Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (33 page)

“Let all here know the wicked shall be found!” the mayor bellow.

Stupid windbag! Keep talking.

The beads! They rolled the width of the disc so they only rolled when he flipped the disc. There were two sets of pins! Of course, one set on each side of the disc and the beads prevented the bottom set from releasing when he spun the disc.

Michael spun the disc again.

“The wicked shall be punished!” the mayor roared.

Carefully, Michael turned the disc over and spun it again.

The crowd cheered, adding their own comments about the wicked.

The disc pieces fell apart.

I’ll show you punishment,
Michael thought.

“In the name of the Creator,” the mayor proclaimed.

A howl pierced the air.

***

The hangman flinched at the sound and everyone looked around. Another howl reverberated off the buildings. Visions of nightstalkers flashed through Garen’s mind then he remembered it was midday. He had no idea what prompted a wolf to howl at this moment, but the distraction gave him the time he needed. Garen changed targets, held his breath and loosed.

His first arrow took the hangman in the eye. He pulled a second from his quiver, nocking and drawing to cheek. Looking down the arrow shaft at the noose, he thought he could actually see the fibers of the rope.

So focused on the target he did not notice the blue glow emanating over his shoulder.

“Don’t move Michael.”

“Pull the lever!” someone shouted. “Pull it now.”

Garen loosed the arrow.

The mayor dove for the lever.

***

Michael felt something hit the wood floor with a thud and the crowd burst into pandemonium. He raced through the mail rings of the collar seeking the clasp.

The locks emerged in his mind. Before he could reach them, the floor gave way beneath him. Michael felt the noose cinch tight around his neck and then he hit the ground hard, tumbling in the dust. He ignored the sharp constricting pain at his Adam’s apple, only the locks mattered. Slamming the puzzle piece into the lock, the collar sprang open and a surge of power flooded through his veins.

The noose and cords binding his wrists turned to ash. He pulled the smoldering hood off his head, rage thundering through him, coalescing with the torrent of power surging through his body.

The hangman’s platform looming above him exploded into splinters as he vented his anger. People ran screaming, flying shards of debris cutting many down like flying knives. He shot fireballs into the town hall, the unfinished bell tower disintegrating in a shower of rubble and flame.

“The wicked shall be found!” Michael roared.

The ground swelled, rising and falling waves of earth, throwing people around like rag dolls. The fountain exploded into rubble, water flowing over his boots.

“Let me show you punishment!” Michael released another volley of fireballs destroying store fronts.
Let it burn, let it all burn.

He faintly heard someone yell his name. A flicker of recognition sparked in the back of his mind. He released another pair of fireballs, destroying the front of the town inn.

“Michael! Stop it,” Garen yelled, grabbing his outstretched hand.

Michael let Garen lower his hand, unsure his friend was actually there. The lion pommel of the Sword peeking over Garen’s shoulder brought him to his senses. Did the Eye have a hint of blue?

“They’re not worth it,” Garen said.

Looking around the square with new eyes, the anger and adrenaline drained out of Michael. His eyes fell on the little girl he had saved, sobbing next to her father who lay motionless on the ground. What did she think of him now?

“What have I done?” he said.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Garen replied, steering him toward the alley where his horse waited. “Most anyone would have done the same thing.”

“Would they?”

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Garen said, pulling on Michael’s arm to get him moving. “Grab a horse and let’s go.”

Michael stopped at the edge of the square, taking one last look at the small girl and the carnage he had created. Perhaps these people were right. Perhaps magic shouldn’t be wielded by man.

Garen pulled him past the burning ruins of a corner shop, pushed him onto a horse and slapped the animal, sending him off at a trot. As they rode out of town, toward freedom, Michael felt far from free.

***

“Made a mess of things, you did!” Marla snapped, as they approached her house.

Michael recoiled like she had slapped him.

“The border will be sealed before you get there, best to head south and try your chances elsewhere.”

