Chapter 58

Baltizar and I strolled through the garden.

Tower dwellers experienced vastly diminished aging in the high Order of the Tower. Any time spent outside of the field that surrounded the Tower cost them many times what the same duration would cost them inside. Some dwellers obsessed over this. Some Tower dwellers simply would not venture beyond the walls that surrounded the tower. Those walls appeared to be the limits of the heightened field that preserved them.

The gardens around the Tower had been built to give the most important of people a place to experience the outdoors. It was my understanding that all Towers had gardens like these where lords, kings, bishops, and leaders could enjoy the air while still stopping the clock on their body's aging. This was not entirely true, I was not well enough informed of all of the cultures that filled our vast land. But it was certainly true of the majority.

The gardens were a true spectacle. A fortune had been expended in their construction, and a fortune was expended annually in their upkeep. I couldn't count the numbers of gardeners and attendants that moved around the rolling lawns.

Everything one could imagine of a royal garden graced the lawns. Incredible topiaries, shaped in the forms of fiends and Griidlords and wild animals grew from the ground. Beds of flowers brimmed with color, the most exotic and difficult-to-manage flowers imaginable thronged in terrific numbers. There were artificial waterways and ponds, brimming with fish of every imaginable shape and color.

Everywhere I looked, people moved in twos and threes. A bench, overlooking a pond in a shaded corner, bore two conspirators. Another pair of men walked on a decorative bridge that spanned an stream, their heads close together as they shared secrets. The Tower was a place of too many ears. In the gardens, plots could be launched, and intrigues hatched, with less risk of being overheard. Of course, even the garden had ears. Every gardener belonged to someone, well rewarded for reporting snippets of what they heard.

History was full of stories of terrible treasons and monumental alliances being born in the gardens of a city's Tower.

Baltizar walked beside me. I knew a little of his history, but not enough. I knew he had lead armies during previous Fallings. I knew he had been decorated. One might think Father would ensure that his heir was informed of every aspect of politics in the city. But Father's use for me only extended as far as winning the Sword.

"You know," he said, "these gardens have seen more conspiracies and betrayals than the Tower halls themselves."

I nodded. I said, "I can imagine. It's the perfect place for such things. Far from prying ears, yet close enough to the Tower's influence."

We passed a small pond where koi fish swam lazily. Nearby, a cluster of orchids bloomed. The flowers caught my eye. Their redness, so intense as to almost seem artificial, set something vibrating in my mind.

"Do you remember the incident with Lord Varian?" Baltizar asked. "He thought he could outmaneuver everyone in the Tower by holding his secret meetings here."

I thought, recalling the scandal that had rocked the city a few years ago. I had been younger, and not included in the gossip. I decided to agree anyway. I said. "Yes, I think I do..."

Baltizar's said, "He underestimated how many eyes and ears these gardens have. Even in a place designed for seclusion, there are always those who watch and listen. And that's why we must be careful. The gardens may be a refuge, but they are also a stage where the most dangerous games are played."

The city stretched below us. I could see it all, shining slate roots and painted buildings blending and lessening until the homes at the edges became cruder.

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My eyes fixed on the orchids as grew nearer to them. Why were they drawing me so?

"The Order field," Baltizar mused, "it's both a blessing and a curse. It keeps us young, but it also ties us to this place. Few are willing to give up the life extension it provides."

"True," I agreed. "But for those who crave immortality, it's a small price to pay."

The flowers... I could see it suddenly. A flower, just like these, on the lapel of Father's jacket. The memory came unbidden, just a snatch of something long degraded by the teeth of the illness that had kept me from living the life of a normal child. I could see Father, standing in the door of our little home. He stood outside, my mother stood inside. She wore a faded pink dress. The dress was so old as to probably have been closer to grey. And father stood in front of her, tall, handsome, confident. His clothes were immaculate and splendid.

And mother was crying...

I looked up with a start, coming back to the moment. Baltizar stared at me, measuring me with his intense gaze.

"If you win the suit," he said, "that will be the same. Griidlords barely seem to age at all. As wonderful as that might sound, they become trapped in their suits. Removing the suit is like accelerating time—each minute outside of it like five or ten within it. It might seem silly, but some Griidlords don't even remove their suits for lovemaking."

I shifted uncomfortably at the comment, the weight of his words sinking in. I thought about it, about the ecstasy of sensory input, the power, and the safety that the suit provided. Life extension was only one reason a Griidlord might become addicted to being in their armor. The suit was a sanctuary, a fortress, and a prison all at once.

Baltizar continued, "I wish I had more time to spend with you, Tiberius. You fascinate me, but the demands of being the Lord Supreme weigh on my every minute. Time to fill you in on the contest tomorrow, and then send you on your way."

We continued walking through the garden, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the gravity of our conversation. The golden pathways gleamed in the sunlight, leading us past crystalline fountains and marble statues that seemed to watch over us with knowing eyes.

I held my breath, excitement coursing through me as I anticipated what Baltizar would reveal about tomorrow. There was a tinge of guilt at the thought of cheating, but it was short-lived. The others had advantages derived from their noble birth; at least my advantage was merit-based. Baltizar was sharing his knowledge with me because of the promise I'd displayed, because he, Lord Supreme, believed I was the best choice for Boston.

He said, "Tomorrow is a classic. If you read the histories, you'll see it's been used many times over the years." I waited, wondering if he was pausing for dramatic effect. He continued, "Tomorrow will be the Tower of Babel. I don't know if you're familiar with it. A huge tower is being constructed in the middle of the Arena, and contestants will climb it. There will be a line painted near the top. After two hours have passed, anyone below the line will be ejected; anyone above survives. The tower is peppered with different climbing surfaces, various traps, and obstacles. It's shaped like a cheese grater, narrower as you go up. The closer you get to the top, the more contestants are pressed together, increasing the chances of someone getting knocked down, losing height, or even hitting the ground below and being hurt or having to start over."

I sucked air between my lips, considering his words and thinking about the attributes of the other contestants. I thought I was the only one with AGILITY, which would benefit me greatly, but my injured left hand suddenly mattered significantly.

"Do you have any advice for me?" I asked, trying to mask my nervousness.

Baltizar looked thoughtful for a moment. "Use your AGILITY to your advantage, but be mindful of your hand. The Tower of Babel is as much about strategy as it is about strength and speed. Watch for opportunities to climb efficiently and avoid conflicts whenever possible. Don’t be afraid to hang back, let the others fight, and ascend close to the end of the timer. The higher you go, the more treacherous it becomes."

Baltizar said, "It's strange. A different challenge was being constructed, and then the priests suddenly changed their plans, opting for the Tower of Babel instead." He peered at me, ready to measure my reaction. "They changed the plans around noon."

I couldn't understand why he was looking at me so intently, but then my eyes widened as I realized. It wasn't long before noon that I had attended treatment for my injured hand. I breathed out sharply, "The bastards."

Baltizar smiled, appreciating my realization. I looked back at him, disgust on my face. They had changed the competition when word reached them that my hand was injured. Were they aware I had AGILITY, or did they simply feel that a contest like this would impede me enough regardless because of my injury? I feared they were right. As I stood there, I flexed my left hand. Despite the treatment, I could still feel the pain and the damage, and I struggled to imagine how I could climb like that.