“Rotate,” Dra’kor shouted.
All three magi all took a step to the right. Each was now facing a new foe.
With the wave of his hand, he blocked the lightning bolts, snuffed the explosive volleys and dissolved the spells of paralysis. He could feel Grit and Men’ak at his back also fighting for their lives. He threw up a shield and after the lightning ball cracked over the surface, he dropped it and let go a volley of flying rocks back at the mage who sent it.
Finally after a couple hours, the barrage stopped.
“Much better,” said Ja’tar, from high above the melee on the tournament dais. He stood proud with his arms crossed with a smug smile on his face. “I think you lads are getting the hang of it, but your counters would be more effective if you stepped slightly off center. You’d give yourselves a little breathing room.”
Ja’tar hurried down the roughly hewn gray stone stairs to the field. He demonstrated the refinement of technique by throwing up a shield as he stepped lower and to the right. He pointed to where the volley should hit his shield and explained how it would deflect away from the group, perhaps even taking out an enemy to the side. He called up Zedd’aki to assist because he knew he would cast a powerful blast, sure to leave a lasting impression.
“It diffuses and deflects part of the explosion up and away. It might even take out someone else’s attacker. It’s like the difference between a ball hitting a wall, and the same ball glancing off a tree. You’ll be able to fight longer if you aren’t absorbing all of the spell’s power.”
“Okay, I see what you mean. Let me try again,” a winded Dra’kor agreed. “Just give me a couple seconds to catch my breath!”
Dra’kor placed his hands on his knees and bent over, taking the strain off his back. He took a couple deep breaths and he stood up at the ready, waiting for the next round of attacks.
This time, he stepped slightly to the left as the fireball approached. He noticed a big difference in how it felt when it hit and went careening off into the yard.
“I can really feel the difference,” Dra’kor exclaimed, surprised at how effective the advice was. “We should all try it.”
After several more hours of battle practice, the three collapsed to the ground exhausted.
“You’ve done well today. I think you’ve finally turned the corner and understand basic field battle,” Ja’tar said, smiling broadly.
Men’ak slumped in exhaustion rubbing his calves and thighs. “I hurt everywhere!”
“Me too,” said Grit. Physically spent, he smiled back wearily and pushed himself to his elbows. “Well, what do you think Ja’tar, are we really ready?”
Ja’tar nodded. “Yes, Grit. I believe if you work together, the three of you are ready for most anything you might face. Of course all threats don’t wield magic or throw fire balls, but with those you will just have to face them as they come and use your common sense to figure it out.”
Ja’tar didn’t really mean that literally. After he and Zedd’aki visited the Cave of the Forbidden and discovered what they were up against, the best he hoped for was that the three returned in one piece with sufficient information for him and the Guild to make a sound decision.
Men’ak limped over to the healer’s blanket favoring his right leg. “I feel a little worn down. I’m not sure I could have kept it up much longer.”
Ja’tar slapped the younger mage on his back causing him to wince. “Well, you know enough to stay alive and that’s the goal … Remember, getting away is still your first option. I don’t want you taking on a whole demon horde on your own.”
Ja’tar laughed, but hoped he had reinforced his message of ‘live to fight another day.’
“No heroics!” he said earnestly.
“No heroics …,” the three repeated in unison, rolling their eyes.
Dra’kor sat down on the warm grass and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was still breathing heavily and his head ached from the exertion it took to command the spells. He gingerly wiped at some of the burn marks on his arms where he hadn’t countered quickly enough. He looked over at Grit who was tending a nasty gash on his leg. He grimaced as the healing spell took effect. Men’ak was lying flat on his back recovering from his healing.
“I think that’s enough for today.” Ja’tar laughed jovially. “Take the remainder of the day off and rest for your trip tomorrow. You all deserve a good rest.”
Dra’kor, Grit and Men’ak nodded, appreciating the respite. They had been training nonstop for almost three weeks. Considering where they had started, Dra’kor was very proud of their progress. He had learned more practical magic in the last few weeks than he had in the last decade of study in the great library.
