The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  “I noticed something on the flat roof,” Brenna said. “There seemed to be some kind of apparatus up there, and markings I couldn’t decipher.”

  “That must be it,” Nimue said, and she whirled around and ran for the door.

  “I’ll lead the way,” Brenna said, and returning to bird form she flew ahead. Beansprout ran after her, Fail-not under her arm.

  Arthur turned to Woodsmoke and Tom. “I suppose that leaves us with saddling the horses.”

  27 Flight from the Hollow

  Tom hurriedly finished packing. Hoisting the pack over his shoulder, he took one last long look at the bed, already missing it, and then headed to Beansprout’s room and packed up her gear, hoping he hadn’t missed anything.

  Woodsmoke had already grabbed his own bags, and Brenna’s, and had gone to saddle the horses with Arthur. Tom wandered to the window and looked out over the city below. It shone with lights, and Tom wondered if the fey had any idea that the spell had gone. Should they warn them? And if so, how? He looked up and thought he could just make out movement. A darker blackness on the night sky. Was that a dragon?

  A movement closer to the house caught his eye. Magen and several dragon guards were heading towards them. He needed to warn the others.

  Swinging a pack around each shoulder he headed onto the shadowy landing, partially lit from the city lights. The house felt eerily quiet. Just before he reached the back stairs, a figure stepped out of the shadows in front of him. He stopped and pulled Galatine free of its scabbard as the servant’s voice spoke out of the darkness. “What have you done to Raghnall?”

  “I haven’t done anything!”

  Tom’s breath was knocked out of him as the servant jumped on him, wrestling him to the ground. Tom’s right arm, holding Galatine, was pinned on the floor as the fey straddled his chest, his face inches from Tom’s. “Is he dead?”

  Gripping the sword tightly, Tom said, “Yes. Arthur killed him. But he was trying to–”

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” the servant howled, spittle flying into Tom’s face. “You have killed us all! The dragons are coming!”

  The pale light showed the servant’s face twisted in anger, his eyes as black as coal.

  “But Nimue is–” Tom gasped. But he couldn’t finish because the servant’s strong hands closed around his throat and squeezed tightly.

  Rather than release his sword, Tom desperately tried to get his left hand under the servant’s, but he was gripping so tightly it was impossible. Instinctively he did the next best thing and punched him hard, again and again in the side of his head. The servant sprawled across the floor, and Tom rolled awkwardly, impeded by the packs on his shoulders. Still unable to free his right arm, Tom raised his right knee as high as he could and kicked the servant hard in the chest, pulling his sword free. Before Tom could get to his feet the servant launched himself again and Tom raised Galatine and jabbed forward, immediately finding flesh as the momentum of the servant pushed him down the blade, pinning Tom to the ground again.

  For a few seconds Tom could hear nothing except the gurgle of blood in the servant’s throat, and then he fell silent, his body limp and heavy. Tom wriggled and pushed until he could lever the servant off him, and then dragged himself to his feet.

  He had killed someone. Again. Like when he was helping Arthur back in Aeriken. But, he reminded himself, the servant had been trying to kill him. He dusted himself off, and bending down, wiped the blade clean of blood on the servant’s clothes, then ran down the stairs to the courtyard.

  Tom found Arthur and Woodsmoke in the stables, talking quietly in the lamplight.

  “A servant just attacked me,” he announced, as he stepped through the door.

  “What?” Woodsmoke pulled Tom into the light. “Are you all right?” He looked him up and down, searching for wounds.

  “I’m fine, apart from a sore throat.” He showed them his bruised neck. “But I’ve killed him.”

  “What happened?” Arthur asked.

  “He ambushed me in the corridor. He was furious that Raghnall was dead, and then announced the dragons were coming. Like I didn’t know!”

  A proud look crossed Arthur’s face. “Well done, Tom. I knew your fighting skills were improving.”

  Tom hadn’t the heart to tell him it was more by accident than design. “Arthur, I think a dragon is already overhead, and Magen and the Dragon Guards are close. They’re coming here.”

  “Just what I need,” grumbled Arthur. “How many guards?”

