The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  “I have no idea what one of those is, Tom,” Merlin said, “so no. Friends may plead on your behalf, but that’s all. However,” he added, in an effort to reassure them, “I am one of the most powerful wizards ever, and I am pleased to say that after my long period of imprisonment my powers remain as strong as ever. That said, I cannot take on the entire Realm of Air. Therefore, if things go badly in court, I will ensure you get away, but you’d be fugitives. Forever. We must resolve this legally, with no repercussions.”

  “When will we be seen?” Arthur asked. He looked pale, but his voice held a steely determination.

  “The day after tomorrow, at dawn, at the Palace of Reckoning, in front of the seven who sit on the Reckoning Panel.”

  “So soon!” Tom said, not sure if this was a good thing or not.

  “The issue is not just about you, it’s also about the spell and the repercussions. They want to settle this quickly. It’s a public trial, so others will be there.” He paused and sighed softly. “I must confess, I think my long imprisonment has addled my brain a little.” Merlin rested his gaze on Arthur. “I had almost forgotten about the dragon wars, it was so long ago.”

  “The dragon wars?” Tom asked, thinking that sounded utterly terrifying.

  Woodsmoke nodded. “That was a long time ago, even in our long lifetimes.”

  “For years,” Merlin explained, “the Realm of Air waged an intermittent, long and bloody war with the dragons. At first, Dragon Skin Mountain was home to only a handful of dragons. Most of them lived in the deserts of the Djinn – the Realm of Fire. But as the Djinn claimed more land, the dragons came here, drawn to the rich reserves of the mountain, and they ravaged the lands and attacked the sylphs. Until Raghnall came along to contain them. His spell allowed access to the dragon gold, the small village grew into the city it is now, and he gave peace to the sylphs. Raghnall’s death has far-reaching consequences.”

  “Raghnall must have been really old!” Tom said, trying to work it out.

  “Very old. I met him once, briefly. I never liked him so avoided him after that.”

  “And his spell extended here?” Tom tried to get his head around the size of the spell Raghnall had made.

  “The dragons could attack again; the sylphs would be at war,” Arthur said, as understanding dawned.

  “Adalyn was right. I have no influence here. Not any more. I am a man out of my time.” Suddenly Merlin’s defiance crumbled, and his shoulders sagged as he looked into some indeterminate future. “Maybe you shouldn’t have woken me. I realise now this is not my home, and whatever happens I cannot continue to live here.” He looked at Arthur in panic. “Where will I go?”

  Merlin’s hands were clutched together on the table, and Arthur reached forward, resting his hand on Merlin’s. “We will get out of here, and you will live with me, close to the Cervini. You do have friends here Merlin, as do I,” Arthur said, smiling at the others. “I am also a man out of time, but we will walk new paths, old friend.”

  Merlin gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze and smiled at him with affection. “I hope you are right.” Gathering his courage, he stood and nodded to them all. “I will see you tomorrow with any news.” He swept from the room, his worn grey cloak swinging behind him.

  The reality of their situation was now clear to Tom, and he felt a horrible tightness in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t decided to live here only to be on the run. But he had killed someone, he thought, feeling sick at the memory. And then, with a sudden pang, he thought of his granddad. He hadn’t seen him for weeks. What if he never saw him again? He had no idea of where they were or what was happening. And Fahey and Finnlugh? Tom had taken it for granted he’d see them all again, but now he might never be able to. Perhaps he’d never see Beansprout again!

  He tried to be positive. “They aren’t going to kill us. I think the worst that might happen is banishment. And I really don’t ever want to come here again anyway.”

  “Maybe,” Woodsmoke said, leaning back into his chair, his long legs resting on the table top. “But I’m not sure I share your confidence. I hate feeling we’re relying on Nimue.”

  Tom slept badly. Only the fact that he’d been up for more than twenty-four hours meant he slept at all. The bed was hard and lumpy, the blankets too thin, and his mind raced with horrible possibilities. It was only with the dawn that he managed to sleep deeply for a few hours.

