The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep

by Scott D. Muller

  She had certainly been surprised when the beast initially materialized. She hadn’t expected the summoning and incantation to work the first time she tried to invoke it. They rarely did! Her summoned demon had been far larger, more hideous and powerful than her research had led her to believe. Of course, one can never tell with these things, that is why she had taken so many precautions and cast so many protections.

  In hindsight, it was her missing that small, seemingly insignificant hairline crack that had been her true downfall. She chuckled in her mind, but admitted to herself that something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. It was inevitable because of her arrogance and lust for power. She had been … less than humble in those days. Her mother would have been ashamed. But at the time? Well, even though it was not an excuse … she had been caught up in the rush of all the power she had accumulated. Conversely, she was consumed with fear that someone would take it away. It was a horrible way to live.

  She vividly remembered seeing the demon’s yellow eyes narrowing in on the single flaw in the chain as it stepped out of the ether into the room. Next, there was the roar and frightening gore-dripping fanged grin it gave her just before it exploded out of the containment into her room. She had barely had a second to escape once the demon broke free of the blood rune.

  She chose in desperation to send her being into the bal’achar, the ancient bracelet that held the war stones that could hold a person’s being. She knew she hadn’t the time or knowhow to defend herself against such a powerful foe. She had been woefully unprepared, too hasty, too power hungry, too anxious to gain a leg up on her rivals. Rivals? Nemeses more like it. She feared them more than the demons.

  The demon, sensing that her life spirit had fled had held back its wrath and left her body alone, stopping mid-swing with its mighty clawed hand. For by itself, her old shell was of inconsequential value to the demon. This was no ordinary demon; this was a Lord of demons, far more deadly, far wiser, and far more calculating. This demon wasn’t consumed with rage, but had control of its emotions and actions. It answered to no one, and she had set it free!

  She wondered what had happened to the beast, for once she had been deposited into the bal’achar, her ability to see and sense the real world had been severely curtailed, not to mention the initial nausea and disorientation she had experienced. She couldn’t see the door, so she couldn’t tell if it escaped her room, but she imagined that the evil being had been successfully returned to the plane that was its home. You never can be sure, a beast with that kind of power wasn’t held to the normal rules of the universe.

  Her worst fears were that it had left her room and attacked or worse captured the other nine. She was hesitant to even imagine a world where demons controlled the remaining Ten. Heaven help mankind! Yet the tower stood, so no great battle had yet been fought for control of the Keep. She had no idea how her companions had fared, but she imagined them as captives in the pits of the lower-planes forced to do the Demon Lord’s bidding.

  Either she had no idea how much damage it had inflicted on the Keep before the spell that brought it here expired or one of her nine rivals managed to send it on its merry way. Hopefully, little damage was done.

  She tried to be optimistic and believe the outcome was in their favor, but that wasn’t of her nature. The spell she had cast to bring it here had a short time limit before it would send the beast back, but even five minutes was nearly an eternity for the demigod to wreak havoc. A lot of magic can be loosed in five minutes! She mentally sighed, relieved that she had at least limited its time in this world.

  She sat, and she used that term figuratively, for her being had no form, watching her only thin view of the world into her room. From the angle of the gem sitting in the bracelet on her dressing table, she could see her body, the bed, the intricate containment pattern on the floor, the burnt and melted candles, her window, and her closet of magical toys. She couldn’t see the door or the rest of the room. She could hear nothing, although she assumed she would if she had not cast wards to prevent any sound from leaving her room.

  She sometimes imagined that she heard muffled footsteps in the distance, and mumblings, but little else. When she heard them—sensed them, she would shout and reach out. It was probably futile, but she kept trying. Why, just a little while ago she thought she had heard someone next door. She shouted with all her might, but nobody came. Her exile was dead quiet. Once, a bird had landed on the windowsill and she still treasured its sweet song. She hadn’t put wards on the windows, after all; she was in one of the highest rooms in the Keep, and even she couldn’t levitate to that height.

