Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (16 page)

“What happens to them?” Michael asked.

“Depression, madness; most end up taking their lives.

“Striplings are shunned, considered vile by many people. No doubt some have earned the reputation, but I disagree with the general assessment. They must play some role in the Creator’s plan. Their power is neither inherently evil nor inherently good. As with us all, it’s a matter of how they choose to use their gift. Still, their power is an enigma. No one knows how it works or where the powers they strip go. Some of the Sisters of Delmar have devoted their lives to defending and studying striplings, but I don’t think they have learned much more than what’s commonly known.

“Regardless of skill or desire, striplings can’t suppress their power completely. Most have little or no control; forced to live in seclusion from their own kind for fear of stripping someone accidentally. Others have great control, able to wield their power with precision, yet even the most skilled will lose control under the right circumstances.”

Max seemed to be alluding to something, but the meaning was lost on Michael, and the wizard did not elaborate.

“Striplings have another talent, extremely rare outside their kind. Using magic causes ripples in the fabric of the world other magichae can detect, but striplings have the ability to detect magichae when they’re not using their powers. It’s a coveted weapon to those turned assassin.”

“Assassin!” Michael exclaimed, the danger of his situation sinking in.

“Shunned, feared, ostracized simply for what they are; many striplings grow bitter. They become assassins for hire tracking down and destroying other magichae.”

Max’s tone grew angry. “They’re coveted weapons to kings, queens, and powerful people who have the money and a reason to eliminate magichae. Valan employs many striplings.”

Michael found the idea abhorrent. He bristled at the idea of stealing a magichae’s power. Regardless of their difficulties in life, such behavior was inexcusable.

“The most important thing to remember,” Max continued, “is a stripling must touch bare skin. So keep your arms covered and wear gloves. If one strikes, you will not see it coming.”

It was a little too much for Michael. He had never needed to look over his shoulder, and now every person he met could be out to strip him of powers he could not command. Even a simple handshake seemed dangerous. He was beginning to think the world had truly gone mad.

The days passed with blinding speed, wearing the company down. Adding insult to injury, the nightstalkers caught up to them each night. Every morning they would hear about someone in the night watch hearing the most awful howls followed by a sighting of black beasts with glowing red eyes. The reports generated fear and rumors.

Michael grew certain the world had gone mad. Beasts pulled from a nightmare taunted them, intentionally making their presence known to break them down. The company became increasingly edgy, snapping at one another over the smallest thing. It seemed like the poison coursing through the nightstalkers veins was seeping into their resolve.

Day turned to night and back to day, and everything Max employed to throw the nightstalkers off failed. Exhausted, fearful and on the brink, the reality of a confrontation stretched the company to the breaking point, but Max had one last trick up his sleeve.

C
HAPTER
15

Last Ditch Effort

The run from Lankston to Jurastock was not the longest they had endured, but it was the hardest. The terrain grew hilly making the ride more difficult as the horses worked to crest each hill then charging down only to climb yet another. Grass and lush, tall trees were replaced by scrub brush and short, gnarled trees with little shade to offer. When the border city of Jurastock came into view exhaustion subdued their exuberance.

Jurastock lay on the Ferais side of the Aryn River. Wide and meandering with steep sides of limestone, the Aryn made a firm border between Timmaron and Ferais. From the Timmaron bank, a stone bridge wide enough for five horsemen to ride abreast traversed the river abruptly ending short of the Ferais bank and the thick wood planks of the Jurastock drawbridge filled the gap.

Jurastock controlled much of the trade from Timmaron to Ferais and beyond. It’s thick, crenulated walls stood three stories tall on the edge of the river bank with square towers at the corners. The gate was set into a massive tower itself, housing the gears to the drawbridge, with guards looking down from its flat top. When the drawbridge was closed, there was no crossing the Aryn River for fifty miles north or south.

Their horse’s hooves thudded rhythmically on the stout wood of the bridge as the red-orange sun kissed the horizon. Horses and riders heads hung low and weary.

Making their way through streets thinning of people with the onset of evening, they stopped at a three-story inn. “Lucky Copper” proclaimed the sign swinging gently over the door. At the moment, Max would take all the luck he could get. After settling in, he gave specific instructions for the others to stay put then ducked out through the kitchen.

