Chapter 2: Blood in the shadow of the Tower
----------------------------------------
When we return, weapons bared, do not give us mercy, because we will have none to offer you.
From the Book of the Immortals
----------------------------------------
I crash and roll across jagged debris, pain jolting through me. When I skid to a stop at last, I’m lying stunned amid the rubble. Above me the sky reels, and. I try to gasp air back into my lungs but only manage a thin wheeze.
I lie like that until Olly's face swims into view above me. "Korm!" He kneels down, gripping my shoulders. "Can you hear me?"
Still struggling to draw breath, I give him a weak nod. With Olly’s help, I roll over and push myself upright, the rubble cutting into my palms. There’s blood, salt-copper, on my lips, and I force myself to my feet.
Balen glares at me, nose wrinkled as if I'm something foul he's stepped in. With a grunt, he turns and stalks away, the other scavengers trailing after him like whipped hounds.
Olly eyes are bright with concern as he steadies me. "That bastard could've killed you! We should walk away from this. Find another way out."
I pause just long enough to spit a wad of bloody phlegm out, then I grimace, shaking my head despite the spike of pain it causes. "And go where? Back to the slums? Or maybe the cells beneath the Sovereign's tower?"
Olly’s hesitant. In the green eyes behind his perpetually smudged glasses I can see the broken, defiant man I've become. This expedition to the island, it’s not about escape, not really. It's about claiming a place in a world that grinds people without essence, like us, into the filth. It’s about carving our names into this city, even if the ink is blood and the canvas crumbling stone.
And maybe it’s about proving to Olly that his loyalty in me isn’t misplaced, that even though I’ve messed up so many times, I’ll still get us out of here.
So I hold his gaze, my pride as bruised as me, and draw a careful breath, clutching my tender ribs. "We do it together, Olly. They’ll sing of us in the taverns. You and me, brother."
His silence stretches. Then he gives me a slow nod, the light catching a hint of moisture at his eyes. "Always, Kormen. Always."
Softie.
Olly wraps an arm around my shoulders, supporting some of my weight as we limp deeper into the outskirts. I manage a grateful smile despite the grinding pain. Always looking out for me, even when he knows I'm being foolish. I won’t let him down.
We emerge into another abandoned square, this one even more choked with rubble and debris than the one we left. Only a few lonely piles of stones mark where homes and shops once stood before time erased them. Now there's nothing but wind-scoured desolation closing in on all sides.
The other scavengers are gathered here in loose knots, muttering to each other as they wait for Balen's return. Their gazes drill into us as we approach. I'm used to the scornful glares they throw my way, but it still stings knowing even the scum of Amenion look down on me, though I've never lived anywhere else. I clench my fists, the coarse dirt beneath my nails embedding into my skin. They won’t change their opinion until I give them no other option.
In all there looks to be six of us scavengers milling uneasily amidst the rubble. Seven including Balen. An unlucky number. A pinch-faced man with lank, greasy hair stands slightly apart, thin lips twisted in a sneer. He drums long, twitchy fingers on the dagger at his hip. Against a crumbling wall lean two figures, one woman, one man, with identical sharp, fox-like features and blonde hair - twins? Their words float to me on the dusty breeze.
"Just one haul, Tomas. One good haul and we can get Ma the treatment she needs...."
Standing apart from them, a wiry woman in threadbare scholar's robes has her nose buried in an ancient tome so weathered its title has long since faded. Her lips mouth words as her eyes dart across the pages. Maybe she hopes to find magic secrets, the Sovereigns won't tell us.
Olly and I shift from foot to foot beside the ragged band. No one makes an effort to introduce themselves, and they look away when I try to catch their eyes. Small wonder. We're competition - two more scavengers come to take a share of whatever prizes await us in the desert ruins. Two more rivals for treasure. Only the twins even acknowledge us with the barest dip of their heads before turning back to their discussion.
I wiggle my pack, trying to find a position that eases the grinding ache in my ribs and back. Useless. There's worry on Olly's face. This expedition is our one chance to change our fates and it won't be easy. Or fair. We might need to fight, and I touch the hilt of my dagger, making sure it's still at my belt.
As if summoned by the thought, heavy footsteps sound from one of the streets. I tense, breath hissing between my teeth as Balen ducks his massive frame beneath an archway into the square.
