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

by Scott D. Muller

  Zedd’aki was the first to find the ornate box, covered in dust, setting on a shelf inside one of the cabinets. He opened the old wood and glass door and wiped the carved box with his sleeve before reading the inscription that was carved into a small oxidized-brass plaque, “Found it!”

  He hefted the long box over his shoulder and carried it to a table in the center of the room. Ja’tar lifted his hands and the lamps adjacent to the reading table all lit. The smell of burnt oil filled the room as fine threads of black soot rose from the lamps, flattening out as they spread across the low ceiling. Zedd’aki cast a small spell and the dust in the room swirled into a rather tidy pile, before bursting into flame.

  They set the box down and looked at each other.

  “What are you waiting for, open the damn box!”

  Ja’tar opened the lock and lifted the clasp. Although he knew that protective spells covered the documents to keep them from aging and being ripped, he couldn’t feel the magic. He broke the seal and opened the lid. Inside of the satin-lined box was a single roll of fine silk, which held the ancient parchment. Ja’tar gently lifted it out of the box and set it on the table. He untied the ribbon at the center and carefully unrolled the document, taking care to not force or crack the delicate parchment.

  The top of the document was visible first, with its highly decorative elven lettering gilded in gold and decorated with elaborate pictographs, based on ancient cuneiform script, as was customary in the day. The text that followed was written in the formal language of Torren.

  Zedd’aki held the top of the document as Ja’tar continued carefully unrolling the dry and yellowing parchment. The two magi stood next to each other as the names of the people who were at the signing appeared. There, at the top of the signatures was their proof. Duvall, Druxell, Skra, all of the Ten. Below them, Ja’tar’s father, next to his was Ja’tar’s signature, and next to Ja’tar — Hagra!

  Zedd’aki looked up at Ja’tar who was white as a ghost. “Hagra exists!” he mumbled.

  “Halla! The Ten were present,” Zedd’aki pointed out, his hand shaking as he pointed.

  “This is wrong! This is all so wrong,” Ja’tar lamented, as he slammed his fist down on the table. “What in Braggart’s Lair is going on here?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this. Has the entire Keep been party to some devious hoax of a dark mage?”

  “Halla if I know. I’m as confused as you are, maybe more so —” Ja’tar swore and stomped his foot in anger.

  “I don’t remember signing this document, but I remember being there … well, kind of remember anyway! You can’t even remember being there! How could I forget such a thing? This was the most important event in history and we had front row seats!” Zedd’aki stammered.

  “Look at all the names … hundreds …”

  Zedd’aki bent over and took a closer look, “I don’t remember half of these people.”

  “— Neither do I.”

  “But we should. The names at the top are those who were the eldest in the Keep. We should remember them. They were the teachers and the leaders during the battles.”

  “I know,” Ja’tar murmured as he pursed his lips.

  Ja’tar cast a gentle spell on the ancient text that made the paper more pliable, darkened the lettering and restored much of the color before he rolled up the ancient parchment. He tied the ribbon in place and gingerly placed the roll back into its protective box. He folded the silk over the roll, closed the clasp and heard the lock catch. Silently, he grabbed the box and carried it to the cabinet in which Zedd’aki had found it.

  Ja’tar wiped the dust from his hands on the skirt of his robe, “We have found a weakness of the enemy. They could not cover up all of their tracks. We now have proof that Dra’kor was telling us the truth.”

  “What shall we do next?”

  Ja’tar rubbed his beard slowly and contemplated their next move, “We will need to be ever diligent to make sure that nobody else discovers that we know about this lie. I don’t know whom we can trust. I still need to meet with the Guild. That should prove interesting. After? I propose that we spend our evenings together trying to ferret out what is going on.”

  Zedd’aki nodded, “We need to get a message to Dra’kor.”

  “We do. But how, that is the question. There was one other thing that Dra’kor wrote in his last note, ‘Don’t trust anyone.’ We will need to figure out a way of making contact without using powerful magic or sending someone else out of these walls.”

