The blue bricks of the Third City glistened as the rain clouds broke and the sun shone through. The buildings began to soak up the heat, and the thin veil of water over the streets began to evaporate or pool at uneven ground.
Giles stepped out from underneath the protection of a store canopy, which fluttered in the breeze, scattering water back into the air. His four guards, soldiers protected in silver and blue plated armour from toe to visored helm, who had remained in the rain, returned to him. They took positions surrounding him closely, one hand on their sheathed swords.
The Mage, Giles, was not so much a handsome man. His nose was bent to one side, his lips were thick and his skin was sickly white, sometimes blue when the colour of the buildings were reflected on to him. But this did not affect his image of himself. Giles maintained a neat head of brown hair, brushed back and treated until it had a healthy shine. His greying beard was trimmed equally all over, never advancing over one centimetre in length. He wore deep blue clothing, a doublet and trousers, black boots and a black leather belt with a silver plated buckle. Wrapped around him was a heavy cloak, blue like the deep ocean, trimmed with black animal fur.
He walked out into the sun, taking the opportunity while the rain had paused to return home to his tower after an early afternoon walk. As he did so, he took in the sights of the city he loved and protected. The buildings were plainly designed, square and flat topped, and never reaching more than three storeys high. But the people adorned the uniform blue walls with banners of silver, and blue and purple of all shades. Their shop stalls framed the streets, selling food, clothing, tools, toys, books and ornaments. The women sang, the men joked and laughed; the children played in puddles and shadows, splashing and hiding. The guarded man was proud of his city, of its people and of the splendour it offered.
But even with the joy, the pride and satisfaction, there was a doubt. The guards were not a tradition, Giles was a Guardian, and Guardians seldom used personal bodyguards throughout their history of existence. This new need for protection arose after the recent death of two close friends, other Guardians. Giles had become increasingly fearful for his health, even his life. He was aware of the dangers posed to him. He was aware of this because he was once a danger to another man in the past, and he did not wish the same for himself. Thus the soldiers were bought, trained and used as personal protection from friends and enemies alike.
The great Guardian's tower of the Third City was, as all of them were, as tall as the sky is high. Its four walls were flat and a deep blue, and stretched up until ending with a glass, square prism top. Littered on the walls were windows of all shapes and sizes, depending on the size of the room on the other side, all of which had different interior designs and uses.
In the centre of a large cobblestone square, framed only with wooden benches, was the foot of the tower. Giles arrived and paused at metal gates, six metres in height, which were the only known entrance and exit to the building to those on the outside. They were flat polished iron, strong and heavy. Their hinges were long and broad, fastened to the blue walls with thick bolts that were set deeply into the large stone bricks. There were no handles or knockers, no obvious ways to open the entrance, but with a wave of his hand, Giles was able to will the gates open. The metal squealed at the hinge, scraped across the cobbled ground and then stopped open at a perfect ninety degree angle from the wall. He entered with the surrounding entourage, gestured with another wave, and the gates closed behind him. Anyone who would attempt to open the entrance physically would fail. This was another security measure, ensuring his safety from anyone who would wish him harm. Some thought it needless, an act born of paranoia, but Giles thought it wise.
Within the Guardian's tower of the Third City were many dining halls, laboratories, training halls and dorm rooms. The building was full with servants, cooks, researchers and assistants. Giles conducted much magical research and experimentation, and to fuel this work it required time. Time spent cooking and cleaning was time away from research; time gathering materials and ingredients was time away from composing spells; time making life easier for himself was time spent away from making the life of the Third City denizens easier. All of this time was needed, so it was up to servants and assistants to help free it up.
It was only once a month that Giles was able to leave the tower, to walk the streets and spend some time for himself. This moment had just ended, and his feet would not touch the cobbled square or stony streets for another four weeks.
Once the gates closed behind him, Giles was greeted by a cheerful, chubby young woman. She stood within the stone walled lobby, surrounded by paintings, carpets, wall scrolls and potted plants, all illuminated by fiery torches that hung on the walls or candles set on tables. This room, and the rest of the inside of the tower, had the look of some medieval palace, were as the city outside was much more modern in comparison.