Balen walks towards me again, and the pain in my ribs is somehow a hundred times worse. I look away from him, trying to stop my hands shaking. My boots scuff the cobblestones. I’ve backed away without even realising it.
Above us looms the gleaming white stone Tower of the Sovereign. It spears straight up into the sky, and rumour says it goes up forever, straight through and past the realm of the gods. Inside is worlds of wealth, while Olly and I scrounge around in the muck below.
Balen is a single rung above us on this infinite ladder and yet he thinks it's his job to keep us in the dirt? No, this is more important than Balen. This is about taking from the Sovereign what they won’t willingly give. What we need to live.
I pull my gaze down, back towards Balen. There’s a smile on his lips. He already thinks he’s won. He may be head and shoulders above me in size and strength, but I'll be damned if I show him any more weakness. I meet his eyes, letting my stubborn defiance shine through. Want me gone, brute? Drag me out then.
Balen reads the challenge in my gaze. With slow, menacing steps he stalks toward me, massive shoulders rolling. The other scavengers press back, clearing space as the predator hunts prey.
"You're a damned fool, Vardos."
His ringed hand drifts to the vial of red essence hanging around his thick neck, preparing to tap its power. "Think my message didn't get through that thick mongrel skull the first time. So let me spell it out clear enough for you."
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
He pauses, so close now I can smell sweat and dust ground into his grimy vest. Muscles coil and flex beneath a patchwork of scars and crude tattoos. The hand wraps around the vial.
"This is my expedition.. My rules. I say who's in and who's out. And your kind-" He aims two meaty fingers at my chest, "-ain't welcome. So drag your filthy carcass back to whatever sewer you crawled from, and pray to the six our paths don't cross again after today."
With that he flicks his fingers in my face and turns his back, dismissing me. The scavengers watch this display with hooded eyes, wary as rabbits before a predator.
I remain rooted in place, hands knotting into fists. He talks as if his word is Sovereign law instead of the rambling of another street thug. Anger wars with common sense. I promised Olly no unnecessary risks, but how can we abandon our one chance? These ruins beyond the city walls have to hold the key to escaping this life for good.
My internal debate is interrupted by a scuff of boots on gritty stone. The pinch-faced scavenger with the twitchy hands steps forward, spurred on by Balen's display of dominance.
"You heard him, Vardos," the man sneers, yellow teeth bared. "Take your halfbreed hide back to the sewers. We got no use for your kind fouling up this score."
Behind him the others murmur angrily in agreement. The scholar glances up from her book to give me a disdainful sniff. Only the twins remain silent, watching this play out with hooded eyes. They make no move to intervene.
Next to me Olly shifts uneasily, no doubt sensing my rising rage. He leans in to whisper urgently in my ear. "Steady, Korm. He'll crush you if you press further." His hand grips my forearm almost painfully, as if he could physically hold me back from the brink through will alone.
I try to give him a smile to reassure him. But it's no use. He sees right through me as always, because he knows I'm not someone that backs down. So I wrench my arm from his grasp and stalk forward, stopping just outside of striking range should Balen's patience snap. The big man half turns, brow furrowing.
"We're getting our share of whatever's out there, same as the rest of you," I say, squaring my shoulders. My voice carries crisp and clear above the wind. Behind me I hear Olly take a deep, steadying breath as if bracing himself. Then he steps forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.
"Are you going back on your word?" Olly says, voice pitched loud enough for all to hear. "You promised passage to anyone who joined this expedition. Does that promise not extend to us as well?"
I shoot Olly a startled look. Clever. If Balen claims his promise doesn't apply to me, it shows his word means nothing. Not the image this pretend lord would want to cultivate. Sure enough, Balen turns slowly to face Olly, eyes narrowed.
Olly stands firm, gaze steady. But his jaw clenches when Balen takes a threatening step toward us. And then another. "You'd do well to mind that mouth, boy," Balen says. "Before it gets you in more trouble than you can stomach."
He shoves Olly hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back. The familiar rush of rage blooms hot and bright in my gut. No one touches Olly. My muscles tense, itching to leap at him, to ram every word back down his throat with my fists.
“Try that on me next, Balen.”
Balen may be a mere speck in the grand hierarchy of power, nothing next to a Sword, but his magic overshadows my lack of it like a mountain over a sinkhole. I’ve fought those stronger than me since I was a kid, though. I’ve got speed, cunning, and a lifetime of practice at taking punches and standing back up.
