The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) (13 page)

“You’ve got some strange teeth,” he said, peering into Juzo’s mouth. He stuffed the gloves back into his belt, smearing blood across the side of his armor. Juzo started opening and closing his jaw, wiggling it from side to side.

“Yeah. I—what happened?” Juzo said, seeming confused, slamming the blade into the ground and draping his arm over its wide crosspiece. He wiped his nose, smearing red over his mouth.

“Get back to practicing now. The entertainment is over!” Burtz snapped at the students milling about. They murmured and started dispersing, resuming a less vigorous form of sparring.

“You were knocked out by your partner’s excellent evasive maneuver,” Burtz said, his voice nasally, blood rolling over his fingertips. “You’ve got a great leg on you,” Burtz said with a grin to Juzo.

Grimbald didn’t know if that was a complement or an insult. He couldn’t help his cheeks from burning red, shame washing over him and wishing he could hide somewhere, to be anywhere but here.

“Nicely done! Excellent counter for a choke,” Burtz said, walking over to Grimbald and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You two will make fine armsmen. Get some rest and eat well. Come back tomorrow and we’ll review some new choke defense techniques.”

Grimbald’s stomach rumbled with hunger, the feeling of sickness fading quick. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on a pile of well-deserved sweet cakes. He could taste them now, crunchy on the outside, gooey and sweet in the middle where the honey was. He licked his lips and swallowed the saliva that started filling his mouth. He limped over to the practice dummy, nodding towards Juzo as he slipped Corpsemaker back into its sheathe.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be alright. You’re a strong bastard,” Juzo said, rubbing at one side of his jaw, then extracting his strange blade from the sand and sheathing it.

“You’re faster than a Shroomling,” Grimbald said, thinking how good it would be to have a grilled Shroomling in his hand right now. It would be even better with a little cinnamon and plum sauce.

Juzo snickered. “Not fast enough apparently. I like training with you, it’s nice to have someone that can best me.”

Grimbald felt a bit better at hearing that. He didn’t want to hurt anyone he didn’t have too, especially a friend. Death Spawn were an entirely different matter. Those creatures didn’t belong here. He supposed it was only a matter of time until something was better at killing then men were.

A figure leaned against the expansive wall beside the archway leading back into the Tower, its arms crossed, head shaved and ornate bracer gleaming in the sun. Beyond the wall, the forest crumbled away into a scattering of fallow trees. Further still, the river passing under the Tower’s bridge met the blue sea, splitting into a wide harbor speckled with tiny islands.

Grimbald limped towards the entrance, his ankle swelling with pain, Juzo at his side. His eyes started watering as a sigh of cool and salty air whistled over the wall into the training yard.

“You two seem to be having all the fun” Walter said, stepping away from the wall and grinning at them. He strode over to Grimbald and slipped his small, yet surprisingly strong shoulder under his arm, helping him take some of the weight off of his ankle. Grimbald felt grateful for that.

“Thanks, Walt,” Grimbald said.

“How’s the training going?” Walter asked, looking quite odd without his mess of hair. It made him look a bit tougher, more like the mercenaries that occasionally drifted through Shipton. The type of person he would have tried to avoid in the Hissing Gooseberry.

“Uh—I’m glad he’s on our side,” Juzo chuckled.

“I am too,” Walter said, nudging him in the ribs. Even that gentle nudge spread a wave of pain across his bruised ribs, but Grimbald felt happy, glad to be part of something bigger than himself.

“
T
hose sweet cakes
sure hit the spot,” Grimbald said, rubbing his wide torso.

“They sure look like they did,” Walter said, jabbing a finger into his gut. He expected it to be soft, but it was rigid, jamming his knuckle in the socket. “Phoenix, are you eating stones without telling us?” Walter said, wincing and shaking out his finger.

“I need to get some rest. I’ll catch up with you at supper,” Grimbald said, narrowly avoiding barreling over his roommate as he limped over to his bed.

