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

by Scott D. Muller

  “And Toulereau?”

  “The castle was built just before the war got started. The King needed a place to stay on this side of his kingdom, so he got this Lord, named Toulereau, to build it for him. It’s rumored that Toulereau is half elf, and I don’t mind telling you, he’s a good-looking man, blond hair, almost clear eyes. I could almost believe it, but he don’t have pointy ears,” she laughed.

  Dra’kor and Men’ak sat staring.

  “You know, pointy ears!” she repeated when they didn’t laugh.

  “Oh!” Dra’kor forced a chuckle.

  Dra’kor and Men’ak were amazed that such a lengthily war that spanned several realms could have been fought for so many years without the Keep ever hearing about it. The loss of human life was staggering. They wondered what part the Guild played in the events. Surely, Ja’tar must have known. Dra’kor wasn’t surprised that he never mentioned it to the rest of the Keep. Seems Guild business is only Guild business.

  Late in the evening, the two magi made their way back to their room and prepared for their rest. Men’ak wove a pattern of wards to protect them through the night and Dra’kor prepared his note to Ja’tar.

  Ja’tar, we made it safe to new Three Rivers, old one must have been destroyed after Ror. Nobody here believes in magic or elves. They think they are myths. Crops are failing and town is being attacked by what we think are wolven. We were attacked trying to get to town, but survived with minor injuries. The beast can be bested with steel, but magic doesn’t seem to have any effect.

  I have deduced that a man in a red robe had cursed the crops about a month ago. I reversed the spell, which turned out to be ululates umbra. I counted seven so far. I will inspect the fields outside of the town tomorrow, but expect the same. Eight town people have been killed by the wolven so far, including Haagen at the cross. It appears that the wolven are only interested in the people. They leave the livestock alone. We will learn more tomorrow, but for now, I look forward to a good night’s sleep in the inn where we are staying.

  - Dra’kor

  Having finished the note, he lit it on fire with the candle and watched as it burned. Dra’kor climbed into bed and snuffed the small candle that flickered in the room. Men’ak was already soundly asleep and snoring vociferously when he closed his eyes, clutched the pillow over his head, and nodded off.

  The sun was already up when Dra’kor opened his eyes. He felt rested, better rested than he had in days. He sat up in bed and inspected his wounds, tracing the length of the tear in his side with his index finger. They had mostly healed and all that was left were the raised welts of scar tissue and that too would fade in another day or two.

  He looked over at Men’ak who was still asleep, trying to decide whether to rouse him or not. When Dra’kor had awoken around the first hour to go relieve himself, Men’ak had been tossing and turning. He had to use the piss pot because the outhouse was behind the inn and D’Arron had locked up for the night. He didn’t mind much, the thought of going out into the cold made him shiver. He would dump the pot in the morning before D’Arron came to fetch it. He just didn’t feel right about having her do that kind of work.

  Dra’kor was a light sleeper and for most of the night, he had been aware that his friend was gripped in a horrible dream. It seemed to him that his friend was more keenly affected by the Ocht’or moon than most and this time of the month, the moon showed strong. For now though, he was resting peacefully.

  Dra’kor laid back down in bed and covered his legs. He thought a good long while about their conversation. If Stonegate had been ransacked by the trolls and still hadn’t recovered, who had Ja’tar been talking to all these years? He was angry. Angry that D’Arron, and apparently everyone else, didn’t even know they existed. How could that be? It wasn’t as if they were gone. They had travelers in every realm watching over things. The more he thought, the angrier he became. He decided to mull about it all later — he didn’t want to ruin the day.

  Since he enjoyed the morning, he decided to get up and have some breakfast and let his friend sleep. Men’ak had taken the loss of Grit very hard. It seemed to him that he was still depressed. Dra’kor hoped he would snap out of it soon.

  Dra’kor got up out of bed, walked over to the small water basin and rinsed off his face and hair. He towel-dried and ran his fingers through his hair. Yawning, he slipped on his britches and shirt, carefully buttoning it down the front. His hand passed over his medallion and he touched it gently. It was a little disconcerting to know that if he ever lost it, he would wither and die. Sighing to himself, he bent over, pulled on his socks, and laced his boots.

