Their host's name was Blain Crestworn, a former fisherman from Twin Port. He had lived most of his life on the sea, running nets behind the sleek sailing vessels that he commanded, taking in shallow fish for the market. That had been his lively hood, having spent better then forty years on the ocean to the south, making runs north in the summer months and going far beyond the boundaries of Umbriel when the chill of winter made fishing more slim. He retired from the port life three years ago, living the life of solitude that he always wanted for himself. He had never married, telling the young men that women were a blessing that could ruin their lives, laughing heartily after he told them. Blain lived off the hunt, catching small animals in the traps that he crafted, skinning them for the furs and eating the flesh. Ferrin was more than interested to hear more about the traps that the old man made from scratch. When Blain discovered that Ferrin didn't have a voice the old man was shocked.
"Deep God's alive! Why cain't ya speak? Somethin' hurt yer throat?"
Ferrin shook his head, smiling. He began to sign but stopped just as fast when he saw the old man look strangely at the signs that he was forming. Damien sat down beside Ferrin to translate.
"Ferrin said that he is mute, hasn't been able to speak since he was born. There is nothing wrong with him. He is merely different." Ferrin nodded agreement and Blain shook his grey haired head, looking dumb founded.
"And ya cain understan' him?"
"I can. He is speaking with a language that is called sign."
"Deep God's alive, that's tha weirdest thing I've come cross in a long time."
Benmont and Kamil were sitting at the opposite end of the table, near the wall where the window was. A fine sheet of dust crested the window, making looking outside a difficult task. Kamil shifted around impatiently, tired from the long ride and wanting little more then to sleep. Benmont was more than happy to oblige Blain when he offered a free meal. It was meat gruel from rabbits that he had snared yesterday but the youth didn't care. It was hot and filling. When Kamil stated that he had enough, Benmont took his plate and ate the rest.
"Ya cain rest in the cellar. There's bunks there, an' a wash tub for ya to clean up with. Have a good night, boyo."
"Goodnight, Blain, father," Kamil rose from his seat and stepped to the stairs near a door frame, "Goodnight Kirstin. Good night, Grim." Kamil smiled as Benmont cast a dark look at him, and then he went downstairs to sleep.
Kirstin also pushed her plate back, leaning in her chair, feeling aches in her back make her nerves prickle. She had a long day and the sound of a warm bed was all she could think of. She turned her attention to Damien and Ferrin who were still talking with Blain. She liked the old man; he had a certain honesty about him, like he spoke whatever happened to be on his mind. She admired that, thinking that she could never be that honest with those around her. Perhaps, she thought, it was just something that came with age.
Cameron came in from the dark, a chill from the new autumn night following him as he closed the door behind him. Damien nodded a hello at him as Cameron took a chair just beside the old man after spooning himself up some of the gruel into a clay bowl that Blain kept in his cupboards. As he sat at the table he set down a two foot piece of ivory that was slightly curved, niches marking its surface. After spooning a mouthful of the gruel into his mouth he turned to Blain.
"Old man, I found this in your shed. What did this come from?"
"Cameron!" Kirstin looked shocked at how rudely he addressed their host. The old man in question just turned to him and smiled, weary eyes falling on the piece of ivory that sat on his table.
"Did that come from an animal? That's the largest tooth I've ever seen," Damien examined the ivory, running a hand along the surface of it. Ferrin took a quick smell of it but there was nothing anymore save for the scent of age. The youth snatched the tooth in his hands and waved it around, curious to know the story that the ivory held. He turned to look at the story teller. Blain took up his pipe, lighting it and drinking the first line of smoke from it. He exhaled it in a stream line, closing his eyes and savoring the taste it left him, the most constant thing in his life. Kirstin wrinkled her nose and leaned back, waving a hand in the air while trying not to cough. Ferrin thought he might throw up from the strong tang of the pipe. He turned pale, his eyes blood shot, and stood fast, making his way for the door and the fresh air that beckoned to him.
