Tower Lord

“Make no mistake, my love,” she said, smearing coal dust on her face. “You are unlikely to meet a being more vile and dangerous as the man you’ll meet tonight. I can afford no more nostalgia.”

The binding flared, the pain severe but just below the level when it became unbearable. Her control was absolute now, forbidding any hesitation or even thought. She would will it and he would act. He was completely her creature.

She went to the window, pushing open the blinds and clambering out onto the rooftop. She lingered, surveying the street below then ran along the tiles to leap to the rooftop opposite. He followed as she continued to make her way across the city from roof to roof, wall to wall, in a tireless display of athleticism that would have earned his grudging admiration, although the continuous flare of the binding left him incapable of any such feeling.

She led him north, away from the dense streets clustered around the main square, to the broader avenues near the docks. She stopped atop a wall overlooking a square where a small temple sat surrounded by trees. The temple was a rectangle of pillars supporting a flat-topped pyramidal roof crowned with a statue of a woman, her face hidden in her marble cowl. Unlike the other temples Frentis had seen this one was guarded, two armoured men with spears flanking the entrance. The door was closed but outlined by the glow of a fire within.

The woman rose, sprinting along the wall to launch herself into the nearest tree, catching a branch and hauling herself up with barely a leaf falling as she did so. He watched her crawl along the underside of the branch then drop onto the roof of the temple. Had the binding left any room for consideration, he would have concluded this was a feat he couldn’t match, despite all his training and years in the pits. But her will left no room for doubt and he followed without demur, running, leaping, catching the branch and crawling to the roof all as if he had done it a thousand times before.

She led him to the rear of the temple, past the statue, even this close, he could see only shadow in the cowl. The woman peered over the edge of the temple roof, withdrew a dagger from her wrist sheath and stepped out into space, turning in midair. There was a faint sound, only the softest thud. Frentis looked over the edge seeing her sheathing her dagger, standing astride the body of a third guard. He dropped down next to her as she tested the door in the rear wall of the temple. It swung open, smooth and quiet on oiled hinges. He saw her hesitate. This was unexpected.

The interior of the temple was austere, bare walls devoid of mosaics or reliefs, a narrow bed in the corner next to a table holding pen, ink and a few sheets of parchment. The space was dominated by the large fire burning in the centre, a marble basin filled with coals burning hot and bright, the smoke escaping through holes in the ceiling. A man sat in a chair facing the fire, his back to them. Frentis could see only the crown of his grey head and his hands on the armrests, gnarled and spotted with age. The woman stepped into the temple, forsaking stealth with a loud clatter as she shoved the door fully open. Frentis saw the hand on the armrest twitch, but the man in the chair didn’t rise.

“A temple to the Nameless Seer,” she said in Volarian, striding forward to stand in front of the old man, regarding him with an arched eyebrow. She kept Frentis where he was, dagger drawn, ready to stab through the chair-back at the slightest command. “This is where you choose to seclude yourself these days?”

There was a faint sound from the man in the chair that might have been a laugh. The voice was frail, the words unaccented. “Forgive an old man a small conceit.” A pause as the grey head shifted to regard her. “Still clinging to the same shell I see.”

“Whilst you have allowed yours to wither.” She examined the old man’s form with obvious disgust.

“What better protection from the Ally’s servile dogs? Why bother taking the body of a man who can’t walk more than ten feet without falling to his knees?”

“Why indeed.” She glanced around at the temple’s unvarnished interior. “I would have thought the Emperor might provide more salubrious accommodation for your dotage. Given the great service you did his forebear.”

“Oh he offered me great rewards, fine houses, servants and a sizeable pension. I asked only for this. People come seeking wisdom from the servant of the Nameless Seer and leave happy for the cost of a few coppers. A fitting diversion for a lonely old man.”

The woman’s lips curled into a small sneer. “I am supposed to believe you have mellowed with age? Don’t forget what I’ve seen, what we did.”

“What we were made to do.”

“I recall no reluctance on your part.”

“Reluctance? Oh there was that, when it was time to leave you, then I was truly reluctant. When your father’s army came slogging out of the marshes, even more so. I had changed by then you see, wanting only a quiet life, but the Emperor asked for my aid, asked. No commands, no threats . . . No torture. He just asked. It was the last time I used my gift.”

