Beese would take his son Cory back to Kai, where he could hopefully continue to explore his gift of healing.
And lastly, there was Narissa. Ferrin chuckled. He hoped her husband could run faster than she could.
In reality, Ferrin’s daydreams were just that, fantasies of what he wished could happen. In truth, he doubted any of them would return to their homes, except possibly Beese and Cory. But that would only be to collect the rest of their family. If they were smart, they would all find somewhere else to live, somewhere secluded where they could live out the rest of their days in peace.
The trip from Syrel to Iraseth took exactly one week, just as Brennon had predicted, and from Iraseth to the Pass of Arnon a little longer, their pace slowing through Thornwood Forest.
By the time they reached the split in the mountains leading to the White Tower, Ferrin was almost grateful. A couple more days in the back of that wagon and he would have hanged himself with the overhead canvas, something he had already given great consideration. It only crossed his mind a couple dozen times a day. But in the end, he was too much of a coward to do it. Or maybe still too full of himself?
The peaks of the Razor Spine Mountains rose up on either side, completely blocking the sun from view. The Pass of Arnon was wide enough to accommodate a small company of men side by side, but not much more. It was clearly a strategic choice—one way in and only one way out. No chance of being surrounded. It took a full day-and-half ride to reach the other side.
Ferrin pressed against the bars at the sight of two enormous stone sentinels, one on either side of the pass. Each had been carved straight out of the mountain. The robed giants were hundreds of feet tall, dark cowls covering their faces. Each held a massive sword, warning that any who dared venture there had better think twice about the decision. He shivered as they rode between the two. It felt as though they were watching him.
On the far side of the stone giants, the pass opened into a wide basin. The mountains rose up on either side like a natural wall created for the sole purpose of guarding the Tower.
He had always pictured a single tower made with painted stone. The White Tower was actually quite a bit more than one lonely keep. There was a single monolithic spire that rose hundreds of feet in the air, but there was also an immense complex of smaller towers and bulwarks surrounding it. It was as impressive a fortress as Ferrin could have ever thought possible, having never seen one himself.
The overlord’s castle at Rhowynn was the largest estate Ferrin had ever seen, and he had thought it quite the spectacle until now. Lord Agnar could have fit his entire bastion inside any of the buildings in front of him and still had room to spare.
To reach the mountain complex, they had to first cross a deep chasm. An enormous bridge spanned the opening from the pass to the first of the Tower’s complex. There were tall arches at either end of the bridge, holding back barricading gates. The gates were open and waiting as the caravan passed through.
From his cage, Ferrin was able to see partway over the side. The chasm dropped at least a hundred feet below into what looked like molten rock. The heat produced certainly agreed with the appearance.
Ferrin tilted his head and stared up at the single spire from which the White Tower had received its name. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see the top. The Tower, unlike many of the other smaller buildings, didn’t appear to be constructed of joined stone. Instead, it appeared to be a solid structure. It was both breathtaking and terrifying.
At the end of the causeway, a massive entrance had been cut into the rock, its double doors taller than the gates around Rhowynn. Stairs led up to the doorway. At the top, stood a row of black and white–robed individuals. They watched as the wagons came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Hatch’s men began unloading the cargo.
Ferrin’s cage was last to be opened, and he joined the others as the frightened caravan slowly made their way up the walkway. Many of the women and children, and even some of the men, were openly crying. One man took off running back the way they’d come, no doubt hoping to make it to the bridge.
A lance of what looked like greenish lightning shot from one of the dark-robed people at the top of the stairs and snared the man before he had made it past the last wagon.
Ferrin froze. Many of the others screamed in fear.
The strange lightning was so bright that Ferrin had to put his hand up in front of his eyes. The escaping man was yanked off his feet and lifted into the air. He started to scream, then his body went taut and he exploded across the last three wagons.
Ferrin stumbled backward. Others did the same, pushing tight against each other for fear. He clutched his hands together to keep them from shaking.
“Let this be a lesson to any who dare try escape,” a voice called out behind them.
Ferrin and the others turned, and one of the black-robed individuals at the top of the stairs stepped forward and raised their hands.
“Welcome to the White Tower.”
Michael Wisehart
MICHAEL WISEHART graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business before going back to school for film and starting his own production company. As much as he enjoyed film work, the call of writing a novel got the better of him, and on April 14, 2014, he started typing the first words of what would become two epic fantasy series: The Aldoran Chronicles and the Street Rats of Aramoor.
He currently lives and writes in South Georgia.
Website: michaelwisehart.com
Facebook: MichaelWisehart.author
YouTube: michaelwisehart2
Emaiclass="underline" michael@michaelwisehart.com
ONE WAY
by Gerri Leen
7,500 words
"LYDIA." VESTA V'S AI sounded tinny in the thin atmosphere.
"Here," Lydia whispered. "Still here."
"Primary mission parameter has been met."
"Understood." This day had seemed unimaginably far away for so long. Lydia had thought she wouldn't make it. Now she wanted to go on, wanted to keep hearing Vesta's voice.
"Life support is failing."
She laughed, not caring that she was wasting air. "I know."
"Orders?"
She could have sent a message to mission control. She even could have called them, using up what little power there was for one last real-time comm with Mei. But she didn't need or want MC. And Vesta needed her. "What would you like to do, Vesta?"
"Query not understood."
"Preference. Yours." She started to cough and lowered her voice, secure that Vesta would hear her. "It's our last hurrah. Pick an interesting sector. Chart it until you have only enough power left to send the info and then transmit it back to MC."
Die, essentially, doing her job. That was what Lydia was asking her to do.
"And life support?"
"Divert to thrusters and comms. Follow secondary mission parameters."
"Keeping you alive is a secondary mission parameter, Lydia."
"Since when?"
"I amended my directives."
She closed her eyes—it was the ultimate irony that she felt closer to this machine than she did to most humans. "I appreciate that, Vesta, but I'm overruling. You have your orders."
"Understood. Charting additional sectors until power failure. Diverting life support to thrusters and comms."