Land Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  Marcus looked at the city walls with a feeling of dread. In the past—before he lost his magic—he’d occasionally been able to sense danger before it happened. He no longer had that ability. But he still sensed that if he entered the tower, something terrible would happen. Even so, he soon found himself following Rhaidnan and his men, pausing every so often as one of the hunters gave an update.

  By the time they reached the west gate, a steady drizzle was falling. Marcus and Kyja were soon soaked, and Riph Raph wrapped both of his ears around his head.

  “Who’s that?” Marcus whispered as they approached the statue of a fierce-looking warrior.

  “Tankum Heartstrong,” Kyja whispered back.

  Marcus stopped and stared, no longer conscious of the pain in his hip, or of the falling rain. This was the man who, along with Master Therapass, had found him as a baby—the man who’d saved his life. He’d battled an army of Fallen Ones while the wizard had opened the doorway that sent Marcus to Earth to evade the reach of the Dark Circle.

  In his mind, Marcus had always pictured Tankum as a valiant fighter. Master Therapass told how his friend had continued to battle with one of his blades broken and blood pouring from dozens of wounds. The man on the pedestal looked like everything the wizard had described. With a thick mane of hair down to his shoulders, heavily-muscled arms, and a sword in each hand, he appeared ready to fight anything that crossed his path.

  What Marcus hadn’t expected was the intelligence that showed clearly in his eyes. Or the crooked smile, as though the warrior found humor even in the heat of battle. Holding one sword in front of him and the other over his head, he looked surprised that he had to fight at all. As if he’d rather settle things over a glass of ale and a few good jokes, but understood that some people or creatures were too foolish to understand when they were outmatched.

  Marcus would have liked to stay longer, studying the face of the man who’d sacrificed himself so a child he didn’t even know could live. But Rhaidnan was tugging at his arm.

  “It’s time to go through,” Rhaidnan whispered. Standing outside the gate, Marcus counted between twenty and thirty men. The hunter eyed Cascade and Lanctrus-Darnoc. “You two stay outside until we get through the gate. Once we’re inside, I’ll whistle for you. I assume you can get in on your own?”

  Lanctrus-Darnoc nodded, but Cascade looked around anxiously.

  “Where’s the trulloch?” Rhaidnan asked.

  Marcus looked for Screech, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “I didn’t see him leave,” Kyja said.

  “Come on.” Rhaidnan pulled Marcus and Kyja. “Let’s get inside.” He gave four sharp raps on the gate, and a small door set into it swung open. Two guards waved them in.

  “Stop!” Cascade called. “It’s a trap.”

  Marcus, who’d stepped halfway through the door, saw a group of men suddenly rise up from hiding just inside the city entrance.

  “Keepers!” screamed a man beside him. “Fall back!”

  Marcus turned to run, but a hand closed around his arm, and a gleaming blade pressed against his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Rhaidnan. “I can’t let you leave.”

  Interlude

  Stratagems

  The Dark Circle

  Surrounded by darkness, the master sat staring into a low, stone bowl filled with a blood-red liquid that bubbled and churned. He touched a finger to its surface, and a pale face appeared, its mouth a frustrated, downward slash.

  “Have you found it?” the master asked.

  “No,” Zentan Dolan said from the bowl, clearly agitated. “I told you I’d contact you if and when—”

  The master clenched his fist; instantly the zentan went stiff. The tighter the master squeezed, the harder the zentan’s teeth bit into his lower lip, piercing the flesh.

  “Do not forget who brought who here. As long as you remain in the form I created for you, I am your master.” He unclenched his fist, and the zentan slumped, licking the blood from his lip.

  “It would help, master,” the zentan said slowly. “If you told me exactly what it is I am looking for.”

  The master chuckled softly. “You’d like that, I’m sure. Just remember, if you ever want to get back to where you came from, you will do as I say. Have the boy and girl arrived?”

  “Yes,” the zentan said. “Just as I—we—planned. I hope they’re worth the cost. I lost several good Keepers convincing them the hunter could be trusted.”

