“Enter the watchtower, Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred,” the voice of the door said, and it swung wide to allow her access.
Cassandra passed through the doorway and into the spherical chamber that sat atop the residential building just beside the spire of Xerxis. Everywhere her eyes fell, she found mirrors of all shapes and sizes, hanging weightlessly in the air. As she stepped farther into the room, she noticed that each mirror reflected a different part of Arcanum. She recognized the market place, the quadrangle at the University of Saint Germain, one of the many bustling neighborhoods located at the bottom of August Hill.
“What is this place?” she asked aloud, moving toward a particular mirror with a beautifully detailed frame of carved flower blossoms floating at eye level, which showed a pleasant scene of children playing in the street in front of their home.
“It is the Watchtower, Cassandra,” a woman’s voice said in response, and she turned to see Alethea Borgia walking among the floating mirrors, coming toward her.
“It’s … it’s wonderful,” she found herself saying, her attentions going back to the playing children.
“It is, isn’t it?” the woman answered wistfully. “It was originally created by the founding members of Parliament as a tool to spy upon those who did not agree with the edicts sent down by the leaders of the original thirteen guilds. Today, as you can see, all the mirror eyes are turned toward our capital city.”
Alethea lifted her arm and presented the room to Cassandra. “This is what we are trying to preserve—to protect from harm, the day-to-day lives of our citizenry.”
Cassandra found her attentions jumping from mirror to mirror, taking in the many sights, and something began to grow disturbingly apparent. Combat mages from various guilds, constables, and acolytes, wearing the insignias and colors of their orders, could be seen moving about the city in preparation.
Cassandra turned to the old woman, realizing what it was that the guild members were monitoring.
“Not all of us are using this time to bicker,” the Voice said with a sigh. “Measures had to be taken. Preparations have to begin if we are going to be ready.”
Alethea came to stand beside Cassandra, and the two of them observed the mirrors together.
“So much worth defending,” the Voice of Parliament said as she gazed about the room.
Cassandra couldn’t have agreed more. She glanced across multiple scenes of preparation reflected on the mirror surfaces, taking it all in. This was what being a grandmaster was truly about, of that she had no doubt.
“Mages from many of the service specialties—navigation, architecture, medicine—have all been called upon to aid us in our time of need,” Alethea continued. “It will be the constables, combat mages, and guild acolytes who will be our protection if the Wurm are not stopped before reaching Arcanum—if our first line of defense is not successful.”
The Voice approached a mirror focused on the lobby of the tower, which explained how the sentry had known that Cassandra was coming up to the watchtower. The silver-haired woman waved her hand in front of it, and the image began to shimmer like water in a pool, its focus changing to another scene altogether.
Cassandra recognized almost immediately the old home perched precariously atop August Hill as the Cade estate. She had never been there, but Timothy talked about his home so often that it was almost as if she had.
“Here are those who will make a difference,” Alethea said.
In the mirror Cassandra saw darkly colored sky carriages bearing the crest of the Legion Nocturne hovering in front of the estate. The sky around the old house was filled with Wurm in flight, and for a moment, she was gripped with fear, but then remembered that the clan of Verlis lived at the Cade estate.
Looking closer she saw Lord Romulus, Verlis, and his mate, Cythra, stepping from the home onto the stone steps that came down from the door and ended in open sky. Sky carriages waited to carry them away. Then Timothy emerged from the house and Cassandra took a sharp breath, smiling softly, her heart glad to see him, even though she could not be with him. He was the last to leave, Edgar flapping above his head as the boy closed the door behind him.
“They travel to the south,” Alethea said. “To the fortress of Twilight to gather the forces of the Legion Nocturne and other allies in the region. They will form the first line of defense against Raptus and his army.”
As if to reflect the emotions Cassandra was experiencing at that very moment, every one of the mirrors hanging within the watchtower flickered momentarily, all the images suddenly reflecting the group climbing into the sky crafts on August Hill, departing for their mission.
