Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (18 page)

“To what?” Garen replied, looking around, “we got ‘em all.”

“No,” Michael said, looking out into the night. “No, there are three more out there.”

With power coursing through his veins, he could sense them, feel their hate. They had written him off as a threat. Now they felt pure venom for having been so well duped. He would not be underestimated again. Michael sensed the beasts turn to leave as the first gray light of dawn formed on the horizon. The leader turned back for one last look at the outcrop. Michael could not see him, but he could sense the challenge all the same. This fight was far from over.

C
HAPTER
17

Rhalmadia

With the first rays of sunrise, the company climbed down from the rocky outcrop and headed north for the tree line miles in the distance. Michael looked around nervously as he stepped from the cover of the rocks, chiding himself for letting fear get the best of him till he noticed the others doing the same.

Without horses and burdened with their packs, they moved slowly. Weak as a newborn fawn, Max brought their trek to a crawl. Michael and Garen took turns helping the wizard walk all the while he insisted he would be fine in a few hours. He looked like he could sleep for days.

Making matters worse, Michael’s body had its own problems. One moment chills swept over him, causing his teeth to chatter uncontrollably, the next a burning sensation and profuse sweating. His right shoulder twitched incessantly, and his knees buckled without warning, causing him to stumble like a drunken beggar. At one point, his legs gave out mid-stride while helping Max and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs. He gritted his teeth as Garen helped him up, apologizing for yet another stifled chuckle. Michael might have found the situation amusing if it wasn’t so bloody embarrassing with Falon present. To his relief, she never laughed, though.

By the time, they reached the tree line of the Black Woods, Michael’s body had almost returned to normal. His shoulder muscle still twitched, but at least his knees no longer gave out.

Max slumped against a tree while the others built a fire. With Falon’s help, he steeped an herbal mixture to go with their dried meat and cheese. Noticing their grimaces at the tea’s bitterness, Max assured them the benefits were worth the taste.

Resting for several hours till early afternoon, Max awoke much stronger and able to walk on his own. Michael noticed he had more vigor himself. He briefly considered the idea of selling Max’s special concoction as the wizard bottled the cooled tea, but that would require a normal life.

Max pulled out a smooth red stone and held it up for them to see. “Stay close. As long as we stay in the light we should be safe.”

Michael glanced from Max to the smooth red stone not sure he wanted to know what would happen if they stepped in the shadows.

The Black Woods looked tranquil; a lush forest of tall pines and thick firs meshed with the white bark and lighter foliage of poplars and birch. The scenery did not fool Michael though. Something felt wrong and when he looked into the deeper shadows long enough he thought he could see the forest’s unearthly inhabitants. Wraiths.

All the stories told around the campfire about the Black Woods came to mind. He said as much, and Max enlightened them as they walked. The Black Woods were closer to the veil between the physical world and the spiritual, just like the wells all magic sprang from. At the end of the Warlock Wars, the last remnants of the warlocks made their final stand in the Black Woods, calling forth the wraiths to protect them. Regardless, the warlocks were defeated, but the wraiths never left. Now those wispy apparitions waited in the darkest shadows for unsuspecting travelers. Few dared to go into the Black Woods, and any who remained after nightfall never left.

The stronghold looked ominous in the dimming light of the forest, age and decay taking their toll. Vines intermingled with the stone, slowly pulling it apart. One corner wall had crumbled, exposing the passageway behind.

Michael was surprised at its small size. He envisioned something similar to the garrison at Whitewater’s Forge, but this was nothing more than a tall, single story, flat roofed structure. Still, the arched entryway looked like a black maw promising to swallow any who dared enter.

Garen and Michael cut four branches to use as torches, wrapping them in oiled cloths from their packs.

“Supposedly the stronghold is warded so the wraiths can’t enter, but I don’t want to test that theory,” Max said, wielding Spirit into the soul stone. “Especially with night coming on. Stay close.”

“How far does that thing work?” Garen asked.

“Ten, maybe fifteen feet.”

