Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (30 page)

The moon peeked through gaps in the swift moving clouds causing shadows to shift. Michael and Falon ran across the open field, feeling exposed, eyes set on the tree line in the distance. The underground would only help at night and they were going to be hard pressed to get there before daybreak.

Michael glanced at Falon, admiring her athleticism. The moonlight glinted off the coin necklace bouncing against her chest. Marla had given Falon the mate to the coin he had, stating they were meant to be together. Michael had a sneaky suspicion Marla wasn’t talking about the coins.

Once they arrived at the crossing, they would use their lantern to signal the people across the river, three short flashes and two long. Those on the Alarus side would respond with four short flashes to which they would have to respond with three quick flashes. Anything different and those on the other side would simply disappear into the night.

A frightening howl pierced the quiet. Michael and Falon stopped dead and looked at each, the whites of their eyes clear in the moonlight.

“I thought we killed them all,” Falon said, looking into the night.

Michael licked his lips. “There were two left when we jumped to Rhalmadia. I can’t believe they found us.”

Another hellish howl broke the silence, closer, from the north. Michael pointed at a copse of trees a hundred paces away. “Run,” he said pushing Falon toward the trees.

Falon needed no urging. She bolted, dropping her pack as she ran. Another howl, even closer, spurred them on.

“Red eyes!” she said, looking over her shoulder, past Michael.

Michael saw them too. “Keep running,” he yelled.

Falon tripped, but managed to regain her balance as she stumbled to the first tree and began climbing.

Michael stopped ten paces from the trees, drawing his sword. Red eyes charged at him in the night. A fireball formed in his hand, but a massive shape crashed into him from the side. He screamed as teeth pierced his arm, sword falling away. The second nightstalker, eyes burning with blood red hate, glared at him, jaws locked on his arm. Michael grabbed its snout, squeezing hard, trying to force it to release him. Snarling, the beast let go of his arm and went for his neck. Another large shape slammed into the nightstalker and the two bodies rolled away from Michael.

The wolf clamped its jaws around the nightstalker’s neck, then whipped its head to the side with a crunching sound and the nightstalker went limp. Michael lay there amazed.

The second nightstalker lunged at the wolf, the two hitting the ground in a mass of fur. They came up on their feet, facing one another, fangs barred, guttural snarls filling the air. The nightstalker lunged, but the wolf sidestepped and snapped at its neck. They walked a circle, facing off, measuring each other.

“Feel free to help,” Michael heard a voice say in his mind.

The nightstalker lunged again. This time the wolf met the attack head on, their bodies slamming into one another. Raised on their hind legs, each tried to catch the other’s neck.

Michael’s head spun, he felt like vomiting, but he knew he had to help. Grabbing his sword in his good hand, he charged the nightstalker. He wielded Earth and the ground reached up enveloping the nightstalker’s hind legs.

The wolf capitalized on the distraction, clamping down on the monster’s neck with a crunching sound the same time Michael ran his sword through its ribs. With a sharp whipping of its head, the wolf ripped the nightstalker’s throat out and the nightmarish beast fell to the ground twitching.

Michael staggered for a moment, a new wave of queasiness flowing over him and his skin felt like it was on fire. Everything began to go black. He felt the hard impact of the ground and vaguely saw Falon running to him. Fumbling at his belt pouch, fingers not wanting to work properly, he managed to pull a vial from his pouch. The last thing he remembered was how bitter the liquid tasted.

***

“Michael,” Falon yelled, shaking him. It was no use; Michael did not stir. She checked the wound on his arm and recoiled like she had been burned. She shook him again, frantically calling his name, tears streaming down her face.

“We don’t have much time,” the wolf said.

Dumbstruck for a moment she sat there staring at the wolf.

“We have to get him back to the sorceress,” the wolf said, ignoring her shocked look.

“How can I understand you?” Falon asked, finally regaining her voice.

“Because I wish for you to,” the wolf replied matter of fact. “Now take his sword and cut two limbs for a litter, quickly.”