  Before he left the room, he unwove the wards that they had set the night before, although he was tempted to just throw the door open and let Men’ak have a scare!

  He wasn’t surprised to find D’Arron up and busy in the common room. Most innkeepers got up very early because they baked bread and baked goods required a lot of preparation time. Besides, country folk went to bed early, had plenty of chores, and couldn’t afford to waste daylight. She greeted him warmly as he came down the stairs.

  “Good morning Dra’kor! How did you sleep?” she asked cheerfully.

  “I slept well, better than I have in days, sleeping in a cave or on a pile of rocks gets a little old after a few days,” Dra’kor said. He returned her warm smile as he stretched, “You?”

  “I slept fine, thanks for asking,” she replied. “I want to thank you and Men’ak for the evening.”

  “No, we should thank you. It was pleasant!”

  She finished what she was doing and walked over to the chair where Dra’kor was standing, “would you like some breakfast or are you going to wait?”

  “Wait! No way! If I waited— there would hardly be enough left for me to have as a snack. Men’ak eats like a horse! Breakfast would be great,” said Dra’kor, laughing. “Men’ak may not even be awake before noon — tomorrow.”

  D’Arron laughed along. “Is he always like that?”

  “If you mean sleepy and hungry?” he chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “I’d have to say yes, pretty much all the time!”

  “I guess I do mean that …,” she grinned as she blushed.

  “No need to apologize for it, it’s annoying sometimes,” Dra’kor said, in a moment of extreme honesty. “It makes it difficult to get much done when you sleep the day away.”

  “Can’t afford to waste time on the farm!” said D’Arron.

  “Well, Men’ak is certainly no farm boy!” Dra’kor said, shaking his head. “But he’s a good friend. The funny thing is, Men’ak is the son of a farmer.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

  “Seriously, he was the youngest of eight. When I met him, he was sickly and a little slow. His father used to beat him because he couldn’t help around the farm on account of his ailments.”

  “That doesn’t seem right …”

  “Well, things can be different when you’re starving and the one who eats the most doesn’t help and carry his weight. I can’t say I can find fault with the man.”

  “But that doesn’t give one the right to beat a child …”

  “Suppose it doesn’t, but he had eight other young ones to care for — I’m not saying its right, only that I understand it.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re excusing their behavior …”

  “Not excusing, just rationalizing, can’t really change it, besides—his Pa died a long time ago. All that is water under the bridge!”

  “He seems to be pretty normal to me.”

  “Normal? Are we talking about Men’ak here?”

  D’Arron laughed.

  “You’ve been friends a long time. I can tell,” D’Arron said, as she watched Dra’kor’s face. She noticed his eyes twinkling when he talked about his friends.

  “Very long time,” said Dra’kor, thinking back to the day he met Men’ak. “He’s almost like a brother. I met him when I was a small lad, maybe ten or so seasons old. We’
ve been together ever since, Grit too.”

  “It’s nice to have friends like that. Good friends are hard to come by …,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “I agree. I’ve been through a lot with him and Grit. You’d have liked Grit, although he fancied himself a ladies’ man, but if you could ignore that …. We both miss him a lot.”

  D’Arron nodded, “Sounds like you do.”

  “I keep hoping that he somehow survived the fall, but I don’t suppose that’s likely,” Dra’kor said, as a small tear formed in his left eye. He sat down heavily.

  D’Arron was touched by his sadness.

  “We spent the better part of a day searching …,” he said as his voice trailed off.

  “Well, maybe he’ll show up. You never know —”

  “Never do,” Dra’kor replied matter-of-factly. “Grit’s a survivor. If he survived the fall, he’ll show up somewhere. In a lot of ways, he’s the luckiest person I know.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Dra’kor laughed. “Grit is the only person I know that can stumble into a pack of wolves and talk them out of eating a dead horse.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “— I remember a time when we were young, that we ran into a bear and her cubs in a cave we went exploring. I thought for sure that the sow was going to rake us for threatening her cubs. Grit just calmly walked up to her, extended his hand and calmed that bear down. It was the damn strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Huh! Sounds to me like he has a way with animals.”

