Near the center of the room, at least the part visible to the naked eye, lay the ring of stones depicted on the outside of the two doors. Behind the stones and surrounding the back side of the enclave was a large reservoir of dark liquid. Its placid surface gave no reflection to the light of the surrounding torches. It had all the appearance of tar.
Resting inside the pavilion was something more disturbing than the rest: an enormous tree, its limbs spread forth as if beckoning for all to come and take shade under her branches. Something about it made Ferrin’s skin crawl.
Walking along the outer rim of the stones were two men. Ferrin recognized the bloody robes of his pale tattooed-face inquisitor instantly, but the other man he did not recognize. The stranger was a good head taller than Cheeks, and even through his thick scarlet robes, Ferrin could tell the man was quite thin. His dark sunken eyes fit right in with his long angular face. The tall figure turned and looked Ferrin over before continuing his conversation with the inquisitor.
Cheeks promptly bowed, and with such deference that had he bent any further, it would have required two men to lift him back up. Ferrin lowered his head and coughed, trying to hide the chuckle that wanted so desperately to break free. Kind of nice to see him groveling for a change.
The inquisitor turned and waddled to where Ferrin stood. One of the guards had a tight hold on the shackles holding Ferrin’s hands behind him. “If I were you, my dear smith, I would wipe that grin from my face and listen very carefully to what the Arch Chancellor has to say. They could well be the last words you’ll ever hear.” Straightening his shoulders, Cheeks moved on. The guards followed, pushing the doors closed behind them.
Glancing around, Ferrin realized they were alone.
“Ferrin, isn’t it?” The robed figure raised a hand in his direction. “You won’t be needing those.” His cuffs snapped open and fell from his wrists, clanging loudly on the rock below and sent a reverberating echo in all directions. Well, that answers the questions about the chancellor’s wielding capabilities.
Stretching his stiff lower back, Ferrin massaged his tender wrists, attempting to work the circulation back into them. “Forgive me,” the man said, taking a couple of steps forward. “Where are my manners?” He laid an open hand to his chest. “My name is Valtor. I’m the Arch Chancellor of the White Tower.” He stretched out his arm and pointed directly at Ferrin. “And I need your help.”
Ferrin was stunned. Not exactly the direction he had pictured this going. Ferrin, as always, finding himself completely unable to refrain from opening his mouth, did so. “And why for the love of Aldor would I ever want to help you or your Tower with anything?” Too proud to back down now, he maintained his hard glare at Valtor.
The chancellor grinned. The mitre on his head, much like a crown, held steady as he moved. “I was told you were one to speak your mind.” He rubbed the tips of his thin fingers together. “Good. I don’t care to mince words either.”
Ferrin remained silent, but was poised to run or attack if he felt the need arise. Not that he figured he would get very far with either approach. The chancellor was obviously a man who had little doubt of his own capabilities and had no fear of what Ferrin might attempt to do.
“I would like to tell you a story, Ferrin, if I may.” Not like I have a choice. “It’s about a little boy who was born . . . Well, different from everyone around him. He could do things no one else could do, and because of this difference, he was hated and shunned by not only other children his age, but by his own family. Those who had promised to love him and protect him wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.”
Ferrin’s brow tightened. This story sounds all too familiar.
“Do you know why they did this?” Valtor asked. Fear, Ferrin surmised. “Fear,” the chancellor said, echoing Ferrin’s thoughts. “They were afraid of what he could do, yet at the same time, were jealous of his gifts.” Valtor’s face had long since lost its smile and was now twisting into something more like scorn. “They secretly wanted the power he had. The little boy didn’t understand what was going on or why they were treating him the way they were, but helpless as he was, he tried his best to fit in, and in doing so, forced himself to contain his abilities. He locked them away in a dark place deep inside, never to be let out again.
“However, as with all magic, the boy soon discovered it was impossible to contain who he was. His determination to restrain his abilities couldn’t have been any more useless than if he had decided to stop breathing.”
Ferrin’s shoulders slumped under the weight of what he was hearing. Having to relive his worst memories was tougher than an hour under Cheeks’ knife, quite possibly even the wiggler.
“And so, one night, he found himself awoken to the sound of familiar whispers and a large sack being shoved over his head. They stuffed his entire body inside the sack and carried him to the river. He could hear the voice of his father trying to console his mother as she cried. He could also hear his two older brothers laughing as they followed nearby. He didn’t understand what was going on. He thought it was some sort of game, until the arms that were previously carrying him disappeared, and he plummeted from the bridge into the icy waters below.”
Ferrin’s face reddened. He knew all too well the pain of having those dearest discard you like a piece of worn-out cloth.
Valtor lifted his head. “I was that little boy.”
A heavy blanket of silence enclosed the cavern as the chancellor studied Ferrin’s face, obviously hoping to have connected in some way.
“Wow!” Ferrin scoffed. “You had me going there for a moment, what with that whole little-boy-hated-by-his-family routine. Playing on my childhood experiences in order to gain sympathy? Bravo,” he said, clapping his hands together, “masterful performance.”
