Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) (31 page)

“Give her a gentle swat on the flanks and you shouldn’t need to do more. She knows the way.” With that, she leaned back, pulled her hat over her eyes and proceeded to nap.

Michael sat there slack-jawed for a moment. She and Max were far too much alike for his comfort. If the two of them were ever brought together the world might come to an end.

He clicked at Miss Nelly and gently slapped her flank with the reigns. Michael appreciated the landscape as they made their way to town. Any view other than the inside of Marla’s house was a nice change. The sunlight and fresh air seemed to energize his blood like the melting of a river after winter.

He had woken the day after Falon left, but Marla kept him in bed for another day. At first he had refused to stay in bed. Throwing the sheets aside, he had stepped out of bed defiantly and fell flat on his face. His legs were weak as a newborn fawn’s. Marla had laughed as she helped him back into the bed. His strength quickly returned though and by sunset he managed to walk into the main room (with a little help from the furniture).

As they approached Finery’s Way, Marla sat up without any signal from Michael that they were nearing town.

“Well, I see you managed to get us here.” Locking her eyes on him, her voice turned hard and serious. “One whiff of what you are and they’ll be on you like flies on a magpie. They don’t care who, what, or why when it comes to our kind. We all swing from the same gallows here, prince and pauper. Are we clear?” Her steely gaze held him.

Michael swallowed. “Quite. You sure I should be here?”

“Seekers left at sunrise to patrol the bridge at Lockhart. Won’t be back for days. Lucky for us they are predictable. Nighttime is when it’s dangerous to be in town. They prefer to catch their victims while they sleep. Besides, I need some items that require your shoulders.”

The sporadic farms gave way to houses butted against each other with narrow alleyways forking off from the main cobblestone road. Michael noted the craftsmanship and detail of the houses. Some were well built, beautiful in their simplicity. He appreciated a person confident enough in his craft to let the work speak for itself. Others were adorned with tacky trim and gimmicks to draw a person’s eye away from the poor craftsmanship. There were at least two carpenters in Finery’s Way; one was skilled and the other was not.

The houses gave way to an open square with a tall fountain in the center. It reminded Michael of Whitewater’s Forge with its shops neatly lining the street and their less formal outdoor counterparts on the other side of the square. His interest was piqued by the scaffolding around the town hall where masons were building the stone wall of the third floor. Miss Nelly stopped in front of a store without direction, jolting his attention back to the task at hand.

“See, I told you she knew the way,” Marla said with a satisfied chuckle. “Now, I’ll be a little while securing supplies. Do not wander far.” She eyed Michael closely, like a mother expecting mischief. “And don’t get into any trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

Satisfied she climbed down and stopped to scratch Miss Nelly behind the ears for a moment before proceeding inside the shop. Michael could not say for certain, but he believed she had been scanning the square.

The day had warmed up nicely. With Marla occupied Michael decided to stretch his legs. His walk started out innocent enough, walking past several shops, stopping at the fountain to study its design and detail, but eventually he found himself in front of the town hall. He could no more pass up a construction site without observing the work than he could stop breathing.

Two apprentices loaded stone onto a lift attached to a series of pulleys. Another apprentice worked the mule, raising the stone laden lift upward to the craftsmen. Hammers rang in short taps as four masons worked quickly to shape the stone and set them in the wall with mortar.

Michael admired their efficiency.

“Are you a mason?” A little girl asked, standing beside him.

“Me?” he replied, a little startled to find someone next to him. “Oh, uh, no. No, I’m not.” He gritted his teeth. How could he let someone get so close without knowing it? This was no place to drop his guard.

“My daddy’s a mason. Right there.” She pointed to a bearded man, strong and burly with dark brown hair and a booming voice. “He’s the best mason around,” she said proudly.

Michael suspected he was the foreman on the job.

“They’re building a new bell tower. The other one was destroyed by lightning last month. I heard it was done by magichae.” She said it like such an act was typical of magichae.

Michael felt surprised that someone so young could have such a warped view of people she had never met.

