The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) (20 page)

They made their way to the House of the Dragon, looking much like the House of the Phoenix from the outside. Its entryway was supposedly warded such that only those that could use the Dragon could enter. Walter was tempted to test it to see what would happen, but thought better of it.

“Best of luck with the Arch Wizard,” she said, grabbing his shoulders and kissing his cheek. She pushed herself off him, her warmth lingering as she strode through the archway, gilded with a waving red Dragon. He watched her walk away, eyes transfixed on her swaying hips. She looked back before turning down a corridor, smiled and waved before slipping away, a bag dangling from her arm.

N
aturally
, the Arch Wizard’s office was at the tallest spire with the most stairs conceivable. She must have not liked having visitors, not that a few stairs would deter Walter. Bezda’s room was large by any standard, not nearly as big as King Ezra’s throne room, but about the size of Master Grozul’s classroom.

She had fine taste. Bright silken pillows in blues and greens sat on couches of the most bizarre sort surrounding the perimeter of the room. In the center was a spotless desk, legs carved like swirling Dragons, where Bezda continued writing after waving him in. A bust of a man Walter didn’t recognize scowled from a shelf above the fireplace, fat embers burning bright. Behind the shelf was a massive mirror, beautifully crafted without a single bubble, trimmed in red glass. Two magnificent vases loomed over her desk, filled with exotic flowers with purple, white, and orange petals. They didn’t seem to be the flesh eating type. Along the walls were evenly spaced canvases, finely detailed works of the heroes of the past in gilded frames. He was surprised she didn’t have any paintings of herself, though there had to be one somewhere.

“This had better be important. I have a lot to finish today.”

Walter turned to her, meeting a different set of eyes than he’d seen before. These eyes were distant, red with exhaustion. How does one broach the subject of demons at your door? How about an artifact that renders the most powerful woman in the world weak as lamb in the butcher’s hands? Walter rubbed the bridge of his nose and shifted his weight, floorboard creaking underfoot. Her forehead wrinkled up as she waited for him to say something.

“Uh—I was visited by a spirit last night, the spirit of a man that I gave a proper burial too after being murdered by Death Spawn,” he said quietly. The story sounded more and more preposterous as it left his lips.

“A spirit? And what did it tell you?” she asked, tilting her head, her short yellow hair creeping across her cheek.

She believed him and Walter felt this was starting off better than he’d anticipated. She started tapping her quill on the other hand. It was best to get to the meat of it then, no sense in dancing about what needed saying. “It told me that the Death Spawn come, a great mass of them specifically. I’m not sure entirely what that means.”

“It would be only suicide for them to strike here.”

“That was what Bay—my mentor said. It seems to make sense to me as well. I was just up on the main parapet. With the bridge being the only way in, I can’t see how the place could be breached.”

“The Death Spawn are innovative, according to the Age of Dawn, their tactics can be as unpredictable as one who can use both the god’s essences.”

Had he given himself away? She was looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought perhaps. He realized Stormcaller was exposed, glinting bright and catching a stray beam making its way through the sheet of clouds. She would know what it was. He rolled the sleeve of his tunic down as inconspicuously as he could manage.

“Thank you for bringing me this news. We can never be too cautious during these black times. I will bring it to the council,” she said, her eyes tight. This wasn’t the sultry temptress he had encountered on the Tower grounds before. This was the leader, decisive and forceful. Her body was the same; that was certain, round in all the right places.

“What news does the apprentice bring?” a sharp voice snapped from behind. The treacherous voice that had already come to grate on his ears. Tamia stood in the doorway, wide enough for a cart, white arm stretched out overhead along the gilt frame. Her timing was impeccable.

“Walter,” the Arch Wizard emphasized the word, then ran her tongue along the front of her teeth and making a sucking sound. “Brings a warning from the Shadow Realm.”

“Is that so?” Tamia said, striding from the door and around to the side of Bezda’s desk. Her scowl seemed to grow with disdain, shadowy lines forming around her narrow mouth. What had he done to earn this woman’s contempt?

