The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  Tom stepped away from Raghnall and followed one of the tracks to the fire pit, curious to see where the gold went.

  The pit descended into the rock far deeper than he’d imagined. Huge cauldrons were suspended over the fire, surrounded by metal walkways on which stood more goblins, stirring the pots with huge wooden paddles. They must be immune to the heat, thought Tom. And surely the metal walkways should burn and melt? More tracks led to another area, where the molten metals were being poured into moulds to create small ingots.

  The others appeared next to him. “I have cast a protective spell over the walkways,” said Raghnall, “to prevent the conduction of heat. As for the goblins, they enjoy it!”

  “All this is for one dragon?” Woodsmoke asked.

  “Oh no. The melting of precious metals is a continual process here. We process gold from dragon hoards, and from the rich seams of metal found beneath the mountain. At the moment, though, this is all for Viridain, so we can calculate Arthur’s bounty.” He looked a little annoyed at the prospect of wealth going somewhere other than the city.

  “I think I need fresh air,” Brenna said suddenly, a look of distaste flashing across her face.

  “Yes, me too,” Beansprout agreed. “I’m hot.”

  The pair turned and headed towards the cave entrance.

  “But I was going to show you the gem preparation!” Raghnall called, a look of anguish on his face.

  “I think the heat is getting to us,” said Woodsmoke, also turning to leave. “We’ll see you back at the entrance.” He slapped Raghnall unceremoniously on the shoulder before following Brenna and Beansprout.

  “It’s just me, Nimue and Tom, then,” Arthur said. Tom half wished he could leave too, but Arthur gave him a quick look that compelled him to stay.

  “Excellent. I’m so glad you’re not squeamish,” Raghnall said. He turned with a flourish and headed to the rear of the cave.

  “I feel we should humour him, Tom,” Arthur whispered with a wink and a smirk, and then set off after Raghnall.

  Arthur rarely humoured anyone, Tom thought. What was he up to?

  An hour later they found the others enjoying a cool drink on the terrace of a restaurant close to the entrance. Beansprout waved to draw their attention, and they weaved through the crowds to join them.

  “Would you at least like to see the gem-makers’ workshops?” Raghnall asked. He gestured across the green open space in front of them to a row of glittering shop fronts.

  “Is that where I can get Viridain’s scale polished up?” Beansprout said.

  “Of course. And where the dragonyx can be weighed, polished and priced,” he said with a nod to Arthur.

  Raghnall was enjoying this, Tom thought, showing off the city and its citizens’ skills. And why not? The city was beautiful, gilded and sleek. The whole place gleamed, the food was sumptuous, and the drinks were delicious. He felt pampered and rested, especially after weeks on the road. The atmosphere of success and satisfaction was addictive. He just wished he felt more relaxed here. This wasn’t something he was used to, unlike Arthur. It was a strange thing to say, but Tom thought Arthur looked bigger. He seemed to have grown into himself. He was more self-assured – the promise of wealth seemed to invigorate him.

  “Come on then,” Arthur said after they’d finished their drinks. “Let’s head to the gem-makers.”

  They stopped first at a small shop with a glittering array of polished scales in its window. The scales had been skilfully turned into jewellery, sword and dagger hilts, scabbards, and items Tom didn’t even recognise. Inside the shop were gleaming metal cabinets displaying more polished scales. A fey bustled out of the door from the rear of the shop and was about to launch into his sales pitch when he saw Raghnall. His face froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes wide. Quickly recovering, he beamed ingratiatingly. “What a pleasure, Raghnall, it’s been too long.”

  After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Raghnall introduced them, and then said, “Beansprout, please show him your scale.”

  She handed it over, and the conversation turned to business. The fey narrowed his eyes, pulled out a small magnifying glass and proceeded to examine the scale minutely. He then started on requirements, design, practicalities, time, and finally price – which was exorbitant. Clearly, whatever issues he had with Raghnall did not interrupt business. Raghnall bartered, Beansprout looked pale, Nimue questioned, but Arthur finished it all by naming a final price and declaring he would pay as a gift for Beansprout.