On both sides of the long hall where wooden double doors, and opposite the iron gates was a spiralled stone staircase, leading both up and down from this ground level. The young woman, a maid in a long white dress and bonnet, welcomed Giles and led him towards the staircase. She took his cloak from his shoulders, folded it in her arms and spoke with familiarity toward the Guardian.
'Now, Guardian, your meal is prepared and awaits you in the tenth floor dining room. Be sure to eat, you have not been sleeping of late, and I know of your night terrors. A good meal always helps. A fire has been set and your books have been bookmarked and your journals are organised and ready for use.' She stepped up before Giles, leading the way up the stairs. 'If you would like parchment and ink'-
The young woman was cut off. 'Yes yes.' Said Giles. 'I need only ask for them.' He was somewhat disgruntled, but compliant.
'Very good Guardian, I do not want needless spillage or stains on my tables.' The woman looked back and smiled.
'I know...' Giles returned a smile from the corner of his mouth.
Behind the two were the four armoured bodyguards, climbing the stairs in twos with heavy feet. Giles could hear their laboured breathing behind him. He grimaced.
'My guards shall eat separately from me this evening, I have much to think about and they would be a distraction.'
'Certainly Guardian.' The woman replied, as the group ascended past the passage to the sixth floor, loud talking echoing out from it. 'I will have a table set for the men in the servants quarters of the tenth floor. Should I request the armourers from the basement levels come to the tenth?'
'No. After the men have eaten, they can return one-by-one to have their armour and weapons removed.' Giles required his guards close at most times, he preferred them to not all be indisposed at once.
'Very well Guardian.'
'Thank you Miranda.'
The woman's voice raised in pitch. 'You are welcome Guardian!'
It had been a long day and night. During and then after the meal, Giles read from his archives and wrote notes constantly, being extra careful not to drip ink where he sat. After the daily ritual that all Guardians must conduct, he returned to his study for several more hours. The time spent working showed on his tired face the next morning.
Miranda, the soft featured Head Servant, awoke her master by use of bright morning sunlight. The thick curtains of the master bedroom were opened, revealing the grey stone walls, large flat bed and a fireplace facing the foot of the bed. Giles' eyes burned, and he attempted to hide his face under his blankets. Miranda gave him no such choice. She had already tossed a towel at the man, and moved on to gathering clothing from his wardrobes for him to wear after a morning wash.
'Guardian, it is time to wake up.' The servant was commanding. 'Go for your bath, a guard is waiting outside for you.' She spoke like a mother would, or an authoritative spouse. No other servant was quite so bold, or quite so familiar. But Giles allowed this, perhaps knowing that it was needed to keep him on track.
Giles exited his bedroom in white robes, greeted his guard with a nod and took down the hallway towards a bathroom. He passed various servants who were cleaning or transferring items to different rooms, depending on what was needed by each researcher and current experiment in the tower. Unlike Miranda, the Head Servant, these workers did not speak, nor even make eye contact. Perhaps by Miranda's command. They worked around Giles quietly, never interrupting him or hindering his current tasks.
Reaching the bathroom, entering through a stone archway covered with a white curtain, Giles stepped into steam and heat. In the centre of the square room was a bronze bathtub and a side table with a number of cleaning implements: scrubbing brushes, nail brushes, soaps, glass bottled shampoos, a tin jug of clear warm water for rinsing. All prepared on command of Miranda. The Guardian dis-robed and stepped into the hot water, spilling some of the liquid over the edge of the bath as it rose.
After washing and drying, Giles returned to his bedroom to dress, leaving the bathroom behind to be cleaned by whichever servants tended to that particular job. Waiting for him was Miranda, ready to help him dress, and to comb and tidy his hair and beard. It was often easy to think that Giles liked to look after his own image, but it was in fact the Head Servant who ensured a tidy appearance.
This was the morning ritual undertaken every day, and felt just as important as performing the Guardian's Ritual. Something that must happen before the day could be looked upon as successful.