“Yes. He believes he was given a warning about the Tower’s future, from a spirit,” she added, looking at Tamia. She sauntered around to Bezda’s side, her black dress hissing on the floor, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. It was starting to look to Walter that Tamia was assisting the Arch Wizard in other ways than just with the goings on in the Silver Tower. They both regarded him with flat expressions, looking for a chink in his story. He forced his arms to be still by his side, though they were pleading to tug at the bottom of his shirt.

“What sort of warning?” Tamia asked. A humid breeze came through, fluttering strands of charcoal colored hair around her pale neck. The shutters beat against the window, rain trickling through their slits and down the wall.

“That—uh,” Why was it so much harder to say to her? He felt like he was a child having to admit a wrong-doing to his mother after lying to maintain his innocence for far too long.

“Out with it, boy,” she said with a swing of her arm, the wide sleeve curling in the air.

“It said that the Death Spawn will attack here,” he said, voice hard as iron.

“Nonsense. A ridiculous notion!” Tamia laughed, though not with a shred of humor.

“There’s something else,” Walter said, fingering the flat sides of the Equalizer crystal in his pocket.

“Yes?” Bezda said, leaning onto her elbows, chest bent over her desk. Walter’s eyes drifted down to the furrow between her breasts. She was too old, much too old for him. And then there was Nyset. He loved her, didn’t he? There wasn’t any harm in looking, he rationalized. He saw Tamia smirking out of the center of his focus and averted his eyes to the floor.

“I came across this,” he said pulling the glowing crystal out of his pocket. Tamia’s smirk dropped like it had been slapped off, replaced with her fingers pressing into her parted lips.

“Where did you get that?” Tamia snapped, her chin tilting up.

“What is it?” The Arch Wizard asked, grimacing at him. Tamia shuffled towards him, her bony fingers outstretched and pointing.

“A very dangerous artifact. Give it to me,” Tamia said, palm expectantly open, silver rings reflecting torchlight.

Walter dropped it in her hand, as if he had any other choice. She walked over to a shelf behind Bezda’s desk and placed it in a simple box. He could feel its affect waning, the Dragon and the Phoenix once again within his grasp. The box must have disabled the effect of the Equalizer.

“When we were traveling, we came upon one of the beasts. We killed it, and I found this on it,” he lied, hopefully convincingly.

Something glowed out of the corner of his eye, somewhere above. He lifted his head to find the source and the glow seemed to follow its motion. His scalp prickled like there was a Rot Fly biting it. He waved at it, hand passing through unexpected warmth.

“What’s happening?” Bezda asked, frowning and scratching her head. Her eyes drooped, staring at something behind Walter.

“What are you…?” Walter trailed off, forgetting what he was going to say.

Walter saw an encompassing, ethereal creature on Bezda’s head, inserting its legs and pincers through her skull. It was something he had seen before. There was a man he knew, an older man, who knew what the white insect was called. Now he found himself unable to remember the name or what it did. It was in his head somewhere, like trying to fish a dropped mark out of a foot of mud at the bottom of a river. Why was he here? Who were these women?

“This is a strange place,” he murmured, twirling around with his mouth hanging stupidly open.

“I like this chair,” Bezda said as if in a dream.

The face of Tamia bobbed in front of him, twisting with scorn, eyes glowing with violet. “You lost the artifact crystal on your way here. You did not come here, in fact. You decided to find a quiet place to take a nap. If anyone asks you, tell them it is none of their business what you do with your time. This business with the spirit was probably nothing to worry about.”

“Now,” she smiled broadly, and Walter smiled back, mind useless as polished armor. “Leave here and do not turn back until you’ve reached your quarters.”

Walter blinked, feeling very tired. “I think I’ll come back later… I’m going to my quarters now, need some rest,” he said, pushing through her banded door, strangely forgetting why he had even come here. It must have not been that important.

W
alter found
himself returning to the parapet after class the following day, enjoying the hour before his training started with Baylan. The view was gorgeous and the sound of the fresh water dumping into the sea was soothing. He stood in his usual spot, boot planted between the battlements and leaning on his knee, staring off. He found it surprising other students didn’t take advantage of the space. The guards didn’t seem to mind his being up there. He even knew some of their names now.

