Terroll paid the captain the rest of the fare and then led Dusty across the plank and onto the dock, only then did the gelding return to his usual state of calm. Randall led Briar, who seemed to have no problem with boating, onto the dock. The guards at the gate were dressed entirely in white silk, bowing respectfully and knowing better than to question the arrival of a pair of Accomplisheds entering Aakadon.
Aakacarns of all ages walked the marble streets and byways of the great city. Terroll gave a nod of greeting to each Accomplished, even though many of the faces were unfamiliar to him, and those who did recognize him simply responded in kind, without interfering in the politics of what his arrival wearing honorable garments and an extra bolt on his shoulder implied. He acknowledged the bows of Talenteds, who knew their place in Aakacarn society. Humility before exaltation, this had been the tradition since a thousand years before the rebellion of Tarin Conn. The city never changed, only the faces of those who pass through its golden gates.
The home of the Zephyr Guild glittered in the sunlight, making it difficult to gaze upon. The outer walls were made by meticulously spell binding millions of diamonds into a seamless four hundred cubit high structure with twin towers stretching up another two hundred cubits, the length and breath of which was two hundred by one hundred fifty strides.
A female Talented of Taracopian birth exited the building and came to a stop in front of him, waiting to take Dusty to the stables. Terroll handed her the reins and acknowledged her bow, while a boy of Lobenian ancestry lead Briar away. There was no need to instruct or admonish either of them; each performed their duties efficiently and without speaking. If anything, the dour look on Randall’s face provided more than enough encouragement to be quick about their tasks, it showed they possessed a certain amount of wisdom.
“You could curdle milk with that face,” Terroll commented. “Cheer up old friend. I’m not going to lose.”
Randall’s brow creased into deep wrinkles. “You told me the same thing seven years ago and I narrowly escaped being Silenced then,” he replied, and then let out a long sigh. “Come; let us get it over with.”
Terroll entered the building feeling confident. His best friend could only remember the past and only saw failure ahead, yet was willing to stand with him anyway. Terroll knew without a doubt he would succeed and become the Maestro of the Zephyr Guild before the end of the day.
The inside of the massive structure was just as impressive as the outside, with sunlight filtering through prisms and making rainbow colors on the floor. He headed straight for the executive offices, passing many fellow Accomplisheds, not one of whom questioned his being in the building, seeing a fellow member of the guild was hardly unusual. He adjusted the hood of his cloak forward, hiding his face from casual view, and thus avoided the chance someone might recognize him as the one who had previously challenged the Maestro. There was no doubt stories concerning those events had circulated through the years, and none of them flattering to the loser.
He reached the outer office of the Maestro, gestured for Randall to wait in the hall, and then went inside. A plump one bolt Accomplished sat reading a memo behind a maple wood desk. The fellow was so young he must have only recently been raised from among the Talenteds. His brown hair was neatly trimmed and parted down the middle, making his face seem rounder. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked in a nasal whine.
Terroll noticed a red amulet, the communication link to Gerard DeCamp, laying on the secretary’s desk and picked it up. He stared at the young man whose mouth gaped open in a profound look of surprise. “I am making one now. Inform the Maestro that an old acquaintance has returned and desires to see him. I will be waiting in the coliseum,” he declared, and then turned to leave.
“Wait just a moment, you can’t take that.” the Accomplished said, while pointing at the amulet. He stood up. “Who are you?”
“I am Terroll Barnes, soon to be the next Maestro of the Zephyr Guild, get used to me,” he said, and then walked out of the office. Motioning for Randall to follow, he tossed the amulet in the air, caught it, and repeated the gesture several times to show his success. So far so good, his plan was working.
The coliseum was four hundred strides in diameter and stood sixty cubits high with a clear dome covering the entire structure. The facility was primarily used to raise newly graduated Talenteds to the level of Accomplished. It would soon be the sight of a challenge and where an Accomplished would be raised to Maestro.
