From The New Master: The Legend of Tscon Lightbringer Book Three

The sun was still shining, but the day was almost done. He scanned the courtyard and saw no one. The monk's spirit's actually began to lift a little, and he thought they might actually make it. All they had to do now was make it to the middle of the far wall. Prevnevron had said that small teleportation pads had been set in the ground at the middle of each of the outer walls of the castle, to allow guests who couldn't get out on their own a way out, so the wizards would not be bothered with them. Tscon allowed himself a slight grin, hoping that seeing his face brighter might cheer up the frightened villager.

“We're almost out Dmir,” the monk began, “all we have to do now is get to the wall. We'll teleport to the other side, and run like mad to the edge of the clouds. There, we'll take another teleporter to the surface, and we'll be free.”

Dmir said nothing, and his expression did not change. Tscon thought this somewhat odd, but decided his friend was probably just in some kind of shock, having seen all his fellow villagers taken away, never to be seen again. Tscon motioned for Dmir to follow him. They took a few tentative steps forward, out into the sunlight. When they saw no one, and heard no alarms ringing, the monk led the two of them in a mad sprint across the courtyard.

Suddenly, as they were just about halfway across, Tscon's legs began to feel heavy. Dmir passed him as the monk slowed down. Tscon's legs got heavier with each step, and soon it was all he could do to walk. Dmir turned to see his rescuer barely moving.

“What is wrong, sir ?”

“I don't know.” Tscon replied. “My legs are so heavy now. Don't wait for me. Get to the wall now, and run straight ahead when your on the other side. Someone will be there to guide you when you reach the cloud's edge. Run!”

Dmir took one last, frightened look at the monk, then turned and did as he was told. Tscon was standing completely still now, and it was all he could do stay upright. His legs felt as though he'd had tremendous weights tied to them. Dmir reached the wall, stopped and looked around, as if searching the walls. He was turning to face the monk when he suddenly disappeared. Tscon wasn't sure but it almost looked as though Dmir was smiling. Just as well, he thought, the man's getting out of this horrible place, he should smile. Tscon looked down at his legs, but they seemed no different, simply too heavy to move. Just as he began to suspect some sort of wizardry was at play here, Tscon heard someone behind him, clearing their throat.

The monk turned, barely able to force his legs to simply face that direction. Standing in front of him now, were three men. They stood abreast, two taller men, standing to either side of a smaller one. They were all old men, but the two standing aside seemed younger than the stooped, frail looking old man between them. All three wore pristine white robes that almost shone with their own light. They appeared to be the same clothes the monk had seen Prevnevron in, but where his friend's robes were brown and dingy, the robes these men wore were bright, as though they'd never had so much as a speck of dirt on them.

The men regarded Tscon for a long time with cold eyes. The one in middle seemed somehow to be especially hateful. He looked at the monk with the cold contempt of someone who held an unadulterated hatred. At length, this fragile-seeming old man was the one who spoke first.

“So, you are the Lightbringer monk. Very unimpressive. Your Order has indeed fallen far if you are the height of it's achievements. We stopped you easily, of course. Did you really think your pathetic plan had any chance of success? Do you think us fools?”

The old man's voice rose as he spat his question at the monk. Tscon didn't think the old wizard actually expected an answer, but the sudden silence between them gave the monk a different impression.

“No, I don't think...” Tscon began. He was cut off by his captor.

“Silence. Do not trouble me with your insipid voice and your utter stupidity.”

The old man was almost shouting now. He suddenly seemed to notice his lack of self-control, and stopped for moment. When he'd calmed somewhat, he continued.

“You see, we've known all along about that fool Prevnevron. When he tried to move against us, we were going to kill him, but then you escaped your assassins, and we found a better use for him. Bringing you here, as it were. Now we can dispose of you properly. I think, a falling death will be most amusing.” A malevolent smile made it's way onto the old man's shriveled face.

Tscon could not stay silent.

“We know about your plans, and you're going to be stopped. The Council has become corrupted and evil.”

Anger began to suddenly show on the old man's face again. He brought it swiftly under control, so as not to repeat his former outburst, but the contempt in his voice held a razor sharp quality.

