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

by Scott D. Muller

  This was the first time Zedd’aki had heard that they were behind on the monitoring of the realms. How could he have known? Tar’ac had worked almost day and night. He had assumed it was so that he could keep up. If they were that far behind …

  “I-I-I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” said Ja’tar, as he bent over and picked up his mug, setting back on the table.

  “Surely the travelers would let us know?” Zedd’aki suggested.

  “How could they, if their realms are closed?” answered Ja’tar acerbically. “We would never know.”

  Zedd’aki furrowed his brow and reasoned, “So, you worry that we have accidentally stumbled onto something far more significant.”

  “I fear the worst.”

  He secretly feared that the situation was far more dire than they supposed and they were ill-prepared for what was most assuredly to come. He had a sinking feeling in his gut and his palms itched.

  “I believe we have already lost most of the other realms and their travelers.”

  Zedd’aki grimaced. “Do you know enough about the orbs to check?”

  Ja’tar nodded, “But it will take time. Time we don’t have.”

  “Now you have me worried, Ja’tar,” stammered Zedd’aki upon hearing the tone of his friend’s voice.

  Ja’tar whispered, “You should be.”

  Zedd’aki hung his head. “I had no idea it was that —”

  “Nobody does. It was between Tar’ac and me.”

  “Well, that certainly puts a few things into perspective,” said Zedd’aki, as he thought back over the past.

  “Doesn’t it!” Ja’tar replied softly.

  “It would have helped if you would have told me before … we could have skipped all this arguing,” a cynical Zedd’aki commented.

  “Before, there was no reason for you to know,” Ja’tar explained.

  A belligerent Zedd’aki mumbled, “Guild business?”

  “Guild business!” Ja’tar echoed. “Nothing personal —”

  Zedd’aki grunted and tossed his fork to his plate and pushed it violently to the center of the table.

  Ja’tar changed the topic. “So, if it comes to it, who can we count on voting our way?”

  “Less than half at best, even if we can get those you can trust to make the journey. The rest …?” shrugged Zedd’aki somberly, willing to go along.

  “Are there any favors we can call in?”

  “Not for something this monumental. Many will see this as an opportunity for private agendas. You have not endeared many friends over the years my friend,” Zedd’aki smiled willfully.

  Ja’tar sighed heavily, “Indeed. Being the Keeper is not without its … challenges.”

  Zedd’aki guffawed, knowing full well that Ja’tar had never cared what others thought.

  “It is hard to rule wisely and still make friends,” Ja’tar grinned back, knowing that his friend saw the irony in what he had just said. “On the other hand, I have many alliances out in the realms amongst the races that I can trust to help us carry out our plan. We will probably need their help if we are to succeed.”

  Zedd’aki wryly nodded, “It is in their best interest.”

  “And they know it. However, time … time isn’t as important to the other races. Only we humans are consumed by it. It may be difficult to get them to feel a sense of urgency.”

  Zedd’aki thought about what Ja’tar had just said. It rang true.

  “We humans have less of it … only the Keep and the magic keeps us from aging… or we’d be consumed with it too.”

  Ja’tar nodded, “Point well made. I will contact the elves and dwarves. They should be aware of what we plan and why. Perhaps they have information that we are not privy to that could give us some clarity.”

  “They do seem to be more in tune with the land and the realms in general,” reasoned Zedd’aki as he tugged on his long white beard.

  Ja’tar frowned, “They are cautious in their dealings with outsiders, but I agree, they are tied to the land. If something is up, they will know.”

  Zedd’aki voice quivered more than he could control. “They may be our b-best hope.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it …”

  Zedd’aki caught the comment. “Why would you say that?”

  “Let’s just say that there is … much tension between the races.”

  “Tension?”

  Ja’tar just nodded vacantly.

  “What kind of tension,” asked Zedd’aki angrily, “or is this another of those Guild business as usual things?”

  “I can say no more,” Ja’tar grumbled, turning away.

  Zedd’aki spat angrily at the floor. “I suppose not.”