He supposed that he could have actually learned a fair amount if he applied himself, but he had become sullen and despondent, knowing that what he learned would never be put to use. What was the point of gaining knowledge and expertise if you were never going to use it or pass it on to others? So, for the most part, he just went through the motions of learning.
But this was different. He knew immediately after their first lesson that he had better master what he was being taught. He had soaked it all in like a dry sponge. The fact that the knowledge might save his life or someone else’s made him crave it all the more. He wished that the training could go on for a few more weeks, at least …
They removed their brown tattered robes, nursing their bruises and cuts. After inspection and healing, they washed down with the buckets of warm water brought up from the hot spring on the Keep’s grounds by the housekeeping staff. They stood there in their braies as the staff soaped them down. The soap and warm water felt good as they washed away the dirt and sweat of the day. After drying themselves, clean robes and sandals were donned and the three made their way back into the Keep. The small crowd of onlookers dispersed now that the show was over.
Grit and Men’ak stopped in front of the spiral staircase and watched Dra’kor labor a few steps up toward his room. “Do you want to go soak in the tubs with us?”
He turned to face them, exhaustion showing on his brow. “No, not now! Maybe tonight after dinner. I think I’ll just go up and lie down for a while.”
The two nodded, understanding how he felt and turned down the hall to take refuge in the hot pools under the Keep. The pools were completely natural, which was saying plenty given that most things in and around the Keep were created using the gift. They were nestled in a small grotto back behind the atrium at the rear of the outer wall. The water from the pools cascaded from pool to pool and eventually exited the Keep feeding a small stream that headed down the mountain. There was a distinct odor of sulfur to the air and colossal multicolored stalactites hanging from the ceiling far above and softly mounding stalagmites covered the floor. Finely woven grass mats had been laid down the slippery surface to provide some measure of footing and a makeshift railing of sorts dotted the sides.
Men’ak and Grit stepped to the nearest pool, which was the deepest, and threw off their robes. Grit winced at the sight of all the crisscrossed lash marks on Men’ak’s back, but wiped the expression from his face before Men’ak turned around. It still bothered him, even after all these years.
“This is going to feel so good!” Grit moaned. He lowered himself into the steamy water. “By the Ten, that’s hot!”
Men’ak slid in next to him testing the water first with his foot before sliding in. “I really need this, it’s been a very long day.”
“It’s been a long couple of weeks…,” Grit said, his voice trailing off. He closed his eyes before he could see Men’ak’s weak nod. “It was clever of Ja’tar to announce that he was going to begin teaching some battle and defensive moves to everyone.”
“Everyone is jealous that we got to go first. Most think that Ja’tar is trying to make peace with Dra’kor.”
“That’ll be the day,” Grit grunted. “— I’ll bet Ja’tar has never folded or given an inch in his life.”
Men’ak laughed at the truth o
f the matter.
“He’s a sly one — that’s for sure,” Grit said, with a grin. “I hate to admit it, but it is the perfect deception. I never would have thought of it!”
“That’s why he’s the Keeper,” Men’ak nodded.
“— That’s why he was a god!”
They both laughed and splashed water into each other’s faces. They settled down and tried to work out the kinks by stretching.
“We leave early tomorrow, before anyone else gets up.”
“Feels strange not being able to say goodbye,” said Men’ak sadly.
“Like we have so many dear friends —”
“We have friends!”
Grit grunted as he worked out another knot in his back. “We have each other — that’s what we have!”
Men’ak agreed wholeheartedly, but didn’t say anything.
Grit smiled. “Imagine us, sneaking out of the Keep like cutthroats.”
“Imagine that …,” Men’ak echoed softly.
They both closed their eyes and let the mineral water soak out their aches and pains while listening to the echoing drips of water cascading down the stalactites and dropping to the floor where they would leave a thin coat of minerals to continue building the cave. Other than the sound of the water cascading from pool to pool and their raspy breath, the room was silent.
