TOURNAMENT OF DEATH
The Empyrean Keep
Prologue
The tempest raged, blowing from every direction at once. The wind whipped across the sinuous carvings on the tower, raising a keening cry amid the howl of the storm.
Sol Reifworm squinted upward, but couldn’t find the keep’s pinnacle through the driving rain. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, he pulled his slicker tight around his spindly frame. Something about this long-forgotten place chilled him to the bone.
“What do you see?” Captain Hammack, standing beside Reifworm, asked.
“Nothing. You?”
Hammack shook his head, and droplets of water cascaded from his thick, black beard. “Nothing,” he said. “Nor can I hear anything through this accursed storm.”
“Perhaps we should return to the ship,” Reifworm suggested.
“No. We’ll wait until they come out. The tower isn’t that big; how long can it take?”
How long, indeed? They’d been standing in the rain for an hour-and-a-half now, as near as Reifworm could make it. Yet, they’d neither seen nor heard anything from the party of sailors they’d sent inside the keep. The tower was big, but it wasn’t that big—not unless there was more to this lonely, crag-top building than there seemed.
A sole door, made of carved white stone, led into the spire. Neither windows nor balconies marred the tower’s carved surface. So, near as they could tell, there was no other way in—or out. Neither was there any way to tell what kind of progress the expedition inside might be making. The door, which had taken their battle mage a half hour to magic open, had swung shut—seemingly on its own—just after the last of the explorers entered. This despite the heavy rock Captain Hammack had wedged against the open portal.
Magic.
Reifworm could smell it all around. It wasn’t just the rain and the tower’s strange carvings that made goose bumps stand up on his sallow skin.
“They should have returned by now,” he said. “Or at least sent word.”
Hammack, tall, burly, and confident, nodded. His steel breastplate glistened with each crash of lightning, and his scarlet tunic, long soaked through, clung to his muscular limbs. “Aye,” he agreed. “Taverau’s a good first mate. It’s unlike him to go for so long without reporting.” Still, the captain made no move; he just stood stoically in the downpour.
“What do you intend to do about it?” Reifworm asked.
“What would you suggest?”
“We could send to the ship for more men.” Reifworm looked back toward the bay on the rocky isle’s shore, but he could barely make out the lanterns on the anchored ship’s forecastle. Nearby, the hulking shadows of sailors, Hammack’s guards, patrolled the blasted hillside, keeping their captain safe. But were they enough against this weird place?
Hammack took a deep breath, though his face remained impassive. “If you’re so concerned, perhaps you should go in and look for Tavereau yourself.”
Reifworm squirmed.
Hammack laughed, a deep mocking bluster. “You’re a mage, aren’t you? What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m a sea mage,” Reifworm replied. “Oh, I can find a course easy enough, but you know I’ve no power within stone walls. Nor do I have the skill to open that sealed door the way Bronwyn did.”
Thunder crashed and Reifworm jumped; Hammack laughed again.
“We should never have sent them inside,” Reifworm concluded, glancing around nervously.
“What would you have me do, Worm? Sail away without exploring this place? How do you think the prince would react to that?”
Reifworm swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. No, they could not have sailed past without exploring. The prince would never have stood for it. And there was no use trying to falsify the ship’s log after the island—a craggy black shape half-glimpsed through the storm—had been spotted. The prince would have known of the deception immediately. Somehow, he always knew.
“You’re right,” Reifworm said miserably. “There was nothing else we could do.”
“Of course I’m right,” Hammack said with absolute confidence. “Now stop whining. Between you and the damned wind, I can hardly hear myself think.”
Not much to hear, Reifworm thought, though he said nothing. He pulled his slicker so tight that his bones ached, but it still didn’t ward off the chill.
Is this how my brother perished, he wondered, wandering about on some fool mission for his egomaniacal lord?
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Updated 1/3/13
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