  The two magi left the Room of Records and made their way back to their apartments. They moved quickly down the empty silent halls as it was almost daybreak and neither wanted to be caught up this early. Ja’tar set his hand on his door and cast his spells to remove the protections that prevented any others from entering his quarters. He entered and crawled into bed, knowing he should get a few hours of sleep.

  He tried to turn off his mind, but found that he could not. After lying for the better part of an hour, he got up, went over to his favorite chair and plopped down.

  He drummed on the arm with his fingers which made a more or less rhythmic roll of taps, he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. The ruse was evident now, even obvious. In hindsight, he should have seen it. He felt foolish. He blamed his complacency, his irrational fear of ruffling feathers, his fear of rejection if he rocked the boat. Whatever metaphor he chose as an excuse, ultimately he was to blame. He still wasn’t sure about the price they had paid for his folly.

  The fire warmed his legs and feet as the logs crackled and spit, the pitch sputtered and hissed sending a fragrant pine smell wafting throughout the room. He held the message sheets that Dra’kor had sent in his lap. He sipped his wine as he played with the papers, flipping casually through the pages.

  Reading them now, in light of his new understanding of the situation, made him keenly aware of what Dra’kor had been trying to say, without being accusatory. He shook his head to himself; if not for him sending the boys out, they would be operating in the dark without a clue that anything was wrong, either in the realms or in their own house. At this moment in time, he could care less about the world. He feared for the Keep.

  Looking back, he almost had to laugh at how he had been drawn into the simple, but elegant ruse. Duped! The Guild never asked much of him — them, perhaps that was why the simple hoax had worked as well as it had for as long as he could remember. They always complimented him on carrying out his duties flawlessly, providing accolades. He thought he had been a model of perfection.

  They had been ordered to maintain the status quo, no longer recruiting, or training new members. They stayed within the safe confines of the Keep and only occasionally sent travelers out to the city. And, he had followed those orders to the letter, never questioning.

  The most they had ever asked was for him to marshal travelers out into the realms. They always had him route them through the city, so that they could provide final guidance. He was quite certain that the travelers had been dispatched like clockwork on assignments, but assignments to where? Where did they go, or where did they end up? It seemed highly likely to him that he had sent them to their deaths.

  But then there was To’paz. She had been sent out as a traveler too, but she had come back to visit several times. Maybe there was hope? Yet, she was the exception. They had sent hundreds of overseers out, very few ever returned, most preferred to stay in the world. But he wondered …

  The lack of specifics now stood out as loud warning messages, however since at the time he had no suspicions, they were not so easily recognized. He reminded himself to check the map room to see if he could locate those travelers, but he had a deep suspicion that he couldn’t trust what he would find. From what he had observed these past few days, they, whoever they were, were thorough enough to spell the obvious, knowing that he wouldn’t suspect, and therefore, search too far or deep.

  He was sure, as sure as he had ever been, that no Guild member was going to show up
on his doorstep tomorrow brandishing a writ to remove him as Keeper. Not that he would step down without a fight. On the other hand, what worried him now was who was behind the subterfuge and what their purpose was in concocting such a devious plan.

  Ja’tar was extremely confident that someone in the Keep was behind the hoax; however, he had no idea whether that person or persons were still there, had died, or had just moved along. It was inconceivable to him that any current member could be behind this because most mages didn’t have access to the rooms, nor mastery of spells to gain entry to places that are fairly secluded and off limits to most of the Keep. However, if they knew this old magic and were using it … how would he know that to be true?

  He thought about systematically searching the Keep for answers, but threw that idea to the wind. There was no way to search the entire Keep. The job was just too difficult. Besides, there could be prying eyes.

  He stroked his long white beard and wondered if a stray demon, or perhaps a pixie, was trapped in this plane. Mayhap they were playing pranks on him, although, after a bit more contemplation, he concluded that the prank was just too encompassing to be the work of pixies, or even upper plane demons. Still, the idea entertained him.

