“Sorry, I’ve got to go.” Quickening his steps, Ty abandoned the entire notion of stopping at Reloria’s and was focused solely on making it back to Waddle, and getting home.
“Sorry? Is that all you have to say?”
They finally reached his horse where he promptly untied the reins. “What more do you want?” he asked as he jumped into the saddle. He turned back around to get one last look at the small alley beside the spice shop. “Besides, your friends are waiting for you.”
“Well, a simple conversation would be nice.”
He was a little taken back by her openly expressed desire to talk with him, but after what he had just experienced in that mad shop of horrors around the corner, he had no intention of sticking around for anything else. “Sorry,” he said as he turned Waddle’s head around, “but I have to go.”
“What? Right this very moment?”
Kicking with the heel of his boots, Ty spurred his horse into action and shouted back over his shoulder. “Maybe some other time!”
Ty glanced over his shoulder. He could see Lyessa still standing there on the side of the street with her arms crossed and a look of payback written on her face. He knew she was going to make him regret that sooner or later, but at the moment, he had more important things to worry about, like who was that old woman and why did she seem to know who he was, and why in the name of the Dark One did her hand start dissolving right after touching him? Was it something he had done? Had he somehow invoked his strange blue fire and didn’t notice? He almost felt sorry for having hurt the old lady, but then he remembered the hungry look in her eyes when she had grabbed him and he took it back.
He needed to get home and tell his parents.
Chapter 34 | Mangora
MANGORA HOBBLED AS fast as she could across the rickety wooden planks of her shop and threw open a large double-shelved cabinet. Quickly she began knocking items around, throwing things to the side, not caring in the least whether they were fragile or not. Her hand wrapped around a large pewter vase in the back and after ripping off the top, she sunk her hand into the moist concoction.
She could feel the pain immediately begin to ease as her hand slid further in. She had caught it before the necrotic tissue had eaten its way clear to the bone. Even with the additive of her magic, the pain was intense. Thankfully, she still had enough of the Hedimari loam left from her travels into the Blasted Lands to reverse most of the damage.
She couldn’t believe what had just taken place. They had been looking for the faeling for over sixteen years and here he up and walked right into her shop. She knew there was no such thing as coincidence. She had always said that Nyalis wouldn’t have taken him to Aramoor, that he would have raised him somewhere a bit more secluded, and she had been right.
With her hand still covered in healing mire, Mangora wrapped it with a clean cloth and made her way into the backroom. She shut the door behind her. She wasn’t much worried about future customers.
The backroom lay in darkness, encased in a silence that was not just heard, but felt.
“Voyestra.” A flash of light from a large candle flickered to life, casting shadows across the small wooden table where she sat. The deep red wax of the newly lit candle warmed, slowly releasing its blood-stained drops onto the table below. A singular object lay in front of her: a black crystal.
Her robe lifted and a hooked finger with enflamed knuckles protruded from the folds. She glanced at her ring. It was made of silver hematite, in the shape of a great spider with eight legs that wrapped around the wearer’s finger, but in place of an abdomen was a large bloodstone which glowed red at its core.
“Ocnubian . . . Valtor.” Her harsh voice rang out as the sharp words pierced the silence. The crystal on the table jerked to life, revolving in place. Within moments the spinning was beyond what the human eye could perceive as the crystal rose off the table and liquefied, forming a circular pattern in the air about two feet in diameter. The black substance glimmered as an image sparked into existence. Much like looking through a window, Mangora watched as a tall, gaunt-faced man robed in crimson stood behind a long wooden table surrounded by shelves of archaic objects. He was busy leafing through an old manuscript.
Valtor’s face hardened. He grabbed an identical crystal from a nearby shelf and threw it on the table, then reached for his staff. The bloodstone inside the wolf’s maw pulsed. He aimed the head of the staff toward the crystal.
“Avalda!”
The crystal burst to life. It spread as it rose into the air and bonded with her crystal. The image was now two-way. “What do you want, Mangora?” he barked, laying his staff against the table.
“The boy has been found,” she said with a dry cackle.
“Boy? What boy?”
“The boy,” she emphasized.
The thick brows over his gaunt eyes rose. “Are you sure?”
Mangora raised her bandaged hand. “Very sure.”
She remembered how displeased Aerodyne had been with the news of their failure to capture the faeling the first time. The Dark Wizard had been even more upset once he learned who had taken possession of the child. Thankfully, from within his prison, Aerodyne was incapable of affecting the physical world. If not for that fact, Mangora was sure a swift death would have been a mercy.
She had never known why the Dark Wizard had wanted the strange human-faerie anomaly. If Valtor knew, he never revealed it. Faelings weren’t like other of the ven’ae. They didn’t need incantations or runes to enact spells. They didn’t need transferal crystals to release hidden gifts. And unlike those wielders who possessed innate magic, these faelings were born, not with magic, but of magic, giving them an almost divine-like mastery over its use, capabilities hindered only by their own strength. Mangora could only imagine what they could do with someone like that working with them.
