“Aye,” Eleanon said. “Many lust after Elcho Falling, and we do so because of its power, which we might want to control. Or, equally, because of its power of which we might be afraid and which therefore we seek to destroy. Maximilian thinks to control it, Isaiah likewise. The One wishes to destroy it, because Elcho Falling threatens his own power.”
“And in which camp do you fall?” Kezial said.
“I want both,” Eleanon said. “I want to destroy it and rebuild it to my own needs; to rebuild it in a manner in which it will recognise me and only me as its master.”
“Oh, so you’ve taken the easy option, then.”
Eleanon laughed. “I am going to like you, Kezial.”
“Why do you need me?”
“To aid me in my quest, naturally. I am set against everyone else: Maximilian and his allies, Isaiah, and the One.” “I thought you were allied with the One.” “Now not so much,” Eleanon said.
Kezial thought about that, and it made him nervous. Eleanon was thinking to betray the One? “You forgot Ravenna.”
“No, I have not, but I will return to her later.”
“So, you want me to help you destroy and then rebuild to your own needs this great citadel — which currently appears to have you locked out — and in reward you will now proceed to promise me the very earth. Yes?”
“No,” Eleanon said quietly. “I am going to offer you your lives, Kezial. I am going to offer you the chance to return to Isembaard, or wherever it is you wish to go, once I have Elcho Falling. That is all. Just a chance to live.”
Kezial regarded Eleanon stonily.
“I could slaughter you now,” Eleanon said quietly, and such menace came over his face then that Kezial believed him absolutely. “You try to attack me and you are dead. Every last one of you, within the hour. You try to escape now and you are dead. Every last one of you, within the hour. Agree to aid me, and you live. It is a simple choice.”
“But as you yourself said, you have set yourself against everyone else: the One, who I have heard is a great and powerful god; Maximilian; Axis; Isaiah . . . and whoever else decides to come riding over the horizon claiming a part of Elcho Falling. How can you possibly win?”
“By doing what I am absolutely best at,” Eleanon said. “Dark deception. Help me, Kezial.”
Kezial didn’t know what to think. He really wanted to know what had become of Armat’s army. It had been hundreds of thousands strong. Had Eleanon destroyed it? Or was it, as Armat had said, sitting inside Elcho Falling waiting to sally forth and —
“There is only one entrance and exit from Elcho Falling,” Eleanon said. He indicated the archway set in the western wall of the citadel. “Anyone entering or exiting has to cross over a narrow causeway through the lake. How vulnerable are they at that point, Kezial?”
Very vulnerable, Kezial thought, as am I, if you have this little trouble reading my thoughts.
Eleanon’s mouth curved in a small, cold smile. “Precisely, my friend. Very vulnerable. Of any force issuing forth, we only have to concentrate on a tiny proportion of it as it leaves the citadel.”
“The Icarii .” Kezial said.
“Mostly dead, now,” Eleanon said. “I made sure of that.” He paused. “As for any force trying to enter . . . same problem. It is forced to congregate at a single, vulnerable point. Trapped, in essence. There are many soldiers within Elcho Falling — Outlanders, Maximilian’s own men, others, but they stay there for that very reason. They’d be slaughtered.”
He shifted, reaching across the space between them and resting a hand on Kezial’s shoulder.
Kezial tensed, and Eleanon gave his best impression of a reassuring smile. “I need to touch you, Kezial. I want to show you something, and for that you need to see with my eyes, not with your useless, human ones.”
Eleanon tilted his head back toward Elcho Falling. “See.”
For a heartbeat nothing happened, then Kezial gasped. It was if the substance of Elcho Falling had vanished. There remained the faint outline of walls, but essentially the entire structure had become completely transparent. Eleanon’s vision was looking right through Elcho Falling.
Kezial could see no people, but what he did see shocked him to his core.
There was something dark and vile in the heart of Elcho Falling. It looked like a cone-shaped, twisted mountain of sinister evilness, rising from the very base of the citadel. It had roots that stretched through most of the lower levels and walls of the citadel, and right under the lake itself. It looked like a cancerous growth, as yet small, but with deadly potential.
