Ways of Power 1: Power Rises (3 page)

Adroman then looked at Jurile one more time, took his hand off his son, closed his eyes and vanished in a puff of white smoke.

3

              Adroman appeared again at the foot of the great white tower. The night sky was getting darker, and the air was chilling slightly. Adroman guessed it was a couple of hours before dawn. He took a deep breath and began the long ascent to the top of the stairs and the main entrance to Tower Hall.

Once at the top he paused to catch his breath, and to take in his surroundings. First he eyed the two tower guards flanking either side of the tall door. They were both male and dressed in the same manner Jurile had been. He knew neither one would say or do anything until he was within a few feet.

              Adroman then turned to look out at Tower City. It was laid out in an orderly fashion, divided into four square quarters, the great tower sat at the exact center. From this side of the tower Adroman could see the Mentalists’ and Physicalists’ quarters. Adroman knew on the other side of the tower were the Healers' and Summoners' quarters.

Every type of magic used by the Magi fell into one of these four categories, and all were a form of the Arcanum school of magic, the only type of magic that the Magi could tap into. There were a few of the Elfkin, like Tre'Atoll, who lived and practiced their Gaian school of magic among the Magi.

              Once he had caught his breath, Adroman turned to the two guards by the door and began his approach.

"That's far enough. Your evening stroll must end there. The Tower is closed until the sun clears the horizon. You might as well go back home, and return in the morning, though please come fully dressed at that time."

Adroman stopped, and briefly studied the man. His hair was bushy and blazing orange, and his glowing eyes were a soft tan color that reminded Adroman of sand at the beach.

              "I realize my dress and appearance are hardly dignified, but I must speak with the great Grecrum, and I must speak with him now, please." Adroman bowed his head and raised his hands at his sides, palms up in supplication.

"I'm sorry, sir, you will have to come back in the morning!"

Adroman, dropped his hands and looked up. "But you don't unders--" Before he could finish what he was saying, the taller of the two guards cast a spell.

"Risell, repallish."

Adroman was lifted a few feet off the ground with the first word, and thrown back several with the second. As he flew through the air, Adroman couldn't help but wonder if all the tower guards were kineticists.

“That was a warning. Now go home or the next time you won't have to worry about walking back down the steps!"

Adroman landed hard on his back. A sharp pain reverberated up through his chest. He lay there a moment; he could feel himself getting angry. I don't have time for this, he thought. Enough is enough. I need to get this over with and get back to my son. So once again Adroman closed his eyes and shifted from where he lay to just inside the tower door.

              Adroman had only been inside the Great Tower once before, but he thought he could find his way. Walking down the long, columned foyer he heard the creak of the main door opening behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks and warily looked around the corner.

              A huge vicious-looking two-headed dog stood in the hallway. The razor sharp teeth of both heads were bared and dripping with putrid green saliva. Its matted brown fur bunched on its back as it raised its hackles, and howled an eerie double howl.

              Adroman felt his heart pound in his chest. He turned and ran for the open door behind him, the demon dog close on his heels, jaws snapping. Its deep growl sent shivers up Adroman's spine and made him run faster.

              The moment Adroman was outside, the two-headed dog pounced and vanished as it came into contact with him it.

Adroman looked to the shorter guard that he had more or less ignored before, "You must be an illusionist."

The shorter guard bowed in response, "Spot is one of my more convincing deterrents, don't you think?"

Adroman shivered slightly, "Yes. For a moment I thought another demon had been sent after me."

"Wait a moment!" the taller guard said, "You didn't say anything about a demon before."

"That is because you didn't give me a chance to explain myself!" Adroman's patience was running thin. He had been through hell, and he desperately wanted to get back to his son.

"All right, well, explain yourself now," the guard said.

Adroman took a breath to calm himself before beginning. "My name is Adroman. My wife, Council Member Carcella, was killed by a demon that attacked my son in our home. He is at the High Sage Tre'Atoll's house as we speak being watched over by Jurile." Despite his attempt to cool his nerves first, Adroman was practically spitting the words at the two men.

By the looks on their faces they obviously knew that their snap judgment of the situation earlier would no doubt end in a punishment for them later.

The shorter guard said, "Well, that explains why Jurile didn't show up for her watch. We were wondering what was taking her so long, but we decided to give her a little while longer before sounding any alarms."

