Ios of the Ivory Tower (1)
The garrison was dark. Not a whisper of human presence stirred within it. The 1st Knight Order was up on the Great Wall — and the Wall was dark as well, for the chill and the wind that swept its ramparts were quietly laced with the very nature of the Boundary. No lantern could endure that nature. It was the same reason no fire could be lit within the Boundary itself.
Perhaps that was why the look in Gulen's eyes as he studied Harad had turned distinctly strange.
"…Is the Boundary really cool?"
Apparently the words spoken atop the Wall had stayed with him.
"If you'd like, I could snuff out fire as well."
Gulen's face turned grave. It was the face of a man wondering whether he truly ought to believe that.
Instead of answering, he looked up at the Wall. Aside from the 1st Knight Order Commander, Gulen himself, and three of the wounded, forty-five knights stood waiting up there at even intervals.
"The graffiti? You can leave that be. It's likely a one-time affair — and even if it isn't, it soon will be. Oh, there it goes."
Harad, mid-explanation, read the mana as it seeped slowly upward. Only after he spoke did Gulen sense it too. It spread outward from the Wall — from the precise spot where the graffiti had been carved.
"The graffiti is bait."
Gulen gripped his sword like a fishing rod and bobbed it up and down.
"In other words, the Wall's been baited with feed called mana."
Mana was the food of magic beasts. It was a magician's sustenance as well.
"Beasts blinded by hunger will come hurling themselves at the Wall."
And it seemed they had already latched on.
"Glory to the swords of Serzila!"
A battle cry rang out from atop the Wall. It was Vice Commander Delic's aura, and it swiftly receded into the distance — the man had surely leapt straight over the Wall. He loathed even the thought of a magic beast's fur so much as brushing it.
Nor was he alone. The ring of blades swinging and slicing came not from atop the ramparts but from beyond them. Most of the knights had already crossed into the Boundary.
"Weak magic beasts — but many of them. What the one who carved that graffiti wants is chaos, you see. Not annihilation."
And in truth, not a single man of the 1st Knight Order would die amid this chaos.
"…You're not going?"
"Guarding the Wall is your duty. Not mine."
It was a fair answer. Gulen nodded without thinking. Harad's task had been to analyze the graffiti, and that was finished; he was free to return to the Inner Castle now.
"Understood, then. Stay safe on your way, sir."
Gulen did nothing to hold him back. He drew his sword and turned his body toward the Wall.
"Have you given any thought to why someone would go out of their way to stir up chaos?"
"Do I have to?"
Harad caught the shoulder of the knight already sprinting for the Wall.
"Didn't I say? The graffiti is bait."
"Yes, sir."
Harad grabbed the running knight a second time.
"Didn't you say you wanted to see the 4th Circle?"
"I don't need to anymore. Glory to the sword!"
"Now that I look closely, you're not a man at all, are you — just a cur."
Gulen was a creature whose appetites came first.
"Sir?"
"The magic beast Delic just cut down resembles a dog, I think."
"You can see that? It's beyond the Wall."
"I can sense it. And if you come along with me, there's an Outlands magician waiting."
The struggling stopped.
Harad loosened his grip on Gulen's shoulder.
"The one who brewed up this chaos, I'd say."
"Where? Let's go."
Taking Gulen along, Harad set off. He detoured by the stable, led out a horse blanketed in leather hides, and walked straight on — away from the garrison. When Gulen noticed, his brow knit.
"That's the road to the territory."
"I know. So does he."
Before long, a small carriage came into view — the very one Harad had ridden to the garrison, buried so deeply in snow that it looked like a modest hump. The moment Harad's hand touched it, the snow melted away; the meltwater evaporated in turn, and through all of it the carriage emerged unscathed. Even a stranger would have marveled at such impossibly fine control of flame.
Harad hitched the horse to the now bone-dry carriage.
"Keep in step for a while."
A lone newcomer, small of stature, was walking toward them — remarkably, from the direction of the garrison.
"Who—"
"I come bearing His Grace the Grand Duke's secret orders — to dig up intelligence on the Outlands."
Harad said this sternly to Gulen, who had been about to shout. The knight pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line.
The newcomer's steps slowed. Any fool could see he was wary of them. The carriage had halted on the narrow single-lane road; to pass, he would have to wade through snowdrifts piled higher than a man. A path that promised both toil and suspicion. After a moment's hesitation, the newcomer chose to bull straight through. He was shorter than expected, dressed in garments stitched from magic beast hide — a Northern craft through and through. His face, by contrast, was strikingly clean-cut. Gaunt in feature, yet Gulen thought he looked rather like Harad. The man opened his mouth.
