“We should prepare. If she’s reached Helm’s Reach, that means she’ll be here in short order. There’s just one more thing. Have any of you been bitten?” She dragged her sleeve across her face and started to circle the king’s men. “It’s important that you speak the truth so that we can offer appropriate healing.”
“Healing?” Thenzo scoffed. “Don’t try selling your lies here, Arch Wizard. Are those Tigerians screaming their throats open in the prison carts? They’re being hauled off to get healed too?”
Her cheeks burned with heat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Thenzo let out a derisive chuckle. “That’s because Tower witches have poisoned tongues and—”
“Silence your words,” the king bellowed over him. He turned back to assail them with threatening glares.
Thenzo gave a stiff bow, mouth hanging open in resignation.
A figure came sprinting over the bridge with a few Armsman trailing at her back. Senka lowered her sprint to a jog as she drew closer to the group, hands dropping to rest on her sheathed Dragon headed daggers. Nyset waved her over while the king paid her no mind, eying his men. “Do as the Arch Wizard commands,” King Ezra said.
“Mistress. How can I help?” Senka offered, trails of sweat streaming down her temples.
“In a moment,” she whispered.
Without hesitation, about half of the Black Guards skirted away from away from the initial group, forming a second with Thenzo among them. They all likely knew their fate by their grim expressions. Thenzo raised his arm. “Arch Wizard. We saw Midgaard and Helm’s Reach. We know what’s to come next for us.” He glanced back to regard the king and the other infected men with a half-smile. “We did our duty to protect the king, but let us leave this world in our way. Let us depart with honor.”
Nyset had enough experience with Black Guards to know that he meant suicide. “Very well, but not here before the public,” she said, flicking her gaze back at the ever-growing crowd. “Senka will take you to the North, behind the Tower where it can be done. If there are any of you who’ve been bitten but are too afraid or too ashamed to reveal your plight.” She swallowed, throat dry as cotton. “Thenzo is right. I fear there is nothing that can be done. If you fail to reveal yourself, you’ll only make defending the last bastion against the Shadow a near impossibility. The defense behind the Tower’s walls must be pure.”
Not another man joined the infected from the group circling the king. Nyset addressed the infected, “You’re all honorable heroes whose courage and fearlessness will be noted for the Tower’s chronicles. Your surviving heirs will come to know your noble deeds.” Nyset nodded and swept her gaze over the group, meeting the hard eyes of the doomed men. Most nodded back while others remained motionless, staring off into the distance. Perhaps the symptoms of the Shadow snake’s bite affected each individual in varying rates.
“My daughter and my son… all the battalions, all the people. By the Dragon, they’re all gone.” The king slumped to his knees, pleading to the clouds.
A guard bent to help him up, offering his arm. “My king, this is no place for—”
“Leave me be!” the king yelled, his expression twisting with feral horror. The man slowly backed off, arms raised. King Ezra clasped his hands and tears glistened thick in his eyes, sobbing. His crown fell from his head, clattering on the stones. “Ev-everything is gone. What will I do, Arch Wizard? What will I do? I tried my best. I did, I swear it. I tried to protect them.” The guards around him stepped farther back to give him space, exchanging uncertain glances.
Nyset and the king were left alone in the middle of the bridge, onlookers and guards pressed to the rails. Her chest felt tight, heart thumping in her ears. She opened and closed her hands, licking her lips. “Damn it,” she whispered, throat hitching, heat forming up behind her eyes. She went to him and offered her hands. He took them, and they were stronger than she expected, his grip firm and fingers icy. She lifted him to stand and pulled him into an embrace. He hugged her back and started to uncontrollably sob. He felt so small, much like she imagined her father might have felt.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” she breathed in his ear, knowing her words were nothing in the wake of all that death. She held him for a few moments until she felt him freeing himself from her hug.
He nodded a few times, peering down at his crown but making no effort at picking it up. “Thank you, Arch Wizard,” he said softly, then raised his voice. “I’ve made a fool of myself over the years. Didn’t listen when I should’ve. Did less than I could. I’ve done so many wrongs, Arch Wizard. I hope you can eventually forgive me.”