A month passed by slowly, without much progress in research by the tower inhabitants, although people were hopeful for the next few weeks. The climate had changed over the last few years, and crops were struggling. The tower was working towards a solution, and the solution, although difficult, may come soon. To clear his head and start afresh, Giles took his monthly walk through the Third City, but today he would be joined by Miranda.
The two strolled and talked, encircled by the four armoured guards. Giles spoke of his intended experiments, and Miranda listened intently, entertained fully by the concepts that the Mage wished to bring to life.
People greeted the Guardian as he passed them on the street, and the market places came alive with shouts as merchants tried their hardest to advertise themselves and sell goods to the city's protector. One such merchant, who sold detailed glass sculptures, managed to gain the man's interest by complimenting Miranda and suggesting that the “kindly Guardian” may want to buy a gift for the “beautiful young lady”.
Giles took a single gold coin from his pocket and handed it to Miranda. 'There is enough here to purchase anything you wish.'
Her face went wide with an incredible smile, which warmed Giles' heart. 'May I really, Guardian?'
'Of course!' He replied. 'Take your time, I will await you here.'
Miranda gave a strange but happy yelp, and skipped off to the store. Giles remained in the street with his guards, waiting patiently. The woman approached the merchant and his goods, started talking and browsing.
Giles looked on, pleased with himself that he may well bring some joy to the woman who helped him so often. A group of children ran past, laughing and shouting, drawing Giles' eye away from Miranda for only a second, but when he looked back, a new customer was standing at the store next to her.
The two seemed to be talking almost immediately, and Miranda listened attentively. Giles could not see the face of this anonymous man, though there was something familiar about him that could not be recalled. His clothing was not native to the city. He wore greens and browns, cotton and wool, with light leather armour strapped over. It was typical of a soldier from the Second City, but this was not what felt familiar. It was the gesturing, the way this man held his posture, so strong and sure. It was a confidence that Giles could not place.
Miranda turned her head to look at Giles, still listening as the man spoke. She quickly turned away when her eyes met his, and continued to absorb whatever it was that the Guardian could not hear. The Mage became concerned, worried in fact. But he held his tongue, remaining patient, not wanting to appear desperate or needy to Miranda.
Another half minute passed, the unknown man picked up a statue of a horse galloping and handed it to the servant woman, then walked away. Giles never once saw his face. The Head Servant handed over her gold coin, received several silver and copper coins in return and then walked back to Giles' side. She held the glass horse closely at her chest and smiled.
'Are you pleased?' Asked Giles, hopefully.
'I am.' Replied Miranda, looking ahead as they continued their walk.
'Good...' Giles said, hesitating to enquire about the event he had just witnessed. He soon found his courage. 'Who was the gentleman that you spoke with at the market?'
Miranda remained focused on looking ahead, never meeting his eyes. 'Just a friendly stranger. He seemed to be rather fanatical about glass and crystal sculptures, and wished to help me choose something meaningful.'
'And what meaning does this horse hold?' Giles was blunt, though still tried to maintain a soft tone.
'Freedom.' Miranda explained. 'And truth.'
That night was the same as usual: Giles ate, read, wrote, performed the Guardian's ritual in the glass chamber at the top of the tower, washed, and then slept through a nightmare. Miranda ensured that Giles was well looked after, and that his bed was warmed before he settled for the night, but the next morning something was wrong. Giles was awoken with a shake, his eyes opened to a dark room.
An armoured guard stood above him. 'Guardian. It is past time that you woke.' The guard spoke with a metallic twang, his voice bouncing inside his visored helm.
'Miranda?' Giles asked for his servant.
'No one has seen her, Guardian.' The bodyguard informed him.
Miranda had gone, disappeared without any available reason. Giles panicked, searching high and low. He commanded servants and guards and assistants and researchers alike to search for her. An investigation was conducted, interviews and interrogations made, but no one within the walls of the Guardian's tower was aware of how or why Miranda had vanished. Giles was saddened, confused and angry, but there was nothing that could be done. He would have left the tower to search for her, but too much work would be postponed. He could not lose that time.
