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

by Scott D. Muller

  “Oh, by the Ten, you’re serious!” Zedd’aki said.

  “I can’t remember the damn woman,” Ja’tar cursed, turning red-faced.

  This delighted Zedd’aki to no end and elicited another round of guffaws and belly laughs.

  “Wait! Wait! I know. Since I remember her, I can bring up a likeness of her using the gift. Give me a minute,” Zedd’aki said, as he tried to get his laughter under control.

  He wove his spell and slowly and image of a stunning woman with a voluptuous figure began to take shape. Ja’tar stared at the image, walking around it as it gained detail and texture. She had long legs, was rather busty, and had flowing dark black hair. Her eyes were the strangest color of yellow-green Ja’tar had ever seen. He stood back and admired the image, wondering why he couldn’t recall her or their time together.

  “I have never seen this woman in my life,” Ja’tar declared forcefully. “But you seem to recall incredible detail …”

  Zedd’aki shrugged, “She’s not the kind of woman one forgets!”

  Ja’tar harrumphed. “Wish I could remember —”

  Zedd’aki tied off the spell and turned back to see his friend scowling. “How can you not remember her? You spent almost thirty years with her, practically married her, begged her to join the Keep. By the Ten, you two shared a room.”

  “I’m telling you I don’t know that woman!” Ja’tar shouted defiantly.

  “Settle down! I believe you … I just … I just don’t understand you that’s all.” Zedd’aki managed to stammer out. “You knew her almost three decades before you two started seeing each other. She was part of the Guild back in the day; she even fought at Ror. That’s almost three score years and you can’t remember a single event? Bah!”

  Ja’tar’s head snapped up, “— the Guild? Impossible!”

  Zedd’aki rolled his eyes. “Here, let me read some of your mind and see if I can find her in that mess.”

  “I can’t let you do that! I know things you aren’t supposed to know,” Ja’tar protested.

  “Listen, you can monitor my spell. You’ll know exactly what I’m searching for at all times,” Zedd’aki insisted.

  Ja’tar knew he could keep Zedd’aki away from things he wasn’t supposed to know, but he was frightened of what he couldn’t remember, and more importantly, why? He nodded his acceptance of Zedd’aki’s conditions.

  Zedd’aki placed his hands on both sides of Ja’tar’s head near the temples and began to chant. Ja’tar knew the chant and expected at any time to blurt out events, meetings, intimate moments, but nothing came out of his lips. For five long minutes, they stood there. Zedd’aki chanting and sweating, eyes rolled back in his head, while Ja’tar waited.

  Ja’tar reached up and lowered Zedd’aki’s hands. “It’s no use I’m telling you. I don’t know that witch!”

  “But … b-but that’s impossible,” Zedd’aki shouted back excitedly as he pointed at the shimmering image of the beautiful brunette. “There is no way you cannot know that woman —”

  “I hear what you are saying, Zedd’aki. I am as disturbed by the fact that I cannot remember those moments as you are; perhaps more so because from the sound of things, she and I had spent a great deal of time getting to intimately know each other. I wish to hell that I could remember those moments …” Ja’tar lamented as he began to feel his anger rising.

  “She supposedly had a daughter with Shar’ran —” Zedd’aki added.

  “That bothers me too,” spat Ja’tar. “I’ve met with him and the rest of the Guild every month for almost eleven-hundred years. You think he would have said … something!”

  “Does seem strange, even stranger than the fact that Dra’kor claims the Guild hasn’t existed for almost as long.”

  “You think it’s a coincidence?” Zedd’aki shrugged.

  “I can’t say yet. Dra’kor says the girl — this Sheila, is teaching him ‘real’ magic. What the hell does that mean?” Ja’tar frothed.

  “You think he’s talking about dark magic? Zedd’aki said, as a chill ran down his spine. “Surely Dra’kor is wise enough not to dabble in the black arts!”

  “I don’t believe that he is referring to that. I have a hunch that he is talking about some kind of lost art. He seems to imply that we used to be able to control that kind of magic, Ja’tar rambled. “But lost from who, when, how — None of this makes any sense to me. I just …”

  He couldn’t finish his train of thought he was so irritated.

