The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1)

by Michael Wisehart

  Reloria adjusted her scarf. “Perhaps it was a mistake to have kept this from him.”

  Kellen didn’t agree. “Why lay such a heavy burden on such young shoulders. Is it so wrong to want him to feel normal, to have friends, fall in love, to live his own life?”

  Veldon rested his forearms on the table. “No, it’s not, Kellen. But therein lies the problem. He’s not normal. I understand wanting to shelter him from the truth, but there comes a time that doing so will only prove more harmful. Ty needs to know who he is.”

  Kellen lowered his head. He understood the reasoning behind his friend’s words, whether he wanted to admit it or not. In truth, he was more than a little worried he would somehow lose his son in the process. Like any father, he wanted his children’s lives to outshine his own, but with Ty, that reality was as dangerous as it was probable.

  The White Tower was hunting him, and that alone was enough for Kellen to desire his son’s continual ignorance in such matters. He wanted to protect Ty from bearing such a burden. Kellen recognized, though, he wouldn’t be able to shelter his son forever.

  Chapter 9 | Kellen

  “NOW THAT WE’VE gotten that out of the way,” Veldon said, “formal introductions will be required.”

  Kellen could hear Feoldor’s discontented mumbling.

  Veldon turned to Sheeva. “With an association as dangerous as ours, we feel the best way to bring assurance to those we are working with is to require that each member of this council be wielders themselves. For with great risk, comes greater loyalty.”

  Veldon scooted forward and cleared his throat. “I guess I will go first. My name is Veldon, and as you know, I own the Easthaven Dockworks. What is not so apparent is that I’m an incindi.” Everyone except Sheeva relaxed in their seats, waiting for what they already knew was coming. The assassin, on the other hand, remained poised as if to strike, or run, as she kept a keen eye on the portmaster.

  Veldon raised his right hand. Around his second finger was a uniquely designed pewter ring with a small crystalline center. It pulsed a deep red as he stretched it out toward the flickering lights of the large tallow candles lining the center of the table. The flames blinked momentarily before detaching themselves from their wicks and raising a couple of feet off the table. Kellen had always enjoyed watching Veldon’s gift. The portmaster spread his fingers and the flames grew brighter.

  Sheeva gave no sign of apprehension as she watched the flickering lights float above their heads.

  From out of nowhere, a gust of wind whipped across the room and extinguished the light. Kellen sighed. He could hear Feoldor giggling in the seat next to him. On the other side of the table, Orlyn groaned, and Reloria clicked her tongue. A couple of sparks from the head of the table drew Kellen’s attention as they ignited into a ball of flame where Veldon had apparently used his flint and steel. The portmaster looked a bit put out as he sent the ball of flame down the center of the table, relighting the candles as it went.

  Sheeva’s piercing gaze scanned the council members before coming to rest on Feoldor with his unruly mop of hair and rugged side-whiskers. Trying not to be too noticeable, Feoldor lowered his hand back to the table. Resting just outside the cuff of his sleeve was a brass colored bracelet with a single clear stone at its center.

  Feoldor cleared his throat. “My name is Feoldor and I own one of the glassworks in town,” he said with a bloated sense of pride. “And as you can tell, I’m a vanti.”

  “Which, in Feoldor’s case,” Reloria said, “means someone full of hot air.” The middle-aged woman always found every excuse to agitate the outspoken man, which of course, Kellen had to admit, was hardly difficult to do. Reloria and Feoldor had been playing this game for years, ever since she had lost her husband, and him, his wife. Most of the townsfolk had been laying stake as to when the two would finally overcome their petty bickering and tie the knot.

  Feoldor gave a slight huff at her remark and went back to fiddling with his bracelet.

  Leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at their guest, Reloria kept one hand on her hat as she offered Sheeva a warm, motherly smile. “My name is Reloria, dear, and I own the sweet shop in town. I’m a telasero, which I admit is not as glamorous as some of the others. In fact, most wielders have no idea what a telasero is. To put it bluntly, I have the ability to control taste.”

