Fallen Tiers

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “Like this?”

  “Exactly like that,” came the voice in her ear. She glanced to her right about to say something else when she heard the screams and then saw the massive wall of water cresting over the rocks on the far side of the harbor.

  “Oh gods!’ she exclaimed and began trying to scramble up the rope. She felt a strange pain in her throat and let go of the rope to put a hand to her neck. Warm blood spilled over it and she heard the grating voice as she sank to her knees.

  “No time for niceties then,” he hissed.

  Her eyes blinked as she watched the man jump up and catch the rope. His feet were the last thing she saw as she slumped to the ground. Whether it was the knife that slit her throat or the water in the deep puddle that drowned her, no one would ever know. Unfortunately, a life with Luthian was not in her future.

  Chapter Seven

  The rain grew from a shower to a torrent in the time it took Alador reached his home. As he burst through the door a servant appeared to assist him, but he brushed them aside. He had no time to take off his cloak.

  He looked back at the man and snapped, “Prepare for the coming storm, quickly! It will be severe this day.”

  Not waiting for a response, he hurried along to his study. The room greeted him with its usual warmth, both from the fire and the comfort of the various books and documents. However, the dark grey cast from the day and its rain gave it an ominous feeling through the windows. He placed his fingers in the eyes of the skull on the shelf and opened the door to the small secret room that contained the black spell book. He sighed heavily to see it still there, a reminder of the evil once committed by his ancestor using its dark magic. Perhaps today he could do some good with its power.

  He frantically scanned through page after page of spells, but nothing jumped out at him that would help. He was desperate. He didn’t have the power or the knowledge to stop this storm. He muttered to himself, reading the various names, but none really met his need to save the city or even deflect the storm.

  “Alador?” The soft voice called out from the doorway. Startled, he looked over to see Nemara standing there. She wore simple clothing, a soft, golden, floor length gown with dark brown lace at the neck, cuffs, and hem.

  She glanced around the room in surprise. “I didn’t know this room existed. Hiding somethi…” She cut off short, looking at the black spell book as Alador shut it.

  “It’s nothing. Just a spell book.” He waved his hand casually, and moved toward her.

  She nodded, but kept her eyes locked on the book for a moment before her gaze snapped to him. “You know, if you wanted to make it cold and damp, couldn’t you have waited for another day?” she teased, but then frowned, wrapping her arms about herself.

  Alador smiled, but it vanished in a moment. “Nemara, this storm is unnaturally large. I must try to mitigate its impact on the city, but I don’t know if…” He trailed off, his mind racing with possible spells to use. Even Renamaum’s memories didn’t bring anything to the forefront that could be useful.

  Nemara looked at him curiously before stepping closer to place her hand on his cheek. She directed his eyes to hers. “What do you need?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

  “Honestly… a storm mage, but Luthian may not be able to get them to me in time.”

  He huffed, moving them both out of the way of the door that swung shut with barely a whisper. He pulled at her hand to exit the study.

  “I have seen it… The trench and the first tier will be wiped out from the coming surge.”

  “Are you sure?” There was a touch of panic in her voice.

  “Renamaum has seen a storm like this in the past. His memories keep urging me to run.” Alador ran his hand through his wet hair. “It is hard for me to fathom such a force… something a dragon would run from.” His hand ran absently through his hair again as he stood in the doorway of the study - as though somehow, the action would clear his thoughts. “And my uncle seems to think I can stop it. How can I stop it?” This time when his hand went toward his hair he noticed it was shaking and stopped it in front of his face to stare at it in disbelief.

  Nemara took his hand in hers. “Let me help,” she urged. “What is your plan?”

  “I had hoped to find something in the spell book, perhaps an incantation to magnify my powers, but I didn’t.” He squeezed her hand. It felt good to be grounded by her presence. “I am headed back to the outlook on the third tier. From there I can see the storm clearly and do my best to lessen its impact.”