  “Not just animals. He’s a sailor’s son, shaved head and jet black eyes that seem to be looking into your soul. He grew up on the docks in Edu’bar. He can schmooze a pirate or a cutthroat just as easy, and I’ve seen him talk a gal out of her knickers without even buying her a drink.”

  “Well, here’s hoping some fine young maidens find him and treat him right!”

  Dra’kor broke into a belly laugh. “That would be something. He’d be bragging about that for a decade, I’m sure!”

  “That’s what boys do —”

  “They do!” Dra’kor agreed. “Even big boys!”

  D’Arron rolled her eyes, “Men —!”

  “That’s the sad truth of it,” Dra’kor replied dryly.

  “Would you like porridge or hot cakes for breakfast?”

  “Hot cakes would be great,” Dra’kor cheerfully replied, changing his dour mood as she poured him a mug of hot cider.

  She leaned close to him and he could smell her and feel her body heat. He tried not to be obvious as he took a deep breath, taking in her clean scent. D’Arron noticed, of course, and a small smile escaped her lips.

  D’Arron scurried off to the kitchen. Dra’kor sat in a big chair next to the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames, feeling their warmth. He contemplated his goals for the day. First, there was looking at the fields outside, and figuring out a way to not have to water the entire field to keep up the ruse of the secret herb in the water. He sighed. He hated not being able to let people know that he was a wizard, but he supposed that Ja’tar was correct, people just weren’t ready for that. Hell! They didn’t even think wizards existed. He didn’t know what to do and wished that Ja’tar were here for consult.

  After fixing the fields, he thought that he and Men’ak might get out and see the surrounding area, although it might not be too safe doing that given that the wolven traveled in packs. He wasn’t sure he could convince the town folk to give him a hand and he certainly didn’t want to risk being caught using magic by anyone.

  D’Arron came out of the kitchen with a big plate of hotcakes, a tin of maple syrup and a slab of butter. The smell of the cakes filled the air and made his stomach growl.

  “My! Those smell delicious!” he said, looking up into her green eyes as his mouth began to water.

  “I’m glad you think so. Do you think Men’ak will be joining us soon,” she asked.

  Dra’kor shrugged, “who knows. That boy can really sleep … I think he’s a little depressed. He was really close to Grit; I don’t think he is coping well.”

  “I understand how he feels, I went through the same thing when my husband died,” she said as she nodded. She sat down in the chair across from the table.

  Dra’kor prepared the hotcakes with a couple spoon-sized chunks of butter and slathered the syrup over the top. D’Arron watched him intently. He dipped a finger into the warm syrup and licked it clean.

  “Syrup is tasty. What is it?”

  “It’s made from the sap of local trees we call maples. We gather the sap in the spring as it fills the trees and we boil it down. It’s easy to make, just time consuming.”

  Dra’kor had never tasted the likes of it. “Who taught you to do that?”

  “We learned it from a man who lived near our village when I was a child. I was just surprised that the same trees grew here.”

  He grabbed his fork and took his first mouthful. The smile on his face told the story.

  “They’re acceptable? I can see by your eyes that you like them, do you want more?”

  He finished chewing and swallowed. “These are fabulous. I think I have plenty. Are you trying to fatten me up?”

  He smiled as he wiped his mouth off with the napkin she had set for him, and quickly prepared another bite.

  “You are a bit skinny,” she giggled as she flirted with the old mage.

  A voice came from upstairs, “I smell hotcakes! Be right down.”

  Dra’kor and D’Arron looked at each other and burst out laughing as she stood up and headed toward the kitchen, “I better get a stack of cakes going for your friend. The way he eats …”

  Men’ak hurried down the stairs making a lot of racket. “What? Did I miss something?”

