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

by Scott D. Muller

  Ja’tar nodded but didn’t speak. He chased the crumbs around the table with his finger and drummed his fingers anew before casting small flame spells that raced from digit to digit, winking out of existence as fast as they were made.

  Ja’tar swallowed his mouthful and shook his fork at his friend, “I think we are facing an assault, but I can’t figure out who or what is behind it. Nothing makes sense.”

  “— Sense? Since when do these things ever make any sense?”

  “There are usually patterns, or clues to follow …,” a very frustrated Ja’tar offered.

  “Maybe we just can’t see the pattern from here. Maybe the boys will have better luck.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Ja’tar flatly, as he took a long draw on his cup of mead.

  “So I’m thinking, why close all the realms? That makes them useless to everyone, mages and demons alike,” asked Zedd’aki just before stating his hastily drawn hypothesis. “What if they found a way around the magic?”

  “Not likely,” Ja’tar mused, “Mages have been searching for a way around the rules of magic for eons.”

  “All I’m saying is, nothing else makes sense. Now’s as good a time as any …”

  Ja’tar nodded, understanding why Zedd’aki thought the way he did, after all, it was the only train of thought that made any sense whatsoever.

  Zedd’aki pushed his plate back. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking of going back to the Cave and see if I can learn anything that might help us.”

  “You aren’t going alone again?”

  Ja’tar sighed as he stood up. “No, my friend. I’ll take you along to watch out for me. It should provide mild … entertainment!”

  Zedd’aki nodded forcefully as he watched Ja’tar leave the room.

  When he returned to his room, the first thing he noticed was a small note of paper on his silver receiver dish. He picked up his spectacles and placed them on his nose before he grabbed the note and read:

  “Nothing to report, haven’t seen anyone, it’s been quiet. I suppose you knew about the glamour on the Keep to make it look like a dilapidated inn?

  I’m going to sleep. Maybe I’ll have something more to report tomorrow. - Dra’kor.”

  Ja’tar held the note for a second before lighting it with the flame of the beeswax candle on his desk and watched it disappear in a flash of yellow-blue light. He cupped his hand over the flame of the candle and blew it out.

  He stood in the dark for a bit, staring out the widow, watching the bright moonlight of the Ocht’or moon illuminate the tall pines. He looked in the direction of Three Rivers and thought about the boys. He wondered if they would fill his dreams this night.

  So far, no one in the Keep noticed that the boys had left. He wondered how long he would be able to keep it a secret. If the Guild found out … he would have some serious explaining to do.

  He stared out at the storm up in Five Peaks and remembered being caught in thunder snow once when he was very young. The snow came down so fast, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and he had to cover his face because the sharp ice flakes actually stung. The thunder would boom, causing the snow to come down even harder. Later that night he remembered his mother having to apply a soothing balm on his raw skin. She said that the ice shards had actually cut his tender skin and that was why he was in such pain.

  As he fell asleep, he dreamt of a woman with dark hair. She seemed to be trapped in a glass house, or be in some manner of serious trouble, and was calling to him. He tried to call out to her, but every time he tried, the image would blur and fade away. Eventually, the dream faded, he forgot about her and fell into a deep sleep.

  A Night to Remember

  The squad of catomen, patrolling the long narrow valley had smelled the wandering magi long before they heard them. The leader raised his sensitive nose into the wind and sniffed turning in the direction of the strong scent. A euphoric purr escaped its mouth as it leapt to the north, quickening its pace. The others quickly fell in behind.

  Their easy feline gate quickly brought them down the vacant road near to the camp where the magi slept. Their lean black forms blended well with the surroundings hiding their motion, even under the moon’s soft-white haloed glow.

  The White moon was already full up, shining over the land. In the spring, the White moon appeared almost twice the size as it did in the fall. That was when the orange moon known as Ocht’or was the biggest. The orange globe took its name from the ninth month of the thirteen named months in the year. The harvest month was aptly named marking the end of another year of toil in the fields. If the year had been kind, enough food would be picked and stored to get them through the six months of winter.

