Wizard's Tower - Arc 2 - Chapter 30

My air elementals held me in the air over a Mirtallean town, and my gargoyles flew nearby. I hadn’t planned this foray out, not really. The idea had nested in the back of my mind like a giant spider and crawled out every now and again when I was planning out my revenge against Sena or thinking on the war. It was only the fifth-tier assassin that moved my hand.

The town below, like all of the villages, towns, and cities in Mirktal was build in a spiral. The very center building was a spire housing the Mirktallean equivalent to a noble. A path led around the spire downwards and turned into a spiraling road with buildings to either side until it led far enough away from the spire to become farmhouses. I estimated that the population could only be a little larger than Lark unless they built down into the ground.

Like the spire itself, the other buildings in the town were round with a spiral rooftop. I imagined that when it rained, the waters all rolled around in interesting shapes. Yet, I had not come to admire the architecture. I had dithered in the air long enough. I had come to plunder. This night would not be my finest night, and I likely would hold no pride from what I was about to do.

I left the gargoyles flying above me, as I lowered towards the spire. I first passed by the very top where worn flags flew.  One for Mirktal, and another local one.  Then by the mounted manacles, where unfortunate slave corpses hung from their arms for the entire town to see what would happen should an order be refused. The stench clung in the air; the summer heat had cooked their bodies.

The first window I came to, one large enough to fit through, showed the slave-priest for the area who was laying across his bed being entertained. He was a bald man, with a strong physique, and the slaves around him all seemed to be some ideal of beauty. They all held black hair, and brown eyes, slim and well-toned. Elsewhere around the room I could see the tools of slavery, the whips mounted on the wall, a podium holding some holy book, torture devices and more chains that I cared to count. I just shook my head and continued further down.

I stopped to peek through the next window, seeing no one about. The room seemed to be a sleeping chamber, posh rugs and curtains slathered the room, with finely carved dressers and tables. Likely the local lord’s bedchambers. On the other side of the room, a doorway led to the first part of the spiraling pathway curving around the outside of the spire. Stairs were on the left side. I detected some small enchantments for alarms and defense, but nothing I couldn’t overcome.

I flew around down further until I found what I sought. The next floor held two rooms, a bathing room, and a sitting room. The nobles seemed to be enjoying themselves in the bath, each at the opposite ends of the great heated pool. Standing around them were more slaves, all barely clothed, serving fruits and wine.

While I had no interest in the occupants of the room, and it did seem a little ostentatious, I stopped for a moment to take notes on where my own bath’s decorations could be improved. Fountains carved like lion’s mouths leaked steaming water into the bath keeping it hot. Golden braziers hung from chains on the ceiling, with decorative crystal covers that sparkled in the light. The lower half of the walls were covered in polished brass plates, that served to reflect the light and make the room feel larger.

Yet, the next room was my goal. I disabled the defensive spells about the window to it, and stepped through to decide upon what I wanted to plunder. Along the walls were shelves and bookcases holding trophies and scrolls. In the center of the room was a large round wooden table that came up to midthigh. Around the room were various sitting chairs and other furniture. I walked slowly inspecting each one. The chairs were placed in a circle around the table with the other furniture a circle around that,

While I had no need for sitting chairs at the moment, the designs of the ones here were different than the ones in Sena. Instead of the high back, it had two, one low and then a higher one behind it. Very odd to look at, but not what I came for. Behind the chairs, I approached my goal, only to be met with shock.

What I had first thought to be couches were instead something else entirely. The one I first observed resembled the sitting chairs I was familiar with, but it was it someone had lengthened the seat. Like a chair and a footstool combined into some kind of monsterized version of a chair. With a scowl, I stomped around the circle of these things, checking each one individually to see if there was a couch hidden amongst the lot.

“Who are you and why are you trespassing?” A woman’s voice called out to me.

I slowly turned to look at the entrance of the room. There, stood a naked noblewoman, dripping the waters of her bath. Around her, slaves and guards armed themselves for combat. Behind her, what I assumed was her husband, peeked out in fear.