  D’Arron left the room. Men’ak walked over to Dra’kor and took a good look at the stack of cakes. “My goodness, those look delicious!” he said licking his lips. “Is she making more?”

  “She is,” Dra’kor said, looking up from his meal. “Did you sleep alright?”

  “Like a log! I cannot believe how tired I was,” said Men’ak, covering his mouth to hide a yawn. His shoes weren’t even tied and he struggled to bend over and lace them. “I’m still a little stiff. You?”

  Dra’kor nodded as he took another big bite.

  “What do you want to do today?” Men’ak inquired.

  Dra’kor finished chewing and swallowed before he thoughtfully proclaimed, “I thought we’d go look at the crops, and see if we can convince Brag to take us around the community.”

  Men’ak shook his head side-to-side, “Good luck with that …”

  D’Arron came out of the kitchen with a plate stacked five high with the largest cakes Dra’kor had ever seen. She set it down in front of Men’ak who was practically beside himself.

  “Those look so good!” he proclaimed as he poured the syrup over the top. He rolled up the top cake and in a single bite, shoved the whole thing into his mouth except for the stub he was holding in his fingers.

  D’Arron looked at Dra’kor and the two of them burst out laughing.

  “Whaaff? Dib I miff somfing?” Men’ak asked, his mouth so full you could barely hear him.

  By now, D’Arron was laughing so hard her stomach ached and tears were rolling down her cheeks. Dra’kor just stared at his friend through blurred eyes.

  By the time Men’ak had finished his meal, Dra’kor had returned to the common room with both of their knapsacks. They said their goodbyes to D’Arron and headed out the door. It was another fine sunny day, warm, light breeze, nary a cloud in sight. They headed down the well-rutted street until they arrived at the saloon.

  As expected, they found Brag sitting in his chair with his friends working on a tankard of strong ale. To his honor, it was nary past daybreak and Brag already had three drained mugs. The bartender, a big burly gent by the name of Grump was wiping down the counter. He looked up and grunted as Dra’kor entered the room. “Need
anything?”

  “No thanks, Grump,” Dra’kor said, as he eyed the men at the table, “Maybe when we get back from the fields.”

  Grump stared at Dra’kor for a second, and went back to work, cleaning his bar.

  Dra’kor pulled up a stool and sat down with Brag and his friends, who had shuffled over to make room. Men’ak didn’t want to sit, so he stood behind and to the left of Dra’kor.

  “Morning …,” said Dra’kor, nodding at the men. “You remember my partner, Men’ak.”

  The men at the table nodded and Men’ak nodded back.

  Dra’kor placed his hands on the table and rolled his fingers. “Ready to take a look at the fields?”

  “Suppose we could,” said a less than enthusiastic Brag, setting down his mug and wiping his mouth with his muslin shirt.

  “I thought you wanted to get your crops going?” Dra’kor said, confused.

  “Well, we do — but the fields are outside the wall …,” Brag said, hesitantly. He scooted up closer to the table using his hand between his legs to pull the stool forward.

  “Ah. I see. You’re a little concerned about the beasts,” Dra’kor said, nodding his head with a condescending look.

  “A little …,” Brag mumbled as he pulled out his pipe and tapped it out on his foot. “We want to be sure it’s safe. I don’t want another death on my shoulders.”

  “Why would it be your fault?”

  “Well Dra’kor, I’m just not sure I can protect you, that’s all …,” Brag mumbled as he pulled out his pouch of leaf and put a big plug into the bottom of his pipe.

  “Well, we shouldn’t have to go too far just to check them out. I don’t need to check the far sides of the fields, just the near should suffice,” said Dra’kor, trying to reassure Brag that he wouldn’t be risking arm and neck.

  Brag seemed to be a little happier with that, although he still wasn’t thrilled with going outside the gate. He stood up, walked over to the fire and picked up a burning stick. Moving it to the pipe, he took a deep pull as the leaf lit. He rolled the smoke around in his mouth before exhaling. A quirky smile formed on his lips as his eyes fluttered.