The woman stared at him in silence for a moment. “Why was the door unlocked?”

“It’s been unlocked for twenty years now. The guards are here at the Emperor’s insistence, not mine. In truth, I expected you and your young friend sooner, but my scrying is not what it was. It’s the way with stolen gifts, don’t you find? They tend to dull with age.”

She took a firmer grip on her dagger and he saw her hesitate before forcing out a final question. “Why did you leave . . . me?”

“You know why. You were cruel and fierce and beautiful, but the Ally made you monstrous. It broke my heart.”

“You don’t know what the Ally made me, Revek. But you’ll discover it soon enough.”

The binding seared Frentis with an implacable command, spurring him forward, dagger drawn back. The old man surged to his feet, quicker than any old man should, raising his arms, fingers splayed, turning, revealed a face of great age but also profound sadness as he regarded Frentis. His fingers spasmed and fire engulfed his hands, but this was not the illusion conjured by One Eye all those years ago. The blast of heat on his face told him this old man had just brought forth true fire from his hands. He raised them, two flaming fists aimed at Frentis as he charged.

The woman moved in a blur, looping her arm over the old man’s head to draw her dagger across his throat, releasing a red rush of blood. The old man’s fire died as he stumbled, uncharred hands clutching at his throat.

There was a crash as the front door thrust open, the two guards rushing in, eyes wide in horror as they viewed the scene. The woman killed the one nearest her with a dagger throw to the neck, drawing her short sword and rushing the other. He was quick and well trained, parrying her thrust with his spear blade then jabbing at her face and neck, keeping her at bay. Frentis started forward then stopped as the old man’s hand snared his ankle. He tried to pull away but couldn’t. The binding was gone.

Frentis staggered with the sudden rush of freedom, the pain vanishing in an instant. The old man’s mouth was moving in a welter of red spray, his other hand clamped around the gaping wound in his neck. Frentis crouched to hear his words, spoken in Realm Tongue, the faintest whisper, “The seed will grow.” Too quick to catch it the old man’s hand came away from his neck, clamping onto Frentis’s face, smearing, the blood staining his skin, clouding his eyes, seeping into his mouth. He reeled away, the old man’s hand coming free of his ankle, the binding returning instantly.

He looked up to see the woman side-step a thrust of the guard’s spear, catch hold of the haft and use it to swing a kick into his face. He staggered back, the spear coming loose from his hands, fumbling for the sabre in his belt. He was too slow, her short sword thrusting easily through the mail on his chest, plunging deep to find the heart.

She dragged her blade from the corpse and looked up at Frentis, striding forward, eyes searching his face. “He touched you.” She took a wine jug from a nearby table and splashed it onto his face, washing the blood away, then stood back in a fighting stance, sword poised and ready. The binding surged to its greatest severity yet, making him tremble from head to foot, his mind filled with the scream his lips couldn’t voice. She held him for what seemed an age, wary eyes searching his face the whole time. Finally she grunted and loosened her grip, letting him fall to the temple floor, gasping and writhing in pain.

Through the shuddering aftermath he saw her move to the old man’s body, kicking his lifeless chest, breaking frail ribs with an audible crack. She grasped his grey head in a tight fist, hauling the corpse upright, the short sword coming down once then twice to sever the neck. She lifted the head high, tilting her own back, mouth wide, the rain of blood falling into it as she drank.

The binding was loose enough to allow Frentis to vomit.

“Now,” the woman said, tossing the old man’s head aside and dragging a sleeve across her mouth, blood and coal dust smearing together in a black paste. “You’ll see what the Ally made me, Revek.”

She sheathed her sword and raised her hands, eyes closed in concentration, teeth clenched. For a moment it seemed nothing would happen then fire engulfed her hands and she screamed, both in pain and triumph. She laughed as she sent fire in a stream towards the old man’s corpse, leaving it in an instant shroud of flame, then cast fiery whips about the temple, setting light to anything that could burn. Soon the whole place was wreathed in flame and the heat fast becoming unbearable.