The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  He had made it partway down the long passageway when a member of the Black Watch stepped out from the far end. Ferrin dropped to his stomach. He didn’t think the man had seen him. He crawled into a nearby doorway and hoped the guard would pass by without noticing. Trying the handle, he realized it was unlocked. There was no light emanating from the other side so he eased it open. To his surprise, it swung on its hinges with minimal resistance and noise. Closing it behind him, Ferrin waited. With my luck, this is probably his bed chambers and he’s just getting off a two-day shift.

  Holding his breath, Ferrin whispered a silent prayer into the darkness as he anxiously listened to the guard’s approach—the scuffing of the man’s boots on the floor, the clanging of his sword against his hip, even the clapping of his halberd’s butt-end as it struck every third tile. From just outside the door, the noise of the sentry’s passing went abruptly still. Oh great. My luck hasn’t changed a bit. He felt around his pockets for anything he could use as a weapon, but apart from pulling off his raggedy shoes and beating the armed guard to death with them, he had no other resources. Retracting his hand, he pulled out the key. Quickly, he used his magic to shape it into something with a point. At the very least he could use it to puncture the man’s neck.

  He flattened himself against the wall at the far end of the door so as to remain hidden when the guard first opened it. Ferrin waited, his metal pick held at the ready between his thumb and first finger. Time seemed to stretch on forever. He had no idea how long he had been standing there before he heard the guard continue on down the hall.

  Ferrin released the breath he’d been holding. Not wanting to waste time, he quickly made his way around the room, hands held out in front of him as he tried to determine where he was and if there was anything of value worth pilfering. As luck would have it, there was.

  Ferrin guessed the room was some sort of office for one or more of the inquisitors. He had knocked over a chair, banged his knee on a desk, and tripped over a small trunk, allowing him to test the cleanliness of the stone floor with the side of his face before finding a large cabinet near the back of the room which held a few odds and ends along with, most importantly, a large shoulder pack. Running his fingers over each object, he determined which to leave and which to stuff into his new satchel.

  After bagging everything he felt would be worth salvaging, he took the time to listen for the shuffling of feet in the corridor beyond before sliding back the door and stepping into the empty entranceway. He pulled back the latch and the door clicked into place. Ferrin hoped no one would notice the missing items until he was safely out of the Tower and well on his way to freedom.

  His stride increased with each new step. Time was running short. He needed to get to the other side of the long hallway before any other unexpected guests arrived. Ferrin glanced down at the bag bouncing in time to his footfalls and smiled. Maybe my luck is finally starting to turn.

  The scraping noise of a latch being pulled from the opposite end of the hall spun Ferrin around. “And then again, maybe not.” He sprinted for the open stairwell ahead. Practically diving onto the hard steps, he passed into the shadows beyond before the two guardsmen stepped into view. He clutched his stolen goods to his chest to keep them from banging on the stone.

  Ferrin took a moment to wipe the sheen of nervous sweat from his forehead as well as rub the corner of his knee where it had smashed on the second step. He crept his way down the remaining steps, pleading in the most reverent fashion that there was no one on their way up. To his relief, the stairwell was empty.

  The landing opened into a circular vestibule with multiple corridors on every side. He replayed the route in his mind from what he had pieced together in his many conversations with the Tower guards.

  The entry arches all looked the same. His eyes scanned the passageways on the right side. “Third corridor on the right . . . Fourth door on the left,” he said before heading in the general direction of where he had been looking. Hugging the walls as he made his way around the room, he angled down the third archway and counted off the doors. “One, two, three, and here we go, four . . . pantry storage.” At least I hope it is.

  To his surprise, the door was unlocked and the room already lit by a bracketed torch. He pushed the door behind him and dropped back the latch. Well, that’s convenient. Scanning the room, it didn’t take long to realize that he had somehow either forgotten how to count to four, or had managed to mix up some of the details of the information he had gleaned from his captors. There was no food in sight; however, there were blankets, linens, and pillows aplenty.

