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

by Scott D. Muller

  “Seriously, aren’t you being a little melodramatic?” Dra’kor jested light-heartedly.

  Ja’tar’s face was reddening and his voice was getting louder as he talked. “By the Ten, Dra’kor! We have no watcher and even if we did, I’m not sure it is safe enough to risk using the orbs until we sort this out.”

  “You’re serious!” Dra’kor blurted out. “Haven’t we had these mishaps in the past? They happen like clockwork —”

  “Yes they have, but this is different.” Ja’tar shouted so emphatically that spittle sprayed from his lips.

  “Why, because your sister’s realm was involved?” Dra’kor shot back, sorry that the words came out by the time he finished saying them.

  Ja’tar looked up, deeply saddened. “No, not because of my sister, because of the way that the watcher was killed. That demon —”

  “I’m sorry, I was wrong in accusing you of that ….”

  “Forgiven,” answered Ja’tar curtly. “Listen, of course I’m serious, dead serious. Do you really think I would waste my time if I wasn’t?”

  Ja’tar’s passion caught Dra’kor by surprise. Cautiously Dra’kor replied, “No, I suppose not. So, how do I, we, fit into this?”

  Ja’tar sensed his uneasiness and toned down the drama in his voice. “We need to find out what we face.”

  Dra’kor nodded. So far, he followed the old man, even if he didn’t believe the entire realm was on a precipice headed for destruction, “If we face grave danger, I agree, but what can we do? We have little experience in these matters.”

  Ja’tar smiled; Dra’kor had taken the bait.

  “What I’m thinking is that we should send a small party out into the nearby realms to do some snooping around.”

  The shock showed in Dra’kor’s face as he realized that Ja’tar meant them. “You mean to send us on a … quest?”

  “Perhaps a quest,” Ja’tar agreed. “I guess you could call it that. Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking. I think it wouldn’t be high profile, more of — on the sly. You know, get a feeling for the state of the realms.”

  “A quest,” Dra’kor said, feeling the weight of the words.

  “But I don’t think we should call it a quest. That conjures up images of knights on horseback. I’m thinking more of a walk-about. And the Guild must not know or ever find out.”

  “You’re not going to get the outing sanctioned?” said Dra’kor, in total surprise.

  “There is no time. It could take years …,” Ja’tar said, expressing his own frustration with the Guild. “You yourself know how slowly things go with the Guild. By the Ten, they’d probably nix the entire plan anyway.”

  “I hear that,” Dra’kor echoed.

  “So are you willing to do this?”

  “Why don’t you do it? You’re more qualified than we are. You and Zedd’aki should do it.”

  “That’s a fair question. I feel that I would draw too much suspicion if I left the Keep for a couple weeks. I’d be missed — you and your friends stick to yourselves — mostly. Most won’t question if you miss a few dinners.”

  “I grant you your point.”

  “Besides, I need to contact the Guild, and nobody else can do that. I can cover for you if someone starts asking questions, make up a story about you doing a research project in one of the unused wings. I could also glamour someone if they start asking too many questions.”

  “— Glamour? That’s a violation of the rules — it’s the fourth sworn rule of fealty to the Wizard Creed.”

  “I know, but if it means we complete our quest?” Ja’tar shrugged.

  “I follow your reasoning,” said Dra’kor quietly. “But I’m not sure I fully agree.”

  “I don’t have much choice. We need to do what needs to be done.”

  “Surely there is another way?”

  “I don’t see how. We don’t have the luxury of time here. I think our window of opportunity is small. The demons have showed their cards.”

  Dra’kor hated agreeing, but he knew that Ja’tar was right.

  “So will you do it?”

  “How? When?” stammered Dra’kor, not able to verbalize the myriad questions that raced into his head.

  Ja’tar stopped in front of a rather massive unremarkable door.

  “I’m coming to that.”

  He raised his hand with the Keeper’s ring up to the door. It fit perfectly in the small gold slot and made a soft click as it slid into place. He mumbled quietly to himself and the tumblers in the lock ground open. As the door released, dust and dirt fell from the exterior seal as fresh air rushed into the room.

