A Legacy of Blades - An Epic Tower Fantasy

The final stretch of ground atop the wall before them was littered with debris and overgrowth, as if the Forest itself had moved to reclaim its lost territory. Anilith knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, something lurked within, but even the Wind saw nothing.

"What's the plan, Captain?" Anilith asked with a mock salute, banging her fists together twice in the style of the Moorish people.

"Think you can see anything with your Earth-eyes?" Orion asked in turn.

"Unlikely. This place seems to devour the vibrations I need, but I can try," she replied.

After only a moment's effort, she was overwhelmed by the overwhelming nothing she felt. It was as if she floated in a void, and the disconnect with her natural sight was alarming. Only on the yellow path had she felt motion here, and that had been nearly the opposite, as if all the vibrations in the world were visible at once. She'd decided that the illusions covered whatever enchantment lay over this place, or the magic of the keep made its own laws.

Whatever the case, she had a feeling that her disadvantage here was incidental, not targeted, or none of her senses would work right. Her Earth-Sense had simply been unable to penetrate the keep as it stood. The mystery of Elderscript left glaring holes in her understanding of the keep.

"I can't see anything," she said, shaking her head. "The keep feels sturdy, especially since the commotion earlier." She sighed. "I can either try something new, or we can venture out and see what we find."

"Eh," the old man said, "Give it a shot. We ain't got much to lose."

Anilith drew upon her heart of Fire, determined to use it in a way she hadn't yet. It had to be good for more than burst movement, but it was still too foreign to her. Without Pip's staff, she had only her memories of Temperance to guide her. That had been the spark to lead her down this new path, but it felt incomplete. Fire was only a piece of Temperance's steady song, the pressure that moved it forward, but he was driven by more, forged from more. She'd first felt his song when she discovered the rhythm of the Earth, and it had felt incomplete then, too, as if each was only a piece of something greater.

For now, she didn't need to unravel that tangled web, only to see. The thought brought on memories of rare moments she watched Temperance work, moments when he'd forced her to take a break. You always spoke of feeling the warmth, how every material had to be heated just so to bring out its potential. Too little, and it wouldn't be coaxed into changing; Too much, and its strength would unravel. But with just the right amount, you found wonder.

Brute force had gotten her nowhere, so she closed her eyes, sat down, and focused. The Wind came so naturally to her; Its touch was everywhere. Earth had been harder, and without the stone, she wasn't sure she'd have discovered the ability. Pip had been the catalyst for pushing her into the world of Fire, but Temperance had been the lens that revealed her path. Without either of them, she didn't know how she was supposed to focus…

She smacked a hand to her forehead in frustration. Focus. It couldn't be that simple, could it? She thought back to her ruminations on the Earth, when she'd followed the connection left by the fragment of Clod-stomper's armor, and shook her head. As she stared at her middle finger, understanding dawned; More than the stone had adorned that hand.

She focused on the band that lay on her finger, one for which she thought she'd hardly found a use. It was a gift of the Dungeon, and she'd assumed it a simple thing to help her focus, but she realized it might be more. The Dungeon had even just told them all it could be more; she just hadn't thought it already was.

Her simple silver ring felt cool against her skin, hardly different from her own body temperature, but distinctly its own. It gave off a sense of tranquility, like still water on a moon-lit night. On a whim, she summoned a bonfire from her hoarder's trove and basked in its warmth as she returned to her reflections.

She lost herself in the heat of the fire, letting thoughts of Temperance wash over her, but she didn't stop there. She thought of Willett, her people. She had only made it here to save them; their future was what she'd set out to forge, but she didn't stop there. She thought of Olina, embraced the pain of not knowing what happened to the precious little smart mouth. She thought of her parents, most painfully of all, and the passion she felt for each of them.

