The Archmage's Tower (The Syrane Chronicles Book 2), page 21
He walked up to the Archmage’s Tower door, when the bundle of rags moved! From within the rags, a small grotty fist thrust out and grabbed him by the ankle. It almost caused him to trip. Duncan let out an undignified squawk of surprise as he stumbled. He maintained the presence of mind to ready a destructive spell aimed at the arm.
“Murderer!” a frail voice shrieked at him from inside the rags. “You killed my Charlton, my beloved Charlton! My husband!” The muffled voice cried out in an accusing manner. Without warning, the bundle of rags arose and revealed a small slender woman, grubby and dirt-covered with a crazed gleam in her eyes. The words to the spell died on Duncan’s lips as he abandoned his casting.
“You killed him!” she cried.
Much to his surprise, the woman hit him. Her fists rained ineffectual blows upon his chest and arms.
“What the hell? What are you talking about?” Duncan, amazed, brushed aside the small fists that beat at him and took the feeble blows on his forearms. The woman continued to punch the outsider as she wailed about her husband Charlton. Duncan stopped his attempts to fend off the blows and instead embraced the woman. He held her close to him to prevent her from injuring herself. She continued her muffled wails, her tears dampened his shirt.
Duncan gaped, perplexed.
Who the hell is Charlton?
Several passers-by appeared to have noticed the disturbance, but when they saw the commotion was at the Archmage’s Tower, they had moved along, rather than intervene. Duncan noticed with some annoyance that his new shadows, the watch patrol, had chosen not to intervene.
He was at a loss.
The outsider was thankful when the door to the tower opened, and Jade stepped out. Her mouth popped open in surprise at the scene before her. Duncan glanced at the younger mage, his discomfort obvious in his stance and expression. He held the sobbing woman as Jade beckoned him inside and led them both into the tower. Behind Duncan, the tower door closed slowly.
###
At dusk, Ezekiel burst once more from the ground, sods of earth sprayed in all directions. Ezekiel straightened to his full seven-foot height and moved away a short distance to the east. There, he stopped and extended his bony arm, his mailed palm faced down toward the ground.
“Come, my steed.”
The sepulchral knight’s terrible voice echoed across the barren terrain. Nothing alive was present, but his call did not go unanswered. The ground beneath his outstretched hand stirred; tentative at first, then it pitched and heaved until at last the dirt displaced with a significant force from underneath. From under the soil burst the mummified remains of an ancient warhorse. It reared and kicked the air with its powerful hooves. While it reared, it made a neighing noise that sounded like an off-colour bugler. The stallion was huge, as it had been in life. Its crimson eyes glowed with menace and its nostrils flared as it sought to draw breath where there were no living lungs to fill. The slight vegetation beneath its iron-shod hooves withered and died upon contact.
It took off and hurtled past the wraithknight as if it relished its chance at freedom from the grave. It galloped haphazardly around the area; reared, kicked, and bucked. Ezekiel remained still while the horse sped about. At last, the equine abomination was quiet and presented itself to its master. It stood motionless in supplication. Ezekiel mounted the monstrosity and soon galloped down the road; sparks flew in his wake from the undead mount’s hooves.
###
In the predawn gloom, Ezekiel and his hellish steed approached the walled inn known as the Grinning Corpse. A bizarre sign out the front of the inn showed a human corpse with a ridiculous cheesy grin on its face lying in a coffin. The sign hung motionless in the morning air as if in wait for another storm to come. The night had been cloudy, and a heavy rain had just fallen. Thunder rumbled in from the west.
Ezekiel slowed his spectral stallion and dismounted near the front door of the main building. He passed unchallenged through the gate of the inn; he presumed the gatekeeper either fled in terror or hid under his bench. In the stable nearby, horses and other animals whinnied and bleated in terror at the approach of the wraithknight. Dogs whined, but did not bark, so great was their fear. Inside the inn, oblivious to the undead horror’s approach, the early risers had lit cooking fires and baked the day’s bread.
