The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) (2 page)

Asebor’s chains and capes snapped straight, showering blood and flesh around the room. The chains returned to him, slowly curling about his limbs, painting red lines along his black leather armor. His cloak dragged behind him as he bridged the short distance between himself and the dead man. Asebor squatted beside Darkthorne, armor plates strewn around his flayed body. A pauldron rolled from side to side. Asebor reached his black hand out, gently stopping its humming.

“A shame, you had so much potential. It’s hard to find good help in these times,” Asebor said, tapping his index finger on Darkthorne’s bloody skull.

A line of blue light split the air behind him, its ends twisting in clockwise directions, forming a perfect circle. A topless woman stepped through the portal. She wore bottoms of gold and clear emeralds, a heavy fur cloak draped over her shoulders and trailing behind. She hid her gasp the best she could at the sight of her skinned colleague.

“Alena,” Asebor said, his back to her. He rose to his full height, turning and facing her. She shuffled back a step, eyes burning with intense green, pulling her cloak tight around her chest.

“I’ll need you to take over here. Darkthorne is no longer up for the job, as you can plainly see.”

“Great lord, I came as fast as I could. Of course, anything, master,” she said, releasing the cloak, spreading her arms in a flourish and bowing low. The demon half-skull she wore as a crown jostled and she reached untarnished fingers towards it, keeping it in place. She walked towards Darkthorne’s twitching body, rubbing her narrow chin, her long blackberry colored hair fluttering over her backside.

“What happened?” she asked, carelessly stepping into his pooling blood, her white hands planted on her bare hips.

Another portal opened beside Asebor. Through the portal was his icy throne, smoking upon the landing that seemed to hover in the air, connected only by intersecting stairways. Amber orbs around the landing cast their dim glow alongside half of his body.

“He failed me,” Asebor drawled, glowing eyes meeting hers, forming into slits.

“I see,” she said quietly, jabbing at his corpse with her golden sandals, making the strings of emeralds that hung from waist tinkle.

“I could resurrect him, assimilate him with the southern army,” Alena drawled. She stepped out of the pool of sticking blood and rested her hands on the silvery length of chain that secured her cloak to her shoulders.

Asebor slowly nodded. “The Tower will not easily fall. Make use of his body as you’d like.”

“Another soldier is always welcome,” she said with a smirk.

Alena snapped her fingers and a shambling corpse lumbered through her circular doorway. Shredded bits of trousers, moldy and threadbare fell to the ground behind its path as it trudged towards Darkthorne. The corpse’s eyes and mouth gaped open, glowing with the same brilliant green as Alena’s eyes. A few pieces of flesh remained attached to its ribs where worms threaded through the tissue like jewelry. It bent over, hefting the bloody sack that was once the mighty Darkthorne. Mothers in The Great Retreat would use his name in campfire stories to scare the kids. Alena didn’t think those stories would live on for much longer.

The corpse walked back towards the portal with its burden, scraping its fleshless feet on the stone as it walked.

“My lord, preparing for the assault on the Silver Tower and managing the raising of the army… will be difficult.” Alena stared at the bits of plate strewn about the red puddle of gore and swallowed hard.

“I’m sure you will find a way to manage,” he said, his dark lips spreading in a menacing grin. Asebor started pacing about the room, cloak trailing behind on the dusty floor. “Dresna guards my lair and prepares to march upon The Nether. Hilanda is indisposed within the Silver Tower… and Marcine prepares the armies beneath the Woodland Plunge to lay waste to the Great Retreat, to slay the Shaman scum.”

He paused, releasing a sigh that sounded more like a growl. “I had been unable to contact Terar or sense his essence for weeks now. Yesterday, I searched his dungeons in the Tigerian Bluffs to find what I presumed to be his body. He’d been quartered, gutted, sliced into hundreds of tiny pieces. The only way I was able to identify him was by that odd mask he loved to wear. Do you know what that means, Alena?”

Her eyes darted from his, watching as the bony skeleton stepped through her portal. “The Bearer of Blackout is free?” she asked. Her portal winked out with a sizzling spark.

“Correct, I believe Terar lost control of his pet and it likely led to his butchering.”

“He was to lead the army to the other realms,” Alena breathed, rubbing her fingers along the thick fur lining her cloak.

“Yes. Adaptability Alena. That is how we survive. Darkthorne was unable to adapt, Are you?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, prostrating herself.

“Terar, Malek and Darkthorne have all failed me. Will you join their ranks?”