Passion, it seemed, took as many forms as love itself. Not all of them burned bright and hot; some no more than glowing embers. Some were comforting, and some laced with rage. The passion she felt for her parents was so convoluted, touched with so many emotions and buried thoughts, she hardly knew what to make of it, and she wasn't ready to sift through all of that.

It seemed she wouldn't have to, as the ring glowed warm against her skin. It was a change so subtle, like the first day of a new season, and would have been imperceptible if she weren't paying close attention, just as she hadn't noticed the chill touch the ring had borne.

A tangible aura of comfort enveloped Anilith, even as she dove back into memories of those she'd gathered in her life. Passion colored each relationship in a unique hue, and she realized they lived within her being as the gradients of warmth, some so imperceptibly distinct that only careful observation revealed the differences, and some so overwhelmingly unique, the rest of the world burned cold in their shadow. Her internal world was painted with shades of warmth that she'd never known.

Why couldn't the same be true for the world around her?

Opening her eyes, Anilith drew in that sense of comfort, glancing around as her surroundings came alive in a kaleidoscope of color. It seemed to her, her passions and rage spilled over, dying the world in brilliant, warm color. Instinctively, she knew which correlated with cold and hot, the fire before her burning a brilliant red, flickering orange, then yellow where the outer flames trailed off. The wreckage before her was a collage of greens, purples, and blues to her eyes, but she saw something she did not expect.

Scattered among the debris, what she'd taken as three stones burned warmer than their surroundings. It was not an astounding difference, only the gradient change she'd seen in her ring, but in that moment, she could hardly overlook it.

Glancing at Orion, who appeared only as a warm, illuminated face and hands, his cloak shielding the rest of him from her sight, she indicated the areas where she'd sensed danger waiting in ambush. "Definitely something there," she said, "And whatever it is is big."

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"How you want to approach this one, kid?" Orion asked.

"Spring the trap, of course," she replied without hesitation. "Might as well get a little practice in, see if I've learned anything beyond a new perspective."

With a wicked grin, harsh in the light of the fire, she dismissed her favored weapons, drawing a heavy two-handed sword in their place. She advanced on the nearest skulking behemoth. Drawing upon the rage she felt when she remembered her parents, the way they never returned, leaving her siblings alone, her footsteps smoldered as she walked.

Each step burned with a rage she never knew she'd suppressed. They knew they might not come back.

Step.

You left me, but I was strong. They needed you.

Step.

You left me torn between two lives: half a parent, half a disciple, never enough of either.

Step.

I thought you were the best. You were supposed to be the best, know the lands better than any scouting pair.

Step.

Nothing should come between a parent and their children. One of you should have come back.

Step.

Are you even dead, or are you just gone?

Step.

Every thought that burned away took with it some of the hurt she'd carried since their disappearance, just two more casualties of a harsh life in a harsh land. Every step brought a clarity of purpose, and through all the rage, she still felt two things more clearly than any: their love and their loss.

It was a rage, not of madness, but of abandon, only known to those whose world is broken.

She would carve these beasts down to size, fueled by this rage, and the great blade she held would be the perfect tool. As the first creature began to move, hurling an immense stone as it stood, she burst past its ambush. With both hands, she cleaved through flesh and bone, and the air took on an odor of foul, seared meat. The ogre-kin, smaller than the first she'd faced, staggered as it failed to find its footing, its own weight tearing what sinew still connected the appendage.

A burst of power brought her to a stop before a third sent her hurtling back to her foe, and the path that blazed red in her sight. The air itself seemed to ignite as her eyes saw the world anew.

Next to the immensity of her rage, her emotion, these beasts seemed so small. Never had she been so grateful her Master had trained her in the varied weapon arts of her people, but she realized she'd hardly scratched the surface of her power. Blades might always be her taste, but she was trained to do so much more—made to do so much more.

The Wind might best serve the blades she favored, but she was more than a servant of the Wind, and she was beginning to think her Master always knew this truth.

