The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 2

  Placing the child in the crook of his arm, he left the confines of the rock and made his way down. His eyes continued to scan the naked expanse around him, looking for any sign of pursuit. Halfway down the slope, the child grew agitated and tried pushing his arms outside the cloth folding. Nyalis didn’t dare stop to calm him. Instead, he hugged him all the tighter and pushed on.

  Without warning, the babe released a high-pitched squeal.

  “Shhh.” Nyalis tried covering the child’s mouth with the cloth. “You’ve got to keep quiet.”

  His efforts proved less than useful as the child released yet another tear-filled squeal. “What’s wrong with you? You’re going to get us killed.” Just then, he felt the air behind him tingle.

  Nyalis spun around. A wave of energy plunged down the side of the rise. As quick as he could, he wove a protective barrier. The air in front of him hardened into an invisible wall, not much larger than himself, warding the two against the brunt of the impact. The bulradoer’s attack didn’t have quite the intended effect, but it did manage to send the wizard tumbling backwards across the hard rock as the wave impacted his shield.

  Nyalis cried out in pain as he tried to protect the child with his body. Finally coming to a stop, he scrambled back to his feet. He didn’t believe anything was broken, but he knew by the end of the day, he would be covered in bruises. There was a nasty gash on his forehead. He could feel the blood running down the side of his face, and he quickly wiped it with his sleeve.

  At the top of the rise, three bulradoer scrambled from the shadows of the open fissure he had exited earlier. Each wielder was robed in a black shroud with their hoods raised. How did they find me so fast?

  In front of the bulradoer shuffled two sniffers. They stood at least eight feet in height. Their flat, nose-less faces were held high as they whiffed at the scent of his magic.

  Nyalis was by far a match for any one of the dark wielders, but three, with a pair of sniffers, and a full praad of the Tower’s trackers—well, that was a different matter altogether.

  Above him, the shrieks of the corax pulled his attention away from the bulradoer as they circled his position.

  Not caring to stand around and face off, Nyalis raised his hand and sent a wave of fire in the bulradoer’s direction. The flames infused the brush in front of them and the smoke blocked their visibility. Nyalis used the distraction to make a hurried escape for the tree line below. He hoped to reach the river and his awaiting boat before they caught up with him.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he could see them charging through the dying blaze and down the hillside in pursuit.

  Overhead, the winged creatures cried out once more. They had discontinued their role as the passive trackers and were pulling into a dive. Nyalis forced his legs to go faster.

  The first of the Elder Pine were only steps away.

  He raced through the underbrush. Hopping a small log, he didn’t bother to slow as leafless branches reached out and slashed deep gashes into his face and forearms. Worrying only about protecting the child, he bore the pain and kept moving. Behind him, he could hear the corax passing through the outer perimeter of the trees as they followed him in.

  With his one free hand, he conjured random pockets of air and sent them careening behind him, hoping to slow the large black-winged creatures. His efforts did little more than drive them into a state of frenzy, their cries echoing their desire for blood.

  Giving up the futile attempt, Nyalis turned to face them head on. He reached out and wove a net of magic that stripped the rough bark off a dozen trees and sent the volley tearing into the oncoming gale of winged flesh.

  The corax shrieked in pain as the wooden projectiles tore through their ranks, decimating half of their praad. Those that had succumbed to the initial barrage were scattered across the forest’s floor, many missing their wings, heads, feet, and torsos. The trees and ground were painted red with the spray of their blood. The smell of death was strong enough to choke on.

  Clearly not wanting to circle for another round, the remaining creatures punched through the overhanging limbs above and disappeared into the early morning sky.

  Nyalis took a deep breath to steady himself. In the distance, the sniffers and the bulradoer were just breaking through the first of the trees.

  Hugging the child close, he turned and ran.

  Chapter 2 | Nyalis

  DAWN’S LIGHT BROKE through the forest as the sun guided his steps.

