by Markus Heitz
His nerves were in shreds from the enforced stay. He had slept. He had eaten. He had many long talks with the cîanai; he told her how he and his siblings came to Phondrasôn. He had explored the tower but still had absolutely no clue how to escape. He was seething with impatience.
Within these walls time passed with no indication of day and night. There were no windows and their only light came from candles and petroleum lamps, as well as the magical shimmer from the runes on the stone walls. Fresh air circulated from an unseen source.
How does Marandëi stand it? How Sisaroth hated their prison! One could not fault the accommodation for comfort and convenience. The tower seemed able to provide any sustenance they needed; the larder cupboards were never empty. All the ingredients for flavoursome meals were at hand.
But nothing made up for the loss of liberty.
Marandëi gave him another smile. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘No, I refuse. I have to find my brother and sister and I have to get back to Dsôn.’ I’ll construct some sort of siege equipment strong enough to break down the walls. I’ll do it without recourse to magic. But I need tools to hollow out the stones. ‘I’m not giving up.’
There were sitting in what Marandëi called the library, although there were only four volumes on the shelves.
These she had written herself: a discourse on magic that Sisaroth could not understand, a collection of recipes, episodes from the lives of the cîanai, and some poems he did not think much of. The älf-woman had also done some drawing and painting, but he considered her output childish rather than gifted. Barbarians might go for that kind of thing but it did not impress him.
Marandëi had told him about her attempts to get away from the tower. She had tried magic, she had tried brute force, she had tried begging and pleading – all to no avail. He could see she was resigned to her captivity and that she was delighted to have someone to talk to after countless divisions of unendingness with beasts as her only visitors. Now she had an älf at her side with whom she could pass the time, and in whose company she could grow old. For eternity.
The prospect appalled him.
His father might have been attracted to Marandëi, he thought. He might even have selected her as a life-partner. But Sisaroth was not interested in a relationship; that would only complicate things further. He had to find his siblings and return to Dsôn.
He had to find a way to escape this tower.
He got to his feet. ‘I’m going to carry on looking for a way out,’ he announced, heading for the door.
She followed him with her gaze. ‘And for that I admire you. You keep hoping you’ll discover something I’ve missed.’
‘No. I’m hoping to discover something that might have changed,’ he corrected tactfully. ‘Tell me, was the tower leaning like this when you arrived, when it first pulled you in?’
She looked taken aback at his words. ‘No. No, I don’t think it was,’ she replied. She poured out onto the floor a little water from the basin she had used to attend to his injury.
The drops shimmered in place for a moment before they started to roll gently towards one side of the room, sinking into the bare wood of the floor.
‘You are right,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘I never noticed that.’
‘You didn’t notice because the change has been infinitesimal and gradual.’ A vague idea began to form in Sisaroth’s mind. ‘Let’s see what I come up with when I’ve climbed the stairs. Hand me a glass of water, please.’
He took the steps until he reached the highest room in the tower and then he came down again, going all the way to the dungeons. On each level he observed how the water behaved when the glassy beads were spilt. It will work!
He came back to where the cîanai was preparing their next meal.
She could tell from the satisfied smile on his face that his inspired guess had developed into a plan. ‘He’s only just arrived in the tower and already he has worked out how we can escape. How superb,’ she said, with heavy sarcasm. ‘Admit it: you are trying to impress me.’ She winked at him.
Sisaroth sat down at the table and waited while Marandëi passed him a plate of lightly grilled meat and spiced cereal mash. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up,’ he said modestly. ‘But I do think we can get out of here. Not without considerable risk to ourselves, of course. We could be badly hurt in the attempt.’
Marandëi brought her own plate over to the table and sat opposite him. ‘You don’t want to let me in on the secret?’
‘On the contrary. I’ll need your help. But be prepared for the possibility of failure.’ He was impatient to get started. ‘Are there any tools I could use?’
