The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  “A wielder!”

  Chapter 20 | Ty

  THE ROOM WAS QUIET.

  No one said a word, probably too stunned by Ty’s sudden outburst. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly how I had meant to say that. I actually had this nice little speech prepared, but . . .” He didn’t know what else to say so he shrugged.

  His mother reached over, patted him on the arm, and smiled. “We know.”

  Ty raised his head. “What? What do you mean you know?”

  Ty scanned the faces around the table. They all seemed to share the same sympathetic expression. Did everyone know? How did they find out? He had been so careful in keeping it hidden. Until recently, he had only used his ability in the seclusion of the forest.

  “Ty, there’s something you need to know about how you first came to live with us.”

  Ty started to feel a little nervous, especially with so many unfamiliar people sitting there staring at him. He fought back the urge to prattle on as he often did when he found himself in an uncomfortable situation. Instead, he forced himself to remain calm and listen to what his father had to say. He had a feeling that whatever it was, it was going to change his life. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  “We told you that you were given to us by an elderly gentleman who had found you lying in a basket outside his home. We said that he had no idea who had left you there and because of his age he didn’t feel he could properly raise a child, so he decided to give you to us.” His father took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, that wasn’t exactly the whole truth.”

  Ty looked at the other members of his family. Each one glanced away when their eyes met.

  “The truth is, Ty, the man who gave you to us, his name is Nyalis, and he’s a wizard.”

  A wizard? Did wizards still exist? Ty didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling: excited at having learned some new secret about his birth, relieved at having finally shared the burden of his magic, and terrified at what all this could mean.

  “In fact,” his father continued, “he could be the last of the wizards. When he first arrived in Easthaven, you couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. He looked like he’d just walked out of the Pits of Aran’gal after spitting in the Defiler’s eye. He said he had rescued you from some very evil wielders who worked for the White Tower.”

  “The White Tower?” Ty was stunned. “Why would there be wielders working for the White Tower? I thought you said the White Tower purges wielders. Wait. Did they know I was a wielder? Were they trying to purge me?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. Nyalis said the White Tower has begun collecting wielders instead of purging them. They’re raising some kind of wielder army. Those that submit, pledge their allegiance to the new Arch Chancellor, and those that don’t . . .” his father shifted nervously in his seat. “Well, you get the idea.”

  “Why doesn’t somebody do something about it? Why doesn’t the High King put a stop to it?”

  “He probably doesn’t know. There are few who do. We knew nothing of it until Nyalis showed up.” His father waved his hand. “Regardless, the point is that the White Tower is looking for you in particular. They want you for some reason. You’re special.”

  If Ty wasn’t afraid before, he certainly was now. “Me? They want me? Why am I special? I’m nobody. I’m not some powerful wizard. I can only talk to animals; why would they want me?”

  “You can talk to animals?”

  The other members of the council scooted forward in their seats.

  “Well, yes, sort of. It’s not like they talk the same way we do, but I can understand their thoughts and communicate with them.”

  “That’s very impressive, son.”

  “Not really.” Ty rolled his shoulders. “It’s not like I can summon fire or conjure a windstorm. Although, I did have something happen to me during Performance Night that I’d never had happen before.”

  “Oh? And what was that?” Adarra asked while scrawling some additional notes in her pad.

  “What happened, sweetheart?” his mother asked, more out of personal concern than educational interest like his sister. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” He caught himself rubbing his hand over the mark on his upper right arm. It was close to covering the entire shoulder now, and from what he could tell, was beginning to work its way down his arm. “I don’t know what happened. I was in the middle of playing my pipes when . . .” He bit his lip as he stared at the table.

  “When? When what?” Breen asked.

  Ty wasn’t sure how to explain it. He didn’t understand it himself.

  “Well, speak up, boy! Don’t just leave us hanging!” Feoldor’s face looked ready to pop.

  “When . . . I sort of made the East Inn disappear.”

  The look of astonishment on everyone’s face made Ty slink back a little further in his seat. Even Adarra’s pen had halted in its scribbling.

  “You did what?” The sleeves of Orlyn’s robe flopped across the table as he moved to the front of his seat.

  “I don’t know. One moment everyone was sitting there listening to me play, and the next, we were all sitting in the middle of the Sidaran Forest.”

  The tall apothecary studied Ty. His bushy brows hung low over his eyes. He reached up and gave a tug on his beard. “What happened next?”

  “Well, at the time, I was sure I was about to be arrested for wielding, so I . . . uh. I closed my eyes and started praying that everything would go back to normal and that no one would remember what happened.”

  “And did it?”

  “I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if it hadn’t.”

  “Ah, good point.”

  “I don’t remember any of that?” Breen said, clearly perplexed by the situation.

  “Do you know something about this, Orlyn?” Ty’s father asked.

  “I believe I do. I think Ty is both a pusher and a puller.”

  His mother looked concerned. “A what?”

