Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (32 page)

“Lenny’s full of piss and vinegar,” the older guard said. “Don’t be believing nuthin’ that fool tells ya.”

The older guard backhanded Michael.

Michael’s head whipped around violently, jarring his teeth. He tasted blood from his lip again.

“See,” the older guard said.

“Oh. They do bleed red.” The younger guard acted like he was discovering something new about a horse.

Michael glared at them. The thought of leveling the entire town played out in his mind’s eye; the splintered remains of the town, bodies strewn among the burning buildings. Something in the far reaches of his mind pulsed, like a brief flash of light, then disappeared.

The older guard gave a raspy laugh while the younger one took a step back.

Good,
Michael thought,
let him be afraid.

The older guard gave the younger guard a friendly push toward the door. “Good thing for us there’s no Seekers ‘round. We get to have us a good ol’ fashion hangin’!”

“Wonder how far a magichae neck will stretch?” the younger guard said, gaining his bravado now that he was leaving the cell.

“Same as anyone’s ya dolt,” the older guard said, slamming the iron door shut. “Come noon tomorrow you’ll see.”

Michael let his head fall back against the wall. Marla must be very committed to rescuing magichae to live in this place. Or very stupid. What was she thinking bringing him into town? No, it wasn’t her fault. He insisted on going. And she had warned him.

Michael could not decide which scared him more: these crazy zealots who would happily kill him or, given the chance, he would destroy every one of them.

He looked up at the small crack in the wall. Amazing how precious a sliver of blue was to a person shackled in a cell. How did anyone manage to chisel out the mortar? Perhaps a utensil or maybe the mortar had been weak to begin with, or both, or— He snapped his mind back to the collar. No time for stray thoughts.

The interwoven gold and silver rings filled his mind’s eye again. He followed the path until he reached the spherical ring shape. The two internal rings spun inside the sphere of arches, but Michael found no purpose for the sphere. Just another distraction he chided himself, seeking out the collar’s clasp. Perhaps the solution lay there.

Solid to the touch on the outside, but internally the clasp held six distinct locks. Michael ran his finger along the smooth, metal clasp, astounded by the intricate detail his mind’s eye saw. One lock required a flat disc with notches, another a simple ring with a small section cut out, and even one shaped like a key!

Anger flared in him.
Is this a joke?
Some magichae’s sadistic idea of fun?

The strange locks and the sphere puzzle made it clear there were five other puzzles hidden in the collar. Solve the puzzles and the collar would release. Did the crazy town’s folk know this? Were they playing with him? It didn’t matter. Once he freed himself nothing they possessed would contain him again.

A few minutes of searching the gold and silver rings produced another strange shape, two keys with their square bits interlocked. Michael’s heart jumped. It was a blacksmith’s puzzle. Twenty minutes later his elation had turned to frustration. No matter how he maneuvered the keys, they refused to separate. The notch in the bit of one key would fit the width of a segment in the bow of the other. The challenge was how to get the first key maneuvered to that spot. If he turned the first key just so and then slid it down, then if he turned the other key...That was it! He had to maneuver both keys rather than try to work only one around the other.

His heart raced as he worked the puzzle with new understanding. He wanted to dance when he finally succeeded in separating them. Moving back to the clasp, his heart pounded as he inserted the key and the appropriate lock released.

“Hey, you asleep?” the younger guard hissed through the iron door.

Michael did not respond. With his eyes closed, focusing on unlocking the internal structure of the collar, it probably looked like he was sleeping.

The guard grunted. “Sleep tight, magic man. Tomorrow we’ll see if your magic can save you.”

Michael listened to the guard’s boots striking the stone floor, diminishing down the hallway. There would be no sleeping tonight. He had five more puzzles to solve.

Delving the collar again, he sought out the sphere puzzle. One of the internal rings must fit another lock. Spinning the sphere of arches around in his mind, he inspected its design closely. He was a carpenter, solving puzzles was part of his job. All he needed was time.

