“Eh, well. It was a perilous risk, fraught with unknown dangers. Once the walls of the Tower were broken, I sealed myself up in my chambers to… to preserve the Tower’s knowledge. I thought it prudent that someone live to tell the tale. Why not one of the Tower’s elders?”
Nyset folded her arms. Not everyone could be a hero, certainly not an old man, but wasn’t he a powerful wizard? They could’ve used everybody to defend against Asebor’s siege.
“Do you have anything hot to drink? Elixir from Breden perhaps? Tea from Midgaard?” Grozul pushed cracked spectacles up his long nose.
“Sure, just a minute.” Hearing someone say the name of her home village sent a stab of panic through her gut. Why hadn’t Walter contacted her yet? Nyset strode to the door, glad for an excuse to move and work the nerves out of her legs. She asked Claw for some brewed elixir and honey cakes.
“Where are you staying?” She thought it wise to get him talking with some simpler questions first, as he’d been pointedly obtuse about how he’d escaped the Tower.
“With the Earl, got here a week or so ago. He’s a good man, a very fine fellow indeed. Put me up in a beautiful room in his palace. Have you been there?”
“I haven’t. I’ve been far too busy trying to rebuild the Tower. Between recruiting apprentices, scraping together marks for this house, and trying to keep Death Spawn out of the city… well, it hasn’t left me much time for sleeping and eating, never mind palace frivolities.”
“Frivolities, that’s a way of putting it,” he laughed. Grozul put a gnarled cane across his lap. “How are the defenses holding?”
“They’re holding well enough for now.” Nyset swallowed and peered through the window towards the city’s walls. Torches were flickering along the battlements and marching along the walls. She turned back to face him and leaned on her elbows. “How did you escape the Tower, Master Grozul?”
“I-um. Well,” he stuttered.
Claw shouldered through her office door with a platter in his hands. It had a decanter filled with brown elixir, two mugs, and a small plate with round honey cakes. He roughly set it on her desk, mugs clattering and almost teetering over. “Anything else?”
“That’s all, thank you, Claw.” Nyset smiled at him.
He grunted and eyed Grozul with characteristic suspicion before leaving, closing the door behind him with a thump. Did that man trust anyone?
Nyset poured steaming elixir into the mugs, inhaling through her nose at the wonderfully bitter aroma. Grozul twiddled his thumbs watching her, nails yellowed and overgrown. Nyset lifted a mug and placed it in front of him. “Enjoy. So, you were about to tell me how you fled the Tower?”
“Ah, yes.” Grozul reached for his mug and raised it to his beard shrouded mouth. He sniffed, then took a slurping sip. “Mm. A wonderful roast. To escape the Tower, it was a simple matter, really. I simply used Phoenix portals.”
“Really? You must be quite skilled. I believe I read that there is a very high risk of them causing deformities over long distances.”
A drop of elixir clinging to his beard fell into his lap. “Yes, you’re correct, my dear. I slowly made my way out, creating doorways to parts of the Tower that are not well known. I was very close to freedom before I took a Death Spawn arrow to my back shoulder.” He fingered a spot of dried blood on his robe.
Nyset sniffed and took a sip of her elixir. She swished it in her mouth, allowing the bevy of flavors to fill her cheeks. “But can’t you heal?”
“Mm.” Grozul swallowed. “Of course, I did heal myself, that’s why I’m here now. The few Cerumal who saw me gave chase for a bit, but I managed to weave portals fast enough that they eventually gave up. Disgusting creatures.” He shivered. “I made my way into the forests north of the Tower. You have to remember, Mistress, I’m an old man and the wilds, the wilds, well… no longer suit me. My constitution wasn’t what it once was at your age. Took me weeks to recover my strength from all the power I used to escape, not to mention the severe lack of food and potable water in the forest.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Are you interested in re-joining the Tower?” Why hadn’t he washed his clothes? He smelled like a wet dog and the odor was starting to fill the room, overpowering the pleasant aroma of the elixir. She remembered seeing him around the Tower now, though he’d always worn a floppy hat then.
