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

by Scott D. Muller

  Men’ak looked at Brag and broke into a loud laugh. He clapped him on the shoulder and retorted, “We’ll make sure you don’t have to go into lunch sober, Brag! We better get going, time’s a wasting.”

  Men’ak took a couple strides toward the gate.

  “Come on Dra’kor,” Men’ak teased. “Can’t you see that Brag is thirsty?”

  Brag took the teasing well and added his two pence worth, “you heard him Dra’kor, let’s move your arse!”

  Dra’kor stared at the two men raising his eyebrows high, and took a step toward the gate.

  The smithy had moseyed over and was working on getting the pole free that held the gate securely in place. He was a big, strong man and had hefted the pole free by himself, whereas the other day, Men’ak had seen three men struggling with the pole when they entered the town. He set the pole next to the gate and stood waiting.

  Brag grabbed the pull rope with both hands and strained against the gate. Slowly he pulled the gate open wide enough to squeeze through and stepped out. He looked up to the tower and shouted, “You see anything?”

  John put his hand to his mouth and shouted back, “Don’t see nothing!”

  Brag turned to the smithy and gave another order, “Smithy, you wait here and be ready to set that pole fast, you hear me!”

  The smithy nodded, put down his hammer, and mumbled something to the young lad working the bellows who walked over from the forge and stood next to the single door that Brag had cracked open, ready to push it back in place in a moment’s notice.

  Brag walked out of the town and headed out into the first field. They were only a bit more than fifty paces out of the gate when Brag stopped short. Brag was nervous and kept looking in every direction, twitching near uncontrollably. As soon as they had exited, Dra’kor had set up feeler wards, hoping to get a heads up on any intruders, well before the sentries on the towers would see them.

  They stopped and John and Poppy held their pitchforks ready, pointing out across the field.

  “Well, this is the first field,” said Brag, looking over the big patch of tilled dirt. He kicked it with his boot, sending up a big cloud of dust.

  “Like I said, ain’t nothin’ growing here. We planted these fields back a moon ago. Nothing, nothing at all, just bare dry dirt!” Brag spit on the soil and kicked it again with his foot.

  Dra’kor bent down and made the pretense of studying the soil, and looking at the un-sprouted seeds he had dug up in the handful of soil he was holding. He pushed the dirt around with his finger and held a seed to the light. He already had sensed the magic as he walked over the dirt. He had been busy casting his spell over the field under his jacket.

  “How far does the field go?” he asked as he laid his hand on the soil and let the magic into the earth.

  “We usually plant from here to that ridge and from the trees on the left over to that small hill,” Brag said, pointing out the familiar landmarks.

  The field was bigger than Dra’kor had thought and he had to enhance the spell he had cast to cover the whole area. Because he was feeding the magic into the soil as he was touching it, he was concerned that his use of magic would be noticeable if someone was looking for its signature.

  He focused his sight on the magic and watched as the shadow beasts howled and left the fields. There were far more of them than Dra’kor had hoped. He was sure they were all gone, back to whence they came, although that presented its own problem, depending on whether the magic user who visited had woven the vile magic or not. If he did, he would know that there were other spellcasters in the area. They could be in for a fight.

  He supposed it didn’t really matter, but now that he knew that Hagra understood he was a mage, he was worried. He didn’t know which side Hagra was on — or for that matter if she cared. He brushed the dirt from his hands, satisfied that he had killed the existing seeds and cleaned up the black magic that had prevented them from growing. He stood up and set his hands on his hips.

  “Well, this field has the same issue as inside the gate, but all the seeds look dead to me. I think you’re going to have to replant with seeds I treat,” Dra’kor announced. “This is just too big an area to treat with the water.”

  Brag scratched his head. He was none too pleased with having to replant, ‘cause that meant they’d have to plow and seed. That intern meant a good number of hours outside. Wolf treats, they were all gonna end up bein’ wolf treats.

  “You sure there’s no way to get them seeds to grow what’s already in there?” he grumbled under his breath..

