Wandmaster

by Valerie Kramboviti

  It was when he stood up that he saw the basket. It had a lid on and was perched on top of a pile of folded fabric. His eyes widened, and he looked in all directions for some sign of where it had come from. There had to be people around! And here he was, thinking he was alone. He could have been murdered in his sleep, and yet, he hadn't been. Thoughtfully, he squatted beside the basket and peeped inside. The smell of fresh bread was real and it wafted out and hit him and his hungry stomach with a vengeance. Before he knew it, he had reached inside the basket and taken out the small round loaf which was in there, finding beside it a piece of cheese and what looked like some fruit preserve in a small pot!

  "Bright Crystals be blessed!" he exclaimed, and decided to risk the possibility of poisoned bait and at least die happy and with a full stomach. The smell was wholesome and just too good to resist. He broke open the still warm loaf, broke off a little cheese and ate. Oh how good it was! He had to take it slowly, and the burst of tastes in his mouth was so pleasurable that he lost himself in the task before him, that of filling his stomach. He tasted the preserves, which were sweet and his face broke into a grin of pure delight.

  "Careful Tyloren," he rebuked himself aloud. "Take it steady!"

  "That sounds like good advice to me," answered a warm friendly voice.

  He had his fingers in the fruit preserves when he heard it, and instinctively stuck them in his mouth to suck them clean as he spun his head around to see who the voice came from.

  His eyes met the friendly brown ones of a cloaked individual, stooped and with what looked like a hunchback, causing him to peer up at the world, and indeed at Tyloren, who had never been tall.

  Tyloren's first reaction was to stare dumbly. The stranger spoke again.

  "I hope my little gift was acceptable to you."

  "Your gift? The food? Oh, I can't tell you how acceptable it was. I haven't eaten real food for days!" He replied gratefully and found himself smiling in response to the stranger. "But, who are you? Do you live in this place? I thought I was alone here."

  "No, not alone. There is a small community of us here, but we like to stay out of sight, so we have found ways of being unobtrusive to prying eyes."

  "How did you find me?" asked Tyloren.

  "We have been watching you since you appeared by the waterfall, but we have to be cautious, so we didn't approach you at once."

  "But I didn't hear or see anything. You must have been very quiet!"

  "We can become almost invisible in this landscape, and we get very few visitors, so we like to make an assessment of them before revealing our presence!"

  Tyloren considered the man before him, also trying to make an assessment.

  "I got here by chance, and don't really know exactly where I am," he answered, unsure how much to reveal about himself at this stage. The stranger smiled and replied,"Not much happens by chance; more by design, I should say."

  "By whose design?" asked Tyloren warily, the smile dropping from his face. It occurred to him that he might have been allowed to escape and that this friendly stranger was just another captor in the guise of a friend. The stranger stared at Tyloren hard.

  "Do you really think I mean you harm?" he asked softly. Tyloren let his senses feel out the stranger's sentiments and sighed, as he relaxed his guard.

  "No. I'm sorry. I have been through a lot lately," he said "I really do thank you for your generosity. If I was rude to suspect you, I apologise, but...."

  "No need for more explanations at the moment. We can talk later, but I would like to offer you the hospitality of my home in which to do so if that is acceptable to you."

  "I would be so grateful!", answered Tyloren.

  "Come then," said the stranger. "By the way, my name is Loman".

  "Tyloren," said Tyloren simply and held out his hand, which he realised was still sticky. "Oh, sorry," he apologised, "I forgot you caught me with my fingers in the jampot." Looking down at himself, he sighed "What a mess I am."

  "Look under the food basket," smiled Loman gently.

  Tyloren remembered there was some folded fabric under the basket. He had been so delighted with the food he had forgotten to look at it. He pulled the basket aside, and found some clean clothing made from a soft warm cloth. There was a loose jerkin and trousers with ties at the waist and ankles.

  He looked around for a place to change, and Loman discretely turned his back as he realised that Tyloren wanted a bit of privacy. Tyloren slipped out of his robe, pulled on the soft trousers, shook his head at his bony body and looked up as he pulled the shirt over his head. He could see only Loman's back and he felt sympathy for the hunch he carried on his shoulders. As his head emerged from the neck of the shirt, he froze. The hump under Loman's cloak seemed to be moving independently.

