Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (5 page)

“I was sent from,” she glanced at the innkeeper, “sent to ask for your help.”

“No better person to seek out,” Benjamin interjected. “Max here is one of the greatest healers in Timmaron if you ask me.” Benjamin closed his mouth, realizing his flattery was a tad obvious.

Max shot a sidelong glance at Benjamin. “I’m the local healer, Marissa, but far from great. Is someone you know ill?”

She paused, her eyes going distant like his words made her think of someone. Then she refocused on him; jaw set, amber eyes fierce.
Her eyes. Yes, that’s it, her eyes and her stance. But who?

“I’m looking for a great wizard…”

The hair on the back of Max’s neck rose. Could she be from Shaladon? The thought felt like ice in his bones. Who was she? Who sent her? He had to get her alone before she revealed more.

“Wizard!” Benjamin chortled. “Sorry, lass, but there’s none of them in this area. Not since the Sarlon War. They keep to themselves and better for it.” He nodded to himself like he had declared an absolute.

She looked between the two men, puzzled.

“The Sarlon War left many in Timmaron leery of magichae,” Max explained, sounding much calmer than he felt. He hoped a brief history lesson would silence her tongue about wizards.

“Leery! Scared’s more like it,” Benjamin said. He glanced at Marissa. “Well, left plenty of us darn fearful at least. I’m not prejudiced, mind you, but I could do without ever meeting a magichae.” He looked at Marissa fatherly. “Ah, my dear, whatever the trouble, surely it can be solved without magic.”

She glanced between the two men before settling her gaze on Max with a determined expression.

No!
The spark of recognition in Max’s mind ignited into an inferno of realization.
She can’t be!
This woman could not possibly be. She was a child when I—how could she be here? Thoughts ran over one another, his mind racing for answers and fear threatening to take control. If an agent of Cintaur was here, who else was looking and what did they know?

“I do know of a man, a hermit, who might be the person you’re looking for.” Max worked hard to stay calm. “Lives not too far away. I must warn you though, he will not be pleased to have company.”

She looked at him, curiously. He half expected her to call him out right there. “I must speak with him,” she said after a moment.

“Very well,” Max replied, clasping his hands together. “Come with me, I’ll show you where to find him.”

***

Falon had to step quickly to keep pace. Max did not appear hurried, but his pace was quick nonetheless. He seemed distant, deep in thought. What was he thinking? She could only imagine how unnerving it must be to have someone appear from his past asking for aid. The way the innkeeper jumped when she mentioned the word “wizard” made it clear why he hid his identity, but was the wizard buried so far inside him that it remained hidden even to himself? How long had it been since he wielded magic?

Her mind drifted to Thomas, the seer. A kind old man who accepted her regardless. She owed him her life for freeing her from Aleister. On that night, when the vision took Thomas and he proclaimed Wizard Xan’thorne was living as a healer, he begged her to seek Max out. She was the only person he trusted. How could she say no?

Falon came out of her thoughts abruptly when she realized Max held the door of his home open for her. Thanking him, she stepped through. It was a simple home, orderly and well kept. The moderately-sized main room had a table to one side, designating the dining area, and a stone fireplace with two inviting chairs and a rug to make up the living area. Through the double-faced fireplace, she glimpsed his bedchamber. It felt cozy to her.

Shelves of books, vials of potions holding liquids of various colors and leather pouches no doubt containing powders and herbs spoke of his trade. Several crucibles lay on the table as did some opened containers.

Falon turned to thank Max for helping her but he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her lungs. The shock in her eyes met the deadly glare in his.

“Who sent you?” he growled, low and threatening. She felt the all too familiar tingle of magic coursing through his hand, deadly power waiting to be released. The wrong answer, or the right one for that matter, might be her last. She had only one choice, as much as she abhorred it. She grabbed his wrist tight, making no move to escape. The touch was enough to tell him his mistake.

Max jumped back as if burned. “Typical,” he said, rubbing his wrist. “They would send one of your kind. But I’m surprised they sent the queen’s own blood. Should I be flattered?”

“I mean you no harm,” she said. How did he know who she was? “I came to ask for your help.”