“No,” she blurted out.

“Do you see what happens when you fail?”

“Yes my lord, yes!” The memory of their last meeting was something she would not forget. It took weeks for her bleeding, lightning-scorched skin to fully heal. The recovery was misery. The wounds Asebor inflicted did not respond well to Phoenix healing.

“Good, rise to your feet. I need you, Alena. I need you to be strong.”

She nodded quickly and stood slowly, the bulbous jades around her neck jingling. Asebor’s eyes flashed in a brilliant purple and he placed his shadowy hand to her delicate shoulder. His touch was like ice and goosebumps prickled along her arms. She stared at it and closed her eyes tightly, fists clenched, waiting expectantly for his wrath.

“Do not fail me Alena, my favor,” he whispered. Wispy swirls of purple light sprung from her skin and then were sucked into her body. The green glow of her eyes brightened with a violet outline.

“The power, your favor… thank you, my lord, for this gift. Thank you!” She stared at her hands, shimmering with a violet aura. “It’s magnificent,” she said, beaming with her perfect teeth, perfect skin, and perfect eyes.

“Use it wisely. How are the preparations for the Tower assault?”

“Excellent, great lord. I’ve resurrected over 8,000 bodies from the unmarked graves to the south. They’re ruthless, emotionless, respond to my every command, and do not feel pain. They’re perfect soldiers.” She rubbed her hands together and licked her full lips.

“You’ll need more, the Tower is well fortified. Take half the battalion here. I’ll send you my Shattered Wings. I’ll make sure they obey.”

“Excellent, thank you, my lord.”

Asebor started walking the perimeter of the cave, scraping his talons along the walls. Alena remained where she stood, shuffling her long dancer’s feet.

Asebor turned his head over his shoulder, “You witnessed the battle at the Plains of Dressna. Some say there was a wizard who slaughtered most of the army, others say the very sky turned against us, others the volcano rained its fury upon us.”

“What do you say, Alena?”

“It was certainly magic, I know not which. Burning lightning appeared from the sky, striking only our soldiers. They fell swiftly and what remained were quickly overwhelmed.”

She shook her head, tilting her eyes to the cavern’s roof. “My precious creation is dead. I don’t know what I’ll do. So much time, so much power…the Lord of Death,” She trailed off and squeezed her forearm with her nails, drawing ellipses of red.

The screeching of Asebor’s talons along the wall sent bits of stone falling in its wake.

“Could it have been the dual wielder?” he asked, briefly pausing.

Her breath caught and she inhaled sharply, releasing her arm in her steely grip. She frowned down at the blood and brought the arm to her mouth, wide tongue lapping at the wounds.

“It—the spell would seem to match the histories of dual-wielder’s of ages past. One who can wield both the Dragon and the Phoenix…yes it must have been.”

Asebor stopped, removing his hand from the wall. His body glimmered and transfigured into white mist. The luminescent mist glided towards her, passing through stone columns. The mist swirled into the shape of his towering form and vanished in a puff, revealing his armor clad form before her.

“Malek,” Asebor breathed. “Have you seen him?”

“No, the last I heard… Marcine told me he was punished, exiled and made—” Her throat vibrated and she fought off the urge to vomit. “Made Passive,” she worked out.

“Yes. Now I am unable to sense his soul’s location in the realms.”

The chains around Asebor’s arms unfurled, leaping straight up into air. Alena took a few hesitant steps back, face white as a sheet and the tendons around her neck went rigid with tension.

“I’m sorry, great lord! I should have found the dual wielder! I’m sorry,” she wailed, dropping to her knees, her cloak falling open, torchlight casting a silhouette of her voluminous chest.

“Get up,” he hissed. “Malek was to watch a farm boy in Midgaard. A boy who resisted the turning of the Cerumal armor.” He spun around and the chains danced in the air, walking with a purposeful stride. “Could this boy be the dual-wielder? Coincidence?”

She started, slowly nodding. “That would seem likely, yes,” She said tapping a bloody fingernail on her lips, dotting them with bits of red.

“A dual-wielder has emerged in this time and the Chains of the North are missing. This is not good, Alena,” he said, chains now whipping with fury along the walls, dislodging chunks of stone. A rock the size of Alena’s head pulled loose and fell with a crack behind her, stone fragments raining down on her shoulders.

“He will surely be led to the Silver Tower if the whores don’t have him already. They will want to train him, release his full strength,” Alena said, standing and brushing grit from her skinned knees, paying the shattered boulder behind her a cursory glance.

