The Tower of Bashan

by Joshua P. Simon

  “Stop here,” whispered Rondel. “Don’t do anything without thinking long and hard.”

  Just not too long and hard, she thought. We still have a jewel to steal.

  It was a red circular room with massively high ceilings. Around the room sat ten marble tables. Images of demons had been carved into its legs and sides. On each rested a pile of pale bones.

  It definitely fits the mold for the imaginations of hell in several religions.

  Some of the bones she recognized immediately— human, bull, tiger, ape. Others she wasn’t so sure of, but based on the enormity, she was glad that only skeletons remained.

  “Well?” she asked after a minute. “Is it safe?”

  Rondel stepped gingerly beside her. “Nothing is safe.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Just give me a minute,” he said looking around the room and then at his notes. “I’m hoping to find something that might indicate what we’re supposed to do next.”

  “What about this?” said Lela.

  They both turned. While Andrasta and Rondel had been busy examining the room, Lela had turned her attention to the door behind them after it closed. Etched into it was a circular diagram of the room they stood in. Arrows pointed from each of the stone tables to squares outside the circle. The square contained what appeared to be a likeness of a creature Andrasta assumed the bones once represented. Writing lay underneath each diagram.

  “Yeah, I’d say this is something,” said Rondel. He walked up to the nearest square.

  “Can you read it?” asked Andrasta.

  “Yes. It’s a variation of ancient Kindi. The set of bones to our immediate right belonged to Urkil, an ape that Thalamanak grew through sorcery. It stood more than nine feet high. The beast apparently possessed great intelligence and led a small company of other apes in battle during the Sorcerer Wars. It died from a poison arrow to the calf that was not treated in time.”

  “And the one beside it?”

  “Herzot. A great long-toothed tiger. Similar heroics and importance. Died from a dagger thrust under the jaw by its last victim. The other pictures follow a similar pattern. Who they were, their deeds, and how they died.”

  “What about this one?” asked Lela, eyes wide with awe as she stared at the picture.

  “Treek. A three-armed cyclops. He wielded in each hand a giant club over six feet in length. He brought down the gate of ancient Natal by himself when the men wielding the battering ram died of boiling oil poured from above.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Fire consumed him when the defenders of Natal dropped another batch of oil and then peppered him with flaming arrows.”

  “Wow.”

  “So, this place is a memorial?” asked Andrasta.

  Rondel nodded. “In a way.”

  “How are they supposed to stop us?”

  “I don’t know. We need to take our time and study this more.”

  Andrasta scanned the mounds of bones. “You do that. I’m going to go try the door on the other side.”

  She took several steps forward and froze as the tile beneath her foot sunk an inch into the ground. She withdrew her leg. Looking down, she noticed the faint outline of Urkil as detailed on the door. She looked up to the sound of rattling.

  Bones shifted and came together atop one of the giant altars, forming the skeleton of a colossal ape. In its hand, it carried a huge club that looked like a small tree trunk. The ape pivoted toward Andrasta, unhinged its lower jaw and let out a great roar that shook the cavern.

  Impossible.

  “Taking our time seems an even better idea now,” said Lela.

  The massive skeleton squatted and jumped off the altar. It cleared the forty feet between the platform and Andrasta effortlessly. She raised her sword, then thought better of it and rolled away at the last moment. Urkil’s club crashed to the floor, sending flakes of stone blasting through the air.

  She attacked, sweeping her blade out at the beast’s arm. It struck bone and stopped as if running into a wall of steel. The jolt shook her. The ape roared again, and lifted its club in a backhanded swing. Andrasta dodged to the left, and it passed by her face. She recovered quickly and countered, slashing at the ape’s ribs, thigh, and hip. Her efforts displaced the beast’s bones in each instance. However, the skeleton simply shifted back into place as she withdrew her blade.

  Urkil attacked again with sweeping strikes.

  A rare bout of panic washed over her. How am I going to stop something that doesn’t bleed? Panic was replaced by a combination of annoyance and confusion as the sounds of a flute tickled her ears.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted, narrowly avoiding another strike.

  “Just wanted to see if the flute worked here,” Rondel called. “It doesn’t.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” she said, rolling away as the beast leaped at her again. “It’s got no ears. Now tell me how to stop this thing!”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to wait before coming in here. We weren’t prepared. But someone let their impatience get the best of them.”

  “Just shut up and figure it out!” she hollered as a whoosh followed the sweeping club passing over her head.

  “Go for the head.”

  “Is that a guess?” she asked, rolling away from another attack.

  “Just do it!”

  Andrasta dodged the next two attacks, then lunged at the beast’s head. Her sword punched through an empty eye socket. The ape jerked its head to the side and wrenched her weapon from her grip. She swore loudly while drawing her dagger.

  “It didn’t work!”

  She swore again, jumping over another altar of bones and rolling away from the skeleton’s swings. It was bad enough trying to fight the creature, but trying to do so while also keeping it away from Rondel and Lela as they examined the door made her task that much more difficult.

  “What about the Relian dagger?” called Rondel. “It’s supposed to cut through anything!”