  Nyalis wasn’t sure how much farther he had to go. The trees all looked the same, but somewhere in the distance, he could sense the water’s life and it urged him to keep moving.

  Blood stained the side of his face, coloring his beard. The pain was unrelenting. He was beginning to wonder if all his efforts to keep the child out of the White Tower’s hands would be for nothing. Perhaps this would be the end of the Aerodyne wizard line, right here near the banks of Tara Springs in this remote clump of woods.

  If it came to that, would he have the courage to do what was needed? Could he kill an innocent baby to save humanity? If this child were to fall into the wrong hands, it would mean the end to everything.

  Nyalis could hear the water ahead, but the growling of the sniffers was closing fast.

  Without warning, a wave of heat billowed past, singeing his hair, as a poorly aimed fireball struck the trees to his right. The thick bark ignited immediately. Nyalis raised his hand to ward himself from the heat as he ran past.

  Breaking through the brush, his spirits lifted at the sight of the swift-flowing water, but his boat wasn’t there. He had exited too far north. Nyalis could see the small skiff down river, but it was too far away to reach before the bulradoer were on him.

  He was out of options.

  Frantically he spun around, his eyes darting from trees to brush to embankment as he searched for a place to hide the child. With no better options available, he tucked the babe up under the roots of a fallen tree.

  Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and focus his mind, Nyalis turned and marched back inside the small clearing. He let his magic seep into the ground as he waited, its tendrils spreading through the root systems of the giant trees. He extracted as much strength from their natural flow as he could to aid in what he knew was coming. The warmth of their life force flowed into him, giving him a renewed sense of power. His skin tingled as he drew it in.

  The two sniffers slowed when they saw him standing there. Spreading out, they worked to flank his position. He let them come. He continued to infuse the root systems with magic as he waited for the right moment to attack.

  Nyalis had been trained to survive.

  He had studied the teachings of the great war wizards of old: The Five, as they were called—Pax’Sool, Rascalian, Telvarran, Ballidor, even the mighty Aerodyne himself. He had studied their stratagems, their tactics. Even though he could not wield half the magic they had been able to, he was dangerous nonetheless.

  Behind the sniffers, one of the bulradoer stepped forward. “Give us the marked one, wizard, and we will let you live.”

  “How very generous of you,” Nyalis said with a sneer as he took a moment to rub his hand down his long beard. “I have a counter proposal. You walk away, and I let you live.”

  The bulradoers’ chuckles held a strong note of cynicism. Even with the rising sun, Nyalis could not pierce the raised cowls of the three wielders. “There are five of us and only one of you. Surrender the child and nothing unpleasant has to occur.”

  “Yes, well, if I did surrender the child to the White Tower and its Arch Chancellor, very unpleasant things would definitely occur. So, I think I’ll just have to take my chances, if that’s all right with you.”

  Nyalis readied himself for the attack. He was only going to get one shot at this, and he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  The man in front turned his head in the direction of the sniffers and they charged.

  No longer caring whether they could see what he was doing, Nyalis
forced a final pulse of magic downward into the foundation of the trees. He ducked to the left to dodge the elongated claws of the first sniffer. He wasn’t fast enough to repeat the same with the second and caught the blow across his upper left shoulder. The force of it spun him around, and he nearly went down.

  He cried out. The sharp pain of torn flesh was intense. He couldn’t expend his magic for healing, or even to lessen the pain. So instead, he used it to fuel his rage.

  He hit the first sniffer with a blast of hardened air, throwing it into a nearby tree while maintaining his grip on the trees’ root system. He dove to his left as the second swung for the side of his face. Its claws were close enough to feel wind from their passing.

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Leaping backwards to put as much space between himself and the sniffers as possible, Nyalis lifted his hands and the ground around the creatures’ feet split apart. The three bulradoer quickly backed toward the outer edge of the clearing and raised their shields as the deeply embedded root systems reached up and wrapped around the unsuspecting sniffers.