“Karen!” her father called from the scaffolding. “Come here girl!”

“I have to go now. It was nice to meet you.” She gave Michael a quick smile before running to her father.

Michael looked around the square at all the people going about their daily lives and his pity for the girl changed to annoyance. She was only repeating what she had been taught. If she felt so strongly, how did the adults feel? How could these people be so misguided? He wanted to jump on the nearby bench and announce himself, show them he was as normal as any of them. Such a foolish notion. Still, what would the little girl think if she knew? Thinking of revealing his identity made him wonder if any seekers were out there looking at him? Marla said they weren’t, but he felt exposed standing in the middle of the square.

A peddler selling apples from his cart in a shaded corner seemed like a good place to be at the moment. He purchased a green apple and sat down in the shade while he watched the masons work. A huge dog barking ferociously at a horse pulling a wagon caught his attention.

“You keep that bloody beast away from my horse, Carson!” an old man with scraggly white hair bellowed. He jumped down from his wagon—rather spryly for his old age—and struggled to calm his horse. A stout mare with white socks on her front legs, she whickered and jerked her head making it hard for the old man to grab her bridle. He finally managed to get her calmed down when the younger man, Carson, pulled his dog back.

“Aww, he’s just having some fun, Mr. Lugard,” Carson said. “Goliath wouldn’t do nuthin’ for real.” The boarhound sat on his haunches as Carson scratched him behind his ear.

“A little fun!” bellowed Mr. Lugard. “That boarhound pulls down wild animals for fun. Keep him away from my horse. He’s already spooked her twice. If you can’t keep him under control, I’ll see the council keeps you off the square!”

Mr. Lugard walked passed Carson.

Carson scowled at the man’s back and cuffed one of his friends for a comment the others laughed at.

The square quieted down to its normal din, but the horse continued to eye the boarhound nervously as the dog sat beside its master, tongue lolling out. A massive dog, this one sat with its head just above Carson’s waist. They were true to their name, well suited to hunting and bringing down large game. A well-trained boarhound could be a fine asset; good protection for the home, great around children, but an untrained boarhound was a problem for everyone around. Carson obviously did not take his dog’s training seriously.

Michael headed back toward Marla’s wagon, taking the last bite of his apple when he heard Carson frantically calling for Goliath. The boarhound was charging Mr. Lugard’s horse, his leather leash dragging the ground behind him. The horse bolted, pulling the unmanned wagon down the square with the boarhound nipping at her heels. Mr. Lugard screamed angrily, but everyone’s attention was on the runaway horse and wagon.

The boarhound forced the horse to turn the corner of the square causing the wagon to smash through several scaffolding legs. The scaffolding fell toward the young girl playing with other children in the square.

For Michael everything slowed to a crawl. He reached out with Air and yanked on the boarhound’s leash like he had grabbed it with his hand. The dog gave a yelp when the leash went taut and his whole body jerked to an abrupt stop. Michael threw his hands toward the scaffolding, stopping it in midair. Men clung to the railing, but large stones slid off, raining to the ground. The little girl lay frozen while the other children ran for safety. Michael deflected stones plummeting toward her then he pushed the scaffolding back against the building and melded it into the stone wall.

A moment later something hit Michael on the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. He spit dirt out of his mouth and rolled over. Carson and the other youth stood over him, the bright sun silhouetting them. Still dazed from the blow, Michael saw Carson rear his fist back then everything went black.

C
HAPTER
31

Blacksmith’s Puzzle

Michael’s head whipped around violently, jarring him awake. He spit blood, but his mouth quickly filled with more from his split lip.

The guard sneered, whipping blood from the back of his hand. “You bleed red, eh?” He actually looked surprised.

Michael tried to set the man’s pants on fire, but nothing happened. Fear struck a chord in him. He tried using Earth to break open the shackles holding him. Again nothing happened. He reached out more forcefully trying to pry the shackles open with Air. Michael grew frantic. Fire, Air, Earth, nothing responded to his call.

