“Filthy monsters,” the wizard said and as he took another sip, Edge noticed that his fingernails had blackened and had sharpened to talons. His eyes had grown hard. “I shall go to the elemental and prepare. We shall be ready when you call.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Edge said.
“You know, it is a pity we find ourselves in this rut,” Artemus said. “My life has become a series of battles and long sleeps . . . I very much miss the time we used to spend together conversing. You, me, and the others.”
“And Sarine?” Edge said. His great grandmother was a bonding wizardess and despite her advanced age was still going strong. She was the Mage School’s official historian and was currently off on a trip to the gnome libraries in Alberri to do research.
Artemus smiled wistfully. “Ah yes. Her too.”
“I promise, I’ll do my best to make sure you get that time,” Edge promised.
“Oh, that’s okay, my boy! No need to promise something out of your control. We move as the Bowl wills. That’s the curse of being named.” He let go of the cup and it disappeared before it hit the ground. “Now go along while I prepare.”
Artemus waved his hand and Edge found himself once more standing in front of the icy door in the bond. He couldn’t help but feel guilt at his great grandfather’s predicament, but there was little he could do about it at the moment. Shrugging, he let his mental construct dissolve and left the bond, letting his mind succumb to sleep.
When Edge woke, it was still a few hours before dawn. He reached through the bond and found Deathclaw many miles to the north, at the base of the mountains. He was sitting high in a tree, in a trance-like state, his body resting as he watched a series of campfires in the far distance through slitted eyes.
What did you find? he asked
A challenge, the raptoid replied, and sent Edge a series of memories and images, telling him what he had discovered about the raiders that had ransacked Lillian’s village. Their numbers were overwhelming. Do you wish to call in help? Perhaps Fist and Rufus could come.
Edge considered it briefly. It would take the ogre several days to arrive, even on his rogue horse. He didn’t feel like waiting. The little girl’s memories were still vivid in his mind. I woke Artemus. He’s ready to join us.
It will still be a challenge, Deathclaw said, though he let out a mental chuckle as he considered the strategies they might employ. A challenge I will enjoy.
Edge found the raptoid’s enthusiasm infectious. He rose from the bunk and pulled his equipment back on, then went back out to retrieve his horse. He re-saddled her and was about to mount up when a small voice called out behind him.
“Justan?”
Sir Edge froze and turned to find Lillian standing in the doorway to the farmhouse, sleepy-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean, Sir Edge?”
“Yes?” he asked.
“I know you can’t stay,” Lillian said, and her lip quivered. She rushed forward and embraced him. “I just wanted you to know that . . .”
Edge patted her head and gently pried her arms away. He took a step back and gave her shoulders a soft squeeze. “It’s okay, Lillian. You’ll be safe here with your family.”
“It’s not that. It’s-.” She hesitated again, frowning. “Are you and Deathclaw going to kill those monsters?”
“We won’t let them hurt anyone else,” he promised her.
She nodded quickly, but the frown didn’t leave her face. “You would have been a great daddy. You know that?”
Edge patted her head again and urged her back inside the house before mounting his horse. As he rode off into the darkness, there was a lump in his throat he couldn’t quite swallow back.
Chapter Four
Nod - Zeston
“I’m sorry, sir. You shouldn’t be in this part of the tower. The line for supplicants begins at the bridge outside,” said a young woman with the officious air of someone given a responsibility they felt was beneath them.
Nod quickly assessed her. From the cut of her robes, this girl was an apprentice. She looked to be in her mid-teens, so she’d probably only been at the Mage School for a couple years. Not much of a looker, though maybe she could have been if she tried harder. Her ruffled hair and the circles under her eyes told him she was more interested in study than socializing.
More importantly, the silver and white runes on her robes told him that this particular apprentice was a spirit magic user with a talent for binding magic. This made her a possible threat. Not that she had any magical ability to worry about, but if she used spirit sight and saw the black rune on the back of his left hand, she would know he was named at the Dark Bowl. Things had been so much easier before spirit magic had been taught at the school.
He was wearing fingerless gloves to cover up that rune, but wizards sometimes made people remove their gloves to check for black runes. If she did demand he take the gloves off, he’d have to kill her. That would be messy. He’d have to hide the body and hope it wasn’t discovered long enough for him to complete his tasks. Fortunately, she didn’t seem all that worried to find an unfamiliar man in this section of the Rune Tower.
Nod bowed obsequiously. “My apologies, Love. I’ve already been in the line. A friend o’ mine is holding my spot while I run to find the privy,” he lied in an exaggerated accent. It was something he had made up for this particular persona, a mix of east Khalpan and southern Razbeckian dialects. “Your directions would be much appreciated.”
The apprentice let out a tired sigh. This must happen fairly often during naming days. The Mage School set aside two days a month for supplicant warriors to approach the Bowl of Souls in the hope of being named.
Ever since the school had announced that warriors would be allowed to try once a year, would-be heroes made the journey from every corner of the Known Lands. The waiting line stretched nearly to the school’s main gate at times. Armed Battle Academy guards watched over the supplicants to make sure that none of them got out of hand.