  The years dragged on. How long had she been trapped she wondered? Time was irrelevant. She was curious about who held the job of Keeper and wondered if she knew him. She wasn’t sure if she had been gone for decades, centuries, or longer. She kept track for a while, but eventually she gave up.

  She wondered why none of her friends, and she used that phase loosely, sought her out. She frowned to herself. That was a lie! She really wasn’t surprised, not surprised at all. She would have been more startled had they actually taken the time to seek her out.

  She scoffed, they were probably glad she had just vanished. She had been the most powerful, able to level mountains. However, she was not the most feared or loathed, that honor went to Druxell, well — maybe Skra. But Druxell had a twisted and evil streak that he barely managed to keep in check — most of the time anyway! With her gone, the others would sigh in relief. She would be one fewer of the Ten they would have to outmaneuver. Heaven knows she wasn’t well loved. Feared! Yes, feared, but definitely not loved.

  She had plenty of time to reflect on her life and her choices. In introspection, she realized that she had become paranoid, arrogant and consumed with magic and its power. She knew she and her colleagues had made poor choices. She now realized just how dangerous a game they had been playing.

  In her mind, she wondered if they had collectively rendered the Keep antiquated and brought its eventual collapse into being a current reality. They had left the Zylliac in place, fearing that given enough time the other wizards may acquire skills as great as theirs. That was just one of the many things she hoped to be able to correct if she got out.

  She hoped with all her might that someday she might be able to rectify all the wrong she had done. She didn’t know if it was too late, or if those that remained would welcome her back. She realized that she wouldn’t trust herself if she came back. She knew that it would take strong action to demonstrate her change of heart.

  And so she sat, watching her body turn to dust, hoping that someday someone would manage to break her room’s defenses and enter to find her stuck in this wretched prison and find a donor suitable for her being, for surely, she merited a second chance to make things right. She sighed to herself about the irony of her situation. She had made it so that no mage would ever be able to wield real magic, so effectively she had doomed herself to eternity in a room with a view.

  And so she sat.

  Suspicions

  Zedd’aki had tried to aid his friend up the long stairs, but Ja’tar wouldn’t have any part of it. Every time he tried to help, Ja’tar ripped his arm away, so Zedd’aki let him do it his way. It wasn’t worth fighting about; his friend had been through enough for one day.

  He had to pause several times to wait for his friend to catch up, but eventually, they made it up the spiral stairs from deep in the bowels of the Keep. They passed the aviary, the council courtyard, climbed the second curved staircase into the twelve sided entry chambers of the Ten and into Ja’tar’s private quarters.

  Ja’tar cleared his wards, although Zedd’aki was right, he had lost some of his dexterity and it took him several tries before he got the spell correctly formed. The two old friends waited while the yellow crackling spell raced around the door before entering the room.

  Ja’tar reset the wards and peeled off his filthy, gore-soaked robe. He threw it into a clothes hamper to
be teleported to the staff for laundering. He soaked a towel and listlessly wiped down his chest and arms.

  Zedd’aki stared at his friend’s back, staring at the irregular scars that raced across his muscular back. These were not ordinary scars; these were badges from the battles in Ror. Blue liquid lightning made a distinctive web-like pattern and left raised welts that no healing could ever erase, and they were said to be more painful than a manta’s sting. Zedd’aki knew the history of those scars, and even after all these years, the sight of them still made him cringe.

  While Ja’tar had bent over the basin to wash with his back facing the hamper, Zedd’aki reached in and removed the robe carefully with two fingers. He crinkled his nose and tossed it into the heavy stone fireplace. With a flick of his wrist, he incinerated it. It wasn’t worth saving.

  Ja’tar poured cool water from the copper pitcher into the porcelain basin, and gently washed his hands and face using the course bar of oatmeal soap, wincing at the sting of his wounds. The water turned a putrid ruddy brown color from the gore and dried blood that was crusted on his wounds. After rinsing, he dried off with a towel, leaving small bloodstains where his blisters had cracked open.

