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

  Eyes of the Keep

  Book 1

  Legacy of the Ten Saga

  Scott D. Muller

  Mythforge, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, places, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental. The publisher has no control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  Eyes of the Keep, Book 1— Legacy of the Ten Saga

  Copyright (c) 2010 by Scott D. Muller

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form, including printed or electronic. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  A Legacy of the Ten Saga Book

  Published by Mythforge, LLC.

  www.MythforgeLLC.com;

  www.ScottDMuller.com;

  Like us on Facebook(r) www.facebook.com/eyesofthekeep

  Merry Content Faeries: Dan Barber, Randy Clinton, Chris Coslor and Christine Muller

  Editors: Jill Maxwell, Richard Chapell

  Map and Cover Design: Scott D. Muller

  Orb Cover Credits to:(c)frentia - fotolia.com,

  Gimp brushes:

  Trees, smoke and lightning effects: Obsidian Dawn,

  Border effects - Princess RxYaNgl,

  Grass - Charfade,

  Mountains - Angelic Devil

  ISBN - 13: 978-0-615-49139-4

  First Edition: June 2011

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  If you purchase a book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payments for this “stripped book.”

  Acknowledgements

  Limitless love and thanks to my wife, who sacrificed time for this to come to fruition by watching our two beautiful children while I pounded away at the keyboard. To the best parents a son could ask for, much love! For my father who passed his love of reading to me. To my mother who has always supported my crazy ideas and hobbies. Special thanks to my grandfather, Joseph, who kindly pushed me to always explore the unknown, patiently guided me to master the difficult, and engrained in me the motto, that anything worth doing, is worth doing well.

  Special thanks to my content fairies for keeping me honest.

  To those who have brought me countless hours of fantasy and wonderment through their tales. Thank you!

  The Five Near Realms

  The Prophecy

  “… a woeful time of darkness shall stretch over the aontaithe (united) lands, poisoning and consuming all it touches, for the Lord of Chaos reigns, the realms are adrift, and the ancient art of magic has been poisoned. None shall be observed and the lost will venture forth as a child who is not a true child is born. These three signs shall be as a gate, comharraidhean (marking) the epoch that will come to be known as ‘The Age of Darkness.’ A great evil shall …”

  Translated from a tattered remnant of the Tome of the Ages, written during the First Age, The Age of Reason, by the Prophet Xi’am.

  Note: the excerpt presented above comes from a well-worn and tattered papyrus dating back over seven thousand years. It had originally been carefully translated from the ancient glyphs to Torren by the banail (female) druid called Cliste Ailleachd (Wise-beauty) prior to the first battles of Ror, and although every effort has been made to accurately translate from the ancient Torren language, scholars still argue over word choice, and their meanings. Much of those times were lost through carelessness, even though the original translation was passed down beul-aithris, by the oral tradition. The only known written copy is stored deep in the Havenhold Keep in the Room of Archives.

  The Legacy of the Ten Saga

  Eyes of the Keep, book 1

  Coming Soon …

  The Third Sign, book 2 (early 2012)

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements ix

  Prologue xiv

  Signs 19

  Watcher 32

  Five Peaks 53

  Mourning 61

  Haagen 74

  Duvall 82

  Suspicions 87

  A Few Words 107

  Confrontation 124

  Perhaps a Quest 139

  Naan 165

  The Cave 185

  Quaint Rundown Inn 211

  A Night to Remember 238

  Tinker 254

  Haagen’s Cross 267

  Three Rivers 298

  D’Arron 320

  Hagra 357

  The Real Gift 383

  Harsh Words 404

  Skree 416

  Struggles 434

  Confusion 456

  In my Dreams 484

  I Was a God 492

  Alive 505

  Epilogue 509

  Glossary 513

  Prologue

  Bal’kan, the Third Keeper of the Wizards of Havenhold sat in his oversized chair in the tower of the Ten, high above the valley. He stared down at the stack of notes he had written to his son. He wondered why it seemed so much easier to write frankly in a letter than it was to talk face-to-face. Only one note remained unsealed and he wasn’t happy with it. It felt … too impersonal. He had wanted it to be less regal. Trouble was, after all these years, he didn’t really know how not to be the Keeper anymore. He loved his son, and was fiercely proud of him, but he fumbled with ways to say and show it. It was one of his biggest failures in life.

  He stood up, grimacing as pain shot through his hip and up his back. He steadied himself, giving his old bones a chance to get used to the strain before he walked over to the desk and poured a glass of wine. He swirled it in the glass and took a rather big mouthful. He let it linger in his mouth before swallowing and letting the tart fruitful beverage slide down his throat. Wine was one of the simple pleasures he would truly miss when he left this plane.

