Wandmaster
Page 13
"Taking care of the Wandmaster is a liability you know. Are you sure you want to be in my group for the return journey?" he asked. Jazlyn studied him and gave a little smile back.
"I'll risk it," she said "About Wes......"
"What about Wes?" asked a voice at her side. It was Jet, who always seemed to turn up at opportune moments.
"Nothing."
"Good," said Jet. "Now, let's get going. These paths are hard enough to negotiate in daylight, let alone in the dark." The lead group was assembled and waiting for John. He was surrounded by the best the guardians had to offer and they stuck to him like glue. Zak gave John a wink and said,
"You're pretty useful in a fight, young Wandmaster!"
"Thanks, you're not so bad yourself," answered John with a grin, and they set off, through the winding pathways of the hill territory, each with his own thoughts, and John feeling very grateful to be returning to the Wandguard plain on his own feet and not into the impatient arms of Ataxios in Athrak in the 'dark box' Mandrik had described.
Chapter 8
The Inquest
The Great Hall was in turmoil. All the seats around the long oval table were occupied, and voices were babbling in confusion when John entered. John seated himself in an extra chair supplied by one of the younger guardians, and tried to listen to what was being said around him. He now knew a great many more of the faces in the room than when he had first arrived, and scanned the room to see just who was present. One face which he expected to find was missing. Tyloren was nowhere to be seen, and John was puzzled at his absence, remembering also that he had not found him when he had tried to communicate from the hills.
Menoneth was on his feet looking grave, and seemed also to be listening to the confusion of voices around him. After a minute or two, he raised his hands for silence, and the meeting came to order as all eyes were turned upon him.
"Honour to the Members of the Council," he said formally, and received the customary response.
"Honour to the High Councellor, Menoneth."
"We have a great many things to discuss today, so I will start straight away. As you know, our guardians came under attack by a sizeable force in the Northern peaks outside Wandguard. There are questions which must be addressed in regard to this, but I would ask our Armsmaster, Jetham to give us a report of all that occurred." Jet nodded his acquiescence, and rose to his feet. Menoneth sat down and interlocked his fingers on the table in front of him, and fixed his eyes on the wall opposite, maybe to help him concentrate. He seemed troubled.
Jet began his report by describing how he had set up his groups, how John had requested permission to go on the scouting mission, which had been granted, which areas the four groups of Guardians had been sent to scout, and the journey of Jet and John's group into the hills. John listened intently, admiring Jet's crisp delivery; he was military trained and it showed in his attention to detail. When Jet reached the report of John's warning of the presence of spindlies, he was taken by surprise.
"....... When we reached the high peak which looks towards Athrak, the visibility was very poor, and I was unable to pick out any movement in the lowlands which fall away from there northwards. My attention was drawn to the Wandmaster, who appeared to have gone into some kind of trance." John could not recall this, and raised his eyebrows thoughtfully as Jet continued. "He stood still as the very rock, and though I spoke to him, I received no response. He remained in this state for some time, and I was concerned. When he eventually spoke, his voice was deeper, somehow distant, and he told me that he had felt Ataxios searching for him and that there were enemy troops in our area in large numbers. I decided to take precautionary defensive measures, and I took our group to the narrow pass called Deepcleft, which is defensible by a few well-trained men even against superior forces. I must say that I, myself, had no indication at that time that there was any danger and was somewhat sceptical, for which I beg humble apology of our Wandmaster." He inclined his head in John's direction and continued. "I was of the persuasion that it was 'first-time-nerves'," said Jet, with a rueful smile on his lips. He looked to John for a reaction, and was rewarded with a shrug and a nod, which was the best he could muster.
Jet went on to describe the arrival of the spindlies, their numbers and the desperate battle that took place. His account of John's skill with the wand had everyone gasping, and faces were turned in his direction in varied expressions of admiration, and even incredulity. At the arrival of the back-up forces and the turn in the battle, Jet completed his report of the actual events, but did not sit down.
"Before I take my seat again, I ask the Council to consider one or two things which have not, till now, been broached, but which I feel are vitally important. It pains me to raise these issues because they are sensitive but I feel they must be addressed. I would like to conclude my report with questions,
1. Why were so many enemy troops present in the hills?
2. Why did they concentrate their efforts on our particular group?
3. Why was the Mother-beast spotted down in the river valley?
4. Why was the 'dark-box' also spotted in the river valley?
5. And most worrying, Where are Westroth and Tyloren?"
A tumult of voices were raised as Jet concluded, and he took his seat looking troubled but satisfied that he had said all he wanted to say. Menoneth, who had been listening very carefully raised his eyebrows at the questions put by Jet, and he slowly came to his feet, looking around the table and waiting for silence.
"I feel, Jetham, that you have raised these questions for our consideration to lead us to certain conclusions. I would appreciate it if you would not leave us out of your thinking. Please state exactly what you are implying." Jet did not stand, as Menoneth remained on his feet, and he sighed, realising he could not avoid being blunt.
