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

by Scott D. Muller

  Sheila leaned over and whispered in his ear. “It’s not polite to stare!”

  “I-I-I’m sorry,” Dra’kor mumbled as he quickly looked away turning red.

  Sheila smiled to herself. From the stories her mother had told her about the Keep, she knew that the two men had probably never seen anything that even slightly resembled a woman that looked like her. This was going to be fun, she thought.

  Dra’kor was staring again, unable to tear his eyes away. “So Hagra said your father was a hunter. Did he teach you?”

  “Trained me? Ha! The man left before I was born …” Sheila said, laughing without a single hint of bitterness. “I’ve visited him a few times, but to him, I’m just another warrior.”

  “He left? Why’d he do that?” Men’ak asked, curious as to why a man would desert his family.

  “Sheila’s father is the chief of the elf clan to the north of here,” Hagra replied. “He has responsibilities and had to go home. Besides, there’s no place for a human wife to be in his world.”

  Sheila brushed back her auburn hair to reveal her slightly pointed ears, “A gift from dad — as are the eyes.”

  Dra’kor hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were more almond-shaped and the greenest green he had ever seen.

  “But how did she learn those fighting skills?” Men’ak wondered aloud.

  “It’s in her blood,” Hagra said. “She has the reflexes of her father’s birthright as well as his senses. She seems to have an innate ability to fight and she is a quick study from all those she has ever met.”

  Dra’kor knew about elves and their reputations as fierce fighters, but he didn’t know that they took human wives or that the fighter’s trait ran in their bloodline. He just wasn’t sure how to take that and he couldn’t help looking a little confused. What he really wondered was why an elf king would take Hagra as a wife. He caught himself staring at Hagra with his mouth agape.

  “Don’t be so shocked. Back in the day, I was quite a catch, we fought side by side in the war and became close,” Hagra said. “I looked a lot like Sheila here and was living the life, but time isn’t kind. A couple thousand years tends to wear on a girl.”

  Men’ak’s eyes got round. “A couple thousand years?”

  “Well, it’s not polite to ask a girls age, but I’m older than Ja’tar, at least by a few years,” Hagra said, smiling. “Even strong magic won’t hold time back forever.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” said Dra’kor. “Then Sheila here is …?”

  “About your age — a little younger,” said Sheila calmly with a smirk on her face, “But in much better condition and far better looking!”

  “I’ll say,” said Men’ak, before he realized what he had said. He blushed bright red as Sheila stared him down.

  “You should take better care of yourselves,” she scolded Men’ak in particular because she could see that it flustered him. “You got pot bellies and flab.”

  Men’ak pushed his chest out and sucked in his stomach. “I am not fat!” he muttered defiantly.

  Sheila grunted and rolled her eyes.

  “Sheila also has the gift,” Hagra added.

  “The gift?” said Men’ak. “She does?”

  He eyed her suspiciously, looking for any indication that what Hagra said was true. He had only met a single sorceress in his day, and that was Ja’tar’s sister, To’paz. Sheila didn’t look like she had any magic at all.

  Sheila lit her finger on fire, and turned it to ice.

  “Does everyone have the gift except me and Dra’kor?” Men’ak moaned.

  “She’s very strong. Stronger than most because she got it from her father and me,” said Hagra proudly. “She will be paramount in helping you become skilled at the old magic.”

  “Can you teach me to fight better?” Men’ak begged, his eyes wide as he tried to get over his shock.

  “Don’t you think it’s more important for you to learn to use your gift?” Sheila answered calmly. “You don’t strike me as the fighter type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Men’ak sourly.

  “I don’t mean anything by it. You just don’t seem to have the edge a fighter needs — that’s all. I supposed you might be able to learn.”

  “Learning magic’s not going to help me if I get attacked and end up dead before I learn it well enough to defend myself,” Men’ak blurted out.

  “Well, we’ll see. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to practice a bit,” Sheila said, with a bit of a condescending tone. “But are you up to getting beat?”

