Nyset’s posture slumped, and her robe fell from one shoulder, showing most of her chest. There was a thick scar going down her olive skin from her collarbone to the top of her breast. “It doesn’t matter. We have bigger issues at hand. Far bigger.”
Isa was in a whorehouse? Why would he go to a place like that? Senka didn’t want to know the answer. She made her way around the table to sit next to him, watched a drop of sweat creep down his temple. She saw her quivering fingers, the need for Angel’s Moss screaming out to her like an urge to breathe. Isa narrowed his eyes, shifting them from her hands to her eyes, and she stuffed her hands under her legs. “Not feeling well,” she mumbled.
“Huh,” Isa said, his keen eyes scanning her up and down. Did he see the exhaustion in her eyes? Her hammering veins and twitching muscles?
“Are you sick?” Nyset shuffled around to her back and placed delicate hands on her shoulders.
Senka swallowed and felt wetness blooming under her arms. “Just getting over a fever, I think.”
“Here.” Nyset pressed her hand, glowing with a faint blue, against Senka’s temple. A surge of cold energy filled her from head to toe, skin prickling. All of her aches, scratches, and bruises were mended in an instant. “Oh,” Senka breathed. “Thank you. That feels wonderful.” The need for Angel’s Moss quieted then, lurking in the shadows of her heart.
“The least I can do,” Nyset said, squeezing her shoulder before taking her hand away. “This,” she jabbed the map with an extended finger, “is the reason you’re all here. I do wish it were for something more pleasant.” There was a long pause as Nyset gazed at the map, shifting her eyes around to everyone, then back at the map with a resolute nod.
Grimbald shuffled his feet, opened and closed his hands. Senka saw that all eyes were on the Arch Wizard and put her focus there too. “I believe we’ve found the location of the Shadow princess, in Tigeria. There have been confirmed reports of a virulent Shadow plague there.”
“Let’s go kill her then,” Grimbald said, cracking his knuckles. “Been waiting for this moment for a long time.”
“Shadow plague? What is it?” Senka asked.
Nyset spread her hands over the map. “Right, well that’s what we’re calling it now. It’s not an official name yet.” She went on to tell them about the reports detailing how Tigerians have had pustules erupting with violet-eyed snakes found in their wounds. Senka felt a wave of nausea burning in her throat at the image. Grimbald wore a look of disgust at the news, Juzo’s eye nervously shifted, and Isa’s face was hard as stone.
“The Shadow.” Nyset tasted the word. “Despite the horrors of the Shadow Realm, it is a fascinating subject. To the Tigerians, those unaffected at least, it is all mere superstition, though persistent in their historical records.” She gestured at the books. “I requested all the books from Midgaard they had on the subject. It apparently caused some commotion as most of the ancient volumes were found to have gone missing.”
Senka remembered the piles upon piles of books torched to scraps of leather in the Tower’s courtyard. “Perhaps they were stolen by a Metamorphose during the Shadow War? Or maybe one of the Wretched?”
Nyset sniffed. “I thought of that, but there were records of a few being returned back to the library during the Shadow War, which are not missing. No, I think they were recently stolen. I think there is someone who doesn’t want anyone to know that the Tigerians had a brush with the Shadow in their past. Perhaps more enemies within.”
Grimbald grunted. “She doesn’t want us looking to Tigeria. Though doesn’t do much to hide her tracks. Maybe wants to be found.”
“My thoughts as well, Grim.” Nyset splayed her fingers on the map. “As you can see, I’ve made it my business to collect all I can about the Shadow in Tigeria. The stories are plentiful if you look hard enough. Some are nonsense, some peasant’s exaggerations that grow with every campfire’s telling. There is a lot that alludes to Tigeria, though I’m not sure why.”
“What’s the plan, Ny?” Juzo asked, his arms crossed tight over his chest. “We can’t let this go on unchecked of course.”
“Right. That’s why you’re here. The plan is that you’re going to Tigeria to find her. I’ve chartered a boat set to leave port tomorrow at dawn’s first light. Get some rest tonight, get what supplies you’ll need from the Tower’s stores.”
