8
I stared in disbelief at the stupendous tower looming out of the misty remnants of what had appeared to be an impregnable mountain. Absolutely had been, in fact; had I not stood upon it myself, not long ago? Had there not been a door set into its side? My mind reeled at the power and complexity of such an illusion. What had Torvaston wrought, out in the wilds of this wondrously magickal Britain?
And damn me if the entire thing wasn’t built out of starstone, to boot. Like Melmidoc’s spire. I couldn’t be sure until twilight, of course, when it would most probably develop that distinctive blue glimmer. But the way the white stone shone pearly in the sun looked awfully familiar.
‘Go,’ Miranda said, shoving the compass into my hands.
I hesitated, looking at Pup, who was questing in circle
