Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (35 page)

Michael looked at the sky. It promised more than fine mist and it would be nice to get out of the rain. “Fair enough.”

Garen secured them a room at the inn not far from the west gate while Michael purchased supplies. The town had never received word of what happened in Finery’s Way much less wanted posters. The road was only used during the spring and summer months and the last trader’s wagons had passed through more than a month prior. During the winter, the town was all but forgotten by the rest of Valan.

The Lancer seemed to be the warmest inn Michael had ever stepped foot in. They settled into a booth near the fire and devoured two bowls of stew apiece before slowing down. With their bellies fuller than they had been in a week, they quietly slipped upstairs to their room.

Hardly as grand a room as some they had stayed in, but the bed felt fantastic compared to the cold ground. The most important feature, however, was the small window overlooking the slanted tiled roof. Garen had declined the first room the innkeeper offered (the bed was too small he had said), but it was actually due to the room being windowless. After securing the door, Garen took the first watch and Michael laid down on the bed, thinking how luxurious it felt when sleep took him.

Michael woke with a start as a gloved hand covered his mouth, but he relaxed when he heard Falon’s voice whisper in his ear. The sweet sound of her voice brought images of her face to his mind. Then her words registered. “Troops have arrived from the west, we have to go.”

In the same manner, she woke Garen in the chair he had taken during his watch. Michael would have to give him a hard time about it later.

Quietly they slipped out the window Falon had used to enter. Michael could hear someone banging on the inn’s front door.

Falon slid off the tiled roof, landing on the soft ground like a cat. Garen and Michael weren’t so graceful, but they managed to do so quietly. The mist had subsided and the half-moon managed a faint glow behind the thinning clouds. Michael thanked the Creator it wasn’t a full moon.

They crept through alleyways dimly lit by second story windows and moonlight. Falon stopped abruptly, her body rigid. Michael opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong when she ducked around the corner and a soft scuffle ensued. Michael and Garen rounded the corner to find Falon had pinned a man against the wall, her hand around his neck. Michael knew instantly what he was.

“Where’s your seeker?” Falon asked with a voice colder than ice.

“He...he’s hiding, waiting for me to drive you to him,” the magichae stammered.

He was young, Michael noticed, about their age. “Falon,” Michael said quietly, but she did not loosen her grip.

“He’s an arrogant coward,” the magichae went on. It seemed he had gained some confidence from Michael’s hesitation. “He bullies people and brags about how great a seeker he is, but I’m the hound. He sends me out to chase his prey to him then he strikes while they’re distracted.”

Falon looked up and down the alleyway expecting the seeker to appear from the shadows. “Garen, cover Michael, put an arrow in anything that moves.”

“So where is he?” she asked, her voice still cold.

“He was three alleys down, toward the center, but he can track me easily so he knows when I’m drawing close. I’m sure he knows I’ve stopped.”

“My family, my da and ma, two sisters, they all depend on me to stay alive. I’ve got no choice.”

“Sure you do,” Falon said, “better to die fighting than live a slave.”

“I know. But my family.”

“If we free you, how long before your family’s in danger?” Michael asked.

His question drew surprised looks from the magichae and Falon.

“A week, maybe two.”

“That’s enough time. Head east with your family, cross into Timmaron. There’s an innkeeper named Serin in the town of Anista. Tell him Michael sent you.”

“Over here!” shouted the stripling. “Over here you buffoons!” He stood at the end of the alleyway gesturing to his right for the soldiers and pointing down the alley. “Hurry you stupid, loafing—”

An arrow pierced his neck spinning him with the impact as he fell to the ground.

Falon smiled at Garen for a moment then turned back to the magichae. “Today’s your lucky day. Now disappear and get your family out of this godforsaken country.” She released the man but watched him closely.

The magichae glanced at the body of the stripling then ran down the alley, disappearing into the darkness.

The soldiers closed in, the clink of armor announcing their approach. Falon, Michael, and Garen ran down the alley to the wooden palisade surrounding the town.

“We need a hole, Michael,” Falon said.