  “I believe Ty can plant thoughts in people’s minds as well as extract them—a pusher and a puller.”

  “That’s amazing, Ty!” his sister said. Her eyes never once left her parchments.

  “It’s a very dangerous weapon to possess,” Veldon said from the head of the table as he wiped his hankie across the top of his head. “I’ve never known anyone to have such a gift.”

  “Aye,” Orlyn cut in. “That was a skill the Defiler was rumored to have used against his enemies, those whose minds were weak enough to be controlled.” Ty didn’t like the sound of that. Being compared to Aerodyne was hardly something to boast about. “Be very careful how you wield that, young man. If used in the wrong way, you could cause great damage.”

  “So, do you think that’s why the White Tower wants me?”

  “To be honest, Ty,” his father said, “the wizard was a little less forthcoming than we would have liked. What he told us was that you were special and that we were to keep you safe.”

  Ty’s mother poked her husband in the side with her elbow. “Tell him the rest.”

  “I would if you’d give me a chance.” His father sighed. “Nyalis also said that when the time was right, he’d be back to get you.” His father lowered his gaze, clearly finding the last bit somewhat hard to get out.

  “Get me? What do you mean he’s coming to get me? You mean leave here?”

  His father wiped his hand across his face. “I’m not really sure. He didn’t exactly specify.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “Don’t you worry about it, Ty,” his mother said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Ty’s head was reeling. He felt like everything was spinning out of control. Here he had been worried this whole time about telling his family that he was a wielder, and now he finds out that not only did they already know, but they had been keeping an even greater secret of their own. He didn’t want to leave his home. He didn
’t want to leave his family. Who was this wizard anyway? If Ty was so important then why hadn’t this Nyalis person raised him himself? Why had he left Ty to grow up in Easthaven?

  Orlyn stood from his seat and grabbed his uniquely designed staff. “It’s getting rather late and I must be up early to open my shop. Besides, by the look of it, I think our young Ty here has had quite enough good news for one night.”

  “I believe you’re right, Master Orlyn,” Ty’s father said as he followed the older man up. “I think we could all do with a good night’s sleep.”

  Feoldor stifled a yawn and scratched at his side whiskers. “Mind if I walk you home, Reloria?”

  The sweet shop owner twisted her hat back and forth on the top of her head to make sure it wouldn’t be flying off with the first decent gust. “Well, since you asked so politely.”

  The rest of the council said their goodbyes, all except for the strange white-haired lady who had somehow managed to sneak out while no one was looking.

  Ty was in a daze, his mind struggling to accept everything he had been told. Yet, above all the noise and confusion, one thought seemed to repeat itself over and over and over again. Why couldn’t I have been born someone else?

  Chapter 21 | Valtor

  THE NORTHEAST QUARTER of the palace was typically quiet this time of the evening as the royal family were no doubt making ready for bed. Most of the staff was either turning down their own sheets or busy conducting last minute preparations to ensure the next morning’s duties went off without a hitch.

  Valtor’s staff tapped steadily along as he trudged his way down the lonely corridors, occasionally passing the random kitchen scullion or palace maid. No one dared cast an eye in his direction. Most went out of their way to keep to the opposite side of the passage as they scurried past.

  Rounding the corner, he stopped in front of a brightly colored drapery against the left wall. It was one of many that lined the palace corridors, spreading bits of cheer with its ghastly array of profuse colors. It reached clear from the ceiling to the floor. The passing breeze following in the wake of the chancellor’s halting motion caused the heavy material to move ever-so-slightly. Its golden tassels tickled the corridor’s white-marble floors like the fingers of a celebrated musician as they moved across the polished ivory of a pianoforte, an instrument prevalently seen during the Second Age, but of no use during the Third as the ability to perform manual upkeep was forgotten with time.

  He took a moment to listen for the padding of nearby feet as he glanced in both directions. Once he was satisfied that he was alone, Valtor reached behind the fabric and flipped a hidden release. There was a soft click and the wall gave way, revealing a secret passage behind. A draft from the hidden tunnel threatened to shift the mitre on top his head. He readjusted the headpiece to give it a tighter fit. With practiced motion, he moved the drapery aside with his staff and stepped through, sliding the hidden panel shut behind him.

  Valtor lifted his hand and a soft orb of green light lifted from his palm. With its light, he navigated his way through the narrow passages.

  Dust covered the hem of his scarlet robes as they dragged across the back of the steps on his way down the empty stairwell. The silence enfolded him like a coffin. It gave him time to contemplate his thoughts as he anticipated the night’s activities.

  He kicked at a large rodent as it ran under his feet. “I hate rats.” Turning around, he sent a ball of flame into the helpless creature, searing it to the side of the wall. With a smile he shifted his robe and continued on, leaving the burnt smell of cooked flesh hanging in the air behind him.

  It had been a stroke of luck having found these hidden passages years ago.