  The creatures jerked and thrashed, trying to rip themselves away from the growing entanglement. The more they fought, the tighter the roots took hold. They howled in rage. Pretty soon their anger turned to fear and shrills of pain as the thick stocks plucked their limbs one by one.

  Silence returned to the small glen as the trees finally withdrew back into the rich soil and disappeared from view. What remained of the two sniffers was scattered across the open glen.

  The foul smell of death hung in the air as Nyalis fought to catch his breath. He could feel blood running down his back from the open wounds on his shoulder. The tension surrounding the glen was thick enough to bathe in as the three wielders cautiously made their way out to face him.

  “That was a cute trick, old man,” the shorter bulradoer on the left said as she pulled back her hood to reveal a mop of frizzy hair. In the early morning light, it had the coloring of a bushel of radishes. “But you’ll find that we aren’t so easy to kill.”

  Nyalis was stunned at the young woman’s age. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty and her unique raspberry eyes shone bright with gold flecks. As a wizard, Nyalis had traveled the four corners of the five kingdoms and some places further still, but he’d never seen anyone with eyes such as hers. For a moment, he had almost forgotten why he was there.

  The other two removed their hoods as well. The man in the middle, who had been the first to speak, was taller than the others and about as plain as a loaf of bread. His smooth, pasty complexion helped add to the visage as it bore a similar resemblance to that of a newly baked loaf of white. He had a sharp face and an even sharper nose.

  The man on the right was shorter, stockier, and wore a thick beard that covered the majority of his pockmarked face. His skin, unlike the others, was coarse and brown. It had seen enough sun for the three of them.

  Nyalis re-wove his shield.

  Instead of attacking, each of the three wielders pulled a single item from beneath their robes. The man on the right held out a thick silver shaft about the length of his forearm. It was etched in runes. The young woman on the left held two short rods, each engraved with similar markings, while the taller man in the middle gripped the hilt of a bladeless sword. It, too, was in like fashion as the others.

  Nyalis was taken aback. How could they have acquired ter’aks?

  Somehow the White Tower had managed to uncover faerie weapons used during the great Wizard Wars of the Second Age. Nyalis thought he was the only wielder still alive to carry one. He had been counting on this fact as a last resort. The mystical weapons were said to have been safely recovered and stored within the vaults at Aero’set.

  Apparently, he was mistaken.

  With the ter’aks being held at arm’s length, each of the dark wielders conjured their own unique weapon. For the man in the middle, a double-edged blade of orange flame protruded from its hilt. For the woman on the left, two fiery whips extended out and snaked across the ground, igniting the fallen leaves where they touched. Each whip held a remarkable resemblance to the reddish color of her hair. Lastly, the short man on the right conjured a blazing battle-axe from the tip of the thick silver handle he held in his right hand. Its greenish flames reflected in the shorter man’s eyes.

  It had been almost a thousand years since the last time weapons of the fae were used in battle, and here he was facing three of them.

  From beneath his robes Nyalis drew his ter’ak, and a double-edged longsword of golden flame stretched out from the hilt. Unlike most crafted weapons of wood and iron, the ter’aks could be wielded with a single hand. The only weight each possessed was that of the hilt, making them a very maneuverable and very dangerous weapon.

  The three offered a formal bow and called out their names and birth kingdoms in ceremony from left to right, as if they were considering this an actual wizard’s duel as opposed to what it really was—a forced kidnapping.

  “I am Lenara of Cylmar,” the redheaded young woman said as she kept a tight grip on the handles of her whips.

  The taller man in the middle raised his hilt. “I am Bellar of Elondria.”

  “And I am Tolvin, also of Elondria.” The stocky man spun his axe handle in his hand.

  The heat from the weapons was already warming the small clearing, not to mention the patches of flames rising from where Lenara’s whips touched the ground. All three kept a sharp eye on Nyalis, pensive, careful not to take anything for granted.