“You’re right. Proceed with the assault as planned, Alena, and do not fail. I will strip the flesh from the bones of every one of you if I have too,” Asebor hissed. Alena nodded quickly, opening her mouth to speak, but Asebor continued. “Do we have enough Equalizers?”

“Not yet,” she said, shoulders sagging, titling her head to the side, highlighting her long neck. “One of the three Tower whores creating them for us has perished. One of the artifacts exploded mid-creation, taking her face with it.”

“A pity,” Asebor said.

“At least half of the army will be equipped with them. We won’t wait much longer, lest they discover the force. I will not fail you,” she said, meeting his eyes, pulling from the depths of her strength to hold his gaze.

“The Tower must fall. I need to find Malek, he knows who the dual-wielder is. Where did that husk of flesh go?” The chains smashing against the walls fell with sudden lifelessness and then started curling around his arms.

“Destroy the Tower, Alena,” he said, stabbing his dark finger at her. “No quarter, no mercy, no prisoners!” He smashed his spiked fist into his open palm.

“Of course, my lord. I will break their bones!” She hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flashing with brilliance.

He nodded imperceptibly and walked through the portal that shone with the amber of his lair, snapping shut as he stepped through.

J
uzo wrapped
his long duster around his bony torso, crossing his arms, feigning an affectation of being cold. The wind harshly tunneled through the shop-lined street leading into the market quarters, tossing his gray hair over his head. He walked by candles burning in windows as people read, took evening elixir, and chatted with loved ones before drifting into the realm of dreams. Juzo rubbed at the back of his neck, leaving one arm tight across his body. His red eye shifted from side to side of the cobbled street, expecting an ambush from an intersecting alley. No ambush came.

Midgaard was beautifully quiet at night. The street torches burned and sun relented the last of its burning fury. Juzo liked it better this way. At twilight, no one would jump at the sight of his eye color or ask him if he needed to see the surgeon. At night, he could wave to a passing man without him staring at him like he was a display in the Artifact Museum. But what use was there now in trying to make friends? The night, the enveloping darkness was his only true friend. It didn’t argue with him, or complain when he wanted to feast upon those foolish enough to tread in his domain. It felt like darkness was his only real ally.

Have you forgotten about me already?
The light-swallowing sword, Blackout whispered in his mind.

“No,” he muttered, finger scraping along its leather wrapped handle.

We must consume soon, our hunger grows.

“Eventually, maybe later, I don’t know!” he said, turning a corner, passing a member of the Midgaard Falcon. The red plume of the guard’s bright spear was stark in the torchlight. He raised an eyebrow at Juzo as he passed.

“It’s true what they say. Strange people emerge in the evening,” the guard said to the empty street ahead.

Juzo grunted and blinked the wetness that formed around his eye.
Will my parents even recognize me? Or will they think I’m one of those demons?

Juzo stopped on the street lined with modest houses intermingled with storefronts. In front of him was a butcher shop, slabs of salted and dried beef ribs hung from hooks in the window. The glass had bubbles in it along the bottom and shimmered in varying thicknesses towards the top. He pulled his shoulders back, working them around as a tingle worked its way from his neck down to his backside. His hand wound tight against the handle of Blackout. He stared at the meat, eyebrows knitting together; his jaw forming a dimple from the tension. The memory of Terar jamming a hook just like that one into his back, ripped through the boards he thought he had built around the memory.

He stopped looking through the window, at the hooked ribs, and found himself looking at the monster in the dull reflection of the glass. Its red eye glowed with eerie light and its sunken cheeks gave it a deathly appearance.

“No!” he screamed. Before he knew what happened, his fist had smashed through the window, hanging out there in the air, bits of glass stuck to his knuckles and starting to bleed. A mangy cat screeched and leaped onto an iron fence, staring at him with its knowing eyes. He pulled his fist back and large pieces of glass fell to the ground, gently breaking. The aromatic scent of the beef stung his sinuses and he fought back the urge to gag. A few months ago, that scent would have been intoxicating, now it was like the malodorous scent of the latrine.

“Hey! You! What are you doing down there?” A voice said from up above. Juzo tilted his head back, seeing a man poking a candle out into the dusk, his long beard hanging over a billowing robe.

“Shit!” Juzo said, staring back at the man. He brushed his hand off and started quickly walking away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man shouted. “Hey, you guard! Get him!” The man waved with his candle at the stocky guard that had passed.

