The Tower of Bones by Frank P. Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

the Wastelands. In our arrogance we dismissed as barbarian much that should have become the focus of our concerns and attention, and in so doing we allowed the greater part of our world to be invaded, and increasingly dominated, by evil. Such were the fruits of our isolationism then. Even today we persist in fighting amongst ourselves and plotting and counterplotting for power in conflict with the Elector and the other city leaders. Meanwhile the forces of darkness encircle us without hindrance or opposition.’
    A voice exclaimed, ‘How can we trust these warmongers when we see the example of Isscan, which sued for terms, and still stands, even prospers, despite being ruled by the Death Legion? Prudence dictates that we too should sue for peace – settle on whatever terms we can obtain with the Tyrant’s forces.’
    ‘Is this the view of many of you?’
    A chorus of murmurs indicated that it carried a good deal of approval.
    Alan found the source of the voice, a tall woman with bright blue eyes in a florid angry-looking face.
    Sister Aon’s voice rang out: ‘How many would disagree with Sister Siebe?’
    It seemed, from the rising chorus of voices, that much the same number were in opposition.
    Siebe raised her voice in challenge. ‘What alternative do these warmongers suggest? Are we to risk our lives and the very fabric of this ancient sanctuary in assisting this so-called Mage Lord, who acknowledges that he knows nothing of our world?’
    Alan shook his head. ‘While you bicker among yourselves the life of my friend Kate is in danger. I don’t want to offend you. I came here hoping you would help me. But if you refuse, I’ll find the portal by myself. But maybe you should think about what’s going to happen to you if I fail. What will become of this place, and the city of Carfon, when the Tyrant wins ultimate control over the Fáil? Then you’ll find out for yourselves what comes of bargaining with malice.’
    His words brought consternation, with many voices raised in differing opinions. The voices were silenced by a second tap of the staff of power against the floor of the rostrum.
    There was something deeply familiar about the old woman, Sister Hocht. Something more than the memory of her warning on his arrival into the harbour here aboard the Temple Ship.
    ‘Who are you?’ he asked her. ‘Why do you look so familiar to me?’
    ‘Are your wits so confused you cannot remember your guide from the landscape of dreams?’
    Vividly, he recalled their spiritual journey back in time to the battle of Ossierel, made possible by Qwenqwo’smagic. There had been an old crone who had appeared as a soul spirit herself to guide them through the ravaged streets of the burning citadel. She had led them through an underground labyrinth to stand before the dying High Architect, crucified on the silver gates.
    ‘It was you?’
    ‘Yes!’ she cackled. ‘You remember me now! Was I not Spiritual Rector of Ossierel, and the closest confidante of the De Danaan herself!’
    ‘But then you know I’m telling the truth? You must have heard her words?’
    ‘I heard nothing. She spoke to you, as a mind opens to another, without need of ear or tongue.’
    ‘But how did you survive?’
    ‘There are powers, and secrets, even an oraculum-bearer is not privileged to know.’ She took his arm and leaned on him, while leading him out of the chamber. ‘Let you, my sisters, argue among yourselves. Let the Xhosa wait here for our return. For this discussion will not come to completion this night, or tomorrow, or this very year, if my instincts are anything to go by. In the meantime, young man, you and I have matters to discuss. It is a discussion I have looked forward to since first I witnessed your triumphant entry into the city – a discussion best conducted between us alone.’

The Prophecy
    Alan had to slow his pace to walk beside the old woman, whose emaciated hand shook as it gripped her staff, and whose words came out slowly