  He held the last letter in trembling hands and read it to himself. A scowl filled his face, perhaps it was a bit too serious and rambling, but he had so much to say, and now that it was time for his ascension, he had little time in which to say it. He had procrastinated, dreading the deed. He had already said his goodbyes to his son, shallow as they were, and to everyone in the Keep. Ascension was a personal matter and he would take care of his business as soon as he finished his last letter.

  Hail Ja’tar, Fourth Keeper of the Wizards of Havenhold!

  Well, how does that sound to you? It sounds strange to me. I’m proud of you and I know I don’t say that enough, but I feel … I have been negligent as a father and have not shown you often enough how much I have enjoyed having you as a son. I feel uncomfortable saying much more, so I will leave it at that. I have left a stack of letters to help guide you in your reign. I’m afraid you face difficult times and I will not be here to help advise. Use them as you will, I hope they provide value.

  For the last sixteen-hundred years the Guild has stood strong, a testament to the unspeakable atrocities of the Cleaving, which culminated the great mage battles of Ror? The Tofar Pact joined all magic users in battle as one to defeat the Dark Ones once and for all. It was our salvation and ushered in a long deserved period of peace where all races coexisted.

  Unfortunately, the war irreparably scarred and poisoned a vast portion of the realms, leaving
them uninhabitable and possessed by rogue wild magic. These lands became known as the Wilds and the Waste. It is thought that spirits of ancient magi and demons wander still, trapped, though the accounts of such encounters appear to be more rumor than substance. I fear that I cannot add clarity to the reports as the Guild has refused to sanction an exploratory quest.

  Although the atrocities of this war are unimaginable and the price paid deemed to be incalculable, we can take some measure of comfort knowing that all branded dark magi were eventually tracked down and destroyed, albeit at a horrific cost of well over ten thousand magi. The demon lord, Warvyn, summoned by the dark magi to fight alongside their forces, was cast back to the lower planes along with his minions and the ancient tome, Doors to the Unknown, captured and sealed away in the Cave of the Forbidden.

  I can attest to the sketchy firsthand accounts of the final battle that attrition was swift. Training was summarily sacrificed for survival and many of those that claimed to be wizards were little more than single-spellcasters, recruited for gold and promises. In the end, this left us but a skeletal force of magi with sufficient skills and ties to the past to carry on the legacy of our craft. Over time, we grew in numbers and diversity. You will have your hands full. I suggest you form a few close alliances with those you deem worthy, but be warned; choose carefully.

  The war was eventually won (by most accounts) through the perseverance and sacrifice of an elite group of wizards known as The Ten. These extraordinarily talented magi seized upon an opportunity to establish the Keep, train wizards and almost single-handedly saved the planet from dire consequences. I hate to imagine what would have happened had the dark magi and their demon minions triumphed. It is with solemn gratitude that their sacrifice is remembered each year, although none can say for sure where and when they died. It will be your charge to conduct this rite, and the many other ceremonies once you are elevated to Keeper.

  After the war, the races, seeking to prevent another cataclysmic event in the future, drew up a concordat, which established the Guild and detailed the impounding of all magic users from the realms. Power hungry and self-serving magi had long sought to rule the world of mortal men and force them to do their bidding. This greed for power and wealth was their undoing and was at the core of the dispute between the dark and light as recorded in the Tomes of Retrospection. My personal copy is in the desk drawer in the Keeper’s Cove; read it and take it to heart. It will serve you well.

  In their haste to contain events that were spiraling out of control, the Guild was made autonomous and established in a city to the north. They answer to no one (I personally believe we erred in this decision). The Guild has a group of surreptitious members, known as The Aristocracy, whose job is to enforce the pact. Much speculation and many rumors exist about who these guiding members are, and how they are chosen and replaced. I have personally had but a handful of dealings with this inner circle, and each time it was rather—unpleasant. The Guild members always present themselves cloaked and remain, to this day, unbeknownst by me.

  The Guild sequestered all wizards to the Keep and its contained grounds, where we are allowed to continue our work. We are strictly forbidden to free-walk the realms. The elves were scattered into small enclaves, the dwarves sent back to their mines. Others with the gift had to choose to live with one of the above or they were forcibly silenced from the gift.

  A precious few, selected by the Guild, were elevated to travelers. The travelers were assigned realms where they lived, observed and reported on magic use. As a side note, travelers are strictly forbidden from interfering in day-to-day events, politics and fiefdom struggles; they may not openly use magic and are to keep hidden their true nature. You can ask your sister about the finer details of these rules if you want.

  These are rules you have sworn to uphold by position and title. Violating these principles is customarily dealth with using draconian measures by the Zola’far, assassins by any name. Take caution, the Keeper can be held accountable for his subjects, although this has rarely been enforced.

  For many centuries, the Guild has upheld the law and none have ever questioned their authority, at least in public. As the Keeper, you will be their representative. You alone carry the burden of enforcing the wishes of the Pro Tem. Know that from time to time you will face enormous challenges in keeping this Keep of independent minds and talent placated. I fancy I could offer some sage advice, but fear that any I would offer up would seem—trivial.