Ezekiel led his undead horse to the door of the inn. He felt the residue of powerful magic when he approached. Blast marks from magical lightning had scored the stone around the entrance to the inn. Ezekiel recognised his master’s magic at work; but noted the imposter had used it in a haphazard, uncontrolled fashion.
The imposter has been here, and not too long ago. A week or more, perhaps?
Ezekiel paused at the door and considered the effect his presence would have on those inside the inn. Dawn was at least an hour away. No patrons would be present, only the staff of the inn. Those people were inside; they worked to prepare for the day.
He snorted imperiously.
I do not care about them; my purpose is paramount.
Ezekiel pressed his mighty gauntleted fist against the sturdy wooden door and shoved with all of his might. The door imploded; fragments and splinters of wood showered the trestle tables inside.
The wraithknight strode into the inn and surveyed the interior of the taproom. One man with an enormous stomach that strained against his grease-stained apron looked up at the sudden noise. The man froze in terror at the appearance of the nightmare before him. His double chin quivered in fright.
Ezekiel assumed the man to be the innkeeper. He marched across the taproom, trestle tables and wooden chairs knocked aside by his passage. Nearby, a young blonde woman screamed, a piercing wail that caused the dogs outside to howl. A young lad stood by the bread oven, frozen in shock.
Ezekiel stormed forward and reached out with one huge hand. He clutched the overweight innkeeper by the throat and lifted the man with little effort. The innkeeper’s tiny eyes bulged from their sockets in the undead knight’s vice-like grasp.
“I seek the imposter,” Ezekiel hissed at the man. “He who caused the sorcerous residue outside this inn.” The wraithknight motioned toward the door with his free hand. “Where is he?” Ezekiel shook the frightened innkeeper again to stress his query. The terrified man shook, his shudders uncontrollable in the wraithknight’s grasp. The flesh around the man’s throat had turned a frosty blue.
“I, I… I err, I don’t know,” the innkeeper gasped, tears streamed unchecked down his cheeks. The man spoke with difficulty; the wraithknight’s powerful hold ensured little air would pass down his windpipe. Ezekiel was oblivious to the man’s discomfort; he had lost the need to breathe centuries ago.
A spark of recollection seemed to impel the man to speak out, however.
“He left! Days ago!” The innkeeper shook. As he forced the words out, the wraithknight’s unforgiving grip jolted the man about.
“Which way?” hissed the wraithknight.
The innkeeper looked at the screaming barmaid. She stopped her scream for a moment while Ezekiel turned his malevolent gaze upon her. She shrieked again. Without warning, the wraithknight spun and threw the big man across the taproom and over the bar. The innkeeper crashed into bottles and kegs that contained liquor and ale, spilling the contents across the floor. The man’s head smashed into the sideboard behind the bar with a sickening thump. He slid down the wall and lay unmoving on the ground. The baker’s lad plucked up the courage to move and scooted under a table. He placed his hands over his head, crouched and quivered in terror. Ezekiel surged across the room and hoisted tables and chairs out of his way.
The terrified girl could not move, her face a mask of dread. Her hands went to her face, and she screamed again at the horror that confronted her. The wraithknight stooped down until he filled the girl’s vision. The stench of the grave radiated from his demonic bulk.
“Which way?” he repeated.
The girl squeaked.
“North-east, toward D… Dunport!” she said, before she fainted away.
Ezekiel hissed and strode to the door of the inn. He pushed past the door’s remains and exited. His mount stormed up to the doorway at Ezekiel’s unspoken command and reared. Ezekiel mounted the nightmare steed; lightning and thunder crashed overhead, to amplify the terror of those left in the inn.
23. Heading in the same direction.
Jade hesitated as she reached for the door handle. She took a deep breath, then turned the handle to open the door. She entered the room at the top of the Archmage’s Tower. Duncan sat at his worktable, his head in his hands. He glanced up from the table as she entered.