“Here, take this coin to Marla,” Falon said, unclasping the coin necklace. “She can bring her wagon. I’ll make a litter and set off as fast as I can.”

“I don’t plan to leave you. We can share the task of pulling him.”

“Fetch Marla and we’ll get him to her faster.”

The wolf’s lips curled in a silent snarl. “I do not fetch,” he said emphatically, eyes radiating indignation.

Her cheeks colored. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“Indeed.” The wolf’s eyes fixed on hers for a moment. “Keep him safe and we shall meet you halfway.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.

***

Marla woke with a start; she had heard something. She heard the scratching again, at the door. Creeping to the window, she peered out. Darkness greeted her. Wait. Did she see something move? Opening the door cautiously, she found the silver coin medallion she had given Falon. Marla looked around but saw no one. She could sense something close by, though. A presence of power but it was different from anything she had ever felt before; visceral and wild, yet there was a sliver of something familiar to it as well.

The moon glinted off the silver coin, beckoning her attention. It pointed east in the direction of the crossing. She grabbed it from the porch and dashed into her room. Dressing quickly, she ran out the door still buttoning her cloak. Miss Nelly nickered as Marla led her out of her stable, not pleased to be roused. She snorted loudly, ears twitching as Marla hitched the wagon to her.

“Relax, girl,” Marla said. She looked into the darkness. The presence of power was there in the shadows then it was gone.

She climbed into the seat and took the reins. The full moon would let them travel faster. She hoped it would be fast enough.

***

“Heal him,” Falon said, frantic. “Please.”

Marla had found her barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Only sheer will kept her moving. She fell asleep beside Michael on the way back to Marla’s house.

“To do so will require a great deal,” Marla replied.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Falon replied stubbornly as she brushed Michael’s hair where it had fallen down over his forehead. His skin was so hot to the touch despite the cold water he was immersed in.

“Even if it requires a great deal from you?” Marla said.

“Me?” Falon replied. She had nothing to offer. She could not save him when he was attacked, what could she do now?

Marla watched her intently. “Do you love him?”

Falon looked at Marla, fire in her eyes. Why did she have to ask such intimate questions? “What does it matter?” Falon said, turning back to Michael, unable to meet Marla’s gaze any longer. “I’m a stripling, he’s a magichae.” Her words burned like acid, bitter with regret and anger.

“It matters greatly, child.” Marla leaned close and enunciated each word. “Now, do you love him?”

“Yes,” she replied in a whisper.

“Such healing requires a price. Are you willing to pay—”

“How dare you talk to me about money!”

“Money means nothing,” Marla snapped back. “There are far greater things than money and far greater prices to be paid. The mandard potion he drank keeps him alive, but the only way for me to heal him is through you. The only hope he has is the strength of your love for him. Are you willing to die for him?”

Falon straightened his hair. He lay so still, hair soaked with sweat. Various scenes of them talking and laughing played through her head. The time he caused her to fall into the river seemed like such a wonderful memory now. She thought of the moment she realized he did not fear her, the moment he proved how much he cared.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“If I can heal him, and you don’t die in the process, there will come a time when I’ll ask something of you. I don’t know when, I don’t know where, but when I come you must heed my request. Do we have a pact?” Marla’s voice was firm, her gaze steel.

“I’ll give you anything, agree to anything. Please, just heal him,” Falon pleaded.

Marla nodded, accepting Falon’s pledge. She poured a bluish powder into the tub. It floated on the surface, casting a faint glow on Michael.

“Take his wound in both your hands and do not let go. If you let go, all will be for nothing. No matter what happens, no matter what you feel, do not lose your grip on his wound.”

Falon could only manage to nod as she placed her hands over the bite on his arm. It felt like her palms were going to be seared off. Marla touched her shoulder a brief moment then withdrew her hand. Falon screamed to the ceiling as pain shot through her body.

The powder erupted into blue flames enveloping Michael. Somehow they did not burn him.

He jerked violently, but Falon held firm to his wound. The flames licked at her hands, hot one moment, cold the next. Another wave of pain shot through her body as Marla used her as a conduit to pull the evil taint from him.