Because of their power, these marked-ones were extremely dangerous and, when found, had been immediately eradicated. Mangora had no idea what dark purpose their master had in store for the young faeling, but she was sure it would be most unpleasant.
Aerodyne had been alive for almost two thousand years. He had been around when the first of the faeries had broken through the barrier that separated their realm from the Realm of Man. He had helped establish the first Wizard Order. He had been there when the faerie creatures had been pushed back to their own realm and the breach sealed. He had fought in the great Faerie Wars, and then in the Wizard Wars that followed. He obviously had insight beyond anything they could comprehend.
“Where is he?” Valtor asked.
“Easthaven.”
“Easthaven?” A small spark of understanding flashed across the chancellor’s face. “Of course, Nyalis wants to keep him close to the forest.” He glanced downward at the sprawl of papers and tomes covering the top of his table. “We should have anticipated this sooner.” He slammed his fist onto the top of the table, spilling ink from a nearby jar and scattering a few of the loose parchments. “Aerodyne will not be pleased at our failure in finding him sooner.” His eyes grew sullen.
“What would you have me do?” She didn’t like it when Valtor lost his temper, he tended to lash out.
The chancellor regained his composure and straightened his robes. “Keep your eyes on him.” He raised his brow. “All your eyes.”
Mangora smiled. “They are already watching. When should I expect you?”
Valtor arched his back and his face grew stern. “I cannot leave. My task is progressing here. By winter’s end, Aramoor will be broken and a new High King established. One who can be easily molded to fit our plans. The seer has foreseen it.”
“And you trust this seer?”
“Of course not.” His smile curled at the ends of his mouth as he tapped his fingertips together. “But, I have very persuasive methods of extracting the truth.” Valtor took a step back. “It will be up to you to bring the boy to me. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Are you questioning my abilities
, Valtor?”
“No, but we have had others try and fail. We cannot afford to act too hastily. It could drive the boy back into hiding, or worse, give cause to alarm Nyalis. I don’t want that timeworn fool of a wizard getting in my way.”
“He’s only one man, Valtor. We can handle him.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Mangora. Those that have, never lived long enough to regret it.”
Mangora grumbled. “Patience is a virtue I have in ample supply, Chancellor, but patience can also be construed as procrastination . . . or worse, defiance. I would prefer not to face the master’s wrath if I were to let the boy escape my grasp when I had the opportunity to do otherwise.” She scooted forward in her seat, letting the age of her face be seen by the light of the candle. Her lips parted to reveal a row of poorly tended incisors. “My pets are always hungry.”
Valtor grimaced. “Do what you must.” He retrieved a few of the scattered documents on his table and righted his ink well. “Do you have those you can trust to help you with this?”
“I have all I will need to get the job done.”
“Then let me know when it’s finished.” He fixed Mangora with a hard glare. “And for all our sakes, you better not fail.” He swiped his hand in front of the image. “Sikreeyo Padorum.” The liquefied crystal reformed and fell back onto the table, rolling gently to a stop.
From beneath her robes, Mangora extended a withered hand. She slid her fingers around the crystal and tucked it safely away within the confines of her robe. She was getting tired of Valtor’s constant belittlement. She was a powerful sorceress in her own right. She might not be his equal, but she deserved more than his not-so-subtle rebukes and contempt.
A clicking noise stirred from behind her seat—fast, repetitive, and growing louder. She raised an outstretched hand to her side as an enormous brown spider stepped out of the shadows and under her grasp. She slid her fingers across its furry back.
“You hear that, Syglara? It seems your children are needed once more.”
Chapter 35 | Valtor
“THAT OLD TURNIP better not muck this up,” Valtor groused.
Stepping back from his table, he grabbed his staff by the wolf’s head and made his way down the open stairwell of his chambers in the White Tower. Its clacking on the stone tile ricocheted off the walls and ceiling as he passed. Waving his hand, the large double doors at the front of the assembly room opened, giving passage to the outer hallway beyond.
The two guards in their pristine white uniforms jumped to attention and stepped aside as he swept by. His course was set—no delays, no deviations, no distractions. Valtor knew what he needed to do. He knew where he must go. His grip on the staff tightened, biting into the palm of his hand as he tried to keep them from shaking.
On through the torch lit passageways he strode. On through the winding stairwells he climbed. Countless doors passed in the dark as his steps directed him to a small corridor off a grand intersection. Raising a hand, he closed his eyes and spoke an incantation to lower the protective wards that guarded the room on the other side. A dark layer of green mist materialized and then lowered into the floor, allowing him passage beyond.
There had been many wards placed throughout the ancient keep, preventing access to all but those with the capability of diffusing such magic. A few of the wards were of Valtor’s making, but many had been conjured centuries ago. Some of them were well beyond his capabilities to master and thus the contents of those rooms remained a mystery, untouched by time. They had been created by wizards of the Second Age, wizards whose power and control over the elements matched those of even the fae themselves.
He had discovered the warding of this particular room in one of the many journals of magic he had secretly confiscated from the libraries at Aramoor. No one had any idea as to the amount of information stored within those shelves. Valtor had been only too willing to put it to good use. Of late the only person bearing any interest at all in the ancient lore was Queen Ellise. He only hoped her affinity for the magic of the Second Age didn’t cause problems for him down the road.