“How is she?” he asked. Jade’s smile was almost imperceptible.
“She seems to be calmed,” she replied. “I cast a simple enchantment to reduce her stress. I also managed to comb the knots out of her hair.” The younger mage sat at the table in a chair next to Duncan. “She is anxious, so I gave her a room of her own.” Jade noted the look of alarm in his eyes and hurried to clarify. “In the lower levels, not in the tower.”
She knew the source of his concern. The Archmage’s Tower had long been home to mages and their ilk, an environment foreign to non-mages. There was an adage, once popular among apprentices, who had learned their craft in the tower. ‘Here, magic rules.’ The tower could be a dangerous place for the unprepared and the unwary. In fact, it was dangerous for the prepared and wary.
Duncan smiled in thanks. Then he frowned as he looked at Jade.
“Her husband, one of the king’s guards?” he asked.
Jade nodded, her face grim.
“Yes,” she replied. Jade sighed and looked away. She did not meet his gaze. “One man your spell killed when fighting Von Borin,” she said. Her words were hesitant as his face clouded over. “Her name is Lisette.”
“Did they have any children?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “Thank the gods for small mercies.”
Duncan didn’t respond; he didn’t need to. The human cost of the destruction he had wrought was all too apparent to both of them. He sighed and buried his face in his hands in frustration. Jade reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“I know you blame yourself, but think of how many more may have suffered if we allowed the switchers to live?”
He gazed up at her through eyes filled with anguish.
“Yes, but her husband died, and so because of me, she’s a widow.” He turned to stare out of the tower window. Outside, rain fell, the spring raindrops splashed against the thick glass and ran in small rivulets down each pane. He gazed in despair at the drizzle.
“How much like the rain my life has become; in free-fall and out of control, splattered against an uncaring window-pane.” He sighed again. Jade moved over to him and placed her arms about his broad shoulders.
“Now you listen to me,” she said, her tone firm. “You were defending yourself, you were defending our friends and all the other people in the throne room that day.” She leaned forward, took his chin in her hand, and turned his face to hers. “Not to mention all the people in Torun and Syrane who have suffered because of Von Borin’s greed and those hideous switchers.” She put her face close to his and stared into his eyes. “And me. You were protecting me.”
He gazed into her eyes; she knew he would see the same anguish he suffered. He would see pain, sorrow for those he had killed, but he would also see honesty and… an emotion hard to describe.
Jade looked into Duncan’s eyes, her own expression filled with longing, and leaned further forward, hesitant. Their lips almost brushed. Then he pulled his head back.
“Ahem.”
A voice from the doorway shattered the moment. The two mages pulled apart, both flushed with embarrassment. In the doorway, Lisette frowned at her hosts.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, with one eyebrow raised.
Jade stood, her mouth open; mortified, lost for words. Duncan fared little better, but recovered enough to stammer a reply.
“Uh, no, of course not.” He smiled, but his tone was awkward.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I was wondering if I could get an extra blanket? The room you have me in is a little cold.” The woman looked expectantly at the two mages. Jade walked across the room and grasped the woman’s arm.
“Of course, come with me, dear,” Jade said as she steered Lisette from the tower room. She ushered the woman away, back down the stairs. As they left, she threw a backward glance at Duncan.
###
Duncan touched his fingers to his lips as he watched the two women leave. He regarded Jade as she looked over her shoulder at him; their eyes met for a moment. Then, the women were gone. He turned back to his desk, his head and heart awash with mixed emotions. The outsider shook his head to clear the mess of thoughts and ease the turmoil that wracked his heart.
Duncan stared again at the window and tried to make sense of his jumbled emotions. On one hand, he still felt awful for Lisette and the situation he had placed her in. He had ruined her life! How could he ever make up for that? But none of that would have happened if he’d not materialised here on Syrane. On that count, Jade had done the same to him and Jen. She had dragged him across the universe to this alien world, and he could not leave. It meant that he was as good as dead to his wife and children. He grunted in frustration as he tried to determine a meaning, a purpose to the events of the past year.
