Vestre

Vestre DeLeo rounded the corner of the staircase, letting his guard slip as the tower opened into a view of the land before him.

It was a mistake. Vestre had barely taken in the dark green forest below, the large silver lake now tinged pink with the reflection of the setting sun, when he saw the shadows. Grabbing the sword off his back, he swung forward with both hands, turning to meet his foes.

There were at least four of the sinuous forms, maybe more. They wove, snakelike, around each other, brilliant colors and patterns creating a dizzying assault on Vestre’s eyes. He gritted his teeth and stood ready with his sword, wondering which one of the heads would strike first.

Nothing happened. Vestre could hear his breath, quick and ragged, and feel the fast pounding of his heart. His hands were slick with sweat and he tightened his grip, gaining the courage to look closer at the monstrosities surrounding him. Not a one of them were moving, he realized. The patterns on the leathery skin of the interwoven creatures had contrasted in a way to make it seem as if they were slithering past each other. The heads, though their fangs were fearsome, seemed frozen in a striking position, as if time had stopped just as they were ready to attack.

He heard huffing sounds behind him, and relaxed enough to lower his sword.

“What is wrong with you?” Loloras panted, appearing around the curve of the stairs. “What do you have that thing out for? Why didn’t you wait for me? All these steps . . . oh!” She stopped talking, having spotted the frozen wyverns. “What cleverly wrought sculptures!”

“Yes,” said Vestre, hurriedly sliding his sword into the sheath upon his back. His action was too late, though, as Loloras looked at him and smiled.

“You thought they were real,” she said.

“I didn’t,” said Vestre.

“Why else would you have your sword out?”

Vestre shrugged in irritation. “They startled me, that’s all. If one of Enerensio’s spies saw us up here . . .”

“No one will see us,” said Loloras, moving further into the tower room. “We’ll get what we came for and be gone before full dark.”

Vestre glanced at the sun, which was rapidly disappearing beneath the horizon. “Good.”

“Yes,” said Loloras. “I certainly don’t want to navigate those steps in the dark. By Feno, they were steep!”

“Stop prattling and let’s find it,” said Vestre, gritting his teeth. He was tired of the young sorceress and her incessant talking. He had traveled with her for days to find this abandoned and forgotten tower, one of the few remaining legendary Mage Towers. He had gone with her because she claimed the tower held some spell on a scroll, a way to defeat Enerensio, and she had needed protection.

He hadn’t been prepared for her sheer force of character.

“Hmm,” said Loloras.

“What?” Vestre snapped. Despite the large openings in the tower room, the shadows in the corners were lengthening. Night was coming faster, and Vestre could admit to himself that he also didn’t want to walk those stairs in the darkness.

“This can’t be the right place,” she replied, sounding reluctant. “I see no scrolls. And why would something so important be stored in this open room, exposed to the elements?” She waved her hands around, indicating the tower.

Vestre closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them, Loloras was still standing in the same place, looking in his direction. “Are you saying they’re not here?” he asked slowly, hoping that he had misunderstood.

She began chewing her lip, and it was all the answer he needed. He turned away and looked out at the landscape.

“Well, they have to be somewhere,” Loloras said, fake optimism in her voice. “The book I had talked about them. This was the last known place.”

“Last known place,” said Vestre, sighing. “They could have been moved. Enerensio could have found them and taken them.”

“Well, that was a concern,” said Loloras. “We got here as fast as we could.”

That wasn’t true. They’d gotten there as fast as Loloras could. Vestre hadn’t realized before now how soft most sorcerers were. He could have reached the tower alone in half the time it had taken them.

“It probably wouldn’t have made any difference,” Loloras said, sounding offended. “Anything stored here would have weathered away to nothing years ago. If the scrolls were moved, they were moved long before either of us were born.”

Vestre, realizing she had picked up on his thoughts, threw up his mental walls as his father had taught him. “Don’t read my mind.”

“Well, if you’re going to think terrible things about me . . .”

“Don’t read my mind, and you won’t ever know what I’m thinking about you,” said Vestre, turning to her once more. “If there’s nothing here, we need to leave.”

Loloras looked for a moment like she was going to pout, but then she nodded. “It’s getting dark. There’s nothing of value here.”

They turned toward the stairs. As she passed the wyvern sculpture, Loloras laid one hand on it lovingly. “Such realistic craftsmanship,” she mused. “Such interesting patterns. Whatever do you think they made this for?”

“I don’t care,” said Vestre. He was trying to calculate how long it would take to get back to the city of Trebano. There he could finally lose the girl, collect his pay for escorting her, and spend it in the tavern of his choice. Yes, that was something to look forward to.

“There’s writing on it!” cried Loloras, her voice shrill.

“What?”

She had kneeled near the base of the statue, her face so close to one of the wyvern’s clawed feet that her nose was nearly touching it. “It’s written in the old language, but I can’t make out what it says.”

“Does it matter?” said Vestre. Why was she wasting time?

“It’s a wyvern sculpture at the top of a Mage Tower,” she replied, standing up and brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “It has to mean something. We have to come back tomorrow!”

“What?” Vestre had uttered that word too many times in the past several days.

“When there’s more light. I have to know what it says.”

“No,” said Vestre. “We’re going back to Trebano at first light.”

Loloras just looked at him, her face set. “You can go back if you like. I’m going to stay here and translate this statue.”

Vestre hated that look. He sighed. “I’ll force you to go back.”

“That would go against your code, forcing a woman to do anything.” She looked smug.

“It doesn’t apply if it’s to remove her from danger.”

She made a show of looking around. “I don’t see Enerensio’s forces, do you?”

Vestre sighed again, and this time it was the sound of a defeated man. He had traveled with her long enough to know that if she wanted to do something she was going to do it, despite what he said. “Fine. We’ll stay one more day. Only one more day.”

She beamed at him in a way that made the whole thing almost worthwhile. “Wonderful! Now, let’s tackle those stairs.”

As she moved past him, Vestre shook his head. I’d better get paid extra for this.

"Vestre" is copyright © K. B. Cunningham 2005

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