Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1)

by Mark Shane

  A quick exchange of coin with the innkeeper and they were climbing the stairs to their room. Michael bolted the door and fell on the bed beside Falon, a sensation of relief sweeping over him as his whole body released days of tension. He wielded a small amount of Earth, chasing away the fleas and bugs nesting in the mattress. Falon sat up and looked at him.

  “What?” He asked. Did he poke her by accident with his magic? He didn’t think he had used that much.

  She fell back on the mattress and mumbled something about taking first watch for being careless. Michael fell asleep wondering if she meant he needed to take first watch or if she was volunteering.

  Visions of a dragon trapped in his family chest danced in his head when he felt someone grab his arm and put a hand over his mouth. Moonlight poured in from the window, chasing the shadows to the edges of the room. He looked up at Falon, the soft light illuminating her beautiful face. She put a finger to her lips and his eyes followed hers when she glanced at the door. Then he heard it, a faint clicking at the door. Someone was trying to pick the lock. He slid off the bed silently, reaching for the sword he did not have, and muttered a curse about not buying a blade when they arrived in town.

  The clicking stopped the moment he drew his knife. He looked at Falon questioningly. She shook her head. A moment later the door burst open crashing against the wall. A wiry man stepped into the room and the three lamps sprang to life, filling the room with light. A second man with broad shoulders and a mustache barred the doorway. It was the two men who had been playing Gammon when they arrived.

  Michael started to lunge at the smaller man when Falon pulled him back by the collar and threw herself at the man. Her movement so fast and feral it surprised Michael. Before he could react he felt cords of Air bind his arms to his body and legs.

  Falon grappled with the small man, but broad shoulders pulled her free, hitting her across the face. She crumpled to the ground.

  Michael yelled in anger, but a flick of the broad-shouldered man’s fingers silenced him with a gag of Air. The wiry man approached Michael, slowly, cautious even though he was bound. Removing his glove as he approached, a wicked smile slid across his face.

  The gag muffled Michael’s yelp as a sharp, needling sensation coursed through him when the man placed a finger on his forehead.

  “You are powerful.” His voice sounded raspy like a wood file.

  Reaching for Michael’s neck he twitched, his malicious smile turning into shock, then his eyes rolled upward and he fell to the floor. A shuriken protruded from the base of his skull.

  The broad-shouldered man roared and grabbed Falon. It was the last mistake he ever made.

  The unearthly scream emanating from the man chilled Michael to the bone. Despite the wizard’s bulk, he thrashed about like a rag doll in Falon’s grip. Her face was deathly grim, hatred burned in her eyes. When the wizard’s scream died away, she dropped his limp body to the floor.

  Michael’s bonds disappeared and realization flooded his mind. The sharp, needling sensation he felt when the wiry man touched him was the same sensation he felt when he grabbed Falon’s hand to stop her fall into the river.

  “Falon.” Michael struggled to get her name out, his mind reeling.

  She looked at him, fear covering her face. “I had no choice,” she whispered. “You have to understand.”

  “Falon...”

  “Please. You have to.” She fell to her knees.

  Michael looked at her as if for the first time, various clues snapping into place. “Falon, you’re a stripling.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Breakthrough

  Michael heard voices downstairs. “Let’s go,” he said, yanking at the wizard’s sword belt.

  Falon did not move.

  “Falon, we have got to go.”

  He heard someone coming up the stairs. Pulling Falon to her feet, he pushed her toward the window. Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Michael slammed the door shut with a stream of Air and sealed it. Grabbing their packs, he slipped out the window; fists drummed on the door behind him.

  A cart full of hay made their drop to the ground easy. The town was quiet considering the noise their scuffle had made. Michael expected the whole town to be rushing toward them demanding to know what the ruckus was about. Now that he thought about it, the innkeeper mentioned there were only three other guests staying at the inn. Two of them were now dead.

  Passing the farrier’s shop, Michael fought the urge to snatch horses. Better to slip out of town and take their chances on foot than guarantee pursuit for stealing horses. They headed east, disappearing into the forest. Hopefully, no one would care about an incident between strangers but there was no reason to take chances.

  They did not talk much, there was little to say. Falon closed herself up behind those thick walls while Michael struggled to grasp what he had seen. The image of the man writhing in her grip, his magic being stripped from his body, played vividly in his mind. The man’s scream still rang in his ears.

  Late that night clouds swept in, covering the moon. The better to hide them, Michael thought. He did not feel so appreciative at morning’s light when rain started pouring down. Waterlogged and exhausted, they found a small alcove in the face of a cliff that offered some shelter. Michael improved on it by using Air to slice limbs and Earth to meld them to the rock face. He was certain the amount of magic he used was too small for anyone to detect from a distance. At least he hoped so.

  Did the stripling in Lyndham sense him the moment they walked into the inn or did wielding Earth to clear out the bed bugs tip him off?

  Michael berated himself for being so careless. Falon had been right about going into the town and he had refused to listen. Never again. He was a carpenter, not an adventurer. Falon knew far more than he did about the world. Time he started listening if he wanted to survive.

