darkness below. He pressed on, grimly determined, climbing until the steps gave out. The great spiral had many turns, but here, at a mouthlike portal in the wall, it abruptly ended.
He passed through the arch, glad to be off the stair and away from the void, but he saw that much lay between the inner and outer skins of the Spire. To left and right there were doorways and stairs, landings and passages, many of them numbered, but bafflingly so. Some ways were sealed behind iron doors, while others stood open. All directions led off into darkness, but near the stairs thin lancets admitted spears of daylight. Better still, the ground was dusty and there were scuff marks. He followed the trail to the foot of a stair and climbed higher, pausing occasionally to make sure he was still closing on his quarry. When he had mounted to the forty-ninth stair, the Spire suddenly grew meaner in its decoration and he halted again, oppressed by a mighty warning from within.
Was Chlu now in his trap… or was it the other way around?
The idea still troubled him that Chlu had led him into the Spire on purpose. Why? Why should he think that? This was certainly a place where he would be stripped of Gwydion’s help. And if Chlu had not gone north with the fleeing queen, then maybe Maskull hadn’t either…
The air was rank here. The musty smell had grown worse. Will tried to swallow his burgeoning fear, but tasted the taint of death. He took stock. Each flight of stairs was plainly made now, every one a little narrower and steeper than the last. He had come to unfrequented heights, and whereas the floor had been greasy with spots of old candle wax, now the stonework was bare. Stark landings opened onto the great void within the Spire, and the stairwells through which he climbed looked down dizzyingly past dozens of floors. Flimsy iron rails were set around the edges,low enough that Will imagined himself crashing through. But at least the mute statues had disappeared along with all the carved and patterned marble. Here was only dust and pigeon droppings on the grey flags, and around him plain arches and slender pillars of iron, so that his journey seemed to him shadowed by the shedding away of earthly power. He saw that an ascent of the Spire was meant to parallel the life of a Fellow, from his entry into the Fellowship up through the various grades and degrees, losing his sense of self, until finally he came to death. And here, written in stone, were the austere last stages of the journey that an Elder made into the darkness as he departed his sour life.
A shriek shocked him out of his thoughts. He heard groaning and grinding in the bowels of the building. The nearest of the pursuing Fellows was still many floors below. It would be some time before they arrived. Yet Will was forced to search each landing before moving on, listening warily now so as to be certain that no ambush awaited him and to make sure that Chlu could not double back and slip past him.
Will could not easily tell how high he had climbed. All he knew was it was a long way. His breath came in gasps and his legs ached. And there was that foetid smell again, something vile that carried down on the draughts lacing these dismal corridors.
As the Spire narrowed, so the fear of Maskull weighed more heavily on Will’s mind. He cast about for ways to encourage himself. ‘Chlu thinks I fear the Sightless Ones,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘He chose this as his refuge because he thought I wouldn’t come here. I bet he hasn’t counted on being hunted down. He hasn’t bargained for this!’
He clenched his fists. No fear, not even the fear of Maskull, would undermine him. This time Chlu was going to have to turn at bay. This time he would be brought to account.
Something heavy lashed out at him from the gloom. Will ducked and it glanced off the top of his head. A length of chain clanged then pulled taut, wrapping itself in a spiral grip around the nearest pillar. He
He passed through the arch, glad to be off the stair and away from the void, but he saw that much lay between the inner and outer skins of the Spire. To left and right there were doorways and stairs, landings and passages, many of them numbered, but bafflingly so. Some ways were sealed behind iron doors, while others stood open. All directions led off into darkness, but near the stairs thin lancets admitted spears of daylight. Better still, the ground was dusty and there were scuff marks. He followed the trail to the foot of a stair and climbed higher, pausing occasionally to make sure he was still closing on his quarry. When he had mounted to the forty-ninth stair, the Spire suddenly grew meaner in its decoration and he halted again, oppressed by a mighty warning from within.
Was Chlu now in his trap… or was it the other way around?
The idea still troubled him that Chlu had led him into the Spire on purpose. Why? Why should he think that? This was certainly a place where he would be stripped of Gwydion’s help. And if Chlu had not gone north with the fleeing queen, then maybe Maskull hadn’t either…
The air was rank here. The musty smell had grown worse. Will tried to swallow his burgeoning fear, but tasted the taint of death. He took stock. Each flight of stairs was plainly made now, every one a little narrower and steeper than the last. He had come to unfrequented heights, and whereas the floor had been greasy with spots of old candle wax, now the stonework was bare. Stark landings opened onto the great void within the Spire, and the stairwells through which he climbed looked down dizzyingly past dozens of floors. Flimsy iron rails were set around the edges,low enough that Will imagined himself crashing through. But at least the mute statues had disappeared along with all the carved and patterned marble. Here was only dust and pigeon droppings on the grey flags, and around him plain arches and slender pillars of iron, so that his journey seemed to him shadowed by the shedding away of earthly power. He saw that an ascent of the Spire was meant to parallel the life of a Fellow, from his entry into the Fellowship up through the various grades and degrees, losing his sense of self, until finally he came to death. And here, written in stone, were the austere last stages of the journey that an Elder made into the darkness as he departed his sour life.
A shriek shocked him out of his thoughts. He heard groaning and grinding in the bowels of the building. The nearest of the pursuing Fellows was still many floors below. It would be some time before they arrived. Yet Will was forced to search each landing before moving on, listening warily now so as to be certain that no ambush awaited him and to make sure that Chlu could not double back and slip past him.
Will could not easily tell how high he had climbed. All he knew was it was a long way. His breath came in gasps and his legs ached. And there was that foetid smell again, something vile that carried down on the draughts lacing these dismal corridors.
As the Spire narrowed, so the fear of Maskull weighed more heavily on Will’s mind. He cast about for ways to encourage himself. ‘Chlu thinks I fear the Sightless Ones,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘He chose this as his refuge because he thought I wouldn’t come here. I bet he hasn’t counted on being hunted down. He hasn’t bargained for this!’
He clenched his fists. No fear, not even the fear of Maskull, would undermine him. This time Chlu was going to have to turn at bay. This time he would be brought to account.
Something heavy lashed out at him from the gloom. Will ducked and it glanced off the top of his head. A length of chain clanged then pulled taut, wrapping itself in a spiral grip around the nearest pillar. He
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