"You've had a long journey, I'm sur—"
"Welcome. I've been waiting for you."
Harad cut him off and offered his hand.
"No need for alarm. I too came from a tower."
He held out his other hand as well. Above it, a bloom of fire leapt skyward. The man's eyes went round.
"…Ios of the Ivory Tower. 4th Circle."
"Harad. 3rd Circle."
Harad clasped the offered hand and broke into a radiant smile. He looked overjoyed — yet for some reason, Gulen found the sight chilling.
The Outlands had towers — several of them, in fact. Towers raised by magicians who had split into factions of their own kind, and the Ivory Tower was where those with art-related Origins had gathered.
'Art…'
Art, if one borrowed the Outlands' own phrasing. To Harad's eye, the place was a collecting ground for Origins that could find no home in any other tower. Towers were divided along attributes as a rule, after all. That didn't mean the Ivory Tower's magicians were weak — magic was an inherently vague thing, and whatever the Origin, it had its uses.
"Ios, I've seen your magic. Terribly elegant, it was."
The Ivory Tower had a fondness for artistic expression. Harad offered a compliment he had never once paid in his previous life, then quietly waited for Ios's reaction. And at the same time, he chewed over his own ignorance once more. Even by the time the Empire and the Order had fallen, the Outlands' secrets had scarcely been laid bare.
'I must not open my mouth carelessly.' Speak rashly, and he would be seized by the scruff of the neck.
'There's a tattoo on his neck. A painting, most likely. He'll have one over his heart as well.' Magic for shielding the body's vital points, no doubt — the moment mana flowed into it, it would activate. He could confirm nothing further. The Northern-style leather garb wrapped the man from head to toe; if the painting on his neck hadn't crept a little way up to his jaw, Harad would never have noticed it at all.
"And what's with that knight?"
While Harad was taking Ios's measure, Ios was glaring at Gulen, right hand tucked inside his coat.
'The drawstring of his top hangs loose. Has he a pen in there — or a picture finished in advance?' Paintings were magic here. Which meant that either the tools that drew them or the paintings themselves was his Origin.
"A knight I've won over to my side."
"Won over?"
Ios scoffed. He seemed to know the temper of Serzila's knights all too well.
"There's a continent-born magician seeking asylum in the territory. I borrowed a measure of his magic. His Origin was Ripples, I believe."
"Ripples!"
Ios's eyes wavered like disturbed water. Ripples was an ambiguous Origin — and just the sort of thing the Ivory Tower would find intriguing.
"It beguiles people, does it?"
"It does. Why, it can even steer them about like this."
Harad tapped Gulen's forehead twice with the tip of his finger. The knight showed no reaction whatsoever — thanks to the name of the Grand Duke he had put on the line.
"Thanks to that, I've been able to come and go near the garrison without drawing a flicker of suspicion."
"I see. An illusion, is it? Commanding you to… no, no. It's swaying his reason. A state much like sleepwalking."
"Truly the Ivory Tower."
Harad smiled sunnily. Catch on in a heartbeat — that was a magician for you. It did not please him. He wanted to kill the man.
"Let's talk on the way down. That's what your magic is for, no?"
Harad jerked his chin toward the garrison. Ios would want to be inside the territory before that commotion died down.
"How did you know I was coming?"
But Ios was cautious, as befit a magician. His right hand remained inside his coat.
"Surely you don't mean for me to name the one who saw me safely across?"
"…A slip of the tongue."
The right hand slid out of the coat.
"No harm done. Let's be off for now."
Harad took a step, and Ios fell in beside him. Gulen brought up the rear.
"Walk ahead, if you would."
"Gladly."
Harad beckoned with a crook of his finger, and Gulen took the lead. Watching the knight's broad back, the corners of Ios's mouth curled faintly upward. His wariness seemed to have slackened.
"By the way — about your patron. You're a good deal more refined than I'd expect from the Red Tower."
Red Tower?
Harad forcibly stopped his eyes from narrowing. It was a tower he had never once heard of in his past life.
"And how did you know I was Red Tower?"
"Oh dear. Seems it's my turn to be caught out. How could I not know? That fire pledges itself to the Red Tower is a truth of paradise itself."
"If my prying offended you, I'll apologize. Though I took my share of risks coming out to greet you, too."
Ios waved a dismissive hand.
"Apologize? On the contrary — I'm delighted. He must have sent you precisely because he knows how careful you are."
"More than that, I'm astonished. This is the first time I've ever met a Red Tower affiliate. Fire is rare, isn't it?"
So the Red Tower was a tower devoted to flame. 'First I've heard of it.' Harad had never seen nor even heard rumor of an Outlands magician who handled fire — the Red Tower least of all.
