The Sunken Tower

by James E. Wisher

  Yaz and Brigid went to their room, changed out of their fancy disguises, grabbed their weapons, and hurried down the steps. If their arrival disconcerted the diners, then leaving with an undead skull in the lead must have really put them off. Not that they planned to wait around for the complaints to come in.

  Outside, Wicked flew straight towards the wall. It was pitch dark and the streets were empty. At the Dorhmann’s mansion, a bucket brigade was doing their best, but it didn’t look like they were making much of a dent. Served the bastard right. Assuming the riders let him go, Dorhmann would think twice before using slaves for entertainment.

  Five minutes from the inn, Wicked veered off the main street and onto one of the narrow side streets. If Yaz had imagined the familiar capable of leading them into a trap, this would have been a fine place for one. The streets were every bit as dark and empty as they should have been at this time of night.

  Soon enough they reached the base of the wall. Yaz stared at the black stone. If this was where Silas was taken, how did he get out? The wall had to be thirty feet high and he couldn’t imagine Silas using his magic to fly his captor up and over.

  “Are you sure?” Yaz asked.

  Wicked bobbed up and down again before flying over the wall.

  “I don’t have any rope,” Brigid said.

  “Me neither. We’ll have to leave by the main gate and come back around.”

  Yaz followed the curve of the wall for what felt like a long way but was probably only a quarter mile until the main gate was in view. A squad of guards was on duty, their post lit by burning braziers. There was no sign of the carriage so the riders must have made it out. There were also no bodies, so they didn’t have to fight their way through.

  If the dragonriders could talk their way through, maybe Yaz could too. “Follow my lead.”

  He marched out of the darkness and made his way right to the guards. “Open the gate, quickly!”

  All six men drew their swords and leveled them at Yaz. “Gate’s closed for the night,” the guard commander said.

  “Master Dorhmann has been kidnapped,” Yaz said. “His wife hired us to retrieve him. Every minute you delay me increases the chances that his captors will kill him.”

  The men laughed. “Who’d hire a runt and a woman? We saw Lord Dorhmann only minutes ago. He and his guards left on an urgent matter.”

  “Idiot! Those weren’t guards.” Yaz held up his hand and called the door’s power. Thank the gods it obeyed and crackled around his hand. “And you’d be wise to watch how you talk to a wizard and his assistant.”

  The guards all took a step back.

  “Has he truly been kidnapped?” the leader asked.

  “He has. Now get that bloody gate open this second. If I arrive too late, it’ll be on your heads.”

  The other guards didn’t even wait for an order. Soon enough the gates were clanking open.

  “Lord Dorhmann is great friends with the city’s high lord,” the leader said. “Please bring him back safely. And if you could keep from mentioning me and my squad, I would be grateful.”

  “His lordship will hear nothing from me,” Yaz said.

  The moment the gate was open wide enough he and Brigid ran outside. They went down the road until they were out of sight of the guards and backtracked toward where they left Wicked.

  “Was that more irony?” Brigid asked. “Claiming you were going to rescue the man you kidnapped?”

  Yaz grinned. “Something like that.”

  Wicked’s glowing eyes allowed them to easily find the skull floating beside the wall. The instant it saw them it flew across the snow-covered ground towards a nearby forest. Yaz remembered zipping past it in the sleigh on their way to the city, but he knew no details.

  Slogging through the snow slowed them and was hard work. Yaz broke a path for Brigid despite his shorter legs. She was strong, but he’d spent plenty of time tromping through the snow back home, checking his traps or hunting for fresh meat. Miserable as it was, he was used to it.

  When they reached the tree line, the walking got much easier. Wicked seemed to know it as the skull picked up its pace. Up until now, he’d assumed Wicked was just an extension of Silas’s will, but it seemed the undead familiar retained a will and intellect of its own. How much of one he didn’t know, but enough to know to wait near the wall and adjust its speed based on the ground conditions. That argued for a high level of awareness.

  “Yaz,” Brigid whispered. “A light.”