He walked to the center of the court and placed the amulet against his forehead. “Gerard DeCamp, you are unfit to lead the Zephyr Guild. I, Terroll Barnes, do challenge you for the office of Maestro,” he said, in full awareness an official challenge could not be refused and his future was irrevocably on the line.
“Only an Accomplished can make such a challenge. You are nothing, less than a commoner and have no business here, go away before you get hurt,” the Maestro replied, through the amulet. The man clearly had no respect for tradition, having no right to refuse a lawful challenge issued by a member of the guild.
“If I am nothing, then you have nothing to worry about. I am Aakacarn and I will bring charges against you before the Grand Maestro if you do not grant satisfaction,” Terroll stated, hoping it would not come to that, knowing an audience with Efferin Tames would be time consuming to obtain. He would win the appeal and the challenge would take place eventually, but he wanted it now and hoped DeCamp would choose not to involve the Grand Maestro in guild affairs.
He tossed the amulet to the ground and cast a shield spell, feeling certain the Maestro would come. It would be characteristic of the guild leader to attack without warning. Randall stood off to the right near the bleachers looking more miserable than before. He was vulnerable to attack. The rules prohibited spectators and especially supporters from summoning potential during a challenge. Only an unscrupulous Aakacarn would attack the challenger’s supporters. There was hope that DeCamp had not sunk so low as to commit such a vile act. But then, he did attack with a permanent forget spell, Daniel broke the Silencing but that did not change the Maestro’s intent.
The Maestro, a corpulent man with brown-graying hair, entered the coliseum, moving swiftly for one so fat, and came to a stop thirty paces from center court. He had two lightning bolts on each sleeve and a golden buckle with a diamond encrusted letter, Z, indicating his office, Maestro of the Zephyr Guild. A red aura emanated from him, potential for a spell, but what kind? His round face twisted into a haughty grin and his jowls flapped when he opened his mouth to speak. “I am here, Terroll. It would seem you are able to summon potential again. Oh, and is that a fourth bolt I see? No matter, I assure you this time the punishment will be permanent,” he said, and then raised his arms, glowing with power.
Terroll strengthened his shield in preparation for what promised to be a major spell. A wall of wind slammed against his energy field and knocked him backward five strides. A second blast struck, shoving him back another ten. The third assault hammered him against the metal fence separating the spectators from the combatants. He was aware of Accomplished and Talenteds entering the coliseum and taking their respective seats. Another blast of wind pounded at his shield but this time had little effect, he could not be thrown back any farther. The Maestro’s plan was obvious, hammer the shield until it collapsed and then strike with a forget spell. What devious spells he would throw after that was anyone’s guess.
Gerard DeCamp wore the arrogant look of victory on his puffy face. So much the better, the cocky Aakacarn would make mistakes and the height of his folly will be in underestimating his opponent.
Terroll waited for the next assault, it came and was as legally powerful as any four-bolt Accomplished could throw in a challenge, such would certainly overwhelm a two-bolt and possibly a three. The timing between the blasts of wind would need to be precise. The switch from defense to offense would have to be done quickly to keep DeCamp from sensing the change. Another wall of wind struck and pinned Ter
roll against the fence, and then dissipated. He swiftly shifted spells and wrapped the Maestro in swirling bands of silver light, spinning him like a top. Vomit sprayed from him in a sight that was far from pleasant to behold.
Terroll collapsed the spell while DeCamp was still heaving his lunch and in no position to counter strike, then summoned the potential for the same spell that Silenced him seven years earlier and focused it at his opponent. After a vain attempt by the Maestro to regain his equilibrium, Gerard Decamp wobbled and fell to the ground. The desire to sling the man around in bands of air was intense, but the brutality of it was beyond Terroll. Deep hatred gave way to a strong dislike, which might some day lesson even more, and lead to forgiveness. The man was motionless, except for the steady rising and falling of his chest.
Gerard Decamp opened his eyes, his red face twisted in murderous rage. “I’ll kill you, I’ll..,” he began, and then fell quiet, trembling as the realization of what had been done to him set in. “I can’t remember my spells. Please, tell me it isn’t permanent.”
