The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) (12 page)

“Wow,” a student breathed.

“Impressive lad! How many can you do?” Grozul waved his hand and the three arrows floated back into the air.

“I don’t know, how many are there?” Walter said, shrugging and trying to hide his amusement, but failing as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Eh? Twelve? Let’s try them all. Three was too easy for you, son.” Grozul laughed, flicking his yellow-nailed hand at the quiver. Baylan was rubbing his temples, staring down at the ground, his eyebrows tightly knitted in what might be anger.

A dozen arrows leaped into the air, Grozul’s face strained with concentration, both arms outstretched and fingers wriggling. His tongue flitted about his dry, cracking lips. “Ready?” he asked, his voice wavering as if he were bearing a heavy load.

“Ready,” Walter said, letting his eyes fall as the world melted away, entering the void of Warrior’s Focus. Baylan’s disapproving stares faded and the colorful trinkets on Grozul’s desk blended into one swirling mass of color. The wrinkles covering most of Master Grozul’s eyes seemed to have parted in eager concentration.

Grozul’s hands chopped down in slow motion, leaving trailing after images of his arms as they swept to the floor. Walter peered up at the arrows, starting to fall as if through a wall of molasses. Most were the simple type he was used to seeing people use, except one was different than all of the others. The strange arrow was a deep black with curving thorns on the edges, fletching not made of feathers but a coarse dark hair. There was something bizarrely familiar about it that made his eyes go wide and stomach toss with fury. It was the same type of arrow that had killed his father. The arrows the Death Spawn used.

Walter looked from the arrow then back at Grozul, the old man’s eyes seeming to tighten in that split second as Walter looked from it to him then back at the arrow. Rage bubbled up from that placed he had stuffed it down tight. It took every ounce of his will to refrain from opening himself to Dragon and burning them all from the air. He forced that boiling anger aside, slowly exhaling as the arrows fell near to the height of his head. He sent imaginary tendrils of the Phoenix’s tails around each arrow, snaring them and holding them in the air, strings of light so fine only he knew where they were.

Reality came rushing back, time accelerating, as the door to the room screeched open on stiff hinges. The arrows hissed in the air, murderous points now directed at the intruder. Bezda’s deep blue eyes opened with surprised amusement at the scene as she continued pushing through and fearlessly striding into the room. She gingerly pushed one of the arrows leveled at her face to the side and well out of harm’s way.

Walter’s eyes darted to Grozul and the arrows followed, points levitating in the air, threatening to turn him into a fleshy pincushion. Grozul’s back stiffened and fists tightened, knuckles white as his beard. “Ok, that’s good, Walter,” he squeezed out.

Blood pounded through Walter’s ears, red with fuming anger, and down to his toes. He let out a held breath and the arrows fell to the ground, clattering and rolling in different directions. The Cerumal arrow’s point thumped into a floorboard, up at an angle, dark thorns swallowing the sunray that should have reflected bright. What the fuck was that doing here? Research, it must be just for research purposes. Walter slowly turned to Baylan, who was now staring at that menacing arrow.

Bezda glided around the room, starting to slowly clap with muted enthusiasm. “Now that’s something else. I thought I’d come and see how the first day of class was progressing and it seems remarkably well. Nicely done, Master Grozul,” she said, sending a smile towards him, his cheeks ruddy, then she winked at Walter.

He supposed that was what Baylan’s problem was. Walter was never good at blending in, that he knew. Once again he let his ever inflating ego get the best of him. Maybe someday Noah’s lessons would sink in, likely not. Walter reckoned he could do better, though it was hard to change a man’s temperament.

Master Grozul’s shoulders’ relaxed and he tugged on his robes, straightening the rumpled, threadbare rag. Bezda standing beside the House Master was like a flower blooming in the mud, her silken robes gleaming in a cylinder of light. “And what are we reviewing today?” she asked, glancing at each student, seeming to Walter to spend far too much time looking at him, not that he particularly minded the attention.

“Today,” he cleared his throat and started pulling on his beard.

Bezda leaned in closer to him, peering intently, her white hair curling gently around her narrow jaw.

He forced a laugh that didn’t touch his eyes, “I’m testing the students for their innate abilities. As you can see, Mistress, we have some truly talented apprentices in our ranks,” Grozul said, rubbing his hands together.