  The lead feline looked up, it knew that the moon would be rising soon, causing the magi to stir. The Ocht’or moon was also known as the moon of dreams and to those who were sensitive to its siren call, provided vivid dreams and the sight. The catomen was worried about the sight. Although the moon appeared smallest this time of year, and the dreams less vivid, it hoped that none of the magi had the gift and that surprise would be on their side this eve.

  They moved stealthily between the shadows, pausing here, sniffing there. The three slowly approached the rocky outcrop, checking the air, ears perked, eyes narrowed. Their bodies swayed gracefully as they carefully placed their oversized padded paws and climbed.

  Quickly and silently, they scaled the rocky surface, powerful legs making easy work of the huge boulders and awkward jutting slabs of granite. They briefly paused at the top after peering over the edge and seeing the shadowy outlines of the magi sound asleep around a smoldering fire.

  Dra’kor’s wards went off, disturbing his deep slumber. It took a few seconds for him to realize where he was and what was going on. That recognition caused him to waken with a start as the alarms sounded loudly in his head. He dismissed them and froze in his bedroll staring up through the pine boughs into the dull glow of a partially veiled Ocht’or moon, giving his eyes time to focus. He ever so slowly moved his hand down to his belt and checked his small blade making sure it was free from its catch. He stayed nearly motionless for several seconds holding his breath and straining to hear …

  Nothing, only the dead eerie silence, with no crickets, birds, owls, or bugs filled the air.

  The sound of Men’ak’s uneven breathing and Grit’s loud snoring broke the nothing. He looked left, then right, slowly moving his head to avoid making a sound. Under the canopy it was dark, almost pitch black, but not so dark that he couldn’t make out the thin night fog circling the trees. The fire was almost out and only a few ash covered coals remained, faintly flickering as the night mist kissed them lovingly.

  He twisted his fingers quickly under the blanket and carefully sent out feelers to determine what had entered the perimeter. He had to know whether they were being threatened, or if it was just a raccoon, or fox. He sensed something, magical, but not. The response was so vague he thought he might have cast the spell incorrectly. He tried again to be sure, with the exact result. It seemed unusual to him that he couldn’t determine if they were in danger. His spell had always worked in the past and its sudden failure caused him great consternation. He felt his heart rate rise and could feel his forehead getting moist as his anxiety rose.

  The largest of the beasts gazed out over the quiet campsite, tossed its head, growling and purring gruffly. The others turned their attention to the grand black cat and purred back. The leader shook his head and purred his response more forcefully. The other three nodded their agreement, dropped below the ridge and began to circle around the small camp maintaining the high ground.

  Dra’kor rolled over ever so slowly to his side, pretending he was still asleep and forced a stammered snore. He reached for Grit using his blanket for cover and gave him a shake on his arm. Grit grumbled and rolled over, tucking his blanket tightly about his head. Dra’kor tried a second time, and also gave him a pinch usi
ng a little magic.

  “What the …” Grit grumbled rolling over and half sitting up before he opened his eyes.

  He was disoriented and groggy. Although it was hard to see in the pale moonlight, he woke quickly when he saw the terror in Dra’kor’s eyes. That piercing stare sent chills down his spine and froze him in place.

  Dra’kor raised a nervous finger slowly to his lips to hush him and mouthed for him to wake up Men’ak. Grit cautiously looked around, but saw nothing. He slowly slid over to Men’ak and shook him, placing a hand over his mouth. Men’ak woke startled and tried to yell when he saw Grit place his finger to his lips with his empty hand. Now that their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, they both looked to Dra’kor who was motioning with his head up into the boulders.

  Grit crawled on his belly over to Dra’kor and whispered, “What’s going on? You see something?”

  “Not sure. Something big set off my wards. But I can’t find it, or tell what it is —”

  Grit squinted at him skeptically in the dark. “Can’t?”

  “No, my magic says nothing,” whispered Dra’kor without hesitation while shaking his head. “Shhh. Listen —”

  “— I don’t hear anything,” Grit said, straining to hear.

