CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Merk leaned against the cold silver doors of the Tower of Ur, seated on the ground as he had been for days, despite the cold, the stiffness of his limbs, the hunger, refusing to leave. He would not accept the Watchers’ rejection. He felt, deep inside, more than he had ever felt anything, that this place was home, that he was meant to be here.
He also could not walk away in the face of the great riddle posed to him. Above all, Merk hated riddles. He loved reason and order, expected all things to follow a logical and rational pattern. He had always lived life as a rational man, even when he killed people. He did not like mysteries, and he did not like things that could not be explained—especially when they had to do with him.
And this mysterious riddle tormented him. He
