Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [58]
Caledan brought Man to a halt.
The tower was dilapidated. Dead vines clutched at the timeworn stones like skeletal fingers trying to pry the walls apart. Weeds and witchgrass grew wildly amidst the piles of rubble that had tumbled down from the tower's crumbling buttresses. The high windows stared out over the city like dark, empty eyes, and the peaked roof looked as if it had caved in years ago. A pall hung over the place, a mantle of dusty silence, of decay.
"This is it," Caledan said grimly. "Or was it, anyway."
Man shook her head. It looked as if Morhion's tower had been long abandoned.
"Maybe he's dead," Caledan said with a mock laugh. He gathered his patched cloak about him against the evening chill.
Mari circled the base of the tower, looking for a way inside. The arched doorway had collapsed into a pile of jagged rubble, but there was a dark, gaping crack to one side of the doorway. It looked almost wide enough for her to squeeze through. She shrugged off her heavy cloak.
"What are you doing?" Caledan demanded.
"Something useful," she snapped.
She ducked her head to peer into the crack-and stars flashed before her eyes. She cried out in pain, taking a dizzy step backward as she rubbed her aching head.
"You're right," Caledan said drily. "That's the most useful thing you've done in ages."
"Shut up, Caldorien." Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She began running her hands along the tower's wall. The cracked and weathered stones felt strange, smoother under her touch than they looked. An idea glimmered in her head. She tried to stick her hands into the crevice in the wall.
Her fingers met solid stone.
"It's an illusion!" she whispered in sudden understanding.
"What are you talking about, Harper?"
"The wall, scoundrel. I know it's difficult, but try not to be so dense. Here, feel it for yourself." She grabbed his hand and held it against the stones. "It looks like it's crumbling, but it feels solid."
Caledan's eyes widened in surprise as he felt along the wall.
"I'm willing to bet the rest of the tower is the same," Mari went on. "Someone is using magic to make it look as if it's moldy and abandoned."
Caledan shook his head, frowning.
They heard the sound of a heavy iron bolt, and suddenly a door swung open where a moment ago there had been only blank wall. Golden torchlight spilled out onto the street. Mari and Caledan stared in shock.
A man clad in a simple but expensive-looking robe of pearl gray stood in the doorway. He was tall-far taller than even Caledan-and his face was lost in the shadow of a cowl. The man stood in silence for a long moment, then lifted his hands slowly to push back the robe's heavy hood.
"Caledan Caldorien. It has been some time," the man said, his tenor voice as burnished as brass. He gestured to the open doorway. "Enter."
Minutes later Mari found herself sitting in the study of Morhion the mage, an octagonal chamber at the top of the tower, anxiously clutching a goblet of crimson wine in her hand. She had always thought a mage's work chamber would be a dark and cluttered place, littered with stacks of moldering scrolls and myriad jars filled with foul concoctions. However, Morhion's study was a surprisingly clean and pleasant room. Neatly kept bookshelves lined the walls, and intricate Sembian rugs covered the floors. A small fire burned on the hearth, and dozens of candles bathed the room in a warm glow of light. The air was sweet with the faint, dusty fragrance of dried herbs.
Caledan paced the room in agitation, having drunk the wine the mage offered him in one swift