“Please, call me Nyset,” she said, feeling her smile fighting to curve into a sad frown. She kneeled and retrieved his crown. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said, handing it to him, but he shook his head.
“I don’t want it,” he said, milky blue eyes meeting hers. “It belongs to you now. I have no living heirs. The kingdom is lost, and you’re our only hope, Nyset.”
SEVENTEEN
A Black Line
“War reveals our true character. The mask of false bravado is stripped away before a Death Spawn horde.” - The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
The Tower’s dungeons were choked with soddened dust. Shadows flickered about the grim halls, and the constant humidity clung to your skin like a wet jacket. Clumps of moss formed a verdant molding where the floor met the walls. Stalactites birthed of windblown sea water hung from hairline cracks in the ceiling. Milvorian sconces held floating balls of Dragon fire, casting some sections in a dim glow. These were different than the fire wizards summoned for combat but were fixed in a permanent state for the purpose of illumination. There were few spots where natural light found its way in. The amount of stone between the surface spanned maybe fifty feet by Juzo’s guess.
Juzo sat in a deep squat at the end of one of the tunnels surrounded by an oval of stone walls inset with three cells. Above him crackled a lone ball of Dragon fire, showing deep shadows in the rippling limestone. He traced a spiral with an extended finger through a layer of congealed dust. Half of his oily hair was tucked behind his ear, the other half hanging down to shroud his face. His eyes glowed like dying embers, like the nightmare that lurked in the recesses of forgotten crypts. His travel worn duster hung open, once jet black, now a faded gray. His bastard sword was sheathed on his back, its thick leather strap running from shoulder to hip.
His surrogates were silent for but a moment. Then their twenty or so voices poured over him in an unrelenting tumult.
Release me! a man screamed in his head
What have you done? a woman sobbed.
Please, Master, another begged.
Why?
I don’t deserve this.
Die! Die! a belligerent woman shrieked in his mind over and over.
He rose to stand, glaring back at his new Blood Eaters safely contained within their cells. They cowered toward the back walls, and their glowing ruby eyes blinked back at him. He purposefully kept them weak, straddling the line between starvation and lucidity. A few porcelain white hands gripped the iron bars and gave them a testing rattle. One man lunged at the bars in a bold show of aggression, teeth clamping on the air.
Juzo snickered. There are always a few rebels in the bunch, he thought with a sadistic smile. He thought of Terar and all the tortures the bastard had once inflicted upon him in an attempt at crushing his spirit. He was better than him though. He could do better.
Juzo’s war against his surrogates was of the mental kind. It was a bout of whose mind was faster, the victor claiming control of the person’s said faculties. That was why he’d been able to escape Terar’s hold on him. He’d broken his body, but never his indomitable spirit.
The nature of the Blood Eater curse bequeathed Juzo with the ability to assert a measure of control upon his surrogates, though they could still rebel. They could always rebel, and that was the risk. He was a result born of that r
isk. When he detected mutinous urges and emotions in his surrogates, he could squash them down by injecting his own thoughts into the rebel’s mind. This method was thus far more effective than physical punishment.
The Lunger lunged again, smashing his head against the bars and leaving his forehead bloodied. Within the man was unbridled rage, a pure hatred that only a man who’s lost his everything could summon. Juzo understood him. He closed his eyes and sent him an image of the Shadow Realm. It was a place of warmth and crystalline skies and healing waters. The Lunger retreated into the back of the cell, rubbing his forehead in surprise. He slowly leaned back against the wall, slid down to sit, ruminating upon the beauty Juzo gave him. He was pacified for now.
A sense of warmth, pride, and fear came from behind him in a turbulent mix. He knew she’d finally arrived by the sensation alone. He couldn’t understand her thoughts, of course, but he could feel her emotions. He raised his finger from the spiral he’d been drawing, flicking off a nub of grit.