Most of these supplicants came for the fame and glory that naming would bring. Little did they know that naming came with a lifetime of responsibilities. They thought that the Bowl was simply searching for the most skilled warriors. In reality, it searched their souls and only chose those rare few that it knew would make the right choices at the right time.
Of course, Nod had no intention of going anywhere near the Bowl of Souls. He had been named at the Dark Bowl decades ago. The way it worked was the polar opposite of the Bowl of Souls. It didn’t matter how skilled he had been, only how he could best be used. In Nod’s case, it had branded his soul with the name Zeston, which was also his job title. It meant that he was the Dark Prophet’s retrieval specialist.
The Dark Bowl hadn’t stopped with giving him a new name. It had bound itself to his soul, then shoved the memories and skills of past Zestons into his mind. One day, he would die and his memories would join the others to be given to the next Zeston. Nod was determined that it would be a very long time before that happened.
Sometimes these predecessors of his spoke to him, but Nod had learned to filter their opinions out. Their knowledge was all he needed. Today he was using that knowledge to lead him to the items he was here to steal.
The apprentice pointed down the hallway Nod had just come from. “There are closets for disposal of waste outside of the Rune tower near the center square.” She saw the grimace that appeared on his face and sighed again. “If you don’t think you can make it that far, there is a ‘privy’ across the corridor from the main library entrance. It is for students, but the wizards do let outsiders use it in case of emergency.”
Nod bowed again. “Many thanks, Love.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said and gave him an impatient gesture.
His smile fading, he turned and walked back the way he had come but kept his thief’s eye trained on her. The thief’s eye was one of the abilities granted to him by his title. He could use it to see in any dir
ection regardless of the way his natural eyes were looking. It only saw in black and white, but he could see vividly regardless of the light.
He walked forward with purposeful strides until he saw the apprentice shake her head to herself and enter a side room. Nod turned and slid into a shadowy alcove. This place was full of such nooks and crannies.
The Rune Tower was a mind-numbingly enormous structure. The base of it was a quarter of a mile in diameter and the exact number of floors was unknown. The top of the tower was so high that it disappeared into the clouds above on most days and the number of subterranean levels was a subject of debate. Even the memories of Nod’s predecessors contradicted each other.
The one thing his memories agreed upon was the route to the Bowl of Souls and the directions to the vault where Nod’s first goal lay. He just had to get there without being noticed. That an apprentice had stepped out of a room and surprised him wasn’t a good start. He could cloak himself in darkness, another skill given by the Dark Bowl, but that wouldn’t keep him from being seen in these well-lit corridors.
He waited a few moments, extending his senses to make sure that no one else was approaching. When he was reasonably certain that the corridor was empty, he left the shadows and rushed forward on silent feet. He darted past the door that the apprentice had entered and turned down another corridor that led to a stone stairwell that led both up and down.
Nod paused at the entrance to the stairs. He didn’t sense anyone descending from above, but he could hear distant footsteps far below. He crept upward, knowing that his goal was a full twenty floors up from his current location.
As he climbed he kept his senses extended, employing every trick in his arsenal to make certain that he wouldn’t be surprised again. His lithe body moved tirelessly and as he reached the tenth floor, his senses warned him that a powerful magical presence was somewhere ahead. He climbed two more flights of stairs, the presence growing, and then he stopped and pressed his ear up against the stone wall. He was certain that the Hall of Majesty was on the other side. There was no entrance to it from this stairwell, but he knew the Bowl of Souls was only yards away.
Nod’s dark rune vibrated against the back of his hand and he briefly considered what would happen if someone like him did approach the Bowl of Souls and dip their weapon in its waters. Would the Bowl burn him to cinders with its holy power or simply alert the local wizards that an enemy was in their midst? Would it sever his connection to the Dark Bowl? There was one other possibility. What if it named him?
The thought made Nod chuckle. His skills would be useful to the Bowl’s cause, but he was not the type of person the holy artifact was looking for. Besides, even if it did decide he could be turned to the side of good, he didn’t think he’d like the punishments that would come his way for betraying the Dark Voice.
Nod pushed away from the wall and continued his climb. He passed the openings to several corridors. One time he saw a wizard walking in the distance, but he managed to slip by unnoticed. At the eighteenth floor, he paused once again.
His memories told him that the entranceway to the vault would be protected. There would be a series of traps for him to overcome. As expected, the next set of stairs was different from the previous ones.
The stairwell narrowed and became an upward spiral and the rock used in its construction was a slightly different hue. He bent to get a closer look and noticed a tiny set of runes carved in the corner of each step. Access to this particular vault was scheduled in advance and any unauthorized pressure on these steps would trigger an alert.
Easy enough, Nod thought.
He placed his hands against the inner wall and jumped up to plant his feet against the outside wall, suspending himself above the steps. Nod’s body was just long enough to manage this particular maneuver in the narrow twisting stairwell. His muscles strained as he edged his way upward, moving one foothold or handhold at a time. He was grateful that he only had to continue this awkward climb for a short time before the runed steps ended and he arrived at the vault door.