“Does she have followers? Some sort of army?” Isa fingered a dagger, rising and dropping it back into the sheath.
“Not that we know of. She seems to be working alone, but the lack of evidence is not proof of nonexistence.”
“I can’t see how everyone who had followed the Shadow during the war had been annihilated. It would seem likely that she would attract old followers,” Senka said, pressing two fingers against her chin.
Grimbald blew out his cheeks. “I’ll let the men know. Have to make some last minute preparations.” He rose up to leave.
“No.” Nyset held out her hand. “I need you here. To protect the Tower, to manage the Armsman. Make sure Gaidal stays safe.”
“But then why did you call for me?” he asked, looking affronted.
“I thought you should know. Do you wish you hadn’t?” Nyset looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.
“No. Well, I don’t know.” He growled with frustration. “I know my service should be here, but I do want to go,” he said with reluctance.
“I understand, Grim, I do. I’d like to go as well. But duty and responsibility are grave weights.” Nyset’s eyes burned like embers. “The fact that she’s out is my fault. I left the portal open from the Shadow Realm so she could escape. It was my mistake, but I can’t leave to make it right. I need your aid.”
“Without you, we would all still be in there,” Isa said.
“Duty,” Grimbald spat and turned to peer out at the black sky through the window, moonlight reflecting orbs on his armor.
“Juzo, Isa, Senka. You three will be going together.” Nyset leveled her gaze at them.
Together, the word was pleasant.
Juzo shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. Certainly not on a boat filled with men. Have you forgotten what I am? What I can do?”
“We’ll need your talents, Juzo. I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage it. Won’t you?” Nyset leaned towards him. “I need you.”
“It’s not that easy.” He smiled wryly and drummed his fingers on the map. “You have no idea what it’s like. Even being here with you all is a tremendous effort. To keep my hunger at bay takes much from me. If it wasn’t clear already, I didn’t go back west to live alone because I have a dislike for people. Quite the contrary, actually. Like them far too much.”
“There are condemned men in the prison, men destined for the guillotine. I can give you one or two of them, whatever you need to sate you for the voyage. Grimbald will help you get whatever you need.”
“Oh, will I?” Grimbald balked.
Juzo’s face flashed with excitement, then he battled it down to a brooding shake of his head. “Not sure I could do that.”
Senka felt that she was likely the only person in the room who understood his crippling, all-consuming hunger. “If they are destined for the great beyond, you should use their bodies, Juzo.”
“It would be nice to feel strong again…” he trailed off, meeting Senka’s eyes. Her legs were filled with the urge to move, bouncing into motion. She would hold his gaze, she would not wilt under his Death Spawn stare, she told herself. He finally broke away and looked contemplatively into his hands.
Isa set his hard eyes on the Arch Wizard and blinked a few times as if trying to get something out of them.
“You’re joking, right?” Grimbald said, his brows knitted and arms crossed, regarding Nyset. “You’re not seriously considering giving living men to feed a bloo…” He cleared his throat and waved at Juzo. “Feed his curse.”
Juzo softly growled like a cornered wolf and Senka wondered if he was even aware of doing it.
&
nbsp; “You must remember, we have to consider the greater good. The decision is mine to make.” Her voice was like a dagger’s thrust, cold, hard, and final. “If you won’t comply with my order, I’ll have someone else do it.”
Wind swirled through her chamber and sent scrolls and ribbons skittering across the floor. Senka’s heart thudded against her chest. Why wouldn’t anyone speak? The torches guttered. She started to open her mouth.
“The greater good. Not right,” Grimbald mumbled, about to bring it up again before Nyset shot him a disapproving glare.
“I look forward to serving, Mistress,” Senka said. This was a new task, a new challenge, an opportunity for a better life. But how could she take Angel’s Moss with so many others around? She would find a way. She needed this, needed a chance for new meaning.
Isa leaned on his knees. “I am sworn to the Tower and any inkling of the Shadow must be stomped out. Regardless of the minor cost.”
“Good. Glad you feel the same way. Does anyone have any questions? You must?” Nyset looked around the room and heaved a sigh.