  For a while, there was a very uncomfortable silence. Zedd’aki stared at his friend. It was as if he didn’t know the man any longer. He wasn’t his friend, this man. He was something else, something cold and calculating. Zedd’aki was worried. He broke the silence.

  “Well, in any case we have things to do.”

  “So it’s agreed? I’ll arrange for a meeting after dinner. Are they to know the topic in advance?”

  Ja’tar pondered. “Agreed, but no — I think not. Let them think it is about Tar’ac. That will be best. Nobody gets a head start at trying to undermine the discussion. We need to convey the importance of this,” Ja’tar replied, rubbing his chin, deep in thought.

  Zedd’aki stood up and walked away. He had almost made it to the door that led back to the dining room when he turned to look over his shoulder and nodded to his friend. “I’ll do my best to get everyone together tonight after dinner. You had better think long and hard on what you wish to say. You need to make the speech of your life.”

  Ja’tar watched as he crossed the empty room. Zedd’aki paused on the steps, looked back at his friend, and thought about cutting through the kitchen, but the sound of pots and pans clanking made him change his mind. With that, he pulled open the massive carved door and stepped out into the main hall. Zedd’aki mumbled to himself as he walked.

  “The gods be damned! What if Ja’tar was right? Suppose the demons are back, or worse … the dark mages have returned.”

  Inside, he wasn’t sure that the Keep had done right by pulling back so far out of everyday life of the realms. They had lost their edge and skill. Their numbers decreased as the prestige of being a mage dwindled. Their ties to the people were tenuous at best. Mages were not as fondly remembered or thought of as they were in the past. They had become superfluous. This will be difficult to overcome in a crisis. A crisis is not the time to build relationships or trust.

  Oh well, it is what it is. I guess we have to live with the throw of the bones we’ve been handed.

  Zedd’aki rounded the corner and almost ran into Rua’tor. Rua’tor grabbed his arm and looked him straight on. “So, is Ja’tar going to be alright?”

  Zedd’aki shrugged, “Hard to say. He thinks he lost his sister —”

  “So I gathered —” Rua’tor’s eyes welling up with tears, for he secretly had loved Ja’tar’s sister and keenly felt her loss, even though it had been years since they were together.

  “I’m more concerned that he thinks that this wasn’t a normal incident.”

  Rua’tor raised a brow, “How so?”

  “He thinks that there was some dark magic at work here, far more powerful than anything we’ve seen before —”

  Rua’tor’s eyes widened, “You think he’s right.”

  Zedd’aki threw his hands up, “I don’t know what to say. I’m certainly not the most informed about these things. What’s important, I suppose, is that he believes it.”

  Rua’tor nodded, “Well, keep an eye on him.”

  Zedd’aki smiled weakly. “That I can do.”

  With that, Rua’tor rushed off.

  Zedd’aki thought about what Rua’tor had said. He supposed he was best positioned to watch over his friend. As he saw things, the problem was what to do if Ja’tar was right?<
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  Zedd’aki shuddered as a chill ran up his spine. He knew that he had forgotten almost all the battle spells he used to know back when he was a young mage. It had been hundreds of years since he even thought about them, and at this point, he couldn’t even remember a single complete spell. Hell, he could barely boil water! He cursed at himself for his complacency.

  Who would fight with them? There hadn’t been any new recruits over the last few decades. As the Keep withdrew from daily life in the realm and shielded its doors, the parents stopped bringing their children for testing. How many generations of talent had they lost? There was no prestige in being a mage any longer.

  Zedd’aki shook his head as he walked; his feet raised small clouds of dust as he scuffled along the cavernous hallway, but he didn’t even notice. He was deep in thought. Only the solitary echo of his footsteps could be heard, as he pondered their predicament.

  It used to be a very desirable and prestigious profession. Being a Mage was considered a higher calling than royalty in most parts. People across the realms would send their children to be tested. The mages assisted the realms in conflicts, kept them safe from invaders, increased their standard of living, and healed their sick. Now … all they did was study the arts. Hardly anyone actually practiced magic any more.

