The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3)

by Everet Martins

  “You must develop constant awareness, Walter. Feel my energy, concentrate on the object of my focus and you will feel my intentions,” Baylan said, stepping over him and offering a hand. Walter eyed it suspiciously.

  “Is this the hand of Baylan the friend or the trainer?”

  “The friend, for now. I’m glad you asked,” he smiled. He waved his dark hand over Walter’s face, warmth spread across it as Baylan’s power helped to accelerate the healing. “Can’t leave you looking too messed up now.”

  Walter brushed off the sand clinging to the back of his neck and beckoned to Baylan. “Let’s go, this is just starting to get fun.”

  Another rock floated from the sand, big as Baylan’s head and more than adequate to squish his like a tomato. Walter pushed the thought away, slammed it down tight into an iron box, locked and bolted. The boulder lurched in the air and darted towards him, but he caught it easily enough, moonlight glinting from shimmering slivers of mica. The rock exploded and, this time, Walter was ready, shield springing before his body, stone fragments bouncing from the oval of blue light. Bits of stone crashed over his boots and dust spilled down the back of his tunic.

  Something pulled at his back, a strange tingle like the one you felt when invariably a pair of eyes were staring right through you. He started to turn and a hand wrapped around his jaw, wrenching his head back and exposing his neck, something gleaming in the corner of his eye. Baylan’s dagger hovered there, his warm breath on the back of his neck.

  “You are dead. My blade has tasted your veins,” Baylan whispered, releasing his hold on Walter’s neck.

  “That’s shit! We never reviewed portals,” Walter cried, spinning around, his jaw clenching. The sight of Baylan’s expression made him pause, mouth half opening.

  Baylan’s eyes were drawn down, narrowed with dark lines tugging at the corners. He tilted his chin up, nostrils flaring open, staring down at Walter, blade still directed at his neck. This was a side of Baylan Walter hadn’t seen close up. The killer he’d watched sink his dagger into the neck of countless Cerumal, now in front of him, stark and terrifying. This wasn’t the old sage who loved taking notes and swapping herbalism knowledge with Nyset. This was a demon, an ender of life. He knew it because it felt like he was looking into a mirror.

  The dagger dropped from the air and into Baylan’s hand, sliding it into its ornate sheathe, crusted with bits of silver. “That will be for another lesson,” he exhaled, his features softening. Walter relaxed at that, seeing the killer slip away into the darkness beyond.

  “I think your ability with shields is adequate for now. There’s so much to teach you and I don’t know how much time we’ll have. I’ll try to cover the most important things.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know how much time we have?”

  “Walter…” Baylan said, scuffing through sand, clutching his stump behind his back. “What we saw on the Plains of Dressna is only the beginning. I don’t think you have a proper grasp of how things were before the Age of Dawn. All of the major cities were laid to ruin, everything burned to the ground. The Death Spawn poured down the walls of Midgaard in great hordes, an unstoppable mass of unimaginable cruelty and death.”

  Walter felt his heart race at the image that played out in his head, wanting to embrace the Dragon for comfort. The pores opened on his neck and sweat beaded through. “You say it as if you were alive then.”

  Baylan looked back towards the entrance to the Tower and his eyes flitted along the great parapet. “We don’t know when Asebor will unleash his army. What we fought against was just a probe, a test to see how prepared we were. Now he likely knows you, a dual wielder of this age, exists. He will be cautious…” A bird squawked on the wall, piercing the long silence. Baylan continued, “And when he strikes, it will be devastating. He will leave no stone unturned, no human left breathing. Now do you understand my task? You must be like Milvorian steel, flexing when needed and impenetrable at the critical moment,” he said, his icy eyes white in the dim.

  Walter nodded. “Okay. Whatever it takes Baylan. Whatever needs to be done I’ll do it, training day and night if I have too.” He already felt his eyes wanting to close, sore muscles begging for rest. He had to march on though. “You have to be hard, do what needs doing,” Noah had said.