A new Head Servant was begrudgingly appointed, for the sake of the day to day workings of the tower, although this woman did not take as much care in Giles as Miranda had. Work continued on, and Giles tried his hardest to remain professional through his displeasure.
During the four weeks before Giles would leave the tower and walk the streets again, he had noticed peculiar behaviour from the servants and workers within the building. Were as in the past no one would react to Giles with as much as a glance, for whatever reason this may have been, the men and women now whispered and sneaked a stare behind his back. Giles was a quiet man and the type to keep his unease to himself, so this built up and ate away at him. He hungered to leave his home and walk off his issues, perhaps find a way to deal with them while refreshing himself outside. When the day did come, it did not go according to plan.
The day was hot, the summer reaching its climax. This was not a welcome heat, it was heavy and sapped at Giles' strength. He considered cancelling the walk, but the thought of possibly seeing Miranda somewhere in the city spurred him on. He had spent his own time combing his hair, trimming his beard and dressing himself neatly. Perhaps not as well as Miranda was able to, but presentable all the same.
The five walked the streets in typical formation, four armoured men surrounding the Guardian. As they travelled, they made the realisation that things were not altogether right. The usual cheerful conversation, the laughter, the singing, all were missing. Giles noticed instead that the people stared and whispered. When he greeted them, they scurried away without making a reply. This was similar behaviour to what the tower workers displayed over the past month. Once reaching the market place, the same street where the glass horse was purchased, the tone of the citizens changed to anger.
Giles heard shouting erupt, confused as to why. “We know what you did!” was one such line spoken, and the words “killer”, “traitor” and “backstabber” were thrown around too. Before he knew what was happening, one of the armoured guards stepped in front of him, blocking an oncoming projectile. A glass figurine smashed against the blue breastplate, its shards exploding outward like a snowball exploding against a wall. It could have been considered pretty, glistening in the sunlight, if not for the intent behind its use.
One soldier drew his sword as a mob formed in the street, their heckles echoing all over. The other three led Giles back towards the tower, retracing the path they had taken to the market. The first to have drawn his sword was the first to fall under the mob, left behind to a bloody and angry fate.
The riot chased Giles and his bodyguards all the way to the tower, through hostile streets that were once a joy to walk. Before exiting the last street on their way to safety, the guards hurried Giles away to reach the square, while they held back the crowd. He left his men and stumbled out onto the cobbled square, all energy lost to him. It only dawned to him once he collapsed outside the iron gates, that his magic could have stopped the hostility in seconds. But fear had taken him. Using spells and incantations were difficult for one who had not experienced a chaotic and violent assailant, especially when it came in such a large number.
But why had his people so suddenly turned on him? What was the meaning of it all? These important questions were soon wiped from his mind when one of the bodyguards returned, fear washing all rational thought away.
His sword was missing, his armour bloody. Giles took note that one of his armoured fists was particularly coated in red compared to the rest of his body. The soldier clinked and clanked his way towards Giles, the armour sitting slightly loose over his body. He spoke through the visor. 'Guardian. We must hurry inside before the mob reforms, we no longer have the numbers to protect you...'
Giles breathed heavily, and could only manage a shaky nod. He waved his hand at the door from where he knelt on the floor, and when the gates started to open, the soldier picked him up by one arm and all but dragged the Mage into the tower.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The Guardian lay on the lobby floor after the doors closed behind him, regaining his breath. His hair was a mess, dry tears stained his face, and his clothing was dusty, with one bloody hand print wrapped around his arm. The bodyguard stood still, completely unmoved by what had occurred.
Giles finally found his voice. 'What was that? Why did they...?' His lips quivered and his breath faltered. The guard was silent. 'Why were my people so... So angry? So violent?' He looked up at the armoured man.
'Guardian... They say you did something terrible.' He replied.
'And?' Giles probed.
'That is all, Guardian.' The bodyguard looked down toward the Mage. 'But whatever the people say, we protect-' He hesitated. 'We have protected you, and I will continue to do so. It is my duty, my honour.'
'Yes.' Giles replied. 'Yes...'
