The Pillar of Dominance (The Windore Series Book 1), page 1
THE PILLAR OF DOMINANCE
By Valya Boutenko
© 2013 Valya Boutenko. All rights reserved.
Contents:
PART 1
Chapter 1 ~ Accepted
Chapter 2 ~ The Girl at the Market
Chapter 3 ~ The Apple Orchard
Chapter 4 ~ The Tournament
Chapter 5 ~ The Last and Final Prophecy
Chapter 6 ~ Alefia’s Request
Chapter 7 ~ The Pillar of Dominance
PART 2:
Chapter 1 ~ The Love Letter
Chapter 2 ~ Salvador the Hero
Chapter 3 ~ The Peculiar Delusions of Patient #338
Chapter 4 ~ The Stranger
Chapter 5 ~ Oatmeal
Chapter 6 ~ Crolackrolite
Chapter 7 ~ The First Lesson
Chapter 8 ~ Windore
Chapter 9 ~ Sparks
Chapter 10 ~ Session Number 4
Chapter 11 ~ A Meeting of Wanderers
Chapter 12 ~ The Map
Chapter 13 ~ Wooffen’s Curse
Chapter 14 ~ Augden City
Chapter 15 ~ Captured
Chapter 16 ~ The Brute
Chapter 17 ~ Inside the Fortress
Chapter 18 ~ Escape from Augend City
Chapter 19 ~ Battle in the Clearing
Chapter 20 ~ Phantom in the Woods
Chapter 21 ~ Warren’s Life
Chapter 22 ~ Wolf
Chapter 23 ~ The Sacrifice
Chapter 24 ~ Return of the Twin Princes
Chapter 25 ~ On the Road Again
Chapter 26 ~ The Unexpected Visitor
About the Author
PART 1
Chapter 1
Accepted
It was a pleasant summer morning. A drowsy breeze wound gently through the air, in no hurry at all to get where it was going. An old man was busy tending his rose garden, his white hair gleaming like snow against his faded purple robes. The garden surrounded a small, three-story mansion, the front of which was lined with several rows of arching windows. Winking in the sunlight, the diamond-shaped windowpanes showed off their beveled edges. A swimming pool fed by a deep freshwater spring, shimmered in a light blue spot to one side of the building, and the garden’s blooming flowers, fruit trees, and greenery perfumed the air with their sweet aromas.
A post man pausing on the outside of the stout rout iron fence that lined the perimeter of the castle scowled, as he glanced though a thick pack of envelopes in his hand. A red envelope sealed with brown wax stood out from the rest.
"You've filled that boy’s head with dangerous dreams," said the postman.
"What is a head for if not to be filled with dreams?" replied the old man, and glanced at a small sundial attached to his wrist by a leather strap. The pointer on the face of the dial followed the direction of the sun without needing to be adjusted. "Any moment now…” he mumbled to himself, holding his wrist at a better angle to the light.
"But can he be entrusted with such a severe responsibility?" asked the postman, his overgrown eyebrows furrowing together to form a deep worried wrinkle on his brow.
“He is by far the most gifted student I have ever trained,” said the wizard.
The postman shifted his weight uncomfortably and said, "Never mind the fate of the world, think about the boy for a moment. He has little chance to succeed, you know that! You are likely sending him to his death!”
The wizard’s face remained neutral.
“Even if he survives,” continued the postman, “he will be left with a sense of disappointment that will break his spirit and undermine his confidence for the rest of his life. Is that what you want?” The letter shook in his outstretched hand. “Pull him out of the competition before it is too late!”
"How little you know of the human spirit," began the old wizard, taking the scarlet envelope.
“He is just too young and inexperienced to qualify,” argued the postman, his hand moving quickly down in a sharp chopping motion as if to repudiate the wizards argument once and for all.
“You underestimate him,” said the wizard.
At this moment, a screaming young man in pale blue striped pajamas was powerfully projected out of a third story window and hurled into the swimming pool with a giant splash. The postman and the wizard followed the flying youth with their eyes, their noses drawing two identical arches in the air.
"The launch bed gets him up on time every morning without fail," explained the wizard with a grin.
"Your student grows more arrogant each day," said the mailman, determined to persuade the old wizard. “And you are doing nothing to address this. When he is finally humbled, it will be at a grave price indeed.”
"You mistake confidence for arrogance,” said the wizard. “True, Wendell is aware of his talents, and that he shows great promise, but his ambition is not the enemy, for without it, where would he find the motivation to accomplish all the great things he must do?"
"Ambition becomes an enemy when it oversteps integrity," challenged the mailman.
"I have chosen Wendell as the least likely young person to be corrupted by his developing powers," explained the wizard. "Besides, who is to say that denying ourselves the fulfillment of our most benevolent dreams is not overstepping integrity in itself?" He tugged at his beard and looked with lively hazel eyes at his worried companion.
The corners of his mouth slumping in a frown, the postman griped, “I am concerned that you do not see the dangers we face if he does not succeed.”
"Failure is but a wise old teacher, strict and compelling, not a hungry tiger lurking in the bushes."