  Zedd’aki looked around. He looked up to see the portrait of Illiana staring at him. Thin, lithe, with flowing blond hair, hazel eyes and full ruby lips, her portrait masked her true nature. She was a temptress and a conjurer. Now, being a First Order Conjurer … that was really saying something. She wove weaves that had become legend. They say that she could balance thousands of threads at a time. Thousands, he mouthed!

  He wondered what she would have done in this circumstance. She was considered the nicest of the Ten. What would the Ten do? Bah! As far as he knew, they could be the whole reason they were in this mess. Nevertheless, he was sure, she could single-handedly smite whatever beast dared raise a hand against her — and her eyes would twinkle as she relished the act. That’s just the way the Ten were.

  He had been walking for a good ten minutes and not seen another mage. Pity he had to go all the way around to get to the dining room, but Gretta hated it when they cut through the kitchen and cooking crew quarters. Nobody in his or her right mind would want to face Gretta when she went on a rant.

  The Keep used to hold thousands, a very busy bustling place. The Keep had been a small city unto itself. A mage could walk for hours and still not make a full trip around the entire outer wall.

  Our numbers have been shrinking, Zedd’aki thought. Maybe Dra’kor isn’t such an idiot. Maybe he just saw how weak we have been getting over the past years and fears the same … maybe he fears the demons as much as we do.

  Zedd’aki turned the last corner and entered the massive banquet hall where everyone ate their daily meals. The heavy carved doors decorated with gold were propped open; six could walk abreast into the room. The ornate ceiling towered above him.

  High above, the stained glass panels showed historic scenes of famous mages, battles, heroes, all immortalized in colorful motion glass. Huge carved beams arched to a single peak and held the heavy glass pieces firmly in place. The colors danced across the room as the sun shined through the uneven glass and the embedded prisms.

  The design was so elegantly executed by the elves that the light made holographic images in the upper chamber that danced and changed as the sun moved across the sky.

  Before him, the long elaborately carved tables were neatly arranged in rows. The polished stone floor glistened, having been hand polished every week for millennia.

  Except for Zedd’aki and a few of the housekeeping staff, the room was empty. His steps echoed as he walked. The housekeepers had already arranged the place settings for lunch, fine cutlery and polished metal plates were set in neat rows. Smells of roast meats and stews filled the air.

  His mouth watered. He loved the smell of fresh bread. Just the thought of ripping open the golden crust and slathering it with butter made his stomach gurgle. He had to remind himself he had just polished off a plate of sausages.

  There were countless rows of tables, but only the first fifteen feet of the first four rows were set. Admittedly, there were many who were in the realms, guiding and watching from afar. But still …

  The hand cast pewter cups all stood upside down waiting for their owners to claim them. Each had the family crest and the mage’s name and year of graduation carved into the handle.

  There was a large cabinet at the end of the room, filled with all the cups of mages past. Thousands of cups were displayed. Above each cup was an apparition of the owner, now dead or missing. Just a small living snapshot of that person when alive, usually caught when they were unsuspecting of being watched. Zedd’aki’s eyes welled up at the thought of so many friends being gone.

  A few of the older ladies were shuffling about bringing in plates of bread and fruit. Zedd’aki walked up to the announcement board. It was empty; had been for many months. Zedd’aki paused to admire the fine gilding of the frame. He reflected on how to activate the Scheduler. He had not done so for a long time. He tried several renditions of the waking spell, at least as best he could remember. After a flurry of hand waving and incantations, he waited.

  Nothing happened. Maybe he hadn’t flicked his wrist correctly, or mispronounced a few words; he tried again and was thwarted a second time. Frustration began to build and his movements were getting desperate. On the forth try, a ghost like image of an old man appeared in the center of the bulletin board.

  The scheduler looked down in contempt at Zedd’aki through the small narrow glasses that dangled at the end of his nose, and in a soft raspy voice asked, “Cat got your tongue? Can I help you?”