Blain laughed, his shoulders shaking as Ferrin ran out the door. His laugh changed to a fit of coughing, wracking him until he could bring it back under control. Damien watched him with dark eyes, thinking to say something, but before he could Blain began to speak.
"It was my fourth year at sea, and I was really comin' into my own. I ran ships off Twin Port's pier all along the west coast. Hell, I ran ships clear to Rehd Amon and Fahl. But then Fahl was a nice village, not quite the haven for smugglers that it is now. Anyhow, I was runnin' the nets as I always did, specially after what happened to Karn."
"What happened to Karn, master Crestworn?" Kirstin asked, leaning over the table with her elbows propping up her chin. Blain cast her a quizzical glance and put the pipe back into his mouth.
"Karn was the net runner for the Serpent's Dreg when I was there for the first three years. The man always knew where to cast, and it seemed to my young eyes that he was older than the waves we crashed."
"The Serpent's Dreg?" Damien questioned, not liking the sound of the name.
"Name a my ship, mind ya. Now hush down so I can tell my tale. Karn was killed when he got knocked over board; the ship's net was caught on a zealous shark. Poor man happened to be the beastie's next meal." Kirstin wrinkled her face again, making a choking sound as she sat back on her chair. Damien muttered some prayer to his God.
"But there I was on the fourth year, new net runner for the Serpent's Dreg. I was happy, mind ya, not cause Karn was killed by the shark, but cause I got the shot to be the runner when I was so young. One day, in the summer, "Blain added emphasis on that part, "we strolled too far out on the waves, searching for the big catch. There were shale fish out there to catch, in huge schools, if ya knew where to look. I knew, or thought I did."
Blain fell into a contemplative silence, taking Damien's prompting to make him speak up again. He set the pipe down on a small stand next to the table, his eyes seeming far away.
"Anyhow, ol' Gain shouted from the crow's nest, he was our lookout, mind ya. He shouted that we were on the right O' things, that there was a huge school of em ahead of us. I dropped the nets as we took over em, feeling the pull as soon as the net touched that blasted water. There were thousands of em, more than any schooled man could hope to count proper. We were takin' em in so fast that I couldn't keep up. The captain was a happy man, knew that we were gonna reap the rewards from this large a catch. Only Gain seemed to worry; he told us to hurry, that we wandered too far from port but everyone jus' laughed that he was being panicked for no reason."
"What happened then?" Kirstin watched the old man with wide eyes, absorbed by the tale he spun. Everyone sat, eager to hear what Blain saw that day.
"It came from the deep, mind ya. The biggest wave I ever done saw in all my years on the ocean, from off the starboard side. It was a mass of scaled grey with muscle and teeth, teeth longer then the main mast, long enough to tear the whole bloomin' ship to pieces! It roared, somethin like the eye O' the storm, and tore at the nets, tryin' to get the shale fish. No one knew what to do, each man panickin an' running. Then the Serpent's Dreg capsized. It split I think clean in two when that thing smashed a tail long as it was into the middle. I was in the water, found some length of wood to take hold of, but almost got drug under nonetheless. I never been so scared in my whole life. Not when pirates raided my next ship, not when I had to fight off a shark frenzy. Never."
"What did you do then?" Damien asked.
"What could I do?" Blain replied, "I was hangin' to that drift wood for all I was worth. I could tell it was still close, the waves rockin the way they did told me. I saw the captain, an' Gain an a few others still on the bulk of the ship, calling for me to swim to them. Then it surfaced, rolling up from under them and goin back down, taking the bloomin net and the half a ship with it. I watched as they all went under, not a thing that I could do about it. There was foamin' and wreckage popped up, but I never saw any O' them again. They were just...gone."
"How did you get back to shore?" Kirstin queried, shivering from the images of the old man's story.
