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

by Scott D. Muller

  “For s-s-show?” Men’ak stuttered, scratching his chin.

  “What I’ve been saying is that wizards, the Keep and the realms are in deep trouble, only ye don’t know that ye are because you don’t know that ye don’t know!”

  “I don’t know that I don’t know what?” Men’ak mumbled to himself, utterly confused.

  Dra’kor collapsed onto the chair on the other side of the fire and put his face into his hands. He fought hard to hold back the tears that were dancing at the edge of his eyes. “I don’t know what to say …,” he mumbled in utter despair.

  “I’m sorry …,” said Hagra sincerely. “There is so much magic in this big magic-filled world, and ye just don’t know how to use any of it. Magic is everywhere; many forms of magic need their own learning to control it.”

  “Can you teach us?” Dra’kor pleaded, looking up from his hands and turning to face the old woman.

  “Don’t know ifin I should. Haven’t really knowed ye that long and not sure yet if I should be a trusting y’all.”

  “What?” Dra’kor said, raising his voice. “Of course you can trust us, we’re from the Keep.”

  “The Keep? Bah! As ifin that means much. How do I know ye weren’t sent by the Ten themselves to track us down.”

  “The Ten? The Ten are dead, they died in Ror,” Men’ak said.

  “They didn’t, but I’m not surprised ye think that they did,” Hagra quietly uttered as she shook her head.

  “We’re here because Ja’tar asked us to find out what’s going on in the realms,” Dra’kor blurted.

  “He don’t know? That don’t sound like the Ja’tar I know …,” she said, giving the boys an evil look.

  “Well, you can believe us or not, but that’s the simple truth of the matter. The last watcher died and Ja’tar sent us out ‘cause he thought that something more than meets the eye was going on.”

  Hagra grunted and rubbed her chin trying to figure out if Dra’kor was telling the truth, “Just the same —”

  “Seriously?”

  “The last watcher? And who might that have been?” she tested.

  “Tar’ac,” said Men’ak.

  “Tar’ac? That’s impossible,” said Hagra, shrugging him off with a chuckle. “He was too good to have ever lost his ward, that boy had a gift.”

  “That’s what Ja’tar said,” Dra’kor nodded.

  “Damn right he was too — something must be up. Tar’ac ain’t never lost a ward, no way, no how!” said Hagra angrily.

  “So he tried to tell us,” Dra’kor mumbled under his breath.

  “Well, if Tar’ac’s gone, then ye be hurting for sure!” Hagra sighed. “Maybe ye is telling the truth.”

  “We are! We swear!” Men’ak pleaded. “Can you teach us? Please?”

  Hagra closed her eyes and thought about it for a few seconds. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get sucked into Keep business. Nothin’ good ever came of it, and last time she got involved; she almost lost her entire family. She opened one eye and saw Dra’kor staring at her with desperation in his eyes. Mage knows he’s in trouble, she thought to herself. That’s saying something.

  “I can try, but it takes years of practice. It’s even harder than learning how to control the beast to which ye refer.” she said in a small voice. “I’m afraid even I don’t know the half of it.”

  “You must! We need to learn —,” Men’ak said. “We’ll work night and day ….”

  “Ye need to already be knowin’!” Hagra exclaimed with a tear in her eye. “I’m afraid it be too late. Dark times they are a coming and without knowing the true power of the real gift, the realms will be destroyed.”

  Dra’kor shook his head at her proclamation. “And Ja’tar knows all this?”

  “He knows — and he don’t,” she said sadly. “He is one of the last who should remember the old ways, but he don’t. He may be the last of the Fallen.”

  Men’ak tried hard to remember where he heard that phrase before. “The Fallen?”

  “The Fallen was a name coined by the other magic races for the ones who was changed. They were the last true wizards, but they were changed by the Ten somehow so that they couldn’t use real magic anymore, only control the beasts,” she said, telling the story.

  “I thought the Fallen were the magi that got raised to gods,” Men’ak said.