Grozul slurped up another sip of elixir. “I suppose this is where I belong. I do miss my studies.” He grinned behind his beard.
“I’d love to have you. We could sure use the help…” she dropped her voice. “Claw, my guard, is excellent. However, he doesn’t have the best manner with the students. Do you think you could teach them the way of the Phoenix?”
“That would be lovely, just lovely. I do miss teaching as well.” He stared off through the window behind her, eyes netted with deep wrinkles. His eyes met hers. “I’ll just need a place to conduct my research. Things seem… a bit cramped in here. Perhaps not enough room for the both of us.”
“Certainly not in here.” The thought of sharing a room with him made her skin wriggle. “Think there might be enough room on the second floor to build another room. We’re only using it for storing supplies now.”
“That will do. When will it be built?”
Nyset groaned. “As soon as we have more marks. Since the Tower fell, it’s been difficult to find resources.”
“Oh! Well, I’m sure Earl Baraz should surely be able to help you.” Grozul nibbled on a honey cake and golden crumbs fell and clung to his beard. “He can be charitable.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of asking him, that’s a great idea. I’ll go to him tomorrow; it’s been long overdue since we’ve spoken. Thanks for that.”
“You’re most welcome. I’ve heard that you’ve been recruiting new apprentices in the city. Is it true?” His eyebrows drew down, so bushy they partly obscured his eyes.
“It is. How else could I have gone about rebuilding?” Nyset gestured and eyed the scars on her arms. She learned to like them there. They served as an ugly reminder of how deadly the enemy was.
He shrugged helplessly and popped the last corner of a honey cake into his mouth. “How many? The Tower had always made a point to avoid recruiting from Helm’s Reach due to their extreme, and apparently, unchanging prejudices. The Tower is not a place for such soft minds, not that I need to tell you that, Mistress. The Dragon and Phoenix must work together. We tried to show them time and time again, but the roots of their feuds had traveled so terribly deep.”
“At the last count, there were forty-nine apprentices, a handful of veterans. A few of the armsman survived the siege, they’re in the city, likely on the walls now. The Earl has a battalion of the Falcon, just shy of five hundred men,” Nyset put her mug down and grabbed a notebook from her bookshelf. She flipped it open to the page noting her most recent numbers, tracing a finger through them and confirming her accounting.
“And you’ve managed to get them all working together? The ones you’ve recruited?” Grozul asked.
“So far.” She nodded, closed the notebook, and placed it on her desk. She cocked her head at him. “Why did you wait so long to come to me? You wasted too much time.” Perhaps her tongue was a little too sharp, but she didn’t care. She needed answers.
Grozul’s jaw hung open, about to take another sip. His eyes searched the room. “Well, I didn’t know you were here, Mistress, that’s all.”
She shook her head and tightened her jaw. “You just said you knew I’ve been recruiting in the city. How long have you known?” She jabbed her notebook on her desk with her index finger.
He frowned. “Not long. Just a couple of days. I had to rest, Mistress, you understand. Using so much of the power is very draining.” He squirmed under his robes. “I wanted to be in good spirits and my constitution restored before presenting myself to you. As you can see.” He tugged on his soiled robes. “Didn’t even spare the time to clean myself up after resting.”
Nyset l
eaned back and watched him, waiting for him to reveal more. He looked back at her, his face as placid as a monk’s. “Alright, Grozul. Sorry for all the questions. You never know you can trust in these times.” Could she trust him not to try to coerce her? Everyone wanted something from her. What did he want?
He sagely nodded. “That’s understandable, Mistress. I appreciate your thoroughness. I believe I shall retire to my quarters now. The sun is waning and it is a long walk back to the palace.”
“Probably wise to go back before the vagrants are out in force. I’ll send Claw to go back with you.”
“No, no.” He waved her off and rose up, wincing. “That’s quite unnecessary.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a bother.” She rose up and planted her hands on her hips.
“I’m quite sure, Mistress. I’m pleased to be entering into your ah, fold. Please do send for me when I can start teaching.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Huh?” Grozul’s eyes were wide behind his spectacles.
“You can start teaching tomorrow,” Nyset said. She slid her notebook beside the pile of others on her bookshelf.