  "Oh help!" thought Tyloren in panic. "Of course! 'Loman'." He paused and then said out loud.

  "You're a 'lo!"

  The figure turned around slowly, and stared intently into Tyloren's eyes.

  Chapter 15

  More About Nya

  Nya awoke in his room and let out a nasal yawn as he stretched and looked up at the ceiling. He was unaccustomed to so much sleep and had fully recovered from his injuries many days ago. He considered his predicament. He was a prisoner, that was for sure, but his life had never been so good. He thought back through the dark years in the caves of Athrak and his duties there in charge of a company of spindlies. There were no friends, only numbers and he had drilled his men in combat training, teaching them how to wield their long swords and use their height and long arms to advantage. He had been appointed by Gnath, the huge captain of the lo's and the right hand man of Ataxios himself. Nya had always known he was different from the numbers. First of all, he could think-talk, though he had always hidden the fact from those around him. He was aware of many things, and had kept himself out of trouble by acting on instinct and using his innate intelligence to avoid the more arduous duties, and had achieved a little position of privilege which he guarded jealously. All in the dark, dank underworld where cold was permanent and the food squirmed as you ate it.

  When the numbers were ordered out into the hills, Nya had 'felt' the Wandmaster, knew what direction to take, and had led his company to the high place on the rocks overlooking Deepcleft. Once, he almost had the man in his grasp but things turned about and he found himself prisoner rather than captor. He had already caught the priest by then though, and locked him in the dark box as a gift for his master. He had 'felt' him too, and had captured him with no opposition. 'Why was he wandering alone in the hills anyway?' His problem. The priest was no fighter and had no weapons so was easy prey. The people here didn't know he had caught their priest, but they must be wondering where he was. ‘Their problem'. He sighed and looked at the locked door. 'My problem,' he thought.

  Just then, the door opened and in walked Trevorin.

  "What you want?" Nya questioned belligerently.

  "Good morning to you too Nya," smiled Trevorin "How are you today". Nya pursed the lips in his thin face and whined,

  "How you think? When you gonna let me out? What you gonna do with me?"

  "Where would you go, Nya? Back to Athrak with tales of Wandguard and helpful little details for your master to use against us? Come on, you know we can't let you go."

  "Why don't you kill Nya?" he queried, with genuine puzzlement. "Why you keeping me?"

  "That is for us to know and you to wonder," said Trevorin.

  "Na, na, na, all talk you are".

  "And you're all attitude. Haven't you learned a few manners since you've been here?" Nya's shrill laugh grated on Trevorin's ears, but he smiled at the genuine amusement on the spindly's face.

  "You funny! Manners is for you. I got no need manners." He pulled a face and rolled his eyes at Trevorin, who folded his arms and tipped his head on one side as though dealing with a cheeky five-year old.

  "All the same, I advise you to be a bit more co-operative Nya. I've been told to take you to see so
meone. Will you come quietly or shall I call the guards to tie you up and carry you?" Nya drew his knees up to his chest and sat with his back against the wall on his bed.

  "Not go!" he sing-songed.

  "Yes you will!" said a voice behind Trevorin, and Vilma appeared looking very determined. He felt her reaching out to him mentally, and he retorted,

  "No, don't think me! Get out of my head!"

  "Hmm," said Vilma "I can see what you mean about manners, Trevorin."

  "Get up Nya and come with us," said Trevorin patiently, "or it will be the worse for you".

  "Where? You hurt Nya?" he wheedled.

  "No, Nya, we just want you to come with us."

  "Tell the ‘she' not to poke into Nya's head!" said Nya, pointing at Vilma.

  "Tell me yourself," she ordered him without opening her mouth, but staring hard into his eyes.

  To Vilma's surprise, Nya rebuffed her, closing his mind to her adamantly and the two stood frowning at each other till Nya eventually dropped his eyes and said, "Alright, Nya come quietly." And he put a thin finger to his lips and shushed as he climbed off his bed and waited, looking down from his gangly height with an unreadable glint in his eyes.