The door was solid iron and covered in protective runes. It was impervious to magical attack. Each stone in every wall surrounding the vault was inscribed with similar protections. In order to open the door, a wizard had to touch a series of runes on the door using each of the magical elements. The pattern was secret and changed monthly.
This was where Nod could only trust in the Dark Prophet’s other servant in the Mage School. Nod didn’t know the wizard’s identity, only that they were highly respected and too well-placed for the Dark Prophet to risk having them steal this item themselves. Nod, on the other hand, was a bit more expendable. If he was caught, the Dark Bowl could always bind another Zeston.
Wincing slightly, he reached out and grasped the door handle. He pulled and it swung open soundlessly. He looked at the door jamb and smiled.
It’s always the oldest tricks that work, he thought. A small rock had been placed in the lock plate to prevent the door from latching. All he had to do was remove it on his way out and none would be the wiser.
The moment Nod stepped inside the vault he knew that this place was dangerous. Powerful magical artifacts of every kind lined the walls, most of them in protective chests. Most of this power was neutral, but some of them radiated malevolent energies from violent, bound spirits. A few of them pulsed black in his sight and Nod knew that his master would love to possess every item in this room.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t carry it all and Nod had been sent for one item in particular. That didn’t stop his fingers from itching as he passed shelf upon shelf filled with legendary items. He let out a low whistle as he saw the black mace of Cassandra, the Dark Prophet’s previous Priestess of War. It was leaning against one wall, its aura thick with menace. He had seen her use that thing to destroy magical armor and weapons on several occasions.
He finally found the item he sought a nearby shelf. It was a long slender box of black wood. This was also an item that had been in Cassandra’s possession when she had been killed. The surface of it was carved in intricate runes of bewitching magic and Nod’s inner eye showed him glowing bands of white and black spirit magic crisscrossing it to contain the presence of the item within. In the center of the lid was a single jade stone.
He grabbed it and as he lifted it, he hesitated. It felt a little light. What if the item wasn’t inside? Should he open it and check? He feared to do so. If the box was opened, and the Prophet was anywhere nearby, he might sense its presence and come to destroy it. Yet, if the dagger wasn’t in the box he would be wasting his time.
Even as he considered that dangerous action, the rune on his hand pulsed with recognition and he relaxed. Inside that box was Celos, the Jade Dagger, the last remaining of the Dark Prophet’s ceremonial daggers. He slid the box into the inner pocket of his jacket.
His goal in hand, he turned to leave, but his eyes fell on a nearby shelf. There was a small leather pouch sitting there. It wasn’t anything special in and of itself. There weren’t any magical protections on it or anything. But the items inside glowed with every type of magic imaginable. The intensity of it, even among the rest of these artifacts, gave Nod a chill.
“Hello, what’s this?” he whispered to himself and carefully opened the pouch to peer inside. A gasp escaped his lips as he recognized what it was. Even his master’s wizard contact hadn’t known this was in here. This was an item that could change the tide of the coming war. He tucked it away in another pocket and left the room, removing the small rock so that the vault door would lock behind him. Chuckling, he made his way back down the staircase, certain that he would be rewarded for this.
When he left the Rune Tower a short time later, he blended in with the disappointed warriors on their way out. The sun was on a downward path. Shadows were lengthening and soon the last of the warrior supplicants would be politely ejected from the Mage School grounds.
Nod still had one more assignment to complete before he could leave, so he quicken
ed his pace. He sought the guest houses near the front gates of the school. These weren’t for mere supplicants, but housed important visitors to the school. As he neared the school’s enormous outer wall, he overheard guards say a name that made him stop cold.
“Did you hear? The Daughter of Xedrion went up to stand before the Bowl,” one of them, a wide-shouldered dwarf, said.
“Sir Edge’s wife? The Hell-Trainer?” said the other one, a young female. “When was this?”
“About an hour ago,” the dwarf replied. “She was standing in line with the rabble before one of the wizards recognized her and brought her inside.”
Nod forced himself to keep walking. Jhonate bin Leeths was going before the Bowl? Why would she do such a thing? She was a member of the Roo-Tan. Her allegiance was to the Jharro Grove. Her husband may have split his allegiance and served both the Bowl and the Grove, but Nod’s sources claimed that she would never do such a thing.
Her weapon was a Jharro wood staff. Could the Bowl of Souls even use a living Jharro wood weapon in the naming ceremony? How would the Jharro tree react to the permanent binding nature of a naming rune? It was an intriguing question. Would the power of such a weapon be strengthened or lessened?
Nod told himself that it didn’t matter. In fact, it was to his advantage that Jhonate was inside the Rune Tower. With Sir Edge and his bonded away on some errand, this meant that her home was unguarded. He could enter their home, take the second item he had come for, and leave before she returned.
Not far to the left of the Mage School’s main gate, in the shadow of its 50-foot-high walls were a dozen small homes. These guest houses were little more than tidy cottages, but the Mage School didn’t see their size or distance from the tower as the insult that Nod knew it was. In Nod’s mind, these homes were the wizards’ way of telling their guests that they were begrudgingly allowed to stay within the walls, but not trusted enough to let them stay inside the school grounds proper.
Sir Edge Page 4