“Juzo? Grim told me you were here,” her voice said, strong and doing well to shroud her fear. He rose up, turning to see Ny standing at the entrance where the hallway opened into a semi-circle. She wore unadorned gray robes with the hood pulled up, tendrils of golden hair hanging out the bottom. Her right hand twitched, and her hand closed quick to stifle it.
“I did it. I did what you asked,” he said nodding, finding his voice faltering. “See?” He pointed at the cells. “It’s hard, so terribly hard, Ny. I hear them. All of them and all at once.”
“Oh,” she whispered, drawing her hood back and striding into the room. “Are we safe? Are they controlled?”
He clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might shatter. He forced a chuckle. “Safe enough. Don’t get too close to the bars though. Some are still… wild.” He shrugged, heat clawing up his throat.
Nyset stopped a few paces from the middle cell, the bars suddenly illuminated in an amber glow as she embraced the Dragon. A wave of trepidation roiled in Juzo’s guts from his Blood Eaters, all scurrying over each other to press themselves against the back wall. One man shrieked in terror, a few grunted, and others moaned.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked, turning her head over her shoulder but not looking at him.
Juzo scoffed, brows furrowing. “You can’t be serious.”
“Sorry. I know,” she said shaking her head and turning to face him. The fire faded in her eyes, replaced by dark hollows. “Stupid thing to say. It’s been a long month. Long year, even.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Thank you for doing this, Juzo. I know it must be hard for you.”
“It is,” he said flatly. He started to pace around the room and blew a long breath through pursed lips. “What would you have me do with them?”
She swallowed and dropped her gaze in concentration. He could hear the throb of her heartbeat, watching as that sweet blood surged and flexed at her carotid arteries. She did have a beautiful neck, seemingly made for kissing. He wondered how her skin would taste. He wondered how it felt to have a wizard, a dual-wielder no less, at his command. Saliva squirted on his tongue. His stomach rumbled.
“Juzo?” Nyset’s voice was a thunderclap, the sound enhanced by the Dragon’s gift. “Are you listening to me?” she asked, voice tinged with annoyance.
“I… sorry. They were in my head.” He gestured toward the cells. It was an easy lie.
“Right.” Nyset narrowed her eyes at him, lips turned in a half-smile. “Were you just thinking of eating me now?”
“W-w-hat?” Juzo stammered. “No. By the Dragon, you’re insane.” Juzo turned his face so she didn’t see his shame, turning back when his expression was wrangled into something presentable. He sighed, peered at the floor, and leaned his backside against a wall beside a cell, resting his hands on his knees. “Please, tell me again what you’d have me do.”
Nyset started tapping a finger on her lips while she paced. “Before the bridge after the trenches. Tend to whatever makes it past us.”
“You say it as if you don’t think we can win.”
Her mouth opened and closed. Then she came to him, resting delicate hands on his shoulders. “Juzo. I want you to know that I’ve always valued your friendship. I want you to know that I love you, our friendship, I mean. Don’t say that nearly enough and feel as if I should,” she said quickly.
“I know.” He nodded, looking up into her face but only finding a silhouette. I love you too, he wanted to say, but the words died on his tongue. “We’ve been through a lot over the years, haven’t we?”
He saw the outline of her smile, bright as if she understood. She knew, and there wasn’t a need for him to say it back. “We have. And I fear our greatest trials are forthcoming.”
Juzo solemnly nodded. A few of his Blood Eaters started to weep in tandem, likely preying on his emotions. If he didn’t keep his walls erected, the exchange could go both ways between master and surrogate. “Do you still miss him? Walter, I mean.”
“I know who you mean,” she said, throat hitching.
He didn’t have to see her to know her eyes would be filled with tears. “Sorry, Ny. I—”
“Of course I miss him. I have to see him every day. Every day a constant reminder that he left me here. Gaidal,” she said, sniffing and dropping her hands to her sides. “They have the same eyes. By the Dragon, it should’ve been me. All of this my fault.” She broke like glass, collapsing into his arms, and he rose up to support her.
“No,” he said, embracing her, finding her lilac scent pleasing. “We’ve all done the best we could. I think Walter knew a long time ago that things would turn out the way they had. Fate had set him on this path so long ago in Breden.”