  “Beat is better than dead,” Men’ak retorted.

  “Hmmm,” was all Sheila quietly said. “We’ll see about that—”

  Dra’kor got defensive. “Are you always this angry, or is it just us?”

  “It’s you and all the pretend magi in that heap you call a Keep. It’s not as if you’ve been around helping us get rid of the evil that’s running on the loose,” Sheila screamed back. “I’ve been here fighting by myself for over a century.”

  “It’s not as though we personally knew any of this was going on,” Dra’kor yelled back as he shot to his feet. “This is the first time, in a long time, that Men’ak and I have been outside of the Keep!”

  Sheila echoed Dra’kor’s motion and stood tall, leaning threateningly over the table, her hand resting on the hilt of her curved elven knife.

  “Well, whose job was it anyway, and why didn’t you know. Bury your heads in the sand?” She shot back, insulting the magi.

  “You just don’t understand …,” Men’ak grumbled, unable to stay out of the spat any longer. “The Guild sets the rules, we’re almost prisoners. Hell, we cannot leave the Keep without the medallions, and only the Guild and the Keeper have access to those —”

  “Well, perhaps you can enlighten me?” Sheila said, eyes blazing and beet-red in the face.

  “Only the travelers get to go out of the Keep, and even they can only visit a single realm!” Men’ak spat back. “The Guild picks the travelers and they also pick the realm you get to instruct. That’s it.”

  “There’s only so much thirty-three of us can do,” Dra’kor shrugged. “Most of our time is spent just keeping things running. We stay inside the Keep because we have been told that we cannot interfere in the realms any longer, all we do is watch — and study. It’s not like there are people lining up to be wizards. We haven’t had any new students in centuries. Nobody wants to be a mage anymore. Hell, I’m not sure that I want to be one either.”

  “Excuse me, thirty-three of you? What happened to the other thousand or so of you?” Sheila rudely asked, rather confused.

  “Dead — or killed, some are just missing,” said Dra’kor coldly, and then paused. “Some were lost in the realms, others killed when the totems closed. Some died from their own experiments. Others just got too old and vanished.”

  “I had no idea …,” Sheila said, feeling a little guilty for taking all of her anger out on the two magi in front of her. “So all you all day do is watch —?”

  “Not even that anymore — we lost our last watcher back about a week ago. That’s the only reason we are out here,” Dra’kor sighed. “Ja’tar thought something was afoot because of the way the watcher died. None of us even believed him. We only agreed to go because we wanted so desperately to get out of that stone fortress and see the world. We certainly weren’t expecting — this!”

  Men’ak added, “Yes. It was Ja’tar that sent us to find out what is going on in the realms when the watcher died in what he called a very unusual manner. We all thought he was daft.”

  “So you didn’t know about the demons, wolven or catomen?” Sheila fumed. “Nothin’ about the strange storms and such?”

  “Not until we were attacked our first night out,” Dra’kor confessed, “and again shortly after we crossed the river where we lost Grit. We’ve never even seen a demon, any of us.”

  Men’ak frowned, “What storms?”

  Sheila drooped into
the chair, emotionally spent. She put her face into her hands and sighed. When she pulled her hands away, Dra’kor could see that she had tears in her eyes. She looked at her mother and back at the two magi.

  “Mother?” she pleaded. “It’s worse than we ever imagined. Have we already lost the fight?”

  “Now child,” Hagra said, wiping the tears away from her daughters face lovingly. “We haven’t lost the fight yet ….”

  “I-I-I don’t know where to begin,” Sheila stuttered. “What’ll we do?”

  “Well my dear, I think we should start by teaching these magi how to be wizards. That will help,” she said smiling weakly. “The rest we will have to play by ear.”

  “We want to help,” said Dra’kor in all sincerity. “We really do. We had no idea things were this dire. The Keep doesn’t know either.”

  Men’ak nodded his agreement. “They still don’t know.”

  “I’m afraid we know so little about the world, the realms, the threats. We will be of little use to you …,” Dra’kor confessed softly.

