Chapter Nine

Tower

Hand in hand, Eldain and Rhianna made their way downstairs to find Yvraine waiting for them at the breakfast table. The Sword Master smiled at the sight of them and said, ‘You both look… refreshed.’

‘I am refreshed,’ said Eldain, sitting beside Yvraine and cutting several slices of bread from a freshly baked loaf. ‘I feel more alive than ever before. How are you this morning? Did you finally get to meditate properly now that you’re back on dry land?’

‘I did,’ said Yvraine, looking over at Rhianna and blushing as she understood the nature of their newfound happiness. ‘I slept very well.’

Eldain passed a plate of bread to Rhianna and wolfed down a number of honeyed oatcakes before draining a glass of fresh aoilym juice. His appetite sated, he ventured outside to the stables where their horses had spent the night, pleased to find that the ostler knew his trade and that the steeds had been well cared for. Each had been groomed and fed fine Sapherian grain imbued with the magic of the land itself. Though an Ellyrian groom would have already run the horses out before now, Eldain’s mood was too light to find fault with the care the horses had received.

He thanked the ostler and walked the horses around the paddock cut into the side of the cliff, allowing them to shake out the night’s torpor and prepare for the ride ahead. If what Yvraine had said was true, and he had no cause to doubt her, then it could be an indeterminate time until they reached the White Tower.

By the time the horses had thrown off the lethargy of the night and were ready for the day’s exertions, he could sense the anticipation they felt at the prospect of exploring Saphery and led them around to the front of the Light of Korhadris.

The streets of Cairn Auriel were busy and a number of passers-by stopped to admire the horses. Eldain spent a pleasant few moments conversing with each person as they commented on the beauty of the Ellyrian steeds, engaging in small talk he would have found intolerable only a few short weeks ago.

Yvraine and Rhianna emerged from the hostelry looking refreshed and eager to continue on their way. They mounted their steeds and Eldain checked the work of the ostler one last time before vaulting onto Lotharin’s back.

He turned to Yvraine and said, ‘This is your country now, Mistress Hawkblade. Lead on.’

The Sword Master pointed to a road that climbed a steep, zigzagging route up the cliffs between tall trellises of gold and silver lined with summer blossoms.

‘That way,’ she said. ‘Once we are at the top of the cliff, we will be able to see the White Tower. We will ride towards it and if we are welcome we should arrive there sometime this evening.’

‘Then let’s hope we’ll be welcome,’ said Eldain, urging Lotharin onwards with a gentle pressure from his knees. ‘Seekers after truth, you say?’

Yvraine nodded. ‘If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you have experienced doubt.’

‘Oh, that I have in plentiful supply,’ said Eldain.

Soon the white buildings of the coastal settlement were behind them and they joined the road that climbed the sheer cliffs towards the flatlands of Saphery. Lesser steeds than those of elven stock would have balked at the climb, but to horses from Ellyrion, the climb was no more arduous than a straight road.

When he was halfway up the cliffside path, Eldain looked back down onto the settlement, relishing the dizzying sensation of height. The path was barely wide enough for his horse and a sheer drop of hundreds of feet awaited him should he fall, but Eldain had no fear of Lotharin losing his footing.

Rhianna looked comfortable enough, but Yvraine held on for dear life, her face pale and her knuckles white as she gripped Irenya’s reins in terror.

‘Do not hold on so tight, Mistress Hawkblade,’ said Eldain. ‘Let Irenya walk the path. Don’t try and guide her.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Yvraine, her eyes flicking back and forth from the path to the drop at her side. ‘I told you, I prefer to trust my own two feet.’

‘You’re riding an Ellyrian steed, Mistress Hawkblade. She’d sooner let a druchii on her back than allow you to fall.’

‘I will take your word for it, but I have no head for heights.’

‘You will be fine,’ said Eldain. ‘Just don’t look down.’

Yvraine’s head snapped up and she glared at him for giving such elementary advice, but it kept her attention focused on him rather than the drop. The climb to the top of the cliffs took almost an hour, by which time the sun had risen and cast a long golden glow across the cliffs.

Eldain’s steed crested the top of the cliffs and he ran a hand through his unbound hair as he stared in wonder at the land of Saphery. Though he had travelled here on numerous occasions, the magical wonder of this kingdom still left him speechless.

