"What about Jazlyn?" asked John bluntly. Wes stared him back in the eyes, but before answering him, turned his glance to her, saying softly, "I have loved her for many years, and I cannot give up on trying to make her love me back." At this point, he turned again to John and said, "I have to admit, though, that since you arrived, my plans have taken a turn for the worse and what I feel about that has nothing to do with the 'lo'. I was fighting my jealousy of you long before it took me." The two men stared at each other, neither dropping their eyes until Vilma interceded.
"Did your jealousy make you betray your Wandmaster, Westroth?"
"I am no traitor!" he replied, glaring back at her.
"I would prefer you to answer the question directly," she insisted.
"I have betrayed no-one. I was off alone, walking in the hills when the attack was taking place. I have already told my father this, though he chooses not to believe me. That is his prerogative."
"You must realise how the evidence looks," continued Vilma.
"I have told you I have betrayed no-one. Whatever the evidence is or is not, it comes down to this; do you believe me or not? I cannot prove my innocence."
Vilma studied the young man's face and John could see she was trying to read what was behind the defiant eyes, and John himself tried to sense something more than the superficial, but both were unsuccessful. There were feelings of animosity and jealousy there, but these were no more than would be expected in a situation of this intensity. There was no real sign of evil.
"I have suggested a third solution to your father, Westroth, and it was one he was not at all happy with. You would be neither a prisoner nor a patient, but would continue in your capacity as a guardian." Wes looked interested, but didn't commit himself to a response till he had heard all the details.
"I would like to see you made personal body guard to the Wandmaster, Westroth."
"What?" chorused Wes, John, Jazlyn and Jet, all in one voice. Vilma chuckled a little, smoothed her skirts in her familiar way and smiled.
"I think you heard correctly."
"But why, Vilma?" asked Trevorin, "As a healer, I would suggest it is a little unwise to expose our Wandmaster to a threat of this kind. Westroth's condition hasn't been thoroughly investigated yet!"
Westroth was just as surprised as the other members at the meeting, but said eventually,
"What are you hoping to achieve by this, Vilma? My repentance? Do you think I will see the light and come out of the dark in the presence of our Wandmaster?"
"Yes Westroth. That's exactly what I think. You two are quite alike in many ways, and I think you could be very useful to him. Remember, of course, that any harm that comes to him will be on your head, and will mean your own destruction."
"Wandmaster, what do you think of the arrangement?" asked Vilma. John was uncomfortable in Westroth's company and didn't trust him, but trusted Vilma.
"If you think it's workable, I will give it a try," he said finally, "but I want it clear that I will need to know his every movement and the reasons for them."
"So, I will be a prisoner, after all," Westroth said in a low voice.
"In a way we will both be prisoners," said John. "The arrangement will not be comfortable for me either."
"No, I don't suppose it will," Wes answered shooting a look at Jazlyn.
"Good, that's settled then," pronounced Vilma.
"Now, for the next matter which needs to be sorted out," recommenced Vilma. "From what I have seen, the Wandmaster and Jazlyn have feelings for each other, and we should discuss this matter too."
"Now, hold on a minute," protested John."That's private stuff!"
"Not for the Wandmaster, I'm afraid," said Menoneth. "The choice of a partner in the Realm has consequences, and there is a technicality in this union which causes us some deliberation. You see, Jazlyn is Vilma's daughter by William Stone, which makes you second cousins."
John's mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Then he looked at Vilma with her grey eyes, and Jazlyn with her dark ones. It was so clear now that what they were saying was true. She had William Stone's eyes; how had he not seen that before? And he hadn't even been bright enough to deduce that Jazlyn was Vilma's daughter! For a Wandmaster, he had been pretty damned stupid! Jazlyn hadn't told him either, and her eyes were now avoiding his, while her colour was high, and she was shifting nervously in her seat.
"Under the circumstances," continued Menoneth "I would ask the two young people in question to show restraint."