“I see. Very well, then. I’ll be here at dawn tomorrow. Good evening, Mistress.” He leaned most of his weight on his cane and shuffled his way to the door. She watched him leave through her office, hunched and shuffling down the main hallway. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t pinpoint.
Chapter 9
Kindness
“Everyone fights their own quiet inner battles.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
Nyset sat perched upon a mare, its jet-black hair shining with the saffron of the morning sun. She stopped to observe the denizens of Helm’s Reach. The air was still heavy with the cold carried down with last night’s rain. She wore a heavy, dark cloak over a bright blue shirt, trousers, and leather riding boots.
Claw stood with arms crossed beside her, clad in scraggly layers of tans, grays, and browns. The only part of his outfit always dutifully immaculate was Ghostwalker, the big curved sword sheathed at his hip. He was lost in a quiet conversation only he and the voices in his head could apparently hear. Nyset hoped one of those voices wasn’t his sword. She would certainly not be entering another talking sword’s world.
Sheep bleated and a rooster roared with a mighty crowing. Mud covered people shuffled to and fro, looking less like men and more like creatures from another world. There was something about the commerce of the city that made her feel invigorated. They were in Dirt Ring, the outer rings of the city where most unfortunately lived. People were packed in tight, living in patchwork shanties, most a strong gust away from collapsing. Their dwellings did nothing to prevent the waterfall that fell from the sky from soaking everyone through. At that moment, Nyset felt grateful for the good fortune fate had given her. She was dry, clean, and well-fed. What more did a person need besides a friend or two?
People here survived on scraps, rats, and unfortunate pigeons, and whatever they could steal from their better-off neighbors. They were the terminally luckless and utterly lost. The roads were a mix of packed mud, sand, and gravel. Ramshackle pushcarts were dragged into place, forming a long column which would become a makeshift marketplace in an hour. Nyset’s wandering eye found a weed and a boot came down, crushing it flat, its stalk splintered and broken. The weed sprang up when the boot relented and another came after it, tamping it into the mud. The weed remained there, pressed into the earth like a dead body.
The wall surrounding the city had been fortified well enough for now. It was mortared where the stones were failing and topped with grisly spikes to make it harder to scale. The traps she used last had been reset, but would they work again? She gave the masons a few days off to rest, then they would start working on building a second wall around the outer. It would take weeks, if not months to complete. It was better to try and fail than not try at all, though.
A man came up to her, rattling a jar with a mark or two in it. He might’ve had nothing but stones for all she knew. “Marks for the poor? Marks for the poor?” The skeletal man had muddy streaks down his cheeks and neck. His eyes were a bright, sickly red.
Claw started for him and drew an inch of his sword from its scabbard. Nyset put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “No marks, but I have some food.” She reached into her satchel and offered him a round flat bread wrapped in thin cloth.
“Nah! Don’t want no bread. Got marks?” He staggered too close for comfort, reeking like drink and urine. “Marks?” The creases of his expectant hand was black with weeks of neglect.
“Why don’t you take the bread and, perhaps, a little less drink?” She smiled.
“Fu-fuck off, la-lady! Tryin’ to tell me what to do.” The man stumbled away, approaching a cart throwing up great clods of mud into the air.
The cart driver shouted at him. “Out of the way ya’ filthy fuckin’ drunk! Good for nothing bastard.” Judging by the cart’s ornate detail, he was likely coming out from the Center, where the wealthiest lived.
“Can’t help everyone, Mistress.” Claw worked a brush stick between his teeth. He snorted and spat out a hardened yellow glob. The brush stick was a twig with one side beaten and twisted into soft bristles.
Nyset groaned with disgust. “You can try, though. I see you’re finally using the brush sticks I gave you?”
“Mhm.”
“How come?”
Claw scratched the salt and pepper beard crawling around his neck. “Figured it’d be time for me to try something new.”
“Good. Keep using them. You’ve got a way to go.” She blushed. Had she been too blunt?
“Thanks again, Mistress.” Claw pulled the frayed stick out of his mouth, crusted with bits of food, and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you told me so.” Claw stared up at the sky. “You can’t always be right, can you?”