  The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that a mage was behind this and because he couldn’t be certain if the mage was still around, he would be unable to discuss the issue in the open or even make any appearance that anything out of the ordinary was going on. Talk about frustrating! He would have to continue to pretend that all was well, at least as far as the Guild was concerned. What a farce!

  That presented a slew of related problems, primarily to his need to contact Dra’kor and let him know he was right. He also desperately required information that was more detailed. He needed specifics about the outside world, the old Guild members, the kings… The list seemed endless.

  Dra’kor was beginning to look like his last lifeline. Fortuitous? Maybe. He reflected on how ironic it was that he intended to send Dra’kor, Men’ak and Grit away to allow him to scheme, and in the end, they might very well end up being the salvation of the Keep. Somewhere, the gods must be laughing at him!

  Ja’tar stared into the flames of the fire. He wasn’t sure what steps to take next. He had to admit that he wasn’t very good at politics. He hated the game, every time he thought he was clever — Well, let’s just say that the gods have a sense of humor! He sighed as he realized he was going to have to play the best game of his life if he hoped to bring the Keep through this dark hour.

  Ja’tar spent the entire day in his chair. He didn’t go down for his meals, nor did he call on his friend. He sat and thought through all the possible permutations he could think of. Toward the end, he found it impossible to focus and keep his eyes open.

  After a day of reflection, Ja’tar dragged his weary self off to bed. Tomorrow would bring another day, undoubtedly more questions. He drained the last of the wine and set the glass by the door so he would remember to set it outside the dodecagon for the cleaning staff. He left the fire burning because he felt cold, cold and very alone.

  He was on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim moonlight that filtered in through the cut glass window that faced the forest. He couldn’t sleep, even though he was exhausted. His mind wouldn’t turn off. Questions filled his mind; one after another, they assaulted his consciousness, all unanswered.

  His anxiety grew, sweat beaded on his forehead and he clung to his blanket in fear. Someone or something was playing games with the wizards of the Keep. He didn’t know whom, he didn’t know why and he didn’t know to what end the game was to be played. He knew that whatever, whoever was controlling their minds, was strong. It took a lot of magic to fool an entire Keep of Wizards. His body shook, quivered uncontrollably as he tried to calm himself down. He needed his rest; after all, he wouldn’t be of any use to anyone if he were a walking zombie.

  Zedd’aki pushed the heavy wooden door and let the wood latch fall closed. He walked three steps from the door to his bed and in one motion, fell back onto his small cot. A soft groan escaped his lips as he kicked off his well-worn sandals and untied his robe. After sitting for a long time, staring into space in the dark room, he rubbed his eyes and massaged his temple.

  He was dog-tired, emotionally spent and more confused that he had ever been in his entire life. Another shiver rolled across his body and his teeth began chattering, so he rolled over and threw the heavy wool blanket over his body. He clenched the blanket up around his chin, covering his head. Damn his room was cold! Even his breath could be seen in the darkness as two thin cracks between his drapes and the shutters let the white moonlight in. Every now and then, the curtains rustled as the wind outside found its way through the cracks in his shutters.

  He had not been back to his room all day and the hearth was cold, the stone walls and floor had sucked every ounce of heat from his small space. He pointed a finger out from under the blanket at the fireplace and sent a fire bolt, lighting the logs that were stacked in the hearth. Soon, the fire warmed the chill from the air and he felt himself warming up. His chattering stopped and he found himself dozing off. His last thoughts were that he should have checked to be sure his shutters were still closed and latched; sometimes they came loose. He thrashed in his sleep; the events of the day were weighing heavily on his subconscious.

  Ja’tar sat before the mirror, waiting for the other side to respond to his meeting request. Soon he saw the aged face of Shar’ran in the mirror.

  “Let’s call this meeting of the Guild to order,” Shar’ran said, just as he had said for the past thousand years.