“You are going to use that to destroy Elcho Falling?” Kezial said.
“Partly,” Eleanon said. He lifted his hand from Kezial’s shoulder, and the vision faded. “Partly, also, I am going to use her.”
Now Eleanon nodded to one side, and Kezial looked.
A woman in mid-term pregnancy stood there. Kezial thought he’d never seen a more miserable nor more bedraggled woman, and felt a shiver of shock go through him when he realised it was Ravenna.
Where was the beautiful marsh witch who had captivated the Isembaardian generals with her power and glamour?
“Ravenna has come to a sad fate,” Eleanon said. “Ishbel got the better of her, I am afraid. See those dark bloodied bands about her?”
Kezial nodded, unable to speak. He actually felt sorry for the woman.
“They are the physical manifestations of the curse Ishbel laid upon her. The curse cut Ravenna off from all her power and disinherited her unborn son from Elcho Falling and isolated her from society.” Eleanon paused. “Of course, I have altered the curse a little now. To suit my purpose.”
Ravenna flinched, and Kezial’s sympathy increased. He had thought himself trapped, but he realised that it was as nothing compared to Ravenna’s entrapment. If Kezial was lucky, he and his men might escape with some semblance of life. He doubted very much Ravenna would manage that much.
“I will be sending Ravenna inside shortly,” Eleanon continued, “in order to further my cause — and yours, too, Kezial — and to seed that disaster which shall fell Elcho Falling.”
“Then you’ll need to do it soon,” Kezial said, “before either Maximilian or Axis or even Isaiah return.”
“No,” said Eleanon. “That is not my plan at all. In fact, I am sitting here idling, and allowing you to idle, Kezial, because I very much want everyone who wants to get back inside Elcho Falling to actually get back inside. You see, Kezial, I have devised the most malevolent and devious of plans. Would you like to hear it?”
Kezial looked at Ravenna again. Tears were trickling slowly down her cheeks.
“Yes,” he said, returning his eyes to Eleanon. “Yes, I would.”
Chapter 2
Hairekeep
Maximilian and his party sat their horses and looked at Hairekeep in the distance.
None of them spoke.
Gone was the lovely rose and cream sandstone fort that Maximilian, Ishbel, Serge and Doyle remembered. In its place rose a vile twisted pyramid of darkness. It extended another five times higher into the sky as the former fort.
On either side of the roadway the sand hands still waved and pointed forward, but their movements were slower now, and the watchers could see that as the hands neared Hairekeep they tended to cringe rather than wave or point.
“Are you certain you trust Josia?” Avaldamon said quietly.
“He is a Persimius,” said Maximilian. “And you have met and trusted him.”
“I never said that I trusted him.”
“Avaldamon,” Ishbel said, “we need to do this. There are tens of thousands trapped in there. Can any of us just ride by?”
“I could,” Serge and Doyle said together, and Ishbel shot them an irritated glance.
“Well, neither Maxel nor I can,” she said. “There are families in there, people. I can’t just —”
“Oh, for the gods’ sakes,” Avaldamon said, “what would happen if you and Maxel
don’t come out? What would happen if —”
“We will come out,” Ishbel said. “What could defeat the power of Maxel and I combined?”
“The One,” Avaldamon said. “Don’t overreach yourself, Ishbel.”
“We’re going in,” Ishbel said, and in such a manner that there was nothing more to be said.
They rode closer, stopping some fifty paces out from the black, twisting pyramid. This close it was apparent that the entire structure was moving slightly as it corkscrewed its way to its pinnacle high in the sky.
“I am going to say this again,” Avaldamon said, “no matter how much it annoys you, Ishbel. This structure is seething with the power of the One. He is alive and more powerful than ever. Don’t go in there.”
“I am not —” Ishbel began, but Maximilian reached over and put a hand on her arm.
“Avaldamon, trust us,” he said. “We know what we are doing.”