“Whoa, Grim!” his lanky roommate said, twisting to avoid him.

The room was simple, much like his—two beds on each side and a chest for personal items at the front. A small window opened on one side with a view of the practice yard far below. The dark wood screamed as Grimbald dropped himself onto it, pulling off his shirt. It had to have been some type of magically enhanced wood to support his bulk. Walter guessed he wouldn’t be getting out of bed tonight.

“See you Grim. Rest up. Don’t rip my jaw out tomorrow, would you?” Juzo said.

“I’ll try my best,” he muttered, his bright blue eyes drooping.

Walter looked over at Juzo, who seemed to have found a strong liking for Grimbald. It was good to see Juzo smiling for once, letting go of his past, and enjoying the moment.

“What?” Juzo asked. “Why are you smiling at me like the village idiot?”

Grimbald’s roommate swept between them, closing the dormitory’s door carved with a lion’s face at the front, then strode with purpose down the hall.

“I hadn’t realized I was,” Walter said, starting to walk down the hallway. Simple arches stretched across the hall of the House of Arms, giving the ceiling support and functional beauty. Lofty windows strolled in processions along one side, a sharp breeze sweeping in and making the vivid paintings rustle. Beyond the windows a wide terrace seemed to hover in the air, overlooking the harbor. The sun was high and the world was full of vivid color. The blood had drained from the clouds and left it with a cool blue.

“How’s your training going so far?” Juzo asked.

Walter recounted the story of his ego getting the best of him as they walked, doing the opposite of what Baylan had suggested he do: blend in. They worked their way down a spiraling staircase, polished handrails on either side. Walter didn’t know where they were. There was still so much to explore. The place seemed to have an endless amount of spires, rooms, and vast spaces. The stairway emptied into an expansive chamber, a pair of students lounging on a plush leather couch.

One wall was covered with massive panels, painted by the most well-known artists of Zoria, highlighting the glorious battles of its history. The victories of generals Walter didn’t know, all preserved in swathes of color. The biggest painting of them all faced a door, eight arm’s lengths at least. Who else but Arch Wizard Bezda? She was seated upon a metallic throne, her glimmering staff held at her side, blue eyes piercing the viewer.

Walter strolled past the massive fireplace held up by carved figures of Death Spawn in obsidian, a reminder of their true enemies. The carvings had the level of detail that could only be produced by one who had seen them up close. The students got up, laughing and pushing each other as they bounced down an adjacent hallway. Walter led the way down a neighboring hall from the incredible room, cups carved in the likeness of various birds covered the walls.

“Sounds like you,” Juzo finally said. “You always had trouble with subtlety.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Walter stopped to peer down the four-way intersecting halls, iron torches forever burning with tongues of Dragon fire.

“Wow, what do you think all of this is?” Juzo said with wonder, striding down one of the paths.

The hallway was short, expanding into a squat room with trinkets behind glass panels, the first he had ever seen without a single bubble forever locked between the glass. They seemed to lack any logical order. There was a sword with the scales of a snake, a tiny dagger that could be hidden in the palm of your hand, a finger of an animal large enough to span Walters’ arm, and a poorly cut dark gem, were just a few of the hundreds of artifacts.

They were all clustered together and poorly organized. There were no guards around, so they must have not been that important. Something pulled at the corner of Walter’s eye and Juzo’s eye glowed with a faint blue, reflecting off the glass and giving the room a dim glow.

“What are you doing?” Walter whispered, getting the feeling they shouldn’t be in here.

“Relax. Just checking things out. I can see magically enhanced objects, things imbued with unique forms of the god’s powers. Remember?”

“You can? How did you learn to do that?”

“You need to pay closer attention,” Juzo said, chuckling softly. “It’s one of the things that bastard Terar taught me to do… with my abilities,” he said, rubbing at the glass and narrowing his eye.

