The Tower Broken(110)

He might have sat there a minute, an hour or an age, preparing the words he would say when he turned himself in to the Blue Shields who surrounded him.

But a plume of dust rose into the air, spurting like a fountain from the pit, spraying the eastern side of the courtyard and he gave a great shout of delight: of course; Moreth was rock-sworn. He could not be killed by stone.

‘Moreth!’ He leaned over the edge and looked at where the lower rooms of the Tower had once been. The dust continued to flow upwards, and slowly the edges of the pit took form. At last Farid caught side of the mage, pale as a ghost for all the dust that clung to his skin, standing in a pile of dissolved stone, wavering in exhaustion.

‘Wait!’ Farid shouted, and he ran to the bell. He started tugging on its ropes, but the enormous bell sat on top of them. At last, with the Blue Shields’ help, he managed to untangle a length long enough to throw to Moreth. Moreth gripped the rope, secured by the bell’s great weight, and puffing and panting, they pulled the mage up.

They all collapsed at the edge, coughing and thanking the gods, until Farid sat up again, a new awareness taking form. ‘What’s down there?’ he asked Moreth.

‘The crack – where the portals were.’

‘The crack …’ He looked over the edge. ‘Can you remove the rest of the dust?’

‘Why?’

‘Just – please?’ Farid’s heart beat against his chest. He knew it wasn’t the crack; there was something else at the bottom of the pit now: something the ancient pattern had brought forth, either from the past or the future.

As the Blue Shields moved around them, looking for what might be salvaged, Moreth sighed and held out a hand, and once again the dust began to empty from the cavity. Farid watched until it was completely gone and Moreth collapsed against the flagstones.

With a jolt Farid realised he should not have overtaxed the mage – he could end up swallowed by stone – but Moreth was already recovering himself. His efforts had been successful. A circular pool was revealed at the bottom, yellow light dancing across its surface, but it was not water that rippled there. Power warmed Farid’s skin, power that drew him like the smell of food after fasting, or the thrill of queenflower, or the touch of the right woman – all of those things together and more. He would go to it. He must go to it. He tugged on the rope to make sure it was still held firmly by the bell, then lowered himself into the pit. The hair on his arms stood on end and his breath caught in his throat.

Above him he heard voices – the Blue Shields asking what he might be doing, Moreth attempting some explanation. Farid held a hand out over the bright circle. This was not molten rock, nor water, nor anything of nature. This was of heaven, powerful and bright, sweet as honey and strong as wine. He heard a Blue Shield shouting down to him, heard Moreth calling his name, but he would answer them later. He stepped up on the copper rim of the pool and looked down into its depths. There he saw glints of green and copper, swimming like fish in the bright haze. He jumped in.





48



Govnan


Govnan felt it, hot as a furnace, bright as the sun, and the efreet felt it too, leaving off their work a moment to turn their senses its way. The potent call of magic rose from the Tower’s courtyard, strong as a river, ancient as a mountain, brighter and more sweet than the spells coiled into the walls of Nooria. He longed for it as a parched man longs for water, imagined filling himself with its light, wondered at the power he would have if he could only take hold of it. Metrishet let go of its work and flitted in that direction, but Govnan took hold of himself and willed the fire-spirit to stay.

Satreth’s hidden magic has been found.

‘The Reclaimer?’ The emperor who had fought his way back into Nooria and forced the Yrkmen out was the last to see truly powerful mages. Had Yrkmir hidden this magic from the Tower? If so, it was his by right. He turned away again, the temptation biting at him.

We eat. Ashanagur’s voice.

First Kirilatat, then Ashanagur turned from their tasks. Hungry.

Govnan struggled against them, but his will wavered.… Stay to our tasks. The magic will wait for us. But Ashanagur was ancient and clever, and he whispered to the others, just below Govnan’s hearing, urging them to let go, to follow their instincts, to search for the magic, to eat. He even began to whisper to Govnan about the flesh that waited for them to the west, and the bright magic for which he longed.

Desire shook the old man. He fell to his knees. I will bind you again. I will …

Eat?

Govnan ran his hands along Ashanagur’s molten form, feeling its power and emptiness. Yes. Eat.