  He was woken by voices in the main room, and he blearily stumbled through to find Brenna was back. She looked up as Tom entered and gave him a faint smile. “Nimue is here, in another tower. Her trial’s the same time as yours.”

  “How do you know?” Arthur asked, looking as if he’d had a bad night’s sleep too. His hair was uncombed and his clothes were dishevelled.

  She looked grim. “I eavesdropped with great difficulty. Anyway, the spell is complete, sort of, and the city is safe, but very damaged.”

  “But how long will the spell last if she’s here?” Tom asked, worried about Beansprout.

  “Long enough. Nimue has plans, I’m not sure what. She’s very good at secrets. I’d better get back to check on Beansprout. If I can’t return, good luck for tomorrow.” Brenna wasn’t normally affectionate, but she was now, and she hugged all of them. “One way or another, we’ll get you out of here.”

  After Brenna left, they spent the day pacing around the narrow confines of the tower rooms. Merlin visited, looking drawn and anxious, bringing news that a representative from Dragon’s Hollow was going to be at the trial as well. It was a long, horrible day of waiting.

  30 Excalibur’s Song

  On the morning of the trial they were woken early, while the sky was still dark. A heavily armed sylph with eyes so pale as to be almost colourless, entered with a tray of food, which he left on the table.

  Tom felt shattered. He had barely slept with worry, and the sound of the wind blowing relentlessly around the tower intruded into his dreams. He forced down some food in an effort to fortify himself for the trial.

  They were all quiet, locked within their own thoughts. Half an hour later the sylph returned with another, and they were escorted down the long winding stairs.

  Outside on the broad walls, the freezing wind sliced through Tom’s cloak, and he started shivering. Half a dozen sylphs surrounded a large metal basket into which they were hustled, its door firmly locked behind them.

  The sylphs then took hold of short chains attached to the top and sides, and they were lifted into the air and carried across the city towards the Palace of Reckoning. Tom had never been so cold in his life. Or so scared. Or so breathless, he realised, as he struggled to get a full lungful of air – they were incredibly high. Below them, the city was beautiful, in a stark and unforgiving way. In the dawn pallor it was all shades of grey, with pockets of blackness imposed by hard angles and high towers. Flashes of gold and silver decorated the walls and the tips of towers, the glinting metals making the place seem even colder. He hugged his cloak around him and thought longingly of Dragon’s Hollow, the House of the Beloved, and the bed he’d slept in there.

  The sun was just emerging over the far horizon when the palace came into view. Tom caught a glimpse of a broad terrace along one side, before they were lowered into the palace courtyard. Nothing here was small, Tom thought, feeling insignificant as he gazed up at the walls, their lofty heights disappearing into the grey haze of dawn.

  When the cage door was unlocked, Tom, Arthur and Woodsmoke walked around the shadowy courtyard, stamping vigorously to keep warm. The sylphs watched them, clearly impervious to the cold.

  Nimue arrived alone, in a smaller cage, escorted by two sylphs. She looked tiny and defenceless, barely half the height of the sylphs towering over her, but she moved with a steady, almost stately grace, as the sylphs ushered her to the far side of the courtyard. Clearly she was being kept apart from Tom and the others before the trial. She glanced over at them, giving a barely perceptible smile and nod, before turning away.

  Wi
thin minutes, Merlin arrived in another single cage. Tom glanced anxiously at Nimue, but she ignored him, deep in thought.

  Merlin didn’t waste time on greetings. “The terrace is almost full already.”

  “Full of what?” Tom asked, distracted by Nimue in the distance.

  Merlin looked at him impatiently. “Sylphs! Come to watch your trial!”

  “Oh, of course,” Tom said, embarrassed.

  Woodsmoke gave him a sidelong look full of amusement. “Keep your mind on the moment, Tom,” he said softly.

  “Bringing you here means they want to make an example of you,” Merlin continued, his face full of worry. “There are smaller places where they hold trials, but none of them has the pomp of this place.” He looked around distastefully.

  They were interrupted by an ancient sylph, his face creased with age, his wings a dark grizzled grey.

  “Galen,” Merlin said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Justice must be served,” the sylph muttered angrily. He glared at the three of them, his gaze finally settling on Arthur. “Arthur, I presume?”