“Right,” Walter said nodding. “What do you see?”

“Not much. Most of these seem weak—” Juzo stopped, shielding his eyes. “Except this one,” he said as if in pain.

“Are you okay?”

“The more powerful the object, the brighter they glow. This one is like looking into the sun,” Juzo said, his eye fading with the bluish glow and reverting to its menacing red.

Walter walked up beside him, his face pressed against the glass. “Which one?”

“That,” Juzo said, tapping the glass, pointing at a porcelain white crane about the size of Walter’s thumbnail, nestled between other figurines.

“Shit. Where have I seen something like that before?” He could see a slice of the memory, like looking at it through a narrow tube. There was a dark hand holding it, the hand attached to a body with a multitude of black daggers. The Black Guard in Midgaard. He remembered now.

“It’s an invocation detector,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” Juzo asked, his head turning towards him, pushing a gray strand behind his ear.

“It glows when someone close by is using the Dragon or the Phoenix powers.” Walter walked back into the intersection, straining his ears and peering into the flickering shadows. It was quiet and empty. A laugh echoed from the distance, almost imperceptible. One can never be too cautious, especially if you’re a man who can touch the Dragon.

“What are you doing?” Juzo asked, his fingers caressing Blackout’s hilt.

“Making sure the walls don’t have ears.”

Juzo nodded and Walter opened his palm, allowing a tiny ball of fire to spring to life. The white figurine glowed with a brilliant red. Walter closed his palm, dissipating the fireball and the glow of the tiny crane followed.

“The Black Guard used one of these in Midgaard to detect when Malek was controlling the mind of the King,” he said, coughing on the dusty air.

“I see… sounds useful,” Juzo said.

“Very.” Walter nodded.

“Do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” Juzo wasn’t really thinking about robbing the Silver Tower, was he?

Blackout was out of its sheathe with a hiss. Walter involuntarily stepped back, self-preservation mechanisms taking over. Juzo made three cuts, forming a square large enough for his hand. Juzo glared up at him, a scowl touching his face. What did he expect? The last time he saw Blackout it seemed to be swallowing the spirit of a Death Spawn giant. And how did he get so damn good with the sword? After the last cut, his other hand snapped out, catching the square of glass as it dropped out from the rest.

“Wait—” Walter said far too late. “We don’t know if it’s warded or protected somehow. It must be, right?” Walter focused his attention to the hall, waiting for the ominous sound of Milvorian steel pounding on the stones.

“No. It’s not. I can see the inscriptions of wards too, remember?” Juzo said calmly, a smile tugging at his lips as he gingerly set the square of glass down.

“Shit,” Walter breathed. “Now we’re going to steal from the most powerful group in the realm?”

“Men have done much worse throughout history to protect themselves. You’re not just any person, Walter. You’re the fucking dual wielder. You need to stay alive,” Juzo whispered, reaching his hand through and picking up the crane.

He handed it to Walter, who received it in cupped palms, stuffing it into his pocket. Juzo’s reasoning made sense. What was a little theft if the world was torn asunder? The thought drew a sick smile from his lips.

“Something funny?”

“No,” Walter shook his head. “You’re right,” he shrugged.

“Melt the glass back together, no one will know we were even here,” Juzo suggested, sheathing Blackout. Something skittered in the shadows. Juzo whipped his head towards it. “Just a rat,” he said.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Walter muttered, looking from the empty square of glass and back over his shoulder.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Juzo said.

Walter used his arm to direct Juzo away from the glass and he complied, taking a step back. The square shard levitated into the air, wobbling as it rose in front of Walter’s face.

“Nice!” Juzo whispered.

Walter ignored his voice, blocking out anything that didn’t involve placing that piece of glass in its perfectly cut spot. When he first tried to set it, the corners were askew, clipping and chiming on the long edges.