  Dra’kor walked over to Brag and handed him a few seeds, “Pretty sure, look at these seeds, they’re all rotted out.”

  Brag looked at the seeds in the palm of his hand and swore out loud. He knew rot when he saw it. He dumped the seeds to the ground and shook his head, “Well, that’s just bloody great. I don’t know that we have enough seed to plant all the fields.”

  Dra’kor looked Brag in the eye, “I hear you, but having one or two fields planted is a whole lot better than having none. You should be able to get enough to get you through this year.”

  Brag nodded. What Dra’kor said was right, they’d be okay, but not have any to spare or sell. He supposed that he should have been happy that they were going to have enough to eat next winter, but somehow, that fact didn’t really make him feel any better. So far this year was shaping up to be a good year to spend drunk so ye wouldn’t have to remember it!

  “I suppose we should go look at another field,” Brag mumbled, pointing the way.

  The group headed off to another side of the town. Men’ak walked alongside Dra’kor and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “So, did you fix it?”

  “It’s fixed,” Dra’kor said, in a hushed voice.

  “No surprises —?”

  “— it’s the same issue,” Dra’kor confirmed as Men’ak nodded.

  The next field went pretty much the same as the first. The field was smaller, so it didn’t take Dra’kor as much effort to fix the problem. Dra’kor stood and watched the men on the battlement as they shifted their positions, climbing down from the towers and then quickly moving on to the next. They were midway to the last field when Dra’kor’s wards went off. Dra’kor’s head shot up and he stared out into the forest.

  Brag saw the mage’s head shoot up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I think I heard something. I think we should get in now …,” said Dra’kor excitedly as he turned around and started jogging toward the gate, which was now halfway around the small town. “I mean now!”

  Men’ak turned to run too, as did the other three men.

  “Hurry,” Dra’kor shouted. “I can hear them coming and there’s a lot of them …”

  “How the —?” Brag sputtered looking in all directions at once. “I don’t hear nothing.”

  They were running at a good clip when they heard the warning bell ring from the top of the second tower, its frantic tone repeating faster and faster as the men at the top of the wall added urgency to their efforts.

  “By the Ten,” Men’ak swore under his breath as he shivered and tried to pick up his pace.

  “Run!” Brag screamed as he saw the first of the beasts break out of the forest at a full run. The wolven were closing the distance fast and Brag wasn’t sure they would make it to the gate in time. John and Poppy were falling behind; the rotund men were having a difficult time keeping up the pace. Brag slowed down to help them along.

  By now, there were five of the beasts running across the fields. The small group could hear their howls and growls and could now see their long sharp fangs bared and their ears back.

  They were a few short yards from the gate when the men at the towers let the first crossbow bolts loose. The first bolt took down one of the beasts, but missed another. The men were frantically reloading as fast as they could.

  “Hurry, hurry!’ The tallest shouted as he waited for the heavyset one to screw the bow back.

  The two magi and B
rag turned to face the beasts as they shuffled backwards, trying to keep moving toward the gate. The second volley of bolts flew and found their marks on both of the closest wolves, causing the animals to whine and whimper, neither of the blows was enough to stop them as they lowered their heads and herded the group. One of the wolven reached around and grabbed the bolt that was buried in its shoulder with its teeth, and yanked it out, snapping it clean in half.

  The group of five stood, backed up against the log wall in a semicircle with their swords, pitchforks and spear at the ready. The wolven had chosen not to run head on into the wall of weapons, but were feeling out the group, darting in and out, turning off the attack at the last moment, when the humans jabbed and poked with their weapons. The group shuffled slowly, a step at a time toward the gate, which was still closed.

  The smithy had his back pressed up against the gate and was pushing hard. He’d open it for the group, but he wouldn’t even crack it open until someone on the tower told him it was time!

  The lead beast dashed in and got a hold of John’s leg, ducking under his pitchfork. The beast maniacally shook its head back and forth using the motion to set its teeth deep into the meaty part of the man’s leg.