  “I will change and come with you. I can bind us to the wall, so the storm doesn’t take us away. Creating brambles and woods is a specialty of mine, after all.” She tried to make light of her power and the situation to calm him.

  They started to move in sync, training taking over for them both. The seriousness of the situation took over. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and vanished from sight as Alador moved to the entryway.

  He waited for her to return, considering changing into his own leathers. He missed the comfort of his oiled armor. He mused to himself how it was that he could end up missing something he had not particularly enjoyed in the first place. But he knew he needed the greater freedom of movement that robes provided today.

  His inner dialogue stopped when he saw Nemara hurry down the stairs. She was now a warrior, her hair tied back to keep it from her face, leathers molded to her body like a glove. She was both wholly feminine and wholly practical. Her sword at one side and a pack on the other provided the last bit of evidence that she had taken the situation seriously. She found her black cloak in a closet and put it on, pulling up the cowl.

  He shook his head, pulling his thoughts back to the emergency at hand. “Shall we?” he motioned to the door. Smirking as though she had read his thoughts, she opened the door to be greeted by the howl of wind and force of the driving wall of rain.

  “Don’t mind if I do, milord.” Her tone playfully mocked him as they both stepped outside.

  Without another a word, they made their way past the residents of the city, who were scurrying about, preparing for the coming storm. The streets were a mess of people scrambling to get out of the rain and shouting imprecations at each other and the storm. Fighting the people was like wading through the ocean surf itself. A few times, Nemara and Alador were separated but managed to find one another in the breaks of the crowd. They dodged carts and foot traffic, civilians and guards, until they made it down to the third tier and the outlook.

  The darkness they faced once they reached the wall was terrifying. Both of them were at a loss for words as they looked upon the tempest. Lightning dance over the surface of the black wall of clouds, the angry sea swirling green and grey below. The storm extended to the left and right as far as the eye could see. This storm was bigger than anything Alador had ever seen – larger even the snow storm he built with Rena’s help. The top edge of it was creeping up and would soon block out the sun. Silverport stood at the very edge of this storm’s gaping maw.

  Movement to his right caused him to look over at Nemara, who was digging in her pack to fish out seeds and begin manipulating them with magic.

  The cold wind clawed at them both as Alador began to concentrate, looking toward the ocean. He could feel the surge of the sea. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let his soul drift out to submerge in the ocean under the storm. The water was seething as the storm approached. As before, the power of the sea pushed the sand and silt from the bottom to swirl about him. He was startled to see a fuzzy image of Nemara beside him in this out-of-body state. He was relieved it was her and not the incarnate of Dethara as he had encountered in the past.

  He shook his head and returned to his corporeal state on the wall, concentrating on drawing his power from the world around him. Raising a hand, he opened his eyes and began trying to focus on the air stones about him and control them.

  Pushing and pulling, he could barely get a handle on them. They did not behave as he had come t
o expect, and seemed to work against him. The storm front was almost upon them, the sky darkening to almost a twilight haze. He closed his eyes again, mage-sight showing him the vast power that stretched beyond. He toed the edge of the precipice wall.

  Could he manifest enough magic to harness this beast of a storm? If he did, could he control such power? If he could not, what would happen to him? Panic and fear filled him. What if he couldn’t save the city? What would happen to the egg? The Blackguard? The city? The people? All the possible outcomes rushed to his head.

  With a slight whimper, he dropped his hands to his sides. He opened his eyes to see Nemara had completed her work. They each stood with their back against a huge tree, roots anchored firmly in the stone of the outlook and its wall. Around their feet grew brambles which held them securely in place and against the trees. She looked at him intently as the lower branches from the trees reached down to wrap their arms around them as if they were a mother holding a child to their breasts.

  “What’s wrong?” she yelled above the wind’s howl.

  The barrier she had grown around each of them was a tough wooden plant that reminded him of ones he used to build forts with in Smallbrook. Thoughts of Smallbrook - family, home, Mesiande - all rushed to his mind, and he fought to push them back.