  Ja’tar pushed hard on the door using his shoulder. The hinges complained loudly as the metal scraped from the weight of the door as it creaked and moaned against his effort. He motioned the small group into the dark room.

  Grit let out a loud sneeze, followed by a coy, “Sorry —,” as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, “— couldn’t hold that in!”

  He uttered a rude comment to Men’ak as he stood holding the door with his other hand. Men’ak gave him a look, shook his head and walked past him into the room.

  With a wave of Ja’tar’s hand, the rooms orbs, buried behind elaborate crown molding, began to glow dimly. As their eyes adjusted to the low light, the exquisite room revealed that it was not terribly spacious, and held no windows or other doors. The ceiling was domed and finely detailed, made of blood red marble with polished brass filigree laid out in intricate designs of the ancients. Tall stone colonnades dotted the exterior walls and helped to support the lofty ceiling. The floors were made of exotic woods, all hand laid in intricate knot weaves. On the floor, directions of the world, north, south, east and west were delicately inlaid. The exquisite inlays were made of abalone, brass and silver with designs that paid homage to the ancient lore that described the rulers of the winds as mischievous sprites.

  Ja’tar moved quickly to the front center of the plinth, quickly motioned his hand in a small intricate pattern and whispered a few words. As he finished, the layers of dust and dirt slowly dissolved.

  He cursed himself for being overly busy and not looking in on the room more often. He hoped the others didn’t notice the subtle spell he cast to clear out the years of neglect. He had taken extra care to hide it under the billowing sleeves of his robe.

  He looked over at Zedd’aki who gave him a knowing look and was hiding a snicker inside his tangled beard. He almost had to grin back. Damn! He thought to himself. Nothing escapes his notice; even the most restrained and finessed of spells. The room still smelled dank and musty from the stale air that had been locked away for decades, but already the fresh air was clearing the odors.

  In the center of the room was a massive, waist-high, pedestal. Rather impressive at about four swords wide, it almost filled the room and left but a span of arms around the perimeter in which to stand or walk. It was made of a single monolith of polished black obsidian from the Three Gates of the Underworlds and was inlayed with gold writing of the elves. Ja’tar used to remember the name of the specific gate that it came from, but couldn’t bring it to mind. It was significant, but he just couldn’t recall what it was called …

  Ja’tar admired the craftsmanship as he walked to the table, letting his hand glide over the perfectly smooth surface. Praying that he could recall the spells, he hesitantly let his hand come to rest upon the markings. He lazily walked around the table, brushing his hand over the glyphs in a seemingly random order. As his hand touched the glyphs, his fingers whirled in intricate designs, unlocking the symbols’ magic. He sighed in relief that the spells came to him, although a few he had to repeat a couple times to get them correct.

  One by one, the writing illuminated, glowing a dull orange and flickering, but clearly visible against the pure black granite top. Low melodic tones, barely perceptible, played in harmonic concert as the magic began to take effect. As it did, a shimmering image began to appear in the center of the table, unperceivable at first. It slowly exp
anded to the edges and grew from the base up until it coalesced and focused.

  Before them was a vision of the realms. The mountains clearly laid out, rivers and all manner of detail. There were more than a few gasps from around the room, for none besides the old man himself had ever been witness to this event. Only travelers and the Keeper had entered this place since Ror.

  Ja’tar cleared his throat, “I give you the realms —”

  A low whistle escaped Dra’kor’s lips as he put his hands on either side of the dais, leaned over and gazed intently, for he, like many others, had not wandered far from the Keep. He never imagined the realms were so big.

  “Remarkable,” was all he could muster.

  “Now mind you, this doesn’t show all of the Realms at once, the area is just too big.”

  Grit was clearly astonished and couldn’t help uttering, “It doesn’t? I had no idea there was so much land …” The smile on his face reached from ear to ear.

  Ja’tar grinned back, he couldn’t help it, it always tickled him to no end when magic amazed.

