He nodded at Adramis. "But the Qualinesti is right- Kalrakin can't protect every one of those doors. So let's go in unison, and spread out, explore balconies and outer walls. Spread the word if you find a way in!"
In seconds the wizards of all robes took to the air. Those who knew the flying spell cast it, while some who were limited to levitation floated upward, until a fellow wizard grabbed them by the hand and led them toward a balcony. They fanned out, some heading toward the north tower, others to the south, spiraling and climbing in the light of the rising moons.
Jenna, too, flew upward, her eyes on the other wizards. She watched Willim the Black, his eyeless face locked in a joyful grin, his magical Eye floating before him and guiding him magically along; he glided toward a wide balcony on the north tower-facing the gap between the two spires.
Dalamar flew just behind the dwarf. They both settled to the flagstones just before the solitary door leading into the Tower. The Red Robe hovered a slight distance away, watching as the dwarf approached the door.
"I'll blast the damned thing off its hinges!" the dwarf growled.
Willim put up both of his hands and chanted a spell. His fingers touched the unassuming wooden surface of the door as he tensed, preparing for the final command of his enchantment, but when he made contact, he disappeared.
"Willi!" Dalamar cried, lunging forward to snatch at the air where the black-robed dwarf had stood only moments before. The elf raised his hand, as if to drive a fist into the door, when Jenna alighted beside him.
"Don't!" she urged, grabbing him by the shoulder. "It's some kind of trap-under Kalrakin's control! It took Willi, and it will snatch you, too!"
"Yes-of course, I know that," the dark elf snapped bitterly, lowering his fist. His face was distorted. His whole body shook with rage. "That bastard has turned the entire Tower into a weapon to be wielded against us."
"Let's try somewhere else," Jenna suggested.
They took to the air again, making a circuit of the north tower. They learned that several other wizards had vanished when they tried their magic on the doors, just like Willim the Black. In other places the doors had been securely bound, locked by wild magic, so even the most potent of the wizardly spells proved futile. And some doors had been melded into the structure of the walls by the same kind of flowing stone that had obscured the front door. These formed smooth, impassive barriers, which no magic seemed able to penetrate.
Magic users continued to swoop and rise and circle around, but none reported any viable means of entry. Though she didn't stop to count, Jenna knew their number was dwindling, and she wondered how many had already been captured-or killed-by Kalrakin or his sorcerous traps.
"Look!" cried Dalamar suddenly, putting a hand on Jenna's arm, bringing them both to a halt in the air very near the summit of the spire.
"What is it," she asked, looking around.
"I don't remember that door being there," the dark elf observed. "And there's no platform, no balcony outside. If it opened from the inside, a person could step right out into the air. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
Jenna studied the plain door-so plain, it was barely visible from the outside-high in the smooth side of the structure, apparently leading nowhere. Like Dalamar, she had no memory of seeing this portal before.
"Odd, indeed. It's worth a look," Jenna said, tucking her shoulder and diving nearer as Dalamar sailed close behind.
She approached the door, which, as the elf had observed, opened in the sheer outer wall of the Tower over a drop of some two hundred feet. It was a simple barrier of wooden planks, with a small golden knob and no visible lock. Jenna scowled as she flew closer, shifting her posture to slow her flight-for she was startled to realize that she seemed to be accelerating, drawn by some powerful force right toward the solid wooden barrier.
"Look out! I can't stop!" she cried, twisting herself, exerting all the force of her spell to try to get away from the magnetic force drawing her to the Tower. It was like trying to swim upstream-whatever limited progress she made was easily overwhelmed by the force that was drawing her in.
"It's got me, too!" Dalamar was kicking and thrashing nearby, reaching with his hands, as if he might be able to grab a tree branch or cloud and pull himself away. But he, too, was clearly overpowered.
Overcome, both were being sucked with increasing force and speed toward the high stone walls of the Tower.
Jenna threw up her hands to protect her head. She gasped, anticipating the impact, but instead was immediately enveloped by darkness. She tumbled to a hard stone floor, quickly twisted around and struggled to regain her footing. Something brushed past; it was Dalamar, who, she observed with some irritation, leaped to his feet while she was still fumbling with her staff. With a curse, she brought a light spell into being on the top of her staff.
"Where are we?" the dark elf cried, quickly stalking the circumference of what appeared to be a small, dark, enclosed room. "And where's the door? I swear we crashed straight into it!"
"It's gone-maybe it was never there in the first place. But we're somewhere high up in the Tower, I should think," Jenna replied, looking around in the cool light of her spell. "At least, judging from the small size of the room, and the curve of that wall, that's my best guess."
"Do you think Kalrakin lured us here, trapped us?" the dark elf mused aloud.
"I brought you here."
The word was spoken by an old man who stood in the corner, wearing a tattered robe of white. The old White Robe certainly hadn't been there a moment before.
"Par-Salian?" the dark elf declared, shocked by the recognition. "It is you! Though I fear that the passage of time has not been kind to you."
Jenna looked and also recognized the man who had been the Head of the Conclave when she had taken her Test. Age had ravaged him cruelly, as evidenced by the rheumy film over his eyes and the dark spots that marked his hands. His beard and hair, once lush and full-even though steel-gray-were now sparse and bedraggled. Even his robe, the pure symbol of his order, he had allowed to become dirty, torn, and unkempt; he leaned on a cane, his posture so feeble that he seemed likely to fall forward on to his face.
Only Par-Salian was long dead; he had perished during the Chaos War.
"You can't truly be Par-Salian. So who are you?" Dalamar demanded. "I would kill you in an instant if I thought you were the sorcerer Kalrakin in cunning guise, hut there is no hint of wild magic around you."
"I am the Master of the Tower," said the image of Par-Salian. "I brought you here-it is the only safe place, for the moment. The sorcerer has ensorcelled all the other doors with dangers and traps."
"What's happened to the other wizards who disappeared?" asked Jenna. "Are they slain?"
"No… not yet. He holds them in the Hall of Mages. Of course you recall that there are no doors to that chamber, and his wild magic has secured the place. None may teleport in or out. As your wizards enter the Tower, they become his prisoners."
"What of Coryn? The Head of the White Robes?" Jenna prodded.
"Ah. That is why I brought you here-she needs your help. As do I." The aged White Robe pointed across the room, where appeared a sheet of glass suspended on the stone wall like a window. "Use the scrying glass. You will see her; she is down below, near the anteroom of the foretower."
"Look!" cried the dark elf, pointing to an image that began to glow in that reflective surface. Jenna stepped close, and she and Dalamar both immediately recognized Coryn. Her white robe was torn and stained with blood, and she was lying prone, trapped in a gap that had opened in the floor. As the two wizards watched, that narrow space started to squeeze shut. She struggled frantically, clearly overpowered in the vise of wild magic.