Boots scuffed on the stone and he turned expecting Nyset, finding the lumbering form of Grimbald sauntering over to him. He was a changed man, dressed in a fitted uniform of the Falcon, silver Captain’s bar glittering beside his neck. He carried himself differently, spine erect, eyes leveled and no longer looking at the ground.

“Thought I saw you up there,” he said, clapping Walter on the shoulder.

Walter groaned under the man’s incredible strength. “How are you, friend? It’s been a while. Too busy for the common people now, are you?”

“Didn’t think dual-wielders were common.”

“You know what I meant.”

“For only being here for what? Two weeks?” Grimbald asked, counting on his meaty fingers. “It’s been challenging. Much more difficult than managing the tavern. I haven’t forgotten you, but two-hundred and ninety-eight men is a lot of people to wrap your head around.”

“I don’t know how you do it. Hopefully, you haven’t had to give anyone a ‘haircut’ with Corpsemaker yet,” Walter said, nudging him. Walter squinted into the distance and felt his stomach twisting at the strange sight.

“I don’t know how I do it—something wrong, Walt?” Grimbald said, shielding his eyes and peering out.

“I’m not sure. Do you see that odd mirage in the distance, on the hills overlooking the village?”

“A trick of the light, maybe?” Grimbald suggested, tucking his thumbs into a wide leather belt.

“Yeah, you might be right,” Walter said, frowning at the dark line on the horizon.

Footfalls echoed down the stairs from the spire to his right, familiar voices in spirited conversation. Nyset laughed as she stumbled through the door, dodging Baylan’s attempt at ruffling her hair. Juzo followed through the archway after them, grinning.

“Well look at this, the whole crew together for once!” Walter laughed, leaning into a deep lunge on the battlements.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” Nyset said, hugging him from behind, then sliding over beside him, her back against the wall.

“I knew I could find you up here,” Baylan said, yawning and stretching his arms out overhead. “We should go and break bread together. It seems like it’s been years since at least one of us wasn’t occupied.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Grimbald said, straightening his belt.

“You look quite regal Grim, almost like a regular commander,” Juzo said, giving him a soft elbow.

Grimbald nodded, thick eyebrows knitting. “Almost,” he said briskly.

“Hey, relax Grim! I’m serious. You do look the part,” Juzo said, the same goofy smile Walter remembered growing up, now twisted with those teeth he still couldn’t get used to.

“Walter,” Baylan said, coming up on his other side, eyes hooded with sleeplessness. “What happened last night, with the Arch Wizard?” he said quietly. The other’s pulled in closer, Grimbald crossing his arms, Nyset tapping her fingers on her lips, Juzo glancing over his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh—right. Unfortunately I dropped the Equalizer on my way there, lost it.”

“You lost it?” Nyset said, craning her neck towards him.

“I—I think so,” he said. The thought was fuzzy. He couldn’t remember where he’d lost it, but knew he had, like an old childhood memory, long tucked away.

Baylan sighed, lowering his head, scratching his eyebrow. “How did she take to your warning from the spirit?”

“Equalizer? Spirit?” Grimbald asked. Walter quickly told Grimbald what happened and filled in the gaps for Juzo.

“I was on my way there and I instead decided to find a quiet place and take a nap,” the words came out mechanically, as if they weren’t his. “It was probably nothing to worry about.”

“Okay…” Baylan said, eyes scanning his face with concern.

“What?” Walter asked.

“Are you feeling alright, Walter?”

“Sure. Why? Just a little tired from all the training. Ah—maybe I need a break.”

“That may be prudent. Let’s take tonight off. Please get some sleep, will you?”

Walter kicked his heels together, snapping his bladed hand to his forehead, “Yes sir!” He broke out into a smile at Baylan and Grimbald’s frowns. He saw Nyset inching away from him, looking at him differently.

“What?” he said to her.

“You’re acting strange.” She squeezed a pouch full of herbs and started massaging it.

“Am I? Hm.”

Juzo was leaning between a set of battlements, hand curling around his eye like an eyeglass, jaw bulging with tension. “Look!” he pointed to the horizon towards the shadowy line, now swimming with shapes.