  Ferrin dug through the heavy blankets and stuffed three of the most durable inside his pouch. While leaning over to extract a small coil of twine, he heard the latch on the door behind him flip open. His back was to the door, leaving nowhere to hide. He was trapped. Ferrin could feel his pulse racing from the sudden pounding in his ears. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped the small metal poker between the fingers of his right hand.

  “Who are you?” the guard demanded.

  What am I going to do? I can’t run. I can’t hide. If I turn around, he’s going to recognize me. Actually, he mused, that might be a good thing. Ferrin turned. Thankfully, there was only the one guard, but who knew how long until more showed up. “I’m Ferrin,” he answered, with about as much confidence as a blind soldier on a battlefield. “I was told to take these to the inquisitor’s quarters, extra blankets for the cold.” He watched the man’s eyes as they studied Ferrin’s face. He also happened to notice the guard’s hand was gripping the hilt of his sword, which for the moment, thankfully, was still sheathed at his waist.

  “Look,” Ferrin said, “they’re going to be pretty upset if I don’t deliver them. And trust me, coming from someone who knows what they’re like when they’re angry—” He lifted the bottom of his ripped tunic, revealing the half-healed lacerations across his waistline. “—you don’t want to get them upset.”

  He moved to step around the guard and head back in the direction he had come when the man’s hand reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Wait.” Ferrin didn’t move. His hand was still clutching the small piece of metal in his right trouser pocket. He slowly lifted it out. “Better take a few more just in case.” The guard stepped into the room and hefted a couple more blankets from one of the bottom shelves and tucked them under Ferrin’s arm.

  Ferrin smiled. “You have a point. Better safe than sorry, I guess.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you.” Moving through the open doorway and into the dim hallway beyond, he retraced his steps to the main chamber. Taking the adjacent archway, he continued on. No more stops for him, he decided. He had tempted fate one too many times this evening. He needed to find Rae and her daughter, and get out of there.

  Chapter 78 | Ferrin

  FERRIN TWISTED THE makeshift key he had created inside the compact lock of the heavy iron door. The mechanism snapped into place and the door swung open. He glanced around before stepping into the torch lit stairwell that led to the Hall of Inquisition below. A twinge of both fear and excitement washed over him. To think, this could be the last time he would ever have to set foot through this door again, the last time to ever descend these stairs, the last time to ever set eyes on the torture chambers below.

  The feeling was invigorating.

  He put his weight behind the large iron door to force it the rest of the way open. Once on the other side, he strained to push it closed. He didn’t bother locking it. He wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, and he wanted the door to be easily accessible in case he was in need of a rapid withdrawal.

  The stairwell ended in a small corridor. He could see the Chamber of Inquisition ahead. Stopping just inside the mouth of the passageway, Ferrin took a moment to look around. The chamber was empty. The three desks in the center where the Legate performed their menial tasks were neatly aligned, papers stacked on all corners and chairs carefully tucked underneath.

  Assuming everyone had tur
ned in for the night and the inquisitors were not holding any last minute sessions, Ferrin proceeded around the outer edge. He worked his way toward the far wall which held a passage leading back toward the inquisitor’s personal sleeping quarters and hopefully Rae.

  Halfway around the circular chamber, an unexpected scream brought him to an immediate halt. The agonizing echoes from the lingering cry reverberated off the vaulted walls. His eyes darted about, settling on a single door on the right side of the room.

  He hadn’t noticed it until now, but it was the only room whose door was completely shut. From where he was standing, he could just make out a faint trace of light seeping from underneath the bottom. He heard another scream.

  He felt a roiling maelstrom inside his chest at the recognition of the voice. Not worrying too much about making noise himself, considering the amount being generated already, he raced across the atrium and tried his best to peer through the keyhole. The light was too dim to see properly. He had two options. He could walk away now, leaving Rae and her daughter to their own fate and make his escape, or he could open the door. He wasn’t even sure if it was really her in there. It could just be some other poor soul one of the inquisitors was taking a fancy to.

