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

by Scott D. Muller

  Ja’tar knew he was being tested and thought about it for a few seconds. This was a big change in policy and he was acting on his own accord, without the blessings of the Guild. Even though he held a very high position, he wasn’t sure he could say with certainty that it would be allowed.

  “I believe we need to get more involved,” Ja’tar agreed. “However, I am not the only member of the Guild who has a say. You know that.”

  He shook his finger at Dra’kor. “I can plead our case, and if I have stories and events to support our point of view, I am likely to be more effective.

  “Whatever comes of this, I believe we will at least be able to engage the elves, gnomes and perhaps the dwarves.”

  “The point is we are going to start, right?” asked Dra’kor before adding on, “— We are going to act like magi and try to better the world.”

  “I think we should. Will the Guild allow it? That is the question isn’t it?” shrugged Ja’tar. “I believe we have to construct a very strong case for reestablishing our role in the realms. Maybe the pendulum has swung far too far to the left. In hindsight, I’m afraid we have brought this situation on ourselves. But, if this crisis proves to be as dire as I predict, we will have no problem getting the votes from the Guild that we need.”

  Dra’kor wasn’t entirely happy with the answer, but he understood the truth of the situation. He also valued the fact that Ja’tar was being upfront with him and not trying to twist him into doing something with an agenda. Besides, he was yearning to get out into the world. He was very excited about the possibility of travel, no matter what the reason or the consequences.

  His own admission surprised him. He realized that his desire to explore and learn far out-stripped his fear. Of course, it was easy to say that now. He wondered how he would react the first time he came face to face with his fears and nightmares. It was always far easier to act the tough and fearless explorer when safe in the bowels of Havenhold, but out in the real world?

  “Are you interested?” asked Ja’tar directly.

  Grit was the first to speak up, “Aye, I am … I guess …”

  Dra’kor gave him an irritated look.

  “— that is, if it’s acceptable with Dra’kor …,” he stammered.

  “I would have to say that we are willing to do this for you, but I think we need some time to think about it. I still have many questions,” Dra’kor said.

  “But …,” grumbled Men’ak.

  “Yes,” Dra’kor asked, turning toward him.

  “Nothing,” Men’ak groaned, casting his eyes down.

  He didn’t want Ja’tar to know how eager he was to get out of the Keep. An adventure, by the Ten! He had to keep himself from breaking out into a shit-eating grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ventured outside farther than earshot of the walls of Havenhold. He could feel his adrenaline building.

  Ja’tar knew that Dra’kor wanted to accept. He could see it in his eyes. He gained a bit of admiration for the man in the fact that he hadn’t jumped in with both feet. He recognized the gamesmanship of his request.

  “Of course, why don’t you three talk it over and come to me tomorrow with your questions. I’ll give you until tomorrow night to give me an answer. After that, I will look elsewhere. Oh, and gentlemen—let’s keep this to ourselves for now. If you accept, we will fabricate a cover story and present it to the house at dinner. I don’t want to worry the others unnecessarily.”

  Dra’kor nodded and looked at his two friends. Grit and Men’ak both nodded in turn. Dra’kor looked out over the landscape shown before him. He could almost feel the dirt beneath his feet and the wind in his hair. He wasn’t sure what was in store for them, but he knew damn well it would be different from anything else he had experienced. He was bored to tears of study. He yearned to get out and see the world, regardless of the circumstance. He also realized that he would not likely get another opportunity like this again for a long time.

  “You can go now and discuss. Zedd’aki and I will stay here and prepare some maps and research the lay of the land a bit more,” Ja’tar said. “However, you are free to stay and watch if you desire. I’m just afraid you’ll be bored with the humdrum of it all ….”

  “I’d like to sta —” Grit started to say, but was cut off by Dra’kor who grabbed his sleeve and yanked him toward the door.

  “We’ll go and discuss your generous offer,” Dra’kor said, over the top of Grit. He motioned for his friends to join him as he headed for the door.

