“You don’t think we should keep moving?” Woldo asked. “What about the boglins and murkgills they talk about in these forests?”
Kelvin scoffed at that notion. “Sounds like nothing more than drivel drunkards go on about in a tavern. Boglins wouldn’t dare venture from Norkoth, and the murkgills haven’t been spotted near Arthica in over a hundred years. No, this place is our safest bet. Eventually, the horse will tire, and it’s better to sputter to a stop here than in the middle of the wilderness. This place is defensible, and we have more than one way to escape if need be.”
With a sigh passing through his lips, Woldo tugged on the reins, drawing the horse to a stop. Kelvin hopped out of the back of that carriage, landing on the road upon bent knees.
“Once you settle down, why don’t you go looking for something we can use to make a fire?” the disguised prince asked. “I’ll look into both of these towers and make sure nobody already had the idea we did.”
“Didn’t they construct these places so the military could have scouting posts?” Woldo wondered. “What if it’s not vagabonds you run into but members of Nathan’s army?”
The lad in green moved too late to hide his grin. “From what I’ve heard, the army is stretched too thin right now. They’re involved in too much to make use of these towers just yet. Even if they were here, though, I have no doubt we’d be able to talk our way out of any trouble. It’s not untold to want to stop for a rest as night encroaches.
“I’m more worried about wild animals that might have that same idea,” Kelvin said. He whipped his bow over his shoulder and drew an arrow from his quiver. “Then again, we might get a nice meal out of that, so I’m not inclined to make an opinion either way just yet. Still, better to have a fire going in any case. I’ll make my way up this tower here, and then I’ll cross the bridge at the top and make my way back down the other.”
Woldo nodded. “Holler if you see anything. I’ll get the horse ready to continue in a flash.”
“And you do the same. This scouting station may not be in use just yet, but we should still look out for each other.” The prince didn’t wait to see if his words inspired confidence or doubt before he proceeded from that carriage and into the darkened tower on his left.
Once he was alone, all his clever speech felt hollow. The talk of animals and squatters and soldiers meant nothing to him, in the grand scheme of things. He was in the tower for one reason only: to find the creature who dropped a citizen of his home to their death.
In that solitude, as he climbed the stairs, Kelvin wondered if it was clever or foolish to withhold that information from his traveling companion. Every step toward the apex of the tower led him to question that decision even more.
When he reached the peak of the construction, though, and saw the fading dusk before him, he knew it was too late to turn around. He was the protégé of the Silver Serpent, after all. As a beacon of courage and justice, it was his duty to face whatever challenge was before him.
The young prince drew from the shelter and stepped out of the turret. The bridge was on his right, but from his vantage, all he saw was the crenellations on the north side of the bridge. He circled the top of the tower until the viaduct came into complete view. But that was not all that he discovered. In the center of the bridge, perched on a merlon on the south side, was a creature made of stone.
Kelvin fumbled with his arrow before he could straighten it upon the bowstring. He kept his aim trained on the creature, but it did not budge.
There was something disconcerting about it, the lad mused. Without a companion, that sole gargoyle seemed odd. Its color seemed inappropriate for the bridge as well, the somewhat granite look of the statue not meshing with the sandstone of the bridge and the nearby towers. Then there was the final piece of the puzzle: the statue didn’t face east, like he assumed an effigy on those lookout towers would. No, it was pointed west, back toward Argos.
Whatever it was, it didn’t sit right with Kelvin. He drew back on the bowstring, listening to the tension in the curve of his bow.
A resounding crack echoed in the air, and it took a moment for the lad to realize he hadn’t loosed his missile. It was still nocked upon his bow, and he followed the point of that arrow until he focused on his target.
There, upon a wing of that creature, a wide fissure had been made. Another crack resonated a moment later, and adjacent breaks in the stone splintered out. Kelvin clenched his jaw shut and watched as the stone broke away, leaving the being underneath uncovered.
There, before him, was a man close to double his age, wearing naught but a pair of britches. His skin was taut and tan, almost too dark to see in that fading light. He stretched his arms out wide, but those wings were gone, disappearing with the crumbling stone, as if they never existed in the first place.
He turned toward the interloper, his eyes narrowed.
The tension of the bow reported again, inciting him to turn faster. Kelvin released his projectile as the strange fellow cast his gaze upon him.
At once, a gasp erupted from the man’s throat. The stone came back in an instant, covering his body and producing those wings once more. It was one of those wings that caught the arrow in midair, ceasing it from reaching his face.
Kelvin’s eyes widened, and he stumbled backward until he slipped between two merlons. The gargoyle leapt forward, grasping the fellow with its clawed hand. The monster’s solid-red eyes peered at the disguised prince, unwavering.
The lad’s heart raced with every passing second. Everything Woldo said was true, and it seemed he would share the same fate as that unfortunate fellow who stained the street of Argos with his blood.
In moments, the stone armor was gone, leaving the man free of his burden once more. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Kelvin made an attempt at displaying confidence. “I am here to arrest you for the murder of a citizen of Argos.”
