The Towers of Adrala - Book One, Part One: Saranoda

  ***

  The four sloshed on for several turns before they came to a collapsed section of the ditch.  Pird deftly climbed up the rubble onto the street.  He turned to help Sye up when something cold came to rest on Pird’s neck.

  “Take it easy,” cautioned a gruff voice behind him, “And before you do anything stupid I want you to look up.”

  Pird obeyed and glanced up.  In three of the smashed windows stood cloaked figures with bows, arrows nocked and strings taut, pointing at Pird.  Pird slowly raised his hands into the air.

  “Did you fall asleep up there Pird?”  Sye called out.

  “Your friends,” the voice prodded, “How many?”

  “Twenty,” lied Pird, his heart racing.  What's going on?

  “Likely story,” the voice replied, the sword on Pird's neck shifting slightly, making his skin crawl.  Two men walked past him, swords drawn.  Pird saw a glint within their cloaks. 

  “Who are you?” he heard Sye ask, “Where's Pird?”

  “I'm fine,” Pird yelled.

  The sword pressed harder, “Silence.”

  “Why should I listen to thieves that would steal armor off dead soldiers?” Pird challenged. 

  The swordsmen hastily backed away from the ditch.  The archers in the windows shifted their aim from Pird to his friends below.

  “That's funny,” said the man behind the sword, “Coming from a looter.  What poor soul's shop did you rob for your blue trinkets?”

  “Looters?” asked Pird, “Wait, you are soldiers!  We're from Eretia, don't shoot!”

  “Eretia?” asked the man just as a bowwoman let an arrow fly.  It struck something in the ditch.  The attacker ducked away from the window.  A sliver blue bolt buried itself in the window's wooden frame with a dull thud.

  “Hold your fire!” the soldier shouted, taking his sword away from Pird.

  Pird rushed to the ditch.  Sye still had his crossbow raised, finger still pulling the trigger ring.  His arm shook and he looked pale.  Eris stood beside him, arms raised and palms outstretched.  A broken bit of building floated before her, an arrow buried in its stone

  There was a defiant look in Eris’ eyes that Pird had never seen before.  It wasn’t a look of anger, for Eris did not feel anger, but almost like she was challenging her attackers to threaten her friends again.  She seemed to have no difficulty levitating the large slab of stone.

  Sye lowered his arm and turned over his hand to stare at his palm.  The trigger ring slowly slipped from his finger.

  “I almost killed her,” he said to himself in disbelief, “I nearly killed someone.”

  “Only in self-defense” said the soldier that had prodded Pird, squatting next to the ditch over them, “Though if you hadn't missed my soldier I'd have to return the favor,” he offered a hand and helped them up.  “I'm Jahrst, former commander of the Benjiin guard.”

  “Former commander?” Pird asked.

  “Dishonorable discharge,” the big man said proudly, tapping his breastplate.  It was obviously a little small for his nearly giant stature.  His face was stern and carried a heavy brow and strong chin.  His small dark eyes rested carefully on each of the four before he continued, “Former commander and current custodian.  It's a long story and I don't like to be anywhere in these overrun parts of my city for too long.  Your weapon,” he gestured to the arm crossbow Sye was folding away, “If you didn't steal it, might I ask who forged it?”

  “An Eretian tinkerer,” Sye said quickly, “He mostly made toys, so you’ve probably never heard of him.”

  Jahrst's eyes passed between the four again with suspicion, many thoughts passing over his furrowed brow.

  “Why are we deceiving him?” Pird whispered to Sye without looking away from the commander.

  “We must avoid a panic,” Sye whispered back, “With this outbreak of Magic they don't need any more wood added to the fire.”

  “So!” Jahrst interrupted loudly, clearly annoyed at their hushed conversation, “Let me welcome you to our proud home at Benji, where we think small and build smaller!”

  There was a strange mix of pride and disgust in the formidable custodian’s voice when he mentioned Benji that perplexed Pird.  Jahrst turned, making a quick hand gesture.  The three archers and two swordsmen formed up behind him and the four as he led them through the city.  The streets were cracked and caked with mud.  Four men ran by, swords bouncing at their hips.  Pird noted that many of them lacked proper armor, most of the plates and chainmail seemed to have been put together piecemeal.  They came to a large circular clearing, what looked like the remains of a bazaar.  The collapsed stalls looked like they've been abandoned for years instead of a few weeks.  A few mud-streaked tents were pitched and a canopy was roped over a battered desk.  Jahrst sat in the chair behind it and opened his mouth to speak.  Two men hurried by, a body held between them.  A broken arrow protruded from the dead man's blood spattered clothes.  His hands were burnt and peeling and both the carriers' cloaks were pockmarked with blackened holes.  Pird felt his stomach turn at the sight.