  With a sigh of relief, Tom trailed out of the shop after them, to where Brenna and Woodsmoke waited in the sun, having long run out of patience during bargaining.

  “Pleased, Beansprout?” Arthur asked, smiling.

  “Well yes, but Arthur – I didn’t expect you to pay!”

  “My treat,” he announced magnanimously. “And besides, at those prices it would have sat in your pack forever.”

  “True,” Beansprout said, embarrassed. “It was very expensive!”

  They followed Raghnall further along the row of expensive shops until they came to the largest and most ostentatious. It was a blaze of gold and glittering gems. Even Woodsmoke looked impressed.

  Raghnall only had to mention dragonyx and a small silence fell across the handful of fey in the shop, both sellers and buyers. With hushed ceremony, the oldest and most imperious fey, who had a shock of rich purple hair and wore a black silk jacket, stepped from behind the long bronze-topped counter and said, “I have heard of the slaying of Viridain. Who has slain the dragon?”

  Arthur stepped forward introducing himself, and the shop owner shook his hand vigorously. “Arshok. I am honoured to meet you. Please follow me to our salon, where I will offer refreshments while we negotiate.” He glanced at Raghnall and added, “Perhaps just you and Arthur?”

  Standing next to Nimue, Tom heard her whisper to Arthur, “Have you any idea of what it’s worth?”

  Arthur shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then I suggest you let me come too,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  Arthur turned to where the owner and Raghnall waited expectantly and said, “Nimue will join us.” Raghnall flashed a brief discomforted smile as Arshok opened a richly embellished gold door.

  Woodsmoke called to Arthur, “We won’t wait, see you later.”

  Arthur nodded his agreement and stepped into the room beyond. Tom caught a glimpse of silks and brocades, and then the door thudded shut.

  “Come on,” Woodsmoke said. “Let’s see what else there is, other than jewellery shops. If this is where they make weapons, I want to see some.” He gave the others a broad grin. “Besides, I need a break from Raghnall.”

  Woodsmoke led the way across the city, along broad boulevards and down tiny passageways, taking a circuitous route so they could see the city better. The beautiful buildings they passed were all manner of shapes and sizes, and while some were clearly for the town merchants, there appeared to be no poorer rundown areas at all. Eventually they came to an indoor market beside the lake. It was sprawled across a large area, with several entrances. Woodsmoke headed for the nearest one, and they plunged into the warren of stalls.

  They were immediately surrounded by the loud hum of voices and jostling crowds that packed the small lanes between the shops. The bright glare of the day was shut out, replaced by the airless glitter of candles and lanterns, and the occasional chink of sunlight filtering in through the open entrances. The stall owners called to them constantly.

  “Come and see the best silks this side of the Sky Meadows!”

  “Come, madam, come taste the best spices in the market!”

  “Sir, sir, this way for the best knives and best deals!”

  The choice of wares and the dazzling displays mesmerised Tom. He had never been in such a place before; the markets of Holloway’s Meet were pedestrian and grey in comparison. Beansprout agreed. “Tom, this place is brilliant! So much stuff!”

  Brenna laughed. “Take your time, a
nd if you buy anything, make sure to haggle. We’ll see you in the weapons section.” And she hurried into the sea of bodies to catch up with Woodsmoke.

  As Tom and Beansprout drifted down the alleys, they realised the market was divided into distinct areas. There was a section of clothing, silks, scarves and cloaks, then silverware, home wares, food, jewellery, shoes, travel supplies, magic amulets, glassware, lamps, rugs, books, and weapons. The choice was endless and the prices much cheaper than in the shops they had passed. They quickly lost track of time, meandering through the tiny lanes and buying all manner of trinkets, clothes and books.

  “I think we should get a move on, Tom,” Beansprout said at last, “before Woodsmoke runs out of patience.”

  “He’s looking at weapons, he could be there all day!” Tom said.

  They eventually stumbled upon the weapons quarter. The choice of weapons was vast. There were spears, axes, longbows, arrows, shields, helmets, armour, and all manner of swords and knives. The stalls spread into a central courtyard where a series of targets had been set up to test the weapons. They found Woodsmoke and Brenna by the stalls selling daggers, throwing-knives and swords. Brenna was testing the balance of a pack of throwing-knives, carefully hefting each one in her hands.