Her wicked grin died on her face, falling off over seconds, replaced by grim acceptance. These beasts would die, that she could discover what she might become.

Three ogre-kin lay behind them as they approached the far end of the battlements. Another door, black and imposing, stood vigil over their path. Unfiltered sunlight washed the green from everything it touched as the barrier split above them, opening slowly like the jaws of a beast dwarfing any Orion had yet seen, though they would be gone before its lips touched the battlements. He glanced around at the destruction Anilith had wrought, wielding more explosive power with every strike. The wreckage of her great sword lay abandoned in a mangled heap, cast aside in the completion of its labor, so great was the force driving her blows.

At first, the expression she'd worn had stricken him with worry, for it seemed she faced an internal battle beyond the beasts, but he recognized the look that overcame her next, even if it was laced with anger. Reluctant to address that, though, he walked to the door and carefully opened it, making as little noise as he could.

The door swung in on well-oiled hinges, as if it had been maintained for this day. Inside, the chamber was split down the middle, one half verdant green and one half a burnished orange, each with a mirrored door. The reflection of each caught the other, casting infinite illusions in their depths. At the center of the chamber, a black circle warded off the disparate hues. Two braziers, one already lit green, flanked a barrier in the sea of black. A simple window was set into the wall facing the central keep. No bars or glass were set into the opening, and the Wind breathed in the room.

Anilith, called by a voice Orion couldn't hear, walked to the window with purpose. He watched as she gazed out, noting the subtle change as her posture stiffened and she looked out, unmoving. Slowly, every step so gentle he sounded as the sighing of the Wind, he moved to join her, leaving Razhik standing watch over the door set into the orange wall.

Without a word, he looked out over the central keep with his friend, and his breath caught in his throat. Much of the hexagonal roof was obscured from their angle, but what he saw was no simple roof. Distant, tiered steps, each appearing wide enough for two men to do battle without precarious footing, rose in a four-sided pyramid to a central platform.

The top of the pyramid, which stood level with the battlements, was graced with a miniature pyramid of its own. At the peak of the structure stood a dais, the highest point in the keep, upon which was set a large, ornate throne adorned with bone. On that macabre seat reclined the largest goblin he had ever seen. Though they faced the throne's backside, the beast rested heavily on one arm, its head escaping the confines of the immense seat, large tusks visible past the beast's carefully braided hair.

But that was far from enough to steal away his breath.

At each corner of the pedestal atop the keep, a goblin stood guard, each bearing tusks of its own. If not for the size of the first beast, these would have towered over any goblin he'd slain, even the rage-fueled bastards who had driven them to seek refuge in the dungeon. They wore matching armor, each a different color, and wielded a complementary halberd. Red. Yellow. Blue. Green.

Flanking the throne, two more stood guard, no weapons visible from their vantage, wearing plate mail painted purple and orange. Each foe had the bearing of pride, standing great and tall, and there seemed no disparity in rank between them, despite two standing close to their leader. They each stood at the pinnacle, gazing down at everything beneath them, and that was no small number.

Each of the hundred stairs was lined with goblins, all kneeling, wearing fine armor, each helmet plumed with colored hair. The goblins were split into squads composed of a mixture of colors, a collection of rainbow brigades.

As he looked out, the immensity of what awaited them at the end of this path settled like a rock in his gut. Nothing that they'd seen could compare with what they faced, and the ease they conquered these battlements spoke of their purpose. All of it had been nothing but training, but a taste of the grand finale.

Anilith said simply, "Well, I guess we found the Warlord," raising him from the depths of his doomed thoughts.

Almost as if waiting for that moment, as if it heard all that passed in its domain, the beast stood up from its throne. Slowly, it turned and faced them, stepping free from the shadow of the seat. It locked eyes with Anilith, not sparing a glance for Orion. He could sense the growing connection between them, and he knew he was only an observer. Seconds passed like hours before a smile split the beast's visage, its tusks raised menacingly skyward.