The muscles in Valtor’s face tightened as Ferrin continued, “Now if you have any aspirations of me believing a single piece of that rubbish you just touted as the truth, then I’ve only one question.” Valtor sneered but eventually nodded. Ferrin took a deep breath and tried to calm the rage inside, but with little success. “Why in the Defiler’s name are you hunting down, torturing, and murdering the very people you should be protecting?”
The smile slid back across the chancellor’s face like a snake through tall grass, attempting to catch its prey unaware. “Because, my oh-so unobservant friend, there is a war coming, a confrontation which has been building for centuries—a battle between the ven’ae and the jun’ri, those with magic and those without. It will be a battle the likes of which we have not seen since the time of the Great Purge, and I will do everything in my power to see our side victorious.”
Pacing back and forth, the chancellor continued. “The White Tower was built by the great wizard Aerodyne and his followers near the middle of the Second Age after the Faerie Wars. However, it was repurposed after the Great Wizard Wars had demolished the wielder population. It was reestablished under the authority of the jun’ri, or as we call them, the ungifted. It was used for the purpose of separating wielders from their magic, forcing them to relinquish the one piece of themselves that defines who they are.
“During those earlier years, thousands of our kind were butchered for nothing more than being different. Wielders were used as a show of entertainment for royalty. We became the sport of the jun’ri kings. They had special arenas made where they would pit one against another. They would organize great hunts, where instead of chasing stag or boar or bear, they would chase wielders and then mount their heads as trophies.” Ferrin’s stomach turned the more he listened. He had no idea it had ever been so bad. But it still didn’t excuse what was happening here.
The chancellor grew more adamant. “The faerie, while they were here, had created a device for collaring ven’ae that cut them off from their source of power.” Valtor seemed to quiver at the thought. “They were called durmas. The collars were forged in ancient magic, something out of the end of the First Age. They were despicable creations, and with th
em—”
“Alright.” Ferrin raised his hand. “I get it. Magic good . . . collars bad. And before you take me down another series of history lessons from two millennia ago, how about explaining to me what you think you are doing here! From where I’m standing, you’re no different from them.” Ferrin counted off his fingers in succession. “You hunt wielders, you imprison them, you torture them, and the Defiler only knows what you do to them down here. How are you any different?”
“What I do, I do for the greater good, not because I want to.”
“The blazes you do! Leaders have been using that excuse to justify their actions since the dawn of man!”
“The difference is,” Valtor said, “I will use what I gain here to fight against our oppressors, and protect future generations from suffering another Great Purge. And if a few of us have to be sacrificed for that to happen . . . then so be it.”
Ferrin sneered. “Then start with yourself, why don’t you?”
Valtor’s smile was repulsive. He tapped the fingertips of one hand against the fingertips of the other in simple progression. “Like all the rest, I am offering you a choice. I have been waiting for a metallurgist for some time to help me create weapons for our armies,” he said, pointing at Ferrin, “and look what providence has dropped in my lap. Not only are you a metal wielder but a sword-smith as well. So here is my proposition.” He raised his left in an outstretched manner. “Help me forge our weapons, or . . .” He raised the other. “Undergo the purging process where we will take your abilities and use them anyway.”
Ferrin studied Valtor’s face. “If you have a way of taking my magic from me, then why are we even having this conversation? I assume there’s more to it than merely killing me and taking what I possess?”
Valtor chuckled. “They said you had a head on your shoulders, and for once they weren’t exaggerating. You are correct. It is one thing to gain another’s powers, but it’s something altogether different when trying to use them. And since you already possess a working knowledge of weaponry, it is in my best interest to keep you whole.” He raised a finger in warning as he passed Ferrin on his way to the entrance. “But make no mistake, whether you cooperate or not, I will have your magic. I suggest you choose wisely. I can’t afford to have wielders giving their services to the other side.”
The chancellor raised his arm and the double doors swung open for his passing. “I will return in a couple of days for your answer,” he called back over his shoulder. “Be sure it’s the right one.”
Ferrin was left standing there in the silence of the empty chasm, listening to the sound of his own thoughts as though they reverberated off the stone around him.
“Azriel was right. I have got to get out of here, and soon!”
Chapter 56 | Ty
TY STIFLED A YAWN.
Breen’s wakeup call came early. Ty wasn’t used to rising before the sun, but after a cold wash and a quick meal of last evening’s leftovers, they packed their gear and made an early start of it.
The sun was just peeking through the trees as they made their way into the outer edges of the Sidaran Forest, hoping to find some clue as to the predator that was killing off the wildlife. Their father had planned to join them, but the council called a meeting to decide what should be done about the witch’s shop. With his presence being expected, he sent Ty and Breen on without him. Ty didn’t much like that decision.
They each carried a strung bow, a quiver of arrows, a long dagger sheathed at the waist, and a boot knife. On their backs were small travel bags with some simple hardtack and a bladder of water each in case they didn’t return until after dark. Breen carried an extra brace of knives inside his overcoat. Ty had declined the knives since he knew he couldn’t hit the broad side of their barn at five paces. For all of his abilities, throwing a knife wasn’t one of them. The last time Breen had attempted working with him, even the horses had had enough good sense to get out of the way.