Garen and Michael looked at each other suspiciously and stepped closer to Max.

Max scanned the forest, his face a mix of worry and confusion.

“What is it?” Michael asked as he handed the wizard a torch.

“The wraiths never approached us. I can see them out there in the shadows, watching, but they never approached.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Good, yes, but unexpected.” Max lit his torch with a small stream of fire then scanned the trees once more. “Just makes me wonder why.”

Lighting the other torches from his, Max stepped into the darkness. Stumbling over debris, they picked their way toward the center of the structure, searching for stairs or passage leading downward. The Wizard’s Keep held diagrams for all the strongholds that housed portals, but Max remembered little more about this one than it was deep underground. Once they got close enough the soul stone would act as a compass. After several more rooms, their torches only a small pool of light in the blackness, Garen stumbled over rubble and nearly fell head first down a spiraling staircase.

“Not the most graceful way to find what we need, but good job,” Michael said, chuckling.

Garen cut him a nasty look as he dusted himself off.

Down the stone stairs Max led them, winding around, passing flat platforms and doorways that lead to new subfloors of blackness. Michael understood why the stronghold had been a strategic choice for the warlocks; it had been built deep underground. What lay at the surface was only a small portion of the whole. Five platforms later, and no sign of wraiths, the stairs ended in a room large enough that the torchlight did not touch any walls.

Ten paces into the room Michael jerked to a stop. “Wait!”

Falon screamed as a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the dark. The black shape lunged past her, slamming into an invisible wall of Air mere inches from Michael. The nightstalker bounced off the shield and darted back into the darkness.

Michael was surprised he reacted, surprised to feel that familiar, prickly sensation sweeping through his body. Instinct alone had drawn on his magic.
Better to be lucky than good,
his father often said, but this was no time to rely on luck. He tossed his torch aside and formed a fireball in each hand just as Max did, bathing the room in bluish light. Max glanced at him, a teacher approving the student’s actions.

Dust piles and decayed furniture littered the floor. The nightstalker snarled at them over its shoulder as it slinked through the only doorway at the far end of the room, disappearing in the darkness.

“Typical,” Max growled. “They would have to choose this place to hide from the sun.”

“Do we retreat?” Garen whispered, eyes wide with fear.

“And face the wraiths?” Michael exclaimed.

“No, we press on,” Max said. “Michael, take the rear. Bloody beasts will probably try to catch us from behind.”

The fireballs in Max’s hands extinguished, and he created two pillars of fire sending them into the next room. Twisting and writhing, one floated to the left and the other to the right. Much smaller than the one’s he had produced the night before, but quite sufficient to illuminate every corner and drive the beast through another dark doorway.

Max moved the pillars ahead of them as they entered the third room.

“Which way?” Garen asked looking between the doorways on their left and right.

Max glanced at the soul stone then turned right, leaving a pillar to guard the left door. Michael stared at the black rectangle of the other door as they exited the room, suspecting at least one of the nightstalkers lurked behind them now. How long would a single pillar bar its path? He thought of drawing the Sword but doing so would require giving up the light of one fireball.

The only doorway in the next room took them right again, into a corridor so long the light from Max’s pillar did not reach the far wall. A second pillar of fire sprang into existence. Max positioned one to each side, floating just before them as they walked the long corridor.

Michael saw a pair of red eyes dart into the room the moment the light of his fireballs no longer touched the doorway they had come from. He threw a fireball.

Laughter emanated from the darkness, taunting him to try again.

So much for Max’s pillar barring their way.

The red eyes followed just beyond the pool of bluish light emanating from Michael’s hand. Michael felt like a lamb being driven.

Doorways appeared in the dimness, one to the right, another straight on. A black shape leaped at them.

Max threw the nightstalker back with a concussion of Air. His blades of Air slicing stone instead of flesh as the beast darted through the right-hand doorway.

The beast trailing them lunged at the same time, bouncing off Michael’s wall of Air.

Michael threw another fireball.

The nightstalker laughed as it faded into the darkness.

