The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) by Everet Martins Page B
Authors: Everet Martins
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likely left to do some hunting of his own.
Chapter Seven
Home Sweet Hole
“The shadows under Juzo’s brow were cold, his ruby colored eye containing a life’s worth of sadness, misery, and grief.” - The Diaries of Baylan Spear
I t was just like Juzo remembered it. Dark, dry, and still as a rotting corpse. He stared down at the twisting stairs, winding their way into the cavernous cylinder, into the depths of the Tigerian Bluffs. Here once again, like a Rot Fly to necrotic tissue. He wasn’t sure why he had come back, maybe wanting to dredge up some old wounds, perhaps if it was a profession he could make an honest living from it. Juzo didn’t feel like there was much honesty left in his blood, but he was trying to make an effort to change that.
The old feeling came back, knotting his stomach into a ball of loathing. The emotion bubbled up his throat like searing acid, one he thought he’d never feel again. The terror of disappointing the master slipped over his neck like the hangman’s noose. What would it be this time? Partial flaying perhaps? Spikes driven through the hands? Dagger in the gut? No, he’s dead. He had killed Terar.
We killed him, Blackout hissed.
“Yes,” Juzo whispered back. He rested his hand on Blackout’s hilt, vibrating with energy. He took a breath and started leaping down the old familiar stairs, terror cinching around his gut like a vice with each passing step, the stone growing ever colder through his boots. His legs were working mechanically, still remembering the location of each unevenly spaced step, skipping over snaring roots and shattered sections of stairs.
He arrived at the bottom of the stairway, standing before the long passage of crypts. He took a step and the old torches burst alight with their sickly green flames. How those torches knew to light when he approached had remained a mystery to him, and he thought it always would.
He clenched his fists and his bladed teeth ground and scraped together. He closed his eyes for a long moment and opened them, scanning for the familiar glow of magical objects. Terar would always be shit of the realm in Juzo’s book, but he did teach him how to use his abilities. That was one of his redeeming gestures, but it wouldn’t have stopped him from making him taste Blackout’s kiss again.
The iron sonces glowed with a faint blue along the walls and everything else grew dark in comparison with his magical vision. Further down at the end of the hall, leading into Terar’s chambers, two round figures sat perched on stone columns. Their eyes were wide, black holes in the hazy cloud of blues surrounding their arachnid like lower bodies. Reapers . How could he have forgotten about those? Without Terar here, Juzo wondered how they’d react to his presence. He supposed there was only one way to find out.
He marched through the archway and into the long hall, ancient crypts gaping open on either side. His hand wrapped tightly around Blackout’s hilt, tendons rising out from under his forearm with his steely grip. His heart beat like a hammer around his missing eye, like it was being gouged out again for the first time. His boots echoed through the passage with each step, nostrils flaring open with frantic breaths. He winced at his pounding heart, lips curling back to reveal his jagged smile. His red eye dimly glowed, intermingling with the green sheen flickering over his sunken cheeks.
He stopped half-way down the hall, looking at the statues staring back. The Reapers were still as felled trees, incredible mouths on their abdomens yawning open, wide enough to swallow a man in a single bite. The top half of their bodies from the waist up were humanoid and female, dark skin glittering with magic, the outside lined with a spiked carapace. Their heads had six long horns jutting out in all directions, sharp as blades at the ends. Juzo let out a long held breath. This was good, just as long as they remained where they were.
Something caught
Chapter Seven
Home Sweet Hole
“The shadows under Juzo’s brow were cold, his ruby colored eye containing a life’s worth of sadness, misery, and grief.” - The Diaries of Baylan Spear
I t was just like Juzo remembered it. Dark, dry, and still as a rotting corpse. He stared down at the twisting stairs, winding their way into the cavernous cylinder, into the depths of the Tigerian Bluffs. Here once again, like a Rot Fly to necrotic tissue. He wasn’t sure why he had come back, maybe wanting to dredge up some old wounds, perhaps if it was a profession he could make an honest living from it. Juzo didn’t feel like there was much honesty left in his blood, but he was trying to make an effort to change that.
The old feeling came back, knotting his stomach into a ball of loathing. The emotion bubbled up his throat like searing acid, one he thought he’d never feel again. The terror of disappointing the master slipped over his neck like the hangman’s noose. What would it be this time? Partial flaying perhaps? Spikes driven through the hands? Dagger in the gut? No, he’s dead. He had killed Terar.
We killed him, Blackout hissed.
“Yes,” Juzo whispered back. He rested his hand on Blackout’s hilt, vibrating with energy. He took a breath and started leaping down the old familiar stairs, terror cinching around his gut like a vice with each passing step, the stone growing ever colder through his boots. His legs were working mechanically, still remembering the location of each unevenly spaced step, skipping over snaring roots and shattered sections of stairs.
He arrived at the bottom of the stairway, standing before the long passage of crypts. He took a step and the old torches burst alight with their sickly green flames. How those torches knew to light when he approached had remained a mystery to him, and he thought it always would.
He clenched his fists and his bladed teeth ground and scraped together. He closed his eyes for a long moment and opened them, scanning for the familiar glow of magical objects. Terar would always be shit of the realm in Juzo’s book, but he did teach him how to use his abilities. That was one of his redeeming gestures, but it wouldn’t have stopped him from making him taste Blackout’s kiss again.
The iron sonces glowed with a faint blue along the walls and everything else grew dark in comparison with his magical vision. Further down at the end of the hall, leading into Terar’s chambers, two round figures sat perched on stone columns. Their eyes were wide, black holes in the hazy cloud of blues surrounding their arachnid like lower bodies. Reapers . How could he have forgotten about those? Without Terar here, Juzo wondered how they’d react to his presence. He supposed there was only one way to find out.
He marched through the archway and into the long hall, ancient crypts gaping open on either side. His hand wrapped tightly around Blackout’s hilt, tendons rising out from under his forearm with his steely grip. His heart beat like a hammer around his missing eye, like it was being gouged out again for the first time. His boots echoed through the passage with each step, nostrils flaring open with frantic breaths. He winced at his pounding heart, lips curling back to reveal his jagged smile. His red eye dimly glowed, intermingling with the green sheen flickering over his sunken cheeks.
He stopped half-way down the hall, looking at the statues staring back. The Reapers were still as felled trees, incredible mouths on their abdomens yawning open, wide enough to swallow a man in a single bite. The top half of their bodies from the waist up were humanoid and female, dark skin glittering with magic, the outside lined with a spiked carapace. Their heads had six long horns jutting out in all directions, sharp as blades at the ends. Juzo let out a long held breath. This was good, just as long as they remained where they were.
Something caught
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