“No thank you,” his replied coldly.

“Please, you must.” She took a step toward him and invisible cords pinned her against the wall. “Shaladon has fallen,” she blurted.

“Old news. It was tearing itself apart when I left. I suppose it’s only fitting Cintaur moved in and took over.”

“You don’t understand. Cintaur has fallen too. Both countries are controlled by one man.”

His glare faltered, the cords slackened. “Both have fallen? How? By whom?”

Ice still clung to his words, but she had cracked his defenses. He would listen. “There’s much we need to talk about.”

He glanced at his wrist then back at her. “You expect me to trust you?”

“We do not get to choose the gifts we are born with. It’s what we do with them that matters.”

Max snorted derisively, but he knew it to be true. She could see it in his eyes. Reluctantly he released the cords binding her and motioned to a chair near the fireplace. “Have a seat.”

Her hand went to her neck, her eyes never leaving his. “Thank you,” she said. The reality of how close she had come to oblivion rushed into her mind like a flood, washing away her nerve. She had been clear-headed during the confrontation, instinct driving her reaction, but now her mind lay clouded. The fate of two countries weighed on her shoulders, and she was uncertain where to start.

“You’re Xavier Maximillian Xan’thorne, the First Wizard of Shaladon?”

“In the flesh,” he said wryly with a bow.

A weak start. She deserved a little mockery for such an unnecessary question, but at least he was no longer ready to kill her.

“I need your help.” Falon realized she had already stated as much the moment the words left her lips. She gritted her teeth in frustration. During her journey, she had played this meeting over and over in her head, envisioning how it would go, yet the tapestry of events she needed to tell now lay in an unraveled heap in her mind.

“You said Cintaur has fallen. To whom?”

“Yes. Aleister, the man...I came to...the seer sent me and I ...,” she fell silent unable to form a congruent thought. She placed her head in her hands trying to concentrate.

“There’s so much that’s happened since you left and for the life of me I can’t seem to form two thoughts in order.”

Max walked to a cupboard and filled a mug with water, placing a silver tea ball in it. When he returned, bobbing the tea ball, steam wafted from the mug though there was no fire in the house to heat it.

“Drink,” he said, soothingly.

She gasped as a warm sensation swept through her, clearing her thoughts. Her body felt relaxed, more so than it had in a long time. Suspiciously, she glanced between the cup of tea and Max, uncertain which had provided the cure.

“Now, perhaps you should start at the beginning, Princess Falon,” he said taking a seat next to her. “How does the Heir of Cintaur come to be at my door?”

She made no attempt to cover her surprise. “How do you know who I am?”

“You have your mother’s eyes,” he said. “And her commanding stance, like the world should listen to what you have to say. Though I doubt Queen Marion has ever worn traveler’s clothes.”

She smiled at the thought of her mother in the clothes she wore, but it quickly faded as she remembered the state her mother was in. Her determination returned and a clear mind with it. From the beginning.

“Wizard Xan’thorne—”

“Please, call me Max. I have no need of formalities any longer.”

“Max,” she said hesitantly, uncomfortable being so informal with a renowned wizard, “Master Quinn, the seer, sent me to find you. He told me you are the key to our survival.”

“Thomas sent you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. Thomas’ face formed in her mind, old and worn with lines but warm and fatherly. The face of the man who had helped her escape in Paraneese replace Thomas’ image. She didn’t even know his name, but he had stepped between her and her pursuers. He had spared a moment to command her, “Run!” before the four men descended on him.

Falon pushed the image aside and focused on Max. “It’s been sixteen years since you left and much has happened. What do you know about the past years in Shaladon?”

“Sketchy at best. Civil War was breaking out when I left and lasted for thirteen years, so I heard. None of the houses could hold the throne for long. It was basically a stalemate till Cintaur stepped in and swallowed a crippled Shaladon up, bringing the unrest to an end. And they lived happily ever after.”

She winced at his sarcasm.

“You said that both countries had fallen to one man.”

“Yes, Aleister Cain.”

Max began to chuckle then laugh. She thought he might be bordering on mad. A man could lose his mind having to look over his shoulder for so long.