Michael looked down the alleyway, spying movement in the shadows, soft light glinting off armor and swords. He touched the wall examining it like a new piece of wood he was preparing to use for a table. Wielding Earth he delved into the wood, touching the grain, feeling the fibers. He didn’t need his sight to see the pattern of the grain. He smiled as an idea struck him.

“Umm, we might want to hurry, Michael,” Garen said.

Michael released the power within him and a small area of the wall turned to dust.

“Hey! Over here! Over here!” a soldier yelled.

Falon went through, followed by Garen. Stepping through the hole, Michael solidified the air in the gap, making the palisade solid again.

The first soldiers slammed into the invisible wall, cursing and yelling to their comrades to mount up and give chase.

“How did you do that?” Falon asked, amazed.

“I don’t really know,” Michael replied. “It just seemed simple to do.”

They ran toward the tree line, the yelling soldiers spurning them to run faster. Max and Jorgen met them halfway. Falon swung into the sorrel’s saddle while Michael took the reins of a red dun Jorgen tossed him and Garen took the dappled grey.

“If those soldiers know the area, we’re going to be hard pressed to outrun them,” Jorgen growled.

“We’ll have to take our chances,” Max said, spurring his horse east.

C
HAPTER
37

No Alternatives

Deep into the night they raced, the terrain taking them southward till the trees of the Great Forest forced them due east. The slick, rain-sodden ground made running their horses dangerous. Around midnight the clouds broke, unleashing the half-moon’s twilight on the landscape.

Michael looked over his shoulder. Moonlight glinted off armor as the soldiers crested a hill half a mile back. Their number did not matter, he could wipe them out. The face of the little girl floated in his mind and he pushed it away. He prayed they didn’t force him to.

A horse screamed. Falon shrieked. Her sorrel mare had tripped and both horse and rider lay strewn on the ground.

“Falon!” He reined in his horse and charged back to her, the soldiers closing in. If any harm came to her, he would grind the soldier’s bones to dust.

“Impetuous fool!” Max yelled.

A wall of fire erupted in front of the soldiers, burning an after image in Michael’s eyes.

Good job, Max. Let them get through that,
Michael thought.

Hellish howls, long and vile, pierced the night air. Michael’s skin pebbled in remembrance. Other howls answered from the west, toward Gatton.

Nightstalkers. More bloody nightstalkers!

“Get her on your horse!” Max yelled, turning his horse in a tight circle to keep him from bolting.

Michael slowed just enough to grab Falon’s arm and swing her up behind him. “What do we do now?” he yelled, running back toward the company.

“We ride into the forest,” Max replied.

“Are you insane?” Garen exclaimed.

“We can’t fight soldiers and nightstalkers in the open,” Max replied. “We need a defensible position.”

“We can’t go in the Great Forest!” Garen said. “No one comes out alive.”

“Then stay and face the hellhounds.” Max spurred his horse into motion.

“Madness!” Garen said.

Michael agreed, but soldiers and nightstalkers left no alternatives. Hopefully, the soldiers would not follow. Hopefully, they would turn tail and leave before the firewall dissipated.

Nothing he knew about the forest said there were wraiths like the Black Woods. He hoped the only threat they faced was the tree people. Perhaps they could be out of the forest before the Seran’tu discovered them.

The first branches of the trees whipped at Michael’s face. He drove further, following Max until he reined in near a group of large boulders clustered together in a misshapen semicircle.

“Drop the packs and climb the trees,” Max commanded.

“Why does this seem familiar?” Garen growled, dismounting.

Max shot him a stern look as he unhitched the girth strap on his horse.

Garen’s horse snorted and reared, knocking him down. The dapple grey pawed at the air as red eyes emerged in the darkness.

“They’re here!” Garen yelled, drawing his sword.

A black shape streaked past him, laughing its hideous laugh as it charged at Michael.

Wielding Air, Max formed a barrier, but the beast barely slowed. Its disruptive nature was greater than they had encountered before and prevented the wall from solidifying.

Something inside Michael snapped. After Finery’s Way, he swore he would never lose his temper again. Now, with nightmares unleashed and Falon caught in the middle, he saw it as an ally, a weapon to be used.