Sweeping plains, as rich and welcoming as any in Ellyrion, stretched out in undulating waves, golden and green and reaching all the way to the ring of the Annulii Mountains in the distance. A rippling haze of magic hung over the land and glorious forests dotted the landscape, alive with birdsong and the lazy droning of insects. The air was heavy with the smell of magically ripened crops, which immediately conjured images within Eldain’s mind of endless summers and days spent collecting the fresh harvest.

A temple of Ladrielle, its walls fashioned from the same white stone as the cliffs, rose from the edge of a field, its tumbled walls deliberately arranged so as to resemble a noble’s folly, its statues artfully arranged to give the impression that they harvested the sheaves of corn themselves.

In the far distance, the White Tower dominated the landscape, reaching into the azure skies to such a height that its construction would have been impossible without the magic of the elves to raise its magnificence towards the heavens.

‘It looks as though we can just ride up to it,’ said Eldain.

‘And we will,’ said Yvraine, riding past him, her relief at having reached the top of the cliffs apparent. ‘Whether we get there or not is another matter entirely.’

‘That’s not very reassuring.’

‘She’s just teasing,’ said Rhianna as she passed him.

‘For all our sakes, I hope so.’

Without needing to be told, Lotharin set off after his fellow mounts and his longer strides soon caught up to Rhianna’s steed.

‘I still wonder why your father sent for us both,’ he said as he rode alongside Rhianna.

‘So do I, but I just don’t know. Yvraine said it was an urgent matter.’

‘Do you have any idea why he would want us to come to the White Tower instead of his villa? Perhaps his divinations have shown him that we are in danger?’

Rhianna shook her head, her eyes unconsciously darting towards the far south of Saphery, where the Silverfawn villa lay beyond an outthrust haunch of the mountains. Rhianna had grown to womanhood within its tall, fiery walls and the alliance between her family and that of Eldain’s had been sealed with bonds of friendship and loyalty stronger than ithilmar.

Eldain had visited Rhianna’s home with his father and brother on several occasions, but the Tower of Hoeth had never been more than a faint glow over the horizon. To now lay his eyes upon such a magnificent symbol of elven mastery over the physical world was intoxicating.

Rhianna’s father was a mage of great skill and renown, famed for his mastery of the magic of fire and celestial divination, but the energies required to create such potent architecture was beyond the ability of all but the Loremasters, and Eldain doubted even they could recreate such a feat of arcane engineering.

‘It is impossible to be sure with father,’ said Rhianna. ‘But if we were in any danger surely he would have come to us instead of asking us to travel to him.’

‘Then perhaps his foretelling has revealed something.’

‘Possibly, but we will have to wait and see, won’t we?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Eldain, frowning as he caught sight of movement in the waving crops.

He looked closer, seeing a tiny, thin-limbed creature of glowing light weaving in and out of the crops, its every footstep leaving an imprint where a budding shoot of fresh corn pushed its way clear of the ground. The closer he looked, the more of the tiny creatures he saw, each one dancing to an unheard tune through the sheaves of corn.

‘They are uleishi,’ said Rhianna, guessing what he was looking at. ‘Magical creatures who tend to the crops and ensure the harvest is bountiful.’

‘I’ve never seen such a thing.’

‘They mostly keep to Saphery,’ said Rhianna. ‘It’s said that they were created as a side effect of the spells used in the creation of the White Tower. Isn’t that right, Yvraine?’

Yvraine nodded and said, ‘Yes, they are mostly harmless little things, but they love mischief and it is common for them to steal into a house and bang pots or mess the place up if they are not happy with the care the crops are receiving.’

‘So why don’t the mages get rid of them? Surely they have the power.’

‘Probably,’ agreed Yvraine, ‘but it’s said that if the uleishi were ever to leave Ulthuan then its fate is sealed.’

‘What do they do?’ asked Eldain.

‘No one knows, but no one wants to take the chance of finding out what happens if they ever stop.’

Eldain watched the glowing little sprites capering through the long grasses until they were lost from sight and fresh wonders demanded his attention.

Rivers bearing water so clear it was almost invisible flowed through Saphery and though the sun was high and cast pleasant warmth over them, shining mists occasionally rose from the ground, gathering in miniature tornadoes that swept across the landscape, leaving no damage in their wake, but a glistening trail of moisture and crystal laughter.

Herds of animals so strange he had not a name for them could be seen on the horizon with every turn of the head, creatures that must surely be of magical origin, but which attracted no undue attention from Rhianna and Yvraine. He saw more of the magical sprites, a pack of them following his course for several miles, darting between Lotharin’s legs until they grew bored with the lack of sport and vanished in a cloud of giggling light.