“Safe journey, champions of Terra,” Alethea proclaimed. “Our strength and courage added to yours. We shall forever hold you in our minds, and in our hearts for what you are to do. Come back to us.”
“Come back to me,” Cassandra whispered softly under her breath.
Sheridan’s good-byes to his friends still echoed in the foyer of the Cade estate. The mechanical man stood before the door, the memory mechanisms of his clockwork brain replaying the image of Timothy as he prepared to leave on his journey.
“I want you to stay here,” Timothy had instructed him. “Someone needs to look after the Wurm children while their parents come south with us.”
Sheridan had been taken aback by the request, for he had been prepared to go with them to Twilight, to aid them in any way that he could in their struggles against Raptus and his advancing horde.
It was not like him to argue, but the mechanical man did just that, questioning his master’s decision. “Surely I can be of some help,” he had said, having no desire to be left behind.
The boy had come to him then, a comforting smile on his handsome features. Timothy was growing older, the contours of his face starting to change as he progressed toward adulthood. In his slowly changing features, Sheridan saw the resemblance to his father, and had no doubt that Timothy would grow up to be as great, or an even greater man than Argus Cade had been.
Timothy had placed a hand upon his metal shoulder and looked directly into his optical sensors. “You are helping,” he had said earnestly. “Each of us has an important part to play in this, and your part is to make sure that the children of Verlis’s clan are safe and secure. It’s a very important job, and I’m entrusting it to you.”
And Sheridan had begrudgingly understood, accepting his friend and maker’s wishes, accepting his part in the greater scheme of things. But it hadn’t made it any easier to watch as his best friend walked out the door to confront a fate unknown.
Over the years since his creation, Sheridan had developed the ability to imagine, his mechanical brain able to conjure up all manner of possibilities. It was a function he had grown to appreciate, thinking about the future and the wonders that could await him, his friends, and the world in which they lived.
At that moment, standing perfectly still in the lobby of the Cade estate, Sheridan, the mechanical man, wished that he had the ability to turn this function off. His imagination had started to run wild, images of the Wurm attack on Arcanum filling his whirring head with visions of horror and destruction—visions of what could be if Timothy and the others were not successful.
He was scaring himself, his inner mechanisms starting to work all the harder. There was a consistent, high-pitched whistle emanating from the valve atop his head, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not remove the frightening thoughts from his mechanical brain.
And then he heard the sounds from behind him. The fluttering sounds of multiple sets of young wings, and he turned his head completely around to see the Wurm children silently perched atop the wooden banisters and around the staircase leading to the upper levels, watching him. There were nearly twenty of them—all shapes and sizes, some so young that their wings had not yet developed enough to bear their weight, and they needed to be carried by the older children.
Sheridan looked into their young, dark eyes and recognized wha
t he saw there. Their young minds were filled with the same fearful images as his own.
Each of us has an important part to play in this.
Now the memory of Timothy’s words spurred him to action. Sheridan erased the imaginings of an unsure future from his mind and turned his attention to those who had been left in his charge. His friend was depending on him—the children were depending on him. It was his job to chase away their fears, to make them feel safe and secure.
“So,” he said to them in his cheeriest of tones as he clapped his metal hands together, rubbing them eagerly. “Who wants to play a game?”
It was a responsibility that Sheridan did not take lightly.
Chapter Seven
The sojourn to the south had begun with six sky carriages bearing the crest of the Legion Nocturne. By the time the force had left the city of Arcanum, others had joined Lord Romulus’s band, swelling the number to more than a hundred flying craft. There were combat mages and acolytes from the Sectus Guild and the Spiral Order, as well as the Malleus Guild. This last had surprised Timothy, but Lord Romulus had explained that with their city-state to the south destroyed, honor demanded that those members of the Malleus Guild in Arcanum be among the first to confront the advancing forces of the Wurm.