That fellow released his hold on the man in green and stepped back. He wore a scowl and turned away to hide his discontent. “So someone did see me after all,” he said. “But it wasn’t you. I would recognize an ensemble like that. And something makes me think you’re no guard either. So who exactly are you?”
Kelvin gulped a mouthful of air but stood his ground. “I’m someone with the authority to decide how to bring justice to his city.”
“You’re not wasting any time jumping to your conclusion, are you?” the man asked. “But tell me this: What do you truly know about what happened in the city? You know, perhaps, the account of two men who saw a monster in the sky and the appearance of a body in the street.”
“Are you saying the two are unrelated?”
“Not at all,” the accused said. “But it is an awful trial a man is faced with when the fellow that confronts him intends to be both a guard and a judge. In your bleak view of the world, is there no room for reason?”
“And you believe you can explain how what happened was justified?”
“I could kill you now,” the man revealed. “You could have already been thrown from these towers. Surely that earns me some credit, no?”
Kelvin narrowed his eyes and slung his bow over his shoulder once more. “Go on then. Let’s hear what you have to say that you believe will absolve you of your sins.”
The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. “My only crime is being cursed with the form of a monster. My name is Rowan Martel. This is how I became a beast made of stone.”
*****
He looked up at that structure, observing the way the setting sun landed upon the crenellations. It was the only scout fortification to Harding’s name that did not have its sides fixed to the cardinal directions. No matter how many times he looked at it, the fellow couldn’t be convinced that it looked proper.
“Not quite up to your standards, eh, Rowan?”
The fellow turned to meet the owner of that familiar voice. That other man, with his beard and thinning hair, wore a grin the likes of which Rowan had never
seen. Despite his age, though, his physique proved that he was still a hard worker, even though he could have passed along that work to the younger lads under his employ.
“It’s out of place now,” the younger laborer declared. “It’s subtle, but this doesn’t look like a genuine Harding tower anymore.”
The old builder chortled. “Son, nothing looks like a Harding tower anymore. I haven’t designed a tower of my own for years, thanks to you and Keifer and McManus. That being said, I am grateful you still give me credit for your work.”
“Well, I’d be nothing if not for you, sir,” the fellow confessed. “I may have started to develop my own way, but you set me off on my path. You must deserve some credit for that.”
Samwell clapped his employee on the shoulder and offered an appreciative nod. “Why don’t you finish up whatever you’re doing now and meet me in the grand tent with the other lads in about fifteen minutes? I’ve got a bit of an announcement to make.”
Rowan arched his eyebrow. “What’s this all about?”
“You’ll see, lad. Just make sure you don’t forget to mark your progress,” he said, gesturing toward the book on the table before the laborer.
“Right,” Rowan said. He turned and grabbed his quill, jotting down a few notes on that large page. The parchment demonstrated a design of his next tower, one that was more attractive than any of the ones he built in the past. “All right, all that’s done. Now what was that about an announcement?”
When he turned, Samwell Harding was no longer beside him. Instead, he was heading toward that massive tent in the center of the area, to the south of the tower. Despite Harding’s age, he still moved with the speed of someone set in their youth. Rowan had no doubt that the old man could run circles around him and the other laborers.
With a smile, he headed off after his mentor. Apparently, the announcement had gone out to the other workers as well, because the lot congregated in that area. Rowan always forgot how many people were under Harding’s employ. Though those towers were a marvel every time they were conceived by one of the three architects, it was the culmination of skills belonging to dozens of people that made them whole and real.
As the fellow considered that truth, he was tapped on the shoulder. He spun about to see a friendly face.
“So what do you think this is all about?” the lad asked. Arthur McManus was younger than him by about a decade. If his family was able to afford an education for him, he likely would have still been learning. Instead, he had earned an apprenticeship with one of the engineers who Harding respected. Working his way up through the company, he had proved his mettle and shown that he could design strong, sturdy towers for Argos. Though his towers often failed to produce any unique characteristics, they would stand the test of time.
“It’s getting to be that time,” Rowan replied. “Doesn’t it seem like every fifth tower we put up, Mister Harding turns around and puts a little extra gold in our pay?”
McManus nodded. “Say what you will about how sturdy or flashy Keifer’s towers are, but the man can get his crew finished building one quicker than I can finish drawing one of mine.”
“Cheers for Keifer and his fast towers,” Rowan laughed.
The two of them made their way into the tent, where scores of their cohorts were already sitting. A little stage had been crafted in the back, and Harding stood upon it, trying to quiet those laborers who were arriving.
“All right, lads, let’s not forget we’re building scout towers over here, right?” the head foreman joked. “We don’t need those folks from Peritas knowing we’re out this far, eh?”
After the few workers up front laughed at that rib, he raised his hands again. “Settle down now. I’ve got a few things to say. First of all, let me just say what an honor it has been to work aside the lot of you these past few years.”
“Decades!” one of the lads cried out.
Samwell pointed at that member of the crowd as if he was incensed, but a smile was on his face only a moment later. “Could be I’ve underestimated just how long I’ve been at work at this company. But that’s actually why I’ve stopped you all from cutting stone and lining beams. I’ve got an important announcement, and I’m sure a few of you have seen it coming.