  Men’ak jabbed at the beast with the small sword. The sword slid into the muscular part of the beast’s front quarter, drawing blood, but the beast refused to let go its grip. Men’ak tried another approach and after raising the weapon above his head, swung down with all his might, sliding deep into the wolven’s throat. Half decapitated, the beast clamped down hard with its jaws as its eyes rolled up in their sockets and the beast died. John howled in horror as the fangs sank even deeper into his leg, right through the extra layers of wrapping he had put in place.

  John grabbed the beast’s jaws, dropping his weapon and tried to pry them open. The sharp teeth were cutting into his hands, but he was desperate. He knew he had to get loose. There was no way he could run with the nine stone wolf hanging on to his leg.

  Men’ak jumped in front of him, waving off another of the beasts who was trying to jump in to finish the job. The smell of blood made the beasts growl and howl loudly. John managed to get his leg loose, but couldn’t put any weight on it, so he dragged it behind as he bent over and reached for his pitchfork. He leaned on the handle, using it as a crutch as he moved to the rear of the group.

  “We need to get to that gate,” Dra’kor shouted.

  Brag grunted as he grabbed John by the arm and yanked him hard. “I’m trying.”

  Dra’kor grabbed the crossbow that was hanging at John’s waist. “How do you work this thing?”

  “Turn it around and use the screw,” John cried. “When you get to the top, set the latch, put the bolt in and kill the bastards!”

  Men’ak picked up his spear that was lying at his feet, pointed it at the nearest beast, and charged at a full run, burying the shaft deep into the beast’s chest before the animal could change direction or retreat. Men’ak dropped the spear when he couldn’t yank it free and stepped back into the circle.

  The beast staggered from side-to-side with the spear waving wildly in the air. Men’ak waited a brief second before jumping back at the beast and twisting the shaft hard, cracking it off at the wound’s entry point. He spun once and jammed the sharp fractured end into the wolven’s eye using both hands and all of his weight, pinning its head to the ground.

  Brag nodded and grunted his approval at Men’ak’s rage, as the small mage jumped back into the circle, drawing his sword free of the scabbard and hacking at the nearest wolf as he leapt.

  The team was only a few feet from the gate when another four beasts broke out of the woods.

  “There’s more a coming …” Brag shouted.

  “If we don’t get in now, all will be lost,” Dra’kor cried out.

  Dra’kor was winding the bow as fast as he could while the others made their way along the wall to the gate. He was drenched in sweat when he set the latch and flipped the bow over to set the quarrel. He aimed it at the nearest beast and pulled the trigger. The bow twanged loudly as the bolt shot straight and buried itself to the hilt in the chest of an attacking beast. The beast shuddered once and fell silent.

  “Good shot!’ John said, as he handed Dra’kor another bolt.

  Dra’kor set the bolt between his feet, pulled hard on the string setting it in the hook and after flipping out the cranks, turned them as fast as he could. He set the last quarrel into place and spun around facing the charging beasts.

  Brag waved frantically at the tower. The tower gave the signal to the smitty who cracked the door open. John was the first to hobble through with Poppy’s help. Dra’kor let his bolt loose and another beast collapsed nose first into the dirt as the quarrel found its mark. Dra’kor dropped the crossbow and ran after the others.

  Brag and Men’ak pushed through and Dra’kor was the last, stabbing backwards, trying to get the last beast out of the way so that the door would close. The beast had wedged its head in the doorway and was pawing at the mages and snapping its jaws at their hands and weapons.

  Men’ak ran up and jabbed with his sword, poking the wolven in the eyes and mouth as they snapped at the sword. The smithy and Brag had their backs against the door. They groaned loudly and their muscles bulged through their shirts as they strained to push the door shut, but the many beasts were gaining ground as they flung themselves with great abandon against the door, jarring it with every hit.

  “Help!” Men’ak shouted. “We’re losing it …”

  One of the men in the tower was halfway down the ladder and jumped the rest of the way, rolling in a summersault as he hit the ground and joined the others pushing the door. Dra’kor reached through the door and let loose a big cushion of air that pushed the beast’s back just enough for the men to get the door closed, snapping one of the beast’s legs in half between the heavy wood doors. The beast yelped loudly.