As they crossed one of the wide, shallow rivers that wound sedately from the Annulii to the Inner Sea, Eldain caught sight of a commotion upstream and watched as a host of translucent, blue-skinned nymphs with hair of foaming spume cavorted in the water, splashing and teasing one another. Realising they were observed, the nymphs disappeared beneath the surface of the river and Eldain saw them racing downstream towards him, their giggling features alive with amorous mischief.

He urged Lotharin from the water as the nymphs passed behind him and their playful laughter carried on downriver.

‘Is everything in this land magic?’ he said to himself.

As though in answer to that very question, a chill wind stole upon him and he blinked as a glittering phalanx of ghostly Silver Helms rose up from the ground, sunlight reflecting blindingly from the polished plates of their ithiltaen helms. If Rhianna or Yvraine saw them too, they gave no sign and though these wraiths appeared to have no hostile intent, Eldain found their presence far from reassuring.

‘Who are these warriors?’ whispered Eldain. Each time he attempted to focus on one of the silent riders, the warrior would vanish, as ephemeral as morning mist, only to reappear moments later.

‘We ride along one of the lines of power,’ was Rhianna’s explanation for this spectral army’s presence and Eldain tried to be reassured by that. Eldain had lived all his life in Ellyrion and though it too was bathed in eternal summer and power flowed through the land, it was a power that was part of the natural cycle of things and which did not manifest itself in such overt, disturbing ways.

Well, disturbing to him at least.

At last it seemed that the route they must travel to the White Tower differed from the course of the long dead Silver Helms and they faded from sight without a sound. Though their presence had been unsettling at first, Eldain felt a strange reassurance in the knowledge of their existence. He had no doubt that should he have intended any harm to Saphery, then the wrath of these spirits would have been turned upon him without mercy.

He bade the silent warriors a wordless farewell and turned his attention to the looming shape of the White Tower ahead of them.

By the position of the sun, Eldain judged that they had been travelling for at least four hours, yet the tower appeared no nearer. In fact it seemed farther away if anything.

Perhaps the magic of Saphery was distorting his perceptions or perhaps the sheer size of the tower was creating an optical illusion of distance.

The three riders journeyed in companionable silence, allowing the quiet of Saphery to lull them into the peaceful rhythm of contented travellers. Eldain felt his eyes grow heavy and blinked rapidly as he felt the gentle brush of a presence within his mind. The touch was not invasive and, curiously, he felt no threat or alarm at its arrival.

He sensed a familiarity in the touch, as though whatever power seeped into his mind was that of a friend, an old and trusted companion with whom uncounted dangers had been faced, adventures shared and terrors overcome.

Eldain looked over to Rhianna and saw the same slack smile on her face as he was sure was upon his. Yvraine alone looked untouched by whatever was occurring, her stoic, sharp features concentrating on the tower ahead…

With a start, Eldain realised he could no longer see the tower in the distance.

He spun in the saddle, but no matter which direction he looked, all he could see were the verdant fields of Saphery, dust devils of corn ears billowing above the fields of gold. He looked up towards the sun, but it was directly above him and no shadows were cast to give him an idea of which direction they rode.

Soaring white peaks rose up on every horizon, as though they were trapped within a great plain surrounded by a ring of mountains, but a distant part of Eldain’s mind knew that such a thing was impossible…

Though he could feel the reassuring sway of his horse beneath him and knew that it was as surefooted a mount as any rider could wish for, Eldain wondered where it was taking him, for he could see no landmarks and no sign of the Tower of Hoeth.

The Tower of Hoeth…

Was this the tower’s defences rising up to ensnare him?

‘Yvraine?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Yvraine, guessing his question before it was even asked. ‘The tower has sensed our desire to approach and is judging our intent.’

Panic began to rise in Eldain’s chest, but even as it grew, he felt the soothing touch of the presence within his mind. Now knowing what it was, he relaxed into its embrace and allowed it to roam freely within his skull, the contentment and peace that had come to him over the last week or so of travel overshadowing all other thoughts and memories.

Eldain smiled as he felt the presence withdraw from him and his vision swam as illusions he had not previously been aware of faded from his eyes and the reality of Saphery arose once again.

Like a sleeper gradually realising that he has woken in a strange place, Eldain looked about himself as though seeing his surroundings for the first time.