"I swam. It was the only thing left to me. I made it to shore, so far as I know, the only survivor to that thing's attack. I pulled myself from the bay and took a year off from the fishin life. The only thing I kept from the wreckage was a tooth in the board I had held onto for my swim. It was a tooth, the thing's tooth that destroyed the Serpent's Dreg."
Silence marked the end to his tale. Cameron simply shook his head and went to fetch another bowl of gruel from the cook pot. Benmont found that he wasn't hungry anymore, pushing his plate back from where it sat. He couldn't believe that such a monster existed, a beast that could destroy a ship with the swipe of its tail. His mother never told any such tale to him in his youth, but then he had grown up in the city of Banthas, far from the ocean and the denizens therein.
"Master Crestworn," Kirstin began, "What manner of beast attacked your ship? Did it have a name, this monster that ruined your ship?"
"It does indeed. Educated men call it a deep god. Long ago it was worshipped by more primitive folk as some kind of deity. I'm still up in the air over if it's some kind of god or not, cause the view of it I got, it sure seemed like it."
"A deity? How long ago was that, master Crestworn?"
"Oh, it was about five thousand years ago. About the same time I was bein born."
Kirstin stared at him, not sure how to react to his comment. But then he smiled at her and she let out a nervous laugh. Kirstin got up, scooping up the plates of those that were finished eating and hauled them to the cast iron wash tub. Blain called out to her, telling her that she needn't concern herself with cleaning them.
"Nonsense, master Crestworn. It's the least I can do for allowing us to stay here for the night. I won't take no for an answer." Blain simply cast her an amused expression and waved her off.
"I'm sorry to hear such a sad tale, Blain," Damien consoled him, putting a hand on the old man's shoulder. Blain took up his pipe again, inhaling the smoke, letting it fill his mouth and waft out his nose.
"Worry not, priest. That was near thirty years ago! I think I'm over it by now. Sides, none of them were ever much of a friend."
"Did you ever think about revenge?" Benmont asked, getting into the conversation.
"Revenge? That's funny, boy. What would you have me kill it with? The Soul Blazer? Not even that could kill a deep god."
"Soul Blazer?" Benmont questioned, face etched with curiosity.
"A wives’ tale," Cameron interrupted, coming back to the table with more gruel, "A weapon imagined long ago by those that feared magic. Such a weapon doesn't exist."
"It does exist!" Blain exclaimed, making Damien start, "A sword with a blade blue as the sky at twilight, long as a man's arm span if he opened them wide as he could! It lies in the earth, long buried ever since the Magi Slayer Wars ended and the bleedin saevant were chased into their holes."
"It doesn't exist, old man. Magic formed by the saevant couldn't be used against them. What won that war were men who risked all to achieve victory. It was won in blood and tragedy; no magic sword fought off the saevant when they came to conquer. That's the legends children are told. Nothing more."
"You're quick to condemn, boy. Maybe you believe more than you'd like to admit."
"I don't think so," Cameron returned, cool as ever.
"There is no magic to the blade. It is divine, forged by tha hand of the One God to beat back the saevant, given to Bryan Stormfyre as he prayed to the One for a way to defeat the magi. They say an angel, a servant of the One, came to deliver it to him, before the man became one with the High Throne."
"Who told you? Drunken sailors in the seaside taverns? And I wonder where they heard it from?"
"Blain, you said that the sword is divine?" Damien asked, interested to hear the conclusion to the story. Blain nodded, ignoring Cameron, who was scowling at the entire tale. He looked at Benmont's eyes sparkling, absorbed into the tale and scowled even more.
"That it is, forged by the One for the sole purpose of fighting magic, which any educated man can tell you is evil to the core. The sword is supposed to have the fiery courage of its first wielder, making them brave in the face of even the darkest evil."
"And you say that you can't defeat a deep god with it? It sounds like you could slay anything with that sword!"
"Boy, some things can't be killed with mere courage alone! Even the finest blade in the world wouldn’t save ya if ya didn't have skill to use it."