  “New weapons, Brenna?” Tom asked, looking at the knives she was examining.

  “I used to have a set of knives many years ago,” she said, smiling at the memory. “And then I lost them, one after another. I have no idea how. I was thinking of getting some more.”

  “And these,” Woodsmoke said, picking one up, “are very nice.” He raised it to eye level, admiring its shape.

  “The finest dragon metals have been combined to maximise weight, strength and longevity,” the stall owner, a broad squat dwarf, explained. “Platinum, gold and dragonium. And the inlaid gems on the handles are black opals and pearls.”

  “Wow,” Beansprout said, extending her hand. “May I?”

  Brenna passed her a knife to examine, and said to the dwarf, “I like the metals, but not the jewels.”

  The dwarf immediately produced another knife, virtually identical but with a carved bone handle. “Dragon bone, hardened in the fires of the Djinn,” he grunted.

  “Better,” Brenna said, examining it closely. She turned, eyed up the targets and threw the knife. The wooden targets were fashioned into a variety of creatures, including boar, dragons, trolls, and sprites. The knife sank deep into the eye of a sprite, and Tom was immediately reminded of their encounter with them in Finnlugh’s Under-Palace and the Aerie.

  “You seem to have kept your aim, Brenna,” Tom said, impressed.

  She smiled. “Not bad – I was aiming for his forehead.” She went to retrieve the knife.

  “He’d still be dead,” Tom said. “Is it hard to learn?” Another skill to add to his growing sword skills would be good.

  “Not really, you just need lots of practice,” Brenna told him. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Can you throw knives, Woodsmoke?” Tom asked.

  “Of course I can!” he snorted while Brenna rolled her eyes. “But I prefer my bow and sword. It’s a good skill for you to learn, though. I’m sure this good dwarf has plenty of cheaper knives for you to practise with.”

  While Brenna negotiated a price for her set of knives, Woodsmoke helped Tom choose.

  “Have you bought anything, Woodsmoke?” Beansprout asked.

  “New arrows, fletches, and a sharpening stone. Speaking of which, we should get you some more arrows.” He pointed to the stalls on the far side of the courtyard.

  After Tom and Brenna paid, they made their way over to the arrow stalls. Choosing one at random, they entered the dim interior. Concentrating on making their choice, Tom suddenly became aware of someone looming close beside Woodsmoke. The faerie was tall, with fine features and high cheekbones, his hair long and fair with plaits and beads running through it. He leant in and said something in Woodsmoke’s ear. Woodsmoke whipped round, his hand moving to his dagger. Subconsciously, Tom reached for his sword too, wondering briefly where Brenna was. But then Woodsmoke laughed, relief etched across his face.

  “Bloodmoon, you nearly had my dagger in your stomach! What brings you to the Hollow?”

  “Hunting, my friend.”

  “Hunting what?” Woodsmoke asked.

  He grinned. “That should be discussed over a drink. What are you doing so far from home?”

  “Also hunting, of a sort.”

  “Indeed?” He caught sight of Tom and Beansprout looking on curiously. “Humans. Are they with you?”

  “They are. And a lot of trouble they cause too. Tom, Beansprout – Bloodmoon,” he said. “Many things have happened since I last saw you.”

  Bloodmoon shook their hands. “No Brenna?”

  “Oh, she’s here, somewhere. Give us half an hour and we’ll see you at the Dragon’s Tale, if you’ve time?”

  “Always. Soon, then,” Bloodmoon said, and he disappeared back into the crowd.

  “Who’s he?” Tom asked.

  “My cousin. Come, Beansprout, let’s get your arrows, and then we’ll find Brenna and see what Bloodmoon is hunting.”

  25 Objects of Desire

  The Dragon’s Tale was a very old inn, lacking the ostentatious decorations of the rest of the city, although its wooden structure was decorated with the finest carvings. Its customers were mainly those visiting the market and the stall owners, and it served cheap hearty fare.