  “They are worth all of your Keepers combined. Be sure not to let them out of your grasp, or I will cause you more pain than you can possibly imagine. Take special care with the boy. I believe Therapass has hidden it in such a way that only the chosen can find it. It is exactly the kind of thing the old fool of a wizard would do. And if the boy managed to get his hands on it, he could cause great harm to both of us. He will lead you to the item, but do not let him touch it under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The zentan looked over his shoulder as if someone had come into the room behind him. “They’re here. I must go. What of the wizard?”

  “We’ve spent enough time toying with him,” the master said, his face a mask of fury. “I would like to be the one to personally snuff out his life for his actions, but that is not possible. As soon as you have the boy, kill Therapass. Make it as slow—and painful—as you possibly can.”

  The zentan smiled with grim delight. “As you wish.”

  The master touched the liquid again; another face appeared. “Master!” The man looked up with a pathetically eager smile, the long scar that ran from his jaw to his temple quivering. “Everything is ready.”

  “No one has spotted you?”

  “No. There is no one for miles—nothing but empty, ugly space. We are all in position.”

  “Do not lay a hand on them when they arrive.”

  “N-no, of course not.”

  The master pointed a finger at the bowl, and the Thrathkin S’Bae flinched. “You have failed me twice before, Bonesplinter. Do not fail me again.”

  “I won’t.” The dark wizard trembled. “You said that if I succeed, you will give me . . .” He licked his gray lips. “Power.”

  The master touched the liquid that now looked more than ever like boiling blood. The face in the bowl disappeared. The master smiled, his eyes gleaming. “More power than you can imagine.”

  This would prove to be an interesting night. He could rid himself of two adversaries at once, assuring his plans with Farworld could go forth uninterrupted. Then he would learn more about the girl and how he could use her to expand his dominion in the world called Earth.

  He laughed softly, lifted the bowl to his lips, and began to drink.

  Part 4

  Battle for the City

  Chapter 42

  Zentan Dolan

  For a moment, Kyja could only stare at the blade Rhaidnan held to Marcus’s throat, waiting for it to change into something she could understand—waiting for the situation to turn out to be a mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhaidnan said again, but the knife remained pressed against Marcus’s skin.

  Beneath the light of flickering torches mounted along the walls, men rose from either side of the cobblestone street, removing the shimmering gray cloaks they’d been hiding under. They closed in a half circle. Another group surged down the steep hill that led to the base of the tower and over the footbridge that crossed a small creek. Kyja counted between fifteen or twenty of the crimson or gray robes. Most of them were citizens of Terra ne Staric. Had they all sided with the Keepers?

  “Why?” Kyja asked Rhaidnan. She’d known him most of her life. She’d cared for his children so his wife, Char, could find work when he was captured by the unmakers. And she and Marcus had saved his life.

  A tall man, with skin so pale it seemed to glow, stepped across the bridge. Even if he hadn’t been wearing the only white robe in the crowd, Kyja would have known he was the leader of the Keepers by
the looks of awe bordering on terror as the others cleared a path for him.

  “Welcome,” he said, holding out his long-fingered hands. “I am Zentan Dolan. As you can see, we’ve been expecting you. I’m sorry the weather hasn’t been more accommodating for our guests.”

  “Tell you what,” Riph Raph said. “Why don’t we just all go to our homes and try this again when the weather’s better?”

  “Do you always hold your guests at knifepoint?” Marcus asked.

  “Of course not,” the zentan said. His gray lips lifted into a narrow smile. “I must apologize. Mr. Everwood is under a bit of stress at the moment. I’ve tried to explain that weapons are no longer necessary here, but some are slow learners. Put the knife away, Rhaidnan.”

  “Not until you show me my family’s safe,” he growled. “Where are they?”

  “I said, put the knife away.” The zentan spoke quietly, but Rhaidnan’s fingers snapped open, and the blade dropped to the cobblestones. The hunter’s body jerked and spasmed like a puppet tossed about by some unseen hand. “Perhaps I should leave your lovely wife and two perfectly charming children with the unmakers for a few more days to teach you a little respect?”