  “He said in the last note that he was almost free of the medallion. Can he do that?” Zedd’aki asked.

  Ja’tar took another sip of his wine and stared through the glass into the fire, “Well, I suppose it’s certainly possible, but why would you want to? I can’t imagine he’d want to spend every waking hour trying to cast an eternity spell.”

  Zedd’aki nodded, “Dra’kor said he was a spellcaster. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No, and neither does the phrase deathwalker, but it may be a place to start. Some of the ancient tomes in the library may hold references to those names.”

  Zedd’aki leaned in, “What did Dra’kor’s last note say?”

  “I haven’t gotten another note. It’s been almost a week,” Ja’tar said, as he nervously drummed on the small table. “I’m worried …”

  Zedd’aki paused to reflect on all the new information that Ja’tar had told him, “Maybe we should take a different approach?”

  Ja’tar’s curiosity was piqued, “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe we should assume that Dra’kor is telling us the whole truth, and postulate about what it would mean and how we could disprove it!”

  Ja’tar smiled. Zedd’aki always had a unique way of looking at an insurmountable problem.

  “I’m supposed to talk to the Guild tomorrow. I could ask about Hagra or Sheila.”

  Zedd’aki pondered Ja’tar’s response as he absently stroking his beard. “I’m curious. Have we ever gone against the Guild?”

  Ja’tar shook his head, “No. They never give an inch and the penalties for not following the Guild’s wishes are fairly severe.”

  “But what if we made them think we went against their wishes. Wouldn’t they have to send someone here to investigate or dole out the punishment?”

  “They would — and?”

  Zedd’aki ran his hand through his thick hair. “How long do you think it would take them to get here?”

  “A day — two at the most. They would travel through the Gates the whole way from the Mystic City, near Stonegate,” Ja’tar answered, wondering what his old friend was up to. “Why —?”

  Zedd’aki extrapolated his idea, “Theoretically we should know our answer by the end of the week.”

  Ja’tar knew he was up to something, “Answer to what?”

  Zedd’aki thoughtfully taunted Ja’tar, “I propose a ruse!”

  “What are you getting at you sly dog?” Ja’tar said, as a grin slowly spread across his face.

  Zedd’aki jumped to his feet and paced while he thought out loud, “I’m thinking we could tell a lie. You know … a small fib. We need a fabrication just reasonable enough for the Guild to become concerned enough to investigate. If they visit, we could claim that our communication was in error, that we had spoken too soon, or reconsidered. They can’t punish us for an act we said we’d commit but didn’t! But if nobody comes to visit … we’d know that the Guild was a sham.”

  “— or doesn’t really care.”

  “Or doesn’t care,” Zedd’aki echoed. “Either way, we get an answer we can work with.”

  Ja’tar nodded. His friend was indeed a very clever man. He felt better now that they had a bit of a plan; he nodded his wholehearted agreement with what Zedd’aki was proposing.

  “But if it’s a sham we have a whole other set of questions we will need to answer,” Ja’tar sadly admitted. “Like why, and to what purpose?”

  “But at least we will be closer to the truth,” Zedd
’aki added.

  “And in the meanwhile, I’ll try to do a little digging into the old tomes looking for deathwalker and spellcaster. Maybe I can find a reference or two as to what those phrases mean. I think I’ll begin in the tomes in the cave.”

  Zedd’aki frowned.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll go there together, but if this ruse has been ongoing for centuries, those old tomes may be the only source we have for what really happened.”

  Zedd’aki smiled at Ja’tar’s reply, “When did you say your next meeting with the Guild was?”

  “Day after tomorrow —”

  “So we have some time to prepare and to see if we can gain some clarity,” Zedd’aki nodded. “We best get started. You feel like taking a hike down a few thousand stairs?”

  Ja’tar squished up his face, “My back hurts already!”

  The next morning, the two old magi sat at their customary wooden table just to the side of the grand hearth in the great dining room eating their morning meal. Their plates still held the remains of sliced ham, eggs and cooked whole tomatoes. Zedd’aki was busy expertly maneuvering his last bite of bread around the edge of the plate gathering the last of the yolk and ham drippings.

