“We set up camp on the spot and brought everyone with us, deciding that with such close and open quarters no more would be taken, or at least the culprits would not go unseen. Turock originally thought some wild beasts roaming in the Tinderlands might be at fault. But then strange things began to happen.”
Ahaesarus frowned, trying to guess what might have been taking them, but unable to think of a plausible reason.
“Strange things such as what?” asked Ahaesarus.
“No one who went riding outside our borders returned,” said Turock, his expression serious. “No birds from our rookeries every flew back. When the moon was high, we’d hear strange chanting from across the river, deep in the Tinderlands. To be honest, we felt under siege without having the slightest idea what was tormenting us. I began to build this tower so that sentries could keep watch at night, hoping it might grant us more sleep come nightfall.”
“We were lucky Turock had already been training many of our fellow citizens in the lessons Plentos had taught him,” Abigail said.
“More out of boredom than anything else,” Turock admitted.
Abigail continued: “We in the far north are an eager lot, and we make fantastic students. Having a legion of spellcasters, even amateur ones, helped us build this structure much faster than we ever could have otherwise.”
Ahaesarus could attest to that. He had seen firsthand how quickly the construction of Mordeina’s wall had progressed with the help of the four Drake spellcasters.
“But we still didn’t know what we were dealing with,” Turock said. “That is, until Jacob Eveningstar arrived with his elf lover, a Warden, and a young man…Roland, I think was his name. They promised to discover what plagued our village, then disappeared into the Tinderlands for over a week. Then the elf and Warden returned one night, chased by soldiers bearing the sigil of the lion. The elf died before we could put an end to the invaders, as did sixty of our own people. The First Man arrived the next evening with his apprentice. He killed the one hostage we had taken-Uther Crestwell, you know of him, right? — and then he had me create a portal to Safeway for him and his remaining party.” Turock chuckled. “It was the biggest portal I’ve ever made. Still don’t know how I pulled that off.”
Silence followed for a few moments, Abigail staring at her hands, Turock gazing through the western windows at the sprawling camp behind the hill.
“What then?” asked Ahaesarus.
“Then…nothing,” replied Abigail. “All we knew was that if Karak’s soldiers were willing to cross the river and attack our people, it was time to begin fortifying our homeland for the war that was sure to come. We scouted along the river, both north and south, seeking out where the crossing is narrowest, and then we built more of our towers.”
“You’ve built four from what I was told, yes?” asked Ahaesarus.
“Five now,” Turock said, and there was no hiding the pride in his voice. “Tower Green went up just last week.”
“Five towers in six months?” Ahaesarus shook his head, stunned. “Are your students that talented in the art of magic?”
“They are, relatively speaking.” The spellcaster frowned. “Magic in Dezrel is strange. Plentos told me stories of how powerful the Dezren once were, able to summon fireballs the size of houses and form bolts of lightning that could rip across an entire countryside. When drunk, he even claimed that the most powerful elven spellcasters could alter miles upon miles of land, bending the rock and stone to their whim. I’ve tried to calculate the power required to do such a thing, and it seems beyond possible.” He stood and walked over to the central western window. “Here, come look.”
The man chanted a few words, hands held out before him. A ball of fire formed from nothing, two feet wide and spinning inches from his open palms. Pushing his arms forward, the fireball whooshed across the sky, arcing down until it struck the soil on the other side of the river. A puff of smoke rose up in its wake, and the meager shrubbery began to burn. Turock’s cheeks paled.
“That is the largest I can create,” he said, sounding disappointed. “If I try to summon anything beyond that, the spell just…dissolves on me. It’s like trying to lift a weight that’s too heavy for your arms. Yet that’s not quite right, because deep down I know I’m strong enough. It’s like…lifting a small stone that’s somehow been invisibly nailed to the ground. But even with these limitations, I still have hope we can accomplish something special. I have fifty-two novice spellcasters under my tutelage, including those we sent to Mordeina to help Abby’s mother. If we can grow our power and work together, we can build enough towers to man the Gihon all the way down to the fork in no time at all!”
He sighed and shook his head.
It was almost too much for Ahaesarus to absorb. “Tell me more about the other towers,” he said.
“Well, they each have names. This one we call Blood Tower because it was built over the very spot where our people bled. The others are color-coded. Tower Gold, Tower Red, Tower Silver, and Tower Green. Green is ten miles east of Durham, which is the closest settlement.” He lifted his sleeve. “We’re actually starting to run out of colors. I suggested the idea for Tower Violet, as I’m partial to the color, but my students decided it was too feminine. So the next tower we build will be named just that. Each tower is manned by five of my best students, along with twenty men of suitable fighting age. I’m aiming to expand our operation, but our resources are running low. Our little town was home to less than two thousand, and there is only so much labor I can demand of the people. These are common folk, not warriors…though defending your life can make anyone quite adept at doing just that.”
“Very true. When did Karak’s Army begin its attack?” Ahaesarus asked.
Abigail glanced up. “Two months ago. After the long winter ended and summer returned. Arrows began flying from the dark one night, and they haven’t stopped since. Every few nights it begins again. They fire arrows; we fire back.”
“Besides that first night,” said Turock, “when eighteen of our men and women died, we have lost very few. But it’s still harrowing. The attacks seem to happen at random, though always after the sun sets. Sometimes all five towers are assaulted at once; sometimes they are individually targeted. We kill any who try to cross the river. Yet those who cross are small, stunted…runts, I guess you could say. I feel like we’re being toyed with, and I do not like being toyed with.”
“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like your wall of towers is in no danger,” said Ahaesarus, scratching at his temple and staring at Abigail. “Yet Lady DuTaureau told me you feared that the line would break and the soldiers would pour across the river. I see no evidence of this, so why request our presence if you have everything under control? How can we help defend the line if there is no real line to defend?”
Abigail looked to her husband.
“We don’t need you to defend the line, and we certainly didn’t need this many of you,” Turock said. “We wanted a few of your kind for…other reasons.”
“I spelled it out clearly in my letter,” Abigail said, looking frustrated. “Leave it to Mother to get the message wrong.”
Ahaesarus waved his hand at them. “Enough. Just tell me: What is it you wish us to do?”
“I want the Wardens to take a small group of our men into the Tinderlands,” Turock said, rubbing his fingers together. Faint sparks of electricity danced between them. “The majority of the attacks have occurred here, at Blood Tower. Which means that wherever this army has gathered, it is nearby.”
“You want us to strike at them?” asked Ahaesarus. “That is suicide!”
“No, not strike,” replied the spellcaster, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “I simply wish to discover the size of the force assembled there. That information would go a long way toward planning our defense tactics, especially if the letter sent by my wonderful and perfect mother-in-law told the truth and Karak is invading from the east as well.”