Chapter 1 part 1

DARKWIND

Book 1


The Oracle and the Well


OUT OF THE FRYING PAN . . .
It started with a numbing cold. Awareness crept in and was slowly followed by a sense of self. Light burst forth and then color. The first sensation that Keeneye had was that he was falling.
Reflexively, he attempted to right himself. His left foot dragged heavily across the floor, almost spilling him face first; then at the last instant, he caught his balance.

He instinctively reached around to make sure his bow was still in place. Bows tended to swing about if unsecured, and often tripped a person up.

The next thing he did was to take a good look around. Just moments ago he had been walking down a cobblestone street enroute to a favorite tavern, a street he had come to know well. It was a place he had always felt comfortable. Then, just before a sinking darkness washed over him, a beggar had approached, mumbling some gibberish at him. Now, at least for the moment, as he checked his surroundings, he had to admit that he did not recognize a thing.

Keeneye Farslayer, or so that was the name he now answered to, grew up as an orphaned elf in the outskirts of the city of Abbarden, an elven city of the eastern world. He had been a comely youth with golden hair and pale skin. He had also been raised with the name of Caolin, the name given to him by his parents before their deaths.

As with all elves, he was rather slight in build. He had been passed around from one foster family to another as was the elven way with orphans. He had been a ward of the community.

At the rather young age of twelve, he had left Abbarden and stowed away in a wagoneer’s caravan and found his way to the coastal town of Far Reaches. And as was natural for youths without any parental guidance, he had learned the art of theft at an early age. He had gotten caught once or twice, but his youth and the pity that the people had taken on him had saved him from any serious punishments. Still, in order to keep repeat offenses from subjecting him to prison or worse, he found it advantageous to keep on the move whenever trouble closed in on him.

As the years passed, he moved on to larger settlements and eventually wound up in Jallen, a rather large multicultural city near the mouth of the river Splendasim. There he made his first mistake with serious consequences. He had tried to continue his career as a thief in the large city without the permission of the thieves’ guild. The underworld society had quickly picked up on his activities and their anger had been considerable. It was only some fast talking, the cost of everything he possessed, the potential he showed to the guild leaders and his reluctant initiation into the secretive guild that had kept him from embarking on a permanent tour of the river’s muddy bottom.

Thanks to the aid of his elven dexterity, he soon became very successful and well known within the thieves’ guild. His notoriety and his newfound respect for the rules raised him to a rather high rank within only a few years. He had become widely respected as far as thieves go and was well on his way to being considered for the lofty position of a guild leader, until the day he picked one pocket too many.

It had been on a crowded street in the late evening; the perfect time to cut a purse. And he would have succeeded had his mark not turned out to be a mage, a user of magic.

The mage had been disguised as an old man who had practically hung a sign around his neck saying, "Rob me." Naturally, it had been a trap, but Caolin had not been its target. As it was, the old man had turned out to be the archmage, Armegon, a well known and feared grandmaster sorcerer.

Armegon was without question the most powerful sorcerer in history. He, along with the elementalist, Ultrecht, were the defacto rulers of half the world. They held no rank of nobility nor political office, but king and emperor alike sought out their counsel and deferred to their advice.

Quite famous, the sorcerer had recently been the victim of a theft. It seemed a courier of his had been mugged and an irreplaceable lens had been stolen. The lens was vital to Armegon's research, and he meant to get it back. That was why he had personally been acting as bait, to catch the thief.

Although the sorcerer had been angry at Caolin, he was far more interested in the recovery of his stolen property. After some rather pointed questions he quickly concluded that he had captured the wrong quarry. Still, the archmage was not about to overlook the insult of being made a target of theft. More out of irritation than any other emotion, and since he was more interested in capturing a different thief, the one who had stolen his lens, the sorcerer decided to forgo immediate retribution. Instead, the sorcerer turned the young thief over to an associate, an enigmatic and reclusive character named Avery.

Something of a legend, Avery was a ranger, a wanderer and woodsman. It was often said that he knew the depths of the wild greater than nature itself. He was a master swordsman, wizard of some skill and was rumored to be able to speak with animals and heal the sick and injured. Avery was also an adamant believer in justice. He usually saw everything in terms of right and wrong with no shades of gray in between.

When Armegon had delivered Caolin to Avery, the ranger had viewed Caolin’s transgressions with some disdain, and was serious about administering some punishment. But in addition to being a deadly warrior, Avery was also fair, open minded and compassionate. He wanted to give the thief every chance to change his ways, even though Caolin’s past activities did not promise much in the way of reliability.

