by Stephen Wolf
“It’s no use!” the blacksmith shouted desperately as steam started squeezing through a small section of the furnace. “It’s going to—”
And it did. The furnace erupted, sending superheated coals and sheets of metal flying through the air. From where they stood, Gabrion and the blacksmith took full panels in the chest, sending them flying backward and crashing to the ground. A host of smaller pieces broke through the ceiling and walls, sending weapons outward in all directions, including toward Kitalla.
It happened too fast for her to react. An ax and a fragment of the furnace shot right at her face. Her arms flew up defensively as she tried to fall backward out of the way, but she wasn’t fast enough. The projectiles crashed into her hands with a dull, ringing thud, and as she hit the ground, she thought her arms must have shattered from the impact. But instead, her arms were only numb, and the metal had warped around her body like a soft bedsheet. She knew instinctively that the jade in her pocket had saved her.
Gabrion was badly bruised and singed from the impact, yet as he checked himself over, he noticed that the metal had shorn in half when it hit him. And though the momentum of the blast had knocked him over, the pieces themselves had fallen safely away. The shopkeeper was not as fortunate. Gabrion didn’t know how he had managed to walk away from the explosion. The entire roof was gone from the shop, and nearly the whole stock of weapons had been cast through the air.
More blasts from the tower drew their attention, and when they looked into the sky, the white forks of light were simply terrifying to behold. Peals of thunder set them shivering from within, but they pulled themselves from the shop and continued trying to help with the evacuation.
There wasn’t much else they could do, for Gabrion was struggling to breathe. The impact from the explosion had seemingly broken some ribs, and he had twisted his ankle in the fall. He fought through the pain as much as he could, but at last he admitted they should try to find shelter for themselves.
They didn’t have an opportunity to secure themselves away, however, before the real tragedy struck. Earsplitting blasts of breaking stone brought them to their knees, clutching their heads in agony. But they forced themselves to look toward the tower, which had reached its limits. The incredible structure teetered and started folding in on itself, spraying the entire area with even more stone and mortar. It took forever for all the layers of stone to collapse, one upon the next, on the next, and when the stone couldn’t implode any further, the rest of the structure wavered and then keeled over to the side, obliterating a good portion of the city in its wake. The cacophony was heard for miles and miles.
Gabrion’s heart dropped from his chest, knowing Dariak and Randler were now gone. He fell to his knees, clutching his head in anguish. “I should have gone with them.”
“To die alongside them?” Kitalla asked harshly. “It was a foolish act, jade or not.”
He looked up at her, shaking his head. “Sometimes you’re so cold.”
Normally she would have just shrugged off the comment, but instead she crouched down beside him, gazing off into the distance. “I’ve been through so much heartache and such ferocious pain. I have to be cold.”
Gabrion stared at her for a while, watching as ghosts of memories flashed across her eyes. “You really have faced some incredible trials,” he acquiesced. “But don’t give up who you are. Not ever.”
She covered her face and then released a rattling sigh. “Well, I’m not even sure which parts are the real me anyway.” She stood abruptly and pointed toward the fallen tower. “Our companions may be lost to us, but I think there are enough people here who could use our help right now.” She turned to Gabrion, who rose onto his feet. “Once we get things settled here, we’ll mourn them properly.”
He nodded sharply, firming his jaw for the tasks ahead. As he came to accept the pain, his senses widened, and he started taking in the sounds around them. Where people had been scared and running before, now there were violent shouts and terrified screams among them. Gabrion and Kitalla trotted along, making their way toward the tower itself, seeing a degrading sense of community with each step they took.
Rioting had broken out all over. Men and women were in the moonlit streets, fighting hard and looting the numerous shops scattered throughout the city. Members of the city guard struggled to subdue even the smallest incursions, so the warrior and the thief intervened and lent them a hand.
Gabrion rushed into a glassworks shop and interrupted the five men inside who were frantically grabbing merchandise from the shelves. They had clobbered the shopkeeper with his own wares, and he lay unconscious on the floor, his bald head bleeding from the impact. The warrior called for them to stop their antics, but instead of heeding his call, they turned on him.
The man nearest to him threw a glass vase at Gabrion, who batted it away with the sword he had taken from the blacksmith’s shop. The glass shattered, raining down on him in a blinding fury. The other took the first man’s lead and hurled other brittle pieces at the interloper. Swinging quickly, Gabrion was able to shatter each object before it struck him in force, but he wasn’t able to make much progress at stopping them.
The shortest man among them grabbed a glass shard from the floor and charged ahead, trying to plunge it deep into Gabrion’s side so they could continue raiding the shop, which had much less viable merchandise than moments before. The warrior jumped to the side but slipped on bits of glass on the ground, and he stumbled to catch himself. The short man shouted in rage and brought the glass knife down into the warrior’s tunic-covered chest, expecting to plunge it deep within, but to his surprise, the glass disintegrated into sand.
Soon, all the glass sent in Gabrion’s direction simply melted away to sparkling dust that hovered over the floor, creating a cloud that would likely shred their lungs if they breathed it in. Panicked at the mystic force the warrior was using, the five men abandoned their prizes and fled, covering their noses and disappearing into the night, demoralized.