“Almost got it,” he said, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his jaw. It finally slid in with a soft hiss. Now to bond it with just a bit of Dragon fire. Walter bit the insides of his cheeks, concentrating on the sprig of fire extending from his fingertip. His throat felt dry as a bone, pleading for an itch.

He drew a thin line of flame along one side, melting the glass together. It looked good, clean even. He breathed deeply, still embracing the calm of the Phoenix to levitate the glass section, while managing the swirling chaos of the Dragon to melt the glass. He cleared his throat, sealing the bond across the top.

He started working on the last side when a fit of coughing started assaulting his throat. He lost control of the Phoenix and the Dragon surged with fury, flames leaping from his finger in a cone of molten red, blinding him with its brilliance. He fell onto his back, releasing his hold on the Dragon, gasping and coughing. A yawning hole had been melted through the center of the window, big enough for Grimbald to crawl through, glass dribbling along the edges and onto the floor. The artifacts behind it were burned to ashes, streaks of char fanning out from the blackened hole.

Walter laughed mid-cough, “Well, that was unexpected.”

“That’s not good. Let’s get going, we really don’t want to be found here,” Juzo said, hooking him under his shoulder and dragging him to his feet. Walter stumbled from the force of Juzo’s strength, fumbling back the way they came. They passed a few students, none that could possibly know Walter could use Dragon fire though, right?

They dropped themselves onto the leather couch in the expansive lounge they had passed through earlier, Bezda’s knowing eyes staring down at him from the immense painting. Walter threw his head back on the couch with a breath of relief, staring up at the ceiling and seeing a horde of demons carved in the domed ceiling. They were frozen in time, crawling down from the center, horns, teeth, and claws all reaching towards him, wanting to tear him limb from limb. Their black eyes were goading him to make another transgression against the Tower.

“Think anyone saw us?” he asked, looking at Juzo who was also studying the carvings above.

“Nah, don’t worry. We’re fine,” Juzo said, craning his head over his shoulder.

Walter scratched his jaw. “They’re going to think it was one of the women,” Walter said, lowering his voice as a pair of male students walked by arm in arm, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. One of them smiled at Walter and he felt his cheeks burning. He had read about same-sex couples, but this was his first time seeing one in person.

“Wait—were those both men walking so close like that?” Juzo asked quietly.

“You really should have paid more attention in school.” Walter grinned. “It’s quite common for men and women on this side of the realm to get together, as it were.”

Juzo’s fist thumped into his arm. “Dragons! Things are different here, that’s for sure. What’s the point though?”

“Love, lust, they have no bounds I’d say.” Walter shrugged.

“Aye,” he nodded, watching the blue robed couple turn down a hall, light shimmering around the archway’s frame. “What did you mean when you said they’re going to think it was a girl?”

“Only women are supposed to be able to control fire, the Dragon.”

“Ah—yes. That’s right. They’ll never know it was us then,” Juzo said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“I hope so. Here, you should take this,” Walter said, opening his closed fist in Juzo’s hands, dropping the tiny crane into it. “It’ll be glowing non-stop in my classes. Not the best way to hide the thing and I sure can’t keep it in my room.”

“Alright,” he said, dropping it into a small pouch on his sword belt. It was good to be like this with Juzo again, having a somewhat normal conversation, causing mischief. He had to cherish the moment though, for it might not last too long given the state of things these days.

“Why do you still have your hair?” Walter asked, rubbing at his stubbly head.

“They don’t make Arms apprentices follow that stupid practice,” Juzo said, stretching his arms out overhead.

“I’m in the wrong House,” Walter scoffed.

“Can you switch Houses?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Baylan said there’s a lot for me to learn in the House of the Phoenix, anyway.”

Juzo nodded. The dying flames sputtered in the grand fireplace, in sore need of more wood. Walter’s eyes were drawn to the handle of Blackout. It was about time to do something about that. That damn sword had caused them far too many problems.

“Juzo, that sword,” Walter said, shaking his head.