“And how many fools have spoken those words as their last,” Avaldamon muttered. Then, louder, “Maxel, there is a far greater and far more important battle awaiting you. You can’t —”
“Oh, leave it, Avaldamon,” Serge said, not unkindly. “We’ll settle ourselves down for a game of dice and watch the horses while the heroes go and do their thing.”
Thus saying, he and Doyle swung off their horses and settled themselves cross-legged on the roadway, Serge pulling out a bag of dice.
Avaldamon sighed, and dismounted as well. “I wish you well,” he said to Maximilian and Ishbel. “But please, think of yourselves before those people. If it is a trap, then get out. Leave them.”
“I promise,” Maximilian said.
He and Ishbel dismounted, handed the reins of their horses to Serge, nodded at Avaldamon, then walked toward Hairekeep.
There was a single door in the base of what had once been the sandstone fort. Maximilian took one of Ishbel’s hands, pausing them both at the door. It was cold here, unnaturally cold, and they both shivered.
“Are you sure, Ishbel?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
“You know what to do?”
“Yes, the foundation stone is easily accessible. I should be able to unwind it, and,” she squeezed his hand, “with you with me I shall not have the same troubles and concerns which beset me in DarkGlass Mountain. It will be all right, Maxel. Not pleasant, but all right.”
Maximilian glanced up at the darkness extending so far above his head. He could see hands and faces pressing against the blackness, as if the tormented people inside were pressing their flesh against the walls.
“It is like the inside of the Infinity Chamber,” Ishbel said, looking also. “Then, the hands aided me. Perhaps they will here, too.”
Maximilian smiled at her, then leaned forward and kissed her softly. “Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
“Then let the Lord and Lady of Elcho Falling go forth and do battle,” he said. He took a deep breath, took the final step toward the door, opened it, and both entered.
“You really don’t like this, do you,” Serge said to Avaldamon, who was sitting looking toward the fort anxiously.
Avaldamon shook his head. “There is something wrong, wrong, wrong about this. There is the stink of trap, but I cannot see what it is. I don’t like it that Josia has involved himself in this. There is no reason why he should . . . ”
“He is a bodiless spirit locked in a memory palace,” Doyle said. “If it was me, I’d be trying to get my fun wherever I could.”
“Still .” Avaldamon said. “Still .”
“Do you want us to .?” Serge said, raising his eyebrows at Hairekeep.
“No, no. Stay here. There will be nothing you can do. This is power beyond you.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” Doyle said, his voice humorous. Then suddenly he started. “By the gods! Is that Ishbel’s rat?”
Serge and Avaldamon turned to look where Doyle pointed.
Ishbel’s rat sat perched on a rock a little distance away, staring intently at Hairekeep.
Ishbel and Maximilian stood a few paces inside Hairekeep, still hand in hand.
The atrium of the structure stretched up as far as they could see, probably right up to the pinnacle itself. Around the walls wound balconies and stairs.
They were all empty.
There was no sign of any people.
Ishbel frowned. “It isn’t like what Josia told us would —”
Then she and Maximilian jumped as a low moan reverberated through the interior of Hairekeep. It tore at their nerves and the deepening physical chill which accompanied it sent further shivers down their spines.
“I don’t like this,” Maximilian murmured. He looked over his shoulder, reassuring himself the door was still there.
“Ishbel!”
She spun about.
The door had vanished. There was no sign of it, or where it may once have been. Behind them wound staircases and balconies as well, everything twisting up and up and up.
The moan sounded again, then suddenly morphed into a sibilant hiss that lifted the hair on both Ishbel’s and Maximilian’s heads.
Before either could react, something screamed. It was so harsh that both of them cried out and crouched low, hands over ears.
The next moment came a grinding crash, and everything about them changed.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Avaldamon sprang to his feet, staring in total horror at what Hairekeep had become.
“What is it?” Serge shouted, as the fort changed shape and, at the same time, extended even further into the sky so that it almost blocked out the sun.