Gabrion stepped calmly from the shop, purposely taking his time so he wouldn’t draw in the glassy air, wondering how it had even happened. But even as he thought about it, the jade at his hip pulsed and reminded him of its presence. He pulled out the beige crystal, remembering its power over glass. Memories pulled his mind toward Dariak’s own creative uses of the magic jades, when he’d tapped their underlying properties for otherwise unconnected spells. He remembered the metal furnace casing from the blacksmith’s shop falling to pieces when it hit him. Considering the sharp edges of glass, Gabrion understood that the jade had enacted its power in order to protect the warrior, by making his body cut through the metal that would have otherwise killed him. And here again, the jade was working on its own to keep him safe.
While Gabrion was handling the glass shop, Kitalla had jumped into another fray with a young man and two women. Kitalla heard the pitiable cries of a middle-aged man as the three fighters hammered at him with random pieces of armor they had just stolen from his shop. She offered them a chance to escape with their loot if they would leave the shopkeeper alone, but then a guardsman charged ahead to take the fighters down and they turned their rage on him.
If they hadn’t been beating the whimpering shopkeeper, Kitalla may have just walked away. The guardsman, though well intentioned, was overmatched and would likely die at the hands of the three fighters. Kitalla decided quickly, keeping her daggers tucked safely away, and she bounded into one woman with her shoulder, knocking them both to the ground. Kitalla pounced back up and evaded a gauntlet thrown in her direction, then crouched down and swept a leg out from under the man. The guard rushed in as well, swinging his sword into the blocking shield of the second woman, who snarled and pushed back forcefully.
Kitalla realized quickly the three fighters were not mere peasants. They responded well to the blows they took, bending with the force of minor attacks and using the momentum to unleash their own.
Their biggest handicap was that they hadn’t anticipated a fight and so had no weapons other than the bits of stolen armor. The battle was much more of a brawl, and eventually even the guardsman set aside his sword so he could grapple with the man.
The two women ganged up on Kitalla, furious that anyone other than a guard would intervene in their plunder. The shield bearer did well, blocking Kitalla’s kicks and punches while also trying to pull the shield aside to land her own punches. The other woman, angry and sore from Kitalla’s first attack, had picked up the gauntlet and slipped it onto her hand, adding weight to her punches. She had sharp-edged boots, which made her kicks potentially lethal against Kitalla’s basic leather tunic.
But the thief treated this fight more like a warm-up exercise. She dodged and weaved, stretching her muscles deeply and keeping as agile as possible. The two women couldn’t land any solid blows, and the only reason Kitalla didn’t either was because she wasn’t really trying. She hopped over one low leg sweep and then swung her arm out to block the other’s kick, after which she twisted around and landed a fist in the shield bearer’s side.
She could have put more force behind it to knock the wind out of the woman, but deep inside, Kitalla knew a few things: First, under any other circumstances, she would have been among the thieves in the city, taking full advantage of the chaos of the tower’s collapse, so how could she really fault these people for trying to enjoy their opportunity? Second, she was traveling with a noble warrior whose influence compelled her to protect the defenseless shopkeeper. But third—and most importantly to her—she was determined to conquer her recent bouts of uncontrolled rage, and by controlling her actions in this fight, she felt it would be a step toward reclaiming her self-discipline.
The three women danced around one another for a while as the two men battled full force. Eventually, the guard broke through the man’s defense and was able to end their scuffle, cuffing the brigand’s hands together with a cord. The guard then stepped in and brought the other fight to a close by grabbing the shield bearer around the waist and bodily throwing her to the ground. Kitalla took the cue that the battle was about to end and spun around delicately, avoiding a set of raking fingernails, and then clapped the woman’s neck with her hand, knocking her out. While the guard took charge of the three looters, Gabrion rejoined Kitalla, and the two of them went off to continue their work.
Gabrion’s grief welled up whenever they approached a family that had lost a loved one, and he veered off course each time to assist them in some way. Kitalla kept close by, sometimes making her own departures to help some group in need or to snatch up random pieces of forgotten merchandise from the road. Her instincts kept her claiming a few baubles along the way, for she knew her journey wasn’t over and she would need items to barter with in the future. Part of her itched to run off full tilt for more impressive loot, but she wanted to keep close to Gabrion and that in itself tethered her temptation. She didn’t know why his opinion and proximity were so important to her, but he had, after all, led the charge that had ultimately freed her from Grenthar’s grasp.
The closer they came to the tower itself, the deeper the casualties became. Gabrion approached a crowd of people swaying and singing a mournful hymn beside a house that had been crushed by falling stone during the tower’s descent. He learned that a family of six had met its end that night. Gabrion stood with the mourners and added his voice to their calls of woe, while Kitalla stood off to the side, watching silently.
Because the tower had toppled primarily toward the east, its entirety had fallen within the confines of the city. Had it gone the other way, the damage to the city proper would have been minimal, as it stood near the western wall. Instead, the fallen tower acted like a massive stone barrier, separating the northern and southern districts of the city. It was too immense to reasonably climb over. Many people had been instantly entombed with the tower’s fall, leaving the citizens deeply shaken and full of unfathomable loss.