  “Fire-user,” Jahrst muttered.  The two men entered a short, leaning building and reappeared moments later without their dead charge.

  “Benji's newest morgue,” said Jahrst, turning to the four.  “Though at this rate we'll have to find another one.”

  “What's going on here?” asked Sye.

  “An insurrection that was unintended and caused by nothing, except maybe Ignorance herself,” Jahrst leaned his heavy build back in his chair, “I’ve seen some of the things that we did to D’buul a decade ago during our ill-planned invasion, and what Mirith did to us in turn.  None of it seems that terrible anymore, not after what happened only a few days ago.  The wave was bad enough, wiped out the canals before we even knew what happened.  So many of us were pulled out to sea, in case you were curious about the lack of bodies.  Just as soon as we stooped down to begin picking up the pieces this ‘Madness’ happened.”

  Madness? Sye thought, Or the Broken?  I wonder if this is what Dayv had mistaken Scorn for.

  “It happened to everyone, all at once.”  Jahrst continued, “People call it Magic, and rightly so.  It's hard for me to describe, but one of my men, Darmin, was quite the philosopher.  He said it was like the world was blind and one day we all could see.”

  “That's an apt way to put it,” said Sye.

  “Didn't help him when a building fell on him,” Jahrst remarked casually.

  “Oh...I'm sorry, I didn't-” said Sye, going pale.

  “We have two problems,” Jahrst continued, ignoring him, “One, there are people out there who were driven out their minds by this Magic.  We call them the Mad.  They've been reduced to animals, they'll turn their power on anything that moves, or more often, onto themselves.”

  “So you're just slaughtering them, as you say, like 'animals'?” asked Zook with a hint of angered disgust.

  “We try not to,” Jahrst replied, not rising to Zook's provocation, “We do our best to run them down first, then lock them up until they come to their senses.  Some do that by themselves and they either come to and help us restore order or they become our second problem,” his brow furrowed, “A few have taken a keen liking to their new powers.  This Magic is indiscriminate; it's blessed and cursed both the poor and the rich, the law and the lawless.  We have looters, pleasure killers, rapists, just take your pick.  If this isn't just going on in Benji, I can only imagine what the other cities are dealing with or what kind of chaos is in Mirith.”

  “So you thought we were looters?” asked Pird, “You're killing people who are probably stealing to survive?”

  “You don't need silver or diamonds to survive,” Jahrst said bluntly, “Benji has become a mausoleum, grave digging is committed by vermin.”

  “Darmin wasn't the only philosopher I see,” said Sye.

  “Here in Benji people think that spurned commanders make great school teachers,” Jahrst replied evenly.
  He opened a small box amongst the organized clutter of his desk and picked out a cigar.  “My own I assure you,” he replied to the four's looks.  He propped it in the corner of his mouth and snapped his fingers under the cigar's tip.  There was a small puff of flame and red embers fell from the brown stub.

  “You create fire?” asked Zook, “I can only make it move.”

  “Only if there is something to catch it,” Jahrst removed the cigar and slowly let the sweet smelling smoke slip from his mouth, “So, will you stay here and help me or am I going to have to label you 'refugee' and send you off to the Bowels in a springcart?”

  “A springcart?” asked Pird excitedly, “Those are so much fun.”

  “To the Bowels?” Sye asked, confused, “To Bakaar?  What about Mirith?”

  “The Third City is on the other side of Adrala,” Jahrst explained, “Though that didn't stop the other Eretians and-”

  “Wait,” Zook cut in, “Other Eretians?”

  Jahrst took a long time before answering, clearly irritated by the interruption, “Yes, I heard what happened to your island.  A pity, I always liked the buzz from your cigars and no one makes medicine like you lot.  I bet everyone is going to be missing Eretia soon enough.”

  “Did all of them go to Mirith?” Eris asked.

  “All but one,” said Jahrst, “An elderly man, short.  He talked like Darmin, fancy words and idioms.”

  “Magist,” Eris said.

  “You know him?” Jahrst asked curiously.

