Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (45 page)

“Jerrod will get us out,” Max said, pulling back a large wall tapestry depicting a wintry forest scene to reveal a servant's corridor. “The trick,” Max continued, as he stepped into the narrow corridor behind the others and let the thick hanging fall back into place, “will be getting to the dungeons.”

“Why?” Garen asked darkly.

“The entrance leading down to the dungeons is in the anteroom to the great hall.”

Garen stopped short, causing Dalan and Darela to almost run over him. “Near the armory? You seriously plan on us fighting our way into the dungeons! Stupid fool of a wizard. How are we supposed to get out?!”

“We don’t,” Max replied, calm but stern. “We either find Jerrod or this is a one-way trip.”

Max led them back the way Garen had come and stopped at a rectangle alcove with the left side cut away to serve as a concealed servant’s entrance. Garen followed him into the anteroom, a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows ten feet overhead. A grand entrance in front of them led to the great hall while similar entrances led east and west down the main corridors to the wizard’s keep and the king’s suite. Garen realized the armory was on the other side of the grand hall, but it was little comfort as a squad of guards strode into the grand hall from the far side and spotted them.

“Halt in the name of the king!” their leader yelled.

Garen and Max looked at each other then at the corridor leading down to the dungeons.

“Nothing is ever easy,” Garen growled.

“I’ve got this,” Max replied. He raised his hands and the squad leader and four men close to him flew backwards, toppling the rest of the squad.

Another group of men charged in from the left corridor. Garen cut the first man down and Darela made quick work of the second with his dual blades.

Dalan topped them both. Fast as his namesake he moved between two men, slashing one guard in the thigh while ducking the other guard’s strike. He stabbed the second guard, leaving the sword in the man’s body as he used both hands on his other sword to deliver a killing blow to the first guard. Pulling the sword from the second guard, both men fell in a heap.

Like floodgates had opened, men poured into the anteroom from three directions.

“Fun’s over,” Max said, “Time to go.”

Garen cut down a guard standing between them and the dungeon entrance. Looking back, he marveled at the power Max wielded. Flames flew from the wizard’s left hand, searing three men that rushed him. Extending his right hand palm up, Max clenched his fist closed and the ceiling of the east corridor caved in crushing a band of men. Slashing the air with both hands, two more men fell, blood spewing from wounds created by blades of Air. Twin pillars of blue fire formed, barring the entrance to the grand hall staving off the main charge of guards.

Garen’s heart skipped a beat. The stripling from the front gate appeared in the chaos, those feral eyes trained on Max. Everything slowed for Garen. The stripling slipped past Dalan as the Seran’tu dispatched a guard. Max howled. Garen’s blade flashed, severing the stripling’s arm. Dalan’s blade took the man in the ribs an instant later.

Garen caught Max by the arm as the wizard’s legs buckled. “They’re gone,” he said weakly. Garen had never seen eyes contain such sorrow. “My powers...they’re gone.”

The pillar of fire blocking the great hall snuffed out.

Dalan looked at Darela. “Now, Darela, or we all die.”

A mixture of disgust and resignation contorted Darela’s face as guards charged into the anteroom.

“Get down,” Dalan said, diving on top of Garen and Max, trying to shield them. “Cover your ears! Cover your ears!”

Darela faced the mass of charging men, arms open wide as if to embrace them all, then he brought his hands together.

The sound was deafening, the effect devastating; bodies and stone rent by a wall of sound and pressure. With his hands tightly clasped over his ears, Garen heard the thunderous sound and knew it would be the same amidst the mightiest storm clouds in the sky.

Again, Darela brought his hands together in a mighty clap and the west corridor ceiling collapsed, bodies thrown back and crushed against the wall or under falling debris. Garen pressed his hands tighter over his ears trying to shield them better from the sound.

Darela’s face contorted painfully and he slammed both hands into the ground sending a swell of Earth, destroying the great hall entrance and collapsing the two giant statues on each side. Darela stood slowly, his face a pained picture of sadness and loathing. He took a step toward them and collapsed.

Garen sat there dumbfounded for a moment. Amazement quickly gave way to anger. How many times could such power have saved them? Michael and Falon would still be alive. Why had Darela kept it secret till now?

