They both ignored her.
“You can’t help the people back at the village, but you can help me do what I came here to do. What I brought you here to help me with.”
“You need us to help you find the true Heir of the Empire?”
“You’re normally quicker than this, Royce. I am disappointed.”
“I thought you were keeping it a secret?”
“I was, but circumstances have forced me to reconsider. Now quit being so stubborn and come with me. You might look back on this moment one day and reflect on how you changed the course of the world by simply walking down these steps.”
Royce sighed and nodded.
“Thank the gods,” the wizard said. “Let’s get moving.”
“Wait a minute.” Arista stopped them. “Don’t I get a say in this too?”
The wizard looked back at her. “Do you know the way out?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then no, you don’t get a say,” the wizard told her. “Now please, we’ve wasted enough time, follow me.”
“I remember you being nicer,” Arista shouted at the wizard.
“And I remember both of you being faster.”
They were off again, heading deeper into the center of the tower. As they did, Esrahaddon spoke again. “Most people believe this tower was built by the elves as a defensive fortress for the wars against Novron. As both of you most likely have guessed, that’s not true. This tower predates Novron by many millennia. Others think it was built as a fortress against the sea goblins, the infamous Ba Ran Ghazel, only that’s also not true since the tower predates their appearance as well. The common mistake here is that this is a fortress at all—that’s the result of human thinking. The fact is, the elves lived for eons before man or goblin, and perhaps even before dwarves entered the world. In those days they had no need for fortresses. They didn’t even have a word for war as the Horn of Gylindora controlled all of their internal strife. No, this wasn’t some defensive bulwark guarding the only crossing point on the Nidwalden River, although that certainly became its use many eons later. Originally, this tower was designed as a center for The Art.”
“He means magic,” Arista clarified.
“I know what he means.”
“Elven masters would travel here from the world over to study and practice advanced Art. Still this wasn’t just a school. The building itself is an enormous tool, like a giant furnace for a blacksmith, only in this case, the building works as a focusing element. The falls function as a source of power and the tower’s numerous spires are like the antenna on a grasshopper or the whiskers of a cat. They reach out into the world, sensing, feeling, drawing into this place the very essence of existence. It is like a giant lever and fulcrum, allowing a single artist to magnify their power almost beyond reason.”
“Artistic vision…” Royce said. “It’s a device that will allow you to use magic to find the heir?”
“Sadly, not even Avempartha has that much power. I can’t find something I’ve never seen, or something I don’t know exists. What I can do, however, is find something I do know, something that I am very well acquainted with, and something I created for the specific purpose of finding later.
“Nine hundred years ago when Jerish and I decided to split up in order to hide Nevrik, I made amulets for them. These amulets served two purposes, one was to protect them from The Art thus preventing anyone from locating them by divination; the other was to provide me with a means to track them with a signature only I know how to recognize.
“Of course, Jerish and I assumed it would only take a few years to assemble a group of loyalists to restore the Emperor, but as we all now know that didn’t happen. I can only hope that Jerish was smart enough to impress upon the descendants of the heir to keep the necklaces safe and to hand them down from one generation to the next. That might be asking too much since—well, who could imagine that I would live so long.”
They crossed another narrow bridge that spanned a disturbingly deep gap. Overhead were several colorful banners with iconic images embroidered on them with large single elven letters. Arista noticed Royce staring at them, his mouth working as if trying to read. On the far side of the bridge, they reached a doorstep where a tall ornately decorated archway was drawn into the stone, but no door was present.
“Royce, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Royce stepped forward and laying his hands on the polished stone, pressed.
“What’s he doing?” Arista asked the wizard.
Esrahaddon turned and looked at Royce.
The thief stood before them uncomfortably for a moment then said, “Avempartha has a magical protection that prevents anyone who doesn’t have elvish blood from entering. Every lock in the place works the same way. Originally, we thought no one else but I could enter, oh, and Esra, because he had been invited years ago, but it turns out that if an elf invites you that’s all that is needed. Esra found the exact elvish wording for me to memorize for the invite. That’s how I got you in.”
“Speaking of which…” Esrahaddon motioned toward the stone arch.
“Sorry,” Royce said and added in a clear voice. “Melentanaria, en venau rendin Esrahaddon, en Arstia Essendon adona Melengar.” Which Arista understood as: Grant entry to the wizard Esrahaddon and Arista Essendon Princess of Melengar.
“That’s Old Speech,” Arista said.
“Yes,” Esrahaddon nodded. “There are many similarities between Elvish and the Old Imperial.”
“Whoa!” Looking back at the archway Arista suddenly saw an open door. “But I still don’t understand. How is it you can grant us—oh.” The princess stopped with her mouth still open. “But you don’t look at all—”
“I’m a mir.”
“A what?”
“A mix,” Esrahaddon explained, “Some elven, some human blood.”
“But you never—”
“It’s not the kind of thing you brag about,” the thief said. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”
“Oh—of course.”
“Come along, Arista still needs to play her part,” Esrahaddon said entering.
Inside they found a large chamber carved perfectly round. It was like entering the inside of giant ball. Unlike the rest of the tower and despite its size, the room was unadorned. It was merely a vast smooth chamber with no seam, crack, nor crevice. The only feature was a zigzagging stone staircase that rose from the floor to a platform that extended out from the steps and stood at the exact center of the sphere.
“Do you remember the Plesieantic incantations I taught you, Arista?” the wizard asked as they climbed the stairs, his voice echoing loudly, ricocheting repeatedly off the walls.