  His hair was mostly peppered now and shoulder length, and his beard was well below his chin. He ran a shell comb through his hair, pulled it back into a tail, and tied it off. He looked into the mirror at the face staring back at him. It certainly didn’t feel to be his, not any longer. The fire had gone out of those blue haloed eyes and the man in the mirror appeared weary and beat.

  Zedd’aki waited patiently, staring out over the valley from the tall windows of the turret, watching the tall pines sway in the breeze. A lone hawk floated on the updrafts high above the valley, searching for a tasty treat.

  “Are you doing alright,” asked Zedd’aki over his shoulder after the hawk disappeared from sight.

  Ja’tar’s response was listless, “I … need to figure out how this could have happened. I’m the Keeper, I should know —”

  “You cannot know everything,” Zedd’aki compassionately replied, as he turned from the window and walked over to the hearth to warm himself. He reached down, added another log to the fire, and stirred the shimmering coals with a decorative brass poker. He was pleased, there was nothing left of the robe.

  “You just don’t understand,” Ja’tar said, tears welling in his eyes as he slumped down at the edge of the bed.

  “What don’t I understand?” Zedd’aki probed, hoping that his friend was finally prepared to converse.

  “It’s not the same. It’s not the same,” Ja’tar repeated himself for lack of anything else to declare.

  Zedd’aki, turned around to get a better view of Ja’tar’s face. “What is not the same, my friend?”

  Ja’tar stared into Zedd’aki’s eyes from across the room as if he should understand, “This isn’t just another watcher gone mad or losing control, something is very, very wrong.”

  “How so?” Zedd’aki shrugged, not seeing how this event could possibly be different.

  Ja’tar spoke indignantly, “Well, first off, Tar’ac was … experienced. He would have had his guards up; you know his concentration was flawless. This isn’t as straightforward as it appears.”

  Zedd’aki blinked hard, still not convinced and not entirely following Ja’tar’s reasoning.

  Ja’tar lamented, looking into his friend’s eyes, “Zedd’aki, Tar’ac never lost his ward. In that, I am in no doubt.”

  Zedd’aki was unable to contain his surprise. “Bags of bones! What do you think happened?”

  Ja’tar shrugged weakly, “A demon, lower planes…maybe … or at least it looked like a demon did this.”

  “A demon,” echoed Zedd’aki, mouthing the words, not believing what he was hearing. “It’s not normal for them to be this brazen.”

  Ja’tar continued in the same breath, “But without the record … it’s hard to say for certain … it was mostly destroyed. We require the record from the book. Still, the demon was strong. So strong … strong as anything I have ever witnessed. It reminds me of —”

  Ja’tar stood up, walked over to the overstuffed chair next to the fire, and sat down, “… I’m telling you, it had to be a demon of some sort.”

  Zedd’aki swallowed hard, “You think it was after your sister?”

  Ja’tar shrugged, “It’s possible I suppose.”

  “Any thoughts on why? I thought your sister had the realm under control. Didn’t she say that there weren’t a lot of magic users there, and those that were … well, let’s just say they were amateurs.”

  “Last I heard, but it’s been a while. Things can change, who knows with demons —”

  “Maybe your sister survived, we still have time. We could try to repair the record,” Zedd’aki mentioned again, trying to remain positive and not comprehending what his friend was getting at.

  “Stop changing the subject and pay attention to what I am telling you,” Ja’tar blurted in anger.

  “I just meant —” Zedd’aki winced as he backpedaled; he hadn’t intended to further distress his friend. He turned away, focusing on rubbing his hands together in front of the flames as the fresh log caught fire.

  “This came through El’batar,” Ja’tar spat out as if the words were vile poison on his lips.

  “What?” Zedd’aki said, as his eyes went wide.

  Ja’tar wailed, holding his hands over his face, “How could she sow could survive? It burnt the watcher and the chair through the wards. Do you hear me? Through the wards! Through the bloody thin ethereal link! It should have been impossible.”

