Free Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) by Sam Bowring Page B

High Mage Fahren called the enchantment the ‘Essence of Walls’.
    To the west stood the Open Castle, a huge block some thirty levels high. It wasn’t a beautiful building by any means, looking from a distance like a white brick riddled with holes. Inside, however, was plenty of colour and garish excess, and a bustling menagerie of brightly feathered courtiers and nobles. On the castle’s roof was the Sun Court and the great seat of the Thrones, Borgordusmae.
    To the south of the Halls stood the barracks, surrounded by training fields for soldiers. In the east, student mages were schooled at the Academy of the Sun. Overlooking it was the Open Tower, which was missing so many of its outer walls it looked as if it should topple. The Tower was home to many mages, including the High Mage Fahren, whose chambers lay at the very top, the highest point of the Halls. It was here that Fahren tossed and turned, water squeezing from between clenched eyes. He jerked awake, forehead slick with sweat. Outside, the sky was lightening.
    ‘Elessa,’ he murmured. She’d always been one of his favourites – a bright student, and a beautiful girl. Now he was certain she was dead, certain that the dream of a terrible battle in Whisperwood had really happened. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, horrified by what she had gone up against. Having faced Fazel himself once before, part of him also glowed with pride that she’d bested him.
    Fazel had been a great man once. Born a Varenkai, he’d loved life and the light and performed many great deeds. Many had wanted him to be High Mage, but Fazel had never accepted the title. He’d served under the Throne Siante, during the time that Assidax had been Shadowdreamer. Fazel had hated what Assidax had achieved in the south, and eventually had journeyed to find her. Arrogant and brave, he’d believed he could defeat her in her own realm – but when the two had fought, Fazel was slain. Assidax’s terrible gift for necromancy meant she’d been able to bring Fazel’s spirit back whole and bind him to her as a shadow creature. Unlike many of the undead, he’d retained his intellect, but was powerless to act on it. He became a slave to the Shadowdreamers, locked in servitude to those he’d always loathed the most. Fazel hoped Elessa had truly killed him, for his was a soul that needed to be put to rest. Poor Elessa . . .
    Later, thought Fahren. Springing from bed, he dressed hurriedly in his blue and gold robe and left his quarters. Tall and spry, he bounded down the Tower stairs three at a time, a clashing mix of age and youth. He had wrinkles, but they were well defined, as if they’d always been part of his face. His hair and beard were long and full, a vibrant blond untouched by grey. His crystal blue eyes shone clear, and there were still women who vied for their attention. As he ran, he thought about what he had dreamt and had to force his feet to keep moving lest any single realisation stop him in his tracks. It couldn’t be, he thought. It couldn’t be that.
    Mentally, Fahren was well prepared for the coming of the child of power. The prophets had known the child would be born within a hundred years of their collective vision, and that hundred years was almost over. But what had happened to the boy to split him in two? It was something to do with that stone around his neck, Fahren was sure.
    ‘It has to be,’ he muttered. ‘The Stone of Evenings Mild.’
    Legend said that when Arkus and Assedrynn had joined forces one last time to destroy the Great Well, the Stone of Evenings Mild had been created at the point where they had focused their power. It was a way for them to stay unified even as their magic separated. The Stone, then, was capable of uniting shadow and light to the same purpose; something impossible since the demise of Old Magic. Used in reverse, it might also be capable of separating Old Magic into its opposite parts – and that, Fahren theorised, was what had happened to the