  He looked where she pointed. Sure enough directly in their path a fire flickered in the trees. They had to be a good mile from the city by now, no danger of whoever it was getting spotted.

  Yaz held his finger to his lips and they snuck slowly closer, careful not to crunch the snow under their boots. When they got closer, he could see Silas with his back to him, his hands manacled behind his back. Across the fire from him sat a woman in her midthirties with a hard face and dressed in leather armor. A loaded hand crossbow rested on the ground beside her.

  A bounty hunter then. This was the first woman he’d seen doing the work, but that didn’t mean anything. It looked like she was alone so that was good. Not that he planned to just walk into the clearing and make demands. That would be a good way to get a bolt through the chest.

  Yaz called on the door’s magic again. It seemed to come easier all the time, though not in any great quantity. Should at least be enough to spring Silas from his bonds.

  A dark tendril snaked along the ground before slipping into the lock. Yaz closed his eyes and concentrated. This lock felt different than the ones he’d opened previously. That combined with the fact that he wasn’t exactly a locksmith to make it a nearly thirty-second job to set the wizard free.

  Silas did a remarkable job of staying still while Yaz worked. Next, he sent the tendril around the fire to the crossbow. He flicked the bolt free.

  The hunter immediately noticed and leapt to reload it.

  Silas was faster. He threw his hand out and a spark of lightning hit her in the chest. She fell away from the weapon, her body convulsing.

  Yaz and Brigid stepped into the clearing. “You okay?” he asked.

  Silas got to his feet and Wicked swooped in to rub against his cheek. “I’m fine, just a little sore. Sorry I couldn’t back you up. Did you get everyone out?”

  “Alive and mostly well. No sign of Dad though.”

  “How could that thing still be in one piece after I stomped it?” The lightning had faded from the bounty hunter’s body and she gasped for breath.

  Silas glared down at her. “Wicked’s already dead. It’s not like you can kill her again. My magic’s what holds her together. As long as I live, she lives.”

  “But the way you reacted… I was sure I’d destroyed it.”

  “That’s what I wanted you to believe. I knew Wicked would lead my friends to me, but I wanted you to think you were safe. Looks like it worked.”

  The woman bared her teeth in a grimace but remained silent.

  “Want a minute with her?” Yaz asked.

  Silas nodded. “No one crushes my friend and gets away with it. Wicked, drain.”

  The skull’s eyes flashed brighter as she flew above the bounty hunter. Darkness oozed out of her and into Wicked. The woman’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Her flesh sunk in as the life was drawn out of her. A minute later it was over. Nothing but a husk remained.

  “Bloody bounty hunters.” Silas spat into the fire. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your father, Yaz.”

  “Me too, but I did get a new clue. According to Calvin, the Scaled Society took him before the auction. They wanted to make him pay for his crimes against dragons. I don’t know if he’s alive or not. But if he isn’t, I’m going to make every member of their stupid cult pay for it with their lives.”

  Between the battle at Dorhmann’s mansion and rescuing Silas, Yaz was beyond exhausted. The others seemed to be as well. They made the trudge from the bounty hunter’s camp to th
eir sleigh and settled in for the night. It was tight and cold, but they were asleep in minutes. The rising sun woke Yaz and he sat up, pulling the fur they’d taken from the hunter’s supplies away from Brigid. She grumbled in her sleep and he tucked her back in. She was especially beautiful when she slept.

  Overhead, Wicked kept a sharp watch for any dangers. Yaz waved good morning and the familiar bobbed once in acknowledgement. He yawned and stretched. At least it hadn’t snowed any more. The way things had been going, he’d expected to have to dig out from under a foot of fresh powder.

  “Wicked likes you,” Silas said, nearly jolting Yaz out of his seat. “And she doesn’t like anyone except me.”

  “Wicked clearly has excellent taste. You okay?”

  Silas nodded. “Escaping bounty hunters hardly fazes me anymore. What’s the plan?”

  “The Scaled Society has my dad. Unfortunately, Calvin didn’t know where. I figure we’ll have to ask one of the cultists directly.”