"That's what Cameron's here for," Benmont told him, shrugging indifferently. Damien cracked a smile, biting his lip to keep from laughing as Cameron scowled even further.
"Well my friend, perhaps we should call you Grim," Damien commented and Benmont burst out laughing as Cameron continued to eat his gruel, eyes smoldering with anger. Ferrin came back in, the chill from outside at his heels as he closed the door. He made an over pronounced gesture of stretching and pointed at the cellar stairs.
"Go ahead, boy. The lot of you should sleep if ya plan on moving by tha break of day." Ferrin was followed closely by Benmont and then Kirstin who had finished with the dishes. Blain thanked her as she strode down the stairs, already yawning deeply.
"That's a fine group O' children ya have there. Why is it yer this far from the highway?" Blain questioned when he knew they were far enough downstairs not to hear.
"What do you mean?" Damien asked, feeling slightly defensive. He hoped that the old man didn't get the wrong impression from them. But he hoped even more that he didn't get the right impression from them. That was the last thing they needed was someone pointing Darius's troops in the right direction. Damien sighed, shaking his head. Now he was sounding like Cameron. It was the lack of sleep, he told himself. Nothing more than the lack of sleep troubling him. But even then there was the reminder of the dream.
"Let me get more ta the point. Who's chasing you?"
Cameron sat bolt upright, eyes dangerously clear in the lamplight of the shack. His face was smooth, devoid of the worry that suddenly plagued it. Breathing in deeply he made himself sit back. The old man didn't know, he was only guessing. He could play the old man's game if it amused him.
"Why would you think that we're being chased, old man?"
"Come clean, son. There the lot of you are, out in the middle of theses plains, far enough removed to find a hermit like me. I know you strayed from the highway cause you were still moving from it, not toward it when I first spotted ya. Not to mention yer all armed with blades, save for the priest. Now, who's chasing you?"
"We need to be armed. Out in the plains there are some dangerous predators. Don't tell me that there's no need for weapons. You've lived here long enough to know the dangers the wild can bring."
"Don't hand me that, son. I know you need the swords. But what brought you here to begin with? Not ta make a visit, that's fer sure. Yer runnin' from someone, or from somethin'. You don't want me ta know and that's fine. I know ya aren't a bad lot, so I won't pry. Fact is, I really couldn't care what it is, so long as I don't find it knockin on my door tomorrow, understand?"
"We understand, Blain. I pray that there won't be trouble for you. We need to reach Twin Port. Cromley Tower to be precise."
Blain blanched when he heard the name, giving the priest a dubious look. He set his pipe back down on the stand, "Cromley Tower, eh? Then I wager there's more n' a little trouble hard on your heels."
"Just a favor to a former employer. He was having hard times and feared for the safety of his daughter and another youth, Kamil. I agreed to take them there for him, ensure that they weren't harmed on their journey."
"Hired muscle? I'm sorry, no need to get riled up about it. No more questions. You can sleep in the attic space. There's only a few canvas sacks and a horrid draft but it’s away from the outside and there's a lantern for heat if ya want it."
"It will do," Cameron told him. He and the priest climbed the ladder to the attic. It was small, even smaller then the ground floor, with a sharply slanted roof keeping them from standing straight. Cameron sorted the canvas sacs on the floor and laid down, asleep within minutes. Damien knelt on the floor in the dark, praying to his God for the aid in finding Blain Crestworn. When his prayer was done he lay on the floor and closed his eyes, though sleep was far in coming.
In the morning, under a cloud covered sky, Damien stepped from the crooked door of the shack onto the matted earth under his feet. Cameron had the horses ready in front of the shack, saddled and ready to ride. In the plains ahead of the shack he watched Cameron crossing wooden practice swords with Kirstin while Benmont wracked swords against Kamil. Blain was out beside him, rubbing sleepy eyes with balled up fists. He still wore a night gown that trailed to his ankles.
"Sleep rough?" Damien asked, a smile on his face.
