Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) by Mark Shane Read Free Book Online Page B

Maridon. Massive, full of rapids and lined with steep cliffs, the Whitewater River formed the border between Timmaron and Maridon. The garrisons at Whitewater’s Forge, Glokstein, and Blackstone protected the only three places along the border where an army could cross.
    Stren met them as they passed under the portcullis of the arched entry and rushed them to the infirmary. As Max entered the room, he felt magic, strange and faint, like week-old tracks, but there nonetheless. He looked at Falon; her eyes said she felt it too. She is powerful. The magic seemed to emanate from the four men lying unconscious on cots.
    He greeted General Baldwin and the garrison doctor who gave Max a stiff nod as he pulled a sheet over the face of one of the men. Max understood the man’s annoyance, but military doctors were trained to patch up battle wounds, a far different matter than dealing with the illnesses Max was often called to deal with. Besides, there were three men in dire need. Not the time for the man’s ego to interfere.
    “What happened?” he asked, bending down to inspect one of the soldiers.
    “Not sure, to tell you the truth,” General Baldwin replied. “When they arrived, that one,” Baldwin pointed toward the dead man, “was draped over his saddle, unconscious.” Their sergeant, Belfor, mumbled about wolves. How or why wolves could do this, I don’t know.”
    “What makes you say that? Wolves have attacked armed men before,” Max replied, eyes never leaving his patient and his frown growing deeper as he examined the man’s wounds.
    “Yes, when rabid or starving in the dead of winter, but have wolves ever attacked three squads?” Max looked over his shoulder at Baldwin. “Twenty-four men left Tallijor, these four are all that arrived. Twenty-four armed soldiers reduced to this by wolves?”
    “And the severity of their injuries is alarming,” the doctor added, wrapping a soldier’s arm with bandages. “They must have been massive animals.”
    The deep claw marks and puncture wounds were bad, but the fetid taint of magic accompanying the wounds raised the hair on Max’s neck. The man burned with fever, hot to the touch. The next soldier, the one the doctor was tending to, was no better. His wounds were not as severe, yet his skin burned as badly and the taint was still strong.
    Max moved to Belfor, examining him quickly, finding his wounds were superficial and his fever minor. His armor was family owned and much better quality than the other men’s standard military issue. Wealthy families maintained their own armor for protection and craftsmanship as much as for status. That luxury spared Belfor.
    Max pulled a vial from his pouch and waved it under Belfor’s nose, causing him to gasp for clean air and bolt upright. His eyes went wide with fear, searching the room for danger.
    “Relax, son, you’re at the garrison in Whitewater’s Forge,” Max said, pushing the man to lie back down. Touching Belfor’s temple, Max released a flow of Spirit into him. He seldom used magic with others present, but he needed the man lucid, and only Falon could tell what he had done. To the others, it seemed he simply calmed the man with a skilled touch. Even Belfor, too groggy at the time, would not be able to connect what he felt to magic. As Belfor’s eyes focused and the fear faded, Max began to feed him a magic-laced honey cake to fend off the fever and mend his wounds.
    “Now tell me, son, what happened?”
    Belfor swallowed the first bite hungrily and spoke. “We were attacked by wolves, but...they weren’t...normal. They had eyes that...that...they glowed blood red.”
    Max grabbed him by the shoulders. “Were they black?”
    Belfor did not answer; his eyes were distant, seeing something in his mind’s eye. Fear gripped him.
    Max spoke sternly like an officer speaking to a subordinate, “Sergeant! Tell me, were they black as night?”
    Belfor nodded his head. “They laughed,” he licked his lips