  “In attendance are; the Prelate, the Keeper of the wizards, Shar’ran of the elves, Ironfist, and notable dignitaries of the realms.”

  After the minutes were read, Ja’tar decided that the opportune time for him to start his ruse was upon him, so he spoke up.

  “I hear that congratulations are due!” he said cheerfully.

  Shar’ran wrinkled his forehead. “Congratulations … for what?”

  “I heard that you just had another daughter with your wife. You named her Sheila I heard. Strong name!” Ja’tar said, as joyously as he could muster.

  “You must be getting old,” Shar’ran laughed. “Sheila is my daughter from my first wife; she’s several centuries old already.”

  “Ah, so I must have forgotten,” Ja’tar grumbled.

  “Yes, Yes! That happens with age,” Shar’ran answered back with a broad smile. “My wife is doing well, thank you. Our new daughter is almost twelve. We named the girl Trio. I thought I had mentioned that back when it was — news.”

  “So, her older brother Dra’kor is happy to have another member of the family?”

  “Dra’kor? You must be confusing me with my brother, his son is named Drak’mar.”

  Ja’tar harrumphed.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say K’lieu is thrilled, but I believe he will come around in time …,” said Shar’ran as he nodded enthusiastically. “You know how these things go, he is forty years her senior.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Ja’tar added. “There were a great number of years between my sister and I and yet, we are very — close.”

  Shar’ran nodded. “You seem out of sorts my friend. Are you sure you are okay?”

  Ja’tar nodded, “I’m just a little distracted.”

  “Any new business for the Guild?”

  “Well, it’s been a rather slow month here. I only have a single issue to discuss. I need to make a quick trip to Three Rivers tomorrow to see an old friend,” Ja’tar said, as he set the last trap.

  “Ja’tar, you know the rules of the Guild. Only sanctioned travelers can leave the Keep at this time,” said Shar’ran sternly.

  “Under normal circumstances I would agree, however an old friend, a witch of some note, who fought with me at Ror is on her death bed, and I am going to see her.” Ja’tar announced. “You remember Hagra?”

  “Yes, I remember her, s
he was my first wife. But I’m afraid the Guild can’t sanction this trip,” Shar’ran said, as he sadly shook his head. “I’m sure you understand. I too would wish to visit her. I didn’t know she was ill.”

  “She’s dying. I don’t think that you understand,” Ja’tar answered. “I wasn’t asking for permission, I was just letting the Guild know as a courtesy. She deserves our kind touch.”

  “If you go against the Guild, there will be repercussions,” Shar’ran said, emphasizing the words.

  “Well, I suggest you send a representative quickly, because I would love to hear how they justify to me not granting her last wishes. I will be waiting at the Gate until noon. After we meet, I will be leaving,” Ja’tar said, knowing that it was highly unlikely that anyone would come.

  A masked figure appeared in the mirror, replacing Shar’ran. “I suggest you reconsider, Ja’tar Kandor’a, Fourth Keeper of the Havenhold. Your record up to this point has been exemplary. It would be a shame to tarnish it.”

  The figure faded to the background.

  “I have already notified the Prelate pro tem. He says that failure to comply will mean your replacement. You should think carefully on the matter before you act rashly,” Shar’ran suggested unemotionally.

  Ja’tar threw up his arms, “He can come here and tell me himself if it is that important to him to oversee my every step.”

  Ja’tar abruptly closed the connection to the mirror and stormed out of the room. Damn! Damn! Bloody damn Guild, he mumbled to himself.

  Zedd’aki watched as his friend wove his way through the dining room toward their table after grabbing some tasty meats and breads.

  “So, how did the meeting go?” Zedd’aki said, leaning over and asking in a hushed voice.

  “I disagree with Dra’kor. There is a Guild, and they are the same arrogant bastards they’ve always been!” Ja’tar blurted out in a whisper as his face turned beet red. “Of all the unmitigated gall, they refused my request to honor a dying soldier of Ror!”