“What do you see?” Walter said, standing next to him and grabbing the wall.

“Death Spawn,” he said through gritted teeth, gust of air fluttering gray strands over his head.

Walter’s heart skipped a beat, hammering in his chest at the words. He had sincerely hoped it was a mirage and what the spirit warned him about was indeed nothing to worry about. Oh how wrong he was. He stared out, shadow stretching wider as more humanoid forms crested the hills. Walter’s fingers felt sore, straining against the bricks. He released his hands, giving them a shake. “They shouldn’t be here. It would only be suicide for them to attack, wouldn’t it?”

A horn bellowed from a spire, reverberating through his open mouth and down into his chest. A great cacophony joined in, blowing as loud as a volcano, sending waving tremors up and down Walter’s body. Baylan said something to Nyset, who said something to him, drowned in the booming horns all around.

A cloud of dust rose over the hill, smearing the sky in browns. “The beasts are here!” Grimbald roared, his hand wrapped tight around Corpsemaker on his back.

“They’re here too!” Nyset shouted, pointing at a second column that had appeared from the east. A plume of smoke rose from between a valley, drifting towards the villages. Their armor didn’t reflect the light, shadows darkening as they marched.

“I have to go to my men,” Grimbald said, dashing towards the spire’s archway.

They were organized, units fanning out into determined positions, forming long columns. They were well out of bow-shot, but what about magic? Armsmen stomped down the market square behind, climbing stairways and settling into positions on the battlements, bows at the ready.

The dark columns swept down the hills, no doubt ravaging anything and everything. Three pillars of smoke emerged from stone and timber houses, billowing out to the sea. The red flicker of fire burned on the horizon, spreading across the rooftops. Screams carried on the wind, faint like whispers, a brutal sound no one could dismiss as something more benign.

“We should be there. We need to help them,” Nyset said, crushing his arm in hers.

“No, we have to stay here, behind the bridge,” Walter said with a swallow. “We would only be slaughtered there, especially alone.”

She exhaled, tears welling in her eyes, then nodded with resolution. “I know, I know.”

A large party forded the river from the west, drifting towards the embankment before the wall. Walter could see the ladders on their boats, more than adequate for scaling the walls. They were circled in, surrounded by steep hills to the north beyond the practice yard. There would be no running, only bodies piled high. The question was mostly whether it would be theirs or the Death Spawn’s.

The defenders of the Tower could do nothing but watch from the walls as the houses beyond the bridge were engulfed in a cloud of smoke, speckled with tongues of fire. It was all happening too fast. A column of wizards in scarlet robes filled in between the armsmen, eyes glowing with the fire of the Dragon.

“The House of the Dragon,” Nyset said.

“Why isn’t Tamia with them?” Baylan said behind them. Walter started, almost pissing himself, forgetting Baylan was there.

“Baylan,” Walter breathed. “Shit.”

Armsmen spilled in around them, crouching low behind the battlements, armor clinking, bow strings twanging as they were tested. “Out of the way, apprentice,” an armsman said, shouldering him to the back of the parapet. He wasn’t about to argue with a man wearing Milvorian steel. Walter didn’t think it would be much longer before his secret was revealed, rubbing at Stormcaller under his sleeve. He knew it would only be a matter of time, as inevitable as the coming sunset.

The others pulled to the back as armsmen filled the gaps where they were standing. The grip the Death Spawn had on the village tightened, tiny shapes becoming more visible. The archer’s tower was now in flames. Nyset stood with her hand on her short sword, her blond hair swirling about her hollow cheeks.

Juzo was beside Baylan, looking balefully out at the black mass. “There are a lot of Death Spawn down there,” he grunted.

Baylan was looking down, scribbling notes with a stub of charcoal. In the face of impending death, he would be the one to be writing it all down during the event. “About twelve thousand, I would guess,” Baylan said musingly.

“Twelve thousand,” Walter repeated.

Something rose out of the swarming Death Spawn, lifting into the air, its unfolding wings spreading wide.

Juzo gasped. “That’s not a dragon, is it? I need to find a weapon,” he said patting his empty hips. He turned toward one of the armsmen, asking him for his spare sword.