A vast shadow stretched over the land, falling across the three men standing with the horses and stretching for thousands of paces beyond them.
“Hairekeep has turned into the physical manifestation of the Twisted Tower,” Avaldamon said. “Maxel and Ishbel’s memory palace.” He stared at the door, then looked up and up the ninety levels of corkscrewed tower to the single window at the very top. “Oh my gods . . . ” he whispered.
They rose in horror, staring about. They were standing in an exact replica of the interior of the Twisted Tower, save that everything — the walls, the stairs, the tables, all the objects on the tables and flat surfaces — was made of bone.
Human bone. The small bones made up the objects, while the furniture and walls were made of tens of thousands of femurs and scapulas and skulls.
Her hand trembling, Ishbel lifted one of the objects, the pedestal belonging to a table lamp, and looked carefully at it. Each of the bones in its construction had writing inscribed into it.
I was once Ursula, mother of Claudat, wife of Imeldam. Now I belong to the One.
I was once Killony, daughter of Houral. Now I belong to the One.
I was once Mersiny, wife of Insharah, mother of Eleany, Faran and Jaillon. Now I belong to the One.
“Maxel,” Ishbel whispered, and dropped the object.
It shattered into dusty fragments at her feet.
“We need to get out of here,” Maximilian said, and, taking Ishbel’s hand once more, turned for where the door had been.
It was actually there. But in the instant after they’d taken their first step toward it, bones began to appear as if from nowhere and piled up at fantastic speed to cover the door completely . . . and continued to spill rapidly toward Ishbel and Maximilian.
The door vanished within a heartbeat, and the entire ground floor chamber of the Twisted Tower began to fill with bones.
Maximilian pulled Ishbel toward the stairs that led upward. They raced up them just in time, as the bones filled the entire first chamber.
Then the second chamber began to fill.
Avaldamon felt as though he had turned to stone in his horror. All he could do for the moment was stare; he could not move nor think. The massive structure of the Twisted Tower looked as if a gigantic fist was squeezing it from the very bottom. The tower was contracting, ever upward, as though that fist were try
ing to squeeze Ishbel and Maximilian toward the .
Avaldamon’s eyes drifted up to the window at the very top of the tower.
That window was death, whichever way he looked at it. Maximilian and Ishbel would die if they so much as looked through it, and they would also die if they were literally squeezed through it.
Everything here had been a trap set by the One.
By Josia.
Avaldamon could not think. He tried so hard to order his thoughts, but such was his state of shock — at what was happening before his very eyes and at the realisation of who Josia now was — that his thoughts felt as though they’d been buried in deep thick sludge —
A movement to his right caught his eyes.
Serge and Doyle, drawing their swords.
“No!” Avaldamon managed. “No.”
Thank the gods, his mouth and thoughts finally seemed to be working again.
“We have to —” Doyle began.
“No,” Avaldamon said yet again. “Touch that tower and you both die. Leave it to me. I am a Persimius and I was trained in the Twisted Tower. I know what to do. The thing is .”
He turned to look directly at Serge and Doyle. “The thing is, it will kill me, but at least in the doing I can stop this nightmare and hopefully free Ishbel and Maximilian.”
He stopped, expecting to have to field protests from both men.
Neither of them spoke. They just looked at him expectantly.
Avaldamon repressed a sigh. They were former assassins, after all. What was the value of human life to them?
“I will die,” Avaldamon said, “but I hope that Ishbel or Maxel, pray to the gods both of them, will live. Serge, Doyle, if they don’t, then you need to do something very, very important for me.”
“Name it,” Serge said.
“Get to Elcho Falling as fast as you can and tell whoever commands that citadel that Josia is now the One. The One has inhabited Josia. Do you understand?”
“It is a simple enough concept to grasp, Avaldamon,” Serge snapped. “Josia — the One — set this trap?”
Avaldamon nodded.
“Then go aid Ishbel and Maximilian,” said Serge, “and Doyle and I shall say prayers each day hereafter for the peace of your soul.”