"Drank too much. Your warrior friend rose really early and we shared drinks. The man can put away alcohol, I'll tell you that. Near emptied my keg of mash."
Cameron stayed his blade, coming over to the priest, handle turned to run the course of his elbow. Damien stepped down from the porch and met Cameron, feeling an ache from the lack of sleep from last night.
"I decided to let you sleep in, father. You're no good to us if you fall asleep on the saddle."
"How kind of you, Cameron. But I'm ready to ride now. Are we leaving?" Damien cast his gaze to the children fighting in the field. Kirstin caught his eye the most. She was learning so fast, but more than that, he could see the desire to learn in her, burning in her heart as fiercely as Benmont's need for vengeance. It troubled him nearly as much as the dreams.
Blain returned from a jaunt into the shack, wincing from the glare of the morning sun. Cameron saw the old man and smiled, rubbing the stubble that was growing on his chin. Blain produced a pack sack that had dried bread and cured meat in it.
"For the big one," Blain noted, putting a good natured smile on Damien's face. He also handed a small flask to Cameron. The warrior shook it back and forth, hearing the sound of liquid in it, "For when you get thirsty again." Cameron gave him a dubious look but the old man insisted they take it, "It's the least that I can do for ya."
"You have been more than gracious to a group of people that simply dropped in on you."
"It's no problem, priest. I don't get guests very often, if ya can understand that. Mostly men that look for big game in the fields. I want ya ta have it with my best wishes. I hope ya get to the tower safely."
"As do I," Cameron retorted, "Which is why I'd like to get moving now. Kirstin, Kamil, Benmont! Gather your things and mount up! We head to Cromley Tower!" The youths were quick to respond, stopping their practice session and hastening for the horses. Even Kamil failed to grumble. Damien raised an eyebrow to Cameron.
"What can I say?" Cameron replied, "They're finally listening to me the first time I say things." Ferrin came out from behind the shack where he had been all morning, sitting in a patch of flowers that the old man had growing in his back yard. When Cameron glanced at him curiously Ferrin only shrugged.
Blain bid them a fond farewell, waving to them as they rode fast for the south, leaving a slight trail of dust in their wake. Cameron had the lead with the father just behind so Cameron could use Ferrin's sight if he had to. They rode long that day, crossing flats and rising over hills, leaving only the open field behind them. Cameron allowed them a brief rest during midday when the sun shone at its brightest, to rub their horses down and rest.
By the time the night claimed the sky for its own Blain Crestworn's shack was far in the distance. The land was stonier to the south, with large grey rocks dotting the plains. Tufts of long grass grew around the rocks, sometimes obscuring them from sight. Kamil almost found one of them as he was galloping ahead of the rest of them. He managed to steer around the rock, which was near the size of his horse. He had a face redder then the burning twilight as Cameron scolded him for being so careless. Kirstin giggled, hand against her mouth as Kamil was being brow beaten, which served to make him even more angry. He decided that he would take one of his walks that night. It was very late when he found his way back, his clothes rumpled from lying on the cold ground.
Ferrin sat in silence that night as he did every other night, watching Damien pray to the One. The good father seemed lost to the world when he was communing with his God, like nothing could reach him. Ferrin once had the bright idea to drop a snake down the priest's shirt when he was praying, just to see how much it would take to make him break prayer but thought better of it.
That night, after the good father was done praying, opened his eyes and became animate again, Ferrin scooted over to him and knelt down, questions riddling his face.
"What is it?" Damien asked, unable to ignore the way that Ferrin stared at him.
How do you do it?
How do I do what? Damien questioned back in sign, nearly as fast as Ferrin could.
How do you keep faith in something that isn't tangible? What proof do you have that he's even there?
"I believe. That's how I know. The One fills me with his majesty and there's nothing in the world that feels the same. He is the reason for living, he gave me this life to live and I intend to use it doing his will."
And what if it's only an illusion? What if the power that you say comes from the One comes from the source of magic, just like the saevant summon magic? What would that do to you?
