The Tower Broken(94)

This new stairway was underground and unlit. Moreth lifted a lantern from a hook on the wall and lit it before proceeding.

Farid took the first step downwards and felt a prickling along his arms. He peered down past the lantern but saw only darkness. He willed himself to be patient as they continued, Moreth moving with consistent, plodding steps, Farid struggling with his robes and Mura coming up behind them, too fast to follow comfortably, always needing to stop and wait for them to move ahead.

At last they reached the bottom, and Farid drew in his breath. He had a sense of great distance, as if he had dived from a great height and was still falling. This was how he had felt in his dream, walking upon the endless road, and he knew that he could remain in freefall or keep walking for twenty years and never reach whatever it was at the end of it. As in the dream, he kept moving, reaching out with his hand, no longer caring about his robes tangling around his feet. The wall consisted of smooth, magic-worked stone that curved into a perfect circle, but here it parted, allowing magic to seep into the Tower like water through a crack. He pushed his fingers into the rent and felt a frisson of excitement.

‘Can you fix it?’ asked Moreth.

‘Why do you want to fix it?’ Farid’s hands played over the jagged edges. He now had a sense of what it was that he would never reach, and it was sweet and bright.

‘Because if it continues to spread, the whole Tower will fall!’ Moreth exclaimed in impatience. ‘And it’s letting the magic out.’

‘It’s letting the magic in,’ Farid corrected him. ‘Can’t you feel it?’

‘I did feel it and I almost lost control of Rorswan.’

‘Maybe it gave him too much strength – that’s what it does.’ Farid could feel the magic against his fingers. If only he could widen the rent and allow more of it through, he was sure it could help them fight Yrkmir. He glanced at Mura. ‘Touch it – you’ll see.’

‘I will not, if it means Yomawa—’

The great bell sounded high above them and Mura made a sound of impatience. ‘I will get the door,’ she said. ‘I am faster than either of you.’

She left them, and Farid let go of the wall at last and looked around the lowest floor of the Tower. Something else was pulling at him here – not another rent, but a doorway. He could feel it, but he looked at the curved stone and saw nothing.

‘The portals to the other realms are here,’ said Moreth. ‘Can you sense them?’

‘Yes.’ Farid turned towards the stairs. He could have stayed next to the crack all day, like a drunk with a bottle of wine, but he did not want Mura answering the door alone. Too many things were possible in Nooria now. He took the stairs at a run and realised the magic had invigorated him. Though he had not slept, he no longer felt tired. His muscles were not fatigued. He hurried after Mura and reached the hall of statues just as she opened the door. He slowed, knowing that the dignity of the Tower did not allow for mages rushing about in the entryway. More soldiers stood at the door – not the same men who had brought him here.

Mura finished talking to them and turned around, a scroll-tube in one hand. She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘A communication from the grand vizier.’

Farid was gratified to know that even someone who had been at the Tower for years could still feel impressed and honoured by the palace.

To Farid’s surprise Moreth spoke behind him. He had not known the rock-sworn could move so fast. ‘Open it.’

They gathered around the scroll-tube like children around cake on a festival day. Mura removed the gleaming cap and pulled out the parchment. She unrolled it and said, ‘Ah. We are called to guard the wall, in shifts.’ She frowned. Perhaps she had not expected such a simple and obvious order.

‘Of course.’ He should have thought of that himself. Govnan would have instructed them to do so, but the high mage was gone. With a shock he realised he was the eldest mage remaining.

‘I will be first.’ Mura rolled the scroll back up and looked for a place to deposit the scroll-case, but found nothing and ended up holding it awkwardly in her left hand.

‘I’ll walk with you.’ It was a long way to the western wall. Farid looked down at his robes; he carried no weapon. If they met with any Mogyrks—

‘Our reputation protects us.’ Mura must have sensed his disquiet. ‘Our reputation, and the spirits we carry. But of course the grand vizier has sent a carriage.’

‘Oh,’ said Farid, embarrassed because he had no bound spirit, and also because he had not thought of a carriage. Mura handed the scroll to Moreth and Yomawa opened the door for her. Farid squinted into the bright sunlight. The courtyard was empty today – no stray mages being delivered, and no soldiers preparing for a desert expedition. They passed two statues of Meksha, and Farid wondered what the courtyard had looked like two hundred years ago when the Tower was full of mages who could tend to it. Had there been gardens? Fish in these greenish ponds?