“This tower is part of Vormendion’s inheritance, but there’s more to it. Before he departed this part of the universe, he chose certain treasures to bestow on the one who conquered the challenge of his guardians. I don’t know more than that, though I can feel the Energy emanating from the inner vault,” Tiladia explained as Morgan and Issa followed her through an extensive collection of musical instruments covered with dust shrouds. Morgan looked at Issa with raised eyebrows. She smiled, eyes scrunched with excitement.

“I admit, I was excited to see what a powerful wizard had in his ‘reliquary,’ but I didn’t expect something like this,” Morgan said.

“Well, we haven’t seen it yet. Don’t count your kisses before the Fling,” Issa replied.

“The Fling?”

“Ancestors! Don’t you people do anything fun? The spring planting gala? The Seed Fling?”

“Ahh. Gotcha. Well, we’ll have to get something like that started around here, hmm?”

Issa started to answer, but they’d come to a portion of the wall obscured by crates, and Tiladia said, “The door is behind those boxes of linens!”

“Vormendion put the extra linens in his reliquary?” Morgan shook his head with a bemused smile. Then, he started moving the boxes. They were heavy, but he was strong and large, and it wasn’t much work to clear a path to the bronze-colored metal door set into the l formerly iron wall of the tower. There was no handle, knob, or dial that he could see, but a flat, shiny plate about the size of a person’s hand was set into the center of the door.

Something in his connection to the tower told Morgan that if he pressed his hand to that plate, the door would open. He stepped forward, still holding Issa’s hand, and reached out to press his palm to it. Warm Energy pulsed under his flesh, and then with a tremendous click and a hiss of pressurized air, the door swung outward a few inches. The air that gushed out of the room was cold and devoid of scent, and it caused the metal of the door and the tower wall to frost over with icy condensation. Morgan and Issa stepped back, waiting for the foggy, hissing air to stop pouring out of the opening.

“Was the room refrigerated?” Morgan asked as the cloud of cold air finally stopped and pooled around their ankles.

“It seems so,” Tiladia said, swooping closer to the door and disappearing through the gap. Morgan glanced at Issa and, with her reassurance, reached forward to pull the door open further. It was heavy but swung easily on its perfectly crafted, silent hinges, and when it was fully open, pale, white lights flicked on, illuminating the vault's interior.

It was a round, bronze room about ten paces across, and the back wall, opposite the door, held four recessed shelves, each containing a dark wooden box. Tiladia was flitting around something to the right, though, and when Morgan took a tentative step into the vault, he saw that it was a pedestal with a bronze, humanoid head sitting atop it. When he stood before it, wondering what Tiladia was doing, the bronze eyelids snapped open, revealing glowing orange orbs.

“Hello, mortal. Congratulations.” The head spoke in a dry, inflectionless dead-pan, moving just as a living person would, its wrinkled flesh flexing with the articulation of its jaw and its glowing orange eyes tracking Morgan as he moved closer. Morgan had seen talking objects before. This wasn’t a shock or even the strangest thing to happen that day, but he still took a double-take at the weird head. It was bald, had pointy bat-like ears, and angular eyes under a heavy, brooding brow. If Morgan had to guess at the age of the subject of the sculpture or cast metal, he’d say it looked like a man in late middle age.

“Uh, hello,” he said, glancing at Issa and shrugging.

“That head is meant to look like Vormendian,” Tiladia said, flitting away from it. “I’ve determined it is not him, though.”

“Correct, spirit. I’m a mere shard, a tiny splinter, of the great Vormendion.”

“I’m a whole spirit of a mighty dragon, and I should eat you here and now for what your creator did to me!” Tiladia streaked toward the bronze head, opening her misty jaws and letting loose a burst of cloudy breath. The bust of Vormendion widened its eyes and stretched its mouth in a startled cry, but he was unharmed when the foggy dragon breath poured over him. Tiladia banked her flight and spun away, a tinkle of laughter following her form.

“She doesn’t like you,” Morgan said.

