Her brother and the bearded man exchanged rueful glances but no more words. After a short pause the bearded man extended a hand to the stone, letting it hover over the smooth surface, Vaelin seeing the involuntary shudder in his fingertips. The younger man spoke, just a few short words, but all humour had vanished from his face and the tone was sharp, almost commanding.
The bearded man hesitated, a brief spasm of anger twitching across his features. Then he laughed, withdrawing his hand and moving back, patting the young man on the shoulder before walking away at a sedate pace. He descended the steps to the street below, exchanging good-natured greetings as he moved through the throng, every face around him rich in respect and affection.
The young man watched him go then turned back to the stone, fingers tracing over his chin with brow furrowed in thought. After a moment he brightened and began to walk away, but paused on reaching the steps. His back straightened as if in response to some unheard alarm and he turned, eyes tracking across the platform until they came to rest on Vaelin.
“He sees me,” Vaelin said.
“Yes,” Erlin said. “I always wondered what made him pause at this point. Hopefully, now his next words will make some sense.”
The young man walked forward slowly, his expression one of cautious amazement. He came to within a few feet of Vaelin and stopped, reaching out as if to touch his cloak, though the fingers slipped through the material like mist. He drew back a little, his lips fumbling over a question in a language not his own. “You . . . have . . . name?” he asked in heavily accented but discernible Realm Tongue.
“I have many,” Vaelin replied. “Though I suspect you will know me by only one.”
The young man’s brow furrowed in bafflement. “I . . . Lionen,” the young man said. “I seee you . . . before.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “In dreams . . . In waking . . . Hear your tongue . . . Learn it.”
“You have the gift of scrying,” Vaelin said, elaborating in response to another baffled frown, “You . . . see what is to come.”
“Sometimes . . . Sometimes it . . . changes. You, always same.” His gaze went to the black stone. “So too this.”
“What is it?”
Lionen’s face tensed in consternation and Vaelin realised he was fumbling for words to describe something even he didn’t fully understand. “A box,” he said finally. “Box full . . . of everything, and nothing.”
“Your sister fears it.”
Lionen nodded. “Essara sees great danger in this. Her husband great . . . use.”
“And you?”
“I see you, and it.” His gaze tracked to Erlin. “And him . . . But he is not him when he touches it.”
His face clouded and he turned towards the city, now bathed in a faint orange glow as the sun began to descend below the western mountains. “In your time . . . this place is gone, yes?”
“Yes. Brought to ruin many ages before.”
Lionen lowered his gaze, features dark with sorrow. “I . . . hope I see it wrong.” He took a breath and straightened. “If . . . I see you again. Bring . . . happy words.”
“Wait.” Vaelin reached for Lionen as he began to walk away, though of course his hand made no purchase. “You have knowledge I need. We face a great danger . . .”
“I know,” Lionen replied with a shrug. “I . . . face danger too.”
Vaelin caught a glimpse of his face before the memory broke apart once more, his half grin returned for an instant, then sublimed into mist as the vortex swirled.
“What did he mean?” he demanded of Erlin.
“I wish I knew, brother,” the ancient man replied. “But I suspect we have now ventured far beyond the limits of my knowledge.”
This time the vortex coalesced into a scene of chaos, the city burnt and tumbled around them, accompanied by the screams of thousands in torment. Vaelin ducked instinctively as a thunderous tremor shook the stone beneath his feet, his gaze immediately drawn to the tower, standing tall and glorious in the night sky, but only for a moment. The ground shook again and the tower fell, its stone flanks bent like a bow as it tumbled to earth, shattering the houses beneath in an explosion of stone and flame.
Vaelin went to the edge of the platform, drawing up in shock at the horrors unfolding below. A woman staggered through the streets with a headless child in her arms, face blank with madness. A portly man in a long robe ran past her, screaming in fear, chased down and dismembered in seconds by a group of men in red armour, laughing gleefully as their swords rose and fell in a joyous frenzy.
Vaelin’s eyes roved the dying city, finding scenes of slaughter and torment everywhere, Sella’s words from years before coming back to him,