The trek up the winding stairs gave time to think and dwell on unanswered questions. The people called him murderer, traitor, and Giles had only betrayed and killed one person in his entire life. The people were either mistaken or knew about the true circumstance behind Adam's death. And if they knew, they could only have learned this information from three other people, one of which was already gone. Perhaps Emrick had died by means of which Giles feared most, by a continued betrayal. Perhaps this is what he was witnessing now, a campaign geared towards the fall of the Third City's Guardian. Just as Adam was the first the perish, and Emrick the Second, Giles would be the third.
It was known that after the last Guardian of the Fifth City had died, Kilian had supported Drake in taking over the role. Maybe Kilian was behind this death also? Maybe Kilian wished to usurp all Guardians and place people under his own influence in power. It was his plan to destroy Adam, Drake's magic that was used. Emrick and Giles were simple accomplices, they did not plan. Maybe Kilian had turned the people of the third City against Giles, he was a master manipulator after all, this was his speciality.
The Mage's head rushed with thoughts of conspiracy. Coupled with fright and the adrenaline high from the chase, his body began to shake with anxiety. The bodyguard had to guide the shivering man up the stairs to his bedroom, to lay down and rest.
The servants, assistants and researchers were told to leave the Guardian to sleep. The bodyguard stood at the door to the bedroom, allowing no one access. He did not once think to remove his bloodied armour, and those who looked on it were quickly frightened away by the sight. But their whispers could be heard throughout the tower, and their suspicious tones found their way into the dreams of Giles.
His nightmare was of the death of Adam, Guardian to the Second City. The man fell to the floor within his study, old robes melted and glued to his skin. Green fire flicked flesh from his face and ate away at the inside of his mouth. And then once death came, they turned on Emrick. His long life taken away from him, his youthful skin turned to blister and ash. Then they turned on Giles, igniting him with green fire. He stumbled in the dark, a black world where the fire cast no light besides that on himself, Emrick and Adam. Giles' eyes caught the hollow sockets of Adam's face, and with movement of his lower mandible the dead man spoke.
'You have sown the seeds of betrayal.'
'A message from the other side...' He repeated this to himself for an hour after waking, all the while scouring books written about the meaning of dreams. He tried his hardest to interpret, and consistently came to the conclusion that the dream was a message from Adam, a message from the world of the dead. Giles had betrayed, and this lead only to more betrayal. His traitorous ways were coming back to haunt him, to punish him, and they came in the forms of Kilian and Drake.
Sitting at the table in the dining hall across from his study, Giles rested his feet after pacing for more than anyone would care for. The new Head Servant entered the room, tray at hand with freshly buttered bread and jam, as well as cup of goat's milk. She smiled beneath her pointed nose as the tray was set before the Guardian, and then made to walk away.
The Wizard sipped at the cup of milk, but as the thick liquid touched his tongue he spat it out. The taste was sour and strong, he distrusted it. “You have sown the seeds of betrayal”. The words echoed in his mind. I can trust no one! 'What is this?' He demanded with a quick temper.
The servant's smile turned to a quiver as she was stopped in her tracks. 'It's milk, my Lord Guardian.' She answered immediately.
'Really?' He asked, suspiciously. 'Then drink.'
'Pardon, my Lord?'
'You drink it!' He said, while thrusting the cup into the woman's face, sloshing creamy white over the rim.
'I don't understand, Guardian, what do you mean by this?
'You mean to poison me!' Giles accused her, standing from his seat. Are you Kilian's thrall? Drake's? 'If not, drink that which you have brought to me!'
'But my Lord...' The woman reeled back as Giles made to grab her. He took her by the back of the head, by her hair, and forced the cup to her lips. Try as she might, she could not produce the strength to fight back.
'Drink. Poisoner. Drink the filth!' His growing fear caused a fast paranoia, a paranoia that fuelled an aggressive madness. It took the strength of the bloody armoured guard to wrench the serving woman free of Giles' grip. The soldier pushed the woman aside and stepped between her and the Mage, blocking his aggression.