  “Exactly, me neither. No frogs, crickets, or birds; I hear nothing,” a worried Dra’kor answered back, “and that ain’t natural.”

  Men’ak sat up quickly and pointed off into the trees. “What’s there? I think I heard a hiss.”

  “Quick, everyone — over to me,” Dra’kor commanded, as he shot to his knees, his gut churning.

  Both Grit and Men’ak tucked and rolled up next to Dra’kor. They both shifted positions until they were all sitting back-to-back staring out into the darkness, hands extended, and fingers crackling with power.

  They all heard the growl and hissing at the same time. It was unearthly and made the goose flesh on their necks stand up. The sound echoed off the rock in the quiet night.

  “Mountain lions! There’s more than one,” cried Grit.

  He whiplashed his neck trying to look in three directions at the same time. “See anything?”

  “Quickly Grit, light the fire,” Dra’kor yelled, knowing they had already been found out.

  Men’ak sputtered weakly out of fear, knowing damn well that lions wouldn’t answer. “Sh-show yourselves …”

  Grit scrambled as he threw a big bundle of sticks and branches into the pit and just as fast, he uttered his incantation causing the bundle to burst into flame.

  The sudden burst of firelight silhouetted three muscular feline beasts that quickly retreated just out of view, hiding amongst the shadows of the towering yew trees. Their oversized yellow eyes glowed in the fire light, and their long fanglike teeth clicked as drool slid down their chins. Low howling cries came from them as they sensed easy prey.

  “Wild cats,” shouted Men’ak.

  Grit hastily let loose a fire bolt into the woods, which exploded in a loud boom shooting sparks in all directions. “No! By the Ten, catomen!”

  “Cato-what?” Men’ak blurted. “Wha …”

  “I think I got one,” an excited Grit laughed.

  The beast roared as the bolt caught the backside of its rear leg, knocking it backwards deep into the trees. The sounds of cracking branches circling to their left let Grit know the demon still lived.

  “Oh, by the Ten! It’s not dead yet. Why isn’t it dead?” he screamed at nobody in particular.

  Grit quickly threw back his bedroll, shot to his feet and followed his first bolt with another, which exploded off in the wood, lighting the trees and surrounding area with its blue glow.

  A loud sound from behind made Grit drop into a low crouch. He whirled around, spinning on the ball of his foot. He saw the beast mid leap from the corner of his eye, so he dropped a shoulder and somersaulted out of the way. The frustrated cat flew over the spot where the young mage had been a split second before, snapping at the empty air. The catomen quickly skidded to a stop and turned, arching its back and flexing it long claws.

  Dra’kor had let loose an energy ball at the beast, but missed when it suddenly stopped and changed direction. The ball went careening off the rocky crag and fizzled out as it sped off into the night sky.

  The beast charged at Dra’kor causing him to desperately dive to the right, but he overcompensated and overshot his mark. The catomen reversed directions at the last second choosing instead to attack Grit. Grit swore under his breath as he tried to change directions but his momentum carried him forward down to his knees as he tried to stop.

  He pitched himself to the side and rolled up against the base of an ancient pine tree. The beast came straight at him and only a quick twist to the side allowed him to avoid the fangs and claws as the beast hit the tree head on, and crumbled to the ground as its neck snapped to the side and its jaw hung agape. The beast’s head was so close, Grit almost gagged at the vile smell of rot coming from the creature’s breath.

  Momentarily stunned by the collision, the catomen stumbled awkwardly as it shook its head to fix its blurred vision. Grit grabbed a handful of pebbles at his feet, cast his delayed explosion spell on the rocks as he rolled out of the brush, and dashed across the clearing toward his friends.

  The demon growled and charged again. Grit spun around and threw the small pebbles into the catomen’s face as hard as he could. The beast snapped at the small insignificant rocks, swallowing a few in the process. A fraction of a second later, they exploded, poking holes in the beast’s face and throat. The catomen collapsed to the ground and gurgled; barely an arm’s length away from a cowering Grit. It pawed at the dirt trying to take one last breath, its lungs filling with blood, as its claws extended in a last desperate try to rake the mage.