  The club whooshed through the air by her ear so close it knocked her braids against her ear.

  There is the whole matter of getting close enough to use it.

  She ducked under the next attack and dove between the ape’s wide legs. She stabbed up into what would have been the beast’s crotch. The blade struck the pelvic bone and actually caused a large gash. The ape reared its head toward the ceiling and roared. It seemed to be in pain.

  She tried to follow up the strike with another, but Urkil’s free hand caught her shoulder. The blow sent her careening across the room where she crashed into the wall.

  She sat up, fighting for air. The ape strode toward her. The wound she had inflicted on the beast’s pelvic bone healed before her eyes. It yanked her sword from its skull and tossed the weapon aside.

  She forced herself to stand while trying to bring life back to her numb shoulder.

  She ran at the beast, ducked under a sweep of its club, and slashed out with the dagger. The ape moaned as she left gouges in the bones of its arms, thighs and sternum. However, nothing brought it down. Its kick struck her in the chest. She hit the wall again. Bright light streaked before her eyes.

  The ape roared as if re-asserting its dominance. Andrasta looked up through blurry vision as it came for her.

  Who would have thought that this is how it would end?

  A tiny blur darted in from the side just behind the creature. It struck the beast in the lower right leg. The entire skeleton collapsed.

  Blinking in disbelief at the bones, she stood. They appeared as lifeless as when they’d first entered the room. She looked over to Rondel who held one of his crossbows.

  “You killed it with a crossbow bolt to the leg?”

  “It was just a skeleton. Not much to kill,” he said, re-cocking it and placing another one inside. “I did stop it though.”

  “How?”

  “The clue finally made sense. ‘Pictures tell the story.’ Basically, it can only be stop
ped the same way it died. That thing died of a poison arrow in the calf. So, it only stood to reason that striking it in the same spot would do the trick. I used the crossbow just in case it also had to be an arrow.” He paused. “You all right?”

  Andrasta felt a little dizzy, but had been injured worse many times. “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Good, because some of these other ones are much trickier than the ape.”

  Andrasta looked around. “Where is the next one then? Shouldn’t it be attacking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The bones of the ape didn’t form until you walked on a particular square on the floor. That must have triggered the transformation,” said Lela.

  Rondel nodded. ‘“Step heavy and warriors live.’ “I’ll buy that.”

  “During the fight, me and the skeleton must have stepped on another pictured tile,” said Andrasta.

  “Probably so.”

  “Then why haven’t the others activated?”

  “I’ve told you before that Thalamanak was eccentric. Who knows why he did what he did? I’m sure it served a purpose to him.”

  “He had to be crazy to build this tower,” added Lela. “I mean he could have just came up with a spell to kill the person entering instantly rather than set up all these guardians to get past.”

  “So, how do we do this?” Andrasta asked.

  “Well, since it seems we are responsible for activating each one, we take our time and make sure we have a plan in place to stop them beforehand.”

  Andrasta grunted. “Toss me a skin of water. We’ll get started on the next one in a minute.”

  * * *

  Methodically, the three worked their way through each pile of bones, taking on everything from a huge tiger to a minotaur. Each set of remains posed their own problems, but after careful study of each plaque Rondel figured out a strategy to defeat each reanimated skeleton before it could gain any advantage over them.

  Just one more left. Well, three actually.

  He reread the last plaque to himself for the seventh time.

  I think I got it all. But what if I don’t?

  “Let me read this out loud so you two can make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

  In his youth, he had always wanted to do everything on his own. He never accepted help or advice.

  He was no longer so immature.

  Better to look like a fool than to be dead.

  Rondel began. “The Condescini Triplets were among the greatest swordsmen of their age. Together, they fought in a unique back-to-back-to-back style that involved lightning quick slashes and short stabs while weaving in and out of each other’s guards. In the Battle of Thermaclasius, the brothers were credited with killing over two thousand men alone, holding a breach in the outer wall of the city until reinforcements arrived.”

  “Have you ever heard of that battle?” Andrasta asked Rondel.

  “Only as a myth. Few believe that the battle actually took place.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “Considering all we’ve been through, there’s little I wouldn’t believe at this point.”

  She grunted. “How long ago did the battle occur?”

  “Thousands of years ago. Before even the name Thalamanak was whispered.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then how did he get the bones of the triplets? More of his blasted sorcery?”

  Rondel shrugged. “More than likely. I’ll make a note to ask him when I die if you’d like.”

  She snorted.

  Lela cleared her throat as if annoyed. “What about the rest of it?”

  Rondel continued. “The brothers died in the most ironic of ways, each mortally killing another while trying to save a different sibling. This occurred when the great strategist, General Piaz, took advantage of the chaotic nature of battle and played off what he felt was the only weakness of the brothers, an unselfish love for each other.” Rondel snorted. “Tragic. I’m sure the poets of the time ate that story up.”

  “I don’t like it,” muttered Andrasta. “The greatest swordsmen in the world would have a better sense of their surroundings. It doesn’t seem like they’d forget themselves to the point of killing each other.”

