Page 86 of A Tower of Half-Truths

“Master’s first journal,” Nox said, “from when we first sought refuge in this tower. The one you pilfered from his desk was his second—and final—volume. How long has it been since that final entry?”

“About five hundred years,” Mavery said. “I assume your master died not long after that.”

“Yes.” Nox’s ears flattened as he hung his head. “That same day, I had chided him for carelessly wandering about the tower without sufficient light. He tumbled down the stairs. My arcana was incapable of saving him.”

Mavery hadn’t expected to learn that a notorious Necromancer had succumbed to such a mundane death. It would have been somewhat funny in any other context. But Aganast’s early demise meant that Nox had been completely alone for over five centuries.

“I can sense your concern. For my kind, a century is akin to a decade.”

“Still,” Mavery said, “that’s an awfully long time to be alone. And without seeing the sun.”

“Oh, to see the sun again. Did you manage to open the door?” When she nodded, his tail swished. “Then let us leave this place.”

To watch Nox run in circles on the cracked, sun-bathed ground, it was hard to believe he’d been the fearsome beast that had attacked them not even two hours ago. He lapped the tower while Mavery and Alain watched on.

Nox gained a bit more speed with each lap, and the scent of his arcana permeated the air. He ventured into the grass, and Mavery’s heart leapt as he neared one of the detonation wards.

“Wait!” she cried.

Nox bounded over an Ether-sensitive stone.

But instead of setting off the trap, the red aura vanished.

Mavery jogged closer, then gasped. The stone had transmutated into the same vaporous substance as the books and her Compendium.

She tried to touch the stone, but her fingers passed straight through it.

“Did it disappear?” Alain asked.

Mavery shook her head. “I think he feeds on it, just like he did with the paper.”

Nox seemed to notice her surprise. He stopped his frolicking and trotted over.

“This is ktonic magic. Whereas humans must draw arcana from the Ether, ktona draw arcana from stones, plants, any natural resource that is connected to the ground. As a Senova—Senser, in your tongue—you are capable of both. Does your magic not feel stronger here, surrounded by ktonic sources?”

Nox was right: her magic had always felt stronger whenever she was in the wilderness.

She’d felt that way earlier that morning—and back in Weywode Forest. That explained why she’d always hated cities.

She’d always blamed the filth, the crowds, the endless noise.

But maybe there had also been a subconscious reason for it all along.

“That makes sense,” she said, “but I’ve never drawn magic from stones or anything like that.”

Nox cocked his head to the side. “Never?”

“What about anchors?” Alain asked. “That sounds like a similar process to me.”

“More than similar—the very same. How else did wizards learn to harness the power of natural resources?”

“Wait, so anchors are actually ktonic magic?” Mavery asked. When Nox nodded, she furrowed her brow. “Then why did the churches say that your magic—our magic, rather—came from the hells?”

Nox uttered a noise that sounded eerily similar to cold laughter.

“Because once the churches and wizards leeched every last bit of knowledge from my kind, they discarded us, enslaved us, bred us with more subservient creatures. The Senova, being the only ones who communicate with ktona, were tasked with keeping us obedient. This was the way of Tanarim for centuries, until Master and his Order sought a different path.”

“What was the Order of Asphodel, exactly?”

“A group of twelve Senova that sought to liberate the ktona. They encouraged my kind to rebel against our enslavers.”

Mavery gawked at him. She was so stunned by his words, she forgot to interpret them for Alain.

“What?” Alain asked, tugging on her sleeve. “What did he say?”

“The Order…they were Senova, Sensers. That means…” She gasped. “That means there were once a dozen Sensers, right here, all at once!”

“A dozen in Master’s Order, yes, but there are hundreds across Tanarim.” He cocked his head. “You find this surprising?”

After Mavery repeated Nox’s question, Alain answered, “Incredibly surprising. There might have been hundreds of Sensers when you and Aganast went into hiding, but those numbers have dwindled significantly over the past five centuries. Mavery here is one of the few Sensers currently living. I wonder…” He looked skyward with a laugh.

“All along, the subjects most shrouded in rumors and secrecy—Sensing, the Innominate Temple, the Order of Asphodel—all shared a common thread…”

“What happened to the Order? Why did none of them disable the tower’s defenses, as Master had planned?”

Mavery frowned. “I’m sorry, Nox. They were all executed.”