Visions of the wizard writhing in Falon’s hand flashed through his mind. Realization crashed in on him. The deep void he felt, like life was simply a minor act of existence, registered in his mind. Enraged, he threw himself at the guard, chains clinking as they went taught.

The guard laughed raucously and walked out the cell, slamming the iron door behind him.

Michael wailed, sorrowful cries echoing down the halls. He pulled at his chains like a trapped animal until exhaustion set in. Sliding to the floor, his head slumped forward and he closed his eyes. What did any of it matter any longer?

A sliver of light in his eyes woke him. He looked up, finding the light source was a small crack in the wall. Not really a crack so much as a space between two bricks where someone had chiseled the mortar away. How long had he been asleep?

The void in him gnawed at his psyche. He pushed it down. Strange how something he did not know existed within him six weeks ago was now as much a part of him as his limbs. More, actually, his limbs he could live without.

He may have little reason left to live, but the Creator take him if he was going to let these zealots have his life. Focusing on getting free seemed to make the void diminish. At least it gave him purpose.

He inspected the shackles then ran his fingers along each link of the chains searching for defects. Halfway through the inspection he began to sense the earthen properties of the chain. As quick as the sense came it disappeared.

Michael blinked. Did he really sense the ore in the chain or just imagine it? He tried to use Earth to delve the chain, seeking out the microscopic properties of the iron. Nothing happened. Michael gritted his teeth. Only his imagination. He continued inspecting each link of chain for breaks he might be able to pry open, using his fingers as much as his eyes.

Again, he sensed the properties of the ore, more vividly this time. He could actually see the pits and channels within the iron links. His heart beat faster. Some part of his power remained. Trying to dig deeper, seeking a weakness he could exploit, his powers disappeared again like a wisp of smoke.

Through trial and error he discovered he had to use the gentlest touch when delving, like making delicate wood carvings. He also found he could not delve very deeply, but even the smallest part of his powers gave him hope. He quickly finished inspecting his chains and the square stones in the wall they were attached to. Everything was solid. At least to his physical ability. He would not be able to break the chains no matter how much he railed against them.

Delving the collar around his neck, he made a startling discovery. It was a product of Crafting. A magical device created to inhibit the powers of the wearer used by magic hating zealots. Michael might have laughed at the irony had it not been around his own neck.

Made from tiny, intertwining rings like chain mail, the wide collar felt cool against his skin. No matter how Michael tried to manipulate it, the collar would not come off. The clasp was smooth and had no release.

Using the tiny amount of Earth he could wield, Michael methodically traced the rings in his mind searching for anything he might exploit. Buried in the alternating pattern of gold and silver rings, he found a spherical shaped object made from six arches. Two more rings that intersected one another rested within the sphere. Strange, the design added nothing to the collar structurally. It looked like a blacksmith’s puzzle.

Jon, the blacksmith back home, was popular for the puzzles he created. Some so intricate no one could solve them except for him. One time Maggie Sanderson had gotten so fed up with one puzzle she exclaimed, “You have to be a magichae to solve it!” Everyone around her gasped and Jon had looked mortified as if she had cursed him.

Michael wondered what the townsfolk back home would think of him now. Would they despise him like the people in Finery’s Way? Certainly not! The folks in Whitewater’s Forge might dislike magic, but nothing close to hatred. Crafted objects were prized in Timmaron, especially the master blades. Michael snorted, realizing the irony. Crafted objects were prized, but no one wanted to be the Crafter.

A metal clink at the cell door grabbed his attention. The guard from earlier swaggered in followed by a younger guard close to Michael’s age. The look in their eyes promised trouble.

“Aw, he doesn’t look so scary to me,” the younger guard said.

“You’re just sayin’ that cause he got th’ collar on,” the first guard replied.

“No, I’m not. He looks normal. He’s no ten footer. That’s what I’m saying.”

The older guard laughed. “You still believe the stories your mum told ya? Magichae don’t grow ten foot.”

“Yes they do. Well, they can. If they want. It’s their magic that does it. Lenny told me about a magichae that grew—”