‘I did find a hammer. And there’s some equipment the beasts left behind in the dungeon. We could adapt it.’ Her curiosity was aroused and her pale eyes sparkled. ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’
‘We are going to make the tower’s weakness work in our favour.’
‘But the tower is invulnerable.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Sisaroth contradicted, with a grin. ‘You’ll see what I mean when we’ve finished eating.’ He tucked into the meal, keen to build up his strength for the coming exertions.
*
He and Marandëi spent the next few hours moving all the furniture into the top room and piling it up against the far wall.
The cîanai’s magic powers were no help to her with the manual labour. As she dragged the heavy wooden items she sweated and swore like a barbarian trooper, as Sisaroth noted to his delight.
They left an opening in the pile of furniture where they could slide the heavy wooden chest from the kitchen.
Sisaroth fastened eight small wheels to the chest so it would be easier to move. He and Marandëi managed to haul it upstairs, where they then filled it with stones and rubble from the dungeon at the base of the tower. Now they had the makings of a battering ram. They strengthened the construction by covering it with pieces of armour left by marauding monsters who had died there in the past. This would prevent the wood from breaking on impact. The two of them took occasional breaks for food and rest.
At regular intervals Sisaroth repeated the water droplet experiment. The tower’s inclination had increased. Their efforts had been worthwhile. ‘It’s sloping a bit more now!’ he shouted over to Marandëi.
‘Then let’s get to work,’ she said with a groan, rubbing her neck. ‘My back and legs are killing me.’
‘I need you to fetch the blankets from your bedchamber.’ Marandëi nodded and set off, while Sisaroth gathered a number of sacks from the ground floor.
With these items, they padded the wall they intended to assail.
The intention was to change the weight distribution in the tower, rather than attempt to destroy the stonework. If there was damage to the stones, the tower knew how to protect itself with magic. But it won’t be expecting to ward against toppling over. ‘We can begin.’ Sisaroth started to roll the trunk across the room. ‘Help me push. Or do you have a spell?’
The cîanai gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘No. My magic’s not much use, is it? I can make monsters explode, I can command water and fire at will, and I can bring down the night . . . but I can’t push a cabinet on wheels. Look at me now.’ Marandëi indicated her filthy sweat-soaked clothes. ‘I’ve never had to work so hard. Like normal people.’
Sisaroth grinned. Taking a glass he placed it on the floor and marked the water level with a piece of charcoal. That way we can measure the effect of our efforts. ‘You’re doing fine.’ He patted the lid of the kitchen storage chest. ‘It won’t be long now. Soon we’ll be celebrating our release.’
‘If we survive the fall!’ She spoke these words with no trace of fear or doubt in her voice. She came over to his side and placed her hands next to his on the fortified wooden trunk. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready!’
Together they charged, trundling the heavy chest before them as they ran the width of the room, letting it crash into the padding on th
e opposing wall.
There was a loud noise and the wood protested but the metal armour held firm.
The wall quivered. The tower was reacting to the attack, doing its best to protect the masonry. Tiny cracks in the mortar closed up.
No matter. We’re not trying to make a hole. We want the whole thing to collapse. Sisaroth glanced at the water in the glass. No change there as yet. He had not expected immediate success.
‘Let’s try again.’ He grabbed hold of the handle and he and Marandëi lugged the chest back to the far side of the room for their next attempt. ‘I think we may be doing this for some time.’
‘That’s all right by me,’ she said. ‘I don’t have any other plans for today.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘And thanks.’
‘What for?’ he asked, astonished.
‘For giving me hope. Even if we never manage to escape you have taught me it’s wrong to give up and simply accept one’s fate.’ She breathed a kiss onto his cheek and then leaned back to pull at the leather straps, helping drag the trunk over for the next onslaught on the tower’s equilibrium. ‘Let’s show these stones what we’re made of. We’re cleverer than they are.’
Sisaroth smiled – and felt some degree of confusion. The warmth of her lips seemed to have permeated his skin and a strange tingling sensation had suffused his body. That’ll be her magic, I suppose. He glanced over at her while she wasn’t looking. I’m not sure. Did she look that alluring before? He shook himself to get rid of the vexing thought.