  Tom shrugged. “Five or six.”

  “Magen wasn’t fond of his father,” Woodsmoke reminded Arthur.

  “No, but he was still his father. Tom, go and tell Beansprout and Brenna to get a move on. Woodsmoke, let’s meet Magen at the gates to the house.”

  Nimue and the others were on a large flat area of the roof, set in the middle of several different-sized domes. It had taken Tom a few minutes to find them in the vast space, especially as he had to navigate around what appeared to be very large crossbows, aiming into the skies.

  Nimue was pacing around a large intricate diagram inlaid on the roof in marble, gold and gems. Three small braziers flickering with firelight faintly illuminated the space. Beansprout watched Nimue, and Brenna leant against one of the giant crossbows, watching the sky.

  Tom followed her gaze. Crap. There was a dragon circling overhead.

  “How long’s that been there?” he asked Brenna.

  “It arrived just after we got up here. And,” she turned and pointed, “there’s another one. Any minute now they’ll realise they can reach the city.”

  “Should we try and shoot it?” He nodded at the crossbow.

  “I really don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Oh. Yes. You’re probably right.” He turned to Beansprout. “Are you nearly ready? Arthur said we have to go.”

  “No! We’re not even close,” Beansprout shot back impatiently. “We need to work out what this diagram means.”

  “I can understand most of it,” Nimue said. “Maybe we could ask the servant, he must know.” She looked up briefly. “Tom, can you go and find him?”

  Tom swallowed. “Unfortunately not. He’s dead.”

  “How?” Beansprout asked.

  “He attacked me and I accidentally killed him.”

  Beansprout fell silent and looked at him with an expression that made him feel very uncomfortable, but Nimue glanced up once more towards the dragons and went back to pacing around the circle. “Let’s hope I can work it out without him,” she said.

  Tom shuffled, feeling guilty. “Beansprout, are you coming?”

  “Are you insane? You heard Nimue. The spell isn’t done yet!”

  “But Arthur said–”

  “I don’t care what Arthur said. We’re not ready!”

  “We can’t leave Nimue alone, Tom,” Brenna agreed.

  Before Tom had a chance to respond, Nimue shouted, “Yes! Oh that’s clever.” She looked up to find the others looking at her expectantly. “It is clever. But I don’t think I can do it alone. Not yet, anyway. And it’s going to take a while.”

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked, confused.

  “It’s complicated. I’ll need help.”

  “I’ll stay,” Beansprout said immediately.

  “So will I,” Brenna added.

  Now Tom was even more confused. “What do you mean, you’ll stay.”

  Beansprout looked at him as if he was child, and repeated slowly, “I will stay to help Nimue. So will Brenna. Do you understand?”

  “Thank you for your sarcasm, Beansprout,” Tom said, eyes narrowing. “So, you’re not coming? At all? I thought you wanted to meet Merlin?”

  “This is more important than Merlin.”

  “That’s if you want a city to come back to,” Nimue said. “And Tom, tell Arthur I will be able to protect the passes eventually, but not for the next few days.”

  Tom pulled Beansprout aside. “Are you sure you
want to do this?” He nodded at Nimue. “Do you trust her?”

  “Yes. Completely.” Beansprout hugged him. “Now go, Tom. Find Merlin, but be safe. And tell Arthur and Woodsmoke not to worry.” She turned back to Nimue. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Half an hour later, Tom, Woodsmoke and Arthur were on Raghnall’s path heading higher on the mountain. It had been difficult for Tom to persuade them to leave, but finally they had set off.

  “Are you sure they want to stay, Tom?” Woodsmoke had asked, puzzled. “I don’t trust Nimue.”

  “Well they do. And she needs them. And we need Nimue, so ...” He’d shrugged.

  Arthur had headed into the house, but Tom had stopped him at the back door, shouting, “Arthur, do you want to find Merlin or not? We can’t do both.”

  Arthur had returned to his horse, saying, “I feel I’m abandoning them.”

  “They’re all very capable Arthur,” Woodsmoke said. “We have to respect their decision.”

  “If anything happens to them ...” Arthur began.