  “N-no,” Rhaidnan gasped, his face straining and twisting as his body continued to jitter. “Pl-please.”

  So that’s why he had betrayed them. “Leave him alone,” Kyja said. Rhaidnan had been nearly killed by the unmakers. The idea of Char and his children being put through the same torture must have nearly driven him mad.

  Zentan Dolan looked at Kyja with a frown that appeared every bit as phony as his earlier smile. Rhaidnan’s muscles relaxed and he nearly fell. “I’m sorry,” Dolan said. “That was quite inconsiderate of me—especially in view of the poor man’s earlier . . . experiences. Return his family to him at once.”

  There was a bustle from the tight circle of Keepers. A tall woman with long, blond hair was pushed into the street. A length of cloth had been placed over her eyes, and her hands were tied behind her back. She stumbled; Rhaidnan ran forward to catch her.

  “Char!” he cried, pulling away the blindfold and fumbling with the knots around her wrists. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She blinked in the torchlight. “Where are the children?”

  “Daddy!” A girl who was the very image of her mother rushed forward and threw her arms around her father’s legs. Rhaidnan lifted her and covered her cheeks with kisses as tears of relief streamed down his face.

  On her heels came a boy whose head reached nearly to his father’s shoulder. He glared at the ring of Keepers around him as though he wanted to fight each of them personally. “Father,” he nodded, trying to look brave.

  Then he saw Kyja, and his grimace changed to a grin that made him look like the nine-year-old he really was.

  “You’re back,” he shouted.

  “Kyja?” Some of Char’s fear seemed to melt away. “When did you get here? How . . .” She looked from Kyja and Marcus, who stood with their backs pressed against the city wall, to the zentan and his circle of Keepers. The beginnings of her smile disappeared. “What’s happening?”

  Rhaidnan met his wife’s eyes for a moment but had to look away. He squeezed his daughter in one bear-like arm and curled his other arm around his son’s shoulder. “We need to leave.”

  “Your husband has been a great help to me—and to his city,” Zentan Dolan said to Char. “He has revealed traitors among his fellow citizens, returned these children to where they can be properly . . . looked after, and saved his family. I consider him a hero. You should be grateful.”

  Char’s steel-gray gaze went from Rhaidnan’s knife lying on the ground to her husband’s face. “No. I don’t believe it. My husband would never betray his friends.” She started toward Kyja, but Rhaidnan reached for her arm.

  “I didn’t have any choice. We—”

  Char pulled her arm from her husband’s grip. “What have you done?” She looked at Kyja with pleading in her eyes. “This has to be a mistake. The man I love would never do this.” Char started toward them, but the Keepers instantly grabbed her.

  “Get his family out of here,” Zentan Dolan said.

  “Leave them alone,” Rhaidnan roared as the Keepers closed around Char and her children.

  “No!” Char screamed. “I’m not going anywhere without Kyja.”

  “It’s all right,” Kyja said. She understood what Rhaidnan had done and why. But over the roar of the Keepers struggling with Char and her husband, she didn’t think anyone heard.

  “Tell me you didn’t,” Char cried to her husband as she was pulled away, struggling and clawing. “Tell me!”

  Just before Rhaidnan disappeared into the crowd, he met Kyja’s eyes and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Before he could utter a word, he was dragged away into the darkness.

  “Open the gates,” Zentan Dolan ordered. Eight men lifted the metal crossbar and cranked the handles. As the gates swung slowly open, the rest of the men from Rhaidnan’s group were herded forward by more Keepers and at least thirty city guards.

  “You see?” The Zentan laughed. “More traitors. Just as I told you.” He moved to one side as another figure stepped into the light.

  Kyja’s heart sank when she saw who it was. “High Lord Dinslith,” she whispered. He looked smaller than he had the last time she’d seen him, his body frail and bent, his eyes dull. Weaker, too—as if the presence of the Keepers had drained him of both strength and authority. “Why have you let these monsters take over the city?” If the high lord heard her words, he ignored them.

