Not every tower in the bay was kept by retired warlords; there were plenty that manned ships and went forth to conquer villages and towns. Some were brave enough to weather the storms of the ocean and travel to the far north, while most went south.
After a few minutes, Sandrine found a shallow cave for them to rest in for the night. Without a word to Maeve, she stretched out on the hard rock with her bundle, as though she were not cold and drenched from their swim in the sea. Maeve bit her lip and resigned herself to a light sleep, waking fitfully as the waves crashed against rocks. When deep sleep claimed her, she dreamed of the woman and the child. Low moans and desperate cries echoed throughout her slumber.
6
Wizard’s Tower
A cloud of smoke bloomed above Imer’s dark head, then caught the wind, which carried it up and across the battlements and into the serene blue sky. A sigh of satisfaction passed from his lips, along with another cloud of the semi-gray smoke. The rich smell of herbs and leather—a strange combination—passed under his nose, and he took a long whiff of the tobacco, drawing it into his lips and releasing it with his nostrils.
“Take it easy with the smoking, Imer,” drawled a lazy—and slightly slurred—voice. “We have to leave in the morning.”
One corner of Imer’s mouth tugged up, and he rested his head against the stone wall of the tower, closing his eyes. “Aye, so ye say when you’re drunker than a bamboozled wretch.”
“Drunker than a man on his wedding night,” the other voice snorted.
Opening his eyes, Imer raised an eyebrow. His brother, Ingram, sat across from him, his back propped up against the wall, legs spread, and a bottle of Fire’s Breath in one hand. Ingram had coaxed the tavern keeper into handing the bottle of rum over for free. Ingram had a way with words, and his silver tongue and one eye often encouraged others to take some sort of pity on him. Pity he did not need.
Imer grinned at memories of how they’d duped others—all in good fun, though. Their last mischievous joke had landed them a bag of coins, which Imer had used to hire a tailor. He sat up straighter, admiring his new clothes. Imer and his brother were both dressed from head to toe in rich, elegant black clothes lined with red around the edges. Usually they wore hats to cover their features, which gave them away for who they were. Sticking to the shadows and blending in was the reason they were still alive. Although they called the wizard’s tower home, they never stayed for more than a few months at a time. There were three homes they roamed between, returning to safety now and again when the direness of their situation forced them to seek haven.
“Master Ingram! Master Imer!” a panicked voice called from below.
“Bah,” Ingram moaned, “can’t they leave us alone? One last night in safety to celebrate, and still the orders come.”
Imer took the pipe from his mouth and frowned, his ears picking up the sound of running. “It’s the lad, Jordan.”
“Jordan the messenger, all he brings is bad news.”
Imer grinned at his brother’s mopey demeanor. “Perhaps it is good news this time.”
Ingram took another long swig of his drink before tossing the empty bottle over the edge of the battlement. He raised a dirty finger, partly covered with his gloves. “I wager it’s bad news. I’ll give you ten coins if it’s good.”
A crash sounded from below as the bottle shattered on the cobblestones. There was a cry and then the squawk of a chicken.
Imer snorted. “If you had coin to wager, I’d take you up on it, but I’m fairly certain you spent it all on drink.”
“I’m fairly sure you spent yours all on smoke,” Ingram returned.
“Hardly fair,” Imer protested, standing and patting his chest. “Look at our fine clothes, and the new feathers for our hats. I spent our coin on a worthy cause!”
“Master Ingram! Master Imer!” A lad dashed up the stairs, his short curly black hair wet with sweat and his long arms and legs pumping. He slowed down when he saw them, and relief crossed his brown face. “The wizard requests an audience with you. Before you depart,” he blurted out.
Imer stared at the lad. What pompous words from a youth. The wizard requested nothing. He made demands in exchange for protection, and those who sought shelter at the wizard’s tower obeyed his every word. Otherwise . . .
Imer shuddered when he remembered how it had been for him and Ingram before they found the wizard’s tower. Perched in a hidden corner of the known land, the tower was a city in itself, albeit a small one. The tower was surrounded by a high stone wall, and within the wall were the workers, those who lived under the shadow of the wizard, seeking protection while earning a living. On the outskirts of the area was grazing land for the flocks they kept, a place to plant gardens, and a place for the warriors to practice. They had a bakery, a blacksmith, a winery, livestock—chickens, cows, pigs, goats—and messengers who gathered knowledge from the world at large.
Imer shook his head to organize his thoughts. He and his brother had unique abilities. Others saw them as odd, or wanted to use them for their skill. After his experiences in the wider world, he knew it was better to trade service for protection within the hidden wizard’s tower, a haven for mages. True, the mages of the wizard’s tower had problems and politics of their own, but mostly, it was a welcome respite. When they grew antsy, the wizard sent them out on quests, usually to quiet unrest and keep chaos from coming to the tower’s doorstep. It was astonishing how wild the world was with corruption, but it was more than that. Rumor had it the fae were taking people, and the actions of the fae would make the Prophecy of Erinyes come true. The wizard claimed that it was in everyone’s best interest for the Prophecy of Erinyes to come true, and whatever they could do to speed it along would help.
Imer stretched in an attempt to sharpen his mind, then peered over the battlements, taking in deep breaths of the late summer air. The view from the top of the tower was nothing short of glorious. To the south lay a great body of water sparkling in the distance, while to the north was the mountain that hid the tower’s presence. It was difficult to access the tower, and the mists that hid it from view and the way it blended in with its surroundings made it even more so. Indeed, finding the wizard’s tower was nigh impossible—unless one had magic.
Flexing his fingers, Imer took one last deep breath, then tucked the pipe away. “Lead on then, Jordan, we’re coming.”
The inside of the tower smelled like books, old parchment, scrolls, candles, and wax. The battlements were halfway up, the best place for warriors to station themselves should the wizard’s tower ever come under attack. Inside though, winding staircases led all the way up to where the wizard held audience and kept his magic.
The first time Imer had entered the wizard’s domain, he’d been mute with astonishment. Thousands of scrolls covered the walls, the books in the library were thick tomes full of secrets, and the uncanny scent of wisdom somehow filled the air. It was enough to breathe in the same air as the legends had and know he was in the presence of something much greater than himself. When he stood at the top of the wizard’s tower, he understood the pull toward the sky, the move heavenward, and the desire to awaken the celestials and bring them back down to the land. Then, and only then, would there be an end to their suffering. No longer would they be hunted, and humans would not see them as oddities for use. Instead, they would see them for what they were: magnificent beings, full of old power, like the celestials.