However, I do not have the capability to fight once through the other side.” The old man shrugged under his robes, opening his spindly arms.
“Grim, you’ll come with me, won’t you?” Walter asked, his heart thudding with panic at the idea of entering the Tower alone.
“No doubt.” Grimbald slapped him on the shoulder. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”
Walter looked him in his icy blue eyes. “Thank you. There is some risk with traveling with them—”
“I’ll go,” he said flatly, squashing any further discussion on the matter.
“Alright.” Nyset blew out a breath and tapped her lips. “Walter and Grimbald will infiltrate the Tower via portals and get the gates opened for us. Think you guys can do that?”
“We should be able to manage that, right, Grim?” Walter asked. “Wait, didn’t Tamia blow the gates?”
“She did,” Nyset said. “They’ve been rebuilt, a patchwork of Milvorian steel, but gates nonetheless.”
“I see.”
“I remember how they work well enough. The chains holding them conveniently aren’t Milvorian, you’ll have to burn through ‘em, or we can try working the wheel but it will take a while longer,” Grimbald said.
Nyset nodded and licked her lips. “Good, good. I’ll lead the apprentices and the veterans over the bridge for the main assault.”
“And I’ll be at your side,” Claw mumbled.
“There is, of course, the issue of Asebor and Dressna. Doubt either of them will be outside the Tower’s walls,” Walter said, feeling anxious sweat forming in his armpits.
“Ah! You must not use his name,” Thalia hissed.
Nyset raised an eyebrow at her. “Who’s name? Asebor’s?”
This again, Walter thought.
“You call bad luck upon us by using his name,” Thalia said.
“Nonsense superstition.” Nyset waved the idea away.
Thalia started pacing, arms crossed and fuming.
Walter was curious to see how this power struggle would pan out, though the victor was already clear.
“I’m sorry, Thalia, that was rude. However, it is important we call things what they are for the sake of clarity,” Nyset said, squinting at her. “I can assure you, there is no danger in,” Nyset huffed, “using his name.”
Thalia nodded, lips pressed together. “I accept your apology, Arch Wizard. I will try this new way.” She dropped her arms with defeat.
“Good,” Nyset said. “Walter, Grim. You won’t be alone for long.”
Senka cleared her throat. “Dressna led the force against us. She led the Shadow ones, er, Death Spawn. I think she likes being at the spear point. She seemed to enjoy being covered in the blood of my people.”
Nyset snorted and gave a few quick nods. “Okay. Dressna on the front lines.”
Walter was torn. He didn’t want to have to fight them both, but he didn’t want Nyset to fight either of the two. He had to be realistic. Realistically, Dressna would likely kill many before she was taken down. Maybe even people standing in this very room. He and Grim would be in dire straights against Asebor along with a member of the Wretched. Walter swallowed. “Perhaps Asebor will make a showing on the front lines. Have to be prepared for it. We’ll have to cause enough destruction to lure him back, something I should be able to handle.”
Silence hung on the air with the weight of the soon to be dead. How many would Death’s grisly scythe take?
“Senka, Isa… you two seem to be working well together.” They shared a glance, both of them almost seeming to smile. “You’ll take the tunnels. Your number will be small, but you should be able to cause some damage along with Lena’s Glasses of Fire and with the element of surprise.”
They nodded both at Nyset, then at each other.
“We will meet you and Grimbald in the courtyard here.” Isa’s perfectly trimmed fingernail stabbed the spot on the Nyset’s map.
“If there are any siege weapons, catapults, ballistas, we’re relying on you on the inside to dismantle them,” Nyset said.
“And what of the Tree Folk?” Thalia asked, one hand resting on a long curved dagger on her belt. He saw there were other blades there, at least three others in varying lengths and curves.
Walter watched Nyset, thought he could almost hear her thoughts running through countless possibilities. “Can you swim?”
Thalia shifted her hips, feathers on her head swaying. “What type of question is this? We live surrounded by water; the River of Blood is but a half a day’s walk from my home. We are the realms best swimmers, Arch Wizard.”
“Dragons. This might sound insane, but I think it may work. We don’t have time to build boats. West of the bridge leading up to the Silver Tower is a waterfall that flows into the Far Sea. If you start at the base of the bridge, swimming it hard, it should take you to the shore on the eastern side of the bridge. Once there, part of the wall is thick with ivy. The only reason the ivy is there is because the wall has been neglected, pitting with what might be makeshift handholds. Even if the ivy had been pruned, the holds should be there unless the wall was repaired.” She grinned. “Death Spawn don’t strike me as the gardening type.”
“We are very good climbers too.” Thalia ran her tongue along the tops of her teeth, like a wolf preparing for a meal.
“And the Falcon?” General Stokes asked, packing his pipe with tobacco, some spilling onto the floor.
Nyset eyed the tobacco on the polished wooden floor and the muscles worked in her jaw. “General, you and your men will mix in with the wizards, provide melee support.” Stokes caught the signs of discontent, started working the flecks into a pile with his boot. “We’ll need your archers to thin whatever they’ll have on the battlements and your shields to pair off with Dragon wizards. Phoenix wizards will work among the assault, providing cover shields and healing.”