“I don’t follow you, Claw.” Nyset twisted on her saddle to face him.
“Oh.” He laughed. “Sorry about that, just havin’ a little chat with Ghostwalker. He told me that I should’ve used them two weeks ago when you got ‘em for me.”
“I see.” The corner of her lip twitched up in a half-smile. “What else does Ghostwalker tell you?”
“All sorts of things. He’s a good friend, he and I. Nothing to worry about, Mistress. Just a harmless friend, that’s all.”
“Does he ever… ask you to kill for him?”
A young boy ran over to Claw, barefoot, shirt and pants in tatters. “Hey, Mister, got any—”
Claw bent over and growled at him, showing his crusted over teeth.
The boy’s eyes bulged open and he ran, begging from someone else a few paces away.
“Do you have to do that?” Nyset’s hands went to her hips.
“Do what?” Claw asked. He sucked what Nyset guessed was a piece of meat from the brush stick. He started chewing.
“No matter. Ghostwalker, Claw?”
“Yes, Mistress, what about him?”
She sighed. “Does he ever ask…” she leaned over her saddle, “you to kill?”
“Pah! No, no. Just likes the taste of blood’s all.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He turned away, eyes always swiveling, always scanning for threats.
“Are you ready to get moving?” Nyset asked.
“Hm. Didn’t I follow you here? I’m just tagging along, aren’t I?”
“Yes, I suppose you did.” Nyset’s fingers went to her lips, then she bit down on a nail, cutting through the soft end. “Damn it,” she hissed and spat out the ragged sliver. Her face bloomed with warmth. She peered around and didn’t find anyone looking at her. That was good, she had a reputation to uphold after all.
She spurred her mare to a trot and Claw followed at her flank. They passed by a pile of rotting cabbage stacked high as a house. It leaned against one of the arcing walls dividing Dirt Ring from the Middle. A few women picked through it, parsing out the edible parts into baskets. It was a donation from the Middle. They would bri
ng them food they no longer desired and haphazardly dump it. It was a sordid form of charity, if you asked her.
They started for the opened portcullis dividing the Middle from Dirt Ring. A pair of guards scowled at a pair of boys clashing with wooden swords. The hooded eyes of a pudgy guard regarded her. “Who desires to enter the Middle?”
“Nyset Camfield, Arch Wizard of the Silver Tower. This is my assistant,” Nyset said and nodded at Claw. Claw peered around his back, at the guards, then through the entrance.
“Have a Middle pass?” the guard asked and held out his hand. The fingers of his gloves looked like overstuffed sausages, ready to split open at any minute.
She sighed. She had forgotten about this formality. The Earl had given her one when she’d arrived. “No, I seem to have left it in my office. I—”
“No pass, no enter. Bug off.” The pudgy man gestured with his spear. Laughter and scuffling feet came from behind and the pair of boys wriggled between her and Claw, darting towards the entrance to the Middle. The pudgy guard’s boot struck the first of them in the gut, sending him crumbling to the ground, gasping.
The other guard, equally as plump as the first, snatched up the other boy in his big arms. “Disgusting urchins! Where do you think you’re going, eh?” He turned the boy around and shoved him into the road. The child fell onto his hands and knees and started to weep.
“What’s the matter with you? Have you lost your senses?” Nyset hissed at both of them, giving them each a taste of her vitriol.
“They’re bloody urchins,” one of them responded. “Don’t belong in the Middle anyways. Cut your purse when your back is turned. Every one of ‘em.”
Claw slitted his eyes at the second guard, then turned around and swept the boy up from the road. Claw placed the boy on his feet, slapped the wooden sword back in his hand and did his best to brush the dirt from his front. The child sniffed, head cast down, and held the sword weakly at his side.
Nyset had dismounted and protectively had an arm around the other child at her side. The boy sucked in ragged breaths, arms clutched over his stomach. His sword lay broken in half between the guards. Nyset’s nostrils flared, breathing almost as hard as the boys. “This is how you protect and serve the city, is it?” she snapped, her eyes swirling with Dragon fire.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 18