“I sure ain’t getting any younger, but I’m proud of all of you here, and it would leave an awful taste in my mouth to see this thing break apart just because I couldn’t hack it anymore. I was never lucky enough to have sons of my own, but you lads are all like family to me. A strong family needs a strong patriarch. It’s just not going to be me anymore.”
Mumbles rose up in the tent like an angry hive of bees. He raised his hands again, but it wasn’t stopping that buzz.
“Hey!” he shouted, ceasing his noise. “If nothing else, you boys can keep me on as a crier,” he jested, to some laughter. “Point is, I’d like to think we’ve done a lot of good for Argos. Whether it’s these scout towers in the wilderness or something more impressive in the city proper, people turn to us for our workmanship. And really, it’s always come down to three lads, hasn’t it?
“Why don’t you boys stand up, eh?” he asked. “Keifer, McManus, Rowan?”
All three of the tower designers stood as he called their names. Keifer sprung up with pride and an eager grin, while the other two were almost surprised to hear their names called out.
“We all know and respect these fellows, and rightly so,” Harding insisted. “They do good work, and they’ve got what it takes to carry this company forward when I’m gone. So, it’s with a heavy heart, but immense hope and anticipation, I have to say I’ll be leaving you lot by the time this next tower is complete. But I don’t think any of you can argue that I’m also leaving you in very capable hands.
“To Keifer Grant, Arthur McManus, and Rowan Martell!” he cried out.
A round of light applause broke out as others in the crowd leaped up from their seats and raced to offer words of praise and assurance to the various leaders of the Harding Company.
Rowan was too distracted by that bittersweet news to truly appreciate his good fortune. Even those claps on his back and pleasant wishes for his prosperity felt hollow and distant as he considered just how much everything was about to change.
*****
The spread before him was a little overwhelming. When Rowan sat down, he couldn’t ignore the mix of aromas, and he was forced to swallow that excess saliva, lest he drool in front of his respected host.
That man had not arrived yet, but one of the hired servants for the occasion poured wine into the glasses on that table. Samwell liked his wine fresh—he wouldn’t be much longer.
“Mister Martel,” Rowan heard then. Another laborer of the Harding Company, a young man like McManus, bowed his head and held out a letter to one of the newly appointed leaders of the construction outfit. That lad was a little wet behind the ears, and Rowan still hadn’t learned his name well enough to remember it. When he took the envelope, the apprentice almost skittered away like a rodent, and the man left in the tent couldn’t help but grin at that.
Was this what was to come of him and his presence now, he wondered. Would he inspire anxiety about people who questioned their places in the company?
He chortled as he considered that. Rowan Martel was not exactly the kind of man who was imposing. He almost always wore a smile, and he always went out of his way to accommodate the people he worked with. Titles changed everything, he supposed.
With a flick of his finger, he opened the envelope and pulled out the folded letter inside. He only gave it a quick glance, but all the details were there as plain as day.
“Another appointment for a meal, eh?” he muttered.
“You’ll be getting a lot of those in the next few days and weeks,” a voice piped up behind him. Samwell entered the tent and took off a pair of carpentry gloves, throwing them on a table to the side. As Rowan rose from his seat, the departing leader of the company waved him off. “Sit, sit. We have much to discuss, and
all these pleasantries will just have us wasting away into the night. And I have a glass of wine with my name on it.”
“This was all too much, Mister Harding.”
“Just Samwell, now,” he said as he fell into that cushy seat across the long table. “We’re equals now, or at least as equal as we’re going to be. After all, you’ll be the one doing all the work, lad!”
“Well, I’m sure Kiefer and McManus will be playing their parts as well,” Rowan inferred. “You did name all three of us.”
“That I did, didn’t I?” Samwell took a deep gulp of that red wine and smacked his lips together as the taste left his tongue. “That’s actually why I called you here this evening. You see, we could do things with a bit of democracy. When a decision had to be made, two of you would no doubt argue down the foolish decision, hopefully. But I know that won’t always be the case. Two people can be wrong just as often as one. I never had anyone telling me I was making an ass out of myself, and whoever ends up running the Harding Company ought to have the same privilege. So, between the three of you, one will have more say than the others.
“I already had my meetings with the other two,” Samwell went on. “Kiefer and McManus already know that there’s a choice to be made.”
“You did three dinners like this?” Rowan asked.
Samwell ran his tongue along his teeth and flashed his eyebrows. “No,” he revealed with a grin. “Now, I haven’t made my decision yet—not entirely. But I’m going to make it all clear within the week.”
“I don’t know what to say,” his young peer said.
“Don’t say anything,” the old worker returned. “Every moment you let those lips flap is a moment the food gets colder.”
With a smile on his face, Rowan abided by his employer and enjoyed that supper.
*****
He tied the horse to a sturdy lamppost off to the side of the impressive structure. Rowan could not help but admire the facets of those two towers. He was still taken by it, even after all the time that had passed since it was built.
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