I sink into a fighting stance, my arms relaxed, feet wide.
Balen chuckles, and peels off his shirt. Dangling from his neck, a vial of blood-red liquid—Essence, the life force of others—sways ominously. He uncorks it, sipping with a smirk.
His muscle bunch and writhe as if there’s snakes underneath the flesh, and they bulge with Hammer caste strength.
The scavengers form a crude ring around us. They know where this show is going.
“You're dead, Null,” Balen says, his voice dripping with disdain.
Null. Magic-less. Worthless. I force my breathing to steady, remembering every back alley brawl that brought me to this moment. I step forward. The scavengers tighten the circle, eager for blood.
The first exchange is swift. Balen lunges, a burst of strength fueled by essence. I dodge, the air from his punch grazing my cheek. My heart hammers, but I focus, finding rhythm in the chaos. My counter is a quick jab, testing his defences. He blocks easily, but his eyes narrow – he hadn't anticipated my speed.
We circle each other, two fighters gauging the rhythm of battle. Balen attacks with brute force, each swing a battering ram. I dance away from each blow, my feet skipping across the ground, barely touching it. It’s a game of predator and prey.
I strike and retreat, making sure I don’t stay around long enough for him to hit me. All I need is one mistake, one moment of arrogance. “Dance for me, Balen.”
He roars, and lunges at me. I dodge. His frustration grows with each missed strike, each time I slip through his fingers like smoke. He abandons his showboating, intent on ending this. The blows become reckless, and I use this, swaying and weaving through his fury. The scavengers lean in, their breaths held, eyes wide.
The fight becomes a blur of strikes and parries, of pain and perseverance. Each breath is a searing ache, each movement a test of will. But I stand, defiant.
I am the hawk.
One of the scavengers laughs, causing the fight's first miscalculation. It’s mine. Balen’s fist, empowered by essence, connects with my ribs. A sharp pain explodes across my body. I stumble, gasping for air, blood coating the back of my throat. My whole body is screaming telling me to drop to the floor, and the fight drains from me. What chance did I have against a magic user? Sweat stings my eyes, blurring my vision, the wavering ring of faces watching me contorted in disgust. I can smell my own fear, acrid and sharp.
“Kormen!” Olly's voice pierces the chaos.
I raise my hand, halting him. I started this fight, and I’ll finish it.
Balen sneers as I force myself upright, fists raised. “Look at you. Pathetic. You're finished here, Vardos.”
But Balen’s dismissal as turns away, reignites a blaze of rage within me. With a guttural cry, I lunge, tackling him from behind. My arms lock around his neck. He roars, flailing, but I cling on, fueled by desperation. We crash to the ground, the impact jarring my bones.
“You want a Vardos?” I hiss, tightening my grip. “I'll give you a fucking Vardos.”
His face turns blue, as he struggles upright, almost breaking my hold. With the last of my strength, I twist and bring him down again, pinning him.
The scavengers are silent.
Sweat, desperation and Balen's magic taint the air. His blood trickles onto my hands, slick and hot, staining the grime already smeared across my knuckles.
I lean close and whisper, “We’re going to the island.”
Then I lurch back to my feet. For a long moment, Balen just lays there, face pressed into the dirt. Then he rises, brushing the grime from his clothes. He turns to face me.
I step back, chest heaving, and wait. The circle is silent, the only sound is the caw of a crow. Balen probes his jaw. There’s blood trickling from one corner of his mouth.
The twins' expressions shift to something resembling admiration, while the pinch-faced man looks visibly unsettled. Even the scholar looks up for her book. Her eyes linger on me a moment longer, reassessing, before she retreats into her own thoughts.
Balen laughs, a strange stilted sound. “Well, I’ll be damned, Vardos,” he says, wiping the blood away. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He beats his fist over his heart, the traditional mark of respect amongst the Sovereign’s soldiers. I bite my lip until blood flows. What have I got myself into here? Who is Balen really?
He steps forward and claps a massive hand on my shoulder, making my knees buckle. “You’re worth a spot.”
But his eyes bore into me, cold and sharper than any blade. They peel the flesh from my bones. He digs his fingers deep into the meat of my shoulder, and I fight the urge to writhe free, to knock his hand away. Balen won’t forget this humiliation, no matter what he says.
I just hope he won’t betray us to the Sovereign’s forces out of spite.