  Arthur nodded and tried to shake his hand, but Galen ignored him, saying only, “You will be tried first,” before stalking off into the palace.

  “I have a feeling this morning is not going to go well,” Arthur said.

  The terrace was a windswept place stretching away from the palace. Immediately beyond the main building was a row of pillars supporting a deep roofed walkway. Four seats had been placed in front of the pillared walk, and Tom and the others stood before them, gazing out at the crowd gathered in tiered seats that rose like an amphitheatre.

  The sylphs were silent. There were no hushed conversations or debates; instead they sat like statues. Even more unnerving was the row of women-headed bird creatures perched along the highest row of the terrace. Even at a distance he could see their beady eyes and sharp teeth.

  He whispered, “Woodsmoke, what are they?”

  “Harpies, the constant companions of the sylphs,” Woodsmoke said. “They’ll steal food from your plate and leave you to starve to death. And then feed on your body.”

  Tom wished he hadn’t asked.

  Between them and the crowd was a long stone table with seven sylphs seated behind it, facing them, their backs to the audience. They were a range of ages, with different wings, from white, to tawny greys, dark browns and silvers – but they all looked serious. In the centre was Galen. Seated to the side was one of the fey from Dragon’s Hollow.

  Tom turned to his right and looked at Nimue, who was now standing next to him. Feeling his gaze upon her, she gave him the ghost of a smile before turning back to the crowd.

  Galen stood, and his voice boomed across the space as if he had a microphone. “The four who stand before us are all accused of murder. The repercussions of their actions will impact on the safety of this realm, and their punishment will fit their crimes accordingly. Arthur, once King of Britain, will be tried first. Woodsmoke, Tom and Nimue, you may sit until called.”

  Tom sat pondering Galen’s description of Arthur as “Once King of Britain.” It was as if he wanted to remind them that Arthur wasn’t powerful any more. He looked at Arthur, who stood rigid, facing Galen and the others. Tom had no idea what he might be feeling.

  None of them had been allowed their weapons. Arthur’s reclaimed weapons and armour sat on the table in front of the panel, along with Excalibur, Galatine, Woodsmoke’s bow, sword, and hunting knife, and Brionac.

  “Arthur,” Galen began, “you face the most serious charge of all, as you instigated the attack on Raghnall. We found his head lying in the weapons room of the House of the Beloved. His body lay outside the room, a deep wound in the chest made from this spear here,” he gestured to Brionac, “which we know to have been thrown by Woodsmoke, a fey of the Realm of Earth. Do you admit your guilt?”

  “Yes, I do,” Arthur said, his voice also booming out across the terrace. “But as he was trying to kill my friends and me, I feel justified.” His voice held no trace of regret.

  “We have no evidence of his attack on you,” Galen said stiffly, “only the wounds of two weapons suggesting an unequal attack.”

  Woodsmoke stood and shouted, “You have the word of the three people sitting here with Arthur!”

  Galen glared at him. “Sit down! You are all conspirators. Of course you will support each other.”

  “You have evidence to the contrary? That he wasn’t attacking Arthur?” Nimue asked. Unlike Woodsmoke, she remained seated, her hands resting in her lap.

  “No! And I do not need any. We of the Panel of Reckoning know Raghnall. He would not attempt to kill anyone. Sit down!”

  The city guards grabbed Woodsmoke across the shoulders and forced him to sit. Tom felt sick. This was not a trial. There was no evidence in their favour. Merlin was right. They were going to make an example of them.

  Galen continued. “There are weapons here that have been taken from Raghnall’s collection. So you are all thieves as well?”

  “No. I claim what is mine,” Arthur explained. “Many of those weapons were mine in my lifetime. Raghnall was the thief, he tried to take Excalibur. By force.”

  Galen picked up Excalibur. “This is Excalibur?”

  “It is.”

  Galen drew Excalibur from its scabbard, and the rising sun glittered along its length, throwing beams of light across the terrace. Tom glanced again at Nimue, and although she didn’t look at him, she smiled her shy soft smile again.