  “Nice story ain’t it? Kind of half true and yet it ain’t. I’ve heard that one too. The part about being like gods was mostly true, but he didn’t get asked back. The Ten changed him, wiped his mind clean somehow. He don’t hardly remember who he is or what he was.”

  “So what did happen?” Dra’kor asked.

  “It was the dark mages that caused the whole thing. When they rose up against the Ten, the Ten fought the war. Right or wrong, don’t matter now, but understand that the Ten were very powerful in the old ways, but very insecure. They were so concerned that someone would someday be more powerful than they were that we believe they concocted the beast and the whole new way of controlling the magic.

  In their way of thinking, if no one knew old magic, then no one could ever be powerful enough to challenge them. They broke the last of the old mages, the ones we called the Fallen. They played with their minds somehow and made them forget all about real magic.”

  By now, Men’ak was shaking his head and rocking in place. He had broken into tears. “What are we to do?” he cried.

  “I don’t know, but things are unraveling in the realms fast. I’ve seen wolven and catomen, and demons too,” Hagra said, as she expressed a huge sense of urgency. “The demons are planning something and I sense that it will happen soon.”

  Hagra stood up and pushed a big kettle over the fire.

  “We need to talk more, but I’m getting hungry. I have a good soup in the kettle. Will you join me?” she asked with a kindly smile on her face.

  “We are indebted to you for your wisdom and kindness. We would love to join you,” Dra’kor said, his voice cracking. He smiled back weakly.

  Hagra stood up and walked over to the windowsill where she had a clay container sitting in the sun with a towel over the top. She lifted the towel and inspected the big loaf of bread she had rising beneath. It was ready, so she moved the clay container over to the iron rack that was on one side of the fire and pushed some coals under with a poker. “The bread will take a while. That’ll leave plenty of time to talk. I’ll try my best to answer your questions.”

  The three sat in the small room and discussed the realms and the Keep. Dra’kor and Men’ak each asked questions and with every answer, more questions came to mind. Sadly, with each answer, they became more disheartened.

  They learned about Ja’tar’s father, the truth about the Keep and the Guild, the end days of Ror. After their talks, Dra’kor wasn’t mad at Ja’tar any longer.

  “If I hadn’t lived the story, I’d say you were making up the whole thing. But I know what you are saying must be true,” Dra’kor sighed. “So many things make perfect sense now. I always wondered why things were they way they were. At least that’s something —”

  “Well, the bread is ready. Let’s eat,” Hagra said, as she pulled a small wooden stick out of the loaf. She lifted it close to her eye and examined it critically. The stick had come out dry. “Yup, it’s done!” she announced.

  She lifted the clay bread-baking dish out using heavy rags that she wrapped around her hands and set it on the woven reed mat sitting on the table to cool. While it was cooling, she dished out three generous bowls of soup, handed them to the lads and sat down next to the fire to eat. They sat in silence for a bit, sipping on the hot soup.

  “That’s good soup!” Men’ak remarked.

  Hagra smiled kindly at him. She stood and dumped the loaf of steaming hot bread out on the small table by the fire. She brought over a small clay crock and opened it, “Butter?” she said.

  “Come on, dig in!” she said to the two supposed magi.

  Men’ak turned to Dra’kor, “I
might have to go lie down, I don’t feel right. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  Hagra snapped her fingers. “That’ll be the magic workin’ on ye, yer brain is clearing up now that ye don’t have that confounded beast jerking your chains around!”

  “Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit different,” said Dra’kor thoughtfully. “I seem to be able to think more clearly.”

  “That’s the truth of it; now eat while it’s still hot!”

  The Real Gift

  The three sat in relative silence eating their midday meal. Hagra kept serving them more until they each had several bowls. The bread was hearty. Not like D’Arron’s bread, of course, but delicious nonetheless.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come on in,” Hagra yelled, not moving from her spot.

  The door opened, and a young, beautiful, dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties walked in and threw her knapsack on the floor.

  “Hello mother! Did you save any soup for me? I could smell it before I entered the Gate.”