  As the door closed behind the three men with a resounding thud, Zedd’aki nodded at Ja’tar and whispered, “Nicely played old man, nicely played! But it would have been better if you told me your plan before you pulled the boys in!”

  Ja’tar sighed, “Sorry, I didn’t have time.”

  “You think they’re right for the job?”

  “Doesn’t matter I suppose, but I fear that we need them more than we would like.”

  Zedd’aki’s eyebrows rose. “What do you think they will find?”

  “I fear … I fear that they will find horrors and sights that are enough to make a grown man cower. I hope and pray that they will return in one piece —”

  Zedd’aki winced at the reply. “Do you really think that this is spinning out of control?”

  “I fear that the demons have risen, maybe worse, that a dark mage is behind all of this. I fear for the realms and for our very survival. I must parlay with the elves soon,” lamented Ja’tar. “Will you join me? I could use the support.”

  Zedd’aki nodded, “Of course my friend, when shall we meet?”

  “How about tomorrow —?”

  “— Done!” Zedd’aki replied. They both leaned over the table and began to dig into the scene before them. “I’ll try to map out the roads.”

  Ja’tar nodded, as he maneuvered the map into place, “Let’s start with Five Peaks.”

  “What if the high pass is still snowed in?”

  “I guess it could be this time of year. All right — let’s do Three Rivers as an alternate.”

  Zedd’aki nodded.

  They had plenty of work to do and very little time to accomplish their responsibilities. Ja’tar pondered the atlas. He was out of form. It was going to be excruciatingly slow going for the next few hours as he strained to recall all the finesse of the symbols. For now, he fumbled his way through the magic to control the map, often getting results that didn’t quench his needs.

  Outside in the hall, the three friends began their trek back to the dining room. The halls were dark now, with only a bit of moonlight lighting the way through stained glass windows that emptied into the courtyard below. It was a clear night, nary a cloud in the sky. Their shadows marched down the hall as they passed the giant multistory columns that lined the outside hall.”

  Men’ak’s face was filled with confusion. “Do you think Ja’tar is serious about this quest he wants to send us on?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dra’kor shook his head. “I’d like to believe he is. He seems … sincere, and the need does seem to be great.”

  “Is he trying to get us out of the way?” inquired Men’ak, hoping he was wrong.

  “Seems to be too elaborate for a ruse …,” Grit stated not knowing what everyone was thinking. “Given the events of the day … I mean.”

  “I’d say it’s improbable, but I suppose it’s possible, the old man is more clever than he seems. But either way, it gets us out of the Keep for a while,” Dra’kor said, with a smile.

  “Aye, there is that!” Grit smiled back.

  Dra’kor grinned. “Can you imagine it?”

  “What if it isn’t a ruse —?” Men’ak inquired. “What if the whole lot the old man says is true? Our necks could be on the line this time. This isn’t just bluster and talking. If he’s right, this could be very perilous.”

  “Damn the Ten!” muttered Grit under his breath. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “What if … if it is as he says and the en
tire Keep, and the realms, are in peril. If all halla breaks loose …,” Men’ak uttered with trepidation in his voice. “We could make an immense difference.”

  “Aye!” nodded Dra’kor somberly. “It would be satisfying to have value. I surmise that is what’s at the core of what chafes me now. I feel we have no value.”

  “We could be at the center of this and at least have some control over our destiny. Maybe …,” Grit offered.

  “If we turn him down, all the talk has just been talk and we will lose all respect within the Keep. Our bluff has been called,” Dra’kor concluded, wondering if the old man had planned it that way. He realized the irony of the entire situation. Trapped like a rat!

  Grit stared into the eyes of his fellow conspirators. “Do you believe we are prepared for this?”

  “As ready as any …,” Men’ak nonchalantly commented, although the tone of his voice suggested that he didn’t believe it to be so.

