Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2) Read Free Page B

walked to the stairs.
    “I said halt!”
    Klay stepped between them. “Lord Borra—”
    “What is the meaning of this?”
    “King Samos gave him his freedom.”
    “‘Stay of execution,’ and he is to be held in the Red Tower.”
    Tyrus ducked into the stairwell while Klay argued. He waited for boots on the stairs or shouts, but none came. He climbed a dozen staircases to the top of Ironwall, and the city’s size still amazed him. As he neared the top, the sounds of other people grew fainter because few servants visited the Red Tower.
    Tyrus pushed open a door against a heavy wind. A walkway connected Ironwall to the Red Tower. Built with red stones, the spire stood as the tallest point in the Gadaran mountain range. The sun shone with a painful white glare, and brown mountains surrounded by brown plains filled the horizon except in the east, where a larger range of green mountains stood.
    Tyrus should have felt secure because the Red Tower offered sanctuary, a safe port in an unpredictable storm of strange politics and factions. He survived in the shadow of the Red Sorceress, but the wind brought back unpleasant memories. He closed his eyes and remembered the burning flesh of the flying monster as he fell from the sky. When they struck the trees, the wooden branches exploded like a thunderclap, breaking most of his bones.
    He took a moment to push the memory away.
    Tyrus forced himself to the rampart, rested his hands on the cold stone, and braced against the wind. Every instinct he had screamed to run, but he leaned forward and glanced over the edge. Cold adrenaline filled his stomach. His jaw trembled at the drop. A dizzy sensation attacked him, and he stumbled away.
    The Butcher of Rosh feared heights. He berated himself to look down the mountain again but lacked the nerve and glared at the ramparts instead. They held a power over him, and he didn’t know how to take it back.
    Down the mountain, the temple rang the hour. Two bells echoed off all the rock surrounding Ironwall.
    “Well, the knights are upset,” Klay said. “Surprising, I know.”
    Tyrus had not noticed Klay opening the door and realized how foolish he had been. If a knight had followed him, given him a little shove… He shuddered at the idea.
    Klay asked, “Are you okay?”
    “I’m admiring the view.”
    Klay stepped to the rampart without a care. “I can’t stand the dungeons. Feels like you’re being buried alive. Fresh air stirs the blood.”
    Tyrus preferred the dungeons. For most of his life, he had ignored scenery. If he was not planning a battle, there was little point. Now it taunted him. He both admired and hated the way Klay leaned against the rampart.
    “Time to face Dura,” Klay said. “Hope learning nothing was worth it.”
    “I needed to try. She can’t keep me here forever.”
    “I doubt she agrees.”
    They entered the tower, and Tyrus let Klay lead. Dura would have noticed his absence by now. No sense lying or hiding. Best to confront her anger and let it pass. Strange that a little old woman worried him more than four armed men, but Tyrus had spent his life beside a sorcerer and recognized real power when he saw it.
III
    Since Tyrus first moved in, the Red Tower had become more alive with dozens of sorcerers returning to Dura’s side. He heard rumors of towers spread throughout the continent and wondered at the number of acolytes. Armies gathered. No one trusted him with numbers, but as a general, he hungered for logistics. He followed Klay past doors where knots of sorcerers studied sheepskins, parchments, and tablets filled with the Runes of Dusk and Dawn. Voices debated arcane patterns, and scraping quills accompanied rustling papers.
    “Let’s find the little one,” Klay said.
    The guests lived near the top with Dura. As they climbed the tower, he smelled a toddler’s diapers and underneath that more domestic things like old food and blankets. The living quarters were well lived.
    Klay opened the door. At