The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  Ayrion felt sorry for her and Po. He was glad Reevie had managed not to get sucked into their world. He wished there was some way to help get them out of the clans and into an honest profession. He could probably find work at the palace for them, but he had serious reservation as to whether any of them would accept. The thought of Kira waiting tables and turning down bed sheets was more than a little humorous.

  “What are you smiling at? You think what I said was funny?”

  “No, I was just . . . thinking.”

  “Well, quit it! The last time you went to thinking, I ended up bound by my own shackles in front of my men, and Po ended up naked in my bed.” She scrunched her nose. “Not exactly the outcome I had envisioned. Even if you did manage to put a stop to that traitorous son of a faerie, Kerson, it still doesn’t negate the fact that you and thinking just don’t belong in the same room together.”

  He smiled. She hadn’t changed a bit, still clinging to that fiery temper and loose tongue.

  “There you go again with your smiling. Every time you do it, it makes me want to either slap or kiss you.”

  “Sorry.” He wiped it from his face as best he could and steered the subject back onto its proper course. The last thing he needed right now was to be sidetracked by the thought of her kissing him. “The king agreed to help. He’s willing to send in a company of lancers, along with a contingent of the city patrol, to work with the clans in flushing out whoever, or whatever, is behind this. From what he told me, the disappearances have spread outside the Warrens and into the main city.”

  Kira hesitated. “That’s news to me.”

  “So, if you can get the clan heads to agree to work with us we might be able to make something happen. At the very least, the extra armsmen on patrol should give these malefactors cause to slow their actions for the time being.”

  Kira stared at her little belt dagger as she continued to spin it around her knuckles. “I think I can do that. I’ll hold a meeting of the heads to discuss the possibility.” She cast a sideways glance. “How will I be able to get back in touch with you?”

  He thought about it for a moment then pulled his High Guard ring from his finger, the one given to him on his induction into the king’s service. The silver ring had a smooth black stone bearing the High Guard symbol of a white falcon. “Here, use this. After you meet with the clans, get this ring to Loren. He’s one of the royal hostlers, and a friend. He’ll be able to get it to me.”

  She took the ring and turned it over with her fingers and then glanced at his other hand and smiled. “Not that ring?”

  Ayrion lifted his right hand and stared at the plain, black onyx ring. It had tribal markings from his former Upakan family etched in white around the center of the band. His father had given it to him on the day Ayrion had been banished from his home. He told him it would always be there to remind him of who he was.

  He grunted at her.

  “So touchy. You act as though you’re afraid I might steal it or something.” She twirled her fingers through her black hair and batted her lashes.

  “Imagine that. Since it was you who stole it from me the first day I stepped foot in Aramoor. If memory serves me, you left me lying in a puddle of rainwater, half-naked and waiting to die.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a sour puss. At least we left you your small-clothes,” she said with a wink, “which is more than what you left me, if I remember correctly.”

  Ayrion half-choked. “Yes, well, water under the bridge.”

  Kira unbuttoned the top of her leather jacket and tucked his High Guard ring into her brassiere with a shameless smirk. After twitching back and forth to make sure it wasn’t going to fall back out, she scooted across the seat and leaned in his direction. Blazes! I knew this was coming.

  Without thinking, Ayrion reached out and grabbed her shoulders. They were strong, much stronger than he would have imagined. They were certainly not the shoulders of a genteel woman, but of a woman who had struggled and fought every day of her life for the chance to continue living. Instead of pulling her to him, though, he pushed her away. The shock on her face mirrored his own as he cleared his throat. “I’m with someone, Kira.”

  She grinned. “Not right now you’re not.”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Be that as it may, and as much as I might like to, it’s wrong. I care about Amarysia too much to hurt her like that.”

  “She wouldn’t have to know.”

  “I would know.” He stood from his seat and took a step back, trying to prove he had the fortitude not to give in to temptation. She remained where she was. “Maybe if circumstances had been different—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He knew she understood. “I’ll be waiting for that ring.”

  When she didn’t respond, he turned and started to walk away.

  “She’s a lucky woman.” Ayrion stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Kira was now standing beside the bench. “Faithfulness is a rare virtue these days.” She turned and started back toward the open street, but stopped when she heard Ayrion call after her.

  “If you want our help, be sure to meet with the clans soon. The king is preparing a declaration of war against Cylmar. We will be heading to the border as early as the end of next week. Arrangements are already underway.”

  “War?” She looked tense. “I take it you’ll be going?”

  “Of course. Where the king goes, I go.”

  “You better bring yourself back.”

  “Why, Kira . . .” Ayrion looked aghast. “That almost sounded like you care.”

  “I don’t,” she said with a smirk. “But I just gave you my best ring.”

  Ayrion shook his head as he watched her disappear back into the night.

  Chapter 55 | Ferrin

  THE SCARS, welts, and scabs across Ferrin’s body were beginning to add up.

  Even with Rae’s healing abilities, he had still managed to collect a healthy number of leftover blemishes that marked the areas of his body where the inquisitor’s tools of trade had roamed.

