The Tower

Ishii of Kashton stood tall with her left arm pointed at her opponent who was illuminated by constant lightning blasts. The two magi faced each other, watched by hundreds of nobles and wizards in stands which were donned in bright red pennants and sullen green banners with sigils sewn into each one. Roaring winds whipped the flags, testing the very limit of the fabric, and the nobles held on tightly to their seats. Many of them were sweating despite the cold air, they sat atop the highest spire of the mightiest kingdom, testing their own limits as well.

“Illyn,” Ishii roared over the ever-raging storm. “Let us begin the duel.”

Ishii let her robe lash around like a dress of squirming vipers as she approached the center of the dueling arena. The other magi walked with intent, seemingly unbothered by the storm or by the admittedly impressive sight of Ishii.

Each wizard watching in the stands once stood just as Illyn has, in the center of the duel facing down the now legendary Ishii.

Ishii kept a stone face. She secretly basked in their fear. No amount of prestige or adoration could make her forget the laughs they once cast her way. The laughs they tried to bury her with simply because she couldn’t conjure lightning bolts from her fingers or concoct potions to make entire villages weep. Her long robes hid scares from the animals they altered to attack her and the small children they took control of to stab her legs with tiny darts. Now, they cower like the feeble-minded cowards they are.

“Your time has come!” Illyn’s voice was amplified through her own witchcraft. “I have studied. I have prepared. And you will suffer for what you have done, Ishii of Kashton. You will suffer for these heinous crimes.”

“You and every other poor soul.” Ishii replied under her breath. The two duelists were now barely visible to the audience, the wind and thunder seemed to summon night despite the hour of the day.

Ishii never understood how this part happened. She never really understood magic or the roots or furs to make potions. It was like moving an arm or bending a finger. The physical object is there and somehow, magically almost, the brain tells this object to move and the action transpires. So when Ishii of Kashton told her own magic – or whatever it was – to act, it did so obediently. She bent her magic around Illyn and tightened the grip. Like always.

Illyn’s face went slack. Her arms dropped and the vicious storm surrounding the arena vanished. Ishii watched as her opponent looked back to the audience. Then back to Ishii. Illyn’s face becoming construed in a recognizable confusion. Like they always do.

“Go back to your friends,” Ishii said. “Sit by Ekidol of Cauthon and look pretty.”

Illyn squinted her eyes, and Ishii took a step back, clenching her fists at this unexpected moment. This was new. But Illyn simply nodded and turned on her heels to return to the audience.

With the storm gone – Ishii’s opponents liked to make a grand entrance – the faces of the nobles and wizards watching became visible. Each of them a blank canvas. A thousand-yard stare across the tower’s arena.

“Clap.” Ishii said, and slowly the stands few claps grew to an applause, though the faces remained the same. Ishii knew each of them. She knew the crimes each blank face committed when they had their facilities about them. What they did to her. But this Illyn had a different reaction, Ishii wondered if somehow her powers were being stretched by having so many… entombed?

She decided to play it safe.

“Karel of Machnik. Step off the spire. And smile.”

A women in a riding dress stood up from the middle row. Karel once owned an orphanage. She fed the children from her cauldron every night until the children stopped growing, until they stopped thinking for themselves. Then Karel had an army of ungrown to do her bidding, including to kill. Ishii felt the scares on her legs.

“No, wait.” Ishii said. And Karel looked back at Ishii. “Don’t smile. Don’t be happy.”

The smile dropped, then so did Karel.

A door opened from the spire. Ishii looked to her next victim, the next person in this world that wronged her. It wasn’t a face she recognized. No matter. This person could have stopped these terrible people but refused to. They were just as guilty. Ishii flexed her magic.