C
HAPTER
32

To Heed a Calling

The air felt hot and dry. The tall, yellowed grass drooped and withered, the trees faltered under the brutal sun. A simple spark could turn the whole area into a giant fireball. Nothing looked familiar to Garen. The mountains in the distance looked like the Chelean Mountains. Below him in a shallow valley rested a town.

The scene changed and Garen stood in a town square, nondescript except for unfinished stonework on the face of what looked to be the town hall. The same hot, dry air remained and the bare ground pleaded for rain. What grass existed in the square lay scorched from the unrelenting sun. Garen covered his face with his arm as a gust of wind picked up another layer of dust. The sound of a rope creaking in the wind caught his ear. Turning toward the sound, he screamed.

Garen woke, jerking upright, heart pounding, gulping for air. He could still see the body vividly in his mind. Bloated, skin stretched to breaking, face unrecognizable, ravens pecking at the remaining eye. But Garen knew it was Michael.

He looked around at the furnishings of his room. Only a dream. It was only a dream. His experience with the Eye in Whitewater’s Forge sprang alive in his mind.

“
Choose your path
.”

Garen jumped, looking around, but no one was there. The cool wind blowing through the open window was the only sound. Had it been an audible voice?

He fell back on the bed, head caught by the feather pillow and rubbed his eyes. Where was Michael? He should have been in Lockhart days ago. Garen half expected to find Michael and Falon there when he arrived.

It took Garen a day to locate the dragon. Bloody creature managed to find itself a cave to die in. Climbing up to the cave had proven difficult. He would never have found the beast if not for the Eye guiding him. Garen didn’t like thinking about that, though.

He looked askance at the Sword resting in its scabbard, hanging from the back of the chair. Felt like the bloody thing was staring at him. Stupid nerves. It was simply another Crafted blade, like Hothfyre. If he could wield his father’s fabled blade then this sword couldn’t be bad; just as long as he didn’t have to grasp the hilt again.

Two days after recovering the Sword he had reached Lockhart, but found no sign of Michael or Falon. His room at the Whispering Willow was nice, lavish compared to some, but five days of waiting made the walls feel like they were closing in around him. He had debated for days about going into Valan and always arrived at the same conclusion: Michael had a far better chance of finding him in Lockhart than he had of finding Michael in Valan. Waiting was an absolute burr in the boot, though. And where were Max and Jorgen? High time they arrived. If they ever were. He shoved the notion down. Thoughts like that would do him no good.

The sound of a rope creaking made him bolt up again. He looked at the Eye.

“
Choose your path
.”

Garen jumped out of bed. That was it. To hell with waiting. Michael was in trouble. If the Eye could guide him to find itself, maybe it could guide him to Michael.

For a fleeting moment, he wished Max would walk through the door. Impossible to know where or how far away the wizard was. Besides, going into Valan would be dangerous for Max. No, this was not one of the Legends of Jean-Luc Piers where the cavalry rode in and saved the day. It rested on his shoulders alone to rescue Michael.

Plans swirled in his mind as he packed his gear. He could buy a horse and maybe even a map of the area. Most likely Michael and Falon would be traveling the road connecting Lockhart to Valan, but if they were in trouble, they might be hiding in the forest or maybe even gone back into the mountains. Rationale said his chances of finding Michael were next to zero.

He eyed the Sword. “You better do your thing.” He looked around. Bloody fool, talking to a sword.

He strapped the Sword to his back then checked his quiver and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his bow from the corner and noticed himself in the full height mirror. With the Sword protruding over his left shoulder, his quiver of arrows over his right, his own sheathed sword at his left hip and his bow in his left hand he looked ready for a small war. Jaw set, determination in his eyes, he looked like the soldier he had been raised to be.

“Death comes for us all,” he quoted Stren, “might as well give it a good reason.”

His father’s words came back to him.
No greater love exists, son, than to sacrifice your own life for someone else
.

Michael was the best of reasons.

“Let’s go.”