Sweeping Falon aside with his free arm, he drew the Sword, anger and adrenaline infusing with the Eye as it awakened with a crimson glow. He no longer held on to his former life, no longer dwelled on what had been lost. Fully embracing his magic, a surge of power coursed through his veins that made his experience at the rocky outcrop pale by comparison. He felt like he could lay half the forest to waste in one stroke. He thought he could do anything.

The Eye sharpened his awareness. He sensed Falon’s rapid heartbeat, Jorgen’s steady breathing, the hellhound’s vileness as it smashed through the shield and lunged.

Michael reacted by instinct, moving with inhuman speed, slicing the beast in half.

“Climb,” Max said, looking around.

“I’m done running,” Michael replied.

“Fool! More are coming.”

“So we hide and wait for sunlight? How bout tomorrow night? Then what? No, Max, we finish this here and now.”

Michael formed a massive fireball and suspended it ten feet above them. Blue light bathed the forest, and three nightstalkers snarled as they retreated from the edge of the light.

“Get against the boulders,” Michael commanded.

More black shapes lurked at the edges of the light, red eyes burning with hatred. Then the maddening laughter began.

“Max, get against the boulders and shield everyone,” Michael said, driving the Sword into the ground. He fed every emotion, every ounce of power into the Eye. The hair on his arms stood on end, his body felt electrified. He reached out with his mind, feeling the texture of the earth, the tree roots snaking through the dirt and buried stones, the vibration of the nightstalker’s paws as they charged in. Twenty beasts in all.

Let them come. Let them all come.

Michael noticed an orb floating in his mind at the edge of realization. He knew it represented the Eye’s power, beckoning him. He seized it and the Eye’s power flooded through him. More than a symbiotic relationship, the magic of man and gem were one in a torrent of power beyond Michael’s comprehension.

He released the power and the ground came alive, binding the nightstalkers legs. Roots shot out of the ground impaling several. Michael’s mind felt on fire. He dove deeper, finding a reserve of energy, and released a razor-thin sheet of Air, slicing trees and hellhounds in two.

Michael fell to the ground, gasping. His brain felt like it was going to split in two, his body wracked in uncontrollable convulsions. Someone lifted his head and Falon’s face came into view as her gloved hand brushed his cheek. She had such a beautiful face.

“Bloody fool!” Max complained, kneeling down beside Michael, touching him on the shoulder. A cool sensation swept through his body, chill bumps prickling his skin, and the convulsions stopped.

Falon quickly stepped away and Max grunted at her retreat. “Trying to get yourself killed?” Max growled

“It worked didn’t it?” Michael said, wiping blood from his nose. He looked at the crimson on his fingers. Where did that come from?

“This time! Feed too much of your life into the Eye again and you might die. Next time you want to—”

“Look out!” Jorgen yelled slamming into a nightstalker as it lunged into the air.

The beast rebounded, snarling at Jorgen for interfering as two more nightstalkers emerged from the darkness, laughing.

Shrill whistling filled the air and a dozen arrows pierced the hellhounds. An instant later the three beasts exploded.

A group of men emerged from the darkness, bows at the ready. Michael noticed their slotted broadheads. That explained the shrill whistling sound. He had no interest in learning how they made them explode.

He looked at Max. “So much for not being noticed.”

C
HAPTER
38

Great Bear

Fifteen men surrounded the company, pointing long-bladed spears and broadhead arrows at them. Dressed in breeches and long sleeve shirts in varying shades of greens and browns patterned after tree bark, the men were close to invisible.

“Asla restur!” One of the men shouted at them with a sharp downward motion of his spear point toward the ground. “Sertu! Sertu!”

Michael rolled to his knees, body protesting, as Max knelt beside him. He glanced at the Sword protruding from the ground a few feet away.

“Any bright ideas,” Michael said quietly, giving Max a sidelong glance.

“We’re not dead yet,” the wizard replied defensively. “If they wanted to kill us they would have done so.”

Yet! Michael wasn’t going to wait for “yet” to happen. Plans flashed through his head; Air to shield them, or to pull the Sword to him, or both. Hopefully seeing their leader burst into flames would be enough to convince the rest to let the company leave. The very thought of wielding magic made his head swim and his stomach roll.