  “I can’t believe we spent four hours scouring that place and came up empty handed,” Ja’tar said, sipping on his hot tea.

  Zedd’aki popped the last bite into his mouth and chewed the delightful combination.

  “It would help if we understood how the records were organized. The Librarian wasn’t much help.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He seemed somewhat hesitant and put out about the whole thing.”

  “Agreed!”

  “Well, I may have found something,” Zedd’aki said, with his mouth full as he pulled out a small brown paper-wrapped package tied loosely with some jute cord. He set it down on the table and slid it across to Ja’tar.

  Ja’tar stared at the plainly wrapped package. “What’s this?”

  “I found an old textbook in one of the empty rooms in the south part of the Keep. I figured that those rooms were sealed and went vacant first, so it was worth a look to see what was left over from the old days when we actually had wizards to teach,” he said sourly.

  Ja’tar pulled at the bowstring, the knot unfurled, and the wrapping paper came loose. He carefully unfolded the rest of the paper and turned the small book that was inside over in his hands. He read the title out loud, ‘Of Mages and their Chosen Paths.’

  “Read it,” Zedd’aki said, just as he put his pewter mug to his lips and blew gently over the hot liquid.

  Ja’tar cracked the book open and paged through the chapters, SpellCaster, Death Walker, War Wizard, Apothecary … there were ten chapters in all. “I don’t recognize any of these … I didn’t know we even had special gifts. Why don’t we remember these?”

  Zedd’aki calmly took a sip of his spring mint tea, “Good question. I don’t have an answer — but now I definitely know what a spellcaster and a deathwalker are supposed to be.”

  Ja’tar paged to the chapters that were of interest and read. It didn’t take him long to finish.

  “If Dra’kor is a spellcaster, he has a great gift indeed. The ability to cast vastly complicated and devious weaves of the art. It says that Druxell, one of the Ten, was the greatest wizard of all time and he was a spellcaster. If Men’ak is a deathwalker, he would be a rarity. He would have the ability to talk to the recently dead, vanquished demons in transit between the planes and to visit through the dreams of others where ever he wished to go.”

  Ja’tar was perplexed as he read a few lines in the old text. “Druxell was a spellcaster? Why can’t we remember these elementary teachings?” More importantly, what in the blazing caverns of halla are we?”

  “That book was in a stack of books that were bound together and had year one written on a sheet of paper in your hand!” Zedd’aki said in an accusatory tone, as he pulled out the small note and handed it to Ja’tar.

  “But I couldn’t have …,” Ja’tar mumbled as he examined the note. It was in his hand, there was no mistaking it. “Zedd’aki, I can’t remember writing this.”

  “I know. I cannot remember them either,” Zedd’aki said, leaning over and lowering his voice to a whisper. “We both seem to be under the same mischievous spell, which is what I’m guessing is going on here ….”

  “So, what Dra’kor has written to us is true!” Ja’tar said, as his eyes shot open wide, then narrowed as he scanned the tables in the room.

  “I found another book,” Zedd’aki said, his face full of worry. “I find it to be far more disturbing than the one we just looked at.”

  Ja’tar peered into Zedd’aki’s eyes and saw an expression that he had never seen before. This was the look of abject fear, terror beyond imagining. Zedd’aki appeared as if his world had just been rocked to its foundation.

  Zedd’aki reached into his robe, pulled out a very small book, barely larger than the palm of his hand, and slid it across the table to Ja’tar. Ja’tar picked it up and examined it, rolling it over in his hands. It had no title on the spine, but was bound in fine leather. He folded back the cover and on the inside page was a hand written inscription, ‘Zedd’aki, May your journey to becoming a mage be fruitful. Your mom and I will always love you ….’

  Ja’tar looked up to see tears in his friend’s eyes. He looked back down to the book and turned to the next page. It read, ‘Your First Spell: Step One — Creating a Water Ball.’ Ja’tar scanned down the text. With each word, his brow furrowed and his eyes widened. Ja’tar flipped to the next page and kept reading until he had finished the first chapter.

  “I don’t understand,” he sighed.

