The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  “You escaped? How did you do it? How did you get around the guards? How did you find a way out? For that matter, how did you get your hands on a transferal?”

  “Alright, slow down. One at a time. This old mind doesn’t run as fast as it used to.” Azriel paused to take a breath. “First of all, I’m a seer. I see things.”

  “What do you mean you see things?”

  Azriel rolled his eyes. “Think, boy. Use your noggin. What did I just tell you? I’m a seer. I see things. I see past things. I see present things. I see future things. Actually, I guess the future things are more like possibilities than actualities, but that’s a whole other topic. We’ll save that for another time.” Azriel looked at Ferrin. “I can see by that glazed-over look in your eyes you have no idea what I’m talking about. Am I right?” Ferrin nodded. “Good. I’d be afraid if you did. You’re not a seer, after all. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me.” Azriel stared at him with a questionable look in his eye. “No, I didn’t think so.

  “As I was saying, I see things, things no one else can see: like when they were going to send only a single guard to escort me to the Chamber of Inquisition, like when he would be startled by a rat on his foot and turn his back to me, like which corridors and stairwells to take and at what times to elude the next guard on watch. I could see it with such clarity, I could have done it with my eyes closed.”

  “Not to state the obvious, but,” Ferrin pointed out, “why are you still here then?”

  “Well, no one’s perfect. Although, I like to think that some of us are a bit closer than others.” He offered Ferrin a quirky sort of smile. “Anyway, once I reached the outside, I figured I was in the clear and didn’t need to keep relying on my inner sight.” Azriel shook his head. “Boy, was that a mistake I lived to regret. I hadn’t made it halfway to the stables when a guard with a sudden bout of indigestion spotted me on his way to the privy. Imagine that,” the old man baulked. “All that work, and I was caught on account of a poorly made minced stew.” Azriel threw his shackled hands in the air. “Now you can’t tell me that wasn’t some kind of higher providence or something. The Creator had a good laugh that day at my expense.”

  Ferrin was astonished. This crazy old man had managed to actually breach the outer walls of the White Tower. No one had ever gotten so far before.

  “Well, my boy, are you going to say something? A moment ago, I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

  “How did you get your hands on a transferal?”

  “Ah, now that’s a good question,” Azriel acknowledged with a raised finger. “And I guess the easiest answer is . . . I didn’t.”

  Now Ferrin was confused. “What do you mean you didn’t?”

  “I mean I didn’t have to. My gift is innate. I don’t need a faerie rock to initiate it.”

  “Faerie rock?”

  “Yes, faerie rock. Those little shards of crystal that give you access to your ability?” Azriel smiled sadly and shook his head when he saw Ferrin’s expression. “Oh, boy,” he grunted and then slapped his forehead. “You mean to tell me you’ve never heard the term faerie crystal before?” Once again, Ferrin had to shake his head no. He was beginning to understand how in-the-dark he truly was. Ferrin had never been one to go for all that deep thinking drivel. He had never cared how the world worked, or what was the purpose to life, or if there was some higher plan or destiny for him. He figured if there was a Creator, he’d just leave it to Him.

  “Where did you think your magic came from? It came from the fae when they busted through to our realm thousands of years ago.” Azriel pursed his lips in thought. “Not exactly sure if that was a blessing or a curse.” He scratched at his thinning scalp. “You got to remember, our world had never seen magic before. To us, it all looked like something from the Divine.” He paused to think. “Which, to be honest, I guess it was, since everything is created by Him.

  “Anyway, some of the early faeries were happy to share their knowledge with us. Others, not so much. Evidently, everything about their realm is based on magic, and the transferals, as we call them, are pieces of their realm brought over to help aid us in our use of magic.”

  “So my gift with metallurgy isn’t me, it’s just a piece of rock?”

  “Well, no, it’s mostly you,” Azriel said, rubbing his hand down his long, disheveled beard. “Once magic had been introduced to our realm, it started to seep into things, living things. We were no exception. Pretty soon we started noticing changes. Much like the fae, there were humans who were being born with special abilities as well—magic rivaling their own. This brought about a conflict which gave rise to the first Wizard Order.

  “Like everything in life, you have good and evil. Many of the faeries were content with keeping the status quo and holding to the peace, but there were some who looked at us as you would a family pet, or a plow horse, and believed they should be able to rule over us, which they did for a while, until the rebellion. And with the help of some of our faerie allies, the Wizard Order drove the rest of them out and resealed the breach.”

  “And how is it you know all of this?”

  Azriel smiled. “I keep my ears open.” Ferrin wondered if there was supposed to be some kind of deeper meaning behind that. “Anyway, what was I talking about?” Azriel scratched the top of his head once again. “Oh right, you asked about your ability as a metallurgist. Let’s see if I can explain this in a way that makes sense.” He took a deep breath as he pondered what to say. Ferrin beat him to the punch

  “How do people know they have magic?”

  Azriel raised his head. “Ah, now that’s a good question, and I guess a good place as any to start. Those born as ven’ae are born with a single gift.” Azriel raised his hand to point in Ferrin’s direction. “You, for example, were born with the ability to manipulate metal ore. But even before you had ever come in contact with a transferal, I bet you could sniff out metal like a basset hound to a fox. Most people have no idea they have magic at first since what they feel is something they’ve had since birth and don’t know any better.

