66. THE TOWER
Senera’s story
Grizzst’s Tower
After returning from the Manol
Grizzst’s Tower was still burning when Thurvishar and Senera returned to assess just how bad the damage had been.
Bad.
“Move and countermove, I suppose,” Senera said. She felt her gut twist as she glared at the inferno.
Everything they’d transferred from her cottage had been—temporarily, anyway—housed at the tower before it could be moved elsewhere. Precisely where hadn’t quite been decided yet. Years of artwork, all the books she’d accumulated. All the sigil notes that she’d taken, carefully organized to make sure none of them activated accidentally.
All of that was burning.
Senera felt like such a fool.
Valathea had told them the location of a second star well they could use to return to the Manol, which honestly made Senera wonder just how many secret entrances into the supposedly impregnable Manol existed within the Quuros Empire.1 Valathea hadn’t wanted them to return to the tower at all. That would have been the smart choice, without question.
But Senera had to know. She loaded up Thurvishar and herself with all the protections she knew against razarras poisoning and had insisted they check on the damage personally, even though it broke her heart. Especially because it broke her heart.
Thurvishar had discovered how to use Wildheart to take clear away any lingering poison, so that was one good thing at least.
Thurvishar rubbed a thumb into his temple. “There has to be something…” He looked around. Senera imagined he was probably trying to decide the best way to dump the entire contents of Rainbow Lake on the tower. Which was not a spell Senera had ever researched and was reasonably sure Thurvishar didn’t know either.
Senera shook her head. “I don’t know what we could do. I just—” She took a deep breath, fought the tightening of her throat and the heavy feeling in her chest. She couldn’t even re-create what had just been lost. She’d destroyed the Name of All Things. All her research. All Grizzst’s research. C’indrol’s research. Very likely the only extant recording of the original ritual Relos Var had used to create the Eight Immortals in the first place. All of that gone.
Senera wondered if this was the smallest insight to what it must have been like for their ancestors to abandon Nythrawl, knowing as they did so that ten thousand years of magical research and knowledge had been irrevocably lost.
Honestly, she never would have thought Relos Var would be capable of it. Killing people, often in mass amounts? Yes. Of course. Deliberately destroy this much knowledge? It seemed impossible to imagine.
She felt a touch on her hand. Senera met Thurvishar’s gaze. She saw the question there and knew that if she said no, he’d respect it. He wouldn’t insist that some kind of physical contact was for her own good, that she needed this, that she was just too stubborn, too proud.
Senera grabbed his hand and squeezed. He let her without comment or complaint. He didn’t try to pull her into his arms.
Gods, she loved him.2
“Do you want to return to the Manol?” he suggested. “We can go find some of the Founders and see if they’re willing to talk about magical theory?” He shrugged. “Alternately, we can rob the main Academy library. Your choice.”
Senera started laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but once she started, she found she couldn’t stop. She was left gasping, aware that she was perching on the precipice of devolving into tears. And she’d be damned if she was going to let Relos Var make her cry.
“Let’s save our budding career as book thieves for another day,” Senera said. “For now, let’s just go back…” The words trailed away as she continued staring at the burning tower.
There was a curtain over the window on the highest story of the tower. She hated that curtain, had hated it from the moment she’d first set eyes on it, largely because she was reasonably certain it would’ve been rejected by any self-respecting velvet house. She was equally sure it had never been washed once in the entirety of its existence, because at his heart, Grizzst had been the most horrible slob.
That curtain wasn’t burning.
Senera blinked. “Are we sure everything in the tower is on fire?”
Thurvishar gave her an understandably odd look and then returned his attention to the fire. “I…” He paused. “Hold on a minute.” He put a hand to his neck; no doubt doing something using Wildheart.
He let out a single, startled laugh. “Grizzst, you absolute madman.”
Senera allowed herself to feel the tiniest amount of hope. But yes, thinking back, it did seem odd that a man who’d managed to keep his notes and books intact over several millennia hadn’t thought to do anything about accidental fires. Or not-so-accidental ones, in this case.
Or in particular the fires caused by a certain dragon he’d been secretly working with and not-so-secretly didn’t trust.
“What was the sigil you looked up that makes things resistant to fire?” Thurvishar asked her.
She took a deep breath and reached for her brush.