"And what will we do if he should fail?"
Glancing at the red envelope in his hand, the old man said, “a warrior from another region will go in his place, it wont be the end of the world.
“It just might be,” growled the postman. “Though I cannot bring myself to approve of Wendell, I shudder to think what could happen should they send someone else in his place. A stranger on the journey—it is unthinkable, even worse than your untrained-hotheaded-teenage-halfwit.”
“I quite agree,” said the wizard. He opened the letter and broke into a smile as his eyes moved across the lines.
"Before it is too late,” said the postman, fidgeting anxiously, “I urge you to choose another student, someone older and more qualified.”
“I have no other students,” the wizard responded, still engrossed in the letter. “Wendell is the last of his kind.”
The postman swallowed hard and glaring at the wizard asked, “How many years of training does he have?”
“Four,” said the wizard.
“Four!?” the postman exclaimed, “I thought ten was the minimum required before he can wear the robes.”
“I believe he is ready,” replied the wizard, “besides, there wasn’t time for the traditional schooling.”
“We’ve got to do something, if you let him go like this...” The postman exhaled sharply, frustrated with the old man’s lack of concern. “Because you are my friend, I'm warning you, little good will come of this."
"A little good is better than none at all," smiled the wizard.
The postman huffed, and turned to leave.
“Wait, take some roses before you go,” said the wizard, handing him a bundle of brilliant red blooms, “They smell sweeter than honey.”
The postman accepted the gift reluctantly.
At that moment a soaking wet youth exploded from the ancient oak door of the castle and raced barefoot down the steps at breakneck speed. His tan skin and sun-streaked hair suggested a love of the outdoors. A strong jaw line indicated an inherent stubbornness. Although disheveled, he was a handsome young man, with a bright open face and a cleft in one cheek that had formed from frequent smiling. He looked upon the world with an uncommon candor, being too optimistic to believe in hierarchy, and too naive to know shyness.
As the youth ran down the path, the round paper lanterns tastefully hung on either side, burst into flames as he passed, leaving singed skeletons in their place.
"Master Loriander, the letter!" shouted the youth breathlessly, "What does it say?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself?" suggested the old man, handing him the letter.
The boy tore it from his master’s hand and eagerly soaked up the text with his eyes. One of his eyes was brown, and the other blue.
"I'm in," he whispered and glanced up at his teacher. "I'm in!" he yelled, punching the sky with his fist. In his other hand, the letter burst into flames, and for a moment, the three of them watched the ashes drift away in the breeze.
"Wendell, you must learn to control your powers," said the old wizard disapprovingly.
Too overwhelmed by the news, the boy didn't seem to hear him.
The postman aggressively dropped his hand to his side in frustration, turning the bouquet of roses upside down, and letting the flowers smash against his thigh. Several battered petals tore free and fell to the ground leaving crimson spots on the stone path beneath him. "I shall see you at the tournament," he said unhappily and turned to leave.
"See you then," called the wizard after him politely.
"This is the happiest day of my life!" shouted Wendell. "I have to tell Prince Airyallen."
"No, there is no time for that, you need to study," the old wizard urged, suppressing a smile that twitched at the edge of his lips, but
Wendell tore from the garden, passing the disgruntled mailman and turning onto the main street.
For a moment the old wizard felt a twinge of regret for having taken Wendell to so many of the Kings counsel meetings, and introducing him to the royal family, for although Wendell had become fast friends with the prince, it was not the young wizard’s place to socialize with royalty. Even if someday Wendell would serve the prince as Loriander himself served the King, Wendell’s inability to understand social boundaries could someday lead to dangers the youth could not foretell. Shaking these melancholy thoughts from his head, and remembering the remarkable news of the morning, the old wizard went back to work in his garden.
Chapter 2
The Girl at the Market
Wendell sprinted through the commotion of the main street, ignoring the surprised glances of the townspeople. His wet blond hair bounced against his forehead as his legs carried him effortlessly forward through the crowd. The cobbled street was lined with vendors selling and trading goods of many kinds. There were fine ceramic dishes, weavings of silk and wool, magic infused armor and gadgets, alongside endless booths of freshly prepared foods. Delicious smells wafted through the boulevard in mouthwatering torrents. Running past a pastry table, Wendell grabbed an apple tart and without slowing his pace, took an enormous bite.
"Hey!" yelled the baker. "I know where you live, wizard scum!"
Wendell laughed and increased his speed, happily stuffing what remained of the pastry in his mouth and licking some yellow cream from his fingertips. Wendell sprinted in the direction of the castle. Glancing behind to see if he was being followed by guards, he suddenly bumped into an obstacle. With a jolt, he looked before him at a young woman whom he had nearly thrown to the ground.