Juzo paused, seeing the guard now running towards him, helm and breastplate reflecting torchlight.

Feed,
the sword whispered.

“Shut up!” he hissed, running by the cat regarding him. A Sand Buckeye reached its bulbous head over the edge of the fence and snatched the cat in its incredible jaws. Juzo jumped back a step, eye bulging, stopping as the plant’s mouth snapped closed and the cat screamed and clawed at its cellulose prison.

The guard’s footsteps were getting closer and Juzo dashed past a few houses and turned into a shadowy alley. The guard ran by, his heavy footfalls fading.

“What is wrong with you?” he whispered, pushing his bloody hand through his hair, wiping red streaks through it. Bits of glass that had worked their way into his skin were dislodged, falling and tinkling along the cobbles.

“Ah-ha! I knew you were in here!” The guard jumped into the entry of the narrow passageway. On either side of him were buildings constructed of cream colored bricks. Half of his square face was illuminated in the light of the nearby street torch. The red plume atop his chrome helmet swayed in the gust. He took a cautious step into the darkness, light sliding from his body.

In the darkness, Juzo waited, back flush against the wall. The darkness was his friend and no other’s.

Yes, yes,
Blackout said eagerly. The sword inched out of its scabbard and Juzo’s mouth fell open, gently sliding the blade back into place.

“I know you’re in here. I can smell your stink on the air, like one of those pigs I killed on the Plains of Dressna,” the guard whispered, his iron boots scraping against the stones, like hammers on an anvil in Juzo’s ears. Juzo slowly inhaled as the gleaming tip of the thick man’s spear trembled, passing by his face. The rest of the guard stood in front of him, round and taking labored breaths. Juzo could almost taste the salty sweat streaming from the man’s bushy hair. His neck throbbed with the nectar that would give Juzo life.

The guard took another tentative step forward, armor clinking together with the stealth of a Cerumal in a glass shop. Juzo took a silent step away from the wall, body facing the guard’s back. He reached his hands out, fingers trembling, knees going slack.

What are you doing?
he thought.
You’re better than this.

“Where
are
you?” The guard said, spear now probing the walled end of the alley with a series of dings. Juzo started to drop his hands, seeing the walls would be easy enough to climb with the prominent blocks jutting out along the sides.
I could run, escape, find something else.

The guard started to turn around. “Damn vagrants and thieves, always a damn prob—”

The man’s voice caught as Juzo’s hand wrapped around his mouth and the other unsheathed the dagger from the guard’s leather belt. The dagger flashed against the light of the moon, cutting a yawning line across the man’s neck. Blood spilled and rolled down the man’s chest.

“Oh,” the guard croaked, eyes watering, clutching at his throat.

Juzo stuck the dagger into the man’s gut and grabbed the spear from his hand before clattering to the ground. A line of blood streaked down the pale wall.

“Oh no,” the dying man whispered, the words more of a gurgle than true sounds.

Juzo gently lowered his twitching body and fell upon the man’s neck, licking and sucking at the pulsing wounds. Long minutes later, Juzo extracted his face, sucking in a heaving breath. He wiped his lips with the underside of his long coat, taking stock of his work.

“I’m sorry, but you made the choice far too easy,” he whispered. Juzo slid his fingers under the guard’s breastplate and dragged him deeper into the alley, to the darkest recesses. The pained hunger he fought off for the past week had finally been satiated, hopefully leaving him alone for a while.

The world magnified in color, darks becoming brighter. The texture of the mortar along the walls sprung to life in undulating detail. A piece of stale crust and a few marks had spilled from the guard’s pockets, leaving a trail to his body. The guard took a shallow, labored breath and let out a cough along with a bolus of blood that clung to his chin.

“Shit,” Juzo, sighed, examining the mess he’d made. “Shit!”

It lives. I must eat,
the blade angrily jiggled in its scabbard.

“Alright then,” Juzo whispered to the sword. “I’ll give you him, then you’ll be quiet?”

Be quiet,
the sword replied.

Juzo rose from his knees, drawing Blackout with a hiss of steel on leather. Juzo wondered who this man was. Were his kids waiting for him to come back from his patrol? Was his wife making him a late dinner? Juzo shook his head. It didn’t matter. Everyone ends up in the same place, most everyone anyway.

Juzo gently slid the blade into the man’s chest, easily penetrating his plate, between his ribs and through his heart, as gentle as scorned lover. The guard’s eyes snapped open, wet and gray, frantically looking the blade up and down, letting out a series of low grunts.

