CHAPTER 4

Audie leapt for the windowsill. Time seemed to freeze as both dived through the air. Was it all for nothing? Had they failed at this, the very first challenge of the Tower?

Her hand grazed the window, but only just - she was just a hair’s breadth too short to grasp it fully. A horrible, sinking feeling began to rise up inside of him as Audie was in freefall.

Around Yannick, the gargoyles flickered into dust, including the one on the Tower’s wall. Touching the window, however briefly, must have been enough to disarm the trap.

Audie’s other hand flicked out like a snake, grabbing a hold. Her feet seemed to find some purchase. Her momentum carried her still down, pulling her out of her holds. She scrambled for more, managing to arrest the downward force. She pulled herself flush against the stone, and Yannick found himself breathing a sigh of relief.

He began to laugh madly. Somehow they’d managed it. None of them were dead, either. A little bloodied and scratched, but nothing insurmountable.

“Master Yannick?” said the softly-spoken priest. “Might I heal you now?”

He turned to the priest. Both him and Virgil looked at him with concern. They were blackened from the fire and covered in a thick layer of blood - either theirs or the gargoyles, Yannick didn’t know. There was a deep gash on Virgil’s forehead, but her armour seemed to have taken the worst of the damage. Jeran looked worse. One eye had swollen to the point where he could hardly open it. He cradled his arm, holding it close to himself. He took a limping step towards Yannick, supporting himself on the oak cane.

“You’re supposed to heal the worst injured first,” said Yannick, his voice no more than a croak.

Jeran shared a look with Virgil. “ I’m aware of my vows. May I?”

Yannick ran a hand to his face. It came back drenched in blood. He became aware of a burning pain in his left arm. He looked down and the sight made him feel ill: the flesh was entirely missing, with chunks of that torn away, exposing the ligaments and muscle beneath. Nausea rose inside of him.

“Master, it might be best if you would lie down,” said Jeran, gently supporting him.

“I’m fine,” he murmured. He felt the shakes take over him. Before long he was trembling all over. The worst part wasn’t the shaking - but rather the fear he could see in Virgil’s eyes. Yes, he wanted to say. This is what old age is like. One day, this might be you.

He waited for the tremors to pass. He knew he’d already lost control of his bladder and he hoped he wouldn’t lose control of his bowels too, but some things were unavoidable.

Jeran knelt patiently by his side and began murmuring a blessing chant.

Yannick saw nothing but a flash of soft blue light. It bathed him, softening the ache in his arm first, then the rest of his limbs and head. He felt normal, but the feeling of healing didn’t stop. He felt it deep within his chest, breathing new life into his old lungs. The feeling was everywhere, healing every part of him. It seemed to last forever, a strange, invasive sensation halfway between pleasure and pain.

The glow faded away and he felt the fog pass through his head. He sat up, feeling stronger than he had in years, despite the woozy sensation. When was the last time he’d seen a decent healer?

He looked up at the young priest. Maybe the man wasn’t as useless as he’d first thought. Jeran was applying his prayers now to the Dusken Knight. Yannick marvelled at the way her flesh wove itself back together under a soft blue glow, leaving only the trickle of dried blood on her face. He was a remarkable healer to not only have healed Yannick’s immediate wounds, but lightened some of the aches and pains he’d picked up over the recent years. From what he understood of the discipline, the longer an ailment had been around the harder it was to remove with prayer.

He finished with a clap and turned to Yannick, a smile upon his bloodied face. His eye was completely shut now.

“Are you sure you’re quite well, master?”

Yannick nodded. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”

“It would be best if you were to sit again, master. The healing process will still be in process internally. It can lead to some moments of weakness.”

“I’ll stand.”

The priest’s smile didn’t falter as he placed a forceful hand on Yannick’s shoulder. “You must sit, master.”

I must, must I? Was that the first sign of a backbone he saw in the man? It was a welcome change, he decided. A party where one did not challenge the leader was usually the one in which everyone died.

Next, the priest tended to his own wounds. The swollen eye, weeping and sore, began to shrink back to its original size. He held his arm in a softer pose once again, no longer clutching it close to his body. Cuts and scrapes disappeared from his skin.

The priest’s injuries were serious and he’d taken them with much stoicism. For a man who had spent the entirety of his life in a cloister, he was turning out to be tougher than Yannick had expected.

“You look like a sorry bunch,” said a voice.

They all turned back to the tower, catching sight Audie rappelling herself down the last few feet of the wall. In the time it’d taken them to heal, she’d tied a rope to the window and sent herself back down. Impressive, thought Yannick. She’s either got the stamina of a horse or she’s acting tough. She flashed them a devilish grin.

“Some of us were here, fighting the gargoyles you released,” he said.

She shrugged. Her bare shoulders were beaded with a fine layer of sweat, her hands still white with chalk.