  “I can’t do it, Nemara. I… I… don’t have the power. It’s too strong!” he admitted, his fear overtaking him. Renamaum’s memories were becoming almost overwhelming, urging him to fly. Closing his eyes, the sound of the angry tempest loomed over them, growling and screeching.

  “You can do it. Give in,” Nemara whispered in his ear, or was it Rena? He could hear it as clear as a bell struck on a summer day. Her words rang, shaking him to his core. “You need to give in to this. Use me as a conduit if you must.”

  In his mind’s eye, he moved toward her and held her close. He could sense her magic, her power, knowing that she was Nemara and Rena. He winced at the first touch, wondering what Rena had really given to Nemara.

  As her power circled around him, she screamed, “Give in, Alador!”

  In a moment, he twisted their essence to fall into the magical ocean before them. A rush of power much like he had felt when he manifested in the ocean before greeted him, unlimited and unfathomable power. It coursed through him as though it was living lightning. It craved to be used, harnessed, unleashed. In the real world Nemara reached over and took his hand, gripping it tightly. Power coursed through her as well, as they joined. She stiffened as if being shocked, soft cries muffled against the storm’s rage.

  All at once Alador felt the sea tugging and pulling back away from him and Nemara. It was receding under the storm.

  Opening his real eyes, he saw the bay empty of water, the sea heaving back – leaving the ships anchored there sitting like toy boats in any empty tub.

  An enormous wave, a wave of gigantic proportions, was growing up off the ocean floor and into the storm clouds above.

  Alador’s free arm sprung up, a ball of lightning forming in his hand. But this was no offensive spell; it screamed with a soundless voice, turning from white to a blackish purple. It clawed at reality, desiring to be released, Alador hardly noticed as it fought against him. This magic was palpable in his fingertips, stronger than what he had shared with Rena.

  Releasing the power from his hand, a beam sliced through the oncoming storm. It split the clouds in two, but it did nothing to mitigate the massive wave that broke and burst over the rocks of the harbor’s edge to come rushing into the bay over the sandy beach.

  Drawing upon the storm’s own energy, Alador continued to dump power into the spell. The skin upon his hand began to turn raw as if it were too close to a fire. It splintered and cracked, the feeling of rain hitting it almost unbearable. But the wave continued to rush forward, towering over the trench and the first tier.

  He stole a glance over to Nemara; her gaze was transfixed upon the wave that was bearing down on the city. But as he looked closer, Alador could see her gaze was glassy. She was soaked from head to toe in her leathers, but it was her hair that made him pause. Streaks of white coursed through the normal dark red. Being a conduit for Alador’s magic was more than she could handle. The magic may have had the essence of Rena, but the woman beside him did not have the dragon’s strength.

  Panic struck through Alador like the power of the wave descending on them. It was clear to him that he had to choose: either continue to use her to channel the magic and likely kill her to save countless lives inside the city, or sacrifice them all and save his friend. He looked back upon the storm and the merciless wave as it met the ships in the harbor and splintered them into kindling with the force of its impact. The howling wind and driving rain seemed to mock his failure. How could he have thought he could stop this?

  The internal struggle only lasted for a moment; his split attention was all the power needed to wrest itself out of his hands. What control he had over it was lost. A screaming ball of power shot into the sky, engulfed by the oncoming cloud wall. Alador caught Nemara as her spell-cast trees and brambles withered to dust around them and she crumpled to the ground. He collapsed with her, pulling her into his lap and cradling her in his arms, trying to protect her from the onslaught of the driving rain.

  The enormous wave crashed against the sea wall, overwhelming the tiers and shaking the ground beneath them. It threw up a spray that drenched the outlook where they huddled. He could hear the agonizing screams of the dying below.

  “Nemara!” He cried.

  She did not respond.