I am the eater of souls,
Blackout said.

“It’s all over now, sssh,” Juzo crooned. Juzo shielded his eye as Blackout burst alight with a brilliant flash, and just as quickly faded. The twisting mouth of the man snarled from inside the blade and his fist pounded on the prison within. The sword faded to black, somehow darker than the blackest parts of the passage.

“Why do you need them?”
Juzo dared to asked, wiping the blood from Blackout on the guard’s pants.

Why do you need the life essence of man?
Blackout replied.

“I see,”
Juzo said back, nodding and sheathing the blade.

He stepped from the alleyway, looking the desolate street up and down. The street torch flickered beside him, merrily burning away. It dispelled the darkness surrounding the leather merchant’s shop, the square cobbles near his boots, presumably a beacon of safety for most. It banished all the darkness all around.

Except him.

His footfalls trailing behind you at night were the ones you were justifiably terrified of hearing. He was the creature mother’s warned their children about. He was the terror that the nightly patrols attributed unexplained murders too. The guard was right, only strange people emerge in the evening.

Juzo strode from the alley, obsessively wiping his lips again and again, checking over his shoulder as he walked into the expansive market square from the road. The few people he passed seem to know well enough not to try to make eye contact with him. He’d guessed it was the eye patch or the blade at his side, or a combination of both.

He walked through the snaking sections of empty merchant’s carts in the square. Empty baskets, quiet counters, scales laying unoccupied, no goats bleating and chickens squawking. That was the way he liked things. He fondly remembered a time when he enjoyed the bustle of humanity, now it just made him sick to see so many sacks of food together in one place.

One of the great advantages of his newly given power was a hatred for sleep. Sleep only brought nightmares and he seemed to manage just fine without it, as long as he fed regularly. It wasn’t much of a problem to drink the blood of man in such a big city. Bodies are easy to hide and known thieves are quick to be blamed. He’d only been here a week and they were catching on, increasing the number of patrols in sections he’d been.

He rounded a corner into a column of vegetable carts, bits of cabbage, corn husks, and various mashed leaves littered the ground. A group of men wearing all white formed a circle halfway down the aisle, seeming to be in a scuffle with someone. Months ago, Juzo would have wheeled around in the other direction. Fear was an emotion so foreign to him now that he forgot what it felt like. He came closer to the group now and could make out what they were saying. His eye narrowed, peering at the stumbling form within the ring.

“Damn wizard scum. Stay out of our city!” A man barked, shoving someone inside the small ring.

“You all think you’re better than us, don’t you?” Another said with a kick.

“You’re shit, you’re lower than shit!” A lean man yelled, angrily jabbing the air with a club.

Juzo was closer now, close enough to see a frail man in blue robes cowering on his hands and knees, tears streaming from his wrinkled eyes and swallowed by his narrow beard. On the side of his head was an ugly gash, trailing blood along his haggard face. The old man’s eyes flicked to his, peering between a pair of white trousers. Juzo looked away, down aisle, as if the line of empty carts continued uninterrupted. He drew beside the group now, just enough room for him to pass and continue his late-night stroll. Why had he come here? Curiosity? Boredom?

“Help! Please!” The man reached an arm towards Juzo, his hand black with ash. The man yelled as a boot was slammed into his stomach, dropping him into a fetal position.

Juzo paused, almost past the group, staring at the writhing man.
You’re not a hero. You’re an abomination. What good has playing the hero done for you so far? Keep walking, there’s nothing for you here.
Juzo turned away from them, taking a step.

“Move along. Or do you want some trouble too, freak?” the man with the club said over his shoulder. He was an ugly-looking bastard with a sharp rat face, casting a sneer at Juzo.

Juzo froze in his tracks, body rigid, black pupil expanding and leaving a thin band of red around his iris. Juzo’s jaw clamped down hard, tearing into his cheeks, metallic blood filling his mouth. His tongue pressed tightly against his sharpened teeth. He took a step back, spinning on the balls of his feet to face the group.

They insult us!
Blackout hissed within.
We will eat their souls,
Blackout boomed, a whisper and a roar overlapping in his skull.

“Are you hard of hearing? I guess you can join the party too!” Another man with a club said, pulling away from the group and tugging up his white hood over his pudgy head. He hefted the club in his palm as he stalked towards Juzo, his expression set on violence. Juzo drew Blackout and held it loosely by his side.