  They made a strange spectacle as they walked along the corridor from the hospital wing to the central chamber where the healing crystals pulsed and glinted in soft light. Trevorin and Vilma positioned themselves on the right and left of the tall awkward creature, whose head swung on an elongated neck from side to side as he looked around him. At the exit, a company of guards awaited the trio, and surrounded them to make any attempt at escape impossible. Nya assessed the situation, and decided to go along with things for the time being. It was such a relief to be out of that room anyway. He was genuinely interested in his surroundings, and was enjoying his outing up to the present. Westroth, Maylene and Joceley headed the guards, and Nya was fascinated by them. He had seen very few people during his captivity, and his voice escaped him in little nasal yelps as he took in details. Maylene shot a look at him over her shoulder, and met his eyes, being at once startled by the intelligence shining there. Her mouth opened a little in surprise, and then clammed shut again as Nya winked at her and licked his lips. Maylene blushed as she turned to face the front again, and gritted her teeth at the sound of the spindly chuckling behind her. Vilma and Trevorin exchanged looks, which expressed much, but no words, and in Vilma's mind, Nya thought, ‘Lots of meat on that one'. Despite herself, Vilma laughed out loud, and Nya joined her in his resonant nasal tones.

  The company proceeded into the heart of the plain, and the Temple loomed before them. Nya's footsteps halted as his destination became clear, and he was encouraged onwards by shoves from the guards bringing up the rear. The smile had dropped from his face, and the bravado had gone. His skin beaded with sweat and his eyes started to shift sideways in swift movements as if he were looking for a way to escape.

  Outside the doors of the gleaming temple, guardians stood forming a long corridor, and the company filed along within it. Nya could not escape, and he knew it, but he grew more and more uneasy with every step. He entered the portals of the temple unwillingly, with much encouragement from the guards behind him and instruction from Vilma and Trevorin.

  "That's right, Nya, just keep walking. We're not going to hurt you," said Trevorin.

  "Not good place for Nya!" he whined, and Vilma eyed him curiously as she questioned

  "Why Nya, what troubles you?"

  "Nya ...... feel ........ Wandman!"

  "Yes, he is near," said Vilma, once more surprised by the abilities of this tall strange creature.

  They entered the central chamber of the Temple, and Nya halted, whimpering to himself. Before him was the altar with the Crystal Trove upon it, and behind it in the transparent wall, was the imposing figure of William Stone, motionless and mysterious. At the altar stood John, Lord Menoneth and Tabbareth, with a rank of white-robed priests just behind them. Nya turned and tried to push his way back through the guardians behind him, but was held firmly and prevented.

  "Come closer Nya," came John's voice. "I want you to meet the Crystals of Wandguard."

  Nya slowly turned and raised his eyes a little to meet those of the Wandmaster. He had no choice but to obey, and with a shrug and a scowl, he moved clumsily down the stone stairway between the rows of stone seats in the amphitheatre. Behind him came Vilma. Trevorin took a seat on one of the lower levels. He was a healer, not a priest and he had little to contribute, apart from concern for his patient, but he was very interested in the proceedings. Vilma stayed close to Nya, and together they approached the assembled group at the altar. When they were all in place, Lord Menoneth spoke.

  "Nya, we have not met before, but I have heard about you. I am Lord Menoneth, High Councillor of Wandguard. Your situation is very grave, as you will have realised. You are our prisoner and there is no hope of escape for you, so you have a choice to make. Either you co-operate with us honestly and sincerely, or you will be kept prisoner in a place where we can be sure you will do us no harm. Do you understand?"

  "Nya understand... yes, understand." replied the captive in a soft, whining voice.

  "Good," replied Menoneth. "Now I want you to submit to the Wandmaster. Don't try to deceive him or obstruct him in his work. Remember, I expect you to co-operate."

  "Yes... understand... understand." Menoneth nodded to John and left the group, to take a seat and watch.

  John raised his wand. It's colours glowed, and joined with those of the Crystals forming an aura of harmonic light, which surrounded the gathered group.

  John considered Nya, and began, "Nya, you know me, don't you? We have met before."

  "Yes, two times," answered Nya, his voice still low in volume and oddly musical in its softness.

  "I visited you once, Nya," responded John.

  "Yes, one time, and one time Nya find Wandman in rocky place he hide... up.... up... Deepcleft."

  "Ah, I see. How did you find me Nya?"