“Watch out!” she said, her face hidden behind a curtain of red curls. Apples rolled on the ground in every direction. She knelt to collect them into a silver pail.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” mumbled Wendell apologetically as he stooped to help her. He could not recall ever noticing her at the market before. She wore a white dress that seemed light as air and gave her every movement a sense of effortlessness. Apple blossom petals were tangled magnificently in her hair. Wendell went to reach for an apple, when suddenly she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and he caught a glimpse of her face. She was strikingly lovely, with an exquisite composition of features. Her large eyes were uncommonly bright and clear. Wendell bent down lower craning his neck trying to get a better look of her face. She remained entirely unaware of his attempts to steal a second glance at her. Picking up the last apples, she finally straightened and looked up at him for the first time. Wendell slowly mirrored her movement, paralyzed by her beauty. He handed her the only apple he was able to pick up, and she broke into a gorgeous smile.
“What is your name?” asked Wendell.
“Why do you want to know?” she responded, lifting one elegantly arched eyebrow a fraction above the other.
A group of guards charged toward them from the busy street below. The angry pastry maker was among them.
“If you do not tell me I will suffer the rest of my life seeking a name worthy of such beauty.”
“Seize the thief!” yelled the baker.
The guards grabbed the boy and violently bound his hands behind his back with a length of coarse rope.
“I do not give my name to thieves and criminals,” said the girl.
“You are so lovely,” Wendell went on, unable to tear his eyes from the girl, “I don’t even mind going to prison to have met you.”
The young woman laughed softly, but the baker silenced her with a glance.
“First day at the market and already she is mixing with the wrong crowd,” he grumbled, “should have left you in the orchard.”
A guard shoved Wendell in the direction of the prison and the boy, complying with the unspoken command, regretfully moved as he was directed. They had moved away several paces when one of the guards grabbed Wendell by the shoulder and peered at his face.
“Hey, ain’t you that wizard kid who’s gonna to compete in the tournament?” he asked, sizing him up with a skeptical glance.
“Yeah, why?” asked Wendell.
“You’re just so young…” the guard trailed off, “…and scrawny, even for a wizard.” He felt Wendell’s bicep. Wendell yanked his arm away. Although quite tall for his age, Wendell indeed felt small compared to the guard, whose thick chest barely fit inside his tunic. The rope binding Wendell’s wrists began to slowly untie itself behind his back.
“Not everyone was born to look like a horse,” said Wendell, watching the blood rush to the guard’s face. The man immediately took a swing at Wendell, just as the youth ducked between the two guards and made a wild dash for freedom. The guards leaped after him. They grabbed him before he had time to pick up any speed, firmly clasping his wrists. The enlivened rope attacked the larger guard, snaking up his leg and winding itself around his chest and throat. The guard struggled to pull it free, wrestling it off of himself. He sliced through it with a knife and the rope went limp. He threw it on the ground. The two pieces played dead for a moment, and then slowly inched away.
“Lets put the iron shackles on this conniving little twerp,” said the large guard to his companion. Wendell was roughly handcuffed. He winced as the bracelets were tightened extra tight around his wrists. Wendell was escorted into the prison and locked inside a damp cell. The youth plunked himself down on a pile of rotting straw in the corner and put his hands behind his head. Looking up at the dirty ceiling, all he could see was the face of the girl at the market. When he pictured her eyes, he felt a tearing sensation in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. There was something so sincere, so intense about her. He relived the moment she had first looked up at him again and again, wanting to drown in that gaze of hers, and never surface.
An hour later, a prison guard notified Wendell that he had a visitor. Wendell rose and brushed himself off. Prince Airyallen hurried down the prison hallway to Wendell’s cell and grabbed the bars with both hands. He was a broad shouldered youth, easily the more handsome of the two. He wore a gold and blue riding uniform. The bridge of his nose had a slight diamond shape, giving him an appearance of honor his character did not yet reflect. A head of thick raven curls gave his figure a look of nobleness that was at this point more inherited than earned.
“What, again?” groaned the prince. “Wendell, you’re killing me.” He smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead in a gesture of mock fatigue. “Still in your pajamas and already in prison?” he scoffed, observing Wendell’s damp sleepwear. “Do you enjoy the breakfast here, or what?”
Wendell laughed. “It’s hard for me to manage my appearance after so many years of being homeless on the streets.”
Prince Airyallen turned to the guard. “Release him at once!” he commanded.
“Your majesty,” muttered the guard with a low bow, and began nervously fumbling with his keys.
“So?” asked the prince, looking eagerly at Wendell.
“So?” shrugged the boy in return, unsure what he was being asked. The guard opened the gate and let Wendell out.
“Did you get the letter? What did it say?” asked the prince.
“Oh! The letter!” nodded Wendell, remembering the acceptance letter. “Yes! I’m in!” he said with renewed excitement. “I was on my way to tell you.”
Overjoyed, Prince Airyallen clapped his friend on the back.
“You must win the Determination Tournament, Wendell,” he said. “There’s no one else I would rather have by my side on the Day of the Dominance.”
Wendell beamed at him.
“How did you end up in prison anyway?” asked the prince curiously, as they made their way toward the exit. Two guards opened the double doors for them to pass through.
“I ran into a girl,” said Wendell sheepishly.
“A girl?” asked Prince Airyallen with a laugh.
“You should have seen her…” Wendell trailed off, his eyes glazing over. They stepped out onto the street, leaving the thick marble columns of the prison behind them.