“Do I have to cut your tongue out, commoner ? You will not speak to us again.” The old man waited, as if daring Tscon to say something. After the moment passed, he continued.

“That pathetic wizard knows nothing of our true intentions. As I said before, we've known about his feeling toward the Council for quite some time now. He was given what we needed him to know so that he'd lure you here. Although, there was some truth to it.”

The old man began to smile again. It was an evil, frightening visage, as if such a glance had no place on this creepy man's old face.

“We did perform a few experiments on those pathetic villagers, just to see if there was some way to counter the Order's attacks. They proved unsuccessful, but in the end it didn't matter. You see, your colleagues have not proved near as resilient as you have. Our associates have done quite an effective job at eliminating the rest of your pathetic Order. In fact, I believe you are the only one left.”

The old man's malevolent grin grew wide at this pronouncement. At first, Tscon thought the old man was probably lying, but his intuition, given to him by the years of the Order's training, told him that he was hearing the truth. As this realization began to sink in, Tscon's heart began to ache. He felt as though his very soul was being punctured. Tscon's inward agony must have been showing on his face,  because when the old man spoke again, he began driving home the stake he had just put into Tscon's heart.

“I suppose it is sad to see the last of your kind disappear. Think of it as a merciful death. After all, your Order has become quite ineffectual of late. Your Temple is empty now, and your Grand Masters do nothing but sit in it, contemplating their past glories. There was no more use for you, and so you were put away, as is befitting all tools when their use has come to an end.”

Tscon felt a white-hot anger begin to well up in him now, punching through the melancholy that was covering his soul. It had been decades since he'd felt this much angry passion, the last time being the small village where his young apprentice had lost his life. For a moment, the thought of what had happened so long ago began to temper his anger, but the sudden, mocking laughter that emerged form the bent old wizard's face renewed his building rage.

“Heh, I sense the anger in you now, finally. I was beginning to think I wouldn't be able to break through that iron will that your Order is somewhat famous for. Hehe, ahh well, now that you have amused me, you may die.”

The crooked smile was still on the old wizard's face as he began to chant in a strange language. The men flanking the old wizard began to chant as well, and put their hands up, tracing invisible symbols into the air. Suddenly, Tscon's legs began to feel somewhat lighter, and he began to try to move them. But those legs were not following his will. He wanted to run, get away from these wizards, before they followed through on the old man's death threat. But they did not go in that direction. Instead they turned him, and he began to walk slowly toward the tower at the corner of the great white fortress. Try as he might, his legs simply would not respond to his thoughts. Step by slow step, he walked closer to the ivory tower. He could hear the footsteps of the men behind him, and occasionally a diabolical laughter. Tscon led them inside the structure, and began to climb the stairs that hugged the wall. They reached the second floor of the tower, and Tscon's legs turned him again, and the grim procession marched out onto the wall.

The wind was howling, and Tscon could hear the robes of the men behind him whipping in the fierce gale. Thankfully, the mocking sounds of the wizard's laughter was drowned out by that gale, a last comfort to the doomed monk. It was short lived, however, as the old man couldn't seem to resist giving his victim one last insult. Tscon heard his fragile voice carry over the wind.

“We commemorate the end of this gallant warrior, whose death shall carry with it the extinction of his kind. It is just as well, though, they were useless anyway.”

The wind did not drown out the sound of the men's mocking laughter this time. Despite Tscon's effort not to let these men affect him now, at what did indeed appear to be the end of his life, their jest stung him in a profound way. The Order was going to fail, and Tscon could not help but feel personally responsible. And once again, his ever-present companion, guilt, resurfaced. It brought him down even further to know that here, at the end, he was going to feel guilty.

Suddenly Tscon felt himself rising into the air. He looked behind to him to see that all three men were now tracing symbols and chanting, as if it were taking all their effort to raise the monk. He rose high over the battlements, then floated against the wind into open air. He could barely make out the ground beneath him, the wind was blowing so hard he could barely keep his eyes open. He suddenly began to feel himself falling as the forces holding him aloft let go. As he fell, his mind drifted to Naeid, and he felt a deep sadness that he would never see her again.