Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

“You’re acting like a child,” said Col.

Wren vigorously rubbed his face. “You’re right. You’re right. Sorry. Got a fear of sharp things.” “What, like swords and knives?”

“No, they’re fine. Sharper than that. Razors, all this glass.” He gestured vaguely around. “It could take your finger clean off and you wouldn’t know it.”

“Yes, you would. As soon as the air hits the wound, you’d know. You’d feel a gentle throbbing at first, then you’d look down and see a bloody stump where you recently had a finger-”

“Yes, thank you. If you’d just shut up now, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Col shook his head in exasperation. “I’m taking us over the fall zone. Keep your eyes open for any light.”

“Fine.”

Col pulled the skycoach up a few feet and headed straight over the forest of glass. Towers still stood within the area, some having escaped unscathed, others half collapsed, little more than decayed remains. Wren peered into the darkness, wishing that Xavien had been more specific with his directions.

They covered the area in a grid pattern, but it seemed hopeless. Wren couldn’t see any signs of life. He turned to Col to tell him it was a waste of time-

— and caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye.

“Stop,” he ordered.

Col stopped the skycoach in midair. “What?” he asked.

“I saw something. A light.”

Col looked around. “Where about? I can’t see anything.”

Wren stared hard but he couldn’t see anything. “I’m sure I saw it. Just a flash. Like when you see a torch through a gap in a shutter.”

Col slowly moved the skycoach backward. A moment later, Wren saw it.

“There,” he said, pointing. The skycoach stopped moving and Col looked to where Wren was pointing.

“Looks like an old tower.”

“It’s been built up, though. The top half is wooden.”

Orange light speared through wooden slats. Col studied the tower. “There’s no way in from the top. It doesn’t look like there are any windows up there.”

“So we go in from the bottom,” said Wren. “Quietly.”

Col nodded and turned the skycoach around. He settled it in a gentle landing outside the tower, in a space that had been cleared of debris.

“I wonder if he’s been hiding here all this time,” mused Wren as he dropped to the ground.

“Possibly. No one’s going to come looking for him here.”

Col checked his weapons, then drew his long sword. “You ready?” he asked.

Wren checked the wands in his belt. “Ready.”

Col nodded and they walked around the tower until they found the door. Col stood to the side and motioned Wren to do the same. He reached around and flicked the latch, giving the door a gentle push.

It swung inward on silent hinges. They waited, but nothing happened. Col darted a quick look around the door frame.

“Clear,” he whispered to Wren. He crouched down and entered the tower. Wren followed. He saw a dark room cluttered with all kinds of junk. Old chairs were stacked one on top of the other all the way to the roof. Tables had been separated from their legs and piled into a corner. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. Diadus certainly didn’t spend any time down here.

Col was standing at the bottom of a spiral staircase. Wren joined him and they climbed slowly up the stone steps, keeping their eyes trained above them.

Wren leaned close to Col. “Watch out for him. He’s a powerful artificer. No telling what he’s got up his sleeve.”

Col nodded.

The next floor was the same as the one below-empty of life but cluttered with junk. They moved up, past two more deserted floors. Then the stone and rock of the tower walls gave way to the newly constructed wooden portion. Wren tensed, as this was probably where Diadus lived. They climbed a few more steps, then Wren heard a dull clomp. Col paused to look down. The stairs had been replaced with the wooden variety.

Col indicated for them to tread more carefully. Wren hoped it wasn’t too late. Maybe Diadus hadn’t heard Col’s footstep.

The stairs stopped at a sturdy door. Col studied it carefully, then motioned for Wren to retreat a few steps so they could talk.

“It’s solid,” he said. “If it’s locked, there’s no way we can break it down. I can pick the lock, but he may hear me.”

Wren smiled and pulled an amethyst wand from his belt. “No problem,” he said. “Just stand behind me, please. Thank you.”

Wren pointed the wand and released a wave of blue electricity that hit the door, crackling and smoking. All went silent for half a breath, then the whole door exploded inward with an implosion of air, disappearing from sight. Wren cut off the flow of energy and Col rushed passed him, sword raised, plunging into the room. Wren followed, waving away the smoke so he could see.

The door had smashed a desk and punched through the back wall of the tower. Smoke drifted out of the hole, and after a moment, Wren saw Col standing over something.

“Couldn’t you have used something with less of a bang?” he asked.

Wren joined him and looked down. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’”

“Is he dead?”

Col crouched down beside Diadus and felt for a pulse. Blood seeped from a wound in his head. Wren didn’t think the door had hit him, for the simple fact that his body was still in one piece. Shrapnel from the desk had probably hit him.

“He’s alive,” said Col.

Wren breathed a sigh of relief.

“We just have to wait for him to wake up.”

Wren straightened and looked around the room. A single lantern on a table provided a small amount of light. An unmade bed was pushed against the wall. Next to it was a large table piled high with books. On the opposite wall, shelves held an assortment of jars and vials. He walked over to them and started sorting through the bottles, taking down jars and gingerly sniffing the contents.

One of the jars knocked his head back and made his eyes stream with tears. “Here,” he gasped, handing the jar to Col. “Wave this under his nose-don’t sniff it!”

Col froze, the jar halfway to his nose, then carefully lowered it. “What is it?”

“Smelling salts, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well … no, no I’m sure. It’s smelling salts.”

Col moved it toward Diadus, then paused and glanced back at Wren, who tried to look confident.

“What are you waiting for, man? Do it.”

Col shook his head and waved it under Diadus’s nose. The man jerked his head away, then opened his eyes and tried to focus on Col. He saw Wren standing over Col’s shoulder and sat up, scrabbling back against the wall. “Who are you?” he asked in a frightened voice.

“Just a couple of concerned citizens,” said Col.

Diadus frowned. “Concerned cit-? What?”

Wren leaned over. “I remember you, Diadus.”

At the mention of his name, Diadus let out a cry of fear and scrambled to his feet. He tried to push past Col, but the man was skinny to the point of sickliness. Wren reckoned a strong breeze could knock him over, so a shove from Col nearly sent him flying through the air. He fell onto his backside, then scrabbled quickly beneath a table, whimpering in fear.

“Why did you say that?” demanded Col, rounding on Wren.

“Say what?”

“You called him by his name!”

“Oh, excuse me, Master Professional Interrogator . What was I supposed to call him?”

“Nothing. Not until we assessed the situation.”

Wren glanced across at Diadus. “I think the situation’s assessed,” he said. “And in my humble opinion-and understand, I’m not a professional like you obviously are-I think we’ve got a slightly unbalanced individual on our hands.”