Dra’kor slowly climbed the many floors and limped down the dark hall to his room. He opened the door and went inside. The first thing he did after tossing his clean robe on the edge of the bed was heal himself, although Ja’tar and Zedd’aki had already seen to that. He wanted to be sure. It didn’t make him feel any stronger, healing never did. You just couldn’t heal bone weariness!
He set his mental alarm to get him up early in the morning, threw back the blanket on his bed, crawled under the covers, and fell quickly to sleep. He completely missed dinner.
When he woke, the sun was not yet rising and his room was dark and cold. He sat up and rubbed his sore arms and legs. He winced as he stood. Stiffness from all the fighting had set in overnight. He bent over and touched his toes, stretching his leg muscles. It didn’t do much good and he still walked like an old woman.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he had missed dinner. He stretched out and slowly got dressed and went down to the dining room for breakfast.
When he entered the dining room, he saw his two friends standing in line for their morning meals. They were the only ones in the room. Even Ja’tar, he supposed, was still in bed. He nodded in their direction as he stiffly walked across the room.
“Missed you at dinner …,” Grit commented.
Men’ak just looked up with his mouth stuffed full. He couldn’t understand how anyone could miss a meal — for any reason.
Dra’kor cackled. Men’ak was eating as fast as he was filling his plate. He wasn’t even waiting to sit down.
Men’ak feigned mock innocence and shrugged. “What —?”
“I fell asleep, slept right through the night,” Dra’kor laughed. “I was so tired; I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.”
“I hear that,” Grit said, giving a gap toothed grin.
Men’ak grabbed Dra’kor by the arm and giving a shake. “— You sore?”
Dra’kor grimaced, brushed his hand away and nodded. “You?”
Men’ak scowled, grabbed his hips and bent over, stretching his back. “I can barely stand. My back is so stiff, but the hot bath really helped — You should have joined us.”
“Here ye go lads,” Gretta said. She filled their three plates with eggs, fresh bread, fruit and hot roasted pork. Gretta heaped their plates and filled their mugs with apple blossom mead. “Yer up early! Big day planned?”
“Trying to catch up on our work,” Men’ak replied — lying.
Grit threw back his mug, gulped it down, and wiped his chin with his sleeve before she had finished filling the other’s mugs and held his out for a refill.
Gretta shook her head, causing Grit to blush sheepishly.
“Thanks Gretta,” acknowledged Grit cheerfully. He watched Gretta refill his mug to the very top.
Gretta took good care of the lads. They weren’t wanting for anything in the food or snack departments. The other two nodded their agreement and they shuffled off. The three men stood at the top of the stairs and surveyed the huge room. They picked out a secluded spot to break their fast and made their way to the corner silently.
The magnitude of the impending quest was beginning to take its toll. Dra’kor was edgy, Grit fidgeted and Men’ak was in a foul contemplative mood.
They quietly wolfed down breakfast choosing to sit away from the main area. It would be the last meal they would eat in the Keep, and they should have been savoring it, but they had far too many issues they still felt needed addressing and they barely tasted the food.
Men’ak was ravenous. He he tore off a big slice of boar. “By the Ten, I’m starving.”
Dra’kor wiped his chin with his napkin. “You’re always hungry.”
They sat and ate quietly for a few minutes without anyone feeling the need to talk.
“To tell the truth, I’m not ready,” mumbled Grit, his mouth full of half-chewed eggs. “Not even close. I need a few more weeks.”
“Me neither, I suppose” grumbled Men’ak. “You?” he motioned at Dra’kor.
“Doesn’t matter, by dawn we’ll be on our way.” Dra’kor shot back. He ripped off a big chunk of steaming hot maslin.
“I’m just saying …,” Grit said defensively, shaking a fist-sized roll back at his friend. “Not that I’m afraid, or anything …”
Grit’s voice trailed off.
Men’ak grunted, “Me neither.”