Numerous establishments had succumbed as well. One of the inns in which Randler had performed was so thoroughly buried under the tower no evidence of it remained. A midcity animal farm was likewise eradicated, a fact that would horrify all the children who had visited it to pet the animals. The devastation to this part of the city was so complete Kitalla and Gabrion had a hard time even looking upon it.
Chants went up around town from angry citizens who had seen the lightning blasts before the tower’s demise, and rage against the use of magic swelled strong. It was hard for Gabrion not to be caught in the flow of the words, for he had also grown up disliking mere hints of magical forces. It pained him too, though, because Dariak had become a friend, and furious cries against magic felt like personal attacks on the mage himself. Yet, as Gabrion looked at the carnage caused by the tumbling of one single structure, he paled at the thought of the damage the mage could potentially do after collecting the jades and summoning the colossus.
He stopped himself before wondering if Dariak’s death was for the best, but he scolded himself for even beginning the thought.
Eventually, Kitalla and Gabrion crested the top of the tower, where it flattened out lower than other sections because the upper floors had been projected farther. It was easy to see scorch marks where lightning had blasted viciously about. Debris was piled in random heaps all around, and dust still swirled in the air, clouding their vision of everything they looked at.
Cries echoed in the distance as other citizens tried to deal with the situation, but the area immediately around the tower seemed deadened by the dusty air. It was heavy and oppressive, with the still-settling rocks and dust looking like blood slowly leaking from the wounds of a dying stone giant.
Then Kitalla barked out a laugh, pointing ahead of her. It was a sound full of awe at the destruction before her and a bit of denial as she saw one section of the tower that had defiantly held itself together. “Look at that,” she said in amazement.
Gabrion turned and saw immediately what she meant. With all the carnage around them, there stood a small cubical of stone, holding together against the odds, though lined with numerous cracks. They watched it for a while, and the cracks widened, at last giving way. The contradictory structure lost its form and tumbled down, adding to the debris all around. Gabrion and Kitalla both bent their heads in homage to the last vestige of the tower that had finally succumbed to its fate.
Voices continued to echo through the night air, but now something was different. Kitalla turned her head to the side and listened intently. Gabrion’s expression confirmed her suspicions. Some of the voices, though very weak, were coming from the rubble, from the very spot that had just fallen apart.
They didn’t hesitate. Scrambling over stone and rubble, Gabrion and Kitalla fought against the shifting debris, seeking purchases that were elusive and mobile. Several times, the stone gave way, and they slid back down, but the shallow calls for help propelled them onward. They slowly approached the chamber that had held together and peered timidly, expectantly, over the edge to the inside.
They saw numerous bodies strewn around within, most of them clearly dead. Two mages were still moving and waved their arms in greeting at the appearance of Gabrion and Kitalla. “You have to help us!” one of them called with a thick accent. “Please! These walls are collapsing! Hurry!”
Gabrion looked around and understood that either they would need to jump down and hoist up the mages, or they would have to lift them with ropes. “How many of you are there?”
“Five,” the mage answered, waving his hand around vaguely. “Please hurry!”
Gabrion’s eyes swept the chamber, and there among the fallen were the motionless bodies of Dariak and Randler. Kitalla had already seen them and assessed what needed to be done. While Gabrion worked his way toward the lower lip of the chamber, Kitalla removed the rope she wore around her waist and secured it the best she could to the jutting stone fragments. She ordered Gabrion to r
emain aloft and act as a counterbalance for the rope, after which she swung her body down and slid into the chamber.
The two mages ran over to her immediately, carrying a third of their kind who was injured. The wounded mage took the rope in hand and, with the support of the others, made her way up into Gabrion’s grasp. The two alert mages then turned to the thief. “Those two risked everything to save us. You must take them from this place.” They went to Randler and dragged him toward the rope, looping it around his waist and tying it securely. The three of them then lifted the body as high as they could, after which Gabrion strained to lift the bard over the ledge. He tossed the rope down, and Dariak’s body was sent up next, after which the mages and Kitalla followed.
The weight of seven bodies on the outer hull of the tower was too much, and the pieces started sliding and tumbling inward. Gabrion guided Dariak’s body toward the ground while Kitalla focused on Randler’s. The three mages kept close as a loud crash resounded with the collapse of the last chamber. They hit the ground and pulled the wounded from the area to safety.
Gabrion tried to examine Dariak’s body, but the mages shoved him aside forcibly, with such determination in their eyes that the warrior was perplexed. He wanted to immediately retaliate and attack them, but their hands were already raised and moving, incantations spewing from their mouths in unison, and, after all the time spent working on Kitalla, he quickly recognized the cadence of healing spells. As he looked down at his companion, he saw that Dariak was already breathing shallowly, as was Randler.
“How is this even possible?” Gabrion stammered.
The mages finished a few rounds of spells, then lowered their hands. The man with the thick accent turned to the others. “Let us take them to a better location first, and then we will tell you, if that will suffice.”