Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [27]
“Stop saying that!” Mina screamed shrilly.
The Beloved hushed, fell silent.
“I’m going to my tower,” said Mina, glowering. “Get out of my way.”
“We should go back to the boat,” Nightshade urged. “Make a run for it!”
“We’d never reach it,” said Rhys.
The Beloved would not allow Mina to leave. They had been waiting here for her. Perhaps it was her command that had driven them to this island.
“Our lives are in her hands,” Rhys said. Moving slowly, he reached down and picked up his staff.
Nightshade groaned and muttered, “No meat pie is worth this.”
ina, tugging Rhys with her, walked forward. The Beloved drew back, giving her room to pass. She walked through the throng of the dead, watching them warily with frightened eyes, clinging to Rhys’s hand so tightly that her fingertips left red marks. Nightshade crowded close behind them, tripping on Rhys’s heels. Atta kept near Rhys’s side, her body quivering, her lip curled back from her teeth, a constant growl rumbling.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Nightshade said.
“Shush!” Rhys warned. He had seen the empty eyes shift from Mina to the kender and the flash of sunlight off steel. The Beloved did not attack, however. Rhys guessed they would not, as long as they were with Mina.
“Rhys,” whispered Nightshade, “she doesn’t remember them! And she created them!”
Rhys nodded and kept walking. The Beloved had been wandering about the island in their aimless fashion until catching sight of Mina. After that, they saw nothing else. They gathered around her, speaking her name in reverent tones. Some reached out to her, but she shrank back from them.
“Go away!” she said sharply. “Don’t touch me.”
One by one, they fell back.
Mina kept walking toward the tower, holding onto Rhys’s hand. When they reached the tower entrance, they found the double doors locked.
“All this way and she forgets the key,” Nightshade muttered.
“I don’t need a key,” said Mina. “This is my tower.”
Letting go of Rhys’s hand, she walked up to the great doors and, pushing on them with all her strength, gave them a shove. At her touch, the massive doors swung slowly open.
Mina bounded inside, looking about her with a child’s wonder and curiosity. Rhys followed more slowly. Though the tower was constructed of crystal, some magic in the walls blocked the light. The morning sun could not even enter the door, but was swallowed up at the threshold. Inside, all was darkness. He halted just inside the doorway.
Slowly, as his eyes grew accustomed to the cool, damp darkness, he became aware that the tower’s interior was not as dark as it had first seemed. The crystal walls diffused the sunlight, so that the interior was illuminated with a pale, soft light, reminiscent of moonglow.
The entrance hall was cavernous. A spiral staircase carved into the crystal walls wound round the interior, leading upward, out of sight. Globes of magical light were placed at intervals along the stairway, to guide the way of those who walked it. Most of the globes flickered like guttered candles, as though their magic was starting to wane. Some had gone out completely.
Long ago, the entry hall of the Tower of High Sorcery of Istar must have been magnificent. Here the wizards of Istar would have welcomed fellow wizards and other guests and dignitaries. Here, they must have waited for the Kingpriest, handing over to him the keys to their beloved tower, agreeing in sorrow to surrender rather than risk the lives of innocents in battle.
Perhaps the Kingpriest was the very last mortal to walk this hall, Rhys thought. He pictured the Kingpriest, splendid in his misguided glory, taking a triumphant victory lap, congratulating himself on having driven out his enemies before he locked and sealed the great doors behind him. Locked and sealed Istar’s doom.
Nothing of glory or magnificence was left. The walls were wet and grimy, covered in sand and silt. The floor was ankle-deep in sludge, dead fish, and seaweed.
“Ugh! Your tower stinks, Mina!” said Nightshade loudly. Catching hold of Rhys’s sleeve, the kender added