“Aleister Cain was one of my pupils for a time, but he had neither the skill nor the power to take over the kitchens in the Wizard’s Keep much less two countries.”

“He is one of the Brotherhood,” She said softly, an apprehensive utterance. Rage welled up in her. She did not realize she was fingering her belt knife till she noticed Max’s eyes darting nervously between her face and her hand. She grimaced and stopped. There was no mirth on his face now.

“He came to Cintaur a wizard of meager talent, but well liked at the court for his humor and seemingly endless knowledge in the affairs of the kingdom. He grew in power and wealth quickly, and Mother came to trust him above all her advisors. After my father died, Aleister pulled her under his control. His words were soothing, hypnotic. Before long he had you seeing what he wanted you to see, thinking what he wanted you to think.” Falon’s voice trailed off, her mind playing images of her darkest moment with blinding speed. She realized she had spoken the last line about herself. Hard as stone she set her eyes on Max, beating down the memories and the slip of her tongue.

“It was Aleister who suggested Mother invite King Tobias to the Festival of the Brave. It was Aleister who tickled the ears of the great houses of Shaladon. Magichae started siding with one house or another, and I suspect he had something to do with that too. He sparked the civil war and let them tear the country apart. When one house gained the upper hand, he made certain their advantage was short-lived. Assassinations are one of his favorite tools.” She said the last with venom.

“Magichae that did not join him were either hunted down or driven into exile like you. Taking Shaladon was easy after that. The people actually welcomed Cintaur’s troops. They did not seem to realize they were being conquered, or care. Mother appointed Aleister to be Minister over Shaladon and went back to Cintaur. He placed House Thayren in charge to run the country and brought in his own magichae. Then he set his sights on the secrets within the Wizards Keep.

“He was livid when he found shields barring his search. Like withholding the Keep’s secrets was an affront to him personally. With every secret he discovered, he became more obsessed. Nothing he found seemed to be enough. Sometimes I think he found more pleasure in breaking the shields than in the secrets protected by them. He spent an entire year breaking a particular shield barring a door then didn’t give the contents of the room a second glance. Do you know the horrors I witnessed watching him break those shields?”

Max knew. She could tell from the way his jaw clenched. The simple ones burned flesh or caused pain to ward off those who did not belong, but they were merely a warning. Far more severe shields guarded the more important artifacts and rooms in the Wizard’s Keep. Some would drive a person mad. Others would send them to oblivion without a trace or warning.

“I’m sure there’s no shortage of ‘volunteers’ in the dungeons of Dalarhan,” Max said, his glare making her flinch. “And each would have placed their head on the chopping block willingly than be used to break those shields.”

“Whatever power and skill he lacked under your training, he no longer does,” Falon stated.

She focused on her hands unable to look him in the eye. “I spent many years under his spell. Others, like my mother, still are. I can sense the gift in even the least able magichae, but none feel like he does.”

“And where would I stand in your assessment?”

She sought her resolve again and looked him in the eye. “Where his magic feels cold and void of anything resembling life yours feels warm and vibrant yet unused.”

“Unused?” he snorted. “I’ll have you know I built some of those shields.”

“Have you built any lately? Has fire surged through your hands recently?”

“One does not build a bonfire when one is trying to hide,” he chastised. “Unused indeed.”

“Still, you were raised the First Wizard of Shaladon, the youngest ever from what I’ve been told. You’re powerful, and where Aleister is overconfident and impetuous, you, I suspect, are cautious and experienced. Thomas said you would save us. Will you return to Shaladon? Will you help me save Cintaur?”

***

Max seethed inside, fear and anger coalescing. The Brotherhood held Shaladon and Cintaur. He feared the prophecies were being fulfilled, but then it was not the first time people had thought as much. Prophecy was precarious, so many possible meanings, so much conjecture, and he was not a seer to interpret any of it.

A stupid fool is what he was, allowing a stranger to touch him. Ten years ago he would not have been so careless. His thoughts raced. What skills did Aleister possess? Max could only remember a mediocre wizard with too large an appetite for power. Was he searching for the entrance to the well under the Keep? And how much did Falon know? She sought him out specifically so perhaps she was unaware of...