  Grit sat stunned for seconds as he looked at the nearly five inch long claws at the end of the dead catomen’s paw. He swallowed hard and looked around.

  Men’ak seemed a little dazed at first and just sat staring at Grit and the catomen, shifting his view from one to the other as if the whole ordeal made absolutely no sense to him.

  He heard the rustle in the trees first, snapping him out of his trance. Instinctively, he rolled sideways, flipping over to his back as one of the howling catomen jumped from the woods right at him. His magical bolt caught the beast in its chest as it pounced. The lightning danced over the catomen’s frame before it landed, knocking the wind out of Men’ak who was still half wrapped in his bedroll.

  Men’ak’s eyes went wide with horror and he choked out a scream as the twitching beast tried to regain its footing.

  First, its single lemon-sized yellow eye opened and stared straight into his soul, and he thought it actually grinned. He kicked up and pushed himself backwards, trying to get away.

  Even though it was wounded, the beast continued attacking. By the Ten, Men’ak thought to himself, that blast should have ripped the chest of the beast wide open. It pulled itself ever closer as it tried to claw and bite the mage. Only Men’ak’s grip on the bedroll covering kept him from serious damage by the claws, which seemed to get snagged in the thick loosely woven material.

  “Why won’t you die,” he screamed, horrified beyond comprehension.

  Men’ak shouted a spell as he dropped the bedroll at the last second and placed a hand on both sides of the demon’s head. Absolute terror filled his mind as he loosed the exploding ball right into the demon’s head, which finally burst after shaking violently for several seconds, splattering icky gore all over the camp.

  Men’ak frantically pushed with his legs until he was free of both the convulsing beast and his tattered bedroll. He rolled over to his stomach and hastily shimmied in the dirt until he reached Grit. He quickly righted himself and sat up so his back was up against Grit’s back.

  “Thought I was d-d-dead,” he shouted over his shoulder as his voice quivered. He wiped the gore from his face with the sleeve of his robe. It smelled foul, stung his eyes and burnt the little hairs on the inside of
his nose.

  Meanwhile, Dra’kor had his own problems. Two beasts were stalking him from opposite sides of the boulders. He had a single hand up in each direction. He knew that he would soon have to choose one or the other. He couldn’t kill both. He watched as the beasts crouched low, preparing to pounce.

  He followed their lead and kept his center low, his balance on the balls of his feet so he could change directions quickly if he had to. He kept moving, turning slowly from side-to-side, his oilskin coat flapping in the light breeze.

  The elder catomen that held the higher ground arched its back and hissed; the fur at the nape of its neck stood straight up. It leapt left and right, gracefully maneuvering over the large granite boulders. The second beast was closing in now from the flat, taking it’s time, sizing up its prey. It moved deliberately to cut him off from his friends. He watched the powerful muscles on the beast’s legs as they rippled and twitched.

  The crouching catomen, high in the boulder field, attacked first, racing down the boulders in a smooth fluid motion that caught Dra’kor completely by surprise. He marveled at how quickly the sure-footed beast had crossed the distance over the ragged and uneven terrain.

  In the last instant, he feigned left, but jumped to the right side and the beast sailed past, swiping a claw at him, but narrowly missing, raking across the back of his heavy coat. Its momentum carried it far to the other side of the camp.

  Dra’kor knew he would only get a single chance, so he filled himself with the power as he spun around to face the second creature and let a lightning bolt free. He hoped he had made the right assumption that the beasts were attacking in unison.

  His hunch paid off and the bolt caught a very surprised demon in the face, as it stood full up on its hind legs preparing to maul him. The demon cat pranced on its rear legs, using its front legs to claw at the dancing lightning that was devouring its maw. An agonizing howl escaped its lips when it came to realize that the magical stuff would not be easily removed.