Skulking through the shadows, he navigated the streets crisscrossing his intended path several times then stopping to see if he was being followed. Standing in the deep shadows at the mouth of an alley, he waited a few minutes longer, looking for anyone in the street, before stepping up to the house he wanted. He rapped on the door, feeling exposed.

“Who is it!” replied a gruff voice from behind the door.

“No one of importance.”

“Then why do ya speak like someone who is?” snapped the voice.

“Please, good fellow, I only wish to chat.” Max grew irritated standing in the open street.

“Chattin’s for fools.”

“In the foolish lie our hopes,” Max replied.

The door opened a crack and the man behind the door glared at Max. “You would start quoting that mindless drivel ya old coot.”

Max looked up and down the street nervously, “You left me no choice. Now let me in before I draw attention you old fool.”

Eli opened the door enough for Max to step in and almost closed it on his cloak. The house was cast in shadows, a fire crackling in the hearth the only source of light.

“Don’t think it ain’t great seein’ ya an’ all, Max, but unlike you I like stayin’ hidden.”

“Sorry, old friend, I understand your fear, but I need a favor and you’re the only—”

“I risked my neck for ya sixteen years ago for no bloody apparent reason.” The whistle of a tea kettle over the fire caught Eli’s attention. “I ain’t interested in doin’ it again,” he said over his shoulder, fetching the kettle.

Eli was more temperamental than Max expected. Before the fall of Shaladon, he had been a fierce ally though he did have a flair for dramatics. The civil war after the fall had taken a grave toll on him. Guilds sided with different houses, wizards turned on wizards, and the Keep was torn apart like the country. Eli had helped create the fake sword and saved Max from a few accidents, but he fled when his favorite pupil attacked him. In the ensuing fight, Eli was forced to kill the student he had loved like a son. Max had visited him a few times over the years but Eli was a different man, broken and reclusive. Max felt a great loss.

“Eli, you seem perplexed. More so than normal.”

“Bloody right I’m perplexed. Things are going on! You don’t know half of it. Dragon sightings, Paladins amassing in Teslar like they know something and just yesterday two warlocks came through payin’ a visit to the local council. Asking questions.” Eli poured hot water into mugs a little too forcefully, sloshing water in the process. He grumbled and reached for a rag.

“Warlocks. You sure?” Max asked, taking a seat in one of the two chairs near the fire, thankful for the goose feathered padding after a long day’s ride.

Eli held up a palm-sized red stone, flat and oval. Max recognized the soul stone. It detected the resonance of a person’s soul. With the right skill, the stone could be tuned to a specific person, if you knew them, or to a more general trait such as the evil taint put off by those who served the Soulless One. Max knew of only three that survived the Warlock Wars.

“Of course I’m sure! That’s why I wasn’t there when the council answered their questions. I ducked out of the hall before they gained entrance. My bloody luck warlocks would show up on one of the few days I had to serve.”

Eli handed Max a mug then sat in his own chair. “No one else recognized them as such. They were posing as Paladins.” Eli took a sip of his tea.

Max caught the pause Eli tried to hide behind his tea. “What?”

Eli glanced at him annoyed. “Sterling was one of them.”

Max seethed inside. Sterling had been a classmate and then a counterpart in the Wizard Order but forever an adversary. Conniving and ruthless, Sterling had always manipulated people from behind the scenes using them to carry out his schemes. He had left the Keep when Max was selected First Wizard.

Max took a tea ball from the table and dipped it in his mug seeking calm. “What did he want?”

“First they asked if anyone had heard of black wolves with red eyes in these parts. Guess they lost a few nightstalkers.” Eli laughed hard and raspy. “Then they asked about a huge burst of power that happened three nights ago. No idea what it was, but it was big.”

Max bobbed his tea ball, mind reeling. Sterling was looking for the nightstalkers. They would not survive a fight against the nightstalkers and warlocks. The burst of power concerned Max. What if it had been a magichae trying to fend off a pack of nightstalkers? Could there be more than the pack behind them?