Opening the door, he stepped into the dark room. He waved his hand and the torches resting in their rusted out wall racks burst to life. The outer perimeter of the chamber floor was comprised of the same dust-covered stone as the corridor outside. Its center, however, was covered in white limestone. Around the smooth surface was a circular row of dark red pillars with veins of black marble diverging out from around their massive trunks like branches from a gnarled tree spreading upwards in search of the sun.
Sitting atop the pear-shaped pillars rested thirteen stone-faced gargoyles, each one as haunting as the next—part human, part animal. The Watchers they were called. They too had been warded in case of a breach. If someone were to step within the circle of white with an aura that read of hostility, the stone creatures would come to life and destroy them.
Breaching the white tile had always given Valtor pause. He found himself staring at the immobile statues above, wondering if they too were looking down at him. A couple of times he could have sworn he saw their eyes move. Pushing his qualms aside, he crossed the white stone. There was a platform waiting at its center. Mounting the steps, he made his way to a stone altar at the core of the dais. Each stone bore a unique rune used in the conjuring of what lay on top.
Encased within the top of the altar was a large onyx basin wrapped in intricate gold runes. The reflective black bowl was filled with a silver liquid. The Waters of A’sterith, the journals had named it. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on the basin and its contents, how excited he had been at the prospect of what he was about to do. Stretching out his hands to conjure life into the bowl’s placid state, he whispered, “Iryseth a’ Daomon.”
Stepping back, he lowered his hands and watched as the waters within stirred to life. He knew what was coming. He had seen the figure rise from its depths before. There was no mistaking the Dark Wizard’s presence.
Valtor kept his head bowed. “Lord Aerodyne, I await your command.”
“Why do you summon me?” The dark wizard’s voice filled the chamber. Its resonance alluded to the authority it held. “What failings have you come to report?”
Valtor took three steps back before raising his head to face the Defiler. “My lord, I wish to report that the faeling child has been found.” He lowered his eyes waiting for a response. When none came, he hazarded a quick glance toward the basin where the stationary image of his master stood waiting, buried beneath a silvery shroud. “We have reason to believe we now know the whereabouts of most of the wielder councils as well, my lord.”
“Good. Deal with them appropriately.”
“Of course, my lord. I am also pleased to report our plans for Aramoor and the throne of the High King are also coming to fruition. The crowned prince is more pliable than even I had anticipated. He will be easily controlled.” At least Valtor hoped he would. Dakaran had a way of rearing his head when least expected. “Even now he has initiated talks that could soon lead to the war between Elondria and Cylmar that we have long sought. Both kingdoms will soon be under our governance.”
“Where is the boy?”
“He is in Easthaven of Sidara, my lord. The same place we believe one of these wielder councils now hides.”
“Of course he is.” The room boomed with laughter. The sound was neither joyous nor pleasant. “Nyalis has wisely kept him close. He is of course using these ven’ae to keep the faeling hidden and protected.”
Valtor nodded his agreement. His back, however, was not so inclined. It was beginning to grow weary of the bent posture he had taken. Valtor hoped to see a quick end to this little meeting and soon.
“Nyalis is the last of his kind, a dying breed,” the apparition continued. “In his effort to tend to my prison, he has resigned the opportunity to train another. The line of the Aerodyne Wizards will soon come to an end, and my long desired freedom will be at hand.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Aerodyne lifted his robed arm and pointed directly at Valtor. “I want the faeling alive and unspoiled.” The silver figure shrunk back into the basin once again. “Failure will be dealt with most severely.”
In shock, Valtor fell to his knees as an onslaught of pain exploded through his mind. It was as though someone had reached inside his head and squeezed. He had never felt anything like it before. Dropping his staff to the floor, he raised both hands and pressed them against his skull. His breathing had gone from sporadic, to chaotic, to not at all as he leaned forward and screamed in agony.
And just as quick as it had appeared, the pressure was gone.
His breath came in ragged bursts. Drool dripped freely from his mouth and his face was drenched in sweat. He rubbed his hand across his wet chin and found it was covered in blood. There was a sharp metallic taste in his mouth, and upon quick inspection, he found there was blood seeping from his nose, ears, and even eyes. What did this mean? Aerodyne had never been able to touch the land of the living before. His prison must truly be deteriorating.
For the first time, Valtor felt a moment of doubt, hesitancy in what he was attempting to do. He wondered if maybe his path was leading him in a direction he would soon regret.
Chapter 36 | Nilla
AFTER HEARING ABOUT Ty’s harrowing experience in town with the peculiar shop owner, and how the old woman had somehow recognized her son, Nilla, along with her husband, insisted a council meeting be called to discuss what action should be taken in order to ensure Ty’s safety.
Before the meeting, Nilla decided to stop and check on Saleena to see how the young healer was getting along. The poor woman was holed up in the cellar of the Harbor House with no clear indication of how long she would be forced to remain there, or where she would go once the Black Watch had left Easthaven.
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 28