The two of them charged the wall again and again with the heavy improvised battering ram; they panted and cursed and hardly allowed themselves any respite. They were both obsessed with forcing the water in the glass to show their efforts were having an effect.
So far there had been no change.
‘Wait,’ said Marandëi. She leaned against the trunk, exhausted. ‘I can’t go on.’
Sisaroth used the pause to adjust the leather straps and inspect the wood and armour. The chest had held up well but cracks were showing in the metal fastenings. ‘Let’s try one more time.’ He was extremely reluctant to give up despite his protesting muscles.
‘It’s no use,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing has happened.’ She pointed to the glass. ‘See for yourself.’
‘I never said it would work on the first day.’ I’m not stopping. ‘Go ahead and lie down for a bit.’
‘What about you?’
He pointed at the trunk.
‘You won’t let yourself entertain the slightest doubt, will you?’ Marandëi tutted. ‘You’ll utterly exhaust yourself and you won’t be able to move tomorrow, however young you are.’ She touched him on the shoulder again. It did not feel like a motherly gesture. ‘Come on. Let’s both get some rest. We have plenty of time.’
‘We may have plenty of time, but my poor siblings may not. My sister is no fighter. We’re all stuck here in Phondrasôn and not safely behind the protective wall in Dsôn Sòmran where we belong.’ Sisaroth took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the trunk handle. ‘One more go. Please.’
But Marandëi plonked herself down on the lid in protest. ‘You know what I think is odd?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘You never asked me why I was sent here.’
‘Why should I?’ He was tempted to push her off. ‘What good would that do? You could lie or use a spell.’ He could not help thinking about her kiss. ‘I’d have to believe anything you told me. I don’t care why they exiled you.’ Sisaroth pointed to the wall. ‘I’m going to get us out of here and then you’ve undertaken to serve me for five divisions of unendingness. Plenty of time to ask you questions later, Marandëi.’
She laughed quietly. ‘You are clever, aren’t you? I think you are a young älf with a bright future.’ She slid down from the top of the chest and grabbed hold of the handle. ‘This is the very last try, or my back will . . .’
They heard a metallic clanging noise followed by a deep roar. The floor under their feet started to shake and then stopped. This sequence of events was repeated several times.
‘What was that?’ Sisaroth stared at the cîanai.
‘The tower has brought us visitors,’ she answered, horrified. ‘Each time that noise happens something has arrived.’
The noises recurred and never seemed to stop.
Sisaroth counted forty-two instances of these new arrivals before silence returned. What is the tower bringing us? He did not assume the newcomers to the stronghold would be peace-loving.
‘Did you lock the door after we collected the stones?’ Marandëi asked him urgently.
No, I didn’t. ‘I’ll go and take a look,’ he answered swiftly, running out, the sword he had found below in his hand.
‘Sisaroth!’
Something in the tone of her voice made him swivel round to face her.
‘Look! The glass!’
He saw that the tower had started to lean further. The inclination had increased by a considerable number of degrees. The magic activity must have had an effect on the foundations; it was working in their favour. But her delight was premature – the price could well be too high.
‘I must go downstairs. Wait here.’ Sisaroth flew down and tried to reach the dungeon before the new arrivals could get over their surprise at landing in the tower.
He got as far as the kitchen.
Horrific creatures with the bodies of óarcos and the heads of animals charged him, screaming ferociously. They wore body armour and they were thirsting for a kill.
More came surging out of the corridor waving axes and other formidable-looking weapons.
I can’t hold them back! Sisaroth retreated, fighting as hard as he could. He sliced off the top of one monster’s head, stabbed another in the muzzle, and cut off a third’s arm – then his sword became wedged in a bone and broke off.
The aggressive horde swept on, their approach heralded by an appalling stench and a tremendous racket.
The tower started to vibrate. More beasts were being brought in as reinforcements.