“Was it toward the Black Woods?” Max asked.

“Black Woods?” Eli’s eyes narrowed. “Naw, nothing but wraiths up there. This was east. Why?”

Max took the ball out and set it on the tray. “I need you to emulate a large amount of magic.”

“Are you insane?” Eli slapped his mug down on the table spilling tea again. “Now why would I go and do a fool thing like that?”

Max sipped his tea. There was no easy way to ask what he needed. “Because nightstalkers are chasing me.”

Eli snorted and picked his mug back up, grimacing at the mess he had made. “So the rumors are true. Not a good sign. Not at all.” He took a sip of his tea. “Any idea where the rift is? Can’t be Dalarhan.”

“No, no idea, but it isn’t Dalarhan.”

“Somebody’s gonna have to find it,” grumbled Eli.

Max raised an eyebrow, “You volunteering?”

Eli grunted. “Like I said, I like staying hidden.”

Max sighed. For a moment, he thought he saw a glimpse of his old friend. “I’m afraid our time of hiding is coming to an end, my friend.”

Eli stared into his tea. “Will it make a difference?” he said, almost too quiet for Max to hear.

Max wasn’t sure Eli intended for him to.

“Still, I suppose it won’t hurt to travel east a ways. Been planning to visit Ellis in Carlon.”

Max smiled, his old friend was in there, somewhere.

Eli looked up from his tea. “Why are they after you?”

Max recounted the events of the past ten days leaving Michael out of the story. He trusted Eli, but there was no need to divulge such information.

“So you want me to draw them away. Why don’t you go find Jonesy or Danforth? They’re the hero type. Or Kramer. Last I heard he was tired of hiding. I bet he’s itching to put his neck on the line for you again. You know that stunt never ended very well for the poor soul who had to do it during the Warlock wars.”

“None of them are here, Eli. Just you.” It was risky, but then again such was the life of a wizard. He hoped the nightstalkers would have to travel all the way to the next crossing, fifty miles away, but it was likely they would manage to find a way up the bank of the Aryn River instead. His cynical side fully expected to hear townsfolk talking about black wolves with red eyes in the morning. “I just need to delay them till I can reach the Black Woods.”

“Black Woods! You’re insane. You actually think you can make it to that cursed stronghold before the sun sets? It’s a suicide run, better to face the nightstalkers than trek into the Black Woods at night.”

“I don’t plan to go in at night, which is why I need the nightstalkers pulled far enough away they can’t reach us before sunrise. I do need one more thing in case the wraiths are in the stronghold. I need to borrow your soul stone.”

“What!? No way. Forget it.” Eli waved the red stone in front of Max emphatically. “This little gem’s one of the reasons I stay hidden so well. Hard to be found when you can avoid your enemy. Besides, detecting the wraiths ain’t exactly gonna be your problem.”

“It will keep them off my back,” Max replied calmly.

Eli snorted. There were many theories about what the soul stones could do, but most had never been tried in their lifetime, so no one knew how effective they were. This soul stone had been in Eli’s possession since fleeing Shaladon; he knew more about its uses than anyone. “You actually think you can shield yourself from the wraiths?”

“It’s a backup plan, but yes, I think I can. And if it doesn’t then I’ll retreat from the forest and end up fighting the nightstalkers after all.”

“Humph, pure madness. If you survive, when do I get it back?”

“I’ll leave it at Rhalmadia. You can pick it up at your leisure.”

Eli growled. “I hope your new Keeper is worth all this trouble.”

Max failed to hide his surprise.

Eli laughed. “Look on your face makes it almost worth giving up the stone for a while. Really, Max, you offend me. The only reason you’d be headed back to Shaladon is if you had a new Keeper in tow or you had a plan for finding him once you got there. Not sure how you’d pull off the finding, so I’m leaning toward you have him with you now. I’m amazed you managed to pull off that ruse with the fake sword. But I suppose that’s why you were First Wizard and I the lowly Crafter who walked in your shadow.”

Max smirked. “I don’t think you were ever lowly.”

His eyes lowered, the mirth leaving his face as he stared into his tea. Such a gamble he was playing. Such a desperate, last ditch effort.