“I’m not responsible for what my greater version did to her! I’ve no memories involving dragons or their spirits!” The bronze head protested.

“She won’t hurt you,” Morgan paused and watched the dragon spirit flying in arcs outside the inner vault, swooping over the crates and furniture in the larger space, then continued, “I don’t think.”

“I have information for you, mortal, now that you’ve inherited this great structure.”

“Tell him, then,” Issa said, frowning at the skull. Morgan gave her a questioning look, and she continued, “If he’s really a fragment of the mage that built this place, he can’t be a very nice person. Look at what he’s done to Tiladia and all of the guardians!”

“It’s a valid point,” Morgan said, moving a step closer to the bronze head.

“Again, I was created for a purpose, and the great Vormendion did not include very many superficial memories. As I said, I’m just a tiny fragment of his soul, and there wasn’t room for much beyond speech, vocabulary, a bit of personality, and the knowledge I need to impart upon you.” The bronze head sounded pained, irritated, and also a little fearful. “Trust me; you’ll want me to carry out my duty!”

“All right, well, what is it you need to explain?” Morgan asked, now standing directly in front of the head.

“This room contains items of immense power and potential. A gift from Vormendion to the one that inherits his legacy—this tower and its contents.” The bust’s glowing orange eyes moved from left to right, and Morgan felt like, if it had arms, it would be gesturing expansively at the shelves with their cases on the far wall.

“Why would Vormendion do this?” Issa asked, coming to stand next to Morgan. “He doesn’t seem like the altruistic sort. Why leave these gifts for someone to find?”

“The Great Vormendion had many motivations! How dare you impugn him so? He was more than charitable in his time on this plane!”

“I thought you said you didn’t have many memories?” Morgan leaned closer to the head, scowling.

“No! I don’t! I’m sorry, but it’s my imprinted personality—it seems I’m very eager to defend Vormendion, the greater portion, from insult.”

“All right, but the question stands. Do you know why Vormendion left this ‘legacy?’”

“Yes, I have some of that knowledge. Part of it was pride. He’d spent more than a thousand years on this plane. He didn’t want to leave without a trace, so he turned his home, this tower, into his legacy, making it a challenge and reward all in one. He also struck some . . . bargains, so certain conditions were placed on the creation of this legacy. I’m afraid I cannot explain those motivations—the knowledge simply isn’t there.”

Morgan looked at Issa, and she shrugged, so he said, “Okay, tell us about this inheritance.”

“Finally! My purpose will be fulfilled!” The head smiled, revealing even bronze teeth. When it began to speak again, Morgan caught a glimpse of the bronze tongue within its mouth, and he did a double-take—it was forked like a reptile’s. “There are four items that the Great Vormendion has left for the one that claims his tower. You are that person, Morgan Hall . . .”

“You know my name?” Morgan interrupted.

“Of course—I am of this tower, and you have bonded with the tower.” The head paused to stare at Morgan, waiting for him to nod. “Now, the four items in the inheritance are somewhat related to each other, at least most of them, though they may be used separately and by people of your choosing. Each one is powerful and rare.

On the first shelf,” the bronze head moved its gaze in the general direction of the indicated object, then continued, “you’ll find a tome containing knowledge that will grant the reader a class change. Not just any class, though! The reader will receive Vormendion’s third class refinement, the epic-rated Prime Artificer class!” The bronze head paused, staring at Morgan and Issa as though waiting for a reaction.

“So, anyone that reads that tome will instantly gain that class? They’ll become a, what was it, Prime Artificer?” Morgan asked.

“That’s right! The only prerequisite is that the individual must have reached the appropriate level for their species to obtain a class. In most cases, that would be level ten.”

“Will they gain skills and spells as well?” Issa asked.

The head looked at Issa and frowned, but then it looked at Morgan, saw his expression, and its demeanor returned to neutral, and it replied enthusiastically, “Of course! Depending on the level of the person that reads the tome, certain skills and spells will be granted. As the individual gains further levels, the tome will provide additional rewards, the last being granted at the attainment of tier-seven.”

