'And in this case?' he replied testily at her elusive answer.
Ehla shrugged. 'I knocked on one of the doors. It took them a little by surprise because they hadn't seen us reach the door, but I persuaded them to let us in and then used a little spell to send them to sleep.'
'Sleep?' Isak said in surprise. A vision of Fernal's great talons and bough-like arms rose in his mind.
'Certainly. Death should always be a last resort,' Ehla chided. 'You would do well to remember that; it might come in useful one of these days.'
Isak suppressed a shiver; her tone had been just a little too pro¬phetic for his liking. He scowled and turned away. 'Come on, I can't hear anyone else nearby – unless you're about to complain about me killing Purn?'
'Not at all; necrornancers harm at the balance of the Land, so I have no sympathy for them Let him explain himself to Lord Death and whatever daemons he's made his bargains with. The Land will be better without him.'
Isak didn't reply. That the Chief of the Gods would be pleased had little to do with why he was here. The worm of guilt over Lord Bahl's death continued to gnaw at him. He'd tried to shake it off – he knew Bahl had been a driven man, not one to pay heed to incoherent dreams – but when you couldn't persuade yourself, what chance was there? The necromancer Isherin Purn was to blame; that was undeni¬able, and part of Isak clung to the hope that his own guilt would die with Purn's.
They left the storeroom and followed the corridor to a long hall, which was lined on both sides with large sculptures on plinths, some taller even than Isak. They represented the Gods in various poses: Death sitting in judgment over some prostrate sinner; Nartis hunting, his spear raised high over a lumbering bear. Between the statues were smaller dioramas – stilt houses on a river bank, salmon leaping over rocks – made of stone, inlaid with ivory, silver and jet.
The witch inspected one and made a face of disgust. 'They call this art! Dead things cut to resemble the living, while they sit in their lifeless cities.'
At the end of the hall they passed two enormous blood-red pillars, with grand wooden staircases leading off in both directions, curling around to meet up on the next floor. Isak eased his way onto the first of the polished mahogany steps, trying to gauge how much they would creak under his weight. When he was satisfied, he glanced at the witch, but she was already past him and heading to another doorway on the right, through which he could see a spiral staircase.
'You might want to let me go first,' Isak said softly.
'Feeling the hero at last!'
He smiled. 'No, but for all your tricks, I don't think you can match a necromancer's power.'
With his senses, Isak caressed the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. The ready power within sent a warm glow through his body, prickling on his skin under the armour and running around the shape of the scar Xeliath had burned onto his chest. A different tower, he thought wryly, a different age. Would even my father or Carel back then have recognised me like this!
Ehla's hand closed around his wrist. 'Won't he be expecting that!'
'What do you mean?'
'His wards are obvious to any mage, almost a challenge to a contest of power for anyone such as you. Would it not be safer to be circumspect, in case this is a trap?'
Isak almost laughed. 'Circumspect? I'm a white-eye who knew nothing about magic a year ago. How in the name of the Dark Place do you expect me to out-think a mage of his experience? If you have any suggestions, please don't hold back.'
'I do.'
Isak froze. That wasn't Ehla's voice; he realised after a moment that it was Aryn Bwr who spoke. Gone was the usual sour note of regret and loss in the dead Elf's voice. There was a sudden clarity, and for once Isak was eager to hear what he had to say.
'The spells are simple and direct,' Aryn Bwr continued after a pause, as though having taken a moment to study the problem. 'They are set to detect anyone walking up the staircase; such a thing can be easily circumvented.'
'How?' Isak said hesitantly. He looked within himself to check his hold over Aryn Bwr was absolute, but nothing had changed; his cap¬tive appeared honestly willing to help. Could the last king have found a way around his bonds? Isak's mind raced, but he couldn't think of anything Aryn Bwr could do. His hold was too complete, too funda¬mental to be subverted.
'A spell that will turn them in on each other, allow them to negate each other. My tutor called it the grave-robber's spell. It will take more skill to cast than you have. 1 will have to do it myself.'
Isak didn't answer. The witch just stared at him, her expression indecipherable. He assumed Ehla must have heard Aryn Bwr's words, but she gave no sign of it, nor any further advice. The white-eye checked again his hold over the dead king, mistrust and fear delaying any decision. The spirit sensed his indecision, and the familiar sour taste of contempt appeared at the back of Isak's throat, but Aryn Bwr said nothing, nor did he retract his offer.
Quickly Isak took the Crystal Skulls from their places and slid them onto the shield he carried, the only part of the armour not forged by Aryn Bwr. 'Fine, do it.'
Without hesitation the dead king drifted forward through Isak's consciousness, overlaying and sliding past his mind like a gliding mist. It was done with great care, gently enough that Isak felt only a disconcerted tremble as his bands and lips began to move without his volition. Isak stood still, ready to fight back at the slightest provoca¬tion, but the dead Elf was careful not to do anything to antagonise him as he drew a sliver of magic and began to weave it.
The actions were hesitant at first, like a man playing a long neglected instrument, but they grew in confidence as past skills returned. Isak watched in fascination as he felt the syllables of the spell slither over his mind. He couldn't work out the literal meanings, but he was able to discern the shape of the spell. The scar on his chest glowed hot and sharp, as though the part of Xeliath imprinted into his skin railed against Elven touch, but Isak ignored the pain and continued to watch, drinking it all in.
With increasing assurance, Aryn Bwr drew strands of energy, weav¬ing the words of the spell so they shaped the energy and bent it to the task at hand. It required a deftness of touch and instinct beyond anything Isak had seen before; he recognised a true mastery, beyond anything he'd witnessed before.
As soon as it was completed, Aryn Bwr sent the spell forward into the stones of the walls that lined the tight spiral stair.
Isak felt the words lodge and bite like a crowbar, testing and prob¬ing at the cracks between stones as more power was fed to them. Within moments, the wall began to groan and a shudder ran through the flagstones underfoot. His eyes widened as the foot-thick stones juddered and shook in the surge of magic like sheets of paper hung up in the breeze.
Thin trails of dust fell from between the stones as first one and then another began to twist within the wall. Isak's gasp of astonishment was drowned out by the grind of others following suit as the walls on each side of the spiral stair suddenly came alive with movement. The great blocks squirmed and fought to escape as Aryn Bwr's incantation droned on, growing in intensity as the stones shook in rhythm with each syllable, the grating sound getting more insidious-
Until, suddenly, it was finished.
The last word hung tantalisingly in the air as each stone in the stairwell hesitated, teetering on the brink for an instant… until a soft, unbidden breath escaped Isak's pursed lips. He felt it drift for¬ward, but instead of dissipating, it continued on to the stairway and as it reached the stones, it gave one final spasm before spinning neatly around, that movement rippling away to the next and the next, lead¬ing away up the staircase. Wherever a spell bad been left in wait for anyone ascending, a bright flash of white or green burst from nothing as the magic was torn apart, leaving angry sparks crackling in the air. The sounds continued up the stairs, out of sight, then there was a great yawning of timber, the scrape of dagger-points on stone, one final snap and a flash of light…