"That's not important now," snapped the taller guard. "Baluder, go wake Captain Modrin, and tell him what has happened. He’ll need to fill Jurile's post, and he will most likely want to put the tower on high alert. Only a warlock can summon a demon, and that means Dark Magi are in the land." Turning back to Adroman he added, "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding earlier. I am called Ferrigin, and I will take you to Grecrum's private audience chamber."

Baluder turned and ran down the marble steps, and Ferrigin opened the heavy tower door once more.

"Is your son going to be all right?" Ferrigin asked over his shoulder, as he led the way through the main audience hall and into a smaller room off to the right.

"According to Tre'Atoll, physically he will be fine, but I'm not sure if he was still conscious when his mother died. If he was he may never get over seeing what happened…I know I never will."

"I'm truly sorry, sir. The Arch Mage will know what to do. I have a wife and two children myself. I would be lost without them." Adroman offered no response, already lost again in grief.

Ferrigin opened the door to the small private audience chamber and ushered Adroman inside, "Please wait here. I will return shortly with the Arch Mage."

Adroman sat in one of two high-backed white leather chairs next to a cold fireplace, blackened with years of soot. He looked around the room as he waited, wanting some sort of distraction.

The room was not quite square in shape, with a high ceiling and a large crystal chandelier that reflected the light from the four torches set in each stone wall. Around the perimeter of the room were bookshelves holding an endless assortment of books. There was a large open window with white silk drapes, which let in a gentle breeze and allowed smoke from the torches to escape.

Adroman allowed his toes to curl around the soft white fur on which his chair was set, momentarily enjoying the warmth and comfort.

In the center of the room was a large white desk with the tower symbol carved on the front. Behind the desk stood a third high-backed white leather chair to match the ones by the fireplace. Adroman suspected that this private audience chamber doubled as the Arch Mage's study.

His curiosity satiated, Adroman leaned his head back and closed his eyes. They were swollen from crying, and he was emotionally drained. He needed to rest a bit before being seen by Grecrum, and this room seemed like the perfect place to do so.

4

Ferrigin approached the Arch Mage's door at the very top of the tower. It was tiring business climbing all of those steps, so he took a moment to regain his composure. Once he had caught his breath, and wiped the sweat from his brow, he knocked gently on the solid white oak door.

"Yes, come in."

Ferrigin pushed open the door. Though heavily built, it was light on its hinges and swung silently inward.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this early hour, Your Grace, but there is a man by the name of Adroman here to see you about a matter of some importance." Ferrigin kept his eyes to the floor as he spoke, hoping not to anger the Arch Mage.

"Ferrigin is it?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Well, Ferrigin, I do realize that my predecessor had a reputation for a short fuse, but I do not, so please stop acting like a whipped dog."

Ferrigin looked up and replied, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

Grecrum simply sighed. "It's all right. Now what does the husband of Council Woman Carcella need at this time of night?"

Ferrigin fidgeted, trying desperately not to look at his feet, "I think it best that he answer that himself, if you don't mind my saying so."

Grecrum sighed again, "Very well, I'll be down momentarily. See to it that he is comfortable."

Ferrigin bowed his head, "Yes, of course. Thank you, sir." He promptly turned on his heel and marched away.

5

Adroman looked up as Grecrum came into the room, he was clad in a simple white robe, and had white slippers on his feet. He was a few inches taller than Adroman. He had a cleanly shaven head, and slightly bushy platinum blond eyebrows. He had a kind-looking round face, which belied his true age.

Grecrum quickly seated himself in the chair opposite Adroman. His pale blue glowing eyes like the sky on a hot summer day were normally wise and confident. But as Adroman stared into them he did not feel the reassurance he had hoped for.

"What brings you to my tower?" Gregrum finally asked.

Adroman's eyes began to well once more, and he found he could not speak. The tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks as he slowly shook his head.

As quickly as he had seated himself, Grecrum was out of his chair, and kneeling in front of his anguished guest. He placed a hand on Adroman's shoulder.

"Shhh, whatever it is, I'm sure it will be all right." Grecrum said soothingly.

Adroman began to shake his head even faster, "No, no it won't! She's dead! My beloved wife is dead!"

"I'm sorry, Adroman. What happened?  Will you allow me to touch your mind? I promise to delve only deep enough to understand what could have caused such a tragedy."