  Zedd’aki cleared his throat. “I would like to post a message and schedule a meeting.”

  “Of course you would … what else would you be asking of a … scheduler?” the scheduler mused sarcastically raising a brow.

  “Let’s get on with it please,”

  He always felt a little strange talking to the apparitions that they had created to help around the Keep.

  The scheduler folded his hands and leaned forward. “What is the message?”

  “A meeting is requested by the Keeper for this evening after sup regarding the recent loss of the watcher.”

  The scheduler shook his head deeply chagrinned. “Lost another watcher have we? Dangerous job, being a Watcher is, not much future in it.”

  “Just post the message. Make sure everyone knows about the meeting.”

  The scheduler wryly replied, “Irritable aren’t we? I guess I can mark this … urgent. I didn’t know that you mages were SO busy, my mistake. Let’s see … if I can fit you in …” The scheduler flipped though his appointment book, “Ah. Last meeting was … oh, three hundred six days ago. Hmm, finally, a blank line ….” The scheduler slowly dipped his quill in the ink cup sitting in the corner of his desk and carefully wrote the message in his logbook.

  “Is that all?” the scheduler asked dryly.

  Zedd’aki was tempted to say something profound, but fought the urge. There wasn’t much sense in arguing with an apparition. With the wave of his hand, the Scheduler faded and all that was left was a message written in impeccable calligraphy.

  Every ten seconds, a voice echoed the message. Zedd’aki was sure that all who entered the room would hear. There were several other boards located throughout the Keep. Zedd’aki frowned. Was it his imagination, or did the announcement sound a little sarcastic? He turned and headed back to his room for some quiet time.

  He reached his room and dismissed the ward he had set and pushed the door open. He stepped into the small barren room, motioned for the fire to light, walked over to his bed and after removing his worn sandals, he swung his feet up and reclined. He closed his eyes and soon he was dreaming. Horrible dreams of the past.

  He was huddled under the parapet of the castle with Ja’tar as huge fireballs ro
ared overhead. Bolts of plasma crackled and raced over the ground looking to devour anything in its path. Ja’tar was shaking having just been hit in the chest by an emaciation spell. Only his skill had saved him and his color had still not returned.

  He could hear the sounds of the dying and could smell death. Immense evil demons, grotesque and defiled walked the grounds, devouring everything alive. Lightning crackled as the dark mages fought the Guild. The sky was blood red from the smoke and battle spells. The ear piercing cries of dragons filled the air, but could barely be distinguished over the roar of the explosions that shook the very ground and had ripped gashes deep as a man.

  A group of magi stood their ground in the center of the grounds, furiously weaving spells and enchantments. Their hands were a whirl and their mouths chanted as sweat slid down their faces. They worked as a team, some casting guards, some defending, and some attacking. The strain showed on their faces as the battle waged on. They had been at it for hours. They were the last hope of the mage Guild. If they were defeated, the Keep would fall.

  Zedd’aki stared into the face of one of the mages, catching his gaze as a thin sliver of silver fire found a way through the protections. His face contorted and his entire body glowed as if on fire before he simply disappeared in an explosion of falling silver sparks. The mage next to him stepped into his place and the battle continued, only now, their numbers were one less.

  He didn’t remember getting up and running into the fray. The next thing he recalled was standing arm-in-arm with the remaining defenders as the vilest, evil and sadistic creatures imaginable pressed their attack. He could see the drool and gore dripping from their fanged mouths, even smell their breath. Their dark blackened skin, scaled and deformed, glistened from the blood that dripped still from their recent kills. They were getting so close. There were so many…

  Confrontation

  He awoke with a start, in a cold sweat, eyes darting to and fro. The visions were still vivid in his mind and his body shook. He sat up and crossed his legs, trying to gain some composure by meditating. After several minutes, his heart started to slow and his breathing became deep and rhythmic. He slowly purged the thoughts of demons, spells and war out of his head.