Terroll helped the fallen man to his feet. “As permanent as the one you used on me.”
“No,” the Maestro whimpered.
Terroll turned his attention to the spectators. The coliseum was half full: Aakacarns of all levels were in attendance, even Lena Beyers, the Maestro of the Sun Guild. She usually spent most of her time within her own affiliation and rarely concerned herself with the affairs of other guilds. The remaining five Maestros stood from their vantage points, each one nodding their approval of the outcome. Efferin Tames made his way down to the first level and stepped out onto the court. Twenty members of the Zephyr Guild followed him.
Terroll wiped the perspiration from his brow and faced the Grand Maestro to ask the formal question. “I declare my right to the office of Maestro. Does anyone among the Zephyr Guild support me?”
“I, Randall Kamis, do support Terroll Barnes for Maestro of the Zephyr Guild,” stated the Accomplished of Zoltair, in a strong voice and without hesitation.
“I, Jason Laarin, do support Terroll Barnes for Maestro of the Zephyr Guild,” said a tall one bolt Accomplished of Serinian descent.
“I, Zackeriah Takennon, do support Terroll Barnes for Maestro of the Zephyr Guild,” said a slim three bolt Accomplished, who had publicly distanced himself seven years ago and apparently now hoped to make amends. This was no time to be petty so all things would be forgiven for the good of the guild.
Scores of Zephyr Guild members gathered on the court to voice their support. Terroll gratefully acknowledged them all, and then turned once again to Efferin Tames, who wore a solemn expression befitting his office. “Numerous and respected Accomplisheds of your guild support your claim and none of the sixty members still seated in this facility oppose or challenge that claim. Terroll Barnes, I hereby declare you to be the Maestro of the Zephyr Guild,” the Grand Maestro stated, and then handed over the belt of office he apparently had taken from Gerard DeCamp during all of the declarations of support. The coliseum thundered with applause.
Terroll waited for the crowd to calm and then thanked Efferin Tames and all the Accomplisheds who gave their formal support, especially Randall Kamis, who no longer stood grim-faced. “Gerard DeCamp, I’ll not banish you from Aakadon to fend for yourself as you once did me. You shall live here for the remainder of your natural life tending gardens,” Terroll said, and then waited for the proper reply. The sentence, seemingly harsh, was certainly a good deal less than the viscous former spell caster deserved.
“Your will be done, Maestro,” the former leader of the Zephyr Guild intoned, albeit grudgingly.
C hapter Ten: Dowman’s End
The sun burned like a furnace as Daniel sipped from his canteen and found that even the water was hot. Half of the precious liquid seemed to evaporate before reaching his throat. Sweat appeared on his brow and vanished just as quickly. This was not natural; at least that is what he had been taught, although his information could be out dated. News from other lands seldom reached the top of Tannakonna and few of the residents traveled beyond the slopes without a good reason.
He stared at the harsh reality around him. Dead cypress trees dotted the plane along with several other varieties of plant life; all were dried out and lifeless. No, this was not natural. Those trees and shrubs would have only grown in a well watered environment. The few clouds he remembered seeing were those gathered at the mountain peek. He longed for shade. The wide brimmed hat was the only thing keeping the sun from baking his brain.
The desert seemed to have no end, a wasteland stretching as far as the eye could see. He groaned. The pain from the injury to his left arm had intensified to the point he could no longer ignore it. Letting a wound fester was foolishness so he dismounted Sprinter and then stripped to the waist. Dried blood had caked over the swollen gash and infection was beginning to set in. He summoned the necessary potential and touched the tender wound with his glowing index finger. Injured flesh became unblemished skin and the pain ceased as if it had never been.
He donned his red-dyed buckskin shirt and then led Sprinter on foot. The sun seemed to drain his energy as much as it drained moisture. The healing spell had taken more from him than usual; it took twice the power to heal his own injury than it did to heal someone else with the same type wound, a lesson just learned. Terroll never mentioned the affect and until recently the need had not arisen. He took a swig of hot water and continued onward. Marks passed and the sun sank in the sky but the terrain did not change. His canteens were empty and Sprinter was weakening.
