He moved up five more steps. There were small windows, no more than three feet tall and only a foot wide, just enough to allow light to pass through but nothing else. The winter sun revealed the staircase in a washed-out brilliance. Weight, rather than mortar, held the smooth stone walls together. The steps were likewise made of solid blocks of stone also fitted with amazing artisanship so that a sheet of parchment could not slip between the cracks.
Royce moved up to the ninth step, and as he shifted his weight to the higher stone block, the tower shook. In reaction, he instinctively started to step back, and then it happened. The previous eight steps collapsed. They broke and fell out of sight into an abyss below him. Royce shifted his weight forward again just in time to avoid falling to his death and took another off-balance step upward. The moment he did, the previous step broke away and fell. The tower rumbled again.
“Your first mistake was picking the lock,” Magnus told him.
Royce could hear the dwarf’s voice from the doorway below. When he turned, he could see the dwarf standing just outside the door in the castle’s corridor. He stood there, spinning a door key tied to a string around his index finger, winding and unwinding it. He absently stroked the hair of his beard.
“If you open the door without using the key, it engages the trap,” Magnus explained with a grin.
The dwarf began to pace slowly before the open door like a professor addressing a class. “You can’t jump the hole you made to get back here. It’s already too far. And, in case you are wondering, the bottom is a long way down. You started climbing this tower on the sixth floor of the castle, and the base of the tower extends to the bedrock below the foundation. I also added plenty of jagged rocks at the bottom, just for fun.”
“You made this?” Royce asked.
“Of course—well, not the tower. It was here already. I spent the last half year hollowing it out like a stone-eating termite.” He grinned. “There’s very little material left in it. All those solid-looking blocks of rock you see are parchment-thin. I left just the right amount of structure in place. The inside looks like a spiderweb made of stone rather than thread. Tiny strands of rock in a latticework of a classic crystalline matrix—strong enough to hold the tower up but extremely fragile if the right thread is broken.”
“And I take it each time I take a step up, the previous one will fall?”
The dwarf’s grin widened. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You can’t go down, but if you go up, you’ll get into an even worse situation. The steps work as a horizontal support for the vertical planes. Without the steps to steady the structure, it will twist on itself and fall. Before you reach the top, the entire tower will collapse once enough supports fall away. Don’t let my talk about hollow walls put you too much at ease. It’s still stone, and the full weight of this tower remains immense. It will very easily crush you, and the lady at the top, should the fall and the sharp rocks at the bottom not manage to do the job. You’ve already weakened the structure to where it might fall on its own now. I can hear it with the blowing of the wind—the tiny little cracks and pops. All stone makes sounds as it grows, shrinks, twists, or erodes—it’s a language I understand very well. It tells me stories of the past and of the future, and right now, this tower is singing.”
“I hate dwarves,” Royce muttered.
CHAPTER 9
RESCUERS
The water pitcher and basin hit the floor and shattered. The crash jolted Arista, who sat on her bed, disoriented and confused. The room was shaking. All summer the tower had felt strange but nothing like this. She held her breath—waiting. Nothing happened. The tower stopped moving.
Tentatively, she slipped off the bed, crept gingerly toward the windows, and looked out. She saw nothing to explain the tremor. Outside, the world was blanketed white by a fresh layer of snow that was still falling and she wondered if it was snow sliding from the tower’s eves that made the room shake. It did not seem likely nor did that matter.
How much time do I have left?
She looked down. The crowd still circled the front gate of the castle. There must have been more than a hundred people there, all pressing for news of her trial. Around the perimeter of the castle, three times the usual number of guards patrolled in full armor. Her uncle was not taking any chances. Perhaps he thought the people of the city might rise up against him rather than see their princess burned? She knew better. No one cared if she lived or died. While she knew all the lords, earls, and barons by name and had sat down with them for dozens of meals, she knew they were not her friends. She did not have any friends. Braga was right; she spent too much time in her tower. No one really knew her. She lived a solitary life, but this was the first time she ever really felt alone.
She had spent all night trying to determine exactly what words she would use when brought before the court. In the end, she concluded there was little she could do or say. She could accuse Braga of the murder of her father, but she had no proof. He was the one with all the evidence on his side. After all, she had released the two thieves and was responsible for Alric’s disappearance.