I straighten my back and gave her a nod, the same one a higher-ranking Senan noble would give to a lesser, “Good evening, madam, perchance you could help me. Where are your couches?” I inquired with all the politeness I could muster.

“Couches?” she asked in clear confusion.

I waved my hands at her lesser furniture, “Yes, couches. To sit upon.”

“There are no couches here. Who are you to question me? Did the king send you?” She asked, seemingly taken aback. Her tone was one of polite interest, even if the words seemed hostile.

“Ah, my apologies. I am the Wizard Nemon Fargus. It is a please to meet you…?” I greeted. If she was going to be polite, then I had an obligation to be polite as well. I would have no one ever say that I wasn’t polite.

“Nemon Fargus?” she asked, still a bit confused. Not that I blamed her, she just had her bath interrupted. In fact, it felt nice that she didn't immediately recognize my name.

“Indeed, and you are?” I inquired.

That seemed to shake her from her confusion. She breathed deep and stood taller in her nudity, “I am—”

“Silence, mistress! There is power in names, and he may use yours against you!” A booming voice called from behind the group. The grouping of near-nude slaves shifted allowing the entrance of the slave-priest I had seen on the top floor.

His words, though, confused me. Power in names? What kind of folktales are they spreading about wizards in Mirktal? If there was power in names, then I’d long ago have discovered and used that. I could only shake my head at the ridiculous posturing.

“We know who you are, Stormslayer. Sena’s secret weapon holds no power here. We shall not bend to your threats no matter how many lives you take! Mirktal shall always triumph as we hold to the–” The bald man’s blue eyes were alighted with religious posturing or perhaps strong drink.

It had been a long while since I had been called Stormslayer, though. I tapped my chin as I thought about when it last was. It wasn’t the last battles I participated in.  No, it came from a battle thirty years before that, when I had first mastered the triple-cast of chain lightning. That was… no, I mastered that forty years before I left the Mage Corps, not thirty. That would be the battle of—

“This is why you shall fall today!” the priest’s scream broke my thoughts. He had donned his clawed gauntlet and finally stepped forward from the grouping. It seemed like he was prepared to lead an attack on me, as if I would stoop so low as to engage in physical combat. That kind of fighting should be relegated to other types of men.

I waved my hand, and one of my gargoyles burst through the window, snatched the priest, and carried him out the doorway. Both I and the others in the room watched as he was flung from the spire to fall to his death, a scream announcing the event.

I turned back to the noblewoman. Her skin was showing goosebumps from the night breeze coming through the newly opened window, but I tactfully ignored it, “As we were discussing, madam, where do you keep your couches?”

Later that evening, I landed on the roof of my tower with my owls. Four more Sad Chairs that they had carried landed with them, and two of my new guards quickly arrived to carry the chairs inside. The room that used to be the guard’s barracks and armory was being converted to sitting rooms until I could make a proper one. Still, it wasn’t the best of raids. Three different towns, and not a couch between them. I’d worked late into the night in my raid, and had twelve new pieces of furniture to show for it.

The chairs, which the Mirktal’s called by some other name I didn’t bother to learn, I called Sad Chairs. Mostly because it saddened me that they were not couches. In fact, their design was poor, to begin with. If I wished to sit with my legs straightened before me, I could simply put cushions on the wall and floor. Still, I couldn’t very well justify to myself calling my evening a raid if I didn’t plunder something, and the Mirktalleans seemed very proud of their Sad Chairs.

It was already the early hours of the morning, and the evening had been stretched too long, despite the later super of roasted quail and peas the town’s lord offered me on my last raid. That was quite a pleasant surprise, and he and his slave-priest were most cordial. Though they did spend an inordinate amount of time trying to discuss the religious details of their slave-god to convert me. Then again, I doubted they had many other topics to discuss.

With a feeling of disappointment, I carried myself to my bedchambers. I could always try to raid again further north. I’m certain there are couches somewhere in Mirktal.

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