The boy rode in the lead carriage with Lord Romulus. They were alone except for Edgar, and the rook did not like the Nocturne Grandmaster very much, so he kept uncharacteristically silent on the trip. Up on the high seat of the sky carriage was Caiaphas. Though the navigation mage was technically in service to the Order of Alhazred, upon the death of Leander Maddox he had unofficially declared himself in service to Timothy in particular. They had endured much together, and Caiaphas had insisted that no one was going to drive the boy anywhere but him. Lord Romulus had argued, but only for a moment. He trusted Caiaphas, and allowed the navigation mage to guide his carriage instead of his usual navigator.
As they soared high above the forest to avoid any sort of surprise attack from below, Timothy glanced out the window. Verlis and Cythra led a force comprised of every adult in their clan.
They were the vanguard of the army that Arcanum had deployed southward, flying out ahead of the sky carriages, wings riding the wind and trails of smoke and fire streaming from their jaws.
“They’re hideous,” Lord Romulus said, breaking a long silence that had descended on them during the ride. “Monstrous to look at.”
Timothy smiled. “Actually, I think they’re sort of beautiful. I’d love to be able to fly. There’s a kind of nobility to them too.”
“Caw!” Edgar said softly. And then he muttered, “As long as they’re on our side, they’re gorgeous!”
Lord Romulus looked up at the sound of the bird’s voice, eyes alight within the shadows of his massive helmet. The sky carriage itself was enormous, twice the size of any Timothy had been in, to accommodate the gigantic Grandmaster. Romulus nodded toward Edgar.
“Put that way, master rook, I should have to say I agree with you. Indeed, I’d have no use for miners and blacksmiths under my command if Telford and his workers hadn’t proven their valor. I’ll assign beauty to any mage or beast willing to stand with us against the invaders.”
Timothy uttered a soft laugh. “I’m not sure how Walter Telford would feel to hear you call him beautiful, Lord Romulus.”
The giant crossed his arms. “His courage is his beauty, boy, as I’m sure you know. And there is beauty in the skills of the smiths who crafted the armor and weapons they now wear. I only wish we had enough to outfit thousands of mages instead of dozens.”
The humor of a moment before had departed and a grim shadow settled on them there in the carriage. Telford and his workers had been honored to ride in a sky carriage as part of the Legion Nocturne’s regiment. Particularly as Romulus’s guild almost never used sky carriages, preferring the massive horses that they bred, patrolling the region around their mountain fortress on the backs of those grand animals. Timothy had half expected them all to go south on horseback, but Romulus had instead ordered the sky carriages brought from the Legion Nocturne’s regional office in Arcanum. They were swifter, and speed was of the essence now.
Timothy thought again of the miners and smiths. Most of the armor and weapons they’d made were back in Arcanum, distributed by order of the Voice to the most accomplished combat mages in the city and to several grandmasters who were going to be at the forefront of any city defense. What armor those workers had worn back from Tora’nah, had been freely given, leaving Telford and his people far more vulnerable, yet none of them had complained. They understood what was at stake. All that mattered was defeating the Wurm horde.
Yet still they had been determined to come along, to fight alongside combat mages. To do what they could. They had more than earned Lord Romulus’s respect.
The panel that separated the interior of the sky carriage from the navigator’s high seat slid back, and through it Timothy saw the rich blue of Caiaphas’s veil.
“Grandmaster Romulus, Twilight is just ahead,” said the navigation mage. “Shall I descend?”
“No,” Romulus replied, and Timothy thought he saw the giant’s eyes narrow inside the darkness of his helmet. “Fly high above, make a single pass to be sure all is well, and then drop us right in front of the gates.”
Caiaphas nodded. His voice was grave. “Very well.” Then he slid the panel closed.
Timothy frowned. “We’re going to drop from this height?”
Perched on the back of a seat, Edgar ruffled his feathers, tilted his head and stared at Romulus in his armor of metal and leather. But the bird said nothing.