The main floor of the tower was a loss. The room was black from soot and ash, literally oven hot even after they’d finally figured out a way to put out the fire. All the furniture down on that level, the tapestries and rugs, were destroyed. The smell of woodsmoke and hot stone overwhelmed the scent of evaporated spilled wine, evidence of the smashed bottles from Grizzst’s extensive collection of alcohol. White smoke billowed out the windows, filled the room with fog.
The smell vanished as Senera set up the air glyph on both herself and Thurvishar. Logically, she knew it was probably a much more sensible idea to wait until the fire was completely out before assessing the level of devastation. The fire wasn’t likely to cause any permanent damage to the feldspar of the tower, but depending on how hot the temperature had become or how much wood had been used in the tower’s construction, it was possible that the building might weaken enough to collapse.
If Grizzst had done something to protect the other floors, she wanted to remove the contents before anything worse happened.
Or before Relos Var returned. They had a few hours leeway; Senera planned to make the most of them.
“Words cannot even begin to express how glad I am that we finished cleaning this room,” Thurvishar said.
Senera laughed. Because it was true; they’d taken all the books, the stacks of notes, the centuries’ worth of random papers—and, of course, their own notes on recent events—and moved them to the library level where they belonged. The ground floor had been turned into a receiving area for guests, under the general theory that perhaps their most sensitive notes shouldn’t be in the first room entered by everyone who visited.
“I reserve my judgment until we see how the other floors are faring,” Senera said. She moved her vision past the First Veil as she reached the stairs.
The magical aura surrounding the door to the second floor was blinding bright, impossible to ignore. Said door was made of wood and yet completely unburned, so at the very least, it seemed to be some sort of protection against fire. Quite possibly something more dangerous than that as well.
“You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with Grizzst’s wards, would you?” Senera asked. “From the weeks you’ve spent here before? Or your past life.”
Thurvishar’s mouth twitched. “No, not so much.” He took up a position next to her and concentrated on the door as well. “I don’t think it’s anything actively dangerous, though. Just defensive.”
“That’s what I’m seeing too,” Senera said, “it’s only that I don’t think ‘just defensive’ is Grizzst’s style.”
“An excellent point,” Thurvishar said. “Let’s look deeper.” He squinted as he concentrated on the door.
The problem with someone who was largely self-trained was that one never knew exactly what they’d figured out how to do. Grizzst hadn’t shared most of his magical knowledge with, well, anyone. He was credited with writing a book on demonology, but Senera had to assume it had either been a joke or a dare considering it was effectively a treatise on exactly the sort of healthy living Grizzst himself had never once practiced.3
One couldn’t assume his magic would behave in a predictable way.
“Ah, there it is,” Thurvishar said. “If you strip away the first layer of ward, you activate a different layer of ward. Much deadlier.” He paused. “Electrified.”
“Ah, right up your alley,” Senera said.
“Yes,” Thurvishar agreed. “Cover me? Just in case something unexpected comes up.”
“There goes my plan to abandon you when you need me most,” Senera said.
“There’s always next time,” Thurvishar replied, smiling.
She snorted and forced herself to concentrate on the magic and not the banter.
“Shall we try opening a gate?” Senera suggested.
“Be my guest,” Thurvishar said. “I would think the wards are blocking that, but perhaps Grizzst lost some of his paranoia over the centuries.”
“When you put it like that, it does seem rather a moot point.” She quickly cast the gate spell to come out in the library—a trip she’d made several times.
The gate refused to open on the other side.
It made sense. Grizzst had designed the barrier roses for the Manol vané. Of course he could block gate access to his own tower.
At a guess, the wards had been activated by the fire, a defensive measure that neither Thurvishar, Kihrin, or any of the other visitors had ever activated precisely because none of them had been inclined to set the tower on fire. Senera suspected the wards would persist until someone took them down with a keyed command or the first floor had cooled down. It was possible that there was some sort of lever or device that would trigger the all clear as well, but that would likely be inside the very areas they were trying to access.
Likewise, they could travel from the Manol through the gate in the basement workshop (assuming that access hadn’t been shut down) but ironically couldn’t access the Manol without first breaking through the wards.
“We could use the other gate, I suppose,” Thurvishar said. “Just need to hop over to the Kirpis and hope that those eidolons are still deactivated.”
“Oh, I really wish we had Urthaenriel,” Senera said. “We could take care of this just like—” She snapped her fingers.