  As the days, weeks and months pass, life happens. Soon the months become years, the years turn to centuries, and time passes, clouding the history of decisions made for the common good. Each party eventually falls into a routine until lethargy sets in, life becomes drudgery and change becomes feared.

  Just as a small pebble can cause a landslide, chaos has a way, through a series of seemingly miniscule events, of giving challenge to this awareness and this awareness leads to consternation. The choice becomes whether to answer the challenge or not. Remain vigilant, and may your reign be fruitful.

  I know that this letter seems emotionless and hollow, but I am old and frail, and the chance at ascension is a gift I can’t refuse. I have made my peace.

  Although leaving this mortal existence brings with it a certain amount of trepidation, I face it with eyes wide open. I hope that one day, in the next life, that I am once again able to gaze into your eyes, my son. Always remember that you are a Kandor’a; we are masters of magic, gifted by the gods. You will lead admirably.

  With these words, I let you go; Sum

  Licens Solus Fidens - I am only free without fear!

  Your Father,

  Bal’kan Kandor’a

  The Third Keeper of the Havenhold,

  Mage of Ascension, Chosen.

  Bal’kan looked over the note, reading it a second time. His accomplishments these past eleven-hundred years seemed pale and insignificant, and he couldn’t think of a single noteworthy event, other than having a brilliant son and daughter. He took his time returning to his chair and before sitting down, set his goblet on the corner of his desk. He sat down hard as he let his weight pull him down, unable to lower himself gradually. His legs just wouldn’t hold him any longer.

  He shook his head despondently and carefully folded the note into thirds before lighting the candle that would drip the blood-red wax upon which he would set his seal. He pressed his ring firmly and satisfied that the seal was crisp, lifted the ring and blew across the still soft wax. He uncorked the ink, dipped his quill and scrolled Ja’tar’s name across the back and cast a magic ward across the note so that only his son would have access to its contents. He watched as the magic settled over the note, causing it to glow ever so slightly. He removed the ornate ring that had adorned his right hand for over half a millennium and set it on top of the stack of letters in the tray.

  It was done.

  He was spent and exhausted. His body bore the many scars and injuries of the battles he had fought at Ror. Some had been healed, others not, but not for a lack of trying. The healer of the day, a man called Rx’al, had worked on his wounds for years, trying to ease his suffering. Initially, they hadn’t thought he would survive his injuries, and they had written him off as a total invalid.

  He had fought back and made a life for himself, but the pain had always been there. Eventually, the Healer’s spells and potions had allowed him to walk, but he never regained his strength, or his health. He winced as he shifted in the chair, still feeling the poison and bitter dark magic as it ebbed away his strength and glazed his eyes. Now, even his breath came in shallow hoarse gasps.

  His reign was at a premature end.

  He stood, using the table to stabilize his balance before he hobbled over to the great crystal window and gazed out over the valley one last time. Fall was almost at its end, the leaves were red and gold, the harvest was complete, and the first snows dusted the tops of the Winseer Mountains. Soon the frigid bite of winter would descend into the valley and haunt the moun
tains, but not his bones, not this year. He took one last look around, closed his eyes, pictured his son and daughter, raised his trembling hands and chanted.

  In less than a wink of an eye, he felt the surge of pure magic fill his body, easing his ever-present pain. A tear fell. He smiled once, and only once before his soul and quintessence scattered, becoming multicolored magic sparks that twinkled, and faded.

  Balkan, the Keeper was no more of this plane. So began his son Ja’tar’s rule.

  Signs

  Tar’ac ran. He ran for all he was worth, his face stretched in horror, contorted by fear and grimaced from the exertion. In the dark of the night, he ran.

  It was just after midnight, and he was lost. Oh, he knew where he was, mostly. Well, not exactly. He was on the west side of Beachdachadh Mountain somewhere between the Keep and the ceremonial ruins, but it was an awfully big mountain and in the dark, every trail looked the same.

  As he ran, he squinted, staring off up the trail. The mist was thick and everything was a sickening murky gray. Even the ground at his feet appeared gray.

  Most certainly, he was at least halfway to the Keep, or so he hoped. In the cloudy night, with the silver-gray wisps of mist dancing over the ground, every rock blurred. He was alone, separated from his friends—he held no torch, and he would not hazard carrying one! There were wraiths lurking about and they could sense magic.

  He scanned the sky, hefted his robe, closed his cloak and pulled his hood up tight as he crouched low. Another fireball lit the night sky as it streaked across the horizon leaving a smoky vapor trail. It went dark, an unnatural dark, like the inside of a deep cave. Tar’ac shivered as a sense of dread came over him. Wraith, he thought as he froze in place, fighting the nearly uncontrollable urge to turn and run.