  “Any idea where we’ll find one?”

  “Matter of fact, I’ll wager we can ask at any Three Dragons Trading warehouse. Assuming we’re polite, I bet they’ll be happy to tell us.”

  “Is there any chance we can find out without having to stab anyone?” Brigid asked.

  “There’s always a chance,” Yaz said.

  “We could try lightning instead,” Silas offered.

  “You’re as bad as he is,” Brigid said. Her words held no heat and she fought a losing battle with a smile.

  “Where do we start?” Silas asked.

  “Fort Kane.” Yaz got out of the sleigh and tried to work a kink out of his back. If he was this stiff, he couldn’t imagine how Brigid was feeling with her longer legs. “Randal knows every business in the area. He should be able to point us in the right direction.”

  “Should I start breakfast?” Brigid asked.

  There was a twang and a moment later a ten-inch crossbow bolt slammed into the side of the sleigh.

  Yaz dove in as a second bolt zipped through the space he’d just vacated. “I think we’ll skip breakfast. Silas, what’s going on?”

  “Five men approaching all dressed the same as my late and unlamented captor. They’re all carrying hand crossbows the same as hers.”

  “Did she mention having friends?” Yaz asked.

  “We didn’t really chat. Hang on, I’m getting us out of here.”

  Another bolt hammered into the sleigh, the tip emerging from the wood a foot from Brigid’s nose.

  The sleigh lurched, rose, and shot away. They were rattled and swatted by evergreen branches. Snow fell over them and down Yaz’s neck. None of that bothered him. At least the crossbows had stopped.

  Yaz risked a look over the back seat.

  Five riders burst from cover and pursued them at a gallop. One shot his crossbow, but it went well wide.

  For half a mile the hunters kept pace with the sleigh. Finally, they had to rein in or risk killing their horses. Under Silas’s deft hand, the sleigh continued down the snow-covered road at a good clip. Soon enough Yaz couldn’t even see their pursuers.

  Yaz blew out a sigh of relief and sat up on the bench. “We left them behind for now.”

  Brigid joined him. “Only for now?”

  “We’ll eventually have to stop to search for information. Sooner or later, assuming they’re determined, those men will catch up to us. What we have to decide is if we’re content to keep ahead of them or if we want to set a trap.”

  Chapter 12

  In the end Yaz decided staying ahead of the bounty hunters was good enough and after a week of flying from dawn to dusk he figured they had to have a good three-day lead on them. In his fondest dreams Yaz hoped they’d just give up, but deep down doubted they would. And even if they did, the possibility of more showing up was always there. As long as they were in Carttoom anyway.

  “There’s the estate,” Silas said, jarring Yaz out of his musings.

  Yaz had decided that if anyone would know the best place to find the higher-ups at Three Dragons Trading it would be Randall. Plus, hot food and a real bed for the night wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. The walled compound’s gate was closed which seemed a little odd given that it was only early afternoon. Hopefully Randall wasn’t having problems. Yaz had enough of his own to deal with without worrying about someone else.

  Guards were patrolling the wall so with any luck they’d recognize Yaz from his earlier visit and let them in. If they didn’t, he wasn’t really sure what he’d do.

  “Take us in slow,” Yaz said. “We don’t want anyone else shooting at us.”

  The sleigh slowed from a full gallop to a trot. The guards spotted them and two took up position directly above the gate. Silas eased to a stop then landed the sleigh on its runners, sinking six inches into the snow.

  Yaz stood and shouted. “My name is Yazgrim Yeager. I’m here to speak to Randall. Is he in?”

  “Wait there.” One of the guards disappeared behind the wall.

  “I guess we’ll wait here,” Brigid said.

  Yaz grinned. She hadn’t lost her sense of humor at least. That was good.

  It took less than ten minutes for the gates to open. The guard that had spoken to them stood just inside. He bowed as Silas guided the sleigh through. The stone paths had been shoveled clear, but the grassy areas were still covered in snow, as was the mansion. Silas landed the sleigh just short of the steps and they all got out.