“You’ve found some excellent recruits Zane. I just came from the House of the Dragon. The other apprentice you brought us, I think Nyset was her name. She seems to have a lot of potential,” Bezda said, head tilted and exposing her long neck.

“Where did you find them?”

“Breden, a small village—”

“I know where it is. You traveled far to find them. Why?”

“I wanted to find the best I could for the Tower, Mistress,” Baylan said, doing his best to deferentially look away.

“Did I send you on a recruiting mission?” Grozul asked, adjusting his useless spectacles hanging off the end of his long nose.

“Yes, Master you sent me a couple years ago. Told me not to come back until I found recruits for all the houses,” Baylan said, convincingly sincere. This web of lies will eventually leave us all tangled. That you could count on.

“There are so many students. Your face is not familiar to me, but that is something I would say. Time does ravage the mind, indeed it does,” Grozul trailed off, staring into the crystal orb on his desk.

“It seems your village has produced a wonderful crop. Carry on then, House Master,” she said, swirling blue and cream silken robes trailing behind.

“Very well, thank you, Mistress,” Grozul said snapping to attention, pulling his eyes from the orb and back to Bezda. “We do appreciate your visit. Let us next move onto Phoenix shields.”

“
A
lright
, everyone find a partner and we’ll do some sparring. Remember: you’re not trying to kill your partner. We all want to train tomorrow and if you get injured you can’t do that,” said Arms Master Burtz. He was a small man, but he had a certain dangerous edge about him that Grimbald couldn’t quite put his fingers on. Though most men were small to him, this one was even smaller, likely a tough target in a battle.

The Arms Master wore a gray handkerchief wrapped tightly over his hairless head, loose fitting leather armor, and a limp mustache that fell down the sides of his lips. His dark skin wrapped tight over his cheeks and over his square chin, topped with a stippling of black hair. On his hips was a sword on one side and a hard edged mace on the other. Grimbald had no doubts that he could crush a man’s chest with a single blow with that mace, maybe even his.

“Remember to use control. You can tackle and wrestle, but try to pull your strikes back a bit,” Burtz said, striding in front the men, standing in a line in rapt attention.

Juzo walked up to him, looking him up and down like he was a meal. “Would you like to work together, Grim?”

“Alright. Don’t eat me though,” Grimbald said, carelessly letting his thoughts flow out of his mouth. He sure had a bad way with words, something that earned him a life of loneliness. He forced a smile under his square beard, trying to smooth over his blunder. Someday, he would figure out how to prevent his lips from working on their own.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare try, commander. I couldn’t eat a giant in one sitting anyway,” Juzo flashed him a good-natured, though razor sharp grin. Even the man’s smiles made Grimbald’s skin grow cold.

“Take off your blade, lad,” the Arms Master said as he walked by Juzo, giving his sword belt a generous yank. Juzo grunted, his eye red with hate and narrowed at Burtz as he barked to another group “We don’t have all day, get sparring!”

Juzo swallowed, staring down at the sword on his hip. Grimbald could have sworn the blade glided from its sheathe on its own, but it had to have been a trick of the light. Juzo whispered something at his side, fingers gently rubbing his sword’s hilt.

“Are you okay?” Grimbald asked, rubbing the sheen of sweat budding on his head.

“Huh? Yes,” Juzo snapped. He unbuckled his belt and set it against a practice dummy behind him and beside Corpsemaker, gently lowering it like he was putting a fallen lover into the grave. Grimbald understood the adoration one could feel for a weapon, but this was something else entirely.

The practice yard was behind the Tower to the north, surrounded by green vistas that rolled down into the surrounding walls. Half of the yard was a mixture of sand and silt for sparring, the other half intricately laid stone forming the sigil of the tower on the ground. Tower guards marched in formation on the stone in sets of two, faces dark, Milvorian steel white in the high sun, boots clopping like horses. Grimbald thought he sometimes took life too seriously until he saw the look on these men. He had yet to see the inklings of a smile touch their faces.

Birds sang and twittered among the trees, reminding him of home and the forest surrounding Shipton. Life was much simpler back then. It was just him and Pa, minding the Hissing Gooseberry and practicing the axe in the morning. It had never occurred to him until now how his pa had known so much about fighting, but he was feeling grateful for his teachings now.