Giles froze, staring at the bloodied gauntlet. The dried brown blood reminded him of the people of his city, the people he protected, who now accused him and made attempts on his life. In his head, Kilian was laughing at him, a rasping, breathless laugh. Drake chuckled along with him. Adam laughed too, pleased with this deserved plot against Giles. He lost himself to his paranoia, his vision blurred and all sense of the world around him was gone. The next thing he knew, Giles was being shaken back to his senses by the guard, a tuft of hair clasped within his fingers.
His vision sharpened, his hearing cleared. The woman was on the floor, crawling for the door. 'A madman! A madman!' She screamed, tears streaming down her face.
A small group of maids and servants stood at the doorway in shock, mouths agape. 'He is mad!' One proclaimed. 'Maybe he is a murderer, a mad murderer.' Said another. Then came a comment that filled him with rage and hurt, that tempted his magical power to surface. 'Perhaps he even killed the lady Miranda, perhaps that is why she has vanished!'
Giles went to shock, and then to fury. The building began to vibrate beneath his feet and a wild heat emanated from his body. 'Killed Miranda?' He screeched a terrible screech. 'Killed Miranda!' Dust began to shake from the old walls, furniture moved from their places and the Head Servant fell back to her knees whilst trying to climb to her feet. 'How dare you!' His eyes were ablaze, the floor was scorching under an invisible fire.
The people about him began to panic and run, shouting and accusing, crying and warning. The building grew hot and it shook terribly. Giles screamed an angry and frightening scream, he let the rage fill him and then spill over into the world. The power grew large before threatening to explode outward from him, but as quickly as it rose, it abruptly and painfully vanished from him. The bodyguard acted, struck, then pulled his armoured fist from Giles' stomach, and the Mage fell into darkness.
In his sleep were sounds and sensations. There was chanting, familiar voices talking that were long unheard, a touch to his brow, a wipe of his lips, heavy limbs and light headedness. Just before he woke, he saw a flash of dead eyes seeping green fire and boiling blood.
When Giles awoke, he did not speak. The tower was quiet, there was no sign of anyone apart from the lone bodyguard, still clad in metal.
The man came and went as Giles remained in bed. He brought food and drink, walked the halls and sometimes disappeared for hours at a time. Giles paid no mind, he simply existed in his bed with no intention of moving. But the time did come when he found the energy to rise, and when he did, he had questions and concerns, about his tower and about himself. The only person to ask and to help him was the bodyguard.
The Guardian sat at the foot of his bed, the guard in a chair by his door. 'I can guess where my servants have gone.' The guard nodded to Giles' words. 'Why have you not left me?'
'I am sworn to protect you.' The guard replied.
'Sworn, or simply doing a job already paid for?'
'Sworn.' The man stated sternly. 'It is true that I work for money, but I still hold honour in the job I perform. You have paid for my loyalty, and I have sworn on my honour to serve you well.'
Giles wiped his lap clean of fluff and dust, and smiled. 'Unlike my servants.'
'Yes.'
'How long has it been since they left me?'
'They departed immediately after your-' He hesitated, thinking carefully about his next words.
'Outburst?' Giles offered him the word.
'Yes, Guardian.'
'Indeed.' The Mage replied.
'You slept for a day and they took that time to gather their possessions, perhaps even some of your own.'
'Of course they did...' He sighed. 'I have missed the ritual...' His mind wondered. 'But what of you, where have you been coming and going to?'
'I have been scouring the tower, ensuring no hidden enemy or assassin awaits you.'
'And?'
'There are none.' The guard said with confidence.
'That can not be the only thing you have been doing.'
'I have been out of the tower, once or twice, to buy fresh food for you.'
Giles' eyes became slits, suspicious. 'We have ample supplies in our stores, why would you need to buy more?'
'I took measures for your safety. The stored food was destroyed in case of poisoning, which required me to visit the market to resupply.'
He was pleased at that, feeling that the guard was quite trustworthy. 'And how is the city outside of my tower?'
'Not well, Guardian. The people still accuse you of a terrible crime, and rumours of your sudden, although temporary madness, have reached them through the mouths of your servants.'
'I see... Did the people attack or hurt you?'