  “That’s some transport,” the guard said. “Randall’s inside. Lady Cobb has fallen ill and he hasn’t left her side in days.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Brigid asked. She and Lady Cobb had become quite friendly during their previous visit.

  “We don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s going around. The healers at Fort Kane were so busy they couldn’t get away to come out. Randall wasn’t best pleased by that I can tell you.”

  “I know a little about healing,” Yaz said. “Perhaps I can help.”

  The guard rapped on the door and a serving girl opened it. She had dark rings under her eyes and her white uniform was rumpled and spotted with dry stains. Clearly things at the Cobb estate were worse than Yaz had first thought.

  “The master and missus are in the back bedroom,” the girl said after the guard explained things to her. “Follow me.”

  They stepped into the foyer and Silas said, “I’ll stay here. I don’t do well with illness. If you need me, send for me, otherwise I’ll wait.”

  Yaz nodded and he and Brigid followed the girl through the living room and down a long hall to a bedroom nearly as big as the first floor of Yaz’s house. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room. Randall sat beside it, his wife’s pale hand in his. His complexion was sallow and a scruffy beard covered his face.

  He looked at Yaz with bloodshot eyes. “She’s dying.”

  He went over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “How long has she been sick?”

  “A week. We went in to Fort Kane for dinner. With the weather we’d been stuck inside for a month. She started coughing the next day. She hasn’t had the strength to get out of bed for the last three days.”

  “Your guard mentioned the illness was running rampant in Fort Kane. We can assume she caught it there. Do you mind if I examine her? My mother was the village healer and she taught me a few things. I’m hardly the master she is, but maybe I can help.”

  Randall clutched his hand. “Anything you can do. Anything you need. Please, just help her.”

  Yaz nodded, hating the desperation in Randall’s voice, but understanding it very well. He put his hand on her forehead and found her burning with fever. Her neck was swollen and her skin soaked with sweat.

  “Has she drunk anything lately?”

  “A few sips of water, sir,” the servant said. “She wants nothing when she’s awake.”

  “Brigid, could you help her sit up so I can listen to her lungs?”

  Brigid gently pulled Lady Cobb into a sitting position and Y
az put his ear to her sweat-soaked back. Her lungs were clear at least. That was good.

  He turned to the servant. “You help her dress?”

  The girl nodded.

  “When you last changed her nightgown, did you see any small red spots on her back or inner thighs?”

  “Yes, sir. Only a few. I thought they were heat rash from the fever.”

  Yaz turned his back on Lady Cobb and closed his eyes. A moment later he was in his mental library. He found the book on diseases he needed and flipped to the page on spotted swamp fever.

  “Brigid, I need you to look at her back and describe the spots in as much detail as you can.”

  “Okay, let’s see. They’re red, about as big as the tip of my pinky, and there are a lot of them.”

  “Is her back more than half covered?”

  “Close. Some of the spots have a white center and are slightly raised.”

  “That’s enough. Don’t touch them.” Yaz opened his eyes. “She has spotted swamp fever. The gods only know how she caught it this time of year this far from a swamp, but that’s what she has.”

  “Is it… fatal?” Randall asked in a trembling voice.

  “It is without treatment. If we’d arrived two days later, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. As it is, we’re cutting things close. First, we need to lower her temperature. Luckily, it’s winter so opening the windows should be enough. Do you have medicinal herbs?”

  “Yes, sir,” the servant said. “I can show you where.”

  “Good. Randall, Brigid, get her into a chair next to an open window. Have her lean right out if she can. Hopefully, I’ll find what I need in your collection.”

  Yaz followed the servant back to the kitchen and into a walk-in storage closet. She took a chest off the top shelf and handed it to him. Yaz carried it out into the kitchen where he’d have better light and popped it open.

  “Get some water boiling,” he said as he sorted vials and tinctures.

  Finally, he found a sealed vial filled with tiny black mushrooms. He set those aside and continued looking. By the time he had everything of value, the tea pot was whistling.