  Ja’tar slowly circled the table and again put his hands on several symbols. “Here, let me show you.” The view shifted north, and then moved east. The symbols on the floor glowed as the image shifted.

  Ja’tar had a certain location in mind. The shifting lasted for several heartbeats as the landscape blurred past. Finally, the image settled on an area and Ja’tar made the image larger. Slowly, the others realized they were looking at the location of the Keep, although it was small, and was like viewing a static model of the surrounding area.

  The Keep was clearly visible, but it seemed different to Dra’kor. “This looks … not right to me …”

  “Here —!” he pointed. “It’s a little different from how I picture this place …”

  Ja’tar was surprised at his observation and nodded approvingly. “It is. This view is exceptionally old, back from just after Ror I believe.”

  “Bloody right! It looks just like the painting on the wall outside the library,” commented Grit excitedly, looking back at Men’ak and smiling.

  “Exactly! Well done —,” Zedd’aki added.

  “Notice how the whole north wing is missing and the east wing hasn’t yet been completed.” Ja’tar pointed out on the illusion.

  Men’ak blurted as he leaned in for a better look, “— It still has the parapet!”

  “Yes, see. Nearly all of the outside parapet was destroyed in the last battles and has never been rebuilt.”

  Ja’tar’s voice was a bit quiet and very sad as he continued. “Most of the villages are not shown on the map, because they were destroyed in the earlier battles. The larger castles, a few towns, some main roads are shown.”

  “The map was made long, long ago and has not been completely updated in a dreadfully long time. It’s … one of the many things we no longer have the time or manpower to maintain. But it will suffice for our purpose.”

  The others all nodded solemnly, knowing the truth of the matter.

  Ja’tar continued the geography lesson. “The Havenhold Keep is surrounded by five neighboring realms, Stonegate, the Lowlands, Five Peaks, Three Rivers and the Woodlands.” Ja’tar pointed one by one to the nearby realms, causing them to grow up out of the table as he called them out.

  “Amazing,” Grit said. “Can you go back to Three Rivers? I thought I saw a city there.”

  “I can, hold on a second —,” he said. “I’ll find the city.”

  Ja’tar maneuvered the display over to the city and zoomed in, letting the image grow out of the dais.

  Grit and Dra’kor leaned in. “Would you look at the size of that city!”

  “It’s huge!” Men’ak said.

  The city looked to be a thousand paces built in the shape of a hexagon. Buildings of every shape and size stretched to the sky. Wide stone roads led into the city, wide enough for several wagons. A gigantic stone wall ten times the height of a man surrounded the entire city and six fortified gates were arranged to allow people and merchandise in and out. At the points of the hexagon, tall towers reached skyward. Each was different; some had suspended courtyards, some massive open windows; some had no windows at all and were completely stark.

  Ornate, curved and sculpted, the stone structures were polished and highly detailed. Throughout the town, there were towers and spires that climbed to the clouds, arched bridges that stretched over parts of the city, spanning between buildings. Large crystal, polished metal and stone sculptures of angels, beasts and demons decorated the buildings. A radiant pool, with waterfalls and fountains was in the center square. The centerpiece of the pool was an enormous crystal flower that must have been thirty foot across and almost as high. It was obvious that the city had been built using magic. It was majestic beyond belief.

  “Look at all the tall buildings, the towers. It looks like it’s all made of marble,” Dra’kor observed. “What’s that in the center?”

  “I bet a thousand people could live there,” Grit said, with a grin, “— maybe two!”

  Ja’tar smiled, “That building is the trade center. Merchants come from all over to sell their wares there. This is one of the five great cities that the Ten built.”

  Men’ak and Dra’kor nodded. Ja’tar let the display zoom back out until the only sections that were shown were those adjacent to the Keep. The outside borders of the nearest realms were blurred and well out of view, but for Ja’tar’s expounding point, the roads, rivers and valleys that linked these five realms to the Keep was what he most wanted to show anyway. The rest could be discovered and explored later, when time permitted.