  Ferrin knew deep down he would never be able to just walk away. He would never be able to live with himself if he did. So that left only one option. His hands were already sweating as he hefted back on the latch and slid open the door. For the first time, and with just a little magical help, it didn’t squeal.

  Not hearing the door open over the din of his beloved torturing, the large inquisitor walked over to his table of tools, giving Ferrin a clear view of the rack.

  Rae was fastened, spread eagle, across the thin metal bars. It had been raised into an upright position. The front of her shirt had been ripped open and blood was pouring from the deep slashes running down her chest and stomach. Tears rolled down both cheeks as she cried in pain. Ferrin’s eyes burned at the sight of her. His breath caught in his throat. He could feel the fire of his magic rising within him, his rage pulling it forth.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught some movement. There was a little girl curled into a ball off to the side, whimpering in fear as she rocked back and forth against the stone wall. She must be Rae’s daughter.

  Turning around, the little healer’s eyes locked on his. They screamed his name. It wasn’t repulsion that he saw reflected there. It was desperation.

  “You were supposed to get close to him so you could find a way to persuade him to join with us,” Cheeks said, walking back over to the front of the rack, “not so you could join him.” The inquisitor slapped her face with an open palm. “Did you give yourself to him? Is that how he got into your little head, huh? Did you enjoy it?” She merely closed her eyes as he slapped her again.

  “Where is that transferal, Rae?” The inquisitor’s tone rested somewhere between rage and fear. It was a side of Cheeks that Ferrin had not seen before. The pale-faced sadist brandished a large knife and wiped the side of it threateningly across the soft skin of her neck.

  Ferrin took a few quiet steps further in and to the right, to get a better view of what was happening. Seeing her in this condition took every ounce of strength Ferrin had to force himself to wait just a little longer before acting, in case the inquisitor let slip something important about why they truly wanted him.

  “And don’t tell me you lost it,” Cheeks said as he slid the flat end of the blade down her chest and across her stomach. “We both know you did no such thing. Don’t make me cut you again.”

  He rubbed his finger across her abdomen, wiping some of the blood that had collected at her navel before placing it to his outstretched tongue. “I would hate to see something so beautiful ruined for life, but if you aren’t going to answer me, I’m going to be forced to do something I don’t want to do. I’m going to have to use Suri.”

  “No!” she screamed, her body straining under her shackles.

  “Did you give it to the smith? I just sent a contingent of guards to check on him.”

  Ferrin almost coughed. He must have just missed them on his way down. Talk about a lucky coincidence. An image of Azriel popped into mind and then he wondered if luck had anything to do with it or not. Unfortunately, that also meant his escape was about to be discovered.

  “If I find you did give it to him, I’m going to toss you and Suri to the men outside and let them enjoy your company tonight.”

  “No, please.”

  “Then tell me who has the transferal!”

  Ferrin couldn’t take it any longer. “I do.”

  Cheeks nearly fell off the back of the rack’s platform at the sound of Ferrin’s voice behind him. He reached out and grabbed hold of the hoist wheel to keep from tipping over completely.

  Ferrin turned and lifted his hand toward the door. He used his magic to extend the door’s latch, locking it into place. Cheeks twisted his head around at the sound of Rae’s cuffs splitting apart. The amount of metal within the room fueled Ferrin’s magic. He could feel it all: from the hammer and tongs in the inquisitor’s pouch, to the locks in the doors, to the heavy-laden rack itself. It was all-consuming.

  Ferrin was now the one in control.

  Cheeks, with a sudden look of panic, charged the rack and pressed his knife against Rae’s neck. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll slit her throat. You know I will.”

  “That was your second mistake,” Ferrin said from across the room.

  Cheeks swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “And what, pray tell, was the first?”