  They slept till midday when the rain subsided. Setting out in different directions, they foraged and hunted for food.

  Michael’s emotions were so jumbled and conflicted he was glad to have some time alone. Now he understood why striplings were reviled. Even though the wizard attacked them, he felt a tinge of sympathy. He could not explain it. Perhaps it was the core part of him shivering at the idea of being separated from his magic. His skin crawled every time he thought about it. Still, he trusted Falon implicitly; she was a friend. No, he felt more for her. He could not deny it no matter how crazy the idea might be. Yet she was a stripling which circled his thoughts back to the wizard thrashing in her hand.

  Michael pushed between two fir trees and found the wolf standing by their shelter, a rabbit hanging limp in its mouth. The wolf laid it down next to another one then gazed at Michael for a moment before disappearing into the forest.

  What was he to make of the wolf? Why was the beast helping them? How did it possess the understanding to assist in the first place? Regardless, two freshly killed rabbits were a gift he wasn’t inclined to turn down on an empty stomach.

  When Falon returned to camp, he had the rabbits roasting over a small fire. “My favorite,” she said, managing a weak smile.

  “They were handed to me on a silver platter,” he replied, pleased to see her smile.

  With dinner finished and their bellies full they settled down to rest. Michael poked the fire with a stick absently, his mind drifting back to Lyndham. If the stripling sensed him from across the room, could they afford to step into another town? Now he knew why Falon sat up when he cleaned the mattress. Could she sense him now? Would she take offense if he asked?

  “My powers emerged when I was twelve,” she said, breaking the silence. “I went to hug an old wizard. He was like a grandfather to me. I’d hugged him a thousand times. He felt the sharp tingle when I grabbed his hand, and he jumped back like I’d burned him. He never came near me again.”

  Michael wanted to say something comforting, but nothing came to mind.

  “Aleister exploited my talent. He wasn’t involved directly, not at f
irst, but I can tell he’s the one who orchestrated my training. I loved the outdoors and a local hunter taught me to track and hunt; things my mother did not agree with.

  Falon took on a regal appearance and said, “Not very lady like.” She tossed a stick into the fire and continued in her voice. “To abate her complaints I took up archery, even won competitions. When I was fourteen, I moved to Dalarhan with Aleister. My mother told me I would get the best training there. Now I know it was just him pulling her strings.

  “At Dalarhan, I learned how to fight and use weapons. I remember Aleister taking me down to the dungeons. They were full, the dungeons. He took me to a cell where they had a man shackled to the wall. Told me the man had information and he needed my help. At the time, I saw Aleister as a father figure, so I was glad to help. The man went wild when I touched his hand, started babbling about all sorts of things. He told Aleister everything he wanted to know. Then Aleister had me use my powers on the man. Aleister said he was a spy, condemned to death. Said the man was a perfect candidate to test my powers on. Aleister made me feel special, made me feel important. Other magichae shied away from me, but he made me feel needed. I became entranced by him. Just like everyone else. I can remember stripping people of their powers and having no emotion about it. He turned me into his greatest assassin. I could track them and hunt them down. I could fight and use stealth better than most. Above all, I could control my powers. I could keep it in check, pass myself off as a normal person. I blended in or disappeared completely when needed. No one suspected a pretty girl to be their worst enemy. And when he asked, I striped someone or destroyed them completely. I was his perfect weapon.” Bitterness tinged her voice.

  Michael realized he could never hate her nearly as much as she hated herself.

  “But then I met Thomas, an old Seer. I thought we met by chance but now...now I don’t think anything involving Thomas happened by chance. He seemed slightly crazy at first, but he was kind and offered me a place to hide when I wanted to be alone. Through him, I began to see what was going on around me. He broke the hold Aleister had over me. I was devastated when I realized what I’d been part of. I cried in his arms all night. I wanted to kill myself, but Thomas gave me something to live for, something to make my life worth living. He sent me to find Max. He gave me a way to destroy Aleister.”

  Michael sat there, trying to wrap his mind around the horror of her life.

  She stood up and took a step away. “You can hate me if you want. I understand. I’ll get you to Dalarhan, though, and we will kill Aleister. After that, you don’t have to ever see me again.”

  She turned to walk away, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  “Don’t leave,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She looked at him shocked, eyes passing from his face to his hand holding her and back.

  Touching her bare skin terrified him and excited him at the same time. Part of him screamed with alarm at what she was, but he refused to flinch away. He would show her the love she desperately needed.

  Falling into his arms, she buried her face in his chest and wept uncontrollably.

  He rubbed her back, keeping his head up above hers. Falon said she could control her power, but with her sobbing he wasn’t ready to test her limits. Could he lose his powers by touching her hair? Such insanity! He couldn’t risk touching her bare skin yet he couldn’t deny the feelings he had for her.

  The ever growing cynic in him smirked. Isn’t that typical.