“And me, Mistress? What shall I do?” Lena asked in a wheedling voice.
Not wear so much patchouli oil, Walter wanted to say, but held his tongue.
“You’ll be at the back of the lines with Grozul, tending to the wounded.”
Lena moaned. “I suppose that will do. But what if the monsters attack us from behind?”
Nyset’s nostrils flared. “Then you’ll have to draw a sword, Lena.”
“She has a fair point,” Stokes added. “What if they come out from that burned village before the Tower? Assuming that’s where we’ll start our assault.”
Nyset licked her lips; they started to look raw and pinked. “I’ll put a few veterans and a handful of apprentices at the back to cover our flank. Isa.”
“Yes?” Isa’s voice was a rasp, laced with danger.
“Send scouts for the Tower’s village, have them check for potential ambushes before we arrive,” Nyset said.
“And when exactly do you want to arrive?” Walter asked. It felt like asking what time he would be marching up to the gallows. How would the weather be then? Would it be a pleasant day for killing? People of
ten took the weather for granted, missing all of the beauty held in a clear day.
“Tomorrow.” Her voice struck like the judge’s gauntlet, hard and final. “We leave at dawn.”
“Tomorrow,” Thalia repeated. “We will be ready.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Stokes mumbled between drawing on his pipe.
The conversation around him became a blur of sounds that didn’t make words. Walter saw Asebor’s glowing eyes hovering over him, his brutal chains sawing scarlet lines through his neck. He saw Juzo’s head punctured and spraying out blood, flames licking at his brains. His flames.
A black arrow lined with thorns soared through the air in a great arc, hissing, curving down toward his father’s terrified eyes. The air filled with his mother’s screams and the roaring of the Cerumal tearing her apart. Blood on the walls, blood all over the kitchen. The arrow struck true, thudding into the wooden Phoenix behind him, passing through his father’s neck like it were made of cotton. Dark blood gurgled out of that wound, eyes rolling up inside his skull showing only whites.
“Will you be ready?” a voice sounding as if it were spoken through a pillow said in his ear. Something shook him. A hand. Warm, and strong. Nyset was looking into his face, her expression dark, her hazel eyes glimmering in a shaft of light. “Walt? Are you back?” she whispered.
He bit the inside of his lips, nodded. “I’m back,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” Claw murmured.
Grimbald shrugged, bit into another honey cake. “Good.” Walter felt a pang of jealousy at his carefree attitude. Was it a mask? How could he be so relaxed before a war? Walter’s guts churned harder, threatening to push out the contents of today’s morning supper.
“This probably doesn’t need saying, but I’ll say it anyway. You might want to prepare letters for loved ones, say your final goodbyes. Just in case,” Nyset said, sending a flinty gaze around the table. The morning was bright with light, but the room held the gloom of an oncoming storm.
Stokes grunted, gave his pipe a long drag, and turned for the door.
Grozul frowned down into his elixir, entranced by the wisps of steam.
Senka and Isa shared a glance, rose up, and strode out without another word.
Nyset started carefully rolling up the map of the old Silver Tower and its surrounding grounds. A pair of apprentices of the Phoenix in sky blue robes shuffled in, started piling soiled plates on top of one another. Had they been waiting all this time only to clean the room? Nyset had put some impressive systems in place, Walter thought. No, this was not the farmer’s girl he remembered growing up.
And with that, the meeting promptly broke up. Everyone else filed out of the room, boots clicking and thumping against the wood, leaving only he and Nyset alone.
“I should go and practice. It will help me get my mind right,” Walter said, stood up and felt the muscles in his legs tugging on his hips.
“Sore?” Nyset grinned at him with a predatory smile.
Perhaps that lingering pain was indeed from last night’s workout. “I think so,” he said smiling. The wound Alena had given him still hadn’t quite healed either, crusted over with pus.
“I’ll see you at dinner. I have a lot to do,” Nyset sighed. She walked over to him, placed his hand on her hip. Her pleasant scent of lilac washed over him. She rose onto her toes and pressed her soft lips against his, sucked on his upper lip for a second. She grinned, pulled away, leaving his lip wet with her saliva.
Chapter 20
Reclaiming The Lost
“Being with Walter felt as if my heart was on fire and the brightness of the sky lived in my skin.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
They had marched for the Silver Tower in mostly resigned silence, each person thinking what might be their last thoughts. The odd word or two broke the gloomy clopping of hooves and squealing of carts. Each man and woman figuring out their strategy for survival. A blade of pink cut over the gray-blue of the morning sun, bathing the world in its bleeding light.
Everyone’s nerves were predictably on edge, swords hissing from scabbards, lashes unfurled at the slightest sound. A group of birds taking flight, a twig snapping under a deer’s hoof in were enough to elicit shifting eyes. The wind howled through narrow crags, hissed over desiccated brambles. The air was cold, driving in from the Far Sea. It tunneled through chinks in armor, cutting through spots of warmth under riding cloaks.
They hadn’t seen a single living Death Spawn on their march. It was unsettling. Either they were lying in wait, or all dead. If Walter were a betting man, he wouldn’t be betting on the former.