  “It is fine workmanship,” Galen said admiringly.

  “Made by the Forger of Light,” Merlin said, from where he stood on the other side of Arthur.

  A ripple of unease passed across the watching crowd, prompting some sign of life at last.

  Galen looked up quickly and crashed Excalibur back onto the table. “Do not mention his name here!” he said furiously. Tom felt a stir of curiosity at what the Forger of Light had done. “That is irrelevant. Arthur, you have murdered Raghnall, and by doing so have placed us at risk of attack from dragons. Your sentence is death. At the end of these proceedings you shall be dropped from the terrace. The fall will be long enough for you to consider your actions.”

  Tom drew his breath in sharply and looked in horror at Galen and Arthur. Involuntarily he rose to feet, as Woodsmoke shouted, “No! It’s not fair!”

  Arthur didn’t speak, but he glared at Galen defiantly before glancing around the terrace, and Tom realised he was assessing their chance of escape. Arthur wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  Galen sought to wrestle back control. “Tom, a human interloper in the affairs of the Realm of Air, and Woodsmoke, will also be put to death.”

  Tom felt faint. He could barely believe his ears.

  “Woodsmoke, the spear you carried here is from Raghnall’s weapons room and is the weapon that pierced Raghnall’s chest. Do you deny it?”

  Woodsmoke shook off the restraining hands of the sylphs and stood shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, and when he spoke his voice was as hard as steel. “No. I sought to protect my friends and would do it again.”

  “And Tom, you are responsible for the death of Grindan. The death of a harmless servant will not be tolerated.”

  “He was not harmless!” Tom exclaimed. “He tried to kill me! Look at the marks on my neck.” And he pulled his cloak down, showing the bruising on his throat.

  Galen refused to engage in conversation, instead looking at Nimue. “And so, we come to Nimue, the witch.”

  Merlin stepped forward, shouting, “Galen, they all helped to rescue me and are responsible for my resurrection. I beg you to take that into consideration.”

  “We have, Merlin. And while their actions to rescue you were admirable, their other actions far outweigh them. The sentence remains.” Galen’s tone was firm, and he turned away from Merlin and back to Nimue.

  Tom felt as if the air had been ripped from his lungs and the bones ripped from his legs. He collapsed onto his chair and
looked at Woodsmoke, but Woodsmoke was glaring at Galen, his fists clenched, unable to offer Tom any reassurance. Beyond him, Arthur was stony faced.

  How could they hope to escape? They really were going to die.

  “Nimue, please stand before the panel.”

  Nimue rose slowly to her feet, brushing off her gown as she stood, the only one who now looked composed.

  “Your crime is that of imprisoning Merlin, lifelong friend of the Realm of Air, resulting in his eventual death. On his resurrection you then attempted to injure him once again, and were stopped only by our arrival.”

  Merlin again intervened. “I do not wish you to try Nimue. It is not your business.”

  “I decide what is tried here, Merlin, not you,” Galen said. “Nimue, have you anything to say?”

  She shrugged. “I have much to say on these charges, Galen, but what would be the point?”

  Galen didn’t seem to appreciate her tone, but continued. “Your casting of the spell of protection over Dragon’s Hollow and the Realm of Air following Raghnall’s death is much appreciated, and we will therefore commute your sentence from death to banishment from the Realm of Air, as long as you agree to maintain the spell in Dragon’s Hollow.”

  “So you seek not to kill me, but to imprison me for life in the Hollow?” she asked, amused.

  “You will keep your life.” Galen glared at her.

  “I am a witch of Avalon. Do you really think you could kill me or imprison me without magical help?” Her words fell into endless silence, and the panel twitched uncomfortably. Satisfied she had their full attention, she asked, “Who told you I have protected the Realm of Air?”

  “Adalyn said you had finished the spell and extended protection to us.” He looked to where Adalyn stood in the shadows of the pillared walkway.

  “I have cast the spell to protect the city, but such was the speed of my arrest, I could not complete the circle of protection.”

  Adalyn stepped into the weak sunshine. “That is not true. We ascertained the spell has been completed.”