“Caiaphas is capable of it,” the Nocturne Grandmaster said. “They all are. They must be. We don’t know if the Wurm are using cunning and stealth or simply rampaging across Sunderland. If any of them are hiding in the forests on my game preserve, we do not want to be ambushed.”
Timothy nodded and turned his attention once more out the window. Verlis and Cythra had flown close to their carriage, and Caiaphas must have signaled to them, for he saw Verlis make a gesture—sort of a salute—and then the Wurm all began to drop back, beating their wings and climbing higher, safeguarding the mages’ approach toward Twilight.
The sky carriage banked to one side and began to turn. Edgar ruffled his feathers again and hopped a bit, trying to keep his perch. Timothy leaned to one side. Only massive Romulus seemed unaffected by the sky carriage turning at that speed.
As they circled, Timothy looked out the window and found he had a clear view of Twilight far below. On his previous visit he and Caiaphas had come as prisoners on horseback, but the sight of the mountain fortress was no less impressive from the sky.
The road that led through the game preserve toward the massive gates crossed a river that was spanned by an enormous stone bridge. Beyond the bridge was the wall, and beyond the wall the fortress city—the empire of the Legion Nocturne—was built into the mountainside. The stone face of the city was like a hundred castles buried in a landslide, towers and turrets and battlements jutting out from the side of the mountain.
In Timothy’s experience, most mages relied on magic for everything in their lives. The Legion Nocturne were different.
The rock in their fortress might have been quarried with magic, but the structures had been built by hand. They preferred to forge their own weapons and armor—perhaps another reason Romulus respected Telford and his workers—and to make their own clothing. They farmed and hunted without magic, and rode horses instead of sky craft whenever possible.
They were also fierce warriors, highly regarded not merely for their magical combat skills, but for their hand-to-hand fighting as well. If there was anywhere better for the Parliament to arrange a stand against the invading Wurm horde, Timothy could not think of it. Nor anyone better than Romulus to lead it.
His eyes widened as he noticed that the gates were open. Regiments of combat mages and acolytes were camped on the stretch of land between river and wall. Th
eir banners were flying, a myriad of colors. He recognized the insignias of the Order of the Winter Star as well as Spiral Guild reinforcements and a massive complement of mages from the Fraternitas Guild, a monastic, all-male order whose land was due west of Twilight and who kept almost entirely to themselves. Timothy had had no idea there were so many Fraternitas mages, and though they wore simple, rough brown robes, he was heartened by their number.
“I’d no idea there would be so many,” Timothy said.
“Raptus doesn’t discriminate, kid,” Edgar said, then cawed in punctuation. “He’s here to kill us all. No one can afford to stay out of this war.”
Romulus only gazed down at the assembled troops and grunted in satisfaction. They began to sink rapidly through the air, dropping straight down toward the stretch of land behind the wall. The wall served little purpose with the gates open, but Timothy realized why they were not closed. After all, what good were gates and walls against an enemy who would attack from the air?
Just before they landed he spotted a group of mages who were familiar to him. There were perhaps twenty of them, small, almost bestial creatures with skin like dried animal hide, the color of a milknut. They were Cuzcotec, a guild of barbaric mages, and he had met their sort before.
“Cuzcotec,” he said, glancing at Edgar. The rook blinked but said nothing. Timothy studied Lord Romulus. “They tried to kill me once, when I first came through to this world.”
The Grandmaster of the Legion Nocturne stared at him with red eyes, but his expression was unreadable behind his helm. After a moment he nodded heavily.
“Yes. But now you share an enemy with them. Old enmity must be put aside. The rook is correct. The whole world must stand against Raptus. All mages, united. Old grudges and politics must be put aside.”
Timothy wanted to argue. They had tried to kill him, after all. But these were probably not the very same Cuzcotec who had snuck into his father’s house that night. And even if they were, Edgar and Romulus were correct. They would make their stand here, in Twilight. They would stop the invaders here, before they ever reached Arcanum.
Wurm War Page 9