“Well, damn fate!” She pushed herself away from him, one fist thumping on his chest. She angrily dashed the tears from her eyes, mouth pulling back in a scowl. “We’re going to kill her. Her and all of her fucking snake minions. After that, we’re going for the Purists and anyone else who assaults the Tower!” she yelled, new tears streaking her cheeks.
“Ny…” Juzo held out a limp arm. “You have to stop being so hard on yourself. It’s only hurting you. We need you to be strong, strong as you can be.”
“I know, I know, I know,” she said, glaring up at the ceiling. “Everyone keeps telling me the same thing. But it’s not easy to always wear a brave face.”
“It isn’t. But you don’t have to do that. You’re only human. No one is expecting perfection from you. You can make mistakes. You’ve owned up to them, and that’s the best we can do,” Juzo said, hoping his words were reaching her.
“Yeah,” she hissed, nodding. “You’re right. I-I should leave. I have more to attend to.” She turned her back on him and started for the hallway.
Juzo watched her as a strange seed of dread welled in his chest. A few of his Blood Eaters gibbered in frustration at seeing a potential meal departing.
She paused before the room narrowed into the hall, drawing up her hood. “Thank you again, Juzo.” And she swept into the shadows without another word.
On the following day, they stood in a line along the Tower’s ramparts. All the remaining leaders of the two major realms were gathered upon that walkway of stone. Nyset could never have guessed that she’d one day be among them. She summoned her closest allies to join her in this meeting. Juzo, Grimbald, Claw, Senka, and Isa stood about King Ezra and Crugen Nenkur, King of Ashrath.
Two of the king’s Black Guards were honor bound to stay by his side and thus allowed to stay among the group. The king ordered them to patrol the ramparts in what she took as a gesture of respect. The stone-faced men had begrudgingly complied, though never ventured more than thirty paces away.
She gripped the foot-long spikes that had been installed two years ago and gave them a testing tug, their immovable resilience satisfying. She swept her eyes along the walls, searching for anything that could be used to scale it. She remembered the first time she defended the Tower, when the Death Spawn had u
sed a section of vines to ascend the heights. She gave a satisfied nod at seeing the walls had been kept dutifully clear, their surfaces shear and glinting Milvorian stone.
The ramparts rose up about forty feet from where the bridge fanned out into a semi-circle of stone. Beneath their feet was the main gate. It was the perfect choke point. The doors were arcing slabs of Milvorian steel. On either side of the doors were pairs of portcullises that could be hastily sealed with thrown levers. She liked to personally inspect the gearing mechanisms for the doors, ensuring they were well oiled.
There were few nooks in the Tower that she didn’t have her hands in, to the ire of some. Over the past year, she’d become obsessively engaged with all the workings of the Tower, searching for weaknesses the Shadow Princess might try to exploit. She’d found little that couldn’t be remedied. The problem was that the Shadow Princess was an unconventional enemy by all historical accounts. She didn’t know what needed to be defended and how. She was born of Asebor, the son of the felled Shadow God and Isabelle Glade, Walter’s mother, the mother of a dual-wielder. Nyset only came to know this by Walter’s recounting of his first time in the Shadow Realm, thankful then for not having to endure that horror. She wondered that if she possessed that memory, she might have discovered some fracture in the Shadow Princess’s armor.
The salted wind from the Far Sea clashed with the hot winds of the Plains of Dressna at these heights. Sometimes, a gust of cold slapped against down one’s side followed by a swirling blast of heat. It was a strange yet welcome sensation, calming even.
The sky was cloudless today, the morning sun warming the creamy Milvorian stonework. The Tower bridge had been widened since the Shadow War to accommodate the width of four carriages. It arced up and faded from view, dropping down to show the New Breden skyline. The village, now a veritable city was about half a mile away, a smudge of humidity shimmering over the rooftops. The falls hissed on the air and filled in when the wind went quiet.
The Shadow Age (The Age of Dawn Book 7) Page 30