  Kellen could tell by the look on Sheeva’s face that Reloria was going to have to demonstrate. She reached inside her rather large carry bag, which looked to have been fashioned from a number of dissimilar pieces of fabric, and pulled out a wrapped pickle. Cutting a slice, Reloria handed the wedge to Sheeva.

  The small assassin lifted the pickle, cautiously took a small whiff, and promptly wrinkled her nose.

  “Go ahead and try it,” Reloria urged.

  Sheeva inserted the pickle into her mouth and bit down. Her face contorted slightly from the strong taste. It was the single largest emotion Kellen had witnessed from her so far.

  Reloria rubbed her fingers across a small crystal amulet which hung loosely around her neck and closed her eyes. The stone sparked to life, emitting a faint golden pulse.

  Sheeva’s countenance softened. “Tastes like an apple dipped in cinnamon.” Her lack of excitement left Reloria looking a little downhearted at the triviality of her gift.

  “I guess I will go next,” Orlyn said with a raspy voice. “My name is Orlyn and I am the town apothecary. My simple ability lies with vegetation. I’m a floratide.”

  “More than simple, I would say,” Veldon said as he watched Orlyn slip his hand into one of the many pockets of his baggy robe and pull out a small clay pot. It had always astounded Kellen the number of bizarre and utterly random objects Orlyn kept hidden away within his saggy attire.

  The pot was filled halfway with a dark rich soil. Orlyn laid the small clay container on the table and held out his hand to reveal a small seed resting between his thumb and first finger. Gently, he tucked it into the soft dirt and pressed down with his thumb.

  Reaching behind his seat, Orlyn retrieved his staff. It was uniquely carved with rows of vines wrapping around its diameter in a circular pattern from top to bottom, or depending on how you looked at it, from bottom to top. Interwoven within the vines were small runes. Kellen had asked the apothecary about them years ago, but the old man had only shrugged and said the staff had been handed down in his family for generations. He had no idea where they had come from or what they represented.

  Ingeniously crafted into the staff’s tip was a large crystal that cast a light green flicker across the side of Orlyn’s face as he tilted the head of the staff downward and tightened his lips in concentration. Everyone shifted forward in their seats to watch as the dark soil around the seed shuddered. A small sprout poked its head above the dirt. Its stem enlarged and grew as petals burst from the top into a beautiful array of gold and lavender.

  “I never get tired of that,” Reloria said, her eyes beaming with delight.

  Orlyn slid the planter in front of Sheeva. “For you, my dear. A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.”

  Sheeva bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.” She left the gift sitting untouched in front of her. She looked as though she wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do with it.

  Kellen glanced around the room. That only left two more.

  “Go ahead, Gilly,” Veldon urged. “Show the nice lady what you can do.” He glanced at Sheeva in an apologetic manner. “Gilly is rather shy. He lives by himself upriver and doesn’t usually come to town except on special occasions like today.”

  Gilly was one of the shortest men Kellen had ever had the privilege of knowing. He couldn’t have been much more than waist high. What the little man lacked in social skills he made up for in kindness.

  Veldon poured some water into Gilly’s cup and waited. The dwarf’s mouth held an infectious smile. It reminded Kellen of Adarra every time she discovered some new little tidbit of information from one of those countl
ess books she was always reading.

  “He generally helps us with the loading and offloading of refugees.” Veldon twisted in his seat to look at the dwarf. “Any time you’re ready.”

  With small pudgy fingers, Gilly retrieved an uncut crystal from the inner pocket of his cloak. It radiated a pale blue when he aimed it at the cup. Everyone watched as the water began to whirl and stretch, forming what looked to be a miniature funnel as it rose over the lip. Gilly’s eyes were bright with laughter, like a child playing with a new toy. Abruptly, the swirling motion slowed and stopped as the water turned from blue, to translucent, to white, hardening into a perfect sculpture of ice.

  Sheeva studied Gilly the same way she had been sizing up everyone else in the room.

  Still beaming from ear to ear, Gilly confined his crystal back to the safety of his pocket without saying a word.