The White Tower loomed large in his vision, its colossal verticality staggering now that he saw it without the camouflage of illusions. Though it was still a mile or so away, Eldain could now make out details upon its white walls: arched windows, crimson banners and golden, rune-etched carvings that wove their way up the entire length of the tower.

But something closer than the tower captured his attention more fully…

A castle of white and gold that floated in the air above them.

The most magnificent structures Caelir could remember having seen before now were the island castles of Tor Elyr and the towering statues of the Phoenix King and Everqueen in Lothern, but even their soaring majesty had paled at the sight of the home of the Loremasters. A millennium had passed between the breaking of the ground and its completion over two thousand years ago and the idea of a single structure taking so long to complete had seemed ludicrous to Caelir when he had seen the tower from the mountains.

But within moments of their arrival at the tower, he appreciated that it had in fact been a mighty achievement to raise such a heartbreakingly wondrous creation in so short a span of time. Craftsmen had laboured for centuries to create the intricate carvings that ran from the tower’s base to its far distant spire and the magic employed in its creation imbued the tower with strength far greater than that of stone and mortar.

The Tower of Hoeth sat within a sweeping emerald forest, rising up from a colossal crag of shimmering black rock. Flocks of white birds circled the tower’s topmost spire and countless waterfalls plunged from the black rock to foaming white pools arranged in tumbling tiers at its base.

The air was spliced with the colours of a million rainbows and Caelir could not remember a more perfect sight.

He and Kyrielle rode side by side, having delighted in the wonders of Saphery as they rode from the mountains to the tower. Over the course of their short journey through the tower’s magical wards, Caelir had seen many unexpected, incredible things and many more that conformed exactly to his expectations of a land steeped in magic: a flying castle that drifted overhead, swirling troupes of wind-borne dancers and spectral dragons riding on streamers of light.

Though each sight was astonishing and filled him with wonder, he could not shake the nagging feeling that he had seen such sights before and that he had visited this land in the past.

Anurion flew high above, the outstretched wings of his pegasus throwing a cruciform shadow upon the earth, and their guards formed a ring of silver blades around them.

Through all the sights they had seen, he had expected a bewildering array of illusions and magical defences, but had seen nothing that might have led him to believe the tower was defended at all.

Kyrielle had laughed when he had told her this, reassuring him that the tower’s wards had clearly judged him to be a seeker of knowledge and permitted his passage.

Caelir looked up as a shadow passed over them and Anurion’s pegasus landed in a flurry of scattered leaves before the edge of the forest. A crackling nimbus of power played over the mage and his mount, rippling breaths of magic fluttering his robes and slipping through his steed’s mane like an invisible hand.

Anurion spoke quickly to his warriors and dismissed them with a gesture. As one, the armoured riders dismounted and began forming an impromptu camp. Clearly they were not to accompany them towards the tower.

The archmage turned to Caelir and said, ‘Loremaster Teclis is expecting us, boy. We should not keep him waiting. Hurry your pace.’

In all the times Caelir had spoken to Anurion before now, he had found the mage, by turns, bizarre and eccentric, short tempered and cantankerous, but never frightening. That now changed as the power gathered at the White Tower surged through Anurion’s veins.

‘Of course,’ said Caelir.

Anurion turned his pegasus without another word and led them into the trees, the leaves and branches of which shivered though there was no wind to stir them. The trees pulsed with the energy of living things empowered beyond their natural growth cycles and Caelir could feel the pleasure Anurion and Kyrielle took in being surrounded by such fecundity.

A sudden caw made Caelir look up and he smiled as the birds that circled the tower now descended towards the forest in a great host. White-feathered choristers perched on every tree branch to welcome the archmage with song and gave the forest a gloriously festive aspect.

Their route climbed through the forest, passing numerous streams and wondrous groves where Sword Masters – alone and in groups – trained with their great blades, sparring, performing incredible feats of balance or meditating while spinning their swords around them with a speed Caelir could never hope to match.

Each warrior broke from his or her routine as Anurion passed, bowing in respect before acknowledging Caelir and Kyrielle’s presence.

‘Your father is well known here,’ he said.

‘He is indeed, though he does not travel to the White Tower often.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘You’ve seen his villa, remember? My father so loves to tinker and create, but there are those who think his work frivolous. Inevitably, father will get into an argument and leave, swearing never to return.’

Caelir could well imagine the temper of Anurion the Green getting the better of him, but shuddered to think of the consequences of arguments between those who wielded the awesome power of magic.