  “You must be mistaken,” grumbled Zedd’aki, as he turned toward his friend and placed his hands on his hips. “We must not understand the circumstances of today’s events.

  “Zedd’aki, the orb only funnels the experience through to the watcher. You know that much. The wards only prevent the orb from invading your mind,” said Ja’tar, pointing to his head.

  “I’m confused,” admitted Zedd’aki as he scratched his head and yanked on his long beard.

  “Don’t you understand? The raw power that destroyed Tar’ac came through the orb,” Ja’tar bemoaned.

  Zedd’aki stammered, “Through the orb? But … but the orb can only let a small fraction of the experience through, you said so yourself. The Zylliac would have — should have prevented it.”

  “Agreed! Should have …” Ja’tar nodded.

  Ja’tar sat staring off at the wall, casting small flame and explosion spells at the end of his fingers. The room was full of silence except for the rhythmic popping. Zedd’aki watched his friend nervously fidget.

  “But didn’t?” Zedd’aki postulated.

  “Don’t know. However that was one of the basic design principles used in creating the orbs, or so I understand. They could never harm by passing through the magic.”

  Zedd’aki shook his head side-to-side, “So it couldn’t happen?”

  “I didn’t say that —”

  “Didn’t you?” a flustered Zedd’aki balked.

  “Damn it! It burned the bloody Dragonbone chair. It incinerated Tar’ac like,” a shocked Ja’tar said, snapping his fingers. “It happened.”

  “Perhaps it didn’t come through the orb, and we don’t understand,” Zedd’aki reasoned, drawing the wrong conclusion.

  “Don’t talk nonsense! Look —” a frustrated Ja’tar blurted out, “—only the watcher and the orb were in the room … and me! The room was warded, no demon could enter.”

  Zedd’aki howled, “But, you just said it was impossible ….”

  “Curse the bloody gods! Apparently not impossible,” Ja’tar screamed back with terror filling his face.

  Zedd’aki wiped his brow, “But?”

  “It should be impossible, but it definitely came through the orb. Look before you,” reasoned Ja’tar again raising his voice and throwing his arm out pointing to the wall of his room, not realizing that they had left the library.

&nb
sp; “The evidence is there. If that much annihilation came through the orb, how much damage do you think it did on the other side?”

  Zedd’aki shrugged, not even willing to offer conjecture.

  “Think. Could it wipe out a town, or a realm?” Ja’tar hypothesized.

  “Bah! A town? A realm? Now you are talking nonsense,” said Zedd’aki, tugging hard at his beard.

  “Am I? By the Ten, Tar’ac was leagues away from where this happened. Leagues!”

  “Are you certain?” Zedd’aki asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Ja’tar lowered his head and nodded solemnly.

  “That would indeed be magic to be feared, way beyond what you or I could conjure or control … and we are the strongest of the elders left,” Zedd’aki phrased it as much of a statement as a question, his voice trembling as concern filled his face. “I shudder to think who or what could have done this.”

  Ja’tar looked up and stammered half-heartedly, “I have no idea, but it reminds me of the team spells from Ror.”

  “Ror,” Zedd’aki whispered under his breath as a cold chill came over him.

  Ja’tar looked out the window blankly. Silence filled the space as both men sat and contemplated those sad times.

  “It must be different than those days,” said Zedd’aki decisively.

  Ja’tar looked up, searching the room, “Did you hear that?”

  Zedd’aki stopped mid sentence, “I think that … What? Hear what?”

  “It sounds like a woman crying out … calling for help!”

  “A woman? Where …?” Zedd’aki asked with a confused look on his face as he spun in a circle. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “How can you not, she seems to be screaming at the top of her lungs.”

  “When? J-just now?” Zedd’aki stammered.

  “Yes, just now! I mean she is —” Ja’tar’s face went blank and he stopped talking for a few moments and just stood there. “What? What did you say? What woman?”