“No… it’s a Shattered Wing. Walter, the thing we saw in the Denerian Cliffs months ago,” Nyset said.

“I remember it,” he said with a nod.

“Close enough to a dragon from the legends,” Nyset added.

It was terrifyingly fast, soaring over half of the bridge in less than a minute, its feathered wings flapping like crashing waves. It let out a gut wrenching scream, its incredible mouth yawning open. Smaller pairs of legs dangled from its long arms and tiny avian legs.

Bow strings snapped and arrows soared, falling short of the mark. A wizard beside Nyset hurled twin fireballs at it, one tearing through its back leg. The leg twisted through the air, black blood raining from its wound. A humanoid figure clung to the plummeting limb, body stretched out, purple robes flapping.

The Skin Flayer hanging from its leg let go, falling onto the bridge and deftly rolling. It unsheathed runed blades, shimmering with yellow dots. The Skin Flayer hacked its blades into a merchant, screaming, trying to make his way to the closed Tower gates. The beast kicked the merchant off his blades, blood spattering onto stone, sending him over the side of the bridge and splashing into the river below. The Skin Flayer’s eyes glowed, whirling his blades through other civilians running for the gates before they closed.

Walter looked up, and saw the Shattered Wing closer, twirling like a missile and weaving through gouts of fire and arrows.

“Nyset!” Walter shouted.

“I’m on it!” she said, her hair lifting into the air, eyes burning.

The flying Death Spawn folded its wings over its back, darting straight towards them, its sickled horns above its head leading the charge. Its eyeless face seemed to be focused on him. Walter caressed the Phoenix, its cool touch bringing his heart rate down a few beats. He fanned his fingers open, luminescent shield springing to life, wide enough to protect himself and Nyset.

Fire exploded from the air itself, blowing a hole from the side of the Shattered Wing, offal spilling from the open cavity like a gutted pig. The creature shrieked, falling uncontrollably, men ducking all around. Walter grabbed Nyset’s shoulder, dragging her, open mouthed, to the ground.

The Shattered Wing’s horn caught on one of the battlements with a boom, flipping it over the parapet and crashing into the square behind them. It rolled over and over, smashing through merchant’s carts and leaving a line of destruction in its wake.

“This isn’t a nightmare, is it? Is this really happening?” An armsman muttered beside him, echoing Walter’s thoughts.

“Shit!” Walter and Juzo breathed simultaneously, making eye contact, bits of stone dust hanging in the air. Something growled beside Walter and he turned as an armsman stabbed his spear through the face of a Cerumal, splashing blood across his shirt.

“Shit!” he yelled, the illusion of safety now fully dismissed. Walter looked down into the market square. A Black Wynch stumbled to its feet and a Cerumal was crawling out from under the dead Shattered Wing, its legs mangled in wrong directions.

A young boy in dirty clothes had a boulder in his hands. He lifted it overhead and walked to the Cerumal. The creature grabbed his neck, hand crushing it like an orange, boulder dropping onto the beast’s face and flattening it. The boy collapsed on top of the Cerumal’s lifeless body, blood dribbling out of his ruined neck.

“Hey!” Walter yelled, seeing the House of the Phoenix, blue robes finally pouring out a spire. “Hey!” Walter screamed, stabbing his finger at the brave lad. They finished the Black Wynch with a few well-placed portals, then Master Grozul tended to the boy. He looked up at Walter and shook his head with what he guessed was a frown under his beard.

He turned from the parapet’s edge, meeting Nyset’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes sharp and peering over his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked, turning around to see Juzo dragging the corpse of the Cerumal away and towards the archway.

Walter walked over, helping him with its legs. “Good idea, we should try to keep bodies off the wall.”

“Uh, yeah,” Juzo said, looking at him for a second, then stared back at the creature, licking his lips.

“Food?” Walter asked, grim recognition dawning.

Juzo nodded, swallowing. As soon as they were out of sight, his mouth latched onto the beast’s neck, greedily sucking down its warm blood. “I’m sorry,” Juzo said, taking a breath. He looked up at Walter, his mouth swathed in red, tongue circling his lips. “I think I’ll be needing my strength.”