The Tower Broken(91)

‘He wants to talk.’ Sarmin breathed a silent sigh of relief for the delay in fighting, but the strange austere worried him. Adam had looked like a warrior; Didryk looked like a duke. This man looked a full mage – perhaps he was the mage: the first austere.

He motioned to Mura. ‘Come. You will protect me from arrows.’

‘We need Farid, Magnificence,’ she said. ‘He will know if they cast a pattern against you.’

In truth he did not require Farid for that now, but it would look well to have two mages standing behind him. The Tower had not lost its reputation yet, and the gesture would not be lost on the white-clad austere below him. The young pattern mage appeared, breathing hard as he came running up the steps to the wall. He looked as if he had not slept for days.

Seeing Sarmin, he fell on his knees, pressing his forehead to a stair.

‘Rise. You are late,’ Sarmin said, ‘but not too late to join me and watch for patterns.’

‘Magnificence,’ said Farid, and fell in behind him with Grada and the wind-sworn. Sarmin looked back at the wall where Moreth stood. He had three mages left and he was about to take two of them outside the wall, leaving the inexperienced rock-sworn as the sole guardian of the Tower should anything go amiss.

Let us hope it does not come to that.

At the base of the wall stood the great Western Gates – three doors in all, with murder-holes above the paths between them – but Sarmin knew from the Book of War that more than thick stone protected the city. Ancient and powerful spells guarded the wall. It took some time to pass through the gate, walking through the shadows, with the desert ahead of him, the sun, sitting low in the west, blinding.

At last Sarmin stepped out into the light and found the austere waiting there. Even the man’s eyes were pale. There were no wards on him that Sarmin could discern, no patterns in the sand.

‘Emperor Sarmin.’ He bowed. ‘I am Second Austere Harrol.’ Behind him, a host of archers held their bows at the ready. Sarmin could see no other austeres; either they crouched beyond his sight, drawing patterns in the sand, or the Yrkmen had not brought them. He thought it unlikely they had been left behind.

‘Second Austere? Not the First?’

Harrol smiled, his thin lips stretching over white teeth. ‘The First is concerned with things greater than earth and sky and men. I am the one sent to speak to you.’

‘So speak. What is the meaning of this aggression?’

‘We assail you? What did Cerana mean when it burned Mondrath to the ground?’ Harrol’s eyes focused somewhere beyond Sarmin, as if there were a truth more compelling, a world more appealing, than the one that stood before him. ‘Let us not play those games, Emperor. I come to make you an offer.’

‘Make it, then.’

Behind him Farid was silent; he must not see any patterns either. Grada was also silent, but that was her way. If she had to cut someone down she would do it with little noise.

The second austere gave a bow. ‘We offer you a chance at paradise: to accept Mogyrk’s path. You have three days.’

Sarmin did not reply.

‘We know you are keeping Second Austere Adam prisoner. We want him returned, and our Duke of Fryth also.’

‘You are mistaken; Second Austere Adam is not my prisoner.’ Sarmin wondered what it meant that Yrkmir did not know the man’s whereabouts, but he used his words to make them wonder even more, throw them into confusion if possible. ‘Nor is the duke. If they prefer to join you, of course I will allow it.’

‘We will expect them,’ said Harrol with a slight bow. ‘Three days, Emperor.’

‘You will have my answer in two,’ Sarmin replied. With that he turned and made his way through the dark passage back into Nooria. The mages said nothing as they walked.

Suddenly he remembered Ashanagur’s words: Mogyrk blinds the Tower. Was there something here the mages could not see? He wished Mesema were with him.

Arigu fell in with him and Grada as they walked to the carriage. ‘My recommendation, Magnificence,’ he said.

‘Speak.’

‘We wait until night, and then attack them.’

‘We are in a three-day truce,’ said Sarmin.

‘Why do you think they want three days? Never give the enemy all the time they ask for. They will move south, try to cross the river and surround us. I say we take them off-guard now. We’re ready for it. All my soldiers are marked and protected.’

It was dishonourable, but such attacks were discussed thoroughly in the Book of War, along with full consideration of the ethics and benefits. The question was what Yrkmir might do in those three days.

Arigu waited for an answer. Sarmin was disinclined to take the man’s advice, but he knew it to be sound – that was why he had wanted the general returned to him in the first place.