  “Good,” Baylan clapped Walter on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Now, before I teach you how to use portals, I will teach you how to detect them. Everyone feels their touch differently. Some feel it in their feet, others feel as if they’re going to be sick.”

  “I felt it in my back,” Walter said, his eyes tracing Baylan’s frame, robe pulled tight around it in the wind.

  “Really? I’m impressed, though I shouldn’t expect any less of you. Let’s try a few more. The portal will open behind you, roll forward when you feel it.”

  Walter took a deep breath, cool air flowing in and out, calming his nerves. Baylan was putting the pressure on in a way he hadn’t before. He must be worried, and if he’s worried, I should be shitting myself. That same tingling came again, like there were ants marching in a line up his back. He fell into a forward roll towards Baylan and onto a knee, head snapping over his shoulder.

  There it was behind him, shimmering blue, sand and dirt hissing as it was burned away at the edges of the portal. Baylan’s form stood there, like a mirage on the plains, waving at him. There was a portal in front of him now too, black and absorbing the light.

  “What you’re seeing in front of you now is the back of the entrance of my portal.”

  Walter reached a hand towards it.

  “Don’t touch it!” Baylan yelled, his voice coming from both behind him and in front. “I don’t know what it does if you do. The few who have dared have endured chaotic effects, random and different each time. One wizard was transformed into a Sand Buckeye, another imploded. Best to not risk it,” Baylan said.

  It was a bizarre sensation hearing his voice come from two directions simultaneously. Walter felt the hair rise on his arms. He was wise enough to trust Baylan’s word now though. He didn’t want another mishap like he had with the Cerumal armor. He had to learn to trust someone.

  “Right,” he withdrew his hand and rose to his feet, turning to face Baylan and watching him through the other side of the portal. Baylan stepped through, his leg materializing in the air. Walter peered around at the portal’s entrance, seeing Baylan’s robes slip through. He turned back to the portal’s exit as Baylan fully emerged and it snapped shut, a star fizzling in the air for a second.

  “It’s incredible! What you could do with this in battle… the possibilities are endless!” Walter’s eyes went wide, and he began hopping and grinning, feeling like a little boy about to open his Festival of Flames gift from his parents.

  “Indeed, Walter. It does open a new avenue of creativity for many things. It is a complex spell however. I thought you might have figured out how to create one yourself after seeing me do it so many times, but you haven’t, and that’s okay,” Baylan said, rubbing his round chin.

  Walter felt his forehead to his cheeks growing hot with blood. Maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention, but when Baylan was using portals, it wasn’t during times of peace. He thought it wiser to not bother arguing the point though. Walter let out a slow trickle of breath.

  “As you have probably noticed, they can compress a great distance into a finger span,” Baylan said, pacing with growing excitement at discussing one of his favorite subjects. “As I’ve told you before, the greater the distance the less likely one is to emerge unscathed. In short distances, you’re unlikely to be harmed. For distances greater than a tenth of a mile, well things start to exponentially increase in risk. Compressing time and space is not a thing to be trifled with.”

  Walter nodded, possibilities swirling in his mind. He needed to learn how to do this and wondered why he hadn’t begged to be taught earlier. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “The worst…” Baylan tapped his
temple then burst out with hearty laughter. “The worst I had heard of was when Mumplekin, a great researcher, had turned his attention to Phoenix portals. He was experimenting with great and greater distances until he stepped out with three cocks on his face,” Baylan grinned. “It was most unfortunate as they were useless, flaccid things.”

  “Now that’s enough to make me never want to step through one,” Walter scratched at his cheeks, his lips curling in disgust at the thought of a cock hanging from his face. He started wondering if the face-cocks could piss, but then dashed the thought away. “Can other people besides yourself go through a portal you’ve created?”

  “Yes, as long as they can fit… remember, the edges are deadly. They disrupt the essence of anything touching it, making them potent weapons,” Baylan said, picking up a rock and hefting it in his hand. He hurled it across the practice yard, the portal snapping open ahead of it the long way, thin as a razor. The rock passed over the edge of the portal as if it were still moving through air, except it started tumbling in the air as the two separate sections rolled onto sand, cut smooth as glass.