Adroman simply nodded his acquiescence.

Grecrum looked deeply into Adroman's tear-swollen eyes. Adroman could feel Grecrum's vast mind touch his own, and he was momentarily struck with fear. Grecrum was the most powerful telepath among the Light Magi, and perhaps in the whole world.

Grecrum could not only read the minds of others, and communicate to them through thought; he could actually take complete control of them if he wished. Then he remembered how well Carcella spoke of Grecrum, and knew his reputation for wisdom and kindness, and did his best not to struggle against the telepathic connection.

After a few moments Grecrum sat back on his heels with his knees bent out in front of him. "I am truly sorry for your loss, Adroman." He then stood and walked to the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

Adroman remained seated, unable to move or speak. Grecrum stared out at his city, a look of fierce concentration on his face.

The sun was now rising, and Adroman could hear the beautiful songs sung by the birds as they woke, a sharp contrast to the devastation he had been through.

Grecrum spoke without turning. "Adroman, thank you for sharing this information with me. I cannot begin to truly understand your loss. You may return to your son. Tre'Atoll will care for both of you. Once you are ready, return here and if at all possible I would like to meet your son.

“In the mean time I must convene the high council. If a Dark Magi powerful enough to summon and control an Astrothian demon is loose in our land, there could be graver consequences than the death of your wife. Please understand I do not make light of what has happened to you, but I have a whole civilization to protect."

Adroman nodded, and vanished.

6

11 Years later

              Rancoth awoke and rubbed the bleariness out of his eyes. He stretched and felt the sinews and muscles
in his body start to wake
.

      He hated having that dream, but ever since he was a boy and Grecrum had shared his father's memory with him of the night when his mother died, he had had it. It came and went sporadically, but it had been years since the last time. Perhaps the fact that he was going to see his father again today had triggered it. It had been only a few months after that night that his father had left him in Grecrum's care.

Adroman could never accept the fact that his own son had been responsible for his wife's death.

It was a true tragedy. Rancoth knew he was the first, and the only, Light Magi to wield the power of a warlock. He didn't even really know at the time how he had summoned the demon. The fact that he understood its language and could communicate with it telepathically is what tipped Grecrum off, that it was indeed Rancoth who had summoned it, and not some rogue Dark Magi that was loose on the land.      

Adroman had come completely apart when he heard the news. No, it was impossible, he had said. His son couldn't be the wielder of dark magic!

He had tried to come to grips with it, and Grecrum spent days explaining that no magic is inherently evil;
that it is simply a tool,
that what makes a Dark Magi dark were his own internal motivations. Those motivations prompt the use of certain schools of magic that more readily lend themselves to evil.

Grecrum told Adroman that in the ancient times, Light and Dark Magi were one race, and that only through time had they split off, and that the predisposition for good and evil became genetic.

The only way to tell the difference between the two races was that Dark Mages’ eyes, no matter what the color, always have a faint reddish tint to them. Light Magi on the other hand have eyes that glow with a color that is pure, without any hint of taint to them.

In the end, Adroman couldn't bear to be near his son, so he left, no,
abandoned
, him in Tower City. It angered Rancoth to think about it. He didn't exactly hate his father, but he had left when Rancoth needed him most. He had needed his father to reassure him, to tell him it would be all right, that it wasn't really his fault. But Adroman couldn't live up to the task, and Rancoth had suffered for it.

In time Rancoth grew to think of Grecrum as his father. Grecrum cared for him, and saw to it that Rancoth continued with his education under the tutelage of Dorbin. Dorbin was a member of the short-statured, stout-hearted Dwalish race. He was well educated in a number of subjects, but his true passion was smith work. Rancoth adored his curmudgeonly ways, and knew that deep down the little man had a soft spot for him.

Grecrum also managed to
convince
Karakas, one of the rare Light Magi necromancers, to train him in his arcane arts. Necromancy was not exactly like demonology, but it was close enough that with Karakas's help Rancoth was able to learn to control his abilities, and those of the minions he summoned.

Rancoth also spent plenty of time with wise old Tre'Atoll, and Jurile was always eager to spend time with him too. Of course, when she became captain of the tower guard, she made sure that Rancoth had stayed out of trouble, especially during his turbulent teenage years.