  Forced to leave home under the most strenuous of circumstances, Valtor had spent the better part of his childhood living on the streets. He had discovered the tunnels as a teenager, after stealing a small skiff in an effort to dodge the city patrollers.

  With the discovery of the small caverns on the back side of the palace inlet and the adjoining tunnel system within, Valtor had spent years mapping out the labyrinth of channels and passageways. There was a great maze of corridors woven throughout the stronghold, forgotten by time. It was amazing that something so intricately constructed, like a web of veins running throughout the palace body, could go so completely unnoticed. All it took was for a single generation to not pass on the knowledge for it to be lost.

  The secret passageways’ use in gathering information was limitless. He attributed most of his rise in position to its secrets—listening in on private meetings of state, catching officials in compromising positions, even the occasional assassination was not completely out of the question.

  Yes, he had put the network to great use over the years. They had obviously been built as a safeguard against an enemy breach centuries earlier, following the devastation incurred from the Great Wizard Wars.

  During those horrific battles, the palace walls were said to have been taken by Khul hordes coming out of the far north. Its occupants had been put to the sword, and its towers and bulwarks, halls and chambers had been left a smoldering ruin.

  But, from the ashes as they say, a phoenix rose. Its new form took on a more fortified and grandiose visage, more breathtaking and visibly intimidating than any previously built. The palace had been constructed separately from the city itself with its hindermost battlements nestled against the face of the Sandrethin Mountains, giving it an impermeable defense of natural design.

  Dividing the capital city from the fortification was a large chasm which dropped into the Bay of Torrin. Spanning those dark waters was a monolithic bridge. Its ramparts were of solid stone and its domed gates were said to be impenetrable.

  Valtor had no doubt the old Wizard Order had played a primary role in the construction of the new palace, probably sometime during the end of the Second Age, prior to the uprising of the Great Purge.

  He shivered at the thought.

  His deliberations were cut short when the all-too-familiar smell of rot and mildew brought his mind out of its not-so-pleasant wanderings. Striding across a small landing, he moved toward the center stairwell on the opposite side and continued downward. There were torches lining the stone walls of the lower passageways. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of human cries. Valtor released his hold on the sphere and watched as it faded into nothingness.

  Salty moisture saturated the air the deeper he went. The rear tunnels flooded periodically throughout the day as the tide came in, leaving a constant state of impermeable dampness within the lower reaches.

  “Curse these infernal rats!” Sidestepping another of the hairy vermin, he sent out another lick of flame, narrowly missing the rodent as it scurried into the safety of a nearby hole. Up ahead, Valtor could see the end of the winding passage. His feet and legs nearly cried out for joy as he reached the main level and stopped.

  Sparing a glance at the winding staircase behind him, Valtor’s fingers tightened around his wolf-head staff. He knew he would eventually have to climb his way back to the top, unless of course he decided to take one of the boats docked in the channels further down. But that would mean having to be rowed all the way back out and around to the entrance of the bay, and from there rent a carriage back up to the palace. He didn’t care for the wasted time or coin. Releasing a heavy frustrated breath, he limped his way forward, the silver tip of his black staff clicking as he entered the chamber.

  Other than where he had entered, only one other passageway led from the open lobby. It was positioned on the opposing wall. Two white-clad guards stood sentinel on either side of its archway. Against the right wall there were three adjoining tables, each surrounded by black-robed members of the Legate. Much like their duties in the White Tower, the Legate were assigned to collect information on the subjects of his experimentation.

  The robed figures bowed upon his approach.

  “How is our collection coming?”

  “Splendid, Your Grace. A new shipment w
as boated in last night.”

  Valtor couldn’t remember the man’s name—not that it was important—but he did strive to make his laborers feel personally included. “Excellent news, Legate.”

  The man motioned him toward the open doorway leading into the lower dungeons. Valtor had converted these lower vaults for his own personal use years ago. He found that the screams emanating from his subjects were completely veiled from anyone above, allowing him the rare opportunity to work as long and as hard as he wanted without the threat of being caught.

  They left the Legates’ collection chamber and headed down another flight of stairs toward the lower holding areas. The stench was strong. Valtor enjoyed watching as new recruits were stationed to this posting. Most spent the first week over a bucket while the remainder focused on breathing through the mouth. For Valtor, though, it smelled like fond memories.

  The wails of fear, the demands for release, and the incessant cries for mercy coming from the cages were beginning to weigh heavy on his already stretched nerves, pulling the thread to the point of unraveling. He placed a bony finger against his right temple and pressed, trying to relieve the growing ache.

  The first set of cells he passed was built with an open design, nothing more than mere iron cages. Further in, they were replaced by stone rooms with heavy wooden doors.

  At the end of the long hallway was a large chamber, barred by an enormous iron door that was corroded to the point of discoloration around its outer edges. It was this room that caused not only the prisoners, but the guards as well, to tremble with fear.