The Tower Broken(40)

‘Wait here, Farid. I will call you when the high mage is ready.’

He stood on the landing, his feet rooted to the ancient marble, worn by thousands of shoes and the passage of long years. This was no merchants’ guild with wooden chairs to wait upon. Here one stood in respect, even to the stones themselves, and he, a mere fruit-seller, would give that respect willingly. He saw no one, felt no magical presence, and yet something in the stone itself spoke of its terrible power.

Below him came the heavy and regular thump of boots on marble: another mage was climbing the stairs, this one a muscled man, like a soldier. After a minute he stood beside Farid, revealing grey eyes veined like granite and dusty, pale skin. In a mournful voice he said, ‘The crack has grown larger.’

‘I see. I’m very sorry.’ Farid did not know what else to say.

The rock-sworn mage passed by, continuing upwards, his progress slow and steady. Just as his steps retreated into the distance above, Mura emerged and beckoned. ‘High Mage Govnan will see you now.’

Farid followed her into another bare space, this one long and narrow, a window at the far end open to the night. Lanterns lit up lengths of blackened stone; a great fire had once burned here, leaving nothing but stains and the stink of char. In the centre a rusting iron chair curled its back like a great claw over the old man who sat within. Beneath a shock of white hair Farid saw a face crossed by wrinkles, punctuated by a large nose and two sharp brown eyes. He knew the great high mage carried fire, but he did not see it in the old man’s gaze as he had seen the air in Mura’s – but still there was a potency in Govnan that filled the air between them.

‘So,’ said the high mage, balancing a staff on the arms of the chair, and Farid might have thought him someone’s uncle or grandfather, but for the terror creeping up his spine.

Mura spoke, each word brushing against him like a breeze. ‘This is Farid, who escaped the Mogyrks and their austere, Adam.’

‘I see.’ Govnan looked from one to the other and waited.

Farid spoke nervously into the silence. ‘Last night, High Mage, there was too much fighting and the soldiers could not get to the austere. Today they will capture him, Keleb willing.’

The high mage turned the staff in his fingers. ‘I do not expect so. He has had many hours to find another hiding place. But tell us of Adam and his dealings.’

‘He has a lot of men to do his bidding. As for himself, he’s strong and acts like he’s about to jump at you – but he never did.’ Farid remembered Adam’s catlike stances as he spoke. ‘He liked telling me that we’re all going to die, but whether he meant from a catastrophe or his own doing, I couldn’t tell. He wants to save our souls for his god.’

‘And did he say what he wanted with you?’

Shame slowed Farid’s words. ‘He said I was special. He showed me shapes and gave me their names, and I confess to working patterns. It was an evil thing, but it was the only way I could escape.’

Mura turned to him in surprise. She had spoken earlier of treachery, and now she must look on him with hatred.

‘He thinks I’m going to help him – but I’m not, I swear it, High Mage! The pattern killed my mother.’

A long silence fell upon the room, and fear took root in Farid. Likely there was a harsh and eternal punishment for wielding the pattern. At last Govnan stirred and pointed towards him with the staff. Farid flinched, expecting lightning and heat to shoot from it, but the high mage only spoke. ‘Tell me.’

‘Yes, High Mage,’ he said, but then stopped. He might not get another chance to help Rushes before he expired in a pillar of flame and became nothing more than one of these dark spots on the floor. The girl was still waiting for him at the guardhouse. ‘But first, if I may, your Eminence, there was a blind girl with me. Her name was Rushes, and she had a baby with her. She needs help getting to the palace where her family lives. They must be servants, or— I’m a humble man, and I know I have no right to call upon your ai—’

The high mage had stood and was halfway across the room before Farid had even finished the word. ‘Where?’ he demanded, the fire at last showing itself in his passion, ‘where is the child?’

Mura cleared her throat. ‘I asked the Blue Shields to bring them here, High Mage.’

At that moment a bell rang out in the heights of the Tower, and Govnan’s eyes rose to the ceiling, beyond which, Farid imagined, hung the great bell, worked by the rope outside the brass doors.

‘Go and get him,’ he instructed Mura, his eyes sharp and bright. ‘Go and get the prince and bring him to me.’