  Nyalis waited for them to finish before he spoke. “And I . . . don’t care.”

  The bulradoers’ faces darkened.

  “You aren’t wizards. You are a disgrace, an abomination.” Nyalis held out his sword, pointing to each in turn. “And if death is what you seek, you’ve certainly come to the right place.”

  Lenara was the first to react. She drew back her whips and yelled as she lashed at him from the side.

  Anticipating the attack, Nyalis conjured a shield of air with one hand and deflected her strike while at the same time parry-blocking Bellar’s sword with his own as the man brought it across with a clean sweep, hoping to sever Nyalis’s head from his body. The heat from the blade was intense, causing Nyalis to squint as it went by.

  Bellar’s sword slid off at an angle and Nyalis moved to the right. He knew he couldn’t stay in one place. He wouldn’t last three flicks of a horse’s tail if he was forced to fight all three at once. The energy provided by the trees had helped, but he had no idea how long it would last.

  Tolvin and his green battle-axe hung back, letting the other two bear the brunt of the initial attack while at the same time giving him a chance to move around to a better position.

  Nyalis could tell the bulradoer were reticent in their opening moves, no doubt from having just witnessed their sniffers dispatched so brutally in front of them. Their robes were still decorated with the creature’s remains.

  As fast as he could, Nyalis angled himself toward Bellar and unleashed a barrage of forward strikes and thrusts that forced the swordsman to go on the defensive. Each time the blades met, they hissed. The very air hummed with magic.

  Nyalis sidestepped to the right, keeping the taller man between him and Lenara’s whips. She had the most leverage, and he wanted to keep her as far from reach as he could.

  Nyalis angled his shield and struck away Bellar’s counter, driving his sword into the ground to his left. The leaves immediately caught fire. Quickly, Nyalis pulled away and spun to face his short but stocky axe-wielding assailant.

  Tolvin, who had thought to circle around behind Nyalis and catch him off guard, was surprised when Nyalis suddenly turned and swung his ter’ak in a wide arc, forcing the shorter man to use his axe to block instead of strike. Tolvin grunted as Nyalis’s ter’ak hit his axe instead of his shield.

  Not willing to let himself get flanked, Nyalis moved to Tolvin’s left, positioning the bearded bulradoer between him and the other two. All
around, the trees were beginning to catch fire. Sweat poured from Nyalis’s brow as he fought to keep an eye on his attackers.

  Tolvin was powerful. His axe swung with relentless fury. Even with the magic of Nyalis’s shield absorbing the brunt of the force, the attack was all but driving him into the ground.

  In an attempt to turn the momentum around, Nyalis switched his feet as if to change the direction of his attack, but instead back-swung from the other side. The effort proved ineffective as the stout man lowered his double-sided axe in time to deflect the foray. The connection sent green and gold sparks flying everywhere.

  Tolvin was strong but his moves were slow.

  Still trying to gain an advantage before the other two worked their way around to his flank, Nyalis momentarily lost his concentration and missed Tolvin’s under-swing. He barely had enough time to angle his shield before the force of the strike threw him from his feet.

  He landed against the base of a nearby pine with a grunt. The pain in his back was severe. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t broken something, except for the fact he was still able to move.

  The air had been knocked from his lungs. Gasping for breath, Nyalis attempted to shake off the sudden nausea rising from the pit of his stomach. His arm felt like it had been fractured. He tried using a healing spell but found he was far too weak. Tolvin was closing in. The other two stopped to watch as Tolvin moved in to finish him.

  Remaining where he was, Nyalis struggled as if to stand and then fell back to his knees, letting his attacker believe he was too weak to move. The ruse wasn’t too far wrong. Tolvin, seeing his opportunity, charged. Nyalis rose to one knee, and instead of swinging out with his ter’ak, he threw his shield like a disk, letting it skim across the ground, throwing up leaves in its wake.