"You think that I only believe in him because he grants me his power from time to time? Ferrin, there is so much more to faith than that. I love him as he loves all living things. His is the healing hand, or the power of punishment when he deems it to be. No living thing is beyond him."
I wish that I could have the faith that you have, father. Then maybe I'd have turned out differently than I am now. Ferrin cast his eyes to the ground but Damien lifted his face to look at him. The priest was smiling at him.
"I make no claims to be the wisest man in the world, but I know that the One makes every man and woman different. If we were all the same then the world would be a boring place indeed."
"If we were all like you, father," Cameron began from where he sat near the camp fire, "We would all follow your God. Wouldn't that be a good thing?"
"No, it wouldn't. The One doesn't control you. You have the choice to believe in him or not, Cameron. You may not acknowledge him now, but there will come a time when you will face him, and he will know you. I would think wisely before discarding that faith as quickly as you seem to."
"Father, there will be a time when I die, I know this for fact. No one is immortal. Don't try to fool me into thinking there's some all powerful force out there waiting for me when I die. Another child's tale told to them to give them courage in the night. Nothing more." Cameron stood from the rock that he was sitting on and pulled his over coat further over his shoulders before walking away from the fire. Ferrin gave Damien a troubled look but the father failed to see. His eyes were on Cameron.
The next day found them on the trail again. Kamil was woozy, claiming that he was coming down with something, and with the bloodless look he carried on him the father was forced to agree. Cameron slowed their pace some, but kept a close line south, finding the highway just short of midday. A caravan had just passed them, heading north for the city of Debla. A line of covered wagons pulled by horses strolled far ahead of them, canvas flaps waving in the morning breeze. Another hour took the group of them over a vast hill that had a few large low branched trees growing from it. At the peak of that hill they caught their first sight of Twin Port.
It stunned them, all except for Cameron and Ferrin, who had been there before. The city, even from the sight they had a quarter mile away from the top of the hill, was astounding. It seemed to be all brick, red and white with sparkling glass windows wherever they looked. Houses were tall; better then three stories in some cases. The buildings that housed businesses were taller even, and wider, some nearly taking an entire block to themselves. The streets of the city were heavy, well trod cobblestone, forming straight lines that zig zagged in endless rows all along the city’s boundaries. At the southern most side there were the docks. Long strips of wooden planks that went for yards out into the ocean, ships of wood and metal docked at them. Giant triangular roofed ware houses stood near them where the goods from each ship, legal or illegal, were stored. Steam and smoke rose from a dozen stacked chimneys, and from the stacks of steam vessels. A thousand noises from the city made their way on the breeze to them, along with the fresh scent of sea air.
To the west, on a strip of land all alone stood Cromley Tower. Soldier’s barracks were built into the sides of the thin peninsula, long and sleek, housing the men that guarded the tower from thieves or invaders. The tower was perched high on the peninsula's edge, large and round with bright yellow lights beaming from it. Waves washed over the edge of the rocky shore, lapping at the ground with a foaming white tongue. The tower began nearly a quarter mile out from the main land. Cameron ventured that it would be a difficult tower to siege, unless the army proved large enough.
With the snap of his reigns he ushered the lot of them to Cromley Tower, where Baron Cromley awaited them. A warm breeze whipped through their ranks as they made their way along the hill. On the breeze Ferrin caught the scent of something remembered. The combination of smells that confused him once before found him again, making him clutch tight to the good father's travelling cloak. His sharp eyes went up, where the scent had been carried down from, to the boughs of the overhanging trees. Sitting on a strong limb, legs dangling over the edge, was the cloaked man that found them once before when they were close to entering Grenfall. The wizard.
The wizard sat in the bough, watching them all with a placid look, like he hadn't a care in the world. Ferrin tugged on Damien's cloak to get his attention and when the good father looked back at him he pointed up to where the wizard was sitting. Damien gasped, pulling hard on his reigns to stop his mount.