  "Nya feel Wandman.... feel where Wandman hides..... go there......... try to catch.......... but Wandman hurt Nya with colours and soldiers catch Nya."

  Vilma and John exchanged glances.

  "Can you feel me now Nya?," asked John.

  "Yes, now...yes."

  "Who else can you feel?"

  "She," said Nya pointing to Vilma, "Others, here and not here."

  "Did you feel and catch one of our priests, Nya? One like them?" asked John waving his hand at his priests.

  "Mmmm, maybe....." answered Nya softly.

  "Yes or no, Nya?"

  "Mmmmm, yes, all alone, wandering, wandering, looking, walking and walking. Nya feel him strong and say 'Ha! Nice one for catching."

  "What did you do to him Nya?" asked John steadily.

  "Nya catch little man and put him in the dark-box, put him in for Great Lord."

  "Did you hurt the man, Nya?" asked John

  "No, not hurt! Put inside only. All dark. Don't feel any more."

  "Why was the Dark Box there, Nya?"

  "For catch Wandman," replied Nya, very softly.

  "How did you know I would be in the hills that day, Nya?" continued John

  "Gnath tell Nya".

  "Who is Gnath?"

  "Gnath big! Big mother-beast spawn! Bad! Great Lord's Captain!"

  "Does he feel me too, Nya?" asked John forming a chilling picture of Gnath in his head.

  "Gnath? Feel? No! Great Lord tell Gnath."

  "What happened to our priest?" intercepted Menoneth, unable to contain himself.

  "Dark-box go Athrak! Deep in mountain. Keep for Lord, later..."reported Nya.

  Vilma, Tabbareth and John exchanged knowing glances. They knew that Tyloren was no longer in the Dark box, because they had helped him to escape, but they had kept this information from Menoneth until their priest could be proved to be above suspicion of treachery.

  Nya's head jerked up in surprise. He had felt the unguarded thought, which flew between them.<
br />
  "Little man out?!" he queried.

  "Yes, Nya, Tyloren is out of the Dark Box and somewhere free in Athrak," said Vilma

  "What?" chimed Menoneth, jumping to his feet, "Why wasn't I informed?" Vilma waved a hand in his direction and said, "We had our reasons. I will fill you in with the details later."

  "Very considerate, I'm sure!" muttered Menoneth, obviously agitated.

  John looked at the figure of Nya before him, whose head hung meekly at an angle on his chest. It was hard to believe this was an enemy. He stepped up closer to the tall being, who raised his eyes and followed every movement, but made no move to back away. John led him to the far side of the altar and placed him with his back to William Stone. He himself stood between Nya and the Crystal Trove. John raised the wand and a beam from its tip streamed over the top of Nya's head and linked with the tip of William Stone's wand. The figure encased in the clear wall made no movement, but John could feel the contact and sent a thought greeting, which was returned. Nya was between them, and the colours from the two wands flowed over and around him. John closed his eyes and 'felt' Nya's colours. To his surprise, the dark colours did not have dominance. This could mean that the spindly was able to control which colours he showed, a possibility John did not rule out. It could be, though, that the balance and the clarity of the colours meant that this being was just a soldier doing his job, in the way he had been trained. The pink and green shades, which flickered in the shared familial colours of John and William Stone were joined by a tentative echo of the same colours from Nya, as if he wanted to tap into their connection and experience it. Into John's mind came pictures of a tiny boy being torn from his mother's arms and taken captive by hardened spindlies, and forced, sobbing and afraid, into a transporter. The scene shifted then to dank, dark, tunnels with the sound of water dripping, and to a small boy shivering from the cold, feeling hungry and alone. John was witnessing the childhood of Nya, and wondered how he, himself would have turned out under such conditions. Nya lifted his eyes to John and considered him, then dropped his head onto his chest again and blocked. John and William continued to pulse colours around him, but no more pictures or thoughts escaped the tall gangly man. He had retreated into himself, and his colours danced around the red and black of anger and awareness of body, rather than mind. John sent him purple of peace, blue of healing, pink of love, but all stayed outside the aura of the spindly. None was accepted within. John dropped his wand arm to his side and the beam of light between himself and William Stone was severed. The figure encased in the crystal wall remained surrounded by a glowing light for a short while, which then dimmed and slowly disappeared.