Dalan pulled his brother to his feet, shouldering his weight, dragging him towards the dungeon door jabbering in his native tongue. Darela seemed like a rag doll, barely conscious. Garen’s anger subsided when he caught enough to understand Dalan was pleading with the Creator for his brother’s life.

“Go, leave me here,” Max said when Garen pulled him to his feet.

“Nonsense,” Garen replied. “You’re still alive.”

“To what end?”

Garen’s anger flared anew. “Don’t give up on me now, old man,” he said, leading Max to the dungeon entrance. “You got me into this bloody mess. You’re gonna get me out, powers or not.”

A few paces into the dungeon passage the path became stairs winding downward into darkness. Garen pulled a lamp from its sconce and handed it to Max then nodded toward the stairs. His bloody plan, his bloody land, let him lead the way.

Max’s face tightened as he garnered as much determination as he could muster. Taking the lamp, he started down the stairs. Garen got under Darela’s other shoulder and they followed Max into the bowels of the fortress.

The corridor ended at a stout wood door with metal supports across it and a barred window. A ring of keys hung on a peg near the door. Garen peeked through the window straining to see if any guards were inside. A lone torch hung on the far wall, darkness pressing in on it. There was no way to tell how large the room was much less if any guards lay inside.

Max unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room contained cells on both sides, more like alcoves with bars. A few held poor wretches, filthy and haggard. One feebly acknowledged them, but the others shrank back to the darkest corners of their cells. Max lit the lamps he came across as they walked to the end of the room where another wood door with metal bars greeted them. The next room was a hallway lined with wooden doors, each with small barred windows in them.

“Jerrod,” Max called weakly. He cleared his throat and said the name louder. Silence answered.

Garen unshouldered Darela, the warrior’s weight shifting to Dalan, and followed Max down the corridor.

“Jerrod,” Max called, walking down the corridor.

A laugh bordering on madness emanated from the cell on their left. Max shone the lamp into the barred window. Haunting eyes stared back.

“Jerrod Millhorn,” Max said loudly, “are you in here?”

“Aye,” said a voice three cells down. “Who wants to know?”

Hard eyes greeted them from behind the bars then melted to surprise as he recognized Max.

“Bless me, the Creator has heard my prayers,” Jerrod said.

Garen fumbled with the keys on the ring.

“Never mind the keys lad,” Jerrod said, “get rid of the amulet.” He pointed at a medallion hanging from the sconce beside the door. “Take it out of the room and I can get myself out.”

Garen pulled the amulet from the sconce and tossed it across the room to Dalan. When he turned back around Jerrod stood beside him, causing him to jump back.

Garen looked at Jerrod and Max, both rather amused by the little stunt.

Max embraced Jerrod in a fatherly hug. “Where’s the amulet’s shroud?”

“Still in the First’s study I suspect,” Jerrod replied. “These morons were only interested in using the amulet to keep us confined. Didn’t care about shrouding its ability.”

Jerrod looked at Garen and pointed at the cell doors on the right. “Mind opening a few doors for me lad?”

“My name’s Garen.”

“And a fine name it tis,” Jerrod replied with a toothy grin.

“I need you to get the shroud,” Max said.

“Aye,” Jerrod replied, opening a cell, embracing the young man who stepped out. “Told you, Morgan, the Creator would send someone. Just have to keep your faith.”

The young man looked down. “I will, Master Jerrod.” His face shot up, full of determination. “From now on, I will.”

Garen almost had the prison key in the lock of a cell door when the door and lock disintegrated into dust. An older man with more grey than brown hair stepped out. The man looked at his hand satisfied and wiggled his fingers.

“That felt good,” he said to himself. Noticing Garen looking at him he extended his hand. “Cryer.”

Garen couldn’t help but glance at the pile of dust that had been the door.

Cryer smiled. “Only works on cell doors.”

Feeling stupid for hesitating, Garen clasped Cryer’s hand. He had been around Max and Michael all his life. Why be jumpy around other magichae?

Cryer tugged on his hand, pulling their faces closer together, his face becoming dead serious. “And people who want to put me behind cell doors,” Cryer added.

Garen pulled his hand back like it had been bitten by a snake.