"Cameron!" Damien screamed. The warrior was about in his saddle, blade at the ready in his hand. Damien's tone of voice had been enough to make him ready for battle. Cameron followed Damien's gaze to the tree top where the wizard sat and blanched. Riding closer to the tree base, he looked up to meet the eye of the wizard.
"You were right about the village and for that I thank you. But I don't think that entitles you to follow us anywhere we go."
"Than you would prefer I keep my warning to myself? If that is your desire perhaps I shouldn't aid you. There are others I might look after that would be more grateful than you appear to be," the wizard told him in fluid tones, his voice like the wind as t danced through the boughs of the tree. The wizard smiled, the dark flesh creasing with the gesture.
"Who are you?" Cameron questioned.
"My name?" the wizard queried, the smile broadening.
"Your name or we are done speaking, warning or no."
"If that is your ultimatum, then I suppose you leave me little choice. I am known as Nightwind and I am as you see me. A saevant; one whose race is born to magic and knows it well as humans know to breathe. Knowing that, are you willing to listen to the warning I have come to give?"
"What are you here to warn us of this time? Dagoth's soldier's hounding us? I already knew that."
"No. There are closer threats than you suspect. Be wary for not everything is as it seems, nor are those who would so readily offer you aid in times of crisis. Many times those people have other plans, ambitions that others are only a means to an end for."
"And who are you referring to?" Damien asked Nightwind, reigning back on his horse to get a better look at the wizard. Nightwind cast him a wicked smile, making Damien's blood run cold.
"Humans have a brain, so I've been told. Use it. This is all I can say, it is no longer my fault if you are felled by your own stupidity." The wizard stood on the branch and turned to face the tree, stepping toward it and melting into the bark like he was stepping through a door. Then he was gone, nothing to show he was there speaking with them except for their memories.
"He scares the hell out of me!" Kamil told everyone after the wizard had gone. Benmont echoed that sentiment, swiping a hand over his brow where he thought he might have started to sweat from nervousness.
"You two appall me! You shouldn't speak so of someone that came to help us!" Kirstin shouted at them, shaking her hand indignantly. Benmont lowered his eyes from her but Kamil laughed.
"Do you know what he just said? What did that mean? I don't know what that meant!""
"Kamil! Kirstin! We're heading for the tower. If you want to argue the wizard's words than do so while you ride. Agreed?" Both of them nodded their heads, Kirstin compliantly and Kamil with an air of defiance on his face. Cameron shook his head at the youth. He's growing bolder again, he thought to himself. What is making him so different day in day out?
Minutes later they were past the barracks that housed Cromley's soldiers and at the front gates where four men armed with long spears and body shields stood at the ready. The gates were surrounded by iron fencing that was taller than any men and spiked at the top to discourage anyone from attempting to climb it. The doors beyond were solid iron and thick from what Cameron could tell.
The soldier at the front gates demanded to know who was calling. They lowered their spears in front of him menacingly as Cameron dismounted and held his hands out to show that he wasn't going to attack them.
"Inform the master of the tower that Cameron Reol has brought friends of the family for shelter. We have journeyed from distant Hamla to seek his shelter. I am sure that he received word of this matter via a letter long ago."
"From Hamla? You will have to wait here while I fetch the grounds master," the soldier ran off while the other three regarded them like criminals, waving their spears in the air and muttering words under their breath not meant for their ears. Ferrin could hear them, however, and what he heard made his eyes narrow and his hand reach for the dagger that he had in his belt. He was sure that he could take at least one or two of them and make the water's edge before they could catch up. He sighed and let his hand relax. There were his companions, his friends to consider. Resigning himself to waiting, Ferrin tried to ignore the gate guards as they waited for the grounds master.
A tall, clean shaven man came from the doors at the base of the tower a moment later, a dark colored tunic trailing down to his knees, splitting at the middle of his waist. There were designs of gold on the shirt front, twisting and spiraling along his sleeves and chest. He wore boots of soft leather that rose past the end of the tunic and hid underneath. Silver buckles adorned the sides of the boots, glittering in the light of the sun. His hair was red colored, and his eyes a bright blue. He had a well practiced smile on his lips as he approached them.