The tower is taking its revenge! Sisaroth leaped out of the kitchen and hurled the heavy oak door closed, bolting it fast. He took two steps back to catch his breath. The tower wants us finished off by these ghastly fiends before we can tip it over.
The door shook from the mass onslaught on the other side. The hinges started to buckle and splinters of stone burst away from the frame. The noise from the beasts was ear-splitting.
He glanced around. What can I do without a weapon?
If only there were something to drag over and block the entrance! But he and Marandëi had taken everything to the top of the tower.
An axe blade was thrust through the door and torn back out for a second blow. A malicious eye glowed red through the hole in the splintered wood. ‘Is alv!’ came a guttural cry. ‘Look, alv!’
Sisaroth turned and fled up the stairway.
Ishím Voróo (Outer Lands), Dsôn Sòmran, Dsôn, in the northern foothills of the Grey Mountains, 5427th division of unendingness (6241st solar cycle), spring.
The enclosed platform plunged into the mist. It was as if all that existed in the world were this cabin with its three passengers and the älf at the controls.
Droplets formed on the window panes, quickly giving way to a steady rainfall that drummed on the cabin roof.
Ranôria pressed herself into the corner by the door. From there she could keep an eye on the älf who had pushed past her on the way in. He was standing with his back to her.
I’m sure he was following me. Did Acòrhia send him? She wants to know what I’m up to. She was half-convinced that she was right to be so nervous. She was on the verge of uncovering a plot and the story-teller was at the heart of the conspiracy. But was someone else behind it all?
The other half of her brain kept telling her she was being stupid and she should not give in to paranoia.
What could really happen? She told herself to calm down. So he’s wearing a cloak. Of course he is. It’s only because of the
rain . . . Lots of people cover their faces when the weather’s bad like this.
‘Hey!’ A loud voice called out from the greyness. They had nearly passed someone on the sixth ring who wanted to get in. ‘Stop! Let me on!’
‘Keep going!’ the soldier commanded gruffly when he saw the operator was about to pull the lever.
‘But I . . .’
Ranôria pricked up her ears. This is my chance. As soon as we come to a stop I’ll jump out and find another way to the top.
The warrior raised his hand and shook his finger in a warning. ‘No, you don’t! I’ve got to get up to the wall for duty. How can I explain to the sytràp why I’m late? Shall I give him your name, so that the punishment comes down on you rather than me?’
Ranôria was struck by the appearance of a ring on the soldier’s hand. It was made of tionium and silver, with an inlaid bone pattern and an amethyst-coloured stone. She did not recognise the symbol on it. The strange piece was not one of the normal military adornments and there was no indication of what family the soldier belonged to.
‘Hey! Stop!’ the person outside called again. ‘It’s raining hard and I can’t walk very far!’
The soldier stared out through his visor, and lowered his arm.
‘No, sorry. Can’t stop here!’ the intimidated operator called, as he moved the platform on its way. ‘Sorry! You’ll have to wait for the next one.’
Pity. Ranôria was annoyed she didn’t have the chance to get out. She suppressed the uncomfortable feeling that something was amiss and turned her attention to the other älfar. But at least this means I won’t get wet.
Nobody spoke.
The fog encroached on all sides, lifting occasionally, only to thicken and grow dark again, obliterating the view of rooftops.
Nearly there. Ranôria concentrated on the questions she wanted to ask Nomirôs. I’ll threaten him. I’ll make him talk. I can swear that Aïsolon will protect him. She remained convinced that the story-teller was playing a central role. I’ve got to get Nomirôs to bear witness against her. I don’t care if it’s a lie or not, as long as she is implicated.
The älf at the window suddenly turned round. He crossed his arms and stared at the tips of his boots. They were filthy. ‘Will you look at that? I’ve only just cleaned them and they’re already dirty again from the muddy streets.’ He smiled at Ranôria. ‘The slaves need to sweep better.’ He bent down and polished his boots with the hem of his cloak. ‘It would have to be today! I wanted to make a really good impression on her.’