Yes, this was his family and that was good enough for him. But now Grecrum wanted Rancoth to see Adroman again. He had told him last night during dinner that his father would be coming to the tower the following evening.

Rancoth's stomach had been in knots ever since; no wonder he had the dream. Well, lying in bed contemplating the ups and downs of his life wouldn't make the harsh reality of the day go away. Rancoth sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that it was now time to get out of bed.

He sat up, and stretched again, flexing his fingers and toes, trying to convince them that it was time to start the day. He relieved himself and dressed in his favorite teal robe and black leather boots. The robe had been made for him by Tre'Atoll's cousin, and he loved the way it fit and looked. It had a simple zigzag design on the fringes of the collar, cuffs, and around the base of the robe which hung clear to his ankles.

     Rancoth kept his straight dirty-blond hair at shoulder length, and preferred to wear part of it in a high pony tail, leaving the rest to cover his neck. He let the bangs fall in front of his glowing pale green eyes. He kept his face clean-shaven, liking the look of his strong jaw and cleft chin, ever since one of his ex-girlfriends said it was his best feature.

He had grown to be tall like his father, an inch or two above six feet. With broad shoulders and a narrow waist he was well muscled, but not in a bulky sort of way. His skin was smooth, and retained a rich mocha complexion throughout the year, though he did darken a little in the summer. Most women found him to be irresistible, and being a young man, that was just the way he liked it.

Once he was dressed, Rancoth headed down to the private dining room reserved for the Arch Mage and his family. Since Grecrum never married, nor had any children, he and Rancoth were usually the only ones who dined there. The room was small in comparison to most in the tower. It had a simply carved solid white oak table with room for six, allowing for intimate conversations.

The two long walls were adorned with paintings; to the east, one of a sunrise over the plains, and to the west, a sunset behind the mountains. The two shorter walls had matching sets of pure white armor, the only difference being that the set to the north had a sword and shield emblazoned with the tower symbol, while the set to the south wielded a two-handed battle-axe.

When Rancoth arrived the room was empty except for Sahrisa, Grecrum's favorite sustenancer. Sahrisa was a short round woman, with a bountiful chest that she enjoyed showing off whenever Grecrum was in the room. She had a pretty, kind face with rosy cheeks, and soft glowing pink eyes.

"Good morning, Sahrisa. Has Grecrum been down for breakfast yet?" Rancoth asked as sat in a chair across from her.

"Oh, yes, he was down just before dawn. He didn't eat much though. He was in a hurry. Something about meeting with someone called Dal'Asaid for a sunrise ceremony," she answered, not looking up from her book. One finger twirled the end of her long braided black hair.

"Ah, now I remember, he mentioned something about that last night. Dal'Asaid is the new tribal leader of the Elfkin nation to the south. Grecrum was hoping to ensure that our trade agreements would continue to be honored."

With that Sahrisa looked up and smiled at Rancoth. She loved hearing all about the latest gossip and politics. "Well now, that is interesting. What do you want for breakfast, Rancoth?" she asked.

He mulled it over for a minute or two, not sure if a full stomach would conflict with the anxiety of the day to come. "I think I'll just have some bread and water if you please," deciding that perhaps it would be wise to stick with something lite.

"Is that it? Are you sure?" she asked with an incredulous look on her face.

"Well, maybe some yellow cheese too, but then yes, that's it please, Sahrisa," he replied.

She stood and walked around the table to stand across from him
. She was wearing a blue dress, cut low in the front; Rancoth couldn't help but steal a peek at her voluptous bosom as she summoned his food.

"
Sumdelret brisa, Sumdelret wasser, Sumdelret shess.
" As she said the words of invocation, she passed her
hands over the table between them, and with each word one of the food items he had asked for appeared
.

Rancoth was always fascinated with the fancy words that magi selected to use in order to invoke their power. The words themselves were not important and could be as nonsensical as the magi wanted them to be. The point was to help them focus their thoughts, so that they didn't do something by accident.

Personally, Rancoth preferred to use plain language in all of his castings; he felt it reduced confusion, and made it easier to keep track of what he was doing. His musings were interrupted as Sahrisa finished summoning him breakfast. The bread was warm, and smelled like the bakeries in the market. It made Rancoth's mouth water with anticipation. Living in the tower had its advantages; Sahrisa always got it right.