"Are you here for a short stay? Or in Serzila for the long haul?"
Ios's tone warmed to familiarity with remarkable speed. Meeting a compatriot in hostile land, it seemed, was a joy in itself.
'Short stay. Temporary, is it.'
Harad forced his stiff face to soften. Infiltration, it seemed, was not Serzila's monopoly — the Outlands sent its own spies as well.
"I came to Serzila some time ago. I intend to settle here."
"Same as me. Have you found a house? A decent one?"
Ios had somehow begun fretting over Harad's circumstances.
"I live in a two-story manor where hardly a soul passes. A courtesy from the gentleman who sent me here."
"Well, that's a mercy. It's a sorry state of affairs when magicians like us — men set on a great undertaking — lodge in some hovel."
Ios nodded, looking thoroughly satisfied.
"And you, Ios? I could lend a hand if you need it."
"Your kindness suffices. I've already secured a space. Comfortable, I'm told."
Ios rattled on without pause. Before Harad could even ask, he had volunteered where a fellow magician of the Ivory Tower was living.
"Even the snow falls thick as it does in the Boundary," Ios suddenly grumbled.
Harad drew up his mana a touch. The wind-driven snow lashing Ios's face gentled to a whisper.
"Oh, thank you. Now that I think of it, you're well suited to this land. The cold must feel refreshing to you."
"Refreshing — that would be the Boundary. Serzila runs warm, if anything."
"Incredible. Your Origin must be considerable indeed."
Ios was visibly astounded at the claim that the Boundary felt cool. Apparently rare even among the Red Tower.
"Well, that's precisely why I left, isn't it. The Red Tower runs short of people."
"Nothing but hardship, then. Short of hands — desperately so."
"The Red Tower's troubles grieve us at the Ivory Tower too, I assure you. So — any harvest thus far?"
Harad twisted his face as though in agony. He hadn't the faintest idea what harvest was meant to be harvested.
"The search and the prophecy, you mean. Unlike the other towers, that is the whole of the Red Tower's purpose, no?"
"Hmm."
"What's that look for? Who in the world doesn't know the Red Tower's circumstances? I'm not mocking you. You know how it is — the Ivory Tower keeps to its neutrality."
"I know. Of course I do."
Harad laughed impishly, like a man sharing a joke. His thoughts, though, had tangled into knots.
'Search. Prophecy. Unlike the other towers. Neutral.'
Not one of it rang a bell. However deeply he combed his memory, nothing connected to any of it.
'Should I press him further?'
No. If he asked for details, Ios would grow suspicious.
"Regrettably, there's been no harvest. I've learned nothing at all."
Harad let his disappointment show, plain and heavy.
"At this point I've begun to doubt it outright. Whether what our Red Tower seeks even exists. That sort of doubt."
"Don't lose heart. If I find myself with leisure, I'll lend you a small hand as well."
Ios, after all, would be living in hiding in Serzila from here on. 'Search, prophecy. So among those, there's something he can do in Serzila.' Harad opened his mouth again.
"Your kindness means a great deal, even if it's only words. It's a real comfort."
"Only words! Just you watch me from here on. See how much I intend to help you."
Ios all but bounced on his heels. To any observer, the two would have looked like the closest of friends. Harad stole a glance backward — Gulen's eyes were rimmed red.
'If the Grand Duke's name hadn't been staked, I'd have attacked him myself by now.'
Even this much was extraordinary restraint. Any other knight would have made blood of it already.
"I only hope we find it soon. Or failing that, some thread to seize!"
Harad thrust out a clenched fist.
"No need for such haste. It will come, and soon. Through you, the Red Tower will reclaim its former brilliance."
Ios knocked his own fist against Harad's with a soft thump. Then he smiled, wide and bright, as though to smile Harad's share for him. Meeting that smile, Harad could only answer with a bitter one.
"What's with that face? If the Red Tower saw it, they'd ache every bit as much as you. Fire is a sticky lot, no?"
"True. You're quite right. Nowhere clings tighter than our Red Tower."
Harad forced a smile.
"I'll steady my heart. I can hardly go troubling our tower master."
And then it happened.
The smile drained from Ios's face.
"You."
"Is it my turn again, then?"
Harad asked it playfully.
"You. Who are you?"
But Ios did not smile again. Far from it — he turned colder than he had been all along.
"It's me, Harad of the Red Tower."
"The Red Tower has no master."
"Oh dear. I didn't know that."
Harad's lips parted. His body had been in motion long before that. A hand, loosely curled, swept through the empty air — and in that same instant, it clenched shut.
It was a hair's breadth from touching Ios. Then the sword of fire leapt forth. It — the arc that had begun from a bare hand — carved straight through Ios.