  As the days passed, Ferrin and Azriel continued planning his escape. He had tracked the guard’s rotations—how many there were and how often they cycled. He had memorized as much of the White Tower’s layout as he was given access to, which wasn’t much, but included a few of the tunnels, the stairwells, and all corridors coinciding with his movements to and from the Hall of Inquisition, as well as any direct routes leading to a potential exit point.

  His transportation to and from the Inquisition, however, wasn’t exactly expansive. It wasn’t as though his captors were going to give him the guided tour. Ferrin figured he was going to need to persuade one of them eventually, in the gentlest of fashions, to show him out.

  He could be quite persuasive when he needed to be.

  Ferrin had prodded the guards in between his travels to and from the chambers below, attempting to glean whatever information he could concerning their numbers within the Tower, as well as where the food stores were kept, the closest exits, the inquisitor’s sleeping chambers, where they kept Rae and how often she was allowed free time. It was amazing how much information one can accumulate through the simple art of sarcastic banter.

  When you feel you have total control over those around you and no reason to ever believe otherwise, you tend to be a bit more careless with your actions. No one had ever escaped the White Tower. It was a record that easily justified the willingness for some of the guards to be a bit more forthcoming than they should have been concerning their duties, a failing for which Ferrin was more than happy to take advantage. So, as the days pressed on, he continued his gentle acquisitions.

  He discussed multiple scenarios with Azriel, as they had little else to occupy their time but to lay there and moan about the miserable state in which they found themselves. They conferred for hours about the routes he could take, the optimal times of day or night to breach the outer walls with the least visibility, what supplies he would need, where he might find them, and what transporta
tion was available.

  Thankfully, Ferrin had spent many of his summers working with some of the local woodsmen in Rhowynn and was capable of living off the land if needed; however, he also knew traveling through the middle of the Razor’s Spine would leave him with limited options for foraging. Mountain conies and tusca roots would probably be the extent of his fine dining, though it would be a far cry better than the fetid gruel and maggoty bread he was getting at present. It would be slim, but at this point, what did he have to lose? The longer he bounced his ideas off the old seer the more excited he became. This just might work!

  Everything hinged on a single element: he had to find a way to get his hands on a transferal, which made Rae his one and only hope.

  Ferrin woke to the sound of Azriel groaning in his sleep. Turning over to see if the old man had twisted himself up in his chains during the night, as was his common practice, he crawled over to check on his cellmate. Ferrin had just reached out to shake the man’s shoulder when Azriel lurched forward, startling Ferrin enough to cause him to stumble back and land on his backside.

  The old man’s eyes were open and he seemed to be in some kind of trance. Both eyes had gone white and he was babbling incoherently. Ferrin could only guess he was having a vision. It was the first time he had seen one, or at least the side effects. He had to admit the glowing white eyes were quite the impressive sight.

  Not exactly sure what he needed to do, Ferrin kept his distance and watched. Pretty soon Azriel stopped mumbling. He blinked a few times, coughed, and then glanced around the room as if not quite sure where he was. When his eyes lighted on Ferrin, recognition gave way to a mournful sigh. His irises had returned to their normal emerald-green. “What are you looking at, my boy?”

  Ferrin tried explaining what he had just witnessed. Azriel merely smiled. “You are correct. I did have a vision.”

  Ferrin reclined on his haunches and waited for the old seer to continue. When nothing else came, Ferrin grew impatient. “Well?”

  Azriel’s brow rose. “Well what?”

  “Well, are you going to tell me about the vision or are you going to keep it to yourself?”

  Azriel studied Ferrin for a moment. “It wasn’t clear. Actually, the images couldn’t have been more confusing had they come from a drunken Tonga troll.” Ferrin tried picturing one of the mythical greenish beasts with a barrel of stout ale in its hand and then gave up. “I will say this, though. Your time here is coming to an end, one way or another.”

  Ferrin’s heart pounded in his chest. “So are you saying I’m going to manage an escape?”

  “I’m saying you’d better try, and soon.”

  Ferrin could feel his body deflating. What did that mean? Were they going to be sending him for purging? He had to find a way to convince Rae to part with her transferal. But after their last rather passionate and very awkward meeting, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it.

  “Oh, and whatever you do, don’t antagonize him.”

  “Antagonize who?”

  The lock on the door snapped open and the latch pulled back.

  “You’ll see,” Azriel said, offering Ferrin one of his uncomforting smiles.

  Ferrin rolled his eyes. Crazy old sot.

  Unlike his previous transportation to the torture chambers below, today, the Black Watch ushered him down a different route. Scanning every new chamber, hall, and passageway, Ferrin worked to memorize their movements, repeating to himself the succession of doorways they maneuvered through, as well as any noticeable architecture or adornments which might help later in his recognition of the place.

  Unfortunately, if you had seen one hallway in the White Tower, you had seen them all. The extent of the open décor consisted of rusty torch rings, thin arrow-slit windows, and the occasional rat which scurried from one cell to the next, nibbling on its occupants as it went.

  He had hoped to find something useful to aid in his escape—a supply room for food, blankets or weapons, a passageway leading toward the outer walls, or any sign of people coming and going. Alas, no such luck.

