She found herself following her nose, and the scent of the bread, through an open, arched doorway. This room was rectangular, dominated by a long table large enough to seat a score of diners. One place setting lay pristine at the near end, plates and goblets shimmering like clear ice, utensils to either side-a multitude of forks, knives, and spoons, beyond anything Coryn had ever imagined. Just beyond the plates and goblets, still within easy reach, several silver domes formed a semicircle of small metallic hills.
And there was the loaf of bread, steaming on aboard with a sharp knife beside it, and the bright yellow butter in one of those icelike bowls. It looked safe-and familiar-enough. She wasted no time in seating herself, sawing off a thick piece of bread, and layering on the sweet spread. The butter was melting by the time she took her first exquisite bite. She forced herself to savor the bread when every instinct told her to wolf it down, and by the time she had finished that first slice, her worst hunger pangs were past.
More slowly, she worked on a second piece, while looking around with an attentive eye. She lifted one of the silver dish covers by its ornate pearl handle and was delighted to discover a trout, grilled to perfection and presented on a bed of fresh greens. Another uncovering revealed fruit, sliced and chilled and arrayed in concentric rings of color; a third protected some steaming white grains-white rice, but rice of a purity and plumpness far beyond any of the tiny, nutty grains her people gathered from the summer bogs.
She ate, alternately sampling the fish, the rice, and the fruit. The tastes were so splendid that she could think of nothing else than the wonderful sensations in her mouth- until a terribly obvious question occurred to her.
Who had prepared this food for her?
For Coryn had no doubt she was the intended guest for this magnificent repast-since her first glimpse of the Tower, she knew she was supposed to be here, that the Tower wanted her to enter. Logically speaking, it was the Tower that had presented her with this meal, then. But how?
"Welcome."
She was so startled that she dropped her spoon with a clatter. "Who said that?" she asked, whirling around in her chair. A sad old man limped into the room, leaning heavily on a rickety cane. He had white hair, a beard of the same color, and a robe of such pure whiteness that she almost had to squint.
"It is 1 who offer you this food… and I who invited you. I am the Master of the Tower."
Chapter 14
A Cosmos Unbalanced
Storms boiled and churned through the ether, spanning the void between worlds, swelling in the gaps among all the planes. Clouds of black billowed beyond all horizons, looming vast and dark and deadly. Immortal anger rumbled through all existence, fueled by the undying rivalry, the distrust, and the suspicion that ever marked the three colors of magic. Nuitari and Lunitari fumed and seethed, roared and spouted, and their fury coalesced in a storm that their alabaster cousin was forced to acknowledge and confront.
The three gods of magic met in the heart of the storm. They were the undisputed masters of the cosmic tumult, poised in balance atop the raging, seething force of the gale. Red lightning flashed and crackled, casting brilliant, flashing illumination across the trio of immortal visages. White light churned from a new sun, driving back the chill of the vast emptiness. And perfect blackness framed them all, a void that gave proof to their vitality.
"Foul!" cried Nuitari of the black moon, a gust of pure midnight blasting toward Solinari, surrounding him, welling up until it all but obscured him from their sight. "You betrayed our compact!"
"Betrayal!" boiled Lunitari the red. Red tongues of fire flared, embracing the white god, driving like blazing knives and swords against his immortal flesh. "Our trust is violated-our alliance imperiled."
The red and black violence surged, rising higher, surrounding them all, extending tendrils of destruction far beyond, into all the corners of creation. Other, lesser gods recoiled from the conflict, and those mortals who beheld the strife-they did so in their dreams, if at all-trembled and quaked, praying only for the daylight to come and soothe their fears.
"But for what cause is this most unjust protest?" asked Solinari calmly, his corona of white shielding him, for now, from the wrath of his fellows. "There has been no betrayal, no foul on my part. As ever, I seek to mend relations, to soothe the path of cooperation and friendship. Nay, if at all, these traits you accuse me of are hallmarks more of your own behavior."
His tone was reasonable, his mystification apparent, but even so, his cousins disdained his words, roaring closer in fury and vengeance.
"The girl who wears no robe has gone to the Tower alone! She meets with the Master, even as we speak!" cried Lunitari, her tone shrill. "While my devoted servant strives to find Wayreth, the Master comes to this child disguised as Par-Salian of the White Robe-what more proof do we need? You have tried to steal a march upon us, to maneuver the world into alignment with your favorite!"
"Not I!" cried Solinari, white beard quivering with indignation, raising his hands. "Cease these unfounded attacks! Lay back the furious tempest and let us talk about this calmly, with the dignity that befits our status."
"You deny it, then?" asked Nuitari viciously. "You claim the girl has not entered the sacred place, alone? I know that my own dark elf has, like the Red Robe, been thwarted in his great quest. Do you still claim that you have not given her the access that has been barred to both of our wizards? How can you make such a claim, when we can all see the proof through the lens of the Tower?"
"Well, of course she has arrived in the Tower of High Sorcery-have we not all observed that fact, through the eyes of the Master? And is this not proof that the Master of the Tower serves us all? I will have no further talk of treachery and betrayal-why, the very idea!"
The white god, his immortal reputation assailed, effected a tone of high dudgeon. Pure light pulsed in the midst of the storm, and thus the black clouds and the crimson lightning, eased back slightly. The corona rose higher above the dangerous storms, bright light striving for release.
But immortal rage still glowered and grumbled. The thunderheads of cosmic distress reared anew, and the brightness flickered and was muffled.
"Bah," Nuitari retorted. "Your servant has gone in before my own agent, or our cousin's. How is this not treachery? We both know what kind of advantage she seeks-she will infiltrate the Conclave, holding the other robes at bay. This is a betrayal that overrules anything that has happened in our immortal past! It is a treachery that cannot be allowed to stand!"
"It is not treachery, not betrayal, for a very simple reason. Because," Solinari continued, with an elaborate air of patience, as if he were lecturing stubborn and unruly children, "the girl does not wear the white robe. As you yourself stated, Fair Cousin-she is a girl of no robe, at the present."
"So she wears no robe at all, now, at the present? This matters not," cried Lunitari, "for she is your foil, your tool!"
"Your statement is proof of its own falseness. How can she be my tool, when she does not wear my robe?"
"She lacks but the Test, and you are arranging it so that she will soon have that chance. Do you deny that you seek to give her the white robe?"
Solinari shrugged his cosmic shoulders. "Of course not. But do either of you deny that you do not seek the same, with your own chosen colors?"