Thurvishar gave her a small, amused smile. “It’s a rare thing for a wizard to wish they had Godslayer close by, you know.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yes, well. Whoever said I was smart?”
“I did,” Thurvishar replied. “And I do, often. Because you are.”
Senera stared at him and felt very odd. She felt warm, which was ludicrous because she was warded every single protection against heat she could … Oh.
She was blushing.
There was no way Thurvishar hadn’t noticed, but he didn’t comment on it. “He wasn’t really trying to destroy the tower, you know,” he told her. “This was just a flyby.”
“I know,” Senera said. “Believe me, I know.”
Thurvishar returned to contemplating the door. “We’ll have to take down both wards at once.”
“And if there’s a third layer of warding?” Senera asked.
He just raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew well enough what would happen if there was a third layer: they were screwed.
“You’re better with lightning spells,” Senera said. “I’ll take the first layer. You take the second. The timing is going to have to be absolutely perfect, you realize.”
“Hmm.” Thurvishar offered her his hand.
Senera stared at it for several long heartbeats. Just because she knew that she should have been a telepath, that her real witchgift was something other than copying spell maps, didn’t mean that she was automatically good at it. It didn’t mean she knew how to use those abilities effectively.
But Thurvishar did.
She clasped his hand and squeezed.
No words were exchanged, not even mental ones. Rather, she felt the anticipation, knew the moment that changed into action, felt the stirrings of mental energy as Thurvishar readied his spell. She found it a challenge to block him out enough to concentrate on her own business instead of on his. There was a moment of hesitation on his part when he was ready but knew she hadn’t quite reached the same point. Then she had.
They struck as one.
She felt something like having her ears pop, as a pressure she hadn’t even been consciously aware of feeling vanished, leaving her staggered. But nothing else happened.
There hadn’t been a third ward.
“Upstairs or downstairs first?” Thurvishar asked.
“Downstairs,” she said, although she desperately wanted to check the second floor, where the library was with its books and papers. “That’s where the barrier rose gate is, and that’s where any sensible person would have left the ward controls.”
“Mark your words,” Thurvishar said.
She laughed. Indeed, any sensible person hardly sounded like a category that had ever included Grizzst the Mad.
They both headed down the stairs to the basement door, which, like the door to the second floor, showed no sign of being burned. Senera reached out to touch it.
Thurvishar grabbed her wrist.
“Please, allow me,” he said. He didn’t reach for the door himself. Instead, he put a hand to his neck, to where he wore Wildheart. The wooden door seemed to physically withdraw as if it were pulling away from a hot surface. The locking mechanism fell to the ground with a heavy clanging sound.
At exactly that moment, Senera heard movement from the other side of the door, a sharp metal noise of something far heavier than the lock hitting the floor.
“Thurvishar!” Senera grabbed Thurvishar by the collar, pulling him against her, so they were both flush against her side of the stairs.
A second later, a large section of the door disintegrated. A beam of energy Senera normally associated with the Emperors of Quur cut through the space where Thurvishar had stood a moment before.
“Thurvishar?” A querulous, unfamiliar voice called out from the other side. “Fuck! I didn’t hurt you, did I?” That was followed by more noises, sharp, hard thuds.
Footsteps.
Thurvishar looked momentarily nonplussed, then his eyes widened, and he gently moved Senera’s hands away from his collar. “Grizzst?” he called through the mostly missing doorway.
Something metallic glinted through the doorway. Senera summoned up a ball of mage-light. Then her mouth dropped open.
An articulated metal statue was standing not ten feet from the door, lowering a wand held in its hand. She recognized the statue. It had been lying unused on a table in the basement workshop, one of several of Grizzst’s projects they had decided not to move until they’d found the wizard’s notes. Really, it was less a statue than a suit of armor, but so complex and enclosed that she’d seen no way for anyone to wear it. She’d suspected that it was an unfinished eidolon or, based on what she’d previously read, a holdover from earlier attempts to resurrect various Guardians. Notably, an empty star tear diamond had been embedded in the forehead of the armor’s faceplate, right above the eyes.
The statue tilted his head. “Tell me you’re not the one who lit my fucking tower on fire. Because when I find the mother—”
“It was Relos Var,” Senera volunteered. “Are you … You are Grizzst, aren’t you?”
“Grizzst! You ridiculous old goat,” Thurvishar said. “Why didn’t you tell us you were down here? Why didn’t you say something?” He gestured toward the suit of armor. “And what is this?”