Nyset naturally rode at the head of the pack, head held high in the fierce wind despite the tears being wrenched from her drying eyes. Her bright hair was a flag, a beacon of hope for everyone to follow. Walter rode beside her, holding tight to the Dragon, destruction but a thought away. The Dragon warmed his body and a little draw on the Phoenix allowed him to weave a shield just strong enough to mute the wind.
Nyset had ordered her smith’s to make him a set of Milvorian armor, custom made for his form. She had the smiths darken it to his liking, how they did it was a mystery to him, but the fit was perfect. A layer of the shoulder plates were elongated into grisly tips for ramming. Along the skirt was a flowing sash red as Dragon fire. He wore everything but the helmet, preferring visibility over additional protection. He wore a flowing dark cloak over it all, pushed back over his shoulders by the wind.
Walter’s gaze fell on the southern volcano. Its boiling mouth billowed with dark smoke, tingeing the air with the stink of sulfur. It was like an infernal eye in the pinking sun rays. It watched them, waiting for the opportune time to blow its ruinous payload.
The landscape undulated to the far east. The plains gently curved up into yellow-brown sand dunes where the Nether began, some rivaling mountains in the west. Walter spotted a few adventurous trees, leafless and white. The last of the shrubs vanished outside of Helm’s Reach.
The sky became an unimaginable crisp blue. A dark line of smoke rose out from the Silver Tower, frozen in the sky. Carrion birds circled above the marching column, ample wings occasionally making shadows flit along the path.
They passed an abandoned campsite with four tents, fabric torn and stained with splotches of brown. Blood, dirt, shit, which he wasn’t sure, maybe a combination. Walter caught sight of an ashen hand sticking out the side of a tent flap. The flesh was missing from the owner’s fingers, eaten clean, bony spires reaching at the beautiful sky. Walter shook his head and steered Kez on.
He got some salted lamb jerky from his satchel, offered some to Nyset, who declined. He nibbled on a strip after sucking off the salt.
They passed a narrow valley near the southern volcano, unnamed. It was filled with the wreckage of hundreds of carts and wagons, the wood ash white and wind-worn. He wondered if this was a wagon graveyard, where they all dragged themselves to die.
A pair of houses stood over the wagon graveyard. Each had a pillar proudly protruding from their roof lines. He wondered what their function was. Maybe they had once added a touch of beauty.
One house was badly charred and looked to be a gust away from falling over. The other looked to be in decent shape until he made his way past it, saw one of the walls had been ripped apart, showing its disheveled guts.
They rode over a ramshackle bridge with a silty river flowing underneath. It was likely an artery from the Lich’s River seeking the sea. Walter chuckled at a hand-scrawled sign declaring it The Silty River. At the other side of the bridge were four dead trees covered in choking vines, which gave them strange human shapes. Maybe they were witches, preparing to tell him of his glorious success in battle. He gave them a wry smile as he passed.
His eye swept over Claw, clad in burnished armor, his big curved sword bouncing from his hip. His gray hair curled around his sides of his helmet, all hard angles. He seemed to be lost in a conversation of his own, soft as lover’s whispers in the w
ind. Walter thought of Juzo and how he formerly had conversations with himself, wondered if Claw’s weapon was demon bound. Demon bound or not, he was good with a blade and that’s all that mattered today.
Grimbald gave him a grim nod, icy eyes twinkling in the sun. His pauldrons shone, layers of overlapping plate wrapped snug over his mountainous shoulders. The handles of his twin axes looked as long as an average man’s spears, polished with a meticulous glint.
Senka and Isa were dark specks on the horizon, breaking off and making their way for the plains towards the hidden tunnels. Walter closed his eyes, wishing them the Dragon’s luck.
Lena and Grozul trailed farther behind the column in spirited conversation. Grozul wore heavy dark blue robes secured by a simple rope belt, his great beard splitting around his hollow cheeks. Walter squinted at what might have been the house master giving Walter a dagger gaze.
Walter spotted Thalia, thick furs in a spotted pattern of browns and whites hung loosely over her shoulders as if the cold hardly touched her. She wore leather boots wrapped with furs, stopping at the knee. His eye traced a line up from her bare thigh, along her shining skin to the crest of her hip, remembering those lovely curves. He caught a glimpse of her abdomen, muscle flexing as she rode. His eye continued up and over the curves of her chest, lingered, then went to her face, which was grinning at him.
“Shit,” he hissed and turned back to face the road, cheeks burning red hot.
“Why do I so often find you ogling her?” Nyset asked.
Walter’s body flexed, surprised to find her riding beside him. “I wasn’t ogling her.” He fixed his gaze on the horizon, watching the Tower creep ever closer. Perhaps he had stared at Thalia for a bit too long. Idiot, he thought, shaking his head.
“No.” She put an arm on his neck, squeezing and massaging. It felt incredibly good. “It’s alright, Walter. I know you’re going to occasionally look at other women. That means… well, I’d rather you look at me. You can look at me. So, I shouldn’t give you a hard time when you do.”
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 41