  Bloodmoon joined them shortly after they sat down in a quiet corner. He greeted Brenna with an enormous kiss that had her blushing. “Bloodmoon!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “What was that for?”

  “I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said, grinning. “And when you’re the Queen of Aeriken I won’t be able to get away with that.”

  “You’re such a show-off,” Woodsmoke said. “Just sit down and tell us what you’re up to. Nothing good, I presume?”

  Bloodmoon sat down, placing an enormous tankard of frothing beer on the table next to his parcel. He took a long sip while the others watched him expectantly, and then said, “I’m tracking a lamia.”

  “What on earth for?” Woodsmoke asked, alarmed. “Is there one in Dragon’s Hollow?”

  “Not in the city, but I think she’s on the mountain. I’ve been following her for weeks. She moves very quickly.”

  “Why follow her though?” Brenna asked.

  “A few weeks ago she attacked and killed the daughter of the Lady of the Four Hills. She has employed me to kill the lamia.” He shrugged at their puzzled faces. “I was at a loose end. And she’s paying me in tear-diamonds.”

  “Oh, that explains it,” Woodsmoke said.

  Beansprout looked confused. “At the risk of sounding stupid, what’s a lamia, and what’s a tear-diamond?”

  “A lamia is a blood-sucking snake that takes the guise of a beautiful lady. They usually feed on the blood of children, but when they’re hungry they’ll eat anything,” Bloodmoon explained. “And tear-diamonds are the most beautiful diamonds anywhere, formed from the tears of Djinn. And as anyone knows, Djinn rarely cry. I have had an advance.” He pulled a small leather pouch from around his neck and took out two small tear-shaped diamonds that dazzled, even in the dim light of the tavern.

  “But they’re blue!” Tom said.

  “Not all diamonds are white, and these will fetch me a good price, which is good because I need to buy a sword of pure dragonium. That’s the only metal known to kill a lamia. And I only know that,” he added, “because I thought I’d killed her. Then her head grew back and I had to make a tactical retreat. Fortunately, a very nice satyr in the Meet told me the trick. So here I am, in the best place to get a pure dragonium sword. I’ve spent the morning bargaining. Your turn.”

  Bloodmoon sipped his beer while Woodsmoke told him of their hunt. As he listened, Tom compared Bloodmoon to Woodsmoke and decided they were very different. Woodsmoke had a quiet watchfulness about him, but Bloodmoon was all words.


  When Woodsmoke reached the end of his tale, Bloodmoon said, “So you’re travelling with Arturus! And searching for Merlin! You keep interesting company these days.”

  “You’ve heard the name?” Tom asked, suddenly paying attention. “Nimue called him that.”

  “One of Arthur’s old names, I believe. The name some of the older fey call him. That or Artaius, The Bear King of Kernow.”

  “Where’s Kernow?” Tom said, even more confused.

  “I believe it is the name of an old kingdom in Britain.”

  Tom thought of the stories he’d read, and the name Arthur had called himself only the other day. “He called himself the Boar of Cornwall, not bear.”

  “I have no idea where the name came from, I just know it exists.” Bloodmoon shrugged, giving Tom a wry smile.

  “I forgot you had Fahey’s ear for tales,” Woodsmoke said.

  “Does Arthur still carry Excalibur?” Bloodmoon asked.

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re staying with Raghnall?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I have heard many things about Raghnall. Particularly regarding his collection of ancient magical weapons. Be careful while you stay with him.”

  Brenna reassured him. “Don’t worry, we will. Arthur should have finished his business today, so hopefully we leave soon.”

  “Ah! The dragonyx?”

  Woodsmoke laughed. “News does travel quickly here.”

  “I must go,” Bloodmoon said, finishing his drink. “I have a sword to buy and a lamia to track. Safe travels.” After a flurry of handshakes and hugs, he left.

  When they arrived at the House of the Beloved late that afternoon, they found Arthur on the balcony with Nimue.

  “How did you get on, Arthur?” Tom asked, helping himself to a drink.

  “Very well! The dragonyx has gone and now I am rich. I’ve kept some money, the rest is in The Lair, as they call their banking house. And it’s all thanks to Nimue.”