At last their course brought them to the summit of the black rock and Anurion climbed from the back of his pegasus and indicated that they do likewise. Caelir slid from the back of his horse and helped Kyrielle from hers as Anurion waited for them to join him at the base of the tower.

Caelir and Kyrielle approached the fabulous structure, their gaze inexorably drawn up the carved length of the tower. The pale stone utilised in its construction was suffused with incredible power and Caelir could feel the energies coursing beneath his feet and into the tower.

He had experienced a similar sensation at the foot of Eltharion’s tower, but, as magnificent as was the warden’s demesne, it could not compare to the sheer power and dominance of the Loremasters’ domain.

‘Come on, come on,’ said Anurion, moving between them and marching them towards the tower.

‘How do we get in?’ asked Caelir. ‘There is no door.’

‘Don’t be foolish, boy, of course there is.’

‘Where?’

Anurion stared at him as though he had asked the most idiotic question imaginable, and Caelir braced himself for an explosion of temper from the archmage.

Instead, the mage pursed his lips and brought a hand to his own forehead as though he could not believe his own thoughtlessness.

‘Of course… you are not a mage, nor are you seeking to become a Sword Master.’

‘No,’ said Caelir, ‘I just want answers.’

‘Indeed you do, boy,’ said Anurion, positioning him before the base of the tower. ‘In that case you will need to make your own way in.’

‘How do I do that?’

‘Those who come as supplicants must make their own door,’ said Anurion. ‘Simply speak your purpose in coming here. The tower will judge the truth of your words and thus your worthiness to enter.’

Feeling slightly foolish, Caelir squared his shoulders and faced the carved face of the tower. He was no orator, so opted for the plain, unvarnished truth.

‘My name is Caelir and I come to the Tower of Hoeth to seek answers.’

No door was forthcoming and the wall remained solid before him.

‘Be more specific, silly,’ advised Kyrielle.

‘I’m talking to a wall,’ said Caelir. ‘It’s hard to think of what would convince it to let me pass through.’

He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking back to all he had learned in his time with Anurion and Kyrielle: the truth of his name, the dagger that could not be drawn, the threat to Ellyrion from the druchii and the black gaps in his memory he hoped Teclis could restore.

Satisfied he knew what he would say, he opened his eyes to see the wall rippling like the surface of a bowl of milk, the magic bound in its creation now fluid and malleable. As he watched, the stone of the tower faded to form a golden portal ringed with silver symbols cut directly into the rock.

‘Well done, boy,’ said Anurion, striding confidently through the opening and into what looked to be a great, vaulted chamber devoid of furnishings and occupants.

‘But I didn’t say anything,’ said Caelir.

‘You think in a place like this you need words?’ smiled Kyrielle as she followed her father into the tower.

‘Apparently not,’ he said.

‘Well, come on then,’ said Kyrielle, beckoning him inside.

‘Do we just leave the horses here?’

‘Of course,’ said Kyrielle, pointing over his shoulder.

A handsome Sword Master emerged from the trees and bowed to the three mounts before whispering unheard words and beckoning them to join him in the forest. Their mounts followed the warrior and Caelir smiled as he recognised the skills of one born in Ellyrion.

Satisfied the horses would be well cared for, he turned and made his way within the tower in case the door vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

As he stepped through the portal, he felt a sudden shift, as though a magical current had been passed through his body. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unexpected. He pulled up short and spun on the spot to see what had happened.

The door behind him had vanished and in its place was one of the many arched openings formed in the face of the tower. Caelir’s breath caught in his throat as he looked through the opening and saw the land of Saphery spread out before him like a relief map, its landscape and rivers rendered miniscule by height.

Thousands of feet below him, Caelir saw the forest the tower had been built within and the edges of the black rock it stood upon.

With one step he had travelled the entire height of the tower and he backed away from the precipitous drop as a voice said, ‘Welcome, Caelir of Ellyrion.’

He turned to see Anurion and Kyrielle beside a slightly built elf in the vestments of a Loremaster. A cerulean cloak edged in gold anthemion hung from his narrow shoulders and thin strands of dark hair spilled from beneath a golden helmet with a sculpted crescent moon upon it. A sheathed longsword hung at his waist, looking incongruous as part of the apparel of a mage, and he held a golden staff topped with an image of the goddess, Lileath in the other hand…

Caelir realised who he now stood before and dropped to his knees in awe.

