Shadow of the Black Tower by Jack Conner

Author:Jack Conner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epic fantasy
Publisher: Jack Conner
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

In the morning, clammy with sweat from his nightmares, Baleron took a long hot bath and cleansed himself of the dirt of the road. He told himself that it was just a dream.

He went down to the stables and visited Lunir, but first he helped himself to the oldest slab of meat he could find in the kitchens. He brought it to the glarum’s stall, situated as it was at the end of the row. The stall adjacent to the glarum’s was empty, and Baleron didn’t wonder why; he could not imagine that the glarum got on well with the other residents. Lunir would sooner eat a horse than share a stable with one.

The glarum squawked when he saw the prince and ate heartily when Baleron tossed the meat on his floor, even if it was still a bit too fresh for him. Baleron would have to ask the cooks to set a hunk aside every day to age it. Lunir was a carrion bird, after all.

Baleron brushed his feathers and patted his neck. “Have you missed me?” When the glarum seemed more interested in the food than conversation, Baleron laughed.

He saddled Lunir and took him for a ride through the skies above Glorifel. Word had gone out about the bird, and no one fired on them even as they swept past the towers along the city wall. The soldiers there regarded the prince and his mount strangely.

It was an odd decision, flying Lunir, and it troubled Baleron. By doing so he was driving a further wedge between himself and the people of his country. It was simply that he’d come to the conclusion that to avoid such things would be to deny who he had become, and that wasn’t something he was prepared to do.

Finally, as the sun shone down on him and wind blew through his dark hair, Baleron began to feel like there might be a glimmer of hope, not just for Havensrike and the world, but for himself, too.

Yet he didn’t like the thought of a dark prince riding a foul winged steed and carrying an unholy sword while a black curse wound about his very soul. Thus he returned Lunir to his stable after a lengthy ride, gave him some more food (birdfeed, this time), brushed him down, then made his way to Logran’s Tower, the largest and tallest of Castle Grothgar’s spires—nowhere near the majesty of Celievsti, of course, but a comforting sight nonetheless.

Baleron ascended the spiral stairs within the Tower and knocked at the door to the sorcerer’s chambers. He waited anxiously, a knot in his stomach. He did not want to be that dark, cursed figure, not if he could help it. And if anyone could aid him, it was the Archmage.

Logran opened the door himself. He looked old and befuddled, his brown eyes bleary. Doubtless he still grieved for Elethris, Lord of Celievsti, his mentor. Or perhaps he was merely beginning to look his age at last.

He smiled, surprised at seeing the prince on his doorstep, and clapped Baleron on the shoulder.

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