  “Gilly’s a voda,” Veldon added, since the little man was clearly not going to speak up. “One of the strongest I’ve seen, I might add.” The portmaster turned to Kellen, and raised an outstretched arm. “I guess that leaves our gamekeeper.”

  Kellen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small copper coin, holding it in the air for everyone to see. “Who wants to do the honors?”

  No one volunteered.

  From the other side of the table, Sheeva’s hand went up. Kellen tossed her the coin. She plucked it from the air as easily as plucking a book from a shelf. She looked it over and then cocked her head as she glanced back in his direction.

  Kellen smiled reassuringly. “Just toss it in the air whenever you’re ready.”

  Her eyes narrowed as if measuring the risk involved but, without hesitation, she flicked the small coin upwards. It almost reached the rafters above. It spun for a moment until gravity took over and brought the coin plummeting back toward the table below. Before it landed, Kellen reached inside his cloak and drew a small dagger from inside his jerkin. He flung it across the table, catching the coin in the middle of its rotation. The coin flew across the chamber and was pinned to one of the wooden beams that framed the four corners of the room.

  Sheeva left her seat and retrieved the dagger from the wood. She slid the impaled coin free and inspected it further. “Impressive,” she said, flipping the dagger from handle to blade with the movement of one who was obviously familiar with its feel. After taking her seat, she leaned across the table and held the knife out to him, handle first.

  “Thank you.” Kellen slid the blade back inside the folds of his jerkin.

  “Master Kellen isn’t like the rest of us,” Veldon said. “He doesn’t require a transferal crystal to use magic. His magic is innate, a rare trait nowadays. And as you’ve just witnessed, his gift allows him perfect aim. He can pin a fly to the wall with anything you place in his hands. He draws quite the crowd during Easthaven’s archery competitions.” The portmaster winked at Kellen before turning his attention back to their guest. “That just leaves you, my dear, if you would be so kind?”

  Sheeva returned a slight nod and without warning, the space around her body folded in on itself and she disappeared from view. Feet rustled and chairs scooted in all directions as the council members attempted to move to a safe distance. Feoldor jumped to his feet, looking around nervously as he made ready to bolt for the door, while Gilly ducked under the table. Kellen reached in his overcoat and had grabbed the handle of two of his knives when the space Sheeva had been occupying distorted, bringing her back into view, revealing she had never left her seat.

  Once the room quieted down from the obvious chatter that accompanies someone vanishing right in front of them, Veldon spoke. “Well, there you have it,” he said as he wiped a few drops of perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. “After such a performance, I’m inclined to understand your previous employment.”

  More than a few eyebrows rose at his offhand comment. “I figure someone with your ability could make a useful addition to our group.”

  “If we can trust her,” Feoldor was quick to add.

  Veldon didn’t reply. Instead he leaned forward, as far as his girth would allow, and placed his elbows on the table. “Well, let’s get down to business. How are we going to help Saleena without drawing attention to the wielders here in Easthaven?”

  Heads turned, sighs were offered, and chins rubbed as they contemplated an answer to the dilemma they were now facing.

  Kellen packed his pipe from a pouch he carried in his side pocket. He lit the end using one of the nearby candles and took a small puff. “I might have an idea.”

  Chapter 10 | Ty

  THE EVENING PROGRESSED with a bit more haste than Ty had hoped, given the growing anxiety he harbored at the thought of his upcoming performance.

  He watched as Noreen Aboloff ascended the stage and gave her ritual greeting. She made sure to include a special welcome to Overlord Barl and his lovely daughter Lyessa for their faithful patronage. The audience rang with the noise of their admiration. The overlord raised a hand in gestured thanks, not bothering to stand from his seat.

  Too preoccupied with finding a way to calm his nerves or sneak out the back while no one was looking, Ty barely noticed the weaver’s three daughters as they sang Breaking of the Dawn, a more difficult arrangement to perform than what they were capable of handling, but the crowd cheered graciously as they finished.