  “I remember seeing you use them against the Death Spawn on the plains,” Walter said. “Seems a bit more destructive than the Phoenix might have intended, eh?”

  “I don’t presume to know the Phoenix’s intentions.” The portal winked out, leaving an afterimage of its glow in Walter’s eyes.

  “I suppose it gives men a chance to defend against women if they decided to enslave us with the Dragon,” Walter said, running his fingers along the rim of Stormcaller.

  “Ready for another exercise?”

  “Ready,” he said, exhaustion sinking its talons deeper into his mind, twisting and scraping at his sanity.

  Walter found his old friend Warrior’s Focus within reach now, easier to find when tired, when his mind stopped chattering so much. His eyes drooped a bit, relaxing and taking in Baylan, a ghost in the night. A rock pulled from the recess of the sand, hovering for a second before surging towards him.

  Stopping the rock would use less of his energy than conjuring a shield and he had to preserve every ounce he had left, judging by the way this night was headed. The rock halted for a second before it erupted into a hail of shards, Walter digging deep, shield blossoming in front of his body. The light grew brighter beyond his shield and ants crawled up his back. He dove to the side, his eyes closed tight while stones like arrowheads showered through the portal behind him and stabbed into the ground in soft hisses. Walter rose onto his hands and knees, exhaling hard, blinking dust out of his eyes. The sand where he stood a second ago was dotted with tiny holes. The portal that was behind him shimmered and faded.

  “Shit Baylan! Are you trying to kill me?” He knew what to do to summon a portal now. It was like the inversion of a shield, instead of stopping things, splitting it open. Why didn’t he just say that?

  “You would’ve lived, you’ve been through worse,” he said flatly.

  There was something wet on his cheek. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, sticky with blood. The old man would have to pay for that. He felt respect for him, but now he was a training partner and would be treated like one. Walter rose to his feet, fists wound into tight balls, knuckles white from the pressure. He sprinted towards Baylan and three rocks spewed from the sand around the old man, flying towards Walter.

  Now! Walter willed and a portal spiraled open in front of him. Baylan’s eyes grew wide, now showing his rear through the portal. He had his leg up before he passed through, exiting the other side with vicious speed, his boot connecting hard into the middle of Baylan’s back, sending him sprawling onto his face with a crack. He let the Phoenix’s energy slip away, the portals closing with the hiss of a starting fire.

  Baylan rolled over, moaning, hand wrapped over his mouth “Hurrrrrrrrggggh!” There was a mess of blood and a few teeth next to one of the rocks he had summoned, sitting motionless in the sand. Baylan’s own weapons had played a part in his undoing.

  “Shit,” Walter whispered, his guts filling with an enormous pit of guilt. Once again he let his pride and anger get the best of him, hurting those closest to him. When would he ever let that go? Walter squatted down beside the rock, gathering Baylan’s bloody teeth, fumbling in his fingers, one shattered like dust on the top of the rock.

  Baylan lurched onto his elbows, forcing a bloody smile of all things, not even a touch of anger in his eyes. That did give Walter a pang of relief, given he did sort of ask for it. Baylan held out his hand for the teeth and Walter narrowed his eyes, disgust and fascination blending together, dropping the teeth into his hand. Baylan blew out a breath, wiped blood across his stump, and started pressing the teeth back into his oozing gums. Blue light billowed like smoke from his mouth as he did it and Walter nodded in understanding. He didn’t want to let the Phoenix heal the wounds until the teeth were placed, bonding them to his jaw, otherwise he would have had to hammer the teeth through healed tooth sockets.

  “Ah—well done, Walter. Very well done! You continue to impress me with your learning speed. You would have done well as a scholar here, a researcher for the ages,” Baylan said, regaining speech and his face relaxing as the pain faded from his eyes with the Phoenix’s healing light.