Falon shut her eyes tightly, diving deep inside herself, to the safe haven of her mind with walls as impenetrable as any castle’s. It was the place she had built when Aleister trained her, the place she fled when guilt over striping magichae threatened to overwhelm her. She was aware of the pain, aware of the flames and the white hot wound, but it was all dim and far away. There she saw the glowing orb again. She reached for it, but it floated away like a leaf in water. She faintly felt another wave of Marla’s magic flow through her like lightning in a storm. She grabbed at the orb, more forcefully, desperately, like catching it would save Michael, but it flowed away from her hand. Attempt after attempt she tried to catch the orb as the pain of Marla’s healing shot through her body. It was like trying to catch a butterfly in a raging storm. She had a hand on each side of the orb, closing in on it when something jerked her out of her mind.

“What ..., what happened?” She asked.

“We healed him, my dear. We healed him.” Marla’s face looked ashen and her voice weak. She stumbled from the room and Falon heard the creak of a chair before falling asleep, head resting against the tub.

***

“When will he recover?” It was not the first time Falon had asked. She had grown restless over the last two days. Michael had not woken, but at least his skin was cool to the touch and his breathing normal.

“Hard to say with such an injury, could be tomorrow, could be next week.”

Falon wrung her hands. She knew the others must be in Lockhart by now. She wanted to stay with Michael, but she worried the others might enter Valan looking for them. Max might be wise and he might prove to be a challenge for any Seeker, but even the best could be caught unaware. She paced the room, wrestling with her decision.

“He’ll be fine, dear. You should find your friends. It would not do for any of them to meet a Seeker unaware.”

Falon had not mentioned other magichae being in their group, but she had stopped wondering how Marla pieced so much together. In fact, she had given few answers when Marla asked why nightstalkers attacked them. She didn’t even seem rattled by the revelation that nightstalkers were loose. Falon got the sense Marla knew far more than she let on.

“Go, dear, find your friends. When Michael is well, I’ll send him to the crossing. Your medallion will let you know when he is on the move and you can help him cross the Kisenar.”

Falon looked from her to Michael, torn. What if he woke shortly after she left? What if he was fit to travel in a day? She chewed on her lower lip having the same debate she had had with herself for two days.

“Besides,’ Marla added, “If you wind yourself up anymore I’m going to kick you out of my house! You’re bad for the patient! You need something to do. Go! Find your friends and tell them what happened. You’re not helping anyone sitting here.”

Falon glared at her for a moment, wanting to tell her exactly what was bad, but Marla was right. Another hour of waiting and Falon would be fit to be tied. She grabbed her pack and Marla walked outside with her.

“Follow the road through town and hitch a ride if you can. Better yet buy a horse. The road is decent most of the way. You should make good time.”

Falon gave the house one last look then set off northward. She hoped Max and Jorgen had joined Garen by now. She would find them and then she would burn all of Valan to get Michael out. She would kill every Seeker team she met along the way if she had to. Anyone who stood in her way would learn why she was the greatest assassin in the Rang Shalan.

C
HAPTER
30

The Mason’s Daughter

The cool morning air pebbled Michael’s skin with goose bumps when he stepped out the door. He squinted and shielded his eyes. They had grown accustomed to the dimness of Marla’s house and the sun hit them with all its early morning brilliance. He managed the single step of her porch with little grace as his eyes adjusted to the sun’s cruel light.

“I’m fine,” he said, noticing Marla’s concerned look, “it’s just bright out here.”

She nodded, satisfied with his answer, and proceeded to retrieve Miss Nelly from her pen. The brown mare frisked as she approached. A solid and dependable horse, Michael assessed, but approaching the time to be let out to pasture indefinitely. Michael hitched Miss Nelly to the wagon as Marla climbed into the wagon. It felt good to have his hands on wood and metal again. “Idle hands make for a poor carpenter,” his father always said. With Miss Nelly hitched and ready, Michael climbed into the seat next to Marla. He looked at her surprised when she handed him the reigns.