The next room was cavernous; Max’s pillars a small island of light in an ocean of black.

A blood-chilling howl reverberated through the room. The other two nightstalkers answered with their own hellish howls from behind.

A wall of fire streaked down the length of the room, creating a corridor ten paces wide between the stone wall and blue flame. Max fell to the floor, exhausted from wielding so much power.

The lead nightstalker lurked in the shadows beyond the fiery wall, teeth bared, eyes burning with hate.

Using Air, Michael shifted the diminishing fire pillars to bar the entrance behind them. How long would they last? Could he create his own?

Garen pulled Max to his feet and put the wizard’s arm around his shoulders.

“Run!” Michael commanded, pointing at the far end of the room where something dimly reflected the fire’s light.

Falon ran ahead, throwing a knife at the nightstalker across the flames. Garen pulled Max along, following as fast as he could. Michael shot a fireball at the nightstalker, glancing its side.

The nightstalker glared at Michael, keeping pace with him on the other side of the flames. Would it brave the fire for a chance at him?

The object faintly reflecting the light turned out to be an oblong disk of polished black stone two feet taller than Michael, resting in a deep alcove.

“What do we do?” Falon asked as Michael approached.

“No idea,” Michael replied.

Max struggled to place his hand on the polished stone. “Spirit,” he mumbled and dropped his hand.

Michael placed his hand where Max had and felt it resonate with magic. Fire did not feel right, nor did Air as Michael fed a stream of each into the portal.

The pillars of fire at the end of the corridor faded.

“Hurry,” Falon pleaded.

Weakly, Max placed his hand on top of Michael’s. “Must use Spirit.”

Michael felt the same resonance emanate from Max’s hand. Faint, like a wispy vapor, but enough for Michael to understand. He matched the resonance like he would match fine wood inlay to a table.

The portal shimmered like water then a hazy picture of a room emerged. Falon stepped through first, her image becoming hazy on the other side.

The pillars at the far end extinguished and two black shadows broke through.

Garen helped Max step into the portal, their passage taking long, precious moments. Michael threw a fireball at the charging nightstalkers and stepped into the portal.

Every hair felt alive, every second seemed its own separate eternity, then he fell backwards onto a stone floor, clear of the portal. With him on the other side the wall of fire extinguished. A pair of red eyes appeared, lunging for the portal.

“Watch out!” Garen screamed.

Michael scrambled to the portal, slapping his hand on the portal frame at the last instant, cutting the nightstalker in half.

“Nice trick,” Garen said, grimacing at the severed body of the beast.

Michael grimaced. “Better to be lucky than good sometimes.”

“How about both next time?” Garen quipped.

Michael gave him a sardonic grin. “Duly noted.”

“So where are we?” Garen asked.

“No idea,” Michael replied pulling a water skin from his pack and helping Max drink. Max grimaced at the bitter taste of the herb tea but drank it all.

“Rhalmadia,” Max said after a long swallow.

“Rhalmadia!” Garen looked from Max to the black stone portal and back. “We traveled all that way in one step? How’s that possible?”

“Told you we would,” Max said, allowing Michael to help him up. “Cut our escape pretty close?”

“Next time I’ll create the wall of fire, and you can work the portal,” Michael said.

Max grinned. “Learned how did ya?”

Michael shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m getting there.”

Max motioned them to the doorway and leaned on Michael for support as they walked out of the room. “The portals were created long before the Warlock Wars, Garen. They work similar to a teleporter’s ability but we can’t explain it. We just know how to make them work.”

“How many are there?”

“I know of four that survived: this one, the Black Woods, one in Valan and another in Elowe. At one time, there was one in each Wizard’s Keep from the Charadic Ocean to the West Briar and perhaps beyond.”

“What happened to them?” Falon asked, following Max and Michael down the corridor.

“They were destroyed during the Warlock Wars to prevent attack from within. The Wizard’s Keep in the citadel of Alarus fell when the wizards on guard were sleeping. The Keep was leveled to the foundation.”