“You’ve marked up your map. Can you explain what we’re seeing here?” Senka asked, peering at it.
Nyset rubbed her neck, then started pointing out the Shadow princess’ path of destruction tracing up the coastline. She spread her bony hands. “Her path has been meticulous, organized, none of the chaos that Asebor had. I think she’ll strike here next.” Her fingers hissed over the map. “Flamton, on the southern coast. I need your blades, and I need them to be subtle.”
“Thought this business with the Shadow was over,” Juzo muttered. “There has to be a balance though. Negativity, evil needs to exist, right? Isn’t that what Walt would’ve said?”
Silence filled the room.
“Why not just send a force of wizards and armsmen? Root her out, make it quick,” Grimbald asked.
Nyset shook her head. “We can’t send an army to Tigeria. I don’t want them thinking we’re sending an army against their shores. During the Trial of Devastation, they tried and failed to storm Midgaard. I don’t want them thinking this is revenge. I think it goes without saying that a war with Tigeria now would not bode well for the realm. There is still much to be rebuilt.”
“She ran from us before when she fled the Shadow Realm. A great force may send her into flight again.” Senka rubbed at her arm, the spot under her armor where she’d lanced herself with an Angel’s Moss tipped needle earlier that day.
“Exactly, Senka.” Nyset touched Senka’s wrist.
“Why us?” Isa asked. “And why did you wait so long to tell us?”
“I had to be sure,” Nyset said, her lips forming a line.
“Why me?” Juzo scratched his head.
“Could hardly go to war with the Shadow without my best champions leading it. And there are few that I would trust with this knowledge, for obvious reasons,” Nyset said.
Grimbald sighed and leveled his eyes at the Mistress. “You really think it’s best I stay?” He said it like he already knew the answer.
The Arch Wizard reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Do not belittle your task, Grim. Protecting the Tower is of paramount importance. It can never fall again, never should have. There’s no one else I’d want more to help me lead the Tower’s defense, if it were to ever come to that again. Pray to the Dragon and the Phoenix it doesn’t.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with resignation. “Thought the seas weren’t safe that far? Heard some sailors say they saw beasts bigger than the mad King Ezra’s palace.”
“Nonsense. Sailor’s imaginings,” Nyset said with a dismissive wave.
“Speaking of the King,” Juzo said. “Does he know your plans?”
Nyset licked her lips. “What do you think he would do if I told him?” She crossed her arms under her breasts and started to pace. “Damn the King,” she whispered.
Juzo squirmed in his chair. “I don’t know. Try to help us, maybe?”
“Mm, yes.” Nyset nodded with mock agreement. “Just like all of the aid he gave us during the Shadow War. Cloistered in his den of stone and steel, waiting out the realm’s destruction. You all have heard of our good King’s latest crusade, haven’t you?”
Isa snickered. “He’s a mad bastard.”
Grimbald gave a resounding nod. “Need to deal with him soon.”
Senka and Juzo shook their heads.
Nyset paused beside Senka with her arms held behind her back. “King Ezra has allied with the Purists. Somehow, their cause has penetrated his good faculties. He sends the Falcon— men we once fought beside, mind you— on hunts for wild wizards, those who haven’t yet entered our walls to train. The Purists torture them, burn men alive in cages, scoop out their eyes with sharpened spoons. There are also rumors, recently confirmed, that the Purists have taken to razing any village with suspected wizards.” She shook her head. “No better than Death Spawn.”
“No,” Senka breathed. “He is supposed to be Zoria’s protector. Why?”
“Sadly, it only gets worse, Senka. He lets the Purists rape the girls they find, boys too. There seems to be no form of savagery against magic he is unwilling to take.”
Words spilled out of Juzo, whose arms were wildly gesturing. “But why would he do that? You, Walter, Baylan, all helped him. He’d have been dead without your help. Thwarted Darkthorne’s assassination attempt, Malek’s, and even a Metamorphose. Has he forgotten that?”
“Would you like me to make the King no more, Mistress?” Isa asked with an edge to his voice.