"Very well," he said, "you give me no choice. My belief is that the enemy were fore-warned of our scouting mission, and even of which troupe the Wandmaster was with. I believe we may have an informer in Wandguard Plain, and I suspect either Westroth or Tyloren of being that informer."
Menoneth blanched. "Jetham, you will be careful what you suggest. Westroth is my son! Tyloren is our Chief Priest! You are on dangerous ground!"
"I agree, my lord Menoneth, and I ask forgiveness, but long years of experience have taught me that there usually is no such thing as a co-incidence. Usually there is a rational explanation, and in this case, the suspicion is logical – though I admit, not conclusive. I did not wish to cause you displeasure, but I would not be doing my job properly if I left things unsaid, which I believe are vital to the overall picture. I sincerely hope I am mistaken, but I fear I am not."
John remembered that when he had tried to reach Tyloren with his thoughts at Deepcleft, he had been unable to find him and he was puzzled. When someone he tried to reach shielded their thoughts, he was unable to penetrate them, but he still had a sense of the existence of the person he was centred on. In Tyloren's case, this was not what had happened. He had felt no sense of Tyloren whatsoever then, and still had none. He opened his mouth to speak but he noticed that Vilma had already got to her feet before him. The Council members fell silent and they all looked at her; she had not spoken at the meeting up to this point but had listened carefully to everything being said.
"Tyloren is in blackness. I have tried repeatedly to reach him, but I have had no response, nor sense of him at all. I have pondered on this and have consulted my rune-stones. They do not show me that he is dead, and my senses confirm this, but he is somewhere that my 'sight' cannot penetrate. I believe, members of the High Council, that the black box was brought to the river valley for the Wandmaster, but captured Tyloren, and that he is being held in it. It's construction is of a powerful insulating metal and does not allow his thoughts outside its bounds." John thought, briefly, and then spoke also.
"If that is the case, he was captured before Deepcleft because I was unable to reach him before the battle commenced."
Menoneth, whose face was ashen with a mixture of distress and anger spoke through tight lips. "Any information of value on this issue will be reported directly to me! Is that understood?" Vilma shrugged and dropped her eyes.
"As my Lord Menoneth commands," she acquiesced.
"This Council Meeting is at an end!" snapped Menoneth and he rose from his seat and left the room abruptly. An uncomfortable silence was broken by the shifting of feet and the sound of chairs being moved cross the floor as Council Members made ready to quit the hall. There was some whispering but no-one said aloud what was clearly troubling all of them, that Westroth was suspected of being a traitor and in league with the enemy, instrumental in the capture of their High Priest and very nearly that of their Wandmaster too. Vilma shot a penetrating look at John, full of meaning; they needed no words.
Chapter 9
Tyloren
John was very worried about Tyloren, and didn't know who to approach about it. Menoneth was out of the question, and Jet was unlikely to want to commit himself to saying any more; he was already on thin ice with Menoneth. Vilma had said all she knew and John could see no point in pressing her for more information. She obviously had none at the moment. As he pondered, he found his feet taking him to the Temple and at his approach, the crystal walls, hummed a fond low note and flashed a little brighter in welcome. John acknowledged the Temple mentally, and felt how odd it was that this no longer surprised him. The Crystal Trove in the Temple was still, and William Stone was in his familiar posture in the crystal wall. Nothing was unusual, except that Tyloren was missing, leaving an emptiness, which was almost tangible, in the Temple.
"Can I help you in any way, Wandmaster?" came the voice of Tabbareth, who was a lower order priest considered to be Tyloren's right hand. John looked at his anxious face and gave a slight smile before placing his hand on the man's shoulder.
"Thank-you Tabbareth, I don't know why I'm here really. I just wanted to see if I could sense Tyloren any easier in here, but I just feel how absent he is." Tabbareth's voice shook a little as he said, "Wandmaster, I have heard rumours that Tyloren may be suspected of some misdeed, and I must say here and now to you that I cannot believe it! That man has raised me, practically, and he is totally devoted to the Wandmaster and the eradication of Ataxios! He would never......" John stopped him from talking by raising his eyebrows and indicating that he had said enough.
"I have known Tyloren for a very brief time Tabbareth, but I would trust that man with my life. I do not believe the rumours. However, I fear for his safety, and I would like to spend a little time here with the Crystal Trove trying to reach him. I would appreciate your presence, should I need assistance."
"I'm not as strong as Tyloren, Wandmaster, but will gladly give you any help I can."
"Thanks Tabbareth. Would you be kind enough to stand beside me and aid me with whatever strength you have while I work?"
"I would be honoured, Wandmaster. I will offer what I can." John knew he was acting entirely without authority, but was guided by the knowledge, deep inside him, that what he was doing was right.
"Seal the doors of the Temple, Tabbareth, and then come and lend me your support."
"Yes, Wandmaster," replied the priest without hesitation and left briefly to secure the entrance to the temple before returning and taking up a position at John's side.
