Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [40]
“We thought so, too,” Mosiah said. “We searched for the Corridors, after the destruction of Thimhallan, and couldn’t find them. We assumed that they were lost to us, because the magic that had supported them was gone. But it seems that they had only moved, shifted with the upheaval of the land.”
Saryon frowned. “I don’t see how that’s possible! Mathematically speaking, it isn’t! Admittedly we never knew exactly how the Corridors functioned, but the calculations necessary to open them precluded any—”
“Father!” Mosiah interrupted, with a smile, as if reliving old memories. “I would be interested to hear about these calculations, but at a later date. Now shouldn’t we be going?”
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. Here’s poor Reuven soaked to the skin. I told you to wear something heavier than that jacket,” he added in concern. “Didn’t you bring a warmer coat?”
I indicated that I was warm enough, only very wet. I was wearing a white cable-knit sweater and blue jeans, with a jacket over that. I knew my master, however. Had I been wearing fur, wrapped up from head to toe, Saryon would have still been worried about me.
“We should hurry, sir,” I signed.
Not only was I looking forward to getting out of the rain, I was eager to see the magic.
“Am I supposed to open the Corridor?” Saryon asked. “I’m not sure I remember ...”
“No, Father,” Mosiah replied. “The days are gone when you catalysts controlled the Corridors. Now anyone who knows the magic may use them.”
He spoke a word and an oval void appeared in the midst of the rain and the wind. The void elongated, until it was tall enough for us to enter. Saryon looked back uncertainly at Mosiah.
“Are you coming with us? Joram would be glad to see you.”
Mosiah shook his head. “I do not think so. Step into the Corridor, before you catch your death.” He turned to me. “The sensation you will feel is very frightening at first, but it will soon pass. Remain calm.”
Saryon started to enter the void, then he halted. “Where will it take us?”
“To the Font, where Joram lives.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to end up in some shattered castle in Merilon—”
“I am certain, Father. I said the Corridors had shifted. Like spokes in a wheel, they now all lead either to the Font or away from it.”
“How strange,” said Saryon. “How very strange.”
He entered the void. Urged by Mosiah, I followed quickly after my master, almost tripping on his heels. I lost sight of him immediately, however. The Corridor closed around me, as if it would compress me into nothingness. I felt squeezed and smothered, unable to breathe.
Remain calm. . . .
All very well for Mosiah to say! He wasn’t suffocating! I struggled for air, struggled to free myself. I was drowning, dying, losing consciousness. . . .
Then suddenly the Corridor opened, like a window shade in a dark room springing up to let in bright sunlight. I could breathe. I was on a mountaintop. The air was crisp and cool. No rain fell. The storm clouds were in the valleys beneath us.
I looked into blue sky, saw white, scudding clouds that were so close I felt as if I might snag one.
Saryon stood next to me, gazing around with the eager, wistful, hungry look of one who has returned at long last to a site where memories, painful and pleasant, were forged. We stood on the ramparts of what had once been an immense city-fortress.
He shook his head, looking a little dazed. “So much has changed,” he murmured. He drew near, took me by the arm, and pointed. “Up there, on the mountain’s peak—made from the mountain’s peak—was the cathedral. It is gone. Entirely gone. It must have collapsed later on, after we left. I never knew.”
He stared at the ruins, which lay scattered over the mountainside, then he turned and looked in a different direction. His sadness brightened somewhat. “The University is still here. Look, Reuven. The building on the side of the mountain. Magi from all over Thimhallan came to study there, to perfect their art. I studied mathematics there. What happy hours!”
Tunnels and corridors burrowed