“What about the Underground?” Michael asked. “Won’t they help us?”

“The Underground! You think the Underground is going to risk its entire existence for one rogue magichae?”

“What was I supposed to do, let them hang me?” Michael shot back, angry more with himself for losing control than Marla for berating him. He deserved it.

“No, but you took out half the town square! They will not let that slide. You stirred up a hornet’s nest! As we speak, the people in Finery’s Way are recovering. Soon there will be carrier pigeons flying in all directions with word of what you did. The word will spread like wildfire. There won’t be a town that doesn’t have posters of you three days from now. The border will be watched. Your best bet is to ride south as fast as you can, maybe outrun the message.”

“What about you?” Michael asked, noticing Miss Nelly was saddled.

“Don’t you worry none about me. I’ve been hiding under their noses for fifteen years. They’re not about to catch me now. Worry about yourself. Go south, cross at Roqmar if possible, or Larrington if you have to go farther. But don’t ride along the border; they’ll be expecting that. Best stay half a day away till you’re ready to cross. Scope out the town at night and see if it’s clear. Disguise yourself best you can and hide your powers if you can manage it.”

Michael looked down at the ground.

“Watch for Seekers, they won’t be sitting in the open. Probably best to cross at first light and hope any around are still in their bed. If you do get across, don’t think you’re safe in Alarus. Plenty of people over there are more than happy to collect the bounty. Your very last option is to abandon your horses and swim across the river. Won’t take them long to find you on foot. And for the love of the Creator don’t do something foolish like blast your way through an Alarus border town. Then you’ll have two countries chasing you.”

She glared at them both until she was satisfied they understood her. “Now get out of here.”

She launched three fireballs into her house, then two more at the thatched roof. “Stupid rogue wizard! Set my house on fire! Like the town square wasn’t enough. Now I have to run for my life before he gets me too!”

Michael smiled as she swung into her saddle. A tough old woman; she would be fine. Of that, he was certain.

“You waiting for them to catch up? Get going!” she snapped, spurring Miss Nelly northwest.

C
HAPTER
34

Directions

Falon passed under the portcullis of Lockhart rattled. She had sensed three magichae on her trek from Finery’s Way. The first had taken her by surprise. Lost in her thoughts, senses dulled by the monotony of the road, the familiar sensation of a magichae nearby did not register till she noticed a man and woman working on their wagon beside the road. The man bent over working on the wagon wheel, but she noticed his eyes were set on her, watching. The woman licked her lips nervously for some reason, refusing to look in her direction. Realization struck Falon like a fist. Anger quickened her pace. She gripped the knife under her cloak until a bend in the road hid the Seeker team behind the trees.

Awareness allowed her to sense the next team before they came into sight. Two men posing as trappers sat back in the trees, appearing to be resting, but she could feel their eyes on her.

As she approached the bridge, she sensed a rather strong magichae. Looking around, her eyes passed over the two beggars at the foot of the bridge before she realized they were a Seeker team. Rage made her skin prickle. No magichae stood a chance of crossing the bridge. She was a breath away from killing them both as she rode past. It would be easy, she had killed plenty. At least these two would be for something. The magichae stretched out his grubby hand begging for money. She lingered for a moment, teetering on action. She played it out in her mind; grasping the magichae’s hand, stripping him of his powers. A flick of her other hand and the stripling would lay on the ground with a knife in his neck. It would be over in an instant, quiet and efficient; just as Aleister had trained her. What better use for her skills?

The blue orb formed in her head for an instant, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but enough to take her mind off the Seeker team and subdue her thoughts. What was the orb? What did it mean? She continued to fume as she crossed the arching bridge to the open gate of Lockhart.

The guards paid her only a quick, cursory glance as she passed them. They seemed more interested in her chestnut mare. Would they have treated her the same if the beggars had reacted to her? Marla said magichae had been caught on the bridge mere paces from the gates. She shuddered. What would have happened if she and Michael had traipsed up to Lockhart unaware?