"You must be Cameron," the man said to him when he stood in the open fencing, the soldiers standing on all sides of him.
"I am," Cameron replied evenly. The man shifted his vision to the rest of them, frowning when he saw how many there were. His gaze went back to Cameron.
"The master wasn't expecting such a large number of you. How did this come to be?"
"I have reason to believe that one of them is a child of Darius's. As for the priest and Ferrin. Father Alohm wanted to make the trip here to ensure that I didn't lead them astray, and he insisted that he take Ferrin along. For protection."
"Protection?" the man wrinkled his brow at the youth as Ferrin puffed with pride, jutting his chin out and winking at the man. Turning from the youth, he faced Cameron again, "I do not know if the master would have this many guests. So far as I know he was only expecting three of you."
"Well then I suppose that we will discuss the matter with him when we are inside, grounds keeper. What is your name?"
"Trost. Trost Lefield. I would have you dismount your horses and follow me into the tower so that you may have an audience with the baron. Your horses will be taken to the stables on the back side of the tower where they will be cared for until it is determined that you may leave Cromley Tower. Follow me."
They dismounted, Cameron in the lead, and followed Trost into the tower's doors. Cameron leaned back to the priest as they walked, whispering to him as not to have Trost overhear.
"You keep an eye on that thief. If he steals anything from this place, so much as a spoon or fork, I'll lop a finger off of him."
"I'm sure I understand," Damien told him just as quietly, looking disgustedly at Cameron's brutish way with words. He signed to Ferrin and the youth only nodded, pausing to put back a small glass figurine that he thought was interesting on the stand where he found it.
Trost lead them along flights of stairs that wrapped over one another, with halls that shot through the heart of the tower, some of them having only a strip of grey stone keeping a body from falling down to the floor below or farther. When they had gone seven flights of stairs and crossed a large, open spaced hall that had a half dozen armored men in it, standing at attention as the grounds master passed them. At the end of the hall there was a great door of wood, bronze hinges keeping it moored to the wall. Bright strips of light shot out from the bottom of the door as Trost stopped before it and knocked three times. There was a voice from the other side, consenting, and Trost spun to face them.
"You must leave your weapons here. They will be given back to you when you have finished your audience with the baron."
Cameron unbuckled his sword and handed it over, as did Benmont with the short sword that he still carried. Kamil and Kirstin didn't think to take their blades with them. Ferrin decided that if Trost didn't know he had a dagger on his person so much the better. After the soldiers took their blades from them Trost swung the door open for them to enter.
The room was a broad walled study, dominating the eighth level of the tower. A brazier with a fire burned from one side of the room with an oak desk obscuring half of the flames from sight. Shelves with all manner of book stood on two side of the room and a giant glass door stood as the entrance to a balcony walk. The ceiling was low, with heavy wooden rafters that came together in the middle of the room where the formed a single point and a much larger support beam came down to the floor, frozen in the blocks of stone that held it fast. Several metallic bowls of flame hung on chains at the corner of the room, orange and yellow licking at the chains that held the bowls aloft some six feet in the air.
"Wow," Kamil muttered for lack of any other word. The others only stared about the room in wonder.
"You like my place? This is good," a voice came from the opposite side of one of the book shelves. A man of fair height and broad stature stepped out from behind the shelf where they could see him. He slipped back a book that he had been thumbing through, sliding it back onto the shelf as he approached them. He was older, older then forty for sure, with a bald head and a drooping black mustache that dangled to his heavy wool shirt. The man was large, close to equaling Benmont's stature, but there was a majesty about him, the way he presented himself, that gave him a look of power.
"Greetings, my guests. I am Avernus Cromley. Welcome to my tower."
"Wow," Kamil repeated.
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