“I know. I’m just … anxious, that’s all,” Dra’kor sighed heavily.
He shoved a pile of eggs to one side of his plate, before pushing them back to whence they came with his fork.
“Truth be told, I’m not sure we’d feel any more ready if we had another year.” Dra’kor muttered under his breath.
Grit leaned forward, “What was that?”
“— Nothing,” Dra’kor replied, suffering a deep morose.
Dra’kor knew all too well that they were not ready. If nothing else, he had always been a quick study of people and he knew that Ja’tar also knew they were not ready. The fact that Ja’tar would be so anxious over their journey made his skin crawl. He figured that if Ja’tar was concerned, they should be terrified because Ja’tar had wandered the realms and knew what it took to survive. He had seen the ease with which the old man cast his spells and the power and accuracy behind them. He felt that for the first time, he was seeing a glimpse of what the gods had considered worthy enough for ascension.
Dra’kor looked across the tables and saw the small halfling, Tax, staring at them. He must have been standing on his toes, and yet, his eyes barely cleared the tables.
“Looks like you’ll have three less magi to grumble at,” Dra’kor said to the halfling in jest.
Tax’s ears twitched as he frowned, not saying a word. He knew the three were heading out. He had already told the others. He hoped that their time had finally come. Now they would see what the rest of the world already knew. Yes, they would.
“I’ll miss you too —” said Dra’kor, blowing the halfling a kiss.
Tax turned and headed off out of the room, the top of his head bobbing up and down just above the tabletops.
“He’s a strange one,” commented Grit.
Dra’kor nodded. He had never understood the halfling, but Ja’tar had once told him that his family had served the Keep for over two-thousand years.
Men’ak grunted, and wiped his plate with his bread, soaking up the yolk. “I think we’ll be all right then. There are three of us, right?”
“Right, we should be able to manage a walk around the realms without our mommies!” Grit muttered with bravado as a quirky smile spread across his face.
“People—normal people with no magic do it
all the time …,” Men’ak said. “It can’t be that hard — can it?”
“It ain’t gonna be a walk about.” Dra’kor spat back angrily. He slammed down his fork, “If Ja’tar is right, we are going to be constantly tested, and face real danger. We shouldn’t make light of this journey — Overconfidence might get us killed.”
His two friends looked up at him. Lately, they had been seeing a side of him with which they were unfamiliar. He seemed less confident, more irritable. And today, he was downright dour.
Grit threw his hands up in frustration. “What’s it with you? You’ve been harping on us all week.”
“Aye, nothing we say or do is right. Let it out man, tell us what’s going on in your head,” Men’ak echoed Grit’s sentiment.
Dra’kor threw his knife down on his plate making a loud clank, causing more than a few heads to turn in their direction. Dra’kor sat there, red-faced for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts and trying to control his temper. “Nothing”
It wasn’t his friends’ fault that he felt this impending doom. It really wasn’t their doing that they were in this mess. He held himself responsible because he was the one who was always pushing Ja’tar. Now, he was questioning whether he had the skills, and courage to carry out the task at hand.
“Really?” a sarcastic Grit asked, not expecting an answer.
Dra’kor said, throwing up his hands and staring down his friends.
“Look, I’m not mad at you. Okay?”
“Sure,” a sullen Grit nodded. Not really buying the goods that Dra’kor was selling. Actually, he was more upset that his friend couldn’t confide in them.
Dra’kor saw the look on his face and blurted out, “I’m a bit edgy — worried too. I’m not sure we are up to the task and I feel grossly unprepared. When I said earlier that I wasn’t afraid, I lied. I’m terrified. I’m afraid of what we’re going to find, and I’m even more afraid of losing one of you.”
Men’ak and Grit stared at their friend, and at each other. His admission of weakness had caught them both by surprise. Grit put his hand on Dra’kor’s shoulder and gave it a good thump.
“We’ll be okay. We all have the jitters. That’s all. To be expected really!”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 26