C
HAPTER
33

A Fit of Rage

Michael’s heart pounded as the hangman put a black hood over his head. Fear raced through his veins when they placed the noose around his neck. He forced the panic down, focusing on the collar. Five locks released and the final puzzle in his grasp, he was too close to let these zealots win now. Thank the Creator for the hood covering his head. The blackness made his work easier.

Mentally he fumbled with the last blacksmith’s puzzle; an octagonal disc made of two interlocked pieces as thick as his thumb. He flipped the disc over like a coin inspecting the back again. How many times had he flipped the disc? How could a two-piece puzzle stump him so? Yet, no matter how he pried at the pieces they would not budge. Unlike the other puzzles, this disc had no moving parts, no notches to match, nothing to suggest where to even begin. The two pieces, shaped like angular hourglasses, simply fit together and locked in place. But what locked them together? And where was the release? Delving into the disc’s structure proved impossible. The puzzle had been Crafted to prevent him from seeing into it, learning it’s secret. His only hint was the sound of something rolling inside the disc when he flipped it.

He wanted to throw the bloody disc into the blackness of his mind. Impossible puzzle. No lock, no release, the disc might as well be solid. So close to freedom.

The rope cut deep into his wrists as he struggled against them. He could feel the sting on his raw skin; he thought he could feel every fiber of the rope.

Forget the rope! Focus on the collar!

He sensed the crowd growing anxious as the mayor preached. Such a windbag. His pants would be the first to catch fire.

Michael pushed everything out of his mind but the disc. He searched every line, every edge for some clue, some imperfection. It was like searching over the blades of his chisels for a burr that kept showing up when he did fine woodwork.

He dropped his head in resignation, panic setting in. He had tried everything. The puzzle had no solution. Perhaps that was the purpose; to toy with the captive, give him false hope, torture him psychologically.

An image of A’lan emerged. This was not the end he envisioned for his life. All he ever wanted to be was a great carpenter. Such a distant memory now. Memories of Garen and Max passed by in his mind’s eye. Pictures of Falon replaced everything. An impossible love. But at least he had found love.

***

A one in a million shot. Garen might as well be on a mountain aiming for a mouse than aiming for the hangman’s noose. But with Michael on the gallows he was out of options.

“Let all here know the wicked shall be found!” the man in black robes exclaimed, pointing at Michael, hooded and bound.

The man passed for the mayor of the town. Garen simply referred to him as “the lead idiot”. He had the town worked into a frenzy yesterday when Garen had arrived. It did not take long to find out why.

The mayor strutted back and forth on the raised platform of the gallows like a rooster in the hen house. His tirade on the evils of magichae seemed to be reaching a crescendo.

“I call on all good men to wipe this scourge from our world!” the mayor said, shaking both fists.

He pointed at Michael, exaggerating each word. “The wicked shall be punished!!”

The crowd cheered.

Garen thought about shooting the mayor out of annoyance. With the hangman standing by the lever, he only had one shot, though.

If only he had freed Michael during the night. Foolish idea. This was not a campfire story. Town hall had been kept under strong guard all night. Trying to free Michael would have only led to him sharing the gallows. It didn’t stop him for berating himself for not trying.

“In the name of the Creator,” the mayor said, gesturing to the hangman.

Garen drew an arrow back to his cheek and focused on the rope.

***

Michael sought the octagon disc again, love for Falon fueling his determination, spurring him to search again. He flipped the disc and heard a small bead roll inside the disc. He flipped it again. No, there were two beads; he distinctly heard two beads. Tilting the disc back and forth confirmed there were two beads. His carpenter’s mind raced. What purpose did the beads serve? How did they keep the two hourglass pieces bonded? No, they rolled the width of the disc, not side to side so they couldn’t bond the pieces. Something else then. Michael envisioned pegs or tiny pins holding the pieces together, but there was no place to insert the pins and neither piece expanded and slid back together to allow the gap necessary for pins.

Michael blinked and cocked his head, a radical thought striking him. Could it be? Heart pounding in his ears, he spun the disc and wilted when the pieces remained bonded. It was the only thing he had not tried. He flipped the disc over again. What else could it be? He flipped it back over, hearing the beads roll.