everywhere else the surfaces were sticky, as if years of accumulated grease had varnished them. Feeling his way forwardon all fours kept him away from the place he most feared, the stair’s unguarded edge, but after a while going blindly forward he was hit by a sudden terror and halted. In the dark corner of the stair he saw guards.
That frozen moment spun out longer and longer, then the stinging in his cheek pushed itself back into his consciousness. He flung himself into a corner, not knowing whether to go on or turn back. They can smell blood, he reminded himself, but then shouts came from below, words ringing in the air.
‘Follow the defilers…’
By now the pursuit had gathered in strength in the concourse far below. Fifty of them at least, a hundred maybe. Too many to burst through, too many to escape – and if those massive entrance doors were the only way out…?
It seemed his decision had been made for him. When he turned again, he had resolved to fight his way past the motionless guardians above no matter what. He approached the first of them stealthily. It made no sound, nor any move towards him. He had almost crept past it when the dam that held back his fear broke. He lashed out with all his strength and almost broke his arm against the unyielding breast. It was only then that he realized that what had checked him was a statue – a row of Grand High Wardens, standing there on the landing, eternally guarding their dark niches.
A mixture of relief and anger flooded him. His heart hammered as he climbed ever upward, until his breath heaved in the bad air and he had to halt again. But not for long. Maybe, after all, there was an undercurrent of meaning in the mysterious message inscribed on the monument far below: ‘There is rest only in the sky.’
Up it must be! he thought, pushing himself onward. It’s the only way. And if there’s no escape, what does it matter? That’s not the reason I came here.
But what had decided him? Had it really been his choice to wildly follow Chlu? He doubted it now, for it felt like the insistent power that sometimes showed itself within him. The power that Gwydion called Arthur. That power had flowed before, and always at crucial moments. It was a mighty power – ancient, courageous and strong – but it was a flower that had not yet fully bloomed. Its mark was a sure and certain impulse, so that when it lay upon him he did not think of consequences but behaved as if he was doing exactly what was needed to urge the world towards the true path. Whatever that power was, it had sent him to corner Chlu, so corner him he must, and what better place could there be than a dead-end way up in the sky?
But what then? a less certain voice inside him asked. What will you do when you have him at your mercy? Will you have the strength to do what must be done?
It seemed when he looked up that the gloom within the Spire had lifted a little. And so it had – the walls here were pierced by narrow shafts of light. They revealed tiers of ever-narrowing, ever steepening steps circling the column of stale black air. Will’s foot skidded off a broken tread. A sudden fear of falling into the pit stabbed his groin and he gasped and threw himself hard against the wall. Here, far above the hubbub below, sound carried with greater clarity. Again he drew breath, a cold sweat spangling his face. Blood was still dripping freely from his left cheek, leaving a trail that would unerringly lead his pursuers to him.
But at least the Vigilants had satisfied him on one point. The voice below had said ‘defilers’, which meant not only that Chlu was still at large, but that he was not working with the Fellowship to spring a trap on him.
It was scant comfort, as the sound of clicking footfalls came from above. Will’s eyes tracked a faint shape stepping ever upward on the far side of the darkness. He wanted to call out, but knew he had better not give himself awayto those eyeless men scanning the
That frozen moment spun out longer and longer, then the stinging in his cheek pushed itself back into his consciousness. He flung himself into a corner, not knowing whether to go on or turn back. They can smell blood, he reminded himself, but then shouts came from below, words ringing in the air.
‘Follow the defilers…’
By now the pursuit had gathered in strength in the concourse far below. Fifty of them at least, a hundred maybe. Too many to burst through, too many to escape – and if those massive entrance doors were the only way out…?
It seemed his decision had been made for him. When he turned again, he had resolved to fight his way past the motionless guardians above no matter what. He approached the first of them stealthily. It made no sound, nor any move towards him. He had almost crept past it when the dam that held back his fear broke. He lashed out with all his strength and almost broke his arm against the unyielding breast. It was only then that he realized that what had checked him was a statue – a row of Grand High Wardens, standing there on the landing, eternally guarding their dark niches.
A mixture of relief and anger flooded him. His heart hammered as he climbed ever upward, until his breath heaved in the bad air and he had to halt again. But not for long. Maybe, after all, there was an undercurrent of meaning in the mysterious message inscribed on the monument far below: ‘There is rest only in the sky.’
Up it must be! he thought, pushing himself onward. It’s the only way. And if there’s no escape, what does it matter? That’s not the reason I came here.
But what had decided him? Had it really been his choice to wildly follow Chlu? He doubted it now, for it felt like the insistent power that sometimes showed itself within him. The power that Gwydion called Arthur. That power had flowed before, and always at crucial moments. It was a mighty power – ancient, courageous and strong – but it was a flower that had not yet fully bloomed. Its mark was a sure and certain impulse, so that when it lay upon him he did not think of consequences but behaved as if he was doing exactly what was needed to urge the world towards the true path. Whatever that power was, it had sent him to corner Chlu, so corner him he must, and what better place could there be than a dead-end way up in the sky?
But what then? a less certain voice inside him asked. What will you do when you have him at your mercy? Will you have the strength to do what must be done?
It seemed when he looked up that the gloom within the Spire had lifted a little. And so it had – the walls here were pierced by narrow shafts of light. They revealed tiers of ever-narrowing, ever steepening steps circling the column of stale black air. Will’s foot skidded off a broken tread. A sudden fear of falling into the pit stabbed his groin and he gasped and threw himself hard against the wall. Here, far above the hubbub below, sound carried with greater clarity. Again he drew breath, a cold sweat spangling his face. Blood was still dripping freely from his left cheek, leaving a trail that would unerringly lead his pursuers to him.
But at least the Vigilants had satisfied him on one point. The voice below had said ‘defilers’, which meant not only that Chlu was still at large, but that he was not working with the Fellowship to spring a trap on him.
It was scant comfort, as the sound of clicking footfalls came from above. Will’s eyes tracked a faint shape stepping ever upward on the far side of the darkness. He wanted to call out, but knew he had better not give himself awayto those eyeless men scanning the
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