Book 7: Chapter 17: The fallen tower
It took them half a day to reach the tower. Their progress was slow, moving through forest that grew dense; Martel estimated that ten miles lay between the village and the ruins. Curiously, Martel noticed animals in the surrounding trees; he reached out with his magic just to confirm, feeling the heat of a squirrel running past them. Whatever magic affected those who died in this area, it only did so to humans. For a moment, he imagined an undead army of squirrels and almost burst out laughing, despite the foreboding mood that lay upon the area. He wondered at this difference, why the magic only affected humans and not animals, but he also knew that the powers of the Archean wizards were beyond his understanding.
They were still half a mile from the tower itself when they saw the first signs of the destruction. Hewn stone lay in concentric circles with the ruined structure at the centre; debris scattered by the explosion, powerful enough to hurl rocks the size of a man across such a distance.
As for the undead menace, they saw no sign of any animated corpses roaming the outskirts of the tower. Every now and then, Martel used his ability to sense heat on instinct, searching for enemies, until he remembered it would not avail him. It made him feel blind, and it would also make him less efficient in combat; he relied on this ability to know the location of his targets, allowing his spells to land unerringly. Now he had to put his faith in his eyesight, which felt feeble in comparison to the certainty his magical sense provided him with.
Eleanor did not speak as they approached the tower, nor did he. Both were alert, weapons in hand. They had briefly discussed the efficacy of arrows against undead opponents; while they both assumed that the blade would be more useful, hacking undead flesh to pieces rather than simply piercing it with arrows, she had brought her bow along nonetheless. If it proved useless, she could always set it aside and draw her sword.
At length, they reached the structure itself. Its deformed shape had given Martel the wrong impression from afar. Lacking the upper floors, it had seemed wide in circumference, more like a great hall than a spire. Standing up close, he could see it was not particularly big after all; larger than the dormitory tower of the Lyceum, but smaller than a minor estate like that of House Fontaine.
The two halves of the gate barely hung on their hinges, the iron twisted by pure force. Nothing to bar their entry as such. The two companions exchanged looks; Eleanor took an arrow to place it against her bow, fingers ready on the string to draw back, while Martel ignited light into the ruby on his staff. The mageknight two steps ahead of the battlemage, they entered what remained of the Archean tower.
“I realise it is late to have this conversation, but what exactly do we intend to achieve?” While she spoke, Eleanor continued to glance in every direction, remaining vigilant. “If your new friend is to be believed, it is purely accidental that the dead rise again. Neither of us have the insight to undo such magic and cleanse the area.”
“I know. But maybe we’ll come across some of the creatures, and we can deal with them before they leave this place and plague the villagers. Besides, going to this ruin was your idea in the first place.” Martel increased the light on his staff. While the walls were broken in places, the trees outside did not allow much sunlight to reach. The fact that the entire place was not completely overgrown, given it had been abandoned for three centuries, had to be another effect caused by the magical energies that remained.
“I make no complaints that we are here. I just thought we should discuss what we actually hope to accomplish.” Martel shrugged. “We’ll take a look around. Deal with any undead. If we find something that has survived since Archean times, that’ll be a nice little reward for us.” They passed through some kind of gatehouse; bits of broken stone and wood lay scattered around them, maybe once assembled into furniture but now nothing more than debris.
“That would make us perilously close to looters and grave robbers.”
“At least our interest is in knowledge rather than how much we can sell it for.”
“Very well. I was mostly curious whether we might find writing here on the walls, just as back in the Lyceum, or the catacombs. Stone has the advantage over parchment when it comes to durability. That was my initial interest in the place before we heard about the residents still hanging around.”
“Fine with me. We’ll check for inscriptions and the sort whenever we come to a place that might be fortified with such wards.”
They entered what seemed like a dining hall. A large, open space that filled out most of the tower’s ground floor. Some tables and chairs remained intact; others had been smashed to pieces by rocks falling from above. Looking up, Martel could see gaps in the ceiling. “We’ll have to watch our step, especially if we go one floor up,” he mumbled.
Eleanor quickly raised her hand to command silence and attention before returning her fingers to the bowstring, slowly pulling it back. Following her gaze, Martel saw nothing in the dark; the light on his staff made him blind beyond its ring of light. Eleanor, walking ahead, retained a little more of her night vision, and he knew by her signal that she had spotted potential danger. He released his magic to sense heat around him, just in case. Nothing returned to him but his companion, but given their adversary, he trusted her eyes more than his usual method for determining enemies.
Martel’s ears proved more valuable. The shuffling of feet reached him. Eleanor raised her arrow and finally released it into the dark. It struck something soft, making nary a sound. Movement continued, finally reaching the illumination provided by Martel’s staff, and he saw the creature. A woman, dressed in an ordinary robe like a cloak or trader, except it was torn to shreds in many places, as was the body underneath. Large chunks of one arm and leg were missing, and the hair on the skull had been partly burned away; tattered strands remained on the other side to cover some of her face. An arrow sat embedded in her cheek.
This did not hinder the undead woman; on the contrary, she increased her pace, though still moving slowly with a clear aim toward them. As Eleanor put her bow aside and drew her sword, Martel raised his staff and released a bolt of fire. While hampered in his ability to target his enemy, he had no trouble hitting someone shuffling directly toward him in a straight line. The burst of fire struck her in the chest, pushing her back for a moment while she unleashed some manner of snarl. She reached them, raising her hand to strike at Eleanor; as she did so, the mageknight stepped back and let her blade meet undead flesh to cleave it at the wrist. Another fire bolt from Martel proved sufficient, and the body sank to the ground, finally released to eternal rest.
“If there’s no worse than that, we won’t have much trouble,” the battlemage remarked, looking down on the woman turned corpse twice over.
“Let us not be overly confident just yet,” Eleanor cautioned him. She placed her bow on one of the intact tables. “It does not seem worth the bother. I better stick with the blade.”
They searched the nearby rooms. The kitchen was easy to identify and proved of little interest. A dormitory with a few surviving beds matched what Leander had told them of living quarters on the ground floor for apprentices and servants.
On the opposite side of the hall, they found the spiral staircase that led up and down. The two companions looked at each other. “Any preference?” Martel asked.
“The further up, the more destruction. But the alchemist said the tower had a large level underground, which should be untouched by the explosion. I say that is our best bet.”
“Sound reasoning. Lead the way.” One behind the other, they descended the stairs.