Both events were accidents; Jade did not mean to summon him with her spell, nor did he mean to slay anyone but Manfred Von Borin with his. He’d lashed out at the lord-who-was-a-switcher. He’d cast a spell that would have bored a hole through a castle wall.
In hindsight, I think it did bore a hole through the castle wall.
It killed Von Borin; but it had also killed every other unfortunate person who stood behind the switcher.
Both of the spells had unintended and unfortunate consequences. He sighed. Was his spell any more miscast than Jade’s? How was Lisette any different from Jen? She would want answers, she would want to know why her husband had died. Duncan had no words to explain why. It was simple: the poor guardsman was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like the outsider himself, except he was still in the wrong place.
Would Lisette need care? He presumed that her deceased husband’s employer would not do so; otherwise, why would she be here to demand his help? It astounded him that the King would ignore the widow of one of his guards in such a way. But he became less and less surprised by much that happened in Syrane. After all, they still executed prisoners who were innocent. He snorted to himself. That still happened on Earth…
Duncan reflected on the scene at the front door a short while ago. Lisette hadn’t demanded his help, yet he and Jade had taken her in. He didn’t want the responsibility for the woman’s care, but given that he caused her situation, he could not throw her out on the street.
The outsider sighed. He knew that back home, their families and friends would provide all they could to help Jen deal with his disappearance. They would rally about her, to ensure that she received care and support; family and friends would look after the children and provide for Jen. She would receive all the help and care she needed to get her through such a horrid situation. It was a minor comfort, but comfort.
He must do the same for Lisette, he vowed. He would provide what he could; financial aid, give her shelter, whatever it took. He and Jade would…
Jade.
Oh shit.
He had almost kissed Jade. He sighed again. What can of worms would that open? It wasn’t a spontaneous action; it had built for some time. Ever since his first night in Syrane! She had expressed her feelings for him and he had to admit; he found her attractive. She was a gorgeous young woman; smart, witty, capable, caring. But he had tried to avoid it because he wanted to remain focussed on his return home. Back home to what he had at home; a wife and children.
To be involved romantically with Jade would not be fair to the younger mage; when he went home, he would leave her behind. Not to mention it was dangerous; close to cheating on his wife! He snorted at the notion. It was cheating on his wife. He scowled. He was in an alien world, with his prospects of returning home uncertain.
What happened in Syrane, stayed in Syrane…
Duncan shook his head in defiance. No, his chances of deliverance were better than average, now he had the skills and powers of Xiphos to call on. He could get himself home, it would just take time.
He sat and looked out of the window once more and toyed with the pebble around his neck. Duncan had to be honest with himself; if he could not return home, then he might entertain thoughts of a relationship with Jade that was anything more than friendship. He frowned again, angry with himself. These ideas were not something that he could consider. He must return home.
Duncan sought to distract himself; he threw open a spell book and studied.
###
Jade handed the blanket to Lisette, her smile wide.
“Here you are,” she said. Lisette returned the smile in thanks.
“Thank you,” the widow said. “You and your husband are most kind to take me in, after what I was like outside.” She stared down at her feet in embarrassment.
“Oh, no,” Jade began. “It’s no trouble. It’s the least we could do.” The crimson colour returned and her cheeks flushed once more. “And Duncan isn’t my husband.” Inwardly, her stomach churned. He almost kissed me!
“Oh,” said Lisette. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to infer…”
“It’s all right,” Jade replied. The notion that she and Duncan were mistaken for husband and wife made her feel giddy and slightly euphoric. “He and I are just…” Jade searched for the right words. “We’re just heading in the same direction.” She smiled at the thought, although her smile was wistful as she recalled the moment.
Lisette smiled.
“I understand. It’s good he looks after you. Like my Charlton did for me.” Her pretty face screwed up, her bottom lip trembled as tears flowed anew. Jade rushed to the woman and threw her arm around her shoulders comfortingly.