  Men’ak pointed. “It looks like there used to be a bridge there.”

  Ja’tar nodded, “It was destroyed during the early battles of Ror. I’m sure they built another to take its place.”

  “I hope so, the falls look — treacherous.”

  Ja’tar continued, “These were the first realms to join us in our battle against Warvyn. We should investigate them first.”

  Grit shrugged his shoulders. “Warvyn …?”

  Ja’tar looked up from the map, and paused, trying to decide how much he was willing to say.

  “Warvyn is a powerful demon from deep in the lower planes, Darkhalla to be exact. The dark magi made a pact with the demon to deliver mage souls in exchange for knowledge and their help. The demon’s first attack was here in the Keep, in the Ceremonial Room.”

  Dra’kor was irritated. “How come we never heard of this before?”

  Ja’tar answered, “We don’t speak of Warvyn because the horror it inflicted on the Keep was so heinous, many of us still have nightmares of those days. Over half the Keep was destroyed and we lost nearly a thousand magi in the thirty year battle.”

  “Were you there?” Men’ak asked.

  Ja’tar looked to Zedd’aki for some support. He really didn’t feel like further discussing those sad events. “I was …”

  Zedd’aki grunted his agreement, “Can we continue with the map?”

  Ja’tar looked to Dra’kor and the others. They reluctantly nodded, so Ja’tar stepped around to the far side of the map.

  “So, as I was saying, we should visit these first. Stonegate is where the City of the Guild is located. I would shy away from getting too close. You can never tell where you might find Guild members and they can easily spot a Mage.”

  Grit grinned in amazement as he ventured closer. “Who created this beautiful tool?”

  “It was a gift from the Elf Queen Zerra when the Tofar Pact between the races was made during the age of Ror. As I recall, her entire clan was less than two hundred warriors, but they were adept at hiding and finding, so she volunteered those skills to the Guild in lieu of them going to battle. Besides, there was only so much damage a three-foot tall elf could inflict on a demon. Especially without strong magic, no matter how much prowess they had with a blade. In those days, this was the war room. The battles were planned here.”

  “Here? The Ten were al
l in this room at one time …,” Men’ak stammered out while looking over his shoulder as if they would jump out of the walls.

  Ja’tar nodded, “They all practically lived in this room when not in the battles themselves. The Elf King Shar’ran and the Dwarf King Ironfist were also living here in those times.”

  “If these walls could talk —” Grit mumbled in awe, shaking his head.

  “Does the map show the location of the travelers?” Dra’kor asked.

  “— No, there weren’t any travelers in those times and they were never added. Sadly, it is now but a static view of the realms. A glorified map, but still very useful. But in the day …,” reminisced Ja’tar.

  “Back to the task at hand … I think we should begin here at Five Peaks,” Ja’tar pointed at the map. “We should check this nearby neighbor first.”

  “Best to know if death is on our doorstep or not,” Zedd’aki commented wryly.

  Grit eerily grabbed Men’ak from the behind. “Death … whoooooa!” Zedd’aki rolled his eyes; he had hoped the boys were going to take this a bit more seriously.

  Men’ak startled, “Mm-m-makes sense.” Men’ak gave Grit a big shove into the wall. “Ass —!”

  Grit just grinned back like an idiot. Even Zedd’aki had to let a small chortle escape his lips.

  “Huh!” Ja’tar’s head shot up. He was confused, not understanding why everyone had big grins on their faces. He had forgotten something very important and been trying to recall it and had not been paying attention to the others and the joke slipped past him unnoticed.

  He had a confused look on his face for a second and forgot about it. Zedd’aki shook his head. His friend was getting old!

  Ja’tar brightened as he remembered. He walked over to the far side of the table and waved his hand over another set of glyphs. Small red towers appeared on the map. “And these … are the Querd totems that protect the realms from rogue magic.”

  “So, these are the famous portals of the rogue,” Dra’kor mused, leaning over the map. “I had wondered if they still existed.”