She walked the stone-paved streets, the afternoon throng of people parting for her horse while trying to complete their work and return to homes. Or taverns.

Inquiring about inns garnered her several different suggestions; the Red Eagle was the best, the Stag had the nicest beds, the Swan had the best ale (it was owned by a local brewer). Five inns total. Finding Garen and Max might prove more difficult than she had feared. The Stag lay closest so off she went.

By sunset, she had been to three inns and now stood below the wooden sign bearing a red eagle gripping a mug in one talon and the red striped banner of Alarus in the other. Hopefully, the Red Eagle lived up to its reputation as the best inn because she was tired and very much wanted a bed.

The innkeeper smiled at her from behind the bar as he set two frothy tankards in front of patrons. The half-full tavern had a fire burning invitingly in the hearth. She seated herself in a booth near the fire, thankful for the warmth. A serving maid approached her shortly and she soon had a steaming bowl of stew and a tankard of ale before her. The serving maid had procured a room for her as well.

An hour after arriving Falon slid into a nice bed, not close to what she had grown up with, but nicer than the hard earth she had slept on lately. She checked the medallion, the eagle still pointing the same direction it had for the last two days, and then tucked it back under her shirt as she stifled a yawn. Sleep took her in minutes.

She woke with a start the next morning, light growing in the room as the sun peeked over the rooftops. Her sleep had been restless, filled with different versions of confronting Seekers. Sometimes Michael was with her, sometimes Garen, sometimes slaying them alone with her bare hands. Always she destroyed the magichae completely, not only stripped his magic but destroying his body in her rage.

Moving to the washstand, she splashed water on her face, hoping to wash the images away. She ate a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon before trudging into the city to find Garen or Max. Her heart yearned to see a familiar face.

Midday came and went without any sign of them though. She had visited the Whispering Willow and managed to learn a man fitting Garen’s description had stayed there but left days ago. She feared he had gone into Valan. Dejected, she returned to the Red Eagle and sat at a table near the fire.

“Is this seat taken?”

Falon had been lost in her thoughts, staring into the flames, her dinner untouched. She looked up at the person speaking to her, eyes blinking unknowingly for a few moments before her mind registered Max standing before her. Her heart jumped with elation as she hugged him tightly.

“Now, now, dear, don’t cause a scene,” Max chided, prompting her to take a seat.

“Where is Jorgen?” she asked.

“In the city. We split up to search the inns quicker. No doubt he will be along shortly. We agreed to meet here at the Red Eagle at sunset. Where are Michael and Garen?”

Falon recounted everything that had happened since Jorgen sent them ahead. Max’s eyebrows rose when she mentioned the dragon and his jaw dropped when she told him Michael threw the Sword. He mumbled something about throwing Michael that she did not entirely catch and from the dark look on his face she had no desire for him to repeat it. His face grew red when she told him about the Seeker team and how she had been forced to use her power. Marla piqued his curiosity, but any questions he was going to ask were forgotten when Falon mentioned the attack by the remaining nightstalkers. She glanced around nervously as Max went on a less than silent tirade, chastising himself for leaving them to roam free. She stifled him by telling him about the wolf saving them and Michael being healed by Marla. He looked at her suspiciously, causing her to shift in her chair.

“You sure the nightstalkers did not nip you too?” he asked.

“I don’t know how it’s possible either, but if the wolf hadn’t been there we’d both be dead. And he did speak to me. The Creator does things in whatever way He chooses. Just be thankful He chose to help.”

Any comment by Max was brooked as Jorgen tossed a piece of parchment on the table and sat down in a foul mood. Max glared at the parchment then dropped it back on the table, his lips twisted by a look of disgust.

Falon’s eyes widened. It was a wanted poster with a drawing of Michael’s face on it.

“Posters started going up a little while ago,” Jorgen said. “They must have every scribe and artist in the ministry at work.”

“What happened?” Max growled.