  Brag yelled at the last man down from the tower. “Get the pole!”

  “Got it!” he yelled as he lifted it over the men’s head and wiggled it into the brackets, as the three pushed with all their might to line up the brackets.

  The log fell into place with a loud clank and the men collapsed to the ground exhausted and winded.

  “Whew!” Men’ak exclaimed as he rolled to his back. “That was close!”

  Poppy had broken into hysterical laughter. And Brag was pounding Dra’kor on the back and congratulating him in a well-fought battle.

  “Ye shot that crossbow as if it were made for ye!” Poppy said. “Never seen someone take to using a crossbow that naturally. Ye should join the army son!”

  Dra’kor broke into a big grin, “Beginner’s luck, that’s all.”

  “Luck my ass!” Brag laughed. “If you ever need a job because the merchant thing doesn’t work out, you just come right back!”

  “Thanks,” Dra’kor said, “but I’m not cut out for this fighting.”

  “Ha!” said Brag, smacking him on the back. “Well, I never —”

  By now, a large group of town folk had gathered. Hagra pushed her way to the front. “— Get out of the way,” she growled in an irritated voice as she shoved people to the side, using her wide hips to bump and shove. She stopped in front of John and looked down at his leg as he held himself up on his elbows.

  “Can ye fix me?” he babbled. “They got me good. I can hardly feel me leg —!”

  “Bah! Is that it, one tiny scratch? From all the shouting, I’d have thought you were all dying!” she said mockingly.

  John queasily looked up into her face as she put her hands on her hips and bent over awkwardly. John’s pant leg was completely soaked with blood and Dra’kor could just see bone poking through from the open wound.

  Hagra grunted as she leaned over farther and examined his leg, pulling at the fabric to get a better look as John clenched his teeth and writhed in pain. “Nice clean wound,” she commented. “Did someone lose control of their sword?”

  Hagra knelt
down, reached into her medicine pouch and dug around as she mumbled to herself, “No, that’s not it — won’t work … maybe — where is it, ah!”

  She pulled out a handful of stringy dark brown moss and pushed it into his wound with her fingers as John screamed and convulsed. His eyes rolled back into their sockets and he passed out, slumping to the ground.

  “Mountain man, ha —! Just as well,” she muttered to herself. “Help me get him to my shop. I’ll sew him up. He’ll be good as new in a few days. Probably be hearing stories about it for years to come!”

  Dra’kor and Men’ak both volunteered at the same time. “We’ll take him …”

  An exhausted Brag swept his hand across his waist, “Have at it! I’m gonna go get drunk.” He turned toward the tavern and walked off.

  Dra’kor and Men’ak nodded at the inside joke. They bent over, each grabbing an arm and hefted John up. They held on to his belt and half-carried, half-dragged him down the street, following Hagra as she hobbled in front.

  “Damn, he’s heavy,” Men’ak grunted. “Weights a —”

  “— Uh-huh!’ Dra’kor grunted back, as he adjusted John’s arm over his shoulder by trying to get his weight under with a quick squat.

  The two magi were sweating and exhausted. Dragging dead weight for over a hundred paces had them huffing and puffing. “Have to rest,” Men’ak moaned.

  “Almost there,” Hagra said, over her shoulder. “Ye know you could have spelled him to be lighter and saved yerself a tough haul.”

  Dra’kor looked up and smirked.

  “I’m going to die …,” Men’ak complained.

  “Not today,” Hagra laughed as she watched the diminutive man’s struggle.

  She stopped in front of her small shop. “We’re here,” she announced.

  “Praise be the gods!” Men’ak gasped as he dropped the man.

  Hagra’s head shot around and she gave him a dirty look.

  “Sorry!” he moaned, swiping the sweat from his brow as he pushed his curly blond hair back. “I just couldn’t hold him up any longer.”