Nyset turned her back to them to stare out the window. “I will deal with the King. The Midgaard Falcon is his blade, but General Stokes has helped them maintain some sense of order and decency, despite the King’s orders. The Purists are merely countryside rebels, they’re the ones doing the vile work. They’re nothing without King Ezra’s backing and therefore the Falcon’s.”
From what Senka knew of Midgaard, which was very little, it didn’t seem congruent. She also knew how madness could change a man, how the right chemical could turn a man’s brain into soup. The mind was a complexity she found impossibly difficult to understand.
“Ezra was crazy a few years ago, but this is true madness. His mind has finally broken then?” Juzo asked, his expression tight with distress.
“It appears so,” Nyset said distantly. “If this were not the result, I would have almost been glad to hear of its breaking. He must pay for his betrayal to the realm.”
“What are you going to do?” Juzo asked.
She turned and faced the group, her eyes hard. “I have a meeting with him in a few days. I’ll ask him to stop this trial, rein in the Purists and the Falcon.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Senka asked, words coming almost unexpectedly from her lips.
“We’ll cross that wall when we get there.” She met Senka’s eyes and saw a deep anger there, yearning for release. She regarded the group. “You should go, prepare yourselves for the voyage departing tomorrow. I shall tell you more at sunrise. I need to retire. The day has been long.”
SEVEN
New Horizons
“I have come to the realization that peace and freedom are mutually exclusive.” – The diaries of Nyset Camfield
Isa leaned against the splintered banister and peered down at the Warwick’s sides, watching the sea water slapping against it, turning into glittering spray. The sails flapped in the breeze, the sun a pale disc shining behind them. The salt-tanged air stung his sinuses, and a few gulls coasted along beside them, vying for tossed scraps.
The Warwick was a slender ship, low to the water and lean in the middle. Gray barnacles studded its sides, a few clinging to a long strip of uprooted seagrass. The planks making up its sides were warped and cracked from the ravages of the sea with but a few streaks of varnish remaining. It had two short masts at the ends with a great one marking the middle. The crew was light, four to five men, and no other passengers.
Each wave w
ould lift and roll the ship, making his guts lurch. Water pulled at his damp cloak, causing his skin to twitch with its icy embrace. He had already grown tired of sailing and was looking forward to setting his feet on solid earth once again, though it would be at least two weeks before they landed.
The port of New Breden was a white dot on the horizon before a smudge of land. The Tower stood above it like a shining beacon that promised to welcome them home. There was no timeline for their return, the Arch Wizard’s only command to return when they could undeniably confirm or deny the Shadow princess’ touch.
What would he have become without the Tower? A beggar, perhaps a cutpurse. Maybe a hole digger. Maybe a soldier to be used as someone’s fodder in a useless war of attrition. What was he other than the Tower’s blade? He had to be more than just someone’s spear. It wasn’t a bad life, he knew. Most had it far worse.
He never had any choice in the matter. He was given up by his rightful parents as a baby, deposited at the Tower’s door like a hunk of refuse. The Tower forged him like a smith’s ingot into the blade he was today. He was given proper nutrition, dragged around a dulled sword before he could even run. He was taught how to punch while he learned how to write. Once the Swiftshades started working on you, molding you, there was no escape. Those who ran were tortured once their property was reclaimed, and it was always reclaimed once the dogs got your scent.
The Tower had dark secrets. Great sacrifices were made to keep the realm’s denizens safe in their beds. The suffering of you few so the many could live, Jaiden, his former trainer, had told them. Some have good luck. You, we all have bad luck.
Byron, his bunkmate, had escaped the catacomb fortress, gone for a few days. Isa thought he’d made it, might’ve even been the first. Then he remembered hearing his screams. He remembered hearing him sob into the moon, trying to stifle it so Isa wouldn’t hear. But he heard, and he listened in silence. He had seen his back the next morning, red with the blood of a hundred skin-tearing lashes. His sheets had been matted with a layer of pus that made them cling to his back. He knew because he helped him peel it off, inch by painful inch. Byron sobbed when he lay down to sleep for the next three weeks. He never ran again, and Isa never dared. Despite their training in subterfuge, escape, and avoidance, deserters were always found.
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