  “Those born with a certain gift are able to sense that gift but not manipulate it. Right now, you can probably tell me where every piece of metal in this room is, the type, consistency, and probably age, but,” he said, raising a finger, “you can’t manipulate it. You could stick a voda in the middle of the Wengoby Desert and they could point out precisely where the water is under the sand, but they couldn’t bring it up.” Azriel’s brow lowered over his eyes. “Does that make sense?”

  Ferrin nodded. “I’ve never had anyone explain it to me before.”

  “Well, not to be too confusing but there are a few individuals, like myself, who were born with what we call innate abilities. We don’t need the use of a transferal for our gifts to work. Our magic is solely self-contained.” Azriel sighed. “Now understand, I’m not saying that my magic is more powerful, it just isn’t hindered by a dependency on the crystals. And before you ask, I have no idea how or why that works.

  “There are also different forms of magic. For example, there are runes and incantations. These are all forms of magic that can be learned—”

  “So, can anyone do magic then?”

  “No. Only those with an aptitude for it. You have a propensity for metallurgy. So, given the right amount of time and study, you could eventually learn other forms and variations of magic as well. The difference though is that those with an aptitude for a certain gift will have a stronger control over that gift than those who merely learn to manipulate it through runes and incantations. For example, you could learn to control fire, but you would never be able to employ it the way a true incidi could with the use of a transferal. Also, I don’t know this for sure, mind you, having never been able to test it myself, but I believe there is a correlation between the amount of power one can wield and the size of the crystal. But, like I said, I don’t know that for sure.

  “Either way, this learning of other magical forms is how wizards
were made in the old days. There were great schools of wizardry where the ven’ae could go to learn, but the Great Purge put an end to them centuries ago.”

  Ferrin didn’t say anything, he just sat in silence absorbing everything he was being told. There was so much he didn’t know. He wondered if his whole attitude of “blissful ignorance” was something that might have been better described as “complete stupidity.” After all, he was here because of these strange gifts. Would it be so bad to understand more about what they were and where they came from?

  “What you ogling at, son? I know I’m not the prettiest thing to look at, but I’m a far sight better than you?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Ferrin shifted his gaze to his lap. He hadn’t realized he had been staring. His thoughts had drifted to the question of why the inquisitors seemed to have singled him out, kept him alive while so many others that had come in with him on the wagon had been taken for purging—at least those who survived the torture. What made him so different? “I was just thinking,” he said finally.

  “Independent thought, hmm.” Azriel’s emerald eyes brightened with sarcasm. “A rather dangerous pastime to be sure. It can lead a man into all kinds of trouble. Take me for example. I thought I should use my gift to help others. Now look at me.” He raised his iron-bound arms into the air. “I’m chained to a dungeon wall with nothing more than a dead rat and you to keep me company. And don’t ask me which is worse.” He coughed out another laugh.

  Ferrin smiled at Azriel’s tenacity. Over the last couple of weeks, he found himself growing rather fond of the old man. Ferrin only hoped he could bear his time in the Tower with as much dignity as this withered old seer had. “If only I could get my hands on one of those crystals.”

  Azriel’s head leaned back against the stone wall, watching him with a gaze intense enough to be staring straight into his soul. “Oh? And what would you do with the crystal if you had it? Unlock my chains? Rip open the door? Storm the castle?” He cackled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you even know where you are?”

  “Where I am? What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I know where I am. I’m locked in the White Tower with nothing but a dead rat and you to keep me company. And I can tell you which is worse.”

  Azriel laughed. “But do you know where in the Tower you are? I’m sure that once you managed to get beyond that door, you have an escape route planned? Of course you know where the guards are, what their rotation is, how many on and off duty, where to find supplies, clothing, and transportation to get you beyond the Pass of Arnon. For that matter, do you even know where the front door is?”

  Ferrin was feeling quite the tail-end of a donkey at this point. He hadn’t given it much thought beyond breaking free of his cell. “Okay, I get your point.” He scratched at his thick red beard. I really do need to start using my head more. Of course he’d never admit that in front of the old man.

  “As I was saying, thinking can lead to trouble, my dear Ferrin. However, if those thoughts are nurtured, cultivated, and well planned, they could lead to great accomplishments. Every amazing achievement man has wrought began as a single idea. Independent thought is what differentiates us from the animals.

  “Unfortunately, our thoughts can be self-centered as well. They can betray us, manipulate us, and turn us away from the Creator’s path. We are covetous creatures, after all. Just remember, every form of evil we find in our world started as a single thought as well.” The old man shook his head. “Listen to me, preaching again. I’m probably the last person who has that right.”

  Ferrin lifted his head. “No, you’re right. There is wisdom in what you say. I’ve always been one to act with little thought to the outcome, as evident by me being here in the first place. Unlike you, I decided to use my gift, not so much for the betterment of others, but for the betterment of myself. I realized that with my ability I could create weapons that were lighter, stronger, and more durable than my competition. My reputation grew, and so did my head. Once I started to see the gold coming in and the recognition from important people for my work, I couldn’t stop.

