chapter b4c72 - what lies within

    breaking through the door took too much time, and that was only the first step. tyron worked as quickly as he could, one handed, draining the enchantments of their power, sensing the flow of power to avoid triggering any traps. all the while, his undead continued to hunt through the red tower and fortify the upper levels.

    “they’re trying to find a way in,” filetta reported to him.

    sweat dripped down tyron’s forehead, but he didn’t notice, too focused on feeling out the tiny slivers of arcane energy on the other side of the door.

    “who is?” he replied softly.

    “if i knew that, i’d tell you. there was only one before, but we haven’t seen them for a bit. now there’s more of them. gold rank, we think. so far, they haven’t made it in, but it’s only a matter of time.”

    “keep them out as long as you can,” tyron murmured, eyes still closed.

    the fingers of his left hand continued to pulse in a steady rhythm, unfaltering as time ticked by, threads of magick pulled tight around his own heart. he straightened, pulled his head away from the door and nodded to himself.

    reaching forth with his free hand, he grasped the door handle and turned it, pushing it open in one smooth motion. then he waited, head cocked to the side.

    nothing happened. no explosion, no crackling lightning, no flash of magick.

    “well, there you go,” tyron said.

    “so we’re in?” filetta asked, sounding surprised. “just like that?”

    tyron gave her an incredulous look, drew a spare pliance from his toolkit and tossed it down the corridor. before it was more than a foot past the door, sizzling beams of red light from four separate points on the wall launched out and melted the implement to slag.

    “ah,” the wight said. “i guess i stand corrected.”

    “sadly, none of the magisters i’ve been able to scrape for information knew anything about the defences in here. a completely separate grid from the rest of the structure.”

    “we’ve killed every mage in this stupid tower,” filetta stated. “surely, one of them knows how to deactivate all of this.”

    “they probably do,” tyron agreed as he stepped into the doorway, careful not to extend any of his limbs too far forward. the four points on the wall from which the beams had emitted were seamlessly blended into the stonework. if he hadn’t seen them for himself, he never would have been able to pick out their locations. “it would take too long to get reliable information out of them. doing it myself is probably the fastest and safest way.”

    “well, you better get to it,” she warned him. “things are starting to heat up outside, and this army doesn’t fight nearly as well without you.”

    tyron grunted as he closed his eyes and began to extend his senses once more. filetta watched him start to work, but as far as she could tell, all he was doing was slowly waving his hand in the air and frowning a lot. she turned and checked on his guards. there were two wights nearby, the former soldier, janus, and a mage whose name she didn’t remember.

    “do your job well, janus. something doesn’t feel right.”

    “it’s not like i have a choice,” the undead grunted.

    oblivious to them, tyron continued to work as quickly and safely as he could. he might not have known exactly what enchantments the magisters had used in this section of the tower, but he did know the general patterns they favoured. fortunately, they turned out to be as unimaginative and consistent as he had hoped.

    for the next few hours, he continued to break them one by one, advancing steadily into the corridor while filetta or laurel came to report to him about various skirmishes happening around the tower. apparently someone had broken in. now they weren’t sure. now there was a small group of slayers attacking the door.

    by the time he reached the other end of the short corridor, it was clear he was running out of time.

    the final enchantment faded to nothing, and tyron breathed a short sigh of relief. there wasn’t any time to celebrate, so he quickly pushed the palm of his hand into the door and tried to sense beyond it. after coming so far, he didn’t want to be caught with his pants down at the last possible moment.

    after a few seconds, he frowned. after a few more, he opened his eyes again, staring hard at the wooden grain of the door.

    “anti-magick field?” he muttered to himself.

    he couldn’t sense anything from the other side, no wisp of power at all. either the space was cleansed of every trace of arcane energy, which was unlikely given where they were, or there was a field destroying any magick that entered it.

    “tyron steelarm!”

    a voice filled with unfathomable venom barked his name, and tyron turned to see a vaguely familiar man in ornate armour striding towards him. more than his bearing, more than the arrogance in his face, the armour told the tale of who this was: a noble. who else could afford to wear something so heavily enchanted, so elaborately made?

    “do i know you?” tyron asked as he brought his staff up, then sharply down.

    the moment it touched the ground, he began to channel his power through it. this wasn’t a spell, except in the crudest possible sense. anti-magick fields were, oddly enough, made of magick themselves. just like any other spell, they could be drained of their power, though it was difficult to do so. to destroy this field, he would have to flood it with double the amount of arcane energy that had been used to make it. if multiple mages had poured their power into it, he may run out of power before he got anywhere close to dispelling it.

    the noble’s twisted expression didn’t change as he continued to stride forward, swinging his blade from left to right, his eyes fixated on the necromancer.

    “you know my family,” the man spat. “you know my brother.”

    the family resemblance clicked into place.

    “jorlin?” tyron stated, outwardly calm as he summoned up more of his power and funnelled it through the staff. “yes, i see the resemblance. i recognise that flesh. i butchered enough of it, after all.”

    if it were possible, the armoured noble’s face twisted even further, turning a deep red with the force of his rage. he opened his mouth to curse or roar something, but another voice cut him off before he could utter a syllable.

    “he’s trying to break the field,” a woman said, emerging from a nearby room behind the noble. “there’s a massive amount of power being destroyed right now.”

    dressed in purple robes, with the hood pulled low over her eyes and the gold-stitched emblem of their order in plain view, tyron knew exactly what this woman was.

    “is the field holding?” the noble demanded.

    “of course,” she smirked, staring at tyron. “i can hold it easily.”

    he doubted that very much. thankfully, the noble looked convinced, turning back to tyron with an ugly smile on his face.

    “nostas jorlin,” tyron said, as if he’d just remembered the name. “head of the house.”

    notas froze for a moment, and tyron seized the chance to continue speaking as he continued to squeeze out every drop of power he could muster.

    “i believe your brother was... herath? yes, herath jorlin. i remember him well.”

    “you will die a slow, agonising death for what you did to my family,” nostas grated. “i could kill you with a word, but i won’t. you don’t get to go that easy. i’ll have your skin turned into a lampshade and hang it from the ceiling over your cell. you will spend a thousand days begging for death; only then will i have your tongue cut out.”

    the noble’s whole frame trembled with the force of his rage. tyron watched him coldly. all around him, his skeletons were being pressed, and he’d been forced to retreat against the wall as his minions fought on his behalf.

    “you may not have that much time,” tyron called. “herath is on his way, after all. if you take too long, we will see a touching family reunion here in the tower.”

    “don’t let him bait you,” warned the female mage-hunter. “he won’t be able to hold out for long.”

    tyron gritted his teeth as, unfortunately, it seemed like she might be speaking honestly. he had an ocean of power at his command, but unless it was double what she had, it wouldn’t be enough.

    he began to burn his vitality again, converting it to magick as he forced all of the energy out of his staff and into the field.

    the anti-mage twitched.

    “he has too much power,” she warned. “i won’t be able to hold for much longer. get him!”

    “my pleasure,” nostas growled.

    at that moment, another figure came hurtling through the corridor, bellowing in rage, and all hell broke loose.