Carriage wheels clatter along ruts worn deep into the stone, a cacophony thundering in his head as he’s bounced and jostled, whole body sore from the relentless abuse.

But still, he thought with sombre resign, rather this dire journey continue in perpetuity than end … there.

In the distance it twisted defiantly out from a bed of sharp stone, scraping the sky like an unholy, reaching finger, dark edges starkly offset by the whisper of silver, moonlight both drawing and repelling.

The Tower, a grand, rising mockery to all that was natural, its frame worn and warped by countless days stood against driving wind and rain.