“Cryer! Ya ol’ coot,” Jerrod scolded, with a smile. “Don’t go scaring our rescuers.”

Cryer smiled widely and turned another cell door to dust releasing a man and woman who both hugged him.

“Thought I told you to stay low,” Max said to Jerrod.

“I did,” Jerrod replied, giving the amulet a nasty glance as he walked past Dalan and into the larger dungeon. “Just a lowly cobbler. Till Morgan went missing. A few questions later”—he thumbed the air over his shoulder in the direction of the smaller cell room—”and I ended up in the cell next to him.”

“So what did they want with you?” Max asked.

“Not sure, but anyone they came for never returned.”

Garen took the amulet from Dalan, turning it over in his hands. Slightly smaller than his palm, it was a perfect circle of gold with a purple gem set in the middle and inscriptions written around the edge in a foreign language. “This will nullify Aleister’s magic? Make him normal?”

“Yes,” Max replied.

Garen looked at the amulet thoughtfully. “A level playing field,” he mused.

“Not sure how level it will be,” Jerrod said. “Aleister is rumored to be one of the best swordsmen in Shaladon.”

“We’ll see,” Garen replied.

The sound of laughter, eerie and evil, echoed into the room.

Garen froze. Did he truly hear it? The fear on Max’s face confirmed his thought an instant before three sets of red eyes appeared at the dungeon entrance. The nightstalkers stopped at the edge of the lamplight, snarling. Their black coats absorbed the light, making their white teeth glimmer in the unnatural darkness.

Garen drew his sword. “I am so tired of these bloody beasts!”

Jerrod snatched the amulet from Garen’s hand and flung it behind them, clanging as it hit the stone floor and slid into the smaller cell room.

“Hey!” Garen uttered as the air around Jerrod shimmered and he vanished. He reappeared amongst the nightstalkers, Dalan and Darela’s twin knives flashing in his hands, stabbing two of the beasts in the ribs. He vanished and reappeared behind the third beast, driving both blades into its hindquarters. The air shimmered around Jerrod and he disappeared again. The first two nightstalkers charged him when he reappeared twenty feet away, their hellish laughter sending chills down Garen’s spine. Jerrod held his hands out in front of him and the air turned blurry. One stalker darted to the side, but Jerrod was quicker, expanding the portal and swallowing both nightstalkers. Jerrod clenched his fists and the portal collapsed upon itself, taking the nightstalkers with it. Vanishing again, Jerrod reappeared beside the remaining nightstalker, knives still protruding from its hindquarters. He swept his hands outward, another portal expanding in pace with his movement. Sharper than a sword, the portal sliced the beast in half before it knew the danger.

Garen stared at the man slack-jawed.

“Well, that explains a few things,” Max said.

“Master Xan’thorne, these are nightstalkers.” Jerrod shuddered, stepping away from the black beast.

“And that means the rift is here,” Max said.

“Here?” Garen exclaimed. “This is the source?”

“Yes,” Max replied. “Now, Jerrod, could you please acquire the shroud before more beasts arrive. We have one more task to accomplish before we save the world.”

C
HAPTER
50

To Have Meaning

Garen and Cryer opened cells on the left side of the room while they waited for Jerrod to return. Peter and Tara, the husband and wife magichae who had been imprisoned next to Cryer, coaxed a young woman out of a cell on the right. Covered in grime, the woman’s haggardness became accentuated when her eyes turned wild as they managed to get her to step out of the cell. Tara hugged her partially to comfort her and partially to keep her from darting back into the cell.

Dalan sat praying in his native tongue beside Darela, who lay motionless on the floor.

“Can I heal him?” Morgan asked quietly, eyes darting away from Dalan as if he were ready to bolt if the man stood up.

“What?” Dalan replied, eyes blinking, noticing Morgan for the first time.

Morgan ran his fingers through his sandy hair and licked his lips. “I...I think I can heal him.”

Max stepped closer, longing on his face.

Dalan looked between Max and Morgan for a moment then nodded his consent.

Morgan knelt down beside Darela, taking the warrior’s head in his hands, and closed his eyes. Delving Darela for injuries, he sucked in air, shocked, face turning grave. “How can his body survive such trauma?”

“Can you heal him,” Dalan asked, almost pleading.