  “These men came to break out the wizard who organized the entire rebellion,” Dolan said, his eyes glittering merrily.

  “Therapass?” Dinslith muttered.

  “Therapass.” The zentan nodded and laid a hand on the high lord’s shoulder. “Final proof that he is no longer a friend to you or to Terra ne Staric. I will have him executed immediately—with your permission, of course.”

  “No!” Kyja looked to the men who had come with her, but they all stood with shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the ground. She turned to Marcus. “We have to do something.”

  “You might have these men fooled,” Marcus said, limping forward to face the zentan. “But we’ve seen what you did to Land Keep. We know what you really are.” He looked to the guards. “In a month or two, this entire city will be just another one of his prisons. How many people’s magic have they taken already?”

  Inspired by Marcus’s bravery, Kyja stepped up to his side. She pointed past the bridge, where a flagstone path wound up a steep hill to the base of the tower. Bordering the path were the statues of Westland’s most famous wizards and warriors—men and women who represented everything Terra ne Staric stood for. The line stretched from Varthlik Verblan—the wizard who originally founded Terra ne Staric—at the base of the tower to Tankum Heartstrong outside the gate.

  “Look at these statues,” Kyja called, trying to meet the eyes of those she recognized. “What would those men and women think if they knew who you’d turned their city over to?”

  The statues swiveled their heads and glared—showing clearly what they thought. It didn’t seem to matter. As Kyja searched the crowd, they either glowered at her, or more often, turned away. They were too late. The city was already beaten.

  “You’re mistaken,” Zentan Dolan said. “We are not here to take over your city. We were invited here to be of aid by your own high lord. It is only by his will that we stay.” He turned to High Lord Dinslith. “Do you wish us to leave?”

  Her eyes pleading, Kyja stared at the man who had led the city since before she was born. He rubbed a shaking hand across his wrinkled cheek and without looking up said, “No. I want you to stay.”

  “Fine,” Kyja snapped. “The rest of you may be beaten. But we’re not.”

  Marcus spoke up. “Maybe you forgot that we didn’t come alone.” Outside the gate, men moved quickly aside as two figures appeared out of the rain
. Cascade walked side by side with Lanctrus-Darnoc, who flew a few feet off the ground toward Marcus and Kyja. The land elementals stretched their wings wide as the water elemental tossed a glittering ball of water from one hand to the other. It was the first time Kyja had seen them so close together.

  “Elementals,” whispered someone in the crowd.

  “They’re real,” murmured another.

  “That’s right,” Riph Raph said, bobbing his head. “Now my friends and I are going to teach you a lesson, dough face.”

  “Give us Therapass, and we’ll leave the city along with anyone who wants to join us,” Kyja said. For the first time, the men they’d come with looked up with expressions of hope on their faces.

  Despite the elementals, the zentan threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  Chapter 43

  Standoff

  Marcus looked in confusion from Cascade and Lanctrus-Darnoc to the zentan. A man with his experience must understand how powerful elementals were, yet there was no sign of fear on Dolan’s face.

  “I apologize for laughing,” the zentan said, dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s just that I assumed all-powerful elementals would be so much more . . . imposing. Instead I find a butterfly and a fish. Ahhh, perhaps you’d better return to your homes before someone mistakes you for dinner and puts that pig on a spit.”

  “I’d like to see his head on a spit,” Darnoc said, bearing his tusks.

  “You would be mistaken to judge the power of an enemy by their looks,” Lanctrus-Darnoc told the zentan.

  “Would I? Would I, indeed? Then show me your great power. Display the wonder of your land magic. Wasn’t your plan to burrow a tunnel to rescue the wizard? That should be simple enough.” He waved his hands. “Dig away. I am prepared to be amazed.”

  “Stand back,” Lanctrus said to Kyja and Marcus.

  The two backed away as the land elementals flapped their broad wings and a deep-throated rumbling began under their feet. Marcus planted his staff and leaned into it as chunks of dirt and rock ripped loose from the ground and flew to the side of the road.