John approached the Crystal Trove, drew the wand from it's sheath and held it in both hands, at his chest, bending his head so that the tip of the wand touched his forehead. He felt for the Crystals and allowed them to flow their colours into him, their individual characters forming a combined stream which danced before his closed eyes. The last crystal, the dark and misty embodiment of the Realm came vigorously into the pattern and John tamed it, controlling its strength, making it a part of the whole. He was surprised at the strength he drew from Tabbareth, not far short of Tyloren's, and he touched the younger priest's mind briefly, feeling his awe at the connection, through John, with the Crystal Trove. John thought-sent the words "Be Calm," and felt Tabbareth contain his tension. John also sensed the deep loss he felt for Tyloren and returned the sense before returning to the task at hand.
He brought the thought picture of Tyloren to mind, and tried to reach him. He was unable to put substance to the act; no return feeling of acknowledgment flowed to him, but John was sure he was still alive somewhere. That was a start. He allowed himself to drift in the hope that the crystal trove would direct him to their keeper, and slowly he felt himself float away, leaving the temple and the presence of Tabbareth. He felt his way across emptiness, moving through a misty gloom which was nowhere tangible, having no 'place' anywhere in his understanding. He was not alone; William's presence being comfortably near, and his connection with Tabbareth kept him, simultaneously tied to the Temple. He paused in his searching to assess, and felt secure and 'right' in what he was doing, his mind centred and his aim clear. Another presence established itself close to him and he welcomed Vilma, who responded with a surge of support, which heartened him.
On he flowed in his colours, blending those of William, Tabbareth and Vilma. The mist cleared a little and John found himself standing before an entrance. Two heavy doors of dark wood stood before him, studded with dark shiny stones which twinkled, John realised, in the reflection of his own light. There was a fierceness in the black stones which denied him, but he didn't fight them; and called them into his colours, using his will to bend their animosity to submission. The dark colours in his own multi-hued river swept them into an embrace and John felt their unity, at first reluctant, and then acquiescent, and unified. The Huge, heavy doors swung open and John entered.
In a room, dark as starless midnight, stood the dark box. It was a void in his seeing. It was only present by the outline of its invisibility, like a total nothingness. Tyloren was in there, John was sure, and he closed on the vacuum, striving to reveal it in some way. It was impenetrable and there appeared to be no way to open it or even touch it. John moved around the space and felt the emptiness before him. Vilma's thought touched him.
'We must encircle it,' she sent.
John, William, Tabbareth and Vilma separated their thoughts, remaining linked in John's colours. They took up positions around the box, and John formed a hoop of spinning light which circled the dark box, passing through the four of them like one of the rings of Saturn, John thought, a whirling disc he was controlling, which pulsed and spun. He surged as much energy as he could through the ring of light and felt the box before him. It was tall, rectangular, dark and regular. It was impenetrable to his will, but slowly gave up its secrets, revealing a band of dark swirling twine, circling its four sides. The twine appeared to be made up of dark anti-light, having a heaviness, which sucked off some of John's own light as he concentrated on it. The dark colours he had gathered from the black stones fastening the wooden doors tried to join with the twine, and John momentarily felt his strength weakening.
'Don't falter, Wandmaster!' came Vilma's warning, and John steadied himself, recalled the dark stones into his colours and sent this call to William, Vilma and Tabbareth, 'Hold steady!' Then to the box before him, "Remove the bonds! Open!"
In a united effort, all four wills turned on the dark swirling threads around the black box. They snapped like an over-strained elastic band, and one end of the twine was sucked into John's colours, the remainder of the darkness following in a stream. John felt them enter his colour-pattern like a sword thrust, and they were very strong; negative, fearsome, violent. He flinched with the pain of their ugliness and knew
that these dark thongs were not going to be easily blended into his colours.
'Contain them!' he sensed from William, but John didn't know how.
Into his mind came the image of a box; not dark and void, but bright and vibrant, and John held the box in his mind, visualised a key in a lock, turned it, opened a door and pushed the dark twine into the lit up space behind it, slamming the door behind them and locking it with the key again. Containment. There was no further need to hold them in his colours. They were neutralised. John now bent his will on the box itself, and a series of clunks and a whirring sound signalled that the intricate locks on the box were being unfastened, and slowly the door opened, pushed weakly from within.
A surge of hope coursed through all of them as a thought stream joined theirs. In the deep darkness, a figure emerged from the black heart of the room, staggering slightly but excited and relieved. The four thought streams became five, and Tyloren strove to take in the connection and join with it.
'Crystals be praised! Thank you! But you must go now!' he commanded. 'I will manage on my own from here!' John was reluctant to leave, but realised that Tyloren was now beyond their help. From here on he would have to rely on his physical body to escape from the Mountains of Athrak. John called up the light-box, unlocked the door and forced the black bonds to re-encircle their, now empty, prison and bind it. Then he wished Tyloren good luck and called Vilma, Tabbareth and William back into his colours. Together they departed, drifting back through the mist.