  Dra’kor’s mouth hung open. The fine young woman was dressed in tight ruddy-colored leather from head to toe and carried a large broadsword across her back and two knives securely tucked into her belt. Her black leather boots were calf-high and laced tightly. She moved like a cat and seemed to flow across the floor rather than walk.

  “Sheila, I’d like ye to meet Dra’kor and Men’ak,” Hagra said, pointing to her two visitors as she walked over and gave the young lass a big hug and kiss.

  “These the messengers of the Keep?” she asked as she stepped over to the fireplace, grabbed the ladle from the kettle and took a taste. Hagra handed her a bowl and she reached deep into the kettle, gave the contents a swirl and ladled out a huge bowl of soup.

  “Yes and no. They’re from the Keep all right, but they aren’t exactly messengers like I originally thought. They’re what the Keep calls mages these days.”

  Sheila choked on the soup and spit it out in a rush of foam. “Mages? I didn’t feel any magic when I entered?”

  “Well, that’s another story. They just found out they ain’t real mages either,” Hagra said, trying to catch her daughter up on the conversations of the day. “So, be kind.”

  Dra’kor stood up and reached over with his hand, introducing himself. “I’m Dra’kor.”

  She grabbed his hand and he thought she would crush it. Her grip was like iron.

  “How was your hunting trip, Honey?” Hagra inquired as she took another bite of bread.

  Dra’kor smiled and nonchalantly placed his hand into his lap under the table and rubbed his hand.

  “Productive,” Sheila said, as she pulled out a chair, spun it and mounted it backwards in one fluid motion.

  “I bagged another five of those wolven beasts. I put the skins out back in the liquor barrel. I’ll scrape them tomorrow. I think we have enough to cover the entire floor now. That should make the room much warmer this winter, much better than last year,” she said smiling broadly.

  Sheila reached over to the table and put down a big strand of wolven teeth that were still covered with some tissue. “These will make a nice necklace,” she said. “I’ll boil them and clean them off later tonight.”

  She arched her back, took off her small side pack, and opened it. “I found some Tro’kor mushrooms,” she said while digging in the pack, pulling out a small bundle and handing it to her mom.

  “Thank you dear,” said Hagra, breaking into a huge grin. She took the bundle and examining the contents, rolled the mushrooms in her hand and smelling them deeply. “These are very high quality! Where’d you find them?”

  “Found a patch up in the evergreens about halfway to Toulereau by the shadow rock. I left over half, figuring they’ll grow bigger and some will seed. Maybe we can plant them in the garden.”

  Hagra noticed her daughter flirting with the two magi. She laughed on the inside because she knew the two didn’t stand a chance. She watched Sheila stand up and undo the tie that held her hair up in a bun. As she reached over her head, her leather top slid up several inches exposing a well-muscled and very lean abdomen that rippled as she worked the knot. Her pants rode low, very low, and they clung to her hips like they were born to be there.

  Hagra looked up from the bundle. “Did ye get any catomen?”

  “Didn’t see any,” Sheila replied shaking her head, which caused her long hair to flow out over her shoulders. “I sure could use another two or three; their pelts make great bed covers.”

  “Well, maybe next time,” Hagra said, nodding.

  “I don’t know. I may have to venture farther; I think I’ve hunted them out of this area. Frankly, I’m a bit surprised that there were so many wolven around. Been a long time since hunting was this good, maybe they were here because of the mages.”

  Men’ak was busy observing the way Sheila moved. It was like watching water flow. She barely made a sound as she put away her things and sat down at the table. The leather she was wearing was thin, and clung to her every curve. It was handsomely stitched and impeccably well tanned. And she wore it very well —

  “You hunt them,” said Dra’kor incredulously, looking up into her eyes after being distracted by her form.

  “Sure. Why not?” Sheila said, looking up from her meal smiling, knowing full well how distracting her figure could be. “You know that their fur is very full and soft once treated. They make a decadent bed cover.”

  “Why not? Because they’re dangerous …” Men’ak stuttered, spilling his soup from the spoon that had been halfway to his mouth.