  Men’ak knew that there was an enormous difference between him and his friends, and Ja’tar’s old colleagues. They had fought in the battle of Ror and survived — they understood genuine peril and witnessed heart-stopping battle. It was an entirely different thing to fling water balls and static charges at someone when you knew it was practice. Men’ak wasn’t sure how he would react to seeing blood-lust in some demons eyes as it was casting Demon’s Fire at him.

  “Isn’t this what we’ve been asking for all along?” Grit asked, because he was still a smidgen foggy on how they had been out-maneuvered. At least he felt that they had been outplayed.

  “I suppose. Still, I suffer that we have been playing a game of Chessman and been forced to castle,” smiled Dra’kor, because he recognized that Ja’tar had played them right into his hand.

  “It is as it is I suppose …,” Grit sighed in abject resignation.

  “We should have time to brush up on our spells.” Dra’kor added being uncharacteristically optimistic. “Before we go …”

  “We know so little,” Men’ak muttered, shaking his drooped head. “A thousand arcane useless spells of very little benefit,” he said as his voice trailed off.

  “Aye, stupid, useless spells,” Grit nodded.

  “Well, we shouldn’t need them if we stick to the plan,” Dra’kor reasoned, trying to brighten the mood.

  Grit knew full well that nothing ever goes per the plan and things are always more dire than expected. “Plans are bound to change.”

  “Still, I’d feel better if I knew I could annihilate something if the need should present itself,” Men’ak added.

  “I think that Ja’tar would aid us if we asked. He did survive Ror,” Dra’kor piped up. “He’s the last you know … the last of the Fallen.”

  Men’ak’s head cocked to one side. “The Fallen?”

  “I heard it was from a bard’s song,” Dra’kor said. “The song says that they were like gods once and have fallen from grace. But I believe there is much more to the story.”

  “Always is,” grumbled Grit.

  Dra’kor nodded, “The last mage to ascend and become a god.”

  “A god?” stammered Men’ak. “You’re kidding right?”

  “Uh-hmm … no, it’s true. But I heard the Guild ordered him back before the ascension was complete,” Dra’kor said, shaking his head.

  “No way! The Guild did that?” Grit whistled. “That’s power —”

  “Why?”

  “No one knows for sure, or at least talks about it. Rumor is the Guild didn’t want him to go. They wanted him to take over the Keep after his father was asked to ascend.”

  Grit could not believe his ears. “They can do that?”

  “Guess so — he’s here ain’t he?” Dra’kor spat.

  “I would be infuriated!” Men’ak swore. “By the Ten!”

  “I heard he was … and that ain’t all. I heard that you have to be beckoned by the gods themselves. He was the last one; the gods took the Guild’s move as an insult and haven’t talked to magi since.”

  Men’ak whistled, “I never knew —”

  “What about Zedd’aki? Wasn’t he there?” Grit asked.

  “Only at the end, at least that’s what I heard,” Dra’kor replied. “Ja’tar is — the last of the Fallen.”

  “I guess that counts for something, even if it was millennia ago. They say he was amongst the best, maybe even the best. Unfortunately, there isn’t much written of those battles, but everyone I’ve talked to said it was horrible beyond belief …” Men’ak said, with deep respect in his voice.

  “Horrible,” Grit quietly echoed.

  They had reached the main hall and turned into the dining room. Time had passed and it was very late. They were the only people in the room. The entire Keep was dead still. They sat down at a table at the far end and lit a single small lamp.

  Grit wandered over to the pantry looking for a midnight snack. Gretta almost always left delectable goodies out for the mages to munch on late at night. Magi weren’t known for keeping to schedules and were often up late at night following a hunch or tracking down the origins of a spell.

  He found some meat pies and brought a stack back to the table. They were a little cool, so he cast a small warming spell and before long, the pies were piping hot. He grabbed one and threw one to Men’ak who caught it and juggled it to cool it down.

  “How do you feel about having to maintain a guise of commoners?” Grit asked Dra’kor, just before he took a big bite of hot pie. “That’s just got to rub you the wrong way. I know it does me!”

  “What do you think? I’m surprised you even need to ask the question. How long have you known me?”