Once more that day, Westroth laughed out loud, obviously enjoying John's confusion and Jazlyn's discomfort. John's anger rose within him and he glared at Westroth, feeling the red heat of temper stab at his heart. He gripped the arms of his chair and struggled to control his feelings, but he wasn't able to overcome the strength of emotion, which was pulsing through him. He could never remember experiencing such an overpowering desire to strike someone, and he stopped himself with great difficulty. Through the turmoil in his mind came Vilma's voice commanding,
"Calm down! Call the colours of peace!" and John consciously relinquished the red and black coursing through his head and sought the white, the purple and the blue of calm. The rush of soothing light came to his aid and he detached himself from the rage, allowing the softness to quieten his mind. He relaxed his grip on the arms of his chair and stared at Westroth, whose smile slipped under the now benign gaze of his recovered Wandmaster. There was a corner of Westroth, which was very 'Ataxios' in flavour, mused John, and he would have to be very careful not to let it goad him into action he would later regret. John, still holding Westroth's gaze, reached out and took Jazlyn's hand. Then he looked at Lord Menoneth and said,
"I will respect your wishes on this matter, Lord Menoneth, but I wish it placed on record that my feelings for Jazlyn are very strong and that when the time is right, I will demand the right to pursue them, whatever the cost." She heard the words and her eyes shone as she also addressed Lord Menoneth in a quiet voice,
"I, too, will obey, Lord Menoneth, but pledge myself to the Wandmaster if there be any way we can be together at some future time. Until that is established, I will look on no other man with favour."
Her eyes sought John's, and they smiled at each other, exchanging a look which told everyone present in the room that they meant it. It was Westroth's turn to boil with rage now, and John could feel the loathing seeping through the atmosphere of the room in his direction. He repelled it determinedly and mirrored it back where it came from; almost, he thought, as if he were part reflective crystal himself.
Chapter 13
The Empty Box
In the dark passages under Athrak there were sounds; snuffling noises echoed along the stony walls near the room where the dark box was held, and the creatures emitting those sounds were straining on the leashes held tightly in the hands of their 'lo' keepers. Gnath watched intently as they fretted to be away up the tunnel past the room entrance, and he considered the huge black studded door in the outer wall in concern. He didn't understand why, but the sniffers were restless. He kicked at one of them in an attempt to concentrate its puny mind, and it yelped and hissed, but after a moment, it once again began to pull its handler in the direction of the tunnel which disappeared into darkness on his left.
Gnath pulled a strangely shaped metallic object from his jerkin and stepped forward to the door. He cursed the other lo's and the sniffers out of his path and stepped forward. It was a key in the shape of an insect with splayed legs, the body being a handle. Gnath carefully placed the metallic legs on six points of raised metal to the left and right of the join down the centre and pressed firmly. As he released his hand from the body, the legs jerked and walked slowly up the door to a matching set of raised metal points and stopped. The lock on the great doors clunked, and Gnath removed the 'key' and replaced it carefully in his pocket. He chanted a few words in a low humming voice and slowly, the great black doors moved apart. Inside, bathed in a sickly green light was the dark box. G
nath could hear nothing coming from it, and even though he knew it was insulated to allow no sound to escape or enter, he still moved closer and listened. The sniffers would be of little use here as the box was designed to keep in what was in and out what was out. Tyloren, the little priest man would be weak and on the verge of death by now, so it was unlikely he would react to noises outside, even if he could hear any. Gnath would have dearly liked to open up the box and look inside himself, before Ataxios could do so but permission had not been granted. Ataxios was on his way down to the sealed room to see for himself. The large cumbersome 'lo' shook his head, positioned on the shoulders of his host body and slapped at the second head which hung uselessly in front of him. A sharp inhalation from the second head was the only response, but Gnath addressed it as though talking to a companion.
"Let's hope the little man is still safely in his box, Head, or else it will not go well for any of us today.!
"gharghlarghhhhhhhh," came the reply.