  “Then we’ll all be to blame,” Tom answered. “How was Magen?”

  “Furious. But he thought better of arguing and went up on the city walls with the rest of his guards. I’m not sure I’ll be welcomed back to the city, but–” Arthur shrugged and sighed. “We’d better go.”

  They’d headed up the path behind Raghnall’s house and found that Woodsmoke was right. The landslide had disappeared and the way was clear. But it was now pitch black and the path ahead was almost invisible.

  Arthur dismounted. “I’ll lead. We’ll take it slowly.”

  “Arthur, this seems like suicide,” Tom said, as loose rock slipped beneath his feet and he tried to steady himself against Midnight. It was surprising how much he’d got used to his horse, he thought, as he struggled up the hill. She’d become a reassuring presence.

  “Just keep going, Tom,” Woodsmoke said from behind him. “I can’t see Raghnall risking his life on a poorly made path, it must be pretty safe.”

  “In the light, maybe,” Tom muttered.

  After a short while they crested a ridge and looked back to see the city, and the House of the Beloved, below them in the hollow of the mountain. Magen must have warned the fey of imminent attack – either that or they had seen the dragons, because half the city was now in darkness and they could just make out the faint glow of the braziers on the roof of Raghnall’s house. The city walls were well lit with torches, and the firelight glinted on the crossbows that sat atop the wall.

  Suddenly, one of the dragons dived straight at the city, but before it could get close a flurry of huge arrows was released and the dragon withdrew with a roar, belching flames onto the roof of one of the highest buildings. It immediately burst into flames which, within seconds, were reaching high into the night sky.

  “The city’s burning!” Tom exclaimed.

  “Not yet, Tom,” Woodsmoke said, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure they must have plans for this.”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have left,” Arthur grumbled.

  “But we couldn’t have stopped this,” Woodsmoke said. “Come on, we have to get as far as we can by daybreak. At least the dragons will be preoccupied. Too preoccupied to hear your sword, I hope, Arthur, because now Raghnall’s dead the spell he put on the scabbard is gone.”

  A skittering of rocks caused them to spin away from the city back towards the high pass.

  “What was that?” Tom asked, his right hand moving to Galatine.

  They stood listening for a few seconds, but heard nothing else.

  “Just rock fall,” Arthur said. “Certainly not a dragon.”

  They moved slowly over the rock-strewn ground, lit faintly by a half moon above them. The path here was easier to follow and they picked up their pace, all the time moving higher and higher up the mountain, until the path met another and they found themselves on the broad main pass. They heaved a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. Something reared up beneath Farlight, and Woodsmoke fell from his horse, crashing to the ground. Within seconds a large writhing serpent was upon him, and with a scream of terror, Farlight raced away.

  Tom and Arthur dropped to the ground, weapons drawn, and ran across to Woodsmoke, only then realising that the snake had the head and body of a woman. It was the lamia that Bloodmoon had been tracking. She snapped and bit at Woodsmoke’s face, trying to sink her long teeth into his neck, her hands pushing his shoulders against the ground. His left arm was pinned against his body, but with his right hand he pushed her head back, keeping it inches from his own. Her strong muscular body continued to wrap tightly around his chest, and Woodsmoke struggled for breath as her teeth inched nearer and nearer.

  Scared of using their swords in case they stabbed Woodsmoke, Arthur and Tom used their combined strength to pull the serpent off him, throwing her across the ground. She reared up and lunged at Arthur. He swung Excalibur, but she reared back before striking again.

  Woodsmoke struggled to his feet, clutching his ribs, as Tom and Arthur advanced on the lamia. Her tail flicked out beneath Tom’s feet and he stumbled backwards, rolling to his feet again. She was frighteningly quick, and she leapt on Arthur, wrapping her tail around his legs and pinning him to the ground.

  Just as Tom was thinking he could never pull her from Arthur on his own, another figure ran to his side. Bloodmoon. “Tom!” he yelled. “Pull her head back. Just grab her hair.”

  Tom got as close as he could, stepping across Arthur’s and the lamia’s prone bodies, and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head up with all his strength.