  CHAPTER 28

  Finery’s Way

  Falon felt a moment of panic when she woke, afraid Michael’s acceptance had been a dream. Then she realized her head lay on his chest. She looked up at him, appreciating his beautiful face. He seemed more beautiful than he had the day before. Was it the love he had shown her or the fact she allowed herself to feel love again?

  She had envisioned him demanding twenty paces between them at all times and similar measures she had endured from other magichae. When she looked into his eyes the night before, when he grabbed her wrist, she saw compassion. He looked at her the same way Thomas had. It was far more than she could have ever hoped for.

  A strong desire to touch his face and kiss his lips swept through her for a moment then reality doused her emotions. Even she couldn’t contain her power that well. An impossible relationship.

  You’re a stripling, despised and feared, that familiar voice whispered in the back of her mind. Sooner or later he will fear you too.

  She got up quickly as if she had been burned. Her sudden movement jolted Michael awake.

  “What...what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said sharply, angry with the voice inside her head, angry at life, just angry. She softened her voice, burying the anger deep inside. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just going to um...go,” she said, pointing toward three wide fir trees standing so close their branches intertwined. “Over there, I’m going to go...” Oh, stupid men! How could they turn a woman’s brain to mush so easily?

  “All right,” he replied slightly confused.

  “Why don’t you break camp? I’ll be back soon.” She wanted to run, wanted to cry, wanted to get away before he saw her break down.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said.

  She made it behind the trees before falling to the ground, tears streaming down her face, body racked with sobs. Most of her life she had been shunned, unable to experience the simplest pleasure of human contact. Striplings could only harm magichae, but most non-magical people behaved as if their very soul could be stripped.

  After a time, her iron will rose up again. She could not allow herself to have feelings for him. He was the Keeper, she was a stripling; it was simply not possible. She wanted to scream, she wanted to rail against the Creator, to ask Him how He could be so cruel. Pointless questions. He never answered her before. Why would He now? She took her feelings for Michael; her longing to be loved, her desire to have someone to love and packed them away. She forced them down to the deepest reaches of her mind, past her anguish over the magichae she had destroyed, beyond the years of loneliness she felt, further down in her mind than any hurt she had ever buried before. There she laid her love for Michael down like a precious newborn being tucked in bed.

  In the blackness of her mind, a small orb of light caught her attention. She reached out to grab it, but the orb slipped away and disappeared. She opened her eyes, looking around. What had she seen? Was it in her mind or nothing more than the morning sun shining through her eyelids? Did it matter? Her feelings for Michael were buried deep within like treasure buried with no map. She walked back to camp, rebuilding her walls with each step.

  “Ready to go?” he asked, throwing a last dose of dirt over the fire pit.

  “Yeah,” she replied coldly, grabbing her pack and heading through the trees.

  Michael stood there with a confused look on his face.

  A few hours of sunlight remained when a town came into sight, larger than Lyndham and nestled against the sloping foothills of the Chelean Mountains. From their vantage point above the town, they could see uniform streets and an actual town square in the center.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “We could use supplies, maybe buy horses. Do we chance it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, not looking at him. She could not allow herself to look into his eyes.

  “No one gave chase from Lyndham,” he reasoned. “Perhaps it’s safe. We’re more aware now.”

  “As long as you don’t use your powers we should be fine,” she said.

  “No powers. Got it.”

  She turned and looked at him, pushing down a thought about how much she liked his eyes. “Do you? Not a wit. Most striplings can’t sense dormant magic, but magichae tend to wield tiny amounts without realizing it. Maybe you become so used to your magic you don’t realize you’re using it; like a nervous habit. I don’t know. What I do know is I caught many of my victims unaware, walking idly down a street. Now bury your powers deep down so I can’t sense them.�
�

  ***

  Marla’s hands were on the last bag of flour when she sensed it. Jolted from the monotony of her labor, her head whipped up, mind alert. It took a moment to find the source. A young man and woman passed her and entered Celise’s store. She heaved the last bag of grain into the wagon and walked after them.

  “Forget something?” the shopkeeper asked Marla.

  Marla smiled. “I’m old, Celise, I always forget something.”

  The shopkeeper smiled and went back to checking her inventory.

  “What do you seek?” Marla asked, stepping beside the young man inspecting a blanket roll. The girl glared at her. Marla smiled warmly.

  “Supplies, maybe a warm bed. We are just passing through,” the young man said.

  “I can help on both counts,” Marla replied.

  “Thank you, but the inn across the square looks nice,” the girl said.

  A jumpy and suspicious pair. Good for them. They might actually get out of Finery’s Way alive. With some help.

  “A warm bed is easy to find at any price,” Marla replied, holding up a wool blanket for inspection, “but safety; now that can be worth a great deal more.”

  “Who are you?” the young man demanded.

  “Who are you?” she replied. She folded the blanket and placed it back on the pile. “This is not the place one such as you should be.”

  The young girl glared at him. She was a feisty one, indeed.

  “I can offer you everything you need, including safe passage out of Valan.” She pushed a silver coin into his palm and closed his hand around it. That should at least tell him she wasn’t a stripling. “In case you need direction,” she said, giving him a knowing look before leaving the store.