“Ready?” Juzo said, fists rising in front of his face, elbows tight against his sides.

“Let’s do the thing,” Grimbald said, arms held high.

Juzo was a blur of white and brown, slipping under his arms and ramming into his side, blowing the air out his lungs, then stomping on his toes. Grimbald swung his big fist as Juzo rolled away, lips pulled back into a predatory smile as he stood.

Grimbald heaved a gasping breath, rubbing at his ribs and wiggling his toes. It didn’t feel like anything was broken, but for a small man, he could sure hit hard. He was fast, too fast. He couldn’t rely on his strength, he had to use a different tact. He ran his stubby tongue along his teeth, all intact. That was good, he had a bad habit of clenching down too hard.

Juzo dashed in again, this time he was ready. Grimbald dropped low, meeting him shoulder to shoulder, blasting him into the ground and sending him rolling across the sand. Juzo growled, wiping sand from his eye and spitting out the side of his mouth.

“Well done,” he muttered, rolling out his shoulder and shaking sand out of his hair.

“Are you alright?” Grimbald never liked hurting anyone he didn’t have too. He hoped he didn’t hit him too hard, but he thought Juzo could take it.

In another blur of streaking color, something kicked him in the gut, dropping him to a knee. Then something pushed off his knee, tremendous pressure cinching around his throat. He pulled at the arms wrapped tight around his neck like a noose. There was no working a finger under them. Grimbald jumped as high as he could, throwing himself onto his back, trying to crush Juzo with his bulk. He knew he had seconds before the sun would go down.

As he was sucked back to earth, darkness flitted at the edges of his vision. Then the light returned as the arms were released by the sides of his head, like two battered pale snakes. Grimbald rolled up into a sitting position, rubbing his neck, throat scratchy and dry. He pushed himself forward, out from between Juzo’s legs, peering down at his crumpled body. There were two lines of red trickling out of Juzo’s nose. His jaw shifted far too much to the right.

“By the Dragon, I said not to kill your training partner, you dumb bastard!” Burtz snapped, taking a knee beside Juzo. Burtz started slapping Juzo’s cheeks to no avail, then walked around to his legs, lifting them up and shaking them.

“Give me a hand here, would you?” Burtz barked over his shoulder at him.

“Right,” Grimbald said, scrambling to Juzo’s back. Other students started gathering around now, casting worried stares from him to Juzo and muttering words of disbelief.

Stupid. Once again your size works against you. He really needed to learn to control himself, getting too caught up in the moment. Grimbald put his arms under Juzo’s armpits, unsure of what to do, rubbing under them and trying to wake him up. Juzo’s eye patch slipped off and fell around his neck, showing an ugly patch of scarred skin where his eye once was. Grimbald winced at it, wondering how he’d lost the eye. The scar looked to be smashed meat, bone disfigured and chipped around the socket.

Juzo’s eye opened wide and he screamed, smashing Burtz in the mouth with his boot. At the same time his lips curled back, hissing and snarling, sharpened teeth snapping a hair from Grimbald’s neck. Grimbald rolled onto his back, feeling at his neck for blood, finding only gritty sand sticking to his sweaty skin. Juzo was on his feet, black sword in his hand, seeming to vibrate the air around it.

“Peace, lad. Put the blade down,” Master Burtz urged, one hand pinching his bloody nose, the other splayed towards Juzo. “Easy now…” Juzo lowered the blade to his side and Master Burtz walked over to him.

“I need to set your jaw,” Burtz said quietly. “This won’t feel good, but I’ll make it quick. That I can guarantee.”

Juzo nodded, making an incoherent sound, his tongue lolling out his mouth. Burtz pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his belt and slipped them on, fists opening and closing. He wrapped his hands around the back of Juzo’s head and pressed his thumbs into his chin. Juzo’s eye rolled in the socket, looking everywhere but at Burtz.

Grimbald wrapped his hands around his stomach, a sea of nausea threatening to burst through his lips like a volcano. He thought he might have felt a pain in his jaw, working it open and closed, finding it still intact. He forced himself to keep his eyes open and watch how this was done. It could be useful to know, however much it pained him to see his friend suffer. Master Burtz jerked his elbows down and drove his arms into Juzo’s head. There was a distinct clunking sound as his jaw slid back into place.