  “Well?”

  “I’m not happy with it. But — I have to admit that Ja’tar’s reasoning for it is sound.”

  “Aye mate, ye wanna be out on a walkabout?” Grit said in his best sailor accent.

  Dra’kor rolled his eyes, “If this isn’t a ruse, there will be plenty of opportunity in the near future. We can certainly wait a few more weeks or months.”

  Grit sat nervously fidgeting. “I’m a bit concerned about the totems and being cut off. After Ja’tar mentioned it, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I guess I had pushed it out of my mind somehow — as if it only happens to travelers.”

  Men’ak incoherently piped up, his mouth full of pie. “Me too, gives me the willies.”

  “— I have to say, with all the whining I do about living forever and being bored to tears, I find myself worried that my life would be cut short,” Dra’kor said, echoing their thoughts.

  “Me too …,” sighed Men’ak, finding it hard to swallow.

  “Can’t you say anything besides me too?” Dra’kor teased.

  Men’ak shrugged and stuffed another pie into his mouth.

  Grit belched loudly and grabbed a second pie. “What can we do?”

  “Excuse yourself …,” Men’ak moaned.

  Grit blushed and suppressed anther burp, “Seriously though, I don’t see that there is anything we can do about it.”

  Men’ak nodded, “What is, is!”

  Dra’kor closed his eyes and echoed weakly, “What is, is —”

  “I suppose we could at least store up enough magic to get us through a few ten or twenty years should we get cut off. If we used the magic just to keep from aging, we might be able to stretch it for a normal lifetime,” Men’ak added his opinion and offered a bit of hope from the studying he had done.

  “Is that possible?” Grit asked, rather surprised.

  “I suppose it is possible to store magic,” Dra’kor said. “I wonder if Ja’tar has thought about it?”

  “That’s what I’ve read, Men’ak added. “It really isn’t done much because the realms have been pretty quiet these past centuries, but I’ve read that in the old days, many of the travelers prepared this way so they could tie up loose ends and see to the realms after a cataclysm.”

  Dra’kor raised his gaze, staring at Men’ak..

  “I wonder if To
’paz was prepared.”

  Grit looked at Men’ak and confusion showed on his face.

  “My guess is he thinks the demon destroyed everything, including To’paz.” Men’ak mumbled, thinking of what he would do in that situation. “Still, being vaporized by a demon is better than being cut off … or so I hear.”

  “Hard way to go …,” Grit said. “— but at least its quick ….”

  Men’ak nodded his agreement.

  Dra’kor said, “Not as hard as being cut off from magic … at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “I heard that too,” Grit said.

  “We should definitely prepare as if we will be caught. Ja’tar thinks we should expect the worst. That’s probably prudent planning,” Dra’kor added. “You should be in charge of that since you seem to know the most about it.”

  Men’ak nodded. “I’ll dig into it.”

  “I fear the demons more than dying,” whispered Grit. “I hear they can take over your soul and force you to do their bidding eternally. I read once that they captured mages and forced them to do hideous things and that you know you are doing them but cannot resist. I wouldn’t want to live like that.”

  Grit shuddered, imagining the horrors.

  For a few minutes, the air hung heavy. The three friends contemplated what might ensue, each imagining in vivid detail how they would like to react in the circumstance of being captured. Certainly none wanted to be used as a tool to harm those they cared about, because even though they had their differences, the wizards of the Keep were family. Squabble, as they may, like small children, they knew that any mage in the Keep would quickly come to aid of a fellow mage.

  “We must make a pact that we won’t allow any of us to be captured … by demons,” said Men’ak, “— if the need be, we must end each other’s life to prevent our powers from being used against the Keep, or each other.”

  “Agreed.” they all stated together.

  “H-h-how do we know when to —?” stammered Grit.

  “We’ll know,” was all Dra’kor said, cutting him off.

  Grit looked back and forth at his two friends. “Well, are we really going to do this? Are we really leaving the Keep and venturing out into the world?”