Ty reached out with his magic and let it drift into the forest ahead, searching for any hint as to what they were looking for. He wasn’t sure what it would feel like, but he had the distinct impression that if it showed up, he’d know it. So far, he felt nothing out of the ordinary.
It was all kinds of exciting in a disturbing and scary sort of way: the White Tower, the Black Watch, melting witches, strange beasts attacking the High King, and now a creature lurking in the surrounding woods. As thrilling as it was, he would have gladly traded it all in for the simple, mundane life he had before.
As the noonday sun warmed the forest around them and their breath was no longer visible, a nagging sensation started to build in the pit of Ty’s stomach and manifested itself in the hairs on both arms. They weren’t alone.
The brothers crossed the East River in a roughhewn dugout boat their father had built for his travels back and forth through the Sidaran woodland. The traveling was slow, but steady, as they made their way against the current. Ty was thankful they weren’t attempting this during the rainy season. The river’s course would have been considerably more difficult to navigate.
They pulled the small boat up onto the other side and Ty took a moment to watch the river as it slowly meandered along, cutting a trail through the thick forest.
Traveling the waterway with Breen had always been one of Ty’s fondest pastimes. They would spend days fishing, swimming, and exploring the vast expanse of its ever flowing body. His father had always said it was one of the great natural beauties of Aldor. The water was cold but clear, right down to the rocky bottom. The overhanging forest on either side maintained a constant shade during the day for the bargemen as they carried their freight up and down its water.
They continued in a northwesterly direction, carefully searching the densely sylvan area between Easthaven and Reed Marsh. At one point, Breen raised his hand and brought them to a quick halt. Ty watched as his brother took a fallen branch and speared something just off the trail. Lifting the stick back into the air and spinning around, Ty found himself face to face with the bone-picked remains of what had once been a large tree rat.
“Look at the markings. What do you see?” Breen held the skeleton for Ty to get a better look.
Ty pinched his nose. “From the smell, I would say fairly recent.”
“Maybe a day or two.”
“But these markings . . .” Ty raised the spinal column with a gloved hand to get a better view. “I don’t recognize.”
Breen nodded. “Good eye. They’re teeth marks,” he said, swinging the end of the branch back his way. His brother took a long look at the skull, which happened to be the largest bone structure on its body, lending him a flatter surface to study. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Breen’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study it. “I don’t even care to speculate.” With a grunt, his brother tossed the branch, along with the remains, back into the brush. “Let’s keep moving.”
By the time lunch rolled around, the smell of death had increased considerably and the number of animal remains had grown in both size and number.
“We need to check in on ol’ Dorbin,” Breen said as he bit off a chunk of dried meat and passed the rest to Ty. Ty took a small bite and passed it back. “His cabin’s not too far from here and I’d feel a whole lot better knowing he was alright.” Breen was always thinking of others. He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature. Ty remembered the day Fraya had bought Breen a wedge of chocolate for his birthday, and before the evening was out, he had made sure everyone in his family had received a piece. Thankfully, Fraya hadn’t been there to see it or she may have put a stop to it before Ty had gotten his.
After taking a quick pull from his water pouch, Ty signaled he was ready. Reaching out with his senses he once again came back empty. He knew there was something out there, he could feel it in his gut, but he couldn’t tell what it was or even where it was. It was as though something was masking it from him. His eyes tightened as he scanned the trees and surrounding foliage. Even more
than the sensation of being watched was the complete and utter silence of the normally thriving habitat.
Twice the brothers came across what appeared to be a feeding ground, the forest floor glistening with a mound of small animal-sized bones. “This doesn’t feel right,” Ty exclaimed, not having meant to give an audible voice to his thoughts.
“I agree.” Breen kept his voice barely above a whisper as he lifted his bow and nocked an arrow. “Not much farther. We should be able to see his place from the top of the ridge.”
Cresting the small rise, their legs froze in place when their eyes fell across the quiet valley below. Ty felt a hand grab hold of his shoulder and jerk him down behind some loose brush. The entire floor of the glen was covered in white bones. Dorbin’s cabin lay at the center, untouched and silent as the grave.
There was a strange clicking sound off in the distance, like a knife puncturing the brittle bark of an old hemlock.
“What could have possibly done this?”
His brother shrugged his large shoulders and whispered, “We need to find out.”
Ty rolled his eyes. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Breen pointed toward the front of the rickety cabin. Ty followed his aim to see what had drawn his attention, and then regretted it. There on the front porch, lying in a fetal position, were the remains of a human carcass. Unlike the rest of the smaller animals, Dorbin had not yet been completely devoured, only from the waist down. Part of his backbone hung below his opened stomach. The rest was obviously being saved for later.
Ty swallowed hard against the growing surge of bile threatening to overwhelm him and quickly reached out to the approaching presence. This time he was met with a response, one solitary thought—Hunger!
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 43