  “He's our godfather,” said Pird.

  “Really?” said Jahrst, clearly amused, “He helped out here for a few days before leaving on a springcart going over the western Curian.  He said there was something he wanted to see in the Bowels.  He had one mean way with water, could even produce ice.  I have yet to see one of my men do that trick.”

  Of course our smartipants teacher already knows all the tricks, thought Pird, Probably already has some lesson plans for me to sleep through.

  “What’s to the west he would want to see?” Sye wondered, “Tower Krakrenenor?”

  “We disappeared in a tower,” Pird whispered to him, “It would make sense for him to look at another one.”

  “Anyway,” Jahrst continued, “All trade, communication, everything from Mirith has dried up.  We're assuming that its situation is as bad as ours, if not worse.  Bakaar is stable along with the smaller towns on the way there.”

  “And if you wanted to go to Mirith?” asked Sye.

  “You'd have to walk east on the Curian Way to the Delta.  The Delta is a big town and, as far as my last messenger went, it's beginning to regain control.  If you can find a wind-up caravel and a captain, you can probably sail upriver all the way to Mirith.”

  “And if I can't?”

  “You'll have to walk, following the Silk River.  Eventually you'll have to cross it as you'll come to the Wedge and you'll have Silk River on one side and its twin the Ditch on the other.  As it's over a thousand kilometers away, it'll take you about a month if you hurry.  A few weeks if you can find some horses.”

  “Come with us Sye,” Eris pleaded.

  Pird looked to his contested friend and saw his brow furrowed with conflict.  Come with us, said Pird, Somebody needs to keep Zook in check when Eris and I aren’t enough.

  For a moment it looked like Sye was about to give in, but then Jahrst had one more piece of information for them.

  “Though I met with the respected Mayor of Eretia, he said he was going to take his survivors to Flaar and that the great insect would lend him a few big flying bugs.  I respect the man, but Flaar just only tolerates us.  If I’m mistaken, your Eretian friends are probably already in Mirith.”

  Sye closed his eyes, “I'll see you three off.”

  Eris remained silent, as did Pird and Zook.  Jahrst beckoned and a soldier appeared at his side.  The man seemed to have stripped down his own armor to nearly nothing.  His eyes were cold and his short hair was beginning to gray, though the lines on his face didn't seem to be caused entirely by age.

  “Jakmin, take your men and these four to Kingsmin's springcarts, use the Dallas Hill roads.

  “Jahrst,” replied the soldier with only just the right amount of respect, “Those roads are overrun by-”

  “Dallas is the quickest and the...safest way, go now and you can get back before noon,” Jahrst glanced sideways at the four.

  Pird saw Zook and Sye exchange looks.  It was clear from their faces that they didn't like the little conflict either.

  “If you stop in Esdelen,” said Jahrst, getting up, “Do me a favor and check on my brother Fahrst.  He's an alcoholic and a bum, but I've made certain promises to keep him out of trouble.”

  “This way,” Jakmin ordered.  Six men stood from their various places in the bazaar and arranged themselves neatly around the four.

  “Like a ballet around here,” Pird said under his breath.

  “Except we dance to a different tune,” Jakmin replied, surprising Pird who had thought he was out of earshot.

  “Commander!”

  Everyone turned to the source of the cry.  A man ran from around a corner.  He tumbled toward them, clutching his shoulder.  His cloak was damp with blood and red droplets spattered the muddy stone.

  “Commander!” he gasped, nearly collapsing on Jahrst's desk.  “An ambush, at the warehouse crossing.  A flame-user and two stone throwers.  Falmin and two others are pinned down.  I only just got away and got clipped by a rock and...” He gasped suddenly and collapsed onto the mud, leaving a bloody smear on the desk.

  “Get Lunder,” Jahrst ordered, drawing his longsword.  Three men organized themselves around him.  “Where's the rest of you?” Jahrst asked angrily.  The three looked at each other in confusion.

  “Where are they?” Jahrst roared, smashing the hilt of his sword onto the table.

  “I think you sent them out on patrol,” said Jakmin coolly.  Pird noticed the obvious absence of 'sir' at the end.

  Jahrst growled in frustration, “I'll have to borrow two of your archers, Jakmin.”

  Jakmin nodded and a pair of his soldiers joined Jahrst's. 

  “I take my leave,” said Jahrst.  He and his soldiers disappeared around the corner the bleeding man had come from.