'No. They fear me enough to stay away. The armour you have granted me, in it's current state, fills them with dread. And any item that allows me to freely come and go from the tower must add to their fears, as they see it as being a great magical power.'
Giles was silent for a time, then spoke. 'Please, find me some water.'
'Yes Guardian.' The bodyguard rose.
'Better yet, wine.'
'Yes Guardian, I have procured you some from the market already. Your servants left you without much.'
Giles laughed, weakly, feeling some ease. But as the guard left, he caught sight of that painted gauntlet, that blood dried armour. And for a second he envisioned the mailed hand holding a dancing green flame. His eyes widened, then the man was gone.
Upon his return, the bodyguard brought a half bottle of wine, and some crumbling cheese wrapped in cloth. He placed the food at the side of Giles, on the bed, and handed him the bottle. Giles looked at the bloodied hand once more, then took the wine bottle to his mouth, sucking deeply. The taste was fruity, the liquid aromatic, but it had a bitter edge to it that was odd. The bottle had probably not been left to breath for long enough. After many steady gulps, he placed the bottle at his feet on the floor and wiped his mouth during a gasp for air. 'What did the people say I had done?' He asked of the soldier.
'I do not think it appropriate to say.' The bodyguard replied.
Giles ignored him. 'I can tell you what they have been saying: They say that I am a killer, a murderer, a traitor.' He tried to lock eyes with the guard's, struggling to see through the visor on his helm. 'They say I have killed someone important, no?'
'It is as you say.'
'Who do they say I have killed?'
'Guardian...' The bodyguard pulled his chair from near the door and placed it in front of Giles and sat. 'May I speak freely to you, Guardian? I have protected you, I have killed and seen others die for you. Will you allow me to impart some of my limited wisdom on to you?'
Giles answered with unease. 'Yes...'
The bodyguard leant in closer. 'If you seek to ease yourself of a burden brought on by sin, then I believe it important that you confess the evils you have done, even if only to yourself... Or secretly to one other.'
The advice was well taken. 'Maybe you are correct in this.'
'Maybe I am.'
'Very well, listen.' Giles took a breath, exhaled, and then took yet another breath. 'I have killed. It was someone close to me... Somewhat. Our relationship was not one of close friendship, although we were pleasant enough to each other. Our relationship was professional, if you can call what we do a profession at all. The man was a fellow Guardian, one of great power and ability, and of even greater love for the people he protected.
'The man was one who spent his time delving into the depths of known knowledge and beyond, and this led him to discover what he claimed was the most powerful magic. Or so I was made to believe. Others in our order had discovered this information and claimed these things, I was simply an accomplice to what... What we did next.
'Another Guardian, Kilian of the Fifth City, convinced us that this powerful new magic would be used against us, used to imbalance the five cities and make the Second more powerful than thought possible. I knew this to be a lie, in the end, yet the deed was already done. Four Guardians destroyed their ally with emerald fire, and the Second City fell into darkness...' Giles went silent, the guard did not respond. A minute passed before he spoke again. 'What say you?'
The guard took a moment. 'What did you gain from this?'
'There was no gain. The magic was lost to us. No, not lost. The magic was something entirely out of our reach. We tried the most drastic act to take it, and failed... Perhaps we should have just asked...' Giles looked sad, troubled. 'All I have gained is guilt. At first I thought that I was protecting the cities, but as I flung fire from my hands, Adam's words echoed in my mind.'
'Adam?'
'Yes, the Guardian of the Second City.' Giles took a breath through his nose, long and deep. 'He was diplomatic, where we were not. He was pacifistic, where we were not. He alone could have stopped us by use of force, he was strong enough, but he did not act. He called us friends and never once thought to harm us, or protect himself from us.
'I knew at that moment that what I had taken part in was wrong, played out on a lie. I have regretted it ever since. Can I be forgiven?' Giles asked, although he knew the answer.
'Only the man you have slain can forgive you, and he is gone.'
'If only...' The Mage looked to the floor, eyeing the wine bottle.
'My lord?'