  Next in line was a rather impressive flutist that mesmerized the audience as he rolled up and down the scales to a tune Ty didn’t recognize. Although dropping a few notes along the way, it was for the most part rather well played and Ty half-heartedly clapped with the others as the man left the platform.

  After the flutist, Justice Tirfing’s wife recited a section from Islow’s Love of the Fallen, a depressing allegory of true love’s loss. There were a couple of sniffs, some eye wipes, and more than a few yawns from the men as she finished, bowed, and returned to her seat.

  Ty stiffened in his chair. He just realized he had no idea what he was going to play. With the coming of the Black Watch, the news that his family was part of some secret sect of magic protectors, and his faceoff with Lyessa, he had completely forgotten to choose a piece.

  Panic set in. His mind raced through an assortment of possibilities, each one viable in its own way, but none on the level of what was needed for tonight. Why did I ever open my mouth?

  Three or four more selections were announced, and the performers came and went, but Ty didn’t notice. His mind was focused on more important matters, like how he could manage to sneak out the back door and still save face.

  The innkeeper’s wife announced a short intermission and the serving girls made their rounds.

  Ty had long since emptied his mug, and being too embarrassed to ask his mother to buy another round, merely contented himself with licking his lips.

  The performances continued for at least another painful hour before Noreen made her way on stage to announce the evening’s three final performances. First was Master Ethen, a local carpenter. He shuffled through the tables on his way to the platform. After taking a seat, he opened a finely crafted case and removed a beautiful, hand-carved five-string vielle and bow. With careful precision he ran his fingers across the strings as he turned the tuning pegs at the top.

  From the back of the room a voice rang out. “Play us a fun one, Ethen, and none of that highfalutin stuff!” More than a few hardy “Ayes” broke across the anxious crowd as Ethen accommodated his audience with a town favorite: Bart the Fool. The song had more verses than were actually written to page. Every family had a verse or two of their own passed down from generation to generation.

  Lifting his bow, Ethen drew the crowd in by playing a couple of rounds with just the vielle. Once he was comfortable with the level of excitement building across the gathered faces, he unleashed his strong baritone and began to sing.

  -There once was a fool named Bartimus, a wife he went to find.

  -He left his home, his work, his friends, his family all behind.<
br />
  -And on the way he met a fae who told him of a place,

  -Where there were girls with golden curls . . . but growing from their face.

  By the second round, the people were clapping and singing along. The way Ethen’s bow flew across the strings hauled Ty out of the despair he had been wallowing in and gave his feet reason to bounce under the table. His hands naturally clapped along. The driving rhythm made him want to get up and dance, but thankfully he wasn’t so far gone as to find himself acting on his flights of fancy.

  -He plunged the depths, he scaled the heights, he crossed the Ozrin Sea.

  -He fought a dragon in its lair, in hopes to set her free.

  -But when he found fair maiden there, all chained up to her bed.

  -He bent to kiss and wake her up . . . but fell and cracked his head.

  By the third round, the townsfolk were out of their seats and standing in the aisles. There was a growing crowd of men up front who had locked arms in a line and were beginning to kick up their heels in a dance. Even Ty’s table managed to belt out a verse or two.

  -Well, Bart the Fool he never quit, his searching carries on.

  -From town to town he travels round, his stay is never long.

  -So if he comes a knocking on your door . . . don’t let him in.

  -But lock your daughters in their rooms and promptly warn your kin.

  The crowd called for more, but Ethen waved kindly and replaced his instrument back in its case and let the next performer take their turn. Ty envied him for his remarkable choice of song. No performer had ever left the stage in silence after a few verses from Bart the Fool. Now if the Creator could only bless him with such insight.

  Next to last were the Aboloff children as they laid aside their aprons and donned a set of rather uniquely arrayed costumes to enact a short scene from the Tales of Prysipitus, particularly an emotional fight scene between the hero and the evil sorcerer. Small pieces of confetti flew across the stage, landing on nearby viewers as the magical scene was revealed with brilliantly crafted special effects. The performance was well received and applauded as the children bowed and exited stage right.