  He saw the pain in Sheila’s eyes and on her face. Her spirit was broken and that wouldn’t help any of them.

  “We really didn’t expect any of this. We thought it was a ruse, a way for Ja’tar to get us out of the Keep. We thought he grew tired of our … my causing trouble.”

  “Ja’tar wouldn’t do that, would he mom?” Sheila confirmed.

  “No, Sheila. He is about the most trustworthy person I ever met.”

  “We should have known better, but at the time …,” Men’ak’s voice trailed off.

  “Well, we have a lot of learning to do between the four of us,” Hagra said, resigning herself to a long hard journey.

  “You can say that again,” Men’ak said, stiff-faced and melancholy.

  “First thing’s first; we need to get you two weaned off of that beast,” Hagra said. “Then — you can start practicing some real magic.”

  “Is that the most important?” Dra’kor asked because he thought learning to fight would be a far more pressing issue.

  “Absolutely,” Hagra said. “If the totems go off and you end up turning to dust because you have no magic, all would be lost before we had a fighting chance.”

  Dra’kor’s face went white. He turned and faced Men’ak, whose face was a mirror of his. He hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense that if they didn’t have real magic, they could be lost at any time. Dra’kor had no idea where or what the Zylliac was, but he hoped it was safe.

  “So the totems don’t limit or control your abilities?” he stammered.

  “No. That was why the Ten made them in the first place, to control the mages,” Hagra explained.

  “Shut up!” Men’ak said.

  Dra’kor listened to her story. “So what you’re saying is that they don’t affect the demons either? All they do is prevent us magi from getting out of line or using strong magic?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” said Hagra sadly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “The demons can’t walk across the boundaries between the totems, but why would they. It’s easier for them to return to their home plane and go from there to wherever. It is merely a slight inconvenience if even that.”

  “So all those magi we lost in the realms over the years when the demons rose up and they fought back we killed because the Ten were afraid that they may band together and cause another uprising?” Dra’kor said, shocked.

  “That is exactly what I am saying,” Hagra said, leaning back from the table. “Paints a pretty picture don’t it?”

  Dra’kor was shocked. What Hagra had told him made sense. He just couldn’t believe that the Ten would resort to such a devious plan that would undermine the Guild. From everything he had just heard, the Ten seemed to be evil and manipulative, not the great leaders he had been led to believe. He decided that he would have to quiz Ja’tar on this when he had a chance.

  Men’ak was still trying to sort out all the details, and was growing impatient for Hagra to continue her story. “What happened to the Ten?”

  Hagra shook her head, “I just don’t know for sure. One day they were everywhere controlling all magic in the realms, the next we knew — they couldn’t be found. Nobody knows for sure what happened or where they went, they’re just gone.”

  “Come to think of it, that makes a little sense,” Men’ak replied slowly as he tried to put together pieces of the puzzle.

  Dra’kor leaned in and faced his friend. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we have all these paintings and mementoes of the Ten at the Keep, but there are no graves, books, monuments or records of their late lives. Stranger still, Ja’tar and Zedd’aki never talk about what happened after Ror. It’s like they have no recollection of that period of time.”

  Dra’kor saw an opportunity to ask a question that had been bothering him for centuries. “So who exactly is the Guild? I can’t seem to get a straight answer out of Ja’tar.”

  “The Ten, mostly. They were the Guild, although there were a few members of some of the other races that participated from time to time … especially during the last days of the Cleansing.”

  “But if the Ten are gone, who’s giving Ja’tar directions? He says the Guild is always dictating things to him and if the Guild is the Ten and the Ten are gone,” Men’ak shrugged. “He’s got to be talking to somebody.”

  “Someone must be directing,” said Dra’kor anxiously.

  Hagra echoed, “One would assume —”

  Dra’kor nodded, “I wonder if we’ll be able to get to the bottom of this?”

  Men’ak shrugged, “I think we’ll have to.”