  The air around him grew stale, more so than was normal for this deep within the Tower. The sound of his boots on the cold stone echoed off the walls as they continued to circle their way further into the bowels. He had never been this far down before.

  Gradually, the air started to warm, his teeth quit their random chattering and the chill bumps along his arms managed to recede. The torches on the walls, which had at first grown farther apart, now stopped altogether. The darkness left him with the eerie feeling that wherever they were going, any foreknowledge of the situation would have left him begging to be taken back to the Hall of Inquisition, strapped to a rack, and left to enjoy the tender touches of his pasty tormentor.

  The flickering light from the handheld torch at the front of the procession revealed walls and ceiling not of stone, but of compact earth and rock. There were small roots poking their way out of the packed crevices. The smell of the rich soil, encircling the tomb in which they walked, left him feeling a bit homesick. He closed his eyes for a moment and envisioned a warm summer day spent wandering the forests that bordered the western edge of Rhowynn: the birds in song, the cool breeze sweeping off the Northern Heights, the soft pine needles rustling under foot.

  Taking a deep breath, he was jolted back into reality as the sharp pain of a stubbed toe tore through his right foot. Biting down and taking a few hops on the other leg, Ferrin waited for it to ease. It was nothing compared to the agony of what he was used to, but then again, pain was pain. With his footwear practically falling off from misuse, he could hardly afford to destroy them any further.

  Just ahead, a soft light gave clear indication that they were coming to an end of the tunnel network. Stepping out from the confined space of the rocky outcropping, Ferrin’s jaw dropped in wonder. He was standing on the far side of a stone edifice that bridged a vast chasm. Leaning over one side, he gaped at the river of molten lava far below.

  From this height, the blazing liquid appeared to be nothing more than a simple string of light rambling its way through the cavernous fissures. It didn’t take much to realize they had tunneled their way into the Razor’s Spine and were now somewhere deep within the mountain’s core.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Ferrin shifted his gaze as Nostrils took a hesitant step closer and peered over with him.

  “It is,” Ferrin admitted.

  Rays of bluish-green light washed across the bridge, giving its passengers a clear guide for their footsteps. Tilting his head, Ferrin found the source of the extraordinary light: large crystal formations that seemed to be growing straight out of the rock’s crevices. Amazingly enough, each one produced a form of iridescence in a place otherwise devoid of all natural light. Incredible.

  The walkway was massive. Ferrin couldn’t imagine the work and planning involved in creating something on this scale. It had obviously been built during a past age. Most likely during the time of the first Wizard Order.

  At the far end of the bridge stood an impressive bulwark, carved straight out of the mountain itself. Barring its passage was a gated structure with pillars and arches towering far overhead. Nostrils came to a halt in front of two enormous gilded doors. Their gold plating sparkled fiercely in the light of his torch.

  Each door was engraved with scenes from someone’s worst nightmares—twisted creatures of inhuman shape around a circle of marked stones. At the center of the stone rose a leafless tree, and in front of the tree, two men. One was bound hand and foot by the tree’s branches, his head tilted back and mouth split wide as if screaming in great pain. The second was hooded, with a large book held open in one hand. With the other, they appeared to be pulling the first man’s soul straight out of his mouth.

  Ferrin shivered.

  The next image on the door was an obvious extension of the first as it displayed the bound man, now lying motionless underneath the overhanging limbs, while the other, standing over top, looked to be stuffing
the soul inside his own mouth. Directly behind the stone ring lay a body of water which churned with shadowy forms bursting from its depths.

  Ferrin shivered again. Could this get any more disturbing? He didn’t want to find out.

  The second door, and the depictions engraved there, were just as dark as the first. The bare tree was surrounded by the same ring of stone; however, this time there were twelve robed individuals encircling the inside of the ring, with a thirteenth at the center. An altar had been erected, which held a lifeless body. The robed figure at the center seemed to be beckoning one of the shadowy forms from the dark pool to enter the prostrate corpse. The dead body, as best as Ferrin could make out, looked to be reanimating. What in the name of all that’s holy is going on down here?

  Both doors were bordered with inlaid blocks of gold, each block inscribed with a unique glyph or symbol, the likes of which Ferrin had never seen before, and hoped never to see again. “What is this place?”

  Nostrils turned to look Ferrin in the eyes. “This is the Chamber of Purging.”

  The hesitation of the guards in opening the double doors spoke volumes about what he was going to find within. Instead of handles and latches, each door had a large, gold-plated ring. Four members of the watch stepped forward and, joining six others, grabbed hold of one of the rings, planted their feet, and pulled. The door parted and a flood of amber light shone through. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark underground passageways they had previously traversed. He did note, however, the lack of noise coming from the six great hinges holding each door squarely to its frame.

  The chamber, much like the Hall of Inquisition, was cavernous. Glancing upward, the ceiling, if there was one, was lost in darkness. There were lime-formations scattered about the open space, pointing downward from the dark shadows above, as well as upward from the solid rock below. Like the teeth of a great beast, with the doorway for its maw, they gave warning to their helpless victims and bid them enter at their own peril. Ferrin could only speculate as to how they had managed to find this cavern so far underground. Then again, he could feel the answer to his question. This place was dripping with magic.