  “Everyone is capable of making a mistake, especially in battle. Besides, it says the general did something to quicken their mistake.”

  “But all three at once?”

  “Well, it happened.”

  “Still . . .”

  “And if I recall, you’ve said before that one of the worst things a person can do in a fight is allow themselves to become distracted by their emotions. It sounds like this General Piaz knew this as well.”

  “Did we learn anything new?” interrupted Lela.

  Rondel shook his head. “No. Not that there was much to learn from given what little information the plaque held. Let’s go check over everything once more before we begin.”

  They walked to the altar.

  Rondel had prepared almost twice as long for the Condescini Triplets, using everything he could think of, including the discarded bones from other creatures to set up various traps. It was his hope that he could create his own form of chaos to mimic that of a true battle.

  He also examined each brother’s pile of bones, identifying their sword arms based on the picture on the plague. All right-handed. He tied a rope to each arm.

  “Remember,” he called out. “Only pull on the rope when I give the signal. I don’t want a repeat of the vulture.”

  “I said I was sorry,” said Lela.

  After they defeated the great ape, Urkil, they fought the remains of a massive vulture with a wingspan over thirty feet across. They found out the hard way that the skeleton had to fully form before an attempt to defeat it could be made. His shoulder still smarted from one of the wings knocking him into a wall.

  “I’m not bringing it up again so you’ll feel bad. I didn’t know what would happen either. Just trying to make a point that we need to keep our heads. Let’s get into position.”

  He walked to his spot on the right side of the altar and grabbed a rope and four strands of smaller twine. The twine would trigger several traps around the altar, two flinging bone gathered from other skeletons, one striking flint in the hopes it would light the lamp oil spread on top of the altar, and the last would send a thick piece of rope through the air at the brothers like a whip.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Lela went to the left side and picked up her rope. She took a deep breath. “Ready.”

  Andrasta walked in front of the triplets’ altar, stepping over three taut pieces of twine tied to the altar behind her. Each strand led to several stones he had positioned above the altar. He hoped the stones would fall on top of the brothers.

  Andrasta grabbed her rope in one hand while readying her sword in the other.

  He asked. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  Rondel took a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart. “Alright. Press the tile.”

  Andrasta stepped on the square trigger near the altar for the Condescini Triplets. The three piles of bones began rising on their own accord, forming the legs and hips of each brother.

  “Traps, now!” Rondel shouted. He hoped each would strike the skeletons just as the skeletons fully re-formed. Timing was everything.

  Andrasta swiped her sword over three taut pieces of twine which released the overhead stones. Rondel yanked the four he held as the remainder of the spinal column, ribs, shoulders, arms, neck, and head all fell into place on each brother.

  “Ropes, now!” he shouted, pulling hard to the right with all he had as stone crashed, bones flew, rope whooshed by, and fire ignited in the cacophony he had hoped for. The fleshless remains of the triplets moved in a blur, dodging and knocking away the distractions in each other’s blind spots.

  Rondel had worried that the triplets would recognize the ropes tied to their sword arms quickly enough to compensate for the tugging.

  But it worked.r />
  The skeletons of the two brothers nearest Rondel fell apart as the sword of the adjacent sibling entered the empty space between their ribs. The third however, remained standing.

  Well, it mostly worked. Just great.

  If the skeleton would have had a face, Rondel was sure it would have frowned as it regarded the once more deceased remains of its brothers.

  How is that possible? Rondel quickly looked down and saw the error. One brother had held his sword in his left hand rather than the right.

  The picture was wrong. The skeleton of the surviving brother looked up at Rondel. Somehow, the empty sockets radiated anger. Aw, crap.

  “Andrasta!” he shouted, knowing there was no way he could defend himself against anyone considered a master swordsmen.

  The skeleton leaped at him with sword arm extended. A dark blur collided with the bones and the two slammed into the ground with a clatter. Andrasta rolled to her feet as the skeleton reformed itself. The two began trading blows at a frantic pace.

  Gods, I can barely see their blades.

  Lela ran to him from the other side of the altar. “Why didn’t it work?”

  “The picture was wrong. One of the brothers was actually left-handed.” Rondel shook his head, turning his attention back to the altar in the hopes of coming up with a solution to their problem. “As if this wasn’t hard enough.”

  “What do we do?” Lela’s voice came out shaky.

  Her face hardened. She reached for the dagger at her waist. Rondel stopped her.

  “We have to help her,” she pleaded, gesturing with her hand.

  “Of course we have to help her, but whatever you’re thinking of doing will only get you killed, likely her as well because she’ll then have to worry about saving you again.”

  Andrasta leaped over a low sweep of the skeleton’s blade, sidestepped a quick thrust, and dove aside to avoid a descending slash. She recovered and countered with a flurry all her own. One of her half dozen strikes found its mark. But without flesh, her sword bounced of the one leg of her opponent with no effect.

  “Should we say something to her at least?” she shouted over the clanking of sword strokes.

  “What could we possibly say to help her right now? Talking to her will only be a distraction.”