  Chapter Eight

  Sordith felt a great sense of relief when the bronze mages showed up to help seal the storerooms and mines. He had already recalled the miners in anticipation of the mages’ arrival; he could not leave the workers down there if the trench was going to flood. He refused to lose that many good men and women when he had the time to recall as many as could hear the warning bells. If they were not out by the time the mages got to their hole, then they would have to ride out the storm behind a solid wall. Some would panic because they had family topside, but in the end, it would probably be one of the safest spots to weather this storm. He assigned one of his men to each mage to show them the tunnels to be sealed and sent them on their way.

  Fortunately, the water had not breached the slopes into the storerooms or the mines yet. With the four bronze mages going from door to door, opening to opening, and placing a firm stone wall over each, they should be secure. He finally left them and his men once he was satisfied this action would safeguard the city’s treasures from any storm or ocean damage. He once more hoped that Alador was being dramatic and that while the harbor might be in danger, the trench would not.

  Keelee was at the far end of the trench. He sent a runner down to inform her to move the children up to the second tier. She had a head start, and the children all knew her from her regular visits to bring them food and blankets. Sordith knew Keelee had friends on the second and third tiers that would shelter the orphans, giving him peace of mind so that he could concentrate on the rest of the migration of the trench populace to the first tier or above.

  The Trench Lord sent Auries a message to move her girls up a tier as well. He knew they would not mind; in such rain, the taverns and inns would be full. Business would be booming and most of the owners were not too particular in letting a newcomer from another tier ply their trade to satisfy his or her customers.

  He had had little time for Auries since she threw perfume at him. It crossed his mind that after the storm, he would have to see about mending that bridge. She had always been special to him, it was just that Keelee now possessed his heart.

  Sordith stepped out of the mining area and was surprised to find people milling about and the general sound of panic. He grabbed a miner close to him by the arm. “What is going on? Why are you people still down here?”

  “Som’un put up a wall, Lords’p.” The miner stammered, wide-eyed. “People saying every ramp be closed.”

>   “What?” Sordith hissed, truly shocked. “No, he wouldn’t have done that.” he mumbled under his breath. Luthian could not be that callous.

  Sordith pushed through the milling and panicked people to cross the bridge to the nearest ramp. The city had run-off troughs that naturally spilled into the trench. He had made sure to keep rainwater from flooding the areas of occupation when they covered the actual sewage canal to create these sloughs. Despite this preventive step, the troughs were like rushing rivers overflowing at their banks onto the walkway and into the surrounding homes and shops. The water was pouring down so hard from the upper tiers that the sloughs were like funnels, sending the water down in torrents and creating standing water everywhere, rising almost to his knees in places. He had to fight to get past some areas. So far, the sewage trench itself had not overflowed, but the grates allowing water into it were not keeping up. Soon, the refuse and garbage from the five tiers would be flowing over the trench and its inhabitants.

  Sordith could not see the ramp through the rain and press of bodies. The wind was now whipping projectiles through the air - pieces of cloth, debris and wood. He saw a man on the edge of the ramp get hit by what looked like a flying awning, ripped from a storefront on one of the upper tiers. The pole attached to the fabric struck him so hard he was thrown from the ramp and down onto the harbor walkway below. A woman screamed and tried her best to fight her way back down the ramp to the man, who must have been her husband.

  Sordith shook his head. He had to get these people moving.

  “Let me through,” he demanded, elbowing and shoving the mass on the ramp aside.

  Slowly, as people recognized their Lord, they parted to let him through.

  When Sordith got to the top, he was horrified at what rose up in front of him. Not only was there a thick stone wall, but there were bodies embedded in it. He slowly reached out to touch a hand that extended from it and found the flesh still warm beneath his fingers. He cursed under his breath; this was the work of a stone mage who had no humanity left in them. They had sealed the passing people in stone. He prayed the poor sod had not suffered. He turned to look down into the panicked faces of his people. How could he fight this? He had no magic to rip down the wall. The water was rising with the tide, already at least a foot deep at the bottom of the ramp.