“Sounds valuable,” Morgan said. And the head frowned, apparently hoping for a more exuberant response. “Well? What’s next?”

“The second shelf,” again the head gazed in the direction of the shelf, “contains a scroll with a copy of one of Vormendion’s signature spells! If you have the requisite Energy and will, the Imbue Soul Shard spell will allow you to bind a captured or willing spirit to an object.

The spell scroll results from all of the knowledge that Vormendion gathered through thousands of trials, allowing the one that studies it to create imbued constructs with as much or as little physical and intellectual detail as desired. Why, this is the spell that the Great Vormendion used to infuse me into this fine, bronze vessel.” The head stopped speaking, its grandiose presentation ending rather abruptly as it looked to Morgan for a response.

“Uh,” Morgan glanced around, suddenly glad that Tiladia wasn’t in the room. “So it's a way to enslave spirits?”

“Not exactly! First, you must capture the spirit. Or, as in my case, create a shard of your own spirit. Or, you might find a willing spirit! Any of those cases will work with this spell.”

“You use the terms ‘spirit’ and ‘soul’ interchangeably. Are they the same?” Issa asked.

“In my mind, they are, which tells me the Great Vormendion thought they were synonymous.” The head answered Issa quickly this time, not looking at Morgan first. Was it learning? Could it learn? Was it alive? Morgan didn’t like the implications and questions this situation was stirring up in his mind.

“So, I could take a spirit and put it into any object?”

“No! The object must be properly prepared, which brings me to the third shelf and its contents! The Great Vormendion has left a tome containing one of his most sought-after, difficult-to-obtain skills! The person that reads that tome will learn the skill, Prepare Vessel!” The Vormendion bust was practically yelling in the enthusiastic delivery of its information.

“Are these skills and spells not granted by the class tome?” Issa asked.

“No! These are custom, self-taught abilities that Vormendion spent nearly a hundred years perfecting!”

Morgan was growing tired of the Vormendion bust and its faux enthusiasm. He was beginning to count himself very lucky that he’d never met the real Vormendion. He said, “All right. What’s in the last box?”

“Yes, yes. On with my duty! The final object in the Great Vormendion’s inheritance is a portal stone that will connect this tower to the dwelling that Vormendion built on Aradnue. There, you will gain access to even greater mysteries! For your safety, the box containing the portal stone will not open until you have achieved tier-seven.”

“What?” Morgan exclaimed. “The world where Tiladia is from?”

“Ahh!” the bronze head exclaimed. “Ahh!” Its eyes were beginning to glow more and more brightly, and little orange veins were starting to spread from them into its bronze “flesh.” “My duty is done! I am released!” The orange veins spread until the entire bronze head was glowing orange, and then it simply burst into a cloud of black smoke. When it cleared, the pedestal on which the head had rested was empty.

“Goddamn it!” Morgan said.

“What?” Issa seemed glad the head was gone; her shoulders were more relaxed, and she was breathing more calmly.

“I think I should have questioned that thing a lot more before I let it finish its ‘duty.’ Now it's gone.”

“We know what we need to know, though, and I was starting to fear that evil man’s spirit would be in this tower forever. I’m glad it’s gone.”

“Yeah, but now we need to figure out what to do with all these things.” Morgan gestured to the shelves and their boxes.

“I have some thoughts about that,” Issa replied, walking over to the shelves.

“I’m glad to hear that because I feel pretty damned overwhelmed right now. I also need your advice about my class—I hit tier-four.”

“Oh!” Issa said, turning to him with wide eyes. “All right. Let’s go somewhere quiet and comfortable to talk. You can lock this vault up for now, right?”

“Right,” Morgan said, happy to put the inheritance on the back burner. He took Issa’s hand and led her out of the vault, closed the heavy door, and pressed his hand to the plate until, with a hiss and solid, resounding click, it sealed shut. He’d deal with this mess after he and Issa sat down and figured out his class refinement. As they started toward the stairs, he called out, “Tiladia! Come with us, please; I’d like your advice too!”