The loaf was the perfect golden brown color and just the right size for one person. The crust had the ideal amount of crackle to it, and the soft interior let out just a few wisps of steam when he broke the loaf in half. The cheese was a rich orange color, and had a slightly pungent flavor; it was the perfect complement to the bread in every way. Finally, the water was cool and clear. It washed the meal down and Rancoth could feel its chill as it ran down his throat. Though simple fare, it was a superb breakfast.

"Thank you, Sahrisa, that was wonderful," Rancoth said as he stood to go.

Sahrisa smiled and, with a soft, short giggle, said, "You're welcome. I'll see you later for the mid-day meal I hope." 

Rancoth leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You can count on it." She blushed slightly, as Rancoth left.

Since the sun had not quite cleared the horizon, the tower was still relatively empty. Rancoth wandered from the private dining room down the stairs and into the main audience hall.

The room was huge, and circular in shape; it took up almost the entire area of the tower base, for at least the first four stories of the building. There were tall arched windows that opened to the east and west, spanning floor to ceiling. On the northern wall there was a raised dais, where Grecrum spent a large portion of his day sitting in a beautifully crafted white and gold chair, listening to the concerns and requests of the Light Magi people.

On the wall above Grecrum's chair was a large hand- painted map of the Light Magi territory, which Rancoth would often study at length when the hall was empty. Tower City stood in the center and was marked by the tower symbol. Just to the northeast of Tower City were the Ocean's Children. Five inland seas clustered together and connected by a river that eventually led to the Mother Ocean far to the East.

Quite a distance to the west of Tower City was the Dragon's Spine, a huge continent-splitting mountain range, which divided the Light Magi territory from that of the Dark Magi; supposedly further west was the Father Ocean which was said to be twice the size of the Mother Ocean.

North of the Ocean's Children was the Great Northern Forest, an endless sea of broad-leafed trees, that bled into a mass of needle-leafed ones. It stretched across the top of the continent and surrounded the Mother's Fist, a huge northern sea in the shape of a fist, surrounded by land on three sides.

In the deep southern territory, there were vast beaches that surrounded what was known as the Mother's Boot. Similar to the Fist, this was a southern sea surrounded by land on three sides in the shape of a boot.

Further south, but not on the map was another continent. The territory of the Ray'Deeants tribe of Elfkin, long time allies of the Light Magi people.

Done daydreaming about far off lands, Rancoth turned from the map to gaze around the rest of the hall. Far above him, the white ceiling was embossed with a huge golden starburst, around which, in intricate gold lettering was inscribed,
Only when the smallest voice is fairly heard, can the path to righteousness be paved
. On the floor directly beneath the starburst sat two giant crescent-shaped white oak tables. These were used when the High Council was in session; each school of magic had a seat, and was given the opportunity to voice their opinion on any subject that was brought forth.

Knowing that the hall would soon be filled with the hustle and bustle of the day-to-day exercise of government, Rancoth followed the gold fringed carpet through the foyer and out the door.

"Good morning, Rancoth." Rancoth turned to see Ferrigin, still standing in the same place as the fateful night when he’d first come to the Tower. Ferrigan’s fiery hair was now streaked with gray, and he was not quite as slender as he had been that long-ago night.

"Good morning to you, Ferrigin, and to you as well, Baluder." Neither man had managed to advance from night watch since failing to ascertain the gravity of the situation when Adroman had approached them. Baluder simply grunted and nodded his greeting. Both men were obviously tired, and due to end their watch in an hour or so.

There was already a small gathering of people on the terrace, and a few more waiting on the stairs. It looked like it was going to be a busy day for Grecrum. Rancoth sighed. He was not particularly fond of large groups of people, especially those that were familiar with him and his power, but did not know him personally. They tended to shun and fear him.

Rancoth much preferred to stick with either small groups of people who knew him well, or with complete strangers. When he was not with the close friends and family of the tower, he spent his time in the far reaches of the city, in obscure locales, where he could blend in with the rest of society.

Already some of the people on the stairs were pointing at him and whispering behind their hands. Rancoth shook his head, pitying those who chose to fear what they did not understand. As a boy it had frightened, depressed, and finally angered him. Luckily for him, he had Grecrum's calm wisdom to help focus and channel that anger.