Ataxios was in no hurry. Let the big 'lo' wait. He stood outside the deep central chamber and threw back his head, emitting a shrill ululating call, which reverberated along the chill corridors. Immediately, a scurrying of footsteps was heard, and a number of spindlies came trotting up, pulling what looked like a throne on a platform. Ataxios stepped up into the seat and was raised by his bearers.
"Under-level four!' he hissed throatily, ‘and take it smooth and easy, I have a headache." Nasal voices exhaled grunts of effort as they raised their passenger, oh so gently. Ataxios picked up the nine-tailed whip positioned at his side and flicked it lazily at the nearest pair of shoulders. A sharp "yip" was the only response and Ataxios smiled. It was good to inflict pain; it kept his servants on their toes. The only one of his creatures that didn't apply to was the Mother Beast, his lovely shiny bug. She needed feeding and nurturing in order to be in good spawning condition to provide him with even more 'lo's' for his army.
Gnath sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. He had a bad feeling. There was a foreboding silence from the dark box, and though this was only to be expected, he couldn't help being anxious as he stood there staring at it. His sniffers whined and slunk back behind him as they sensed his unease, and he jerked on their leashes in agitation, angling yet another kick in their general direction.
"Well, Head," he breathed, "We'll soon know for sure, and Darkness help us if the little man has done something stupid like dying in there!"
"ghlarghlarghhhhhh," agreed the head.
A tense and uncomfortable quiet hung in the tunnels outside the, now open, doors to the room. It was a quiet like that just before a storm; heavy and sullen, and Gnath peered into the gloom at the black box, barely visible there, with a sense of foreboding and shifted on his feet. The sniffers whimpered and strained to be away from that place, and Gnath would dearly have liked to follow on their heels instead of being compelled to wait for his master's arrival. But whatever was about to happen, Gnath had to be present. It was his duty, and he knew that. In the depths of the tunnels a sound was heard of footsteps trotting, and the occasional whipcrack followed by a "yip" of pain, and Gnath sighed.
"Well, Head, we'll soon find out," said Gnath to the spare head hanging before him, and on getting no response, slapped the cheek with a practiced hand, whereupon the mouth opened and the voice within emitted a strangled "ghlaraglargl" which, for some reason Gnath found comforting and had cultivated over the years. It amused him to extract sound from the appendage, and as far as he was aware, he was the only lo who was able to do it. The Great Lord had chosen him some years ago, perhaps because of his unusually strong body, or perhaps for some other quality, Gnath did not know. But he remembered being singled out and taken to the Temple of Athrak. He had been made to stand beside the altar, and recalled vividly his "re-awakening." Up till that point, he had been just another lo, but the dizzy feeling of the reawakening of human awareness somewhere in his consciousness stuck in his mind, like re-birth. The throbbing feeling of power coursing through him from the dark crystals on the altar had awakened in him some degree of awareness and self-knowledge. He was still not sure where the center of this awareness was – in the lo head or the hanging extra and original head that hung before him. What he did know, was that from that day, his lo head was able to utter words, and that he felt a connection with the ‘head' to which he now often spoke. His master had taught him a few basic words of magic to help him in his tasks, and he knew he had a place of great privilege, one, which he was anxious to keep.
"Stand back!" he ordered to the three or four 'lo's' who were assembled. "Lord Ataxios approaches!" The other lo's communicated with a system of high-pitched whines and clicks, which Gnath found came less and less naturally to him, as the ability to produce words grew more pronounced. There was not often a good reason for him to speak. Now the other 'lo's' shuffled around near him, their natural reaction being the need to cringe in the presence of the Great Lord which was fortunate as the Master was always less tetchy when all around him were cowering. The spindlies bearing the Master arrived, panting and stifling whimpers and carefully set down their load, pinning themselves against the rock faces of the tunnel and hoping that the whip would be set down now they had reached their destination. Though Gnath was indisputably the right-hand man of Ataxios, and was often called into his presence, he was never able to stifle the feeling of terror that gripped him every time he was in Ataxios's presence. A rasping voice escaped the figure as it flowed down out of the transport.