  Hagra sighed heavily. “Does it really matter? What is, is!”

  “I suppose in the grand scope of what’s going on, it really doesn’t. But for my peace of mind and the future of the Keep, it’s vastly important,” Dra’kor said, after careful reflection.

  “It sure would matter if the dark mages got a hold of them or something,” Men’ak added. “They could be orchestrating this whole ignominious fall of the Keep.”

  “That would be bad,” Dra’kor agreed.

  “Maybe they’re acting like the Guild—.” Men’ak reasoned.

  “Back to the point!” Hagra said, interrupting their discussion. “We don’t have time to waste here. We need to get the two of you up to maintaining your existence without the magic of the beast, simple as that. We can assume that whoever is orchestrating this plan has been carrying on for a while. It’s obviously well under way, and that means that the totems could fire at any time. Once you are safe, then we can figure out a plan of attack.”

  Men’ak smiled weakly, “I’m all for that.”

  “Well, I guess we need to get started. We should break into two groups. I’ll take Men’ak, and Sheila—you take Dra’kor,” Hagra suggested as she pushed back her chair, walked to the windows, and shut the shutters. She whirled her hands and spoke in a broken tongue as she cast a spell over the entire home that would prevent any from hearing.

  Dra’kor shrugged and looked helplessly at Men’ak.

  “How do we start?” Men’ak moaned, feeling defeated.

  “The same way we do when we work with small children. We start with water,” said Hagra forcefully.

  “Water?” asked Dra’kor, not understanding.

  “We make small children hold water balls in their hands,” Hagra said, smiling. “It’s child’s play …”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Men’ak said, with a heavy sigh.

  Sheila smiled at her mom, “I remember doing that when I was a small girl!”

  Hagra returned the smile. “You were just a tot when I started with you, not even three!”

  Dra’kor moved his chair so he was sitting across from Sheila and Men’ak moved his chair across from Hagra. Dra’kor sat down and said, “now what?”

  “Hold your hand palm up,” Sheila commanded softly. “This is really easy.”

  Dra’kor did as he was told, but wa
sn’t sure at all about the easy part.

  Sheila grabbed the water pitcher and using a wood spoon, scooped out a little water into her hand and mentally formed it into a small ball. She rolled it around with her finger and then, she rolled it around her hand with magic. She set her hand next to Dra’kor’s and rolled the quivering ball into his palm.

  “Now, I’m still in control, but your job is to hold the balls shape. Reach deep inside to your calm place and try to control its shape. I’ll help get you started,” Sheila said, smiling.

  Dra’kor looked into her green eyes. He was terrified of failure, but excited at the same time. He was almost giddy —

  “Don’t worry if you can’t do it right away. It will take you a long time not to subconsciously try to call to the beast and learn to feel where your mind attaches to the flow of the earth’s magic. Are you ready?”

  Dra’kor nodded.

  Sheila loosened her grip on the ball. It began to quiver almost immediately. A brief second later, it fell apart into a splash of water in his palm.

  Dra’kor wiped his hands on his pant leg.

  “Let’s try again,” she said, forming some water back into a ball.

  The second time, the result was the same. “I’m sorry …,” Dra’kor apologized shaking his head. He felt nothing.

  “That’s okay. It’s going to take time,” she said.

  Dra’kor looked over at his friend who was having no luck at all, “We don’t have time!”

  “Damn!” Men’ak spat. “Of all the —”

  Dra’kor adjusted himself in the seat and nodded to Sheila that he was ready to try again. He focused on the ball and squeezing the air around the ball. This time the ball squirted out all over his hand and the floor.

  Sheila grinned because she could feel his clumsy mind at work trying new things.

  By now, Dra’kor was sweating from the effort. His head hurt and his hand was shaking. He tried again and again for several hours but the end result was always the same. From time to time, he looked away and closed his eyes, trying to feel, see, and replay what was happening.

  “Try to be a little softer, Dra’kor,” Sheila suggested. “You need to finesse the water with the skill, like caressing a woman.”