Alain recoiled as Nox growled, baring his teeth. After regaining his composure, Alain turned to Mavery. “We still need to give the library another look. It won’t be long until the High Council arrives.”

“The High Council of Wizards?” Nox arched his back and hissed.

This time, even Mavery flinched. How easily she’d forgotten that this creature, though highly intelligent, was still a beast. “You cannot allow Master’s books to fall into their hands!

Not the books he kept to sustain me, but his life’s work.

He stored those precious tomes in the bedchamber. ”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “we already found those. Is there anything else in the tower we should grab before the Council arrives?”

“Master’s remains. At long last, he ought to receive a proper burial.”

Mavery inwardly shuddered at the thought of touching that pile of bones, but then she nodded. “We’ll handle it. You ought to hide in the forest until—”

Nox’s wings retracted into his body, and he shrank to a quarter of his original size. Instead of an imposing winged beast, he now appeared a miniature panther—or an overgrown housecat. His eyes, however, retained their crimson glow.

“Master called this my familiar form.”

Mavery blinked at him. “Er, yes, that should work. If anyone asks, we’ll say you’re some sort of demonspawn.”

Nox sneered. “You would compare me to one of those abominations?”

“It’s either that, or let the Elder Wizards take you away.”

He gave a low growl—in this form, he sounded as intimidating as an angry kitten—but then trotted away and resumed stretching his muscles for the first time in over five hundred years.

Alain volunteered to handle Aganast’s remains.

The trunk in which Aganast had stored his life’s work became his coffin.

Alain and Mavery, each carrying one end of the trunk, followed Nox into the forest, back to the cabin blanketed with asphodel.

Nox instructed them to place the trunk in the same spot where Ellice had exhumed the anchor and then buried it again.

Now that they lacked both a shovel and a mender, Mavery wondered how they would manage “a proper burial.”

As Nox approached the trunk, the air filled with the aroma that she now knew was ktonic magic. Slowly, the trunk sank into the ground. White petals fluttered in the breeze, like hundreds of tiny heads bowing in reverence.

Mavery had expected Nox to deliver a eulogy, or to spare a few moments to mourn. But once his spell was complete, he turned back to the tower in silence. She supposed he’d had plenty of time to grieve his master’s death; this burial was simply a long overdue formality.

She and Alain were also silent as they followed the ktona. Not that there was much they could have articulated. If her head was reeling from all these revelations, she couldn’t imagine how Alain felt.

When they returned to the tower once again, Mavery finally appreciated the grandeur of the ruin they’d uncovered.

In the early afternoon sun, its shadow just barely touched the trap-laden field.

Beneath the mud and substrate were gray stone and a glimmer of stained glass windows.

Once the next rainstorm washed away all the grime, Aganast’s tower would be not quite as stately as the towers at the University, but it would be an impressive sight all the same.

“It’s a shame you have to hand this over,” she said. “You uncovered it. You ought to decide what happens to it.”

“It is,” Alain said with a nod. “Alas, I’m duty-bound.”

“What do you think they’ll do with it?”

He shrugged. “If a ruin has ties to someone of importance, the High Council usually preserves it as a historical site. But seeing as we’ve removed everything that would identify this tower’s owner, they’ll probably destroy it. I doubt any of the Elder Wizards will want to keep it for themselves.”

“What about you?”

Alain looked at her. “Me?”

“Would you want to keep the tower for yourself?”

He laughed. “And do what with it, exactly? Surely you’re not suggesting we live here?”

“Gods, no! But once you resign from the University, you’ll no longer need to confine yourself to Leyport. Not to mention, you’ll need a new project. Why not let this be it?”

She gestured at the tower, then realized her hands were still covered in Nox’s blood.

As Alain pondered her idea, she pulled her canteen from her pack and wet her hands.

The dried blood on her skin washed off easily enough, but the black gunk beneath her fingernails proved more stubborn.

She couldn’t wait to return to the village and spend the rest of the afternoon in a hot bath.

Before she could daydream about that, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance.

A second later, Mavery’s head erupted in pain.

She recoiled as a powerful wave of arcana crashed against her, reverberated through her bones.

Somewhere nearby, Nox hissed. She didn’t need their connection to know he felt the effects as strongly as she did.

“A portal spell,” Alain said. “The High Council is here.”