'Ever since my people attacked me, I have felt Adam upon me. His ghost breathing down my neck, clawing at me, clawing for his justice.' He shivered with the thought. 'He awaits my murder by the hands of the others, he knows that Kilian has not finished playing his game of death. Another has disappeared, wiped from the board, and now it is my time. I fear that my forgiveness comes only after my end, and then it would be too late. I would have no life to live after the weight has been lifted from me.' He choked on his words. '“If my life must end, that is as Fate would have it.” There is nothing I can do...'
'And this is why the madness had taken you so suddenly.' The guard stood from his seat, pushing the chair back across the stone floor with a squeal. 'You seek to redeem yourself, but redemption can only come in death, and you fear it.'
'No.' Said Giles, looking up at the guard. With a pathetic smile on his face, he drunkenly laughed, the large sips of wine taking affect. 'It's not death I fear, it's the next world. When I will have to face Adam, with his forgiveness or his wrath, and admit that I am a pitiful man. Not strong enough to be good like Adam, nor even selfish enough to empower myself, like Kilian. I am just a poor, weak follower with no path of my own.'
The guard paced the room, metal clattering and scraping the stone beneath his feet. 'I did not know what I was going to do...' He spoke softly to himself, all but a whisper.
'What? What is it?' Giles stood.
The guard turned to him. 'Redemption?' He asked, but allowed no answer. His armoured hands reached for the clasp hidden under his helm. The leather was pulled apart and the straps fell loose. The helm was lifted and tossed onto the bed, past the shoulder of the Mage.
Giles sat softly on the bed, his lips quivered, tears filled his eyes and then he cried. He cried through a smile while looking up at the man that stood before him. 'Adam... You live!'
The man gave Giles a queer look that lasted not even a second, then he spoke with a sharp grin and dark eyes. 'No, Giles, my friend.' He stepped closer. 'I am still perished.'
Giles was confused, he sought for an answer with bumbled speech through spittle and tears. 'D... dead? But how? How are you here with the living? Is this a cruel jape?'
The armoured man laughed, his face red. 'Jape? You think this a joke?' He laughed again, slapping his belly with a clang of the armour. He gripped Giles' thighs with both hands, one bloodied, and pressed his face to the other's own. 'The only joke here is you, believing that you still live. The truth is that you have been gone from the living world for some time, the curtains have parted and closed, the audience boos.
'The guards you had hired died protecting you in the market that violent day, when everything changed for your city. Your throat was cut and your people painted your blue walls with red!'
Giles mouth was agape, he felt for his throat. Cut? He tried to speak, but no words came to him. Dead? His hands clenched and his body shook.
'This tower has been your oblivion ever since. A remarkable construct, made of my will and your mind. A perfect facsimile. Now...' Adam's face darkened. 'Is it forgiveness or wrath that comes to you here?' The man pushed Giles to his back and walked to his chair, uncharacteristically laughing. Had his death soured him, darkened him? He placed a foot on the seat and leant onto his knee.
'Dead? Dead?' Giles repeated to himself, incredulous. 'I am dead?'
'As a doornail!'
'No!' Giles crawled to the head of his bed, his legs kicking and pushing. The blankets were flung and the steel helm fell to the floor with a ring that vibrated in his ears. 'I escaped, you saved me! I escaped!'
'I was the gatekeeper to the other side. You killed me, and the universe compensated me, it allowed me to be the one that guides you into the afterlife!'
Giles' eyes widened and the whites turned to red. 'I am not ready for this!' He cried. 'I am not ready, Adam, I am not ready!'
'Was I ready? Was I prepared to die?' He spoke with anger. 'When the four of you came to me, do you think that I was ready to see an end to my life?'
Giles' head began to spin, through madness or alcohol or more. Adam's face spun with him, judging him. He became shrill, his hands clenched and bled as his own nails tore the skin of his palms. 'I am not ready!' The cry came louder, and then the scream. Giles truly believed himself dead, his scream was proof enough. The fear, the guilt and the madness took over and would never leave him.
The armoured man looked on Giles blankly for a time, then left the room, left the screamer to shriek until his throat bled and his tongue choked him. 'I suppose I do look a lot like my father.' He quipped.