“Was that what they were? Huh. You clearly didn’t do a very good job, ‘cause I almost died fighting one of those things.”

“And yet here you are, still among the living.” Yannick took a step towards the scout. “Impressive.”

Audie grinned back at him, glowing at the praise. Then she went to the pack she’d abandoned before making the climb. She pulled out a dry set of clothing and began to peel off her soaking top layer, revealing the lean musculature beneath.

He caught Virgil turning away from Audie’s body, her eyes scanning in the opposite direction - the horizon, the tower, anything else within sight. Was that the faintest hint of a blush across the top of her cheeks? He didn’t know Dusken Knights were capable of emotions, let alone embarrassment. It was something he’d have to keep a watch on. Unrequited affections could be dangerous inside a Tower.

“What’s inside the window?” he asked as Audie rejoined the group.

She shrugged. “It’s a room.”

“What kind? Big, small, any distinguishing features?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Some stuff. And a mirror.”

“A mirror?”

“Y’know, a looking-glass. Or whatever you call it..”

Yannick shook his head and looked up. Part of him had hoped that reaching the window would open a door at the ground level, but it didn’t seem to be the case. The Towers weren’t linear, exactly, but they tended to present a route. In this case, the only way in was to climb. He stared up. It was a long climb, even for a man in his physical peak.

“Are we even sure this prince is here?” asked Audie.

“The Archbishop is very certain,” said Jeran.

“Yeah, but how does she know that?” Audie said, pressing him.

“Were it important for us to know, the Archbishop would have bestowed that knowledge upon us, I’m sure.”

“Sounds like it’s important to know who took him in the first place, and why they stashed him in here, but as they didn’t see fit to bestow that knowledge--”

“Enough,” said Yannick. It came out sharper than he intended, but he had no stomach for bickering. Unity was a precious commodity. Arguing among the party was a shortcut to shit, as Ricard had often remarked.

“I don’t know if I can climb that thing,” he said. It was embarrassing to admit, but he was well beyond that stage. The sticky, cold piss on his legs was testament to that. “I wasn’t much of a climber in my day, and my day is long past.”

Audie looked away, embarrassed for him.

“I actually have just the thing, master.” Jeran was rooting around in the large, clinking sack that he carried. “I’ve become quite sophisticated in my chemics as of late and… here.” He took out a glass vial filled with a viscous crimson liquid and offered it to Yannick.

“A potion?”

The priest smiled. “Yes, you might call it that. Endows the imbiber with a certain level of increased physical strength for a short period of time. It should be more than sufficient for the climb, I would think.”

Yannick raised an eyebrow as he took the vial. He raised the vial to the light and it seemed to become thinner, reminding him of blood drawn through a needle.

“Prolonged exposure to sunlight will begin the reaction, master. It would be best for you to consume it promptly.”

Yannick scowled at him.

“I only have one, master,” he added quickly.

Yannick would have preferred to take more time. He needed to understand what Audie had seen in the room before he sent them headlong into danger. A mirror seemed dangerously simple, didn’t it? But there was no time for that line of thought now - if the potion spoiled, he’d be stuck here outside, and the tower didn’t seem to be offering another entrance.

He nodded to Jeran and pushed the stopper out, downing the vial in one. He winced as it went down, bitter as ash and thick as treacle. The party looked at him expectantly. He felt nothing. Was the potion bad?

“How are you feeling, master?”

“Nothing-- oh, my.”

It was as if the entire world had become lighter. Gravity was nothing more than a suggestion. He felt as if he could lift the entire tower off its foundations.

“Let us climb. Audie, you lead. I’ll follow you. Jeran, you follow me. Virgil will take the rear.”

It was a much longer climb than he had expected. The strange perception change that had occurred when looking from below - watching the tower reveal its true height - didn’t seem to happen as he climbed. Why did the enchantment break for those moments?

He could feel the potion flagging as they closed in on the window. His strength wasn’t quite back to his normal levels, but it was beginning to peter out. The priest had done a good job on the potion: most potions he’d ever taken had little effect on mages, or they affected an uneven burn, draining in a flash.

He glanced down and vertigo flashed through him. He felt his grip slacken on the rope momentarily. He felt his foot slip from a precarious hold.

“Father,” he cursed, clutching the rope tightly as he banged against the Tower.

“Master, are you--”

“Fuck off.”

Breathing deeply, he steadied himself against the wall and began to climb once more, his joints starting to croak in protest. He ignored them and powered through. One more foot. Then another. Once again. And again.

With great, gasping breaths, he pulled himself through the window frame, arms and legs shaking like a leaf. He wanted nothing more than to place his feet on solid ground. He was too old for this - and he’d be damned happy if he never climbed another thing in the rest of his days.