  “Real magic,” said Zedd’aki quietly. “This is the real magic to which Dra’kor is referring to. I’m sure of it.”

  “But magic without the Zylliac is impossible …” Ja’tar grunted in an exasperated voice.

  “Maybe it is now, but in the past …” Zedd’aki said, as his voice trailed off. “This short book tells of things similar, yet subtly different from the magic we know.”

  Ja’tar felt his temper flaring. “But what does that mean? I know of no way to summon magic without the beast. The beast is part of my subconscious. I don’t summon it, neither do any of us, it just supplies the flows that we ask for.”

  “I think it means that we are no longer the mages we think we are … if we are indeed mages at all,” Zedd’aki said in resignation. “I think that somehow we have forgotten all we knew and have forgotten about all that we were —”

  Ja’tar listened and let his friend’s words sink in. They stuck in his craw and festered in his throat. What he had concluded rang true, and yet, Ja’tar could not bring himself to admit it.

  “But how?” Ja’tar asked solemnly.

  “I’m not sure it matters,” said Zedd’aki. “What’s done is done. But, that would explain a lot. It explains why the magic cannot kill the catomen and wolven that Dra’kor described. Derived magic could never be as strong as pure … and I reckon that the beast’s magic has been tampered with.”

  “But how do we correct it? By the Ten, it’s not just us — it’s every mage in the Keep!” an angst-filled Ja’tar pleaded.

  Zedd’aki’s eyes went wide, “And the travelers —”

  Ja’tar’s jaw dropped as he blurted, “Aye … and the travelers.”

  “If they can’t control real magic, they can’t hope to defeat demons.”

  “True. They would be at a huge disadvantage.”

  “Disadvantage? They’d be dead —”

  Ja’tar didn’t know what to say.

  Zedd’aki shook his head, “I have no suggestions. Maybe Dra’kor has some answers, can we contact him?”

  “Not directly …” Ja’tar sighed. “I wish we had the birds of Yorn.”

  Being ever pragmatic Zedd’aki proposed, “Aye, but we don’t! If the ruse with the Guild pans out, I would propose that we take everything that Dra’kor reports as truth. We ma
y not like it or even understand it, but since we seem to be living a lie, it’s all we have.”

  “Agreed,” Ja’tar echoed. “In any case, I’m willing to bet that this all comes back to the Ten and one of their escapades.”

  “That reminds me; Dra’kor said that nobody on the outside knows what happened to the Ten. That the last time they saw them together was after the battle of Ror was complete and the treaty was signed.”

  Zedd’aki frowned, “How can that be right? I remember them dying in the last battle.”

  “Dra’kor said that Hagra was the one who asked what happened,” Ja’tar said with a glower. “That means she doesn’t know what —”

  “That is strange, because she was at the signing of the treaty. She stood just to your left and … wait a second! The treaty! We have a copy of the treaty; it will have her signature on it as well as all the signatures of the living mages.”

  Ja’tar and Zedd’aki got up from their table and rushed out of the room. They raced down to the Room of Records.

  Ja’tar pushed hard on the door. “I haven’t been in here in ages.”

  “Me neither. Do you have any idea where we should look?”

  “No, but the room should be well organized. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. The old clerk used to keep this room in impeccable order, and it is one of the most important documents we have.”

  The door creaked loudly as they pushed it open, the rusty iron hinges protested and let loose dusty-red powder as the metal ground on metal. The room was dark, and even once the lamps were lit, was dingy and gray. Shadows danced over the stacks of boxes that were haphazardly strewn about the room making it appear as if the contents were dumped in a hurry.

  “By the Ten, it’s a royal mess —!”

  “I can see that,” said Ja’tar bitterly.

  “This might take a while,” Zedd’aki groaned.

  “Then it does. Stop complaining and get to work!”

  “As you command …,” Zedd’aki said, his voice layered in sarcasm.

  Zedd’aki and Ja’tar pushed boxes upon boxes of documents and papers to the side as they tried to open a path to the old barrister cases that circled the outside or the room. Slowly, they made their way to the archives, the fine wood and glass cabinets that held their most precious documents.