  “Arthur, keep your head down!” Bloodmoon yelled, and he stood behind Arthur, his sword ready to strike. “Tom, pull higher!”

  The lamia was incredibly strong, but as she realised what was happening she loosened her grip on Arthur, allowing Tom to pull her head high above Arthur’s chest. Without hesitating, Bloodmoon attacked, his sword passing within inches of Tom’s chest, swiping her head off and leaving it swinging from Tom’s hands. Hot blood spat from her neck, and her body slumped across Arthur’s, convulsing in its death throes.

  Tom yelled in horror and threw her head away, watching it roll across the ground, the jaw wide and the long teeth glinting.

  “Can somebody get this thing off me?” Arthur groaned, and he pushed against the lamia’s body. Bloodmoon and Tom pulled the still-twitching body off Arthur and then stood trying to catch their breath.

  Bloodmoon grinned at Tom. “I timed that well!”

  “You call that good timing? Five minutes earlier would have been better.”

  “Not as much fun, though,” Bloodmoon said, striding over and picking up the lamia’s head. He examined it in the moonlight, saying, “I lost her earlier, but only briefly. She’s been very tricky.”

  “So now you can claim your reward, cousin,” Woodsmoke said. “You should give us a share. I think she’s broken my ribs.”

  Bloodmoon laughed. “Good try, but I don’t think so.” He strode across to his pack and, pulling a large sack free, lowered the lamia’s head into it. “I’ll take this with me for proof. And now I think it’s time for a drink.” He took a large bottle from his bag, pulled the cork out with his teeth and drank deeply. “Anyone else?”

  Three hands shot out as, in unison, they said, “Yes please.”

  28 The House of Smoke and Glass

  They reached the pass into the Sky Meadows at dawn. It was an unassuming break in the rock, and on the other side an expanse of fields stretched ahead of them, encompassed by a ring of rock. Drifts of mist rose from the ground, mingling with the scent of wild flowers and grass.

  High above them was a city in the air, its buildings shimmering in the pale dawn light, and in the centre of the meadows was a beam of light leading to the city above. The sound of water drew them to their left, and they found a stream running into a shallow pool.

  “Thank the gods,” Arthur said, as they dismounted. “I stink of lamia blood.”

&
nbsp; “Is it worse than dragon blood?” Woodsmoke asked.

  “Actually I think it is. There’s more of it on me, anyway.” And he was right. The entire front of his body was covered in blood that was now drying in thick crusty clots. It was even in his hair.

  Tom glanced down at his shirt where a broad splatter of blood from the lamia’s beheading had landed across his chest. “The sylphs will wonder what’s going on if we turn up like this. Honestly, Arthur. Two beheadings in one day.” He tried to push the memory of killing the servant to the back of his mind.

  “I am not responsible for the second one!” Arthur exclaimed.

  “Three beheadings in a week!” Woodsmoke reminded them. “You are responsible for the dragon, though, Arthur.”

  Throwing off their clothes they waded into the pool, washing away the blood and dust.

  “Does anyone need to rest?” Arthur asked.

  Woodsmoke winced as he explored his bruised ribs. “No, let’s just get on with it. But I should warn you, if the sylphs choose to attack, we will have no chance.”

  “Why not?” Tom asked.

  “They’re a warrior race, much stronger than we are, and our weapons will be of little use against them. Even Excalibur. There’s a reason the other realms let them be.”

  With Woodsmoke’s warning ringing in their ears, they tied the horses up next to the pool and set off on foot, striding through the waist-high grasses. It reminded Tom of the meadows outside Finnlugh’s Under-Palace.

  The Sky Meadows seemed eerily devoid of life. There were no other fey or sylphs, and they crossed in silence. Soon they reached the beam of light which, close up, was much larger than Tom expected.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” he asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Arthur said, and stepped into it.

  “Arthur, wait,” Woodsmoke said, reaching to grab his arm.

  But he’d gone, disappearing in a split second.

  Tom looked around, alarmed. “Where’s he gone?”

  Woodsmoke sighed. “Up there, I hope. Come on, let’s follow, and hope it’s not going to kill us.”