"Gnath. What is there to report?"
"I have opened the doors to the room but the black box is undisturbed, my Lord"
"Good. I want to taste the little priest's essence when the box is opened. He will be very strong in his abilities by now, and very weak physically. I will drink in his powers, and drain him and then we can find a use for the old skin and bones that remain, I'm sure." He reached out a long-clawed hand, and poked at a sniffer, which let out a throaty whine.
Ataxios moved in an easy flowing motion towards the chamber. His feet made no sound and Gnath always had the impression that he floated above the ground, when he actually went anywhere, though he seldom moved of his own volition, preferring to be carried. He contaminated the very air around him with a feeling of deep despair and gloom which infected all who were unlucky enough to be in his presence, and in the tunnels of Athrak, no light shone to lift that gloom, only the darkness of fear. All was as it should be, thought Ataxios, savouring the effect his presence was having on the guards and his bearers. The sniffers trembled and cowered; they themselves were used to instil fear in the captives, helping their lo handlers when they were working in the field rounding up new victims for Her, his magnificent Akryd!'
Ataxios reached the cabinet and moved his hands up and down the smooth face of the structure. It was constructed of some metal, but coated with a layer of ground stone, mixed with a kind of paint of Ataxios's own design. It was imbued with magic and impenetrable, allowing nothing in or out, not sound, not light, not thought, not hope. The tall figure placed two long gnarled hands on the door of the dark box and from under the folds of a draped cowl; the eerie notes of an incantation began to sound. Gnath watched as in the darkness, a glow of sickly colours surrounded Ataxios, moving in snake-like patterns through the dank air in the stone chamber. After a few seconds, Ataxios removed his hands from the surface and the snaked strands of murky colour amassed in his hands. He thrust them towards the cabinet in a sudden movement, as if propelling the colours forward. The black tendrils which John had removed and subsequently replaced were released, and fell away from the box. There was a loud ‘crack!', and the door to the cabinet opened.
Ataxios threw back his head and sucked in the air from the cabinet as the door swung wide, opening up his powerful psychic portals to receive the precious essence of Tyloren, Priest of the Crystal Trove of Wandguard. He sucked in nothing but a faint reek of stale perspiration and urine.
"What treachery is this?" he howled in a might
y voice, which made all in the vicinity shake with terror.
"Where is my priest? Who has done this thing? Gnath!" The great lo forced his legs to work and moved towards his master unable to speak for his terror, but opening and closing his mouth in attempts to find something to say. He heard whines and clicks escaping him, as fear goaded the word-making part of him into the background. Before he could utter any explanation, Ataxios turned on him and started mouthing terrible words, loading the atmosphere with evil, and Gnath could only watch, terrified as the snake-like and loathsome colours built up in a storm of anger around Ataxios. As he saw the reptilian hands rise to strike, his instincts came to his rescue and he fell flat to the ground, abasing himself at his master's feet. Ataxios thrust his hands into the air with a mighty curse and let fly with his concentrated rage at all those within range. Screams of pain entered the room from the tunnel outside, followed by the sound of death in strangled gasps. Then there was silence. Gnath's prostration had kept him out of the firing line but he did not dare move until a steel-cold voice speaking above his head hissed, "Bring me more bearers lo, and clean up the mess in the tunnel. I feel the Wandmaster's hand in this business……… I can sense his magic, but he will pay, yes, he will pay. I will not allow this one to leave our dark crystal world. I will keep him here and stop his bloodline from carrying on. There will be an end to Wandmasters. I will put an end to all Wandmasters!"
Gnath came to his knees, then to his feet, and made the hastiest retreat he could muster, leaving Ataxios alone with his fury and outrage. He stepped over the bodies outside in the tunnel and thought himself lucky to be alive. As he slapped the cheek of Head, very grateful for his good fortune, his fingers came away sticky with blood and the "ghargle" sound of his other half was muffled as it struggled to emit sounds from a mouth distorted by its impact with the cold rock floor of the chamber.
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