Page 62 of Seducing the Sorcerer
With limbs that felt like damp string, Fenn turned to the worple horse and launched himself onto its broad back. Even as he straightened, another almighty crash came from above. A cartload of masonry hurtled past and smashed into the centre of the courtyard. Fenn ducked as the debris hit. Squab reared, snorting.
“All right. Easy, mate.”
Through the dust, several vast roofing beams lay smashed like matchsticks across the courtyard. There was a big pile of rubble. Near the foot of the steps lay a broken chair.
The screaming stopped.
So, that meant Morgrim had found the intruder? Surely, that was good?
Then, as the dust cleared, Fenn noticed something black, flapping, caught under a stone as big as a tun. A black robe.
Time stopped, along with his heart.
But the dust eddied away and it was plain there was nobody there. No body. Not Morgrim. Just one of his robes.
Able to move again, Fenn clapped his heels to the Squab’s sides. To fly, they first had to jump, so he put Squab down the steps, straight at one of the huge stone planters where the ferns he’d put in to try to please Morgrim peeped over the top, no longer green but black with stone dust.
Squab took the jump and sailed through the air towards the gatehouse. There was no time to tack up, so he guided the horse with hands and legs and seat, turning it mid-air, back to the tower.
They gained height, spiralling up the bulk of the tower into the mist.
The vast white worm thing sped past again. It seemed stuck to the tower the way a slug sticks to a cabbage stalk, but it was fifty yards long, bloated, featureless and faster than a striking snake. No teeth or legs or wings. And there was something wrong about it. Its body seemed to lack integrity, as if its skin was always moving. And it felt nasty. As if it had ill will.
Fenn’s flesh was creeping. If only he could understand what it was.
He passed a huge hole in the tower wall. Inside, a stone staircase had been sheared off like butter and now lead to nothing. Could Morgrim be stuck in a damaged room? Fenn circled, did another pass by the hole. But it was shadowy inside and the cloud was like soup. To be certain Morgrim wasn’t in there, he’d have to fly inside. Risk falling masonry. Risk being trapped inside by that thing.
Maybe Morgrim had already left the tower by now. Fenn wouldn’t have seen him leaving. Maybe Morgrim had already run out the—
Wait. Think.
Morgrim was the most powerful sorcerer in the land. He wouldn’t be trying to get away. He’d be fighting. Not sparring with swords for exercise, but attacking properly, with magic. Those booms and crashes—maybe they weren’t all this worm thing making holes, maybe they were Morgrim, fighting it off.
Fenn’s heart leapt with hope. Perhaps he and his ridiculous horse weren’t needed. In fact, maybe he should get out of the way, give Morgrim a clear field to do his stuff.
But what if Morgrim was hurt?
What if he needed help?
Another crash reverberated through the tower. Another spray of stones peppered Fenn’s head and shoulders. If the thing was attacking higher up, Fenn had to go higher too. Perhaps Morgrim had run to the top of the tower to attack from above. Made sense. It was easy to imagine him up there—black robe whipping in the wind, staff thrust out before him, doing something impressive with blue lightning.
Fenn bent over the horse’s neck and urged it up, up, to the roof.
He burst out of the cloud to find the tower had no roof. The battlements were gone. There was nothing but a single broken stone reaching up out of the mist. No Morgrim.
Fear washed through Fenn again, cold as a bolt from a knacker’s gun. He glanced across to the palace and the city. The walls were swarming with activity. Palace guards marched across the bridge towards the tower, green and black shields above their heads, tortoise-fashion. Reinforcements.
Heartened, Fenn sent Squab down into the cloud again.
There was another crash from the other side of the tower.
How many hits was that? Five? Six?
The white thing rushed past again. Was it slower? It was still nearly impossible to focus on; its skin seemed to shift and change as if it were boiling. Like foam.
Foam?
Could it be water? A snake of water?
