Vikter & the Dark Spire

CHAPTER NINE: A TIME TO ACT

The Dark Spire loomed ahead, black against the silver moon. Vikter floated across the snow to its big double doors, the dragon heads staring through him as he pulled open the doors, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but doing it anyway.

He stepped inside, the old familiar smell of the entrance hall filling his nostrils.

"Hello?" he called out, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Then he wandered deeper into the chamber. "Hello?" he called again.

A door slammed above, and he looked up to see a hooded figure descending the grand staircase toward him. It was a strong-looking figure, built more like a brick than a man.

"Zayne," he thought to himself, his insides trembling at the thought of facing such a terrible foe alone. The man continued his slow, plodding descent down the stairs, his weapons and armor clinking with every heavy footfall.

But when the man reached the bottom of the stairs, Vikter knew it was not Zayne. From everything he could see of the man, he looked like Zayne, but there was something different about this man. Something darker, crueler. The man drew back his hood and Vikter's heart dropped into his stomach.

"Jak!" Vikter screamed as he sat up in his bed, sweaty.

"You're alright, mate!" came Casper's groggy voice from across the room.

Vikter lay back down. Dreams like this one haunted him almost every night, but they never got any easier. Sometimes, like tonight, he would simply look at Jak, and his heart would ache for him. Other nights, he would have to fight Jak, or witness him doing something monstrous.

There were only two things that were the always the same about the dreams. First, no matter how hard he tried, Vikter could never speak with his little brother, and second, Jak was never the good guy.

On nights like tonight—when Vikter felt truly hopeless about ever saving Jak—Vikter's only consolation was to climb up onto the roof of the monastery and gaze up into the stars. It was something he and Jak had done every once in a while as children. They would go up to Bearclaw Pass, find their favorite spot under the Shrivelled Fir—an enormous fir tree that had been struck by lightning—and sit for what felt like hours, watching the stars and talking about anything and everything and nothing.

Even though Vikter watched the stars alone these days, he still used the time to talk to Jak. He whispered memories of days neither of them would ever get back, told him stories about his training at the monastery, and uttered promises of bringing Jak out of the Spire for good.

"I'm coming for you, Jak," he would say. "And when I do, you better be ready."

***

"I've gathered you all together because I believe an opportunity to move against the Spire has presented itself," Sage said from the head of the table. Around him, his men straightened in their seats. "As you know, the Spire's increased defenses and our diminishing numbers have kept us from making a single raid these three years. While I am afraid to say that we have underestimated the magnitude of the Spire's power, I am pleased to say that we now have an ally whose power may rival that of the Spire." Looking to the hall leading to the library, he raised a hand and said, "Lynsor?"

All heads turned to doorway as a white-haired man stepped through it. Vikter squinted, trying to get a better view of the man, and saw that he was not tall, but merely skinny and long-limbed. His hair was white and wiry and stood slightly up on the sides in tufts. His white beard and, while not overly long, jutted out from his chin in a bristly sort of way.

He wore strange robes, some of which Vikter could not even describe. His long pink nose wore a small pair of round spectacles, his face, a grim smile, and his eyes, a twinkle. It was that twinkle in his eyes and the smoothness with which he strode to the chair beside Sage that told Vikter that this man was not all that he seemed.