  “Are you alright? Sorry… I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. I wasn’t expecting the portal to accelerate my movement that way,” Walter said, rubbing at the back of his head, still not used to the feeling of having short hair. The last time he had his hair this short was when he started Sid-Ho training when he was nine.

  “Do not worry,” Baylan said, waving him off as he stumbled to his feet. “I think that is enough for tonight. Let’s get some rest.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  An Old Friend

  “The heavens part with the beauties of all the realms, yet the eyes of men remain down.” -The Diaries of Baylan Spear

  The library was still as awe-inspiring as he remembered it. Bookshelves started on the floor and crept up towards the domed ceiling, not a sliver of wall space remained uncovered by tomes, some small as his palm and others wide as his torso. Some of the books had the bright sheen of new leather, others wrinkled, sun beaten and abused with the harrowing of time. Curved ladders arced along the shelves, mounted to rails that allowed easy access to the highest shelves precariously mounted near the apex of the dome. The strange architecture was something Baylan had always liked about living in the Tower. The Tower’s architects had a flair for the extravagant, leading the mind to always reconsider the possible.

  The books had to be packed tight on those shelves to keep them from falling. Baylan had learned that lesson the hard way when he was an apprentice. It had taken him almost a week to put them all back after he had pulled out a keystone book holding the lot of them together. The pull of the earth on its objects was not a force to be taken lightly.

  It was quiet as a tomb, the only sound was the hiss of the burning candles and gouts of sea air that snaked their way through invisible crevices. Most apprentices and wizards would be sleeping at this hour, like he probably should be. The occasional mad wizard could be found in their lab, testing new materials and experimenting with spells, trying to discern the power trapped in a Milvorian artifact, but thankfully none were in the throes of research here.

  The shine of the late moon burned and twinkled through the dome’s center, passing through the one and only window, a magnificent prism with thousands of crystals, cut to evenly disperse brilliance through the room. Baylan rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, aching for rest. His mouth was still sore, tongue flicking over the empty spot where the molar had been, now shattered and irreparable.

  On the floor were more shelves, arranged to form a series of alcoves to allow for a measure of privacy for one’s studies. The dark alcoves were supplemented with the light of candelabras, mounted on walnut bookshelves, tongues of flame always burning on the magical candles that never melted, one of the inventions of the late researcher Cynric.

  The
Great Library hadn’t changed much since the long nights and endless days spent lost in tomes here, feverishly researching the demon god Asebor with Lillian. Times were easier then, before his arms and legs were bound in chains. He found himself strolling to their old alcove, near the grand map of Zoria, stretching thirty arm’s lengths across the only wall that lacked bookshelves. It was an incredible piece of art, frequently changed with masterful precision after each year’s survey of the realm. They even seemed to have added the latest construction on the king’s palace. Baylan planted his hand on his hip, scanning the map, beautiful and colored in reds, blues and greens. It was a slap in the face to the Tower, making them beg for marks from the king, given a pittance, only then for the king to build an entire spire for his daughter. Greed ruined every man eventually.

  Baylan sat down at his old table in his favorite alcove, his chair rigid, yet soothing against his back. How he yearned for those simpler times. His elbows slipped into the grooves on the arms and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. The glow of the flickering candles bathed his vision in sheets of red, orange, and black. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the familiar smell of knowledge.

  “I knew it was you, Zane,” a voice said quietly.

  Baylan’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. He had been discovered. His hand slid along his cloak, the fine thread caressing his fingertips, his grip winding around his cold dagger. Where was the owner of the voice? He whirled his head around, no one there. He strained into the shadows of every corner, feeling the weight of eyes upon him.

  Something creaked against wood and the shape of a man slid from the edge of a shelf cast in shadow, his cane wobbling under the load and not well built for the job. Either the cane had weakened or the man increased in girth. Baylan would bet on the latter, if he were a betting man. The man’s figure came into the candle light and his stomach dropped, his grip trying to crush the hilt of his dagger.