***
The dining room was a large, proud chamber. The five crowded one end of a table that could comfortably seat twenty. Both it and the high backed chairs were carved carefully from a deep mahogany, polished and stained even darker. Cut into the center of the table was a small, quiet fountain that kept a wooden ball afloat in its parting waters. Tapestries were hung between the tall windows from the high ceiling, each bearing either the star in the parting clouds, symbol of Eretia, or the strange reversed question-mark that was the only thing on Saranoda's surface that looked anything close to a marking. A grand chandelier poised low over the table, stretching its many golden arms. Over the tall fireplace behind Magist's chair hung a large oil painting of Saranoda, an angled, dizzy view looking down on the distant Eretia. The fireplace and a few elegant lamps were starting to take over for the retiring sun, making the shadows lurch in an hypnotizing way.
Pird shot Zook dirty looks between each bite, rubbing his throbbing arm. I wasn't that insulting, he thought. Zook glowered over his steak. Pird couldn’t summon up the cheery inertia needed to make the Healer's cheek twitch, the closest to a smile that sometimes got lost onto his face.
I hope I don't become that depressing at twenty-three, Pird thought, pushing his broccoli around with his fork. Eris’ lightening laughter caused him to look up. Apparently Sye was describing how people were getting so drunk at the celebration that they were tripping into the canals, keeping the guards busy. Pird's gaze traveled up the table to Magist, who kept glancing at him over his steak.
Probably curious as to why I'm not sneaking food shots at Zook, Pird thought idly, stabbing the itinerant broccoli.
“Magist,” said Sye, “You said you had a surprise? You know what this dinner will turn into if you hold out on us.”
“Actually, as I said, I have two,” Magist said with a smile, carefully putting down his silverware, “But first I must make sure you all have paid enough attention to fully appreciate them. Pird!”
Pird jumped in his seat automatically at the sound of a teacher, “Yes?”
“What is the symbol of Eretia?”
“A star parting the-” Pird began, eyes going to the surrounding tapestries.
“No,” Magist interrupted, “Not the textbook answer. What is Eretia's symbol? What is our ultimate depiction of knowledge and power? If you go anywhere in Adrala and say 'Eretia', what is the first thing one would think of? What's the first thing you see when you come here?”
And we’re thinking again, Pird thought. He guessed tentavily, “Saranoda?”
“Correct, can you think of any structure larger?”
“No.”
“Yet what is ironic about its size?”
Pird thought for a second. Where is this leading? “It only has one room?”
“Correct again,” said Magist, “A tower that eclipses the sun for half our island every day, a fountain that produces enough water in five minutes to quench the thirst of each and every one of Adrala's eighty-four million people for a week. A tower whose arms, right under sea level, provides the foundations for our artificial island. Yet, in its vastness, there is only one, single, empty room. There are no other known entrances to Saranoda, although some speculate that there is one at the top. Assuming, of course, if there is a top.”
“There has to be a top,” Sye objected.
“I am just repeating the general opinion,” said Magist with a wry smile, “Not mine. The mystery of the three towers has been tried by many and failed by all. No one has found a word as to why the sister tower Krakrenenor looks nearly identical nor why Bandui looks so different and lacks an entrance. Tomorrow, however, it will be our turn to try our hand.”
“We're going to Saranoda's sanctum?” Eris asked in disbelief.
“That's right.”
“When?” asked Sye.
“Tomorrow.”
“How'd you get permission from the Priests?”
Magist leaned back in his chair, “Technically, I do not need their permission, the towers of Adrala belong to no one.”
“Yeah,” said Pird doubtfully, “But saying that won't stop em' from mobbing you.”
“How did you convince them?” asked Sye.
“Yes, how did you buy a day from the men in robes and their ‘talking’ towers?” asked Zook.
“Please,” said Magist, raising his hands in defense, “I would rather you not call them that. It really became a matter of bureaucracy; let us just say I had a piece of history they were interested in.”
“That's boring Magist,” said Pird, “We all want to hear how you mowed down their self-righteous pining with your advanced vocabulary.”
Magist sighed, “Trust me, they are verbal enough. The lack of logic behind their words is what is diminishing. Are we all done with dinner?”
Sye eyed his half-eaten potato, which had somehow been overcooked, “I suppose so, why?”
Magist smiled, “That would be telling. Clear off the table and we will convene in my study.”