  “In fact,” he admitted with a slight grunt, “it was my crowning achievement, of being contracted by the High King himself for a pair of swords, that landed me on the Tower’s watch list in the first place.” He shrugged. “And the rest is history. I lost my home, my gold, my business, and will probably lose my life, all because, as you say, I didn’t stop to think.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t make mistakes, my boy. Thankfully the Creator can take our lapses in judgment and use them for something good.”

  Ferrin took a deep breath. “I’ll be honest—”

  “That is a wise choice,” Azriel butted in with a smile. “It’s always good to be honest.”

  Ferrin ignored the old man’s attempt at humor and continued. “Right now I’m having a hard time seeing what that could be.” Ferrin watched the seer’s snowy-white head lower in thought. A moment later, it lifted, a hint of amusement flashing across his childlike eyes.

  “Well, just think, if you hadn’t been so selfish and went and got yourself caught by the Black Watch and imprisoned in this stinking cesspool of refuse only to await a slow and excruciating death, you would never have had the great privilege of meeting me.” Azriel’s smile was so pitifully sincere that Ferrin immediately laughed, which in turn brought on a spell of hilarity from the seer, ending in a fit of coughing, gagging, and eventually hiccups, which in turn brought on even more laughter.

  Ferrin continued chuckling as he rolled over on his back and waited for the guards to bring in their supper. He was daunted by how little he knew about himself, why he was able to do the things he could, why the White Tower was so eager to have his gifts.

  He wondered if it was luck or something else that had landed him in the same cell as this crazy old seer. Either way, he was determined not to waste what time he had. He needed to find out more about why the Tower was so interested in him.

  Chapter 38 | Ayrion

  IT WAS LATE.

  Ayrion took a deep breath and closed the door to the king’s study. It had been a long meeting. But with the troubling events of the past week, he had half-expected the discussions to last clear through the night. As it was, the king wasn’t feeling well and had suggested they resume their talks in the morning. Ayrion, for one, was more than happy to take a break and try to get some rest for what he knew would be another grueling session with Commander Tolin and the High King on the morrow.

  Other than those of the High Guard on night patrol and a few of the night staff working to have things prepared for the following morning, the palace was asleep. Ayrion found the empty halls somewhat refreshing. It allowed him to gather his thoughts regarding the evening’s rigorous deliberations.

  He decided to take a less traveled route back to his chambers. In a place the size of the royal palace, there were plenty of avenues a person could take to get from one destination to another, some less frequented than others, and a few that were untraveled altogether. As one of the former street rats of Aramoor, Ayrion had, at times, found ways of sneaking into the palace to pinch food, clothing, blankets, and on the not-so-rare occasion, an item or two valuable enough to sell at market.

  It was during one of those raids that he had first run into Dakaran. The prince, having no one else his age to play with, had forgone the pleasure of turning Ayrion and his friends—Reevie, Kira, and Po—in to the palace guards to be flogged and imprisoned, and instead had invited them to spend that time rummaging the halls playing various forms of hide and seek. It had been tremendous fun. In the process, Ayrion had learned a great deal about the inner passageways flowing throughout the palace.

  The memories brought a chuckle to his lips. He recalled the first time the queen had found them. He thought for sure they were going to spend the rest of their days locked away in some dark and scary dungeon. Much to his surprise, she had in its place treated them to a banquet,
or at least what seemed like one to a thirteen-year-old boy. Afterward, they were each given a new change of clothes and sent on their way.

  Even to this day, the queen’s disposition had not changed. She was one of the most giving, and forgiving, of women Ayrion had ever known.

  Ayrion came to the end of another quiet hall. The wall sconces in that section of the palace were not as maintained as the more frequently traveled areas. More than a few had burned out, leaving the lonely corridor cut in shadow.

  Turning right, he planned to take one of the east stairwells down to the next floor when he spotted a figure up ahead slipping out of one of the storage rooms. There was a large sack slung over their shoulder. Whoever it was wore a dark cloak with its hood up, hiding the person’s face from Ayrion’s view.

  His suspicion piqued, Ayrion quickly moved against the wall and watched as the figure entered the stairwell on the far end of the passageway. Already planning on taking that route, he quickly followed, making sure to keep to the shadows as he moved down the corridor. What was someone doing back here at this time of night? Whoever it was clearly didn’t want to be seen, and knew the palace well enough to maneuver around the staff.

  Ayrion followed the hooded figure down the stairwell, but instead of getting off at the next floor, they descended all the way to the bottom, which led to an outer passageway behind the kitchens. Up ahead, Ayrion could see the person stop just outside the cook’s entrance and press their ear against the door.

  For a brief moment, Ayrion had the feeling of being a child once again, chasing his friends around the darker recesses of the palace looking for where they had been hiding. He was half-tempted to jump out and holler, “Gotcha!” But as fun as it might be to scare the blazes out of whoever this mysterious person was, he decided to hold back and watch. If this turned out to be something more than one of the cleaning staff helping themselves to a couple extra blankets, then he wanted to let it play out and see if there were any others involved.