“Well, shit, that’s a lot of questions at once,” the armor snapped. It didn’t have a mouth and certainly wasn’t moving its faceplate, but somehow it was making sound.
Magic.
Grizzst counted off on his gauntlet. “Yes, I’m Grizzst. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t awake. Must have miscalculated the power requirements somewhere. And this is a contingency plan. You don’t get to be as old as I am without having a few of those around. Now excuse me.” He shoved his way past Senera and Thurvishar and stomped his way upstairs to the first floor.
And immediately began cursing.
Senera and Thurvishar had barely made eye contact when the suit of armor was back at the top of the stairs. “You say Var did this?” That question was clearly directed at Senera. “You’re not still working for that bastard, are you?”
“No,” Thurvishar said. “She’s not.”
The statue turned his head, giving the impression of listening to Thurvishar, then swiveled back in the direction of Senera.
“It’s true,” she confirmed. “Relos Var just found out yesterday. I suppose we can assume he’s not happy about the situation, although I imagine he’s more upset about losing the Name of All Things.”
“How did you manage that?”
“We cured Drehemia,” Senera said.
“Huh” was Grizzst’s only response. “I wondered if anyone was ever going to figure out how Relos Var ended up sane.”
“Of course, we found out. We read your notes.” Thurvishar still seemed fairly appalled by the whole “animated suit of armor” situation. “Really? A suit of armor? That’s your solution to an unexpected death?”
“Yeah?” The statue shook his head, and he picked up the faintly glowing remains of the dining room table. “Look, it’s not like I could count on making a really nice tsali and having the vané bring me back, is it? Maybe once, but Khaevatz’s kids don’t like me nearly as much as their mother did. And I hate to break it to you, but the Eight Immortals may not always be around.”
Senera coughed.
The statue froze. “What happened? I’m assuming you stopped that bitch from wiping out the vané…”
Senera might have smiled under different circumstances. She’d gone most of her life being forced to put up with the Eight Immortals being treated with such reverence. Omnipotent, omniscient beings who could do no wrong despite the bluntly empirical evidence that they did plenty wrong all the time. It was nice to hear someone else treat Thaena’s memory with the gravitas it deserved.
None at all.
“Yes,” Thurvishar answered. “We stopped her. She was killed. So was Galava … and Argas … and Taja.”
It was impossible to know what expression the man would have worn since he had nothing that resembled an actual face, but he froze.
“Fuck,” Grizzst said succinctly. Then he turned around and marched to the other side of the workshop, where several crystals were embedded in the wall. Or rather, used to be embedded in the wall.
“Fuck!” Grizzst screamed.
“I’m sensing a trend,” Senera chuntered.
Grizzst the animated suit of armor swung around to face them again. “Do not fucking tell me that Vol Karoth has escaped!”
Senera crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. Thurvishar stared flatly at his old mentor. Neither one said a word.
There was a beat of silence.
“Well? Did he fucking escape?”
“You told us not to tell you,” Thurvishar reminded him. “But yes, as it happens, that’s exactly what he did.”
The two living wizards could only watch for several eternally long minutes while the magically animated statue of the great, mad wizard Grizzst proceeded to throw a temper tantrum. A violent temper tantrum.
“That suit’s remarkably strong,” Senera commented. “Metal tables don’t generally bend that easily.”
“True. It is impressive.” Thurvishar didn’t sound impressed. In point of fact, Thurvishar sounded bored.
Senera smiled fondly at the man.
“Vol Karoth’s not the worst of our problems, old man,” Thurvishar said.
At first, Senera didn’t think Grizzst had heard him. Thurvishar hadn’t shouted. He’d said the words in a perfectly normal tone of voice, and Grizzst was being noisy.
Grizzst straightened. “Are we talking long term or short? Because I know Nythrawl’s an issue, but we’ll have to survive Vol Karoth before the Wound can take us down.”
“No,” Senera said. “He’s not talking about the Wound. He’s talking about Relos Var.” Senera said to Thurvishar, “Maybe you should explain it.”
“Yes,” Thurvishar agreed, “but first, a question, Grizzst. I’d like you to confirm something for me, if it’s possible. How was Relos Var planning to get rid of the demons?”
Grizzst hesitated. Then the voice answered with clear suspicion, “… Why?”
Senera nudged Thurvishar. “Tell him what demons really are.”