  “Pffft! Dangerous? Not really … more dangerous if you let them return to the lower planes. They can come back you know. Best to just skin them and burn them,” Sheila said, as she looked at Men’ak wondering why he thought such a thing. After all, at least in her view, the beasts were kind of slow and thick headed and could be easily deceived.

  “They can return?” Dra’kor grimaced.

  Sheila nodded, “After a while, they just kind of turn to ether and dissolve into the ground. But they come back. Once I wounded one bad on its rear leg before I killed it, but I was hurt too and couldn’t burn it before it dissolved. Next day, the same beast jumped us in a clearing, dragging the same leg.”

  “Damn!” Dra’kor exclaimed. “That’s another thing we did wrong. We left three back in the bushes about a day’s walk from the river.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll catch them if they head this way,” said Sheila, self-assuredly. “I may just get enough for that bed cover yet!”

  The two magi just stared at the woman, not knowing quite what to say in reply.

  “You really think they’re that dangerous?” she asked, unable to drop the subject.

  “Seriously?” Men’ak’s jaw dropped from her question. “We were attacked on our way here by three of the wicked beasts and were lucky to walk away mostly unscathed. I still have the scars to prove it,” he said, lifting his shirt to show the claw tracks on freshly healed skin.

  “You don’t say,” Hagra said, matter-of-factly after taking a closer look. Then again, you two aren’t exactly trained warriors are you?”

  Sheila shrugged unimpressed.

  Dra’kor tried to justify their toughly fought battle and less than ideal outcome by adding, “We were caught while we were asleep and it was very dark …”

  “Well, I guess you done all right then,” Hagra cheerfully replied.

  Sheila wasn’t ready to let the magi have their small victory. She condescendingly dug a little deeper, counting on her fingers as she spoke, “How could you not win? They only have a single eye. They have no depth perception. Their head is too big and makes them move funny. They’re almost always off balance. You should have been able to easily handle them.”

  She shrugged.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Men’ak said, thinking back to their fight with the catomen. “We had no real weapons, just knives! How were we to know that they weren’t affected by magic?”

&
nbsp; Sheila’s head shot up, “What? I kill them with magic all the time. It’s just better sport to use a sword.”

  “Well, our magic didn’t hurt them at all,” Dra’kor spat.

  “Right!” Men’ak answered. “You’re just kidding us about the magic, right?”

  Sheila rolled her head, cracking her neck. “I never kid …,” she said flatly.

  “Got that right,” Dra’kor grumbled.

  “You’d have to be daft to travel the outland without weapons,” Sheila , adding insult to injury.

  “We’re magi, at least I thought we were, are … whatever,” Men’ak spat back.

  “So you are daft. Magic doesn’t affect everything,” Sheila retorted. “Everyone knows that. But magic does hurt the beasts.”

  “Well, apparently not everyone. We didn’t know that,” a defensive Men’ak mockingly attacked.

  “Weren’t at the front of the class now were we …?” Sheila mocked.

  Men’ak puffed up and was ready to shout back an insult when Hagra interrupted. “Now children, no fighting,” she scolded, shaking her finger. “I think that maybe the magic the boys here control can’t hurt magical creatures. That would make sense.”

  “Yes, Mother!” Sheila answered mockingly.

  Men’ak just gave her a look, not quite knowing what to say.

  “Sheila is a hunter-fighter like her father,” Hagra said, as a way of explanation, trying to hide the proud smile that broke to her mouth.

  “A hunter-fighter?” Men’ak echoed.

  “To her, the beasts are slow and fairly easy to kill. I’ve seen her fight three beasts at the same time and come out on top without a scratch. She is far more graceful in battle than they are. Trust me!”

  Dra’kor looked at Hagra and over to Sheila. She certainly looked fierce enough, but he just couldn’t fathom how someone could face the beasts without being terrified, and she was a girl.

  She didn’t look to be over a hundred pounds. He eyed her critically and noticed the fine muscles of her legs rippling as she moved. Her shoulders were broad and her waist was thin, with just a hint of skin showing from below the shirt. Her shirt billowed open at the bustline, which just revealed enough to tease.