He had seen magnificently lifelike paintings of Teclis and his twin brother, Prince Tyrion, before – who of the Asur had not? – but none of them had come close to capturing the intensity of the Loremaster’s stare. His sallow features were caustic and dark, his eyes hooded and heavy with the burden of ancient knowledge. His prudent gaze reminded Caelir of Eltharion, and he wondered if all great heroes were cursed with such pain.

But where Prince Tyrion was said to be robust, warlike and gregarious, Teclis was his dark mirror, cursed since birth with frailty that could only be kept at bay with potions and the power of the staff he bore. Where Tyrion was a warrior of epic renown, no greater mage than Teclis had ever been named Loremaster and his incredible powers were as legendary as the martial skill of his brother.

Together, they were the greatest living heroes of the Asur, for they had defeated the most terrible invasion of Ulthuan since the time of Chaos and Aenarion.

And now he was Caelir’s only hope.

‘My lord Teclis,’ he said. ‘I need your help.’

The breath was stolen from Eldain’s lungs as he saw the palatial castle in the sky, its white walls and tapering towers built upon an island of pink stone that drifted against the wind like a rebellious cloud. Sunlight sparkled upon speartips and helmets, and Eldain watched as a warrior leaned over the parapet and waved to him. The sheer ordinariness of the gesture flew in the face of the incredible strangeness of the moment.

‘There’s a castle…’ he said, pointing into the sky.

Rhianna waved back at the warrior on the castle walls and said, ‘Yes. That is the mansion of Hothar the Fey. He is a good friend to my father, though he can be a little… eccentric.’

‘Eccentric? He lives in a floating palace,’ said Eldain, aware that he sounded like a rustic woodsman from Chrace, but not caring.

‘Yes, but it’s not the strangest dwelling in Saphery,’ pointed out Yvraine.

‘It’s not?’

‘No,’ said Yvraine and Eldain could sense the amusement of his female companions. ‘The Loremasters say that when Ulvenian Minaith returned from Athel Loren he raised a magical villa of the seasons to remind him of the forest kingdom.’

‘A villa of the seasons? What does that mean?’

‘I have never seen it, but it is said that every so often it consumes itself and reforms from the essence of one of the seasons.’

‘Really?’ said Eldain, unsure whether or not he was being teased.

‘Yes, but I don’t think the Loremasters approved.’

‘Why not?’

‘I think they thought it a waste of power to create something of such rustic appearance. I once heard the Loremaster say that Ulvenian had merged his power with that of the spellsingers of Athel Loren to create his palace.’

‘So what does it look like?’ asked Eldain, keeping his eyes fixed on the castle above him.

‘Sometimes it appears on the coast as a huge palace shaped from drifts of snow and pillars of ice,’ said Rhianna. ‘Other times it might be formed entirely of autumn leaves and once I heard it manifested as corn sheaves and beams of sunlight as solid as marble.’

Though it sounded ridiculous, Eldain could well believe his wife’s words having now seen this castle of stone and glass floating in the air and enveloping him in its cold shadow.

The base of the great castle was easily twice as large as Ellyr-charoi, though Eldain guessed that without the constraints of the natural topography, it could be as large as its owner’s magical power could support.

He watched as the aerial villa altered course and began to slide away from the Tower of Hoeth, drifting without urgency or apparent purpose. Guided as it was by the whims of a mage whose epithet was ‘the Fey’, he doubted there was any purpose to its course.

As incredible as the floating castle was, it was simply another of the many wonders Saphery had to offer. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the domain of Hothar the Fey and concentrated on riding towards the Tower of Hoeth.

Now that they were closer and the veiling illusions had been stripped away, Eldain could see the tower perched upon a great black rock that reared up from a sprawling forest. The trees were filled with white birds and Eldain felt a growing sense of anticipation at the thought of experiencing a measure of the wonders the Tower of Hoeth had to offer.

‘How long until we reach the tower?’ said Rhianna.

‘Not long,’ said Yvraine.

‘You are looking forward to returning.’

Yvraine nodded. ‘It pains me to be away. I lived and trained here for years. It is my home.’

Eldain sensed the quiet regret in her voice and said, ‘Will you be able to stay long?’

‘If it is the will of the Loremaster, but I do not think it likely.’

‘Then where will you go next?’

‘Wherever the Loremasters bid me,’ said Yvraine and would be drawn no more.

No more was said, and Eldain, Rhianna and Yvraine entered the forest of the tower, each relishing the prospect of their arrival for different reasons, but all unaware that a unique destiny awaited them.

A destiny that would bind their lives to the doom or salvation of Ulthuan.