A town came into view and he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not an illusion. The buildings were still there, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief. He quickened his pace, hoping with all his heart the town did not vanish and turn out to be a product of over exposure after all. A few scrawny trees clung to life on the outskirts of what appeared more and more to be a quiet town. He came upon a faded sign nailed to a narrow post which read, Dowman’s End. The name sounded familiar as he read it out loud. Yes, the legendary watchers of Tarin Conn‘s prison were stationed here, a fact taught in every school in every kingdom and even on remote mountain tops. This was the home of a grand army of archers, swordsmen, and cavalry.
Brown and gray buildings lined both sides of the only street. Most of the buildings were run down and in ill-repair, some not repaired at all. The largest building by far was the barracks, behind which was a corral big enough to hold two hundred-fifty horses, although it presently held about a fifth of that. Men in gray uniforms wandered around as if without purpose and few of them even took notice of a stranger entering their town from the direction of Kelgotha. These men were not fit to guard chickens let alone the prison of Tarin Conn.
Located in front of the only stone building in town was a well, Daniel headed straight for it. The dwelling was slightly larger than the one he grew up in and once called home. Arriving at the well, he lowered the bucket while watching his surroundings, and then drew water. He filled his canteens and gave the rest of the water to Sprinter, then lowered the bucket again and drew more water, drinking freely until his thirst was quenched. He removed his hat and poured water over his head, relishing the cool and blessed relief. Several people glanced at him and not one of them seemed interested enough to rouse from their lethargic behavior. This town was inhabited entirely by men. He was certain there were no women because the men would not be lying about doing nothing otherwise. The vast majority of residents were wearing gray uniforms along with profound looks of despair on their faces. What happened to the proud guardians?
“Greetings traveler,” a deep voice sounded from behind.
Daniel turned to see a tall man with stooped shoulders and a long white beard standing in the doorway of the stone building. His garments were red on black silk and on each sleeve was a golden lighting bolt. Glaring against his chest in the sunlight was a silver bird of prey emblazoned on a gold medallion.
“Greetings, Accomplished,” Daniel repl
ied, without fear. There was a time in the not too distant past when just such an encounter would have filled him with terror. After facing yetis, Cenni Quen, and the mighty Tarin Conn, this fellow warranted caution. Even a Talented could kill or inflict serious bodily harm and this man clearly had years of experience and could not be taken lightly.
“Please, be my guest. I don’t get many visitors,” the Accomplished said, beckoning with his hands. “Come, eat and rest from your journey.”
Much to his embarrassment, Daniel’s stomach betrayed his hunger, growling before he could utter a reply. He had not eaten since shortly before the yetis attacked Bashierwood. “Certainly, thanks for the offer,” he said, and then tethered Sprinter to a post and placed fresh water in the troth before entering the stone building.
“I’m Bella Sander,” the Accomplished stated formally. “Won’t you have a seat?” he added, pointing to a padded chair.
“Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Daniel Benhannon,” he replied, and then sat down while taking a quick glance around the room.
The cozy home did have plenty of comforts. A finely carved table for ten with matching chairs, nearly as good as the work of Ronn Benhannon, occupied the center of the room. A handsome mahogany rocking chair in front of the fireplace had a green misshaped cushion and looked to be the most used piece of furniture.
The Accomplished suddenly glowed with potential. Beautiful violet rays flowed from his hands, weaving a spell that set the table. A second spell opened the pantry and brought out apples, oranges, peaches, and pears, and then gently lowered them onto plates. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, or perhaps truly happy to have a guest.
Daniel did his best to appear impressed even though he had done as much, actually more, on the morning he prepared pancakes. It seemed wise for the time being to keep his own abilities a secret, although he was tempted to cast a shield spell, especially while his host was in the middle of summoning potential. The fewer people who knew about his being an Accomplished the better, was his thinking. Hopefully, Bella would not summon the spell, Potential, and discover his guest is an Aakacarn.
To Cast The First Spell (The Maestro Chronicles) Page 15