  “You should have used the stone blade.”

  Cheeks’ smile dropped when the blade in his hand moved. It curled around itself and impaled the inquisitor through the back of his hand. Cheeks shrieked, tipping backwards off the rack and landing on the hard stone beneath. He lay there writhing, rolling like a summer sausage on a butcher’s floor as he struggled to pull the curved blade from his hand.

  Giving up on removing the piece of steel, Cheeks dragged himself over to his table of tools and grabbed the first handle his fingers touched. However, seeing the metal end of the hammer, he tossed it back and grabbed the next. He worked his way down his entire arsenal realizing the only things not made of metal were the small wooden wedges and his stone blade.

  He turned back around and held the knife out in front of him, but it seemed to Ferrin to be more for protection than attack. Apparently, the inquisitor’s bravado was in short supply when his victims were no longer securely bound to the rack. For all of the flair the man brought to his torturing, to see him there cowering behind his table was truly pathetic.

  Keeping an eye on Cheeks, Ferrin made his way over to the rack. After placing one arm under Rae’s legs and the other around her back, he gently lifted her off the metal bars and placed her on the far wall beside her little girl. Retrieving a clean blanket from his sack, he cut it into strips and used them to wrap her bleeding chest.

  Ferrin glanced over his shoulder at Cheeks. He was still standing on the far side of the room behind his table. The blood from his hand was filling the crevices of the table he rested against.

  Ferrin knew they needed to get out of there, time was running out, but thoughts of vindication began to swim in the back of his mind. He stood and took a step forward. The inquisitor trembled. Ferrin smiled as he watched the stone blade shake under Cheeks’ nervous grip.

  Ferrin had faced bullies before. As long as there was no fear of retaliation, as long as they were surrounded by their peers, as long as their prey was somehow incapacitated, bullies had no problem brutalizing those they deemed inferior, but you take away the bully’s protective shield and allow the victim the opportunity to face their tormentor on even ground, then their true self will immediately shine through. Ferrin knew that behind every bully was a coward.

  Ferrin rushed him. Cheeks’ eyes bulged and he swung wide, trying to force Ferrin back. Ferrin dodged the first swing and waited for the next. Cheeks took a lu
nging thrust, but Ferrin, being more than just a weapon-smith but a practitioner of those weapons, easily struck the man’s hand away. Latching on to the inquisitor’s wrist, Ferrin spun it around and locked the elbow. With the inquisitor’s arm pinned, he brought his other hand down and snapped the bone in two.

  The stone blade clattered on the floor.

  “One, two . . .” Ferrin counted.

  “Ahhh!” Cheeks screamed in pain. His body went stiff and his head reeled backwards. His arm hung at an unnatural angle at his side.

  “You’re right,” Ferrin whispered as he put his mouth to the inquisitor’s ear. “There is a time delay to the pain.”

  Stepping behind the man, Ferrin angled him toward the metal bed.

  “What are you going to do?” Cheek’s voice was no longer filled with giddy excitement, but broken under the weight of his own helplessness and the dread of what he perceived to be coming.

  Ferrin walked him over to the rack. “I’ve heard it said that the only way to become a master interrogator is to actually have the techniques performed on oneself. That way you will fully know and appreciate the limits of what can be achieved.”

  “Please, no. I beg you.”

  “Beg me?” Ferrin laughed. “You beg me? How many times did I beg and plead for you to end my cuttings, and my only reply was more of the same? You beg me? Hah!” Ferrin forced Cheeks back onto the bars. “I guess it’s time for you to understand your craft.”

  A look of disgust crossed Ferrin’s face at the sight of the brown stain forming on the front of the inquisitor’s white robes, running down the length of his legs and filling the cracks of the stone below. Suddenly, he realized he was enjoying this a little too much. He wondered, for a brief moment, if this was what it felt like for Cheeks. The very thought of comparing himself to the sadist turned his stomach.