In the end they had made Caolin a fair proposition. In payment for his crime against Armegon, who he had wronged, he would spend three years of servitude or he would lose his hands as was the customary punishment for stealing. Needless to say, Caolin had chosen the former fate. Handless thieves had very little success.

Since that fateful day, the boy named Caolin had retired as a thief and under Avery’s tutelage had taken up archery. His skill matured rapidly and it was at that point the elven youth had shed the name of his childhood and former life and become Keeneye Farslayer.

Over the years, his skill with the bow had surpassed that of even his teacher, and after three years of servitude, he had prospered far more than he could ever have as a master thief. Even the thieves guild master would never have been able to achieved such success, for Armegon was a genius when it came to making money. So it was no surprise that after his servitude was completed, he elected to continue working for Armegon as a man at arms and agent for hire.

A regular companion of Armegon, Avery forbade Keeneye to practice theft in his presence and the ranger had the skills with a sword to enforce his wishes. Armegon, on the other hand was more lenient and practical. When Avery was not around, Keeneye, with Armegon's approval, still used his experience gained as a thief to work with traps and, when no one was looking, pick locks. Armegon’s opinion was that there was no sense in letting good talent go to waste.

Keeneye had taken to traveling with Armegon and Avery quite a bit. He could openly practice his stealth tactics with them so long as he did not try to steal. In addition to being a ranger, Avery was also a fairly skilled wizard and healer of no small ability, Keeneye had learned a great bit from both of them in addition to what he had learned as a thief.

Over the years that followed, Keeneye had been introduced to some of the world's most powerful people. This included the elementalist, Ultrecht, who had enchanted his bow for him in return for some services.

With his enchanted bow, past experience and elven abilities to help him, Keeneye had earned himself a place among some of the world's most highly respected persons. It was an uncanny destiny for the most unlikely and humblest of beginnings.

Keeneye took in his surroundings once again. There was a torch on the far wall providing light for him to see. He was in a small room about twenty feet across, and the only door was closed. The roof was forty feet high and, like the walls, made of stone, indicating that he was either in a large building or underground.

How he had gotten there was not evident, neither was the force that had abducted him from the street where he had been walking only moments ago. Apparently someone or something was toying with him and he did not like it. An itch in his nose and a flutter in his chest made him uncomfortable. Dealing with the unknown always made his heart race.

Taking a quick survey of his possessions, Keeneye walked over to the door, eying it suspiciously. In all his years, one hundred and fifty as near as he could remember, he had inspected many doors and locks. Most often as a thief, and there were some things one never forgot. Keeneye remembered one lesson most vividly. The most dangerous doors, he knew, were the ones that appeared ordinary and innocent, like this one. He had seen one of his fellow thieves lose a finger to a trapped door once. Such things tended to leave an impression.

The door was made of plain wood with no markings indicating prior use. There was no handle and no visible means of locking or securing it. The hinges on the right side indicated that it opened inwardly. Examining the floor, Keeneye saw some slight scratch marks. The door had no space beneath it for him to see through.

Finding no odd projections or cracks around the door's rim, Keeneye decided that it was probably not a trap. At least not on this side, he corrected himself. Such doors were meant to keep people inside the room, and a person so imprisoned would generally not have the means to escape, so why waste the effort to trap the door. Then again...

Walking around the room, he carefully checked the walls, roof and floor for any movement of air or unusual features that would signify a hidden doorway. Discovering none, he deduced that he was in a cell or some other prison type of holding room, which didn't make sense because he still had his bow, arrows and sword.

Enough was enough, he thought as he stepped back and unslung his bow. He could sit there all day and second guess why he was there, or he could take some action and get some answers. From the quiver of arrows he kept slung across one shoulder he carefully chose a special arrow with a thin cord attached to the rear. He checked the cord's attachment and fitted it to the drawstring. He pulled the string back and watched as the tiny pulleys at the top and bottom of the metallic bow turned to mechanically enhance his strength. When he was set, he sighted down the arrow's shaft and centered it on the left edge of the door. He released the arrow. The arrow struck the brittle stone wall about two feet to the right of where he had aimed sending stone chips flying in all directions.

Keeneye Deathslayer almost dropped his bow. He had missed. That was unheard of, he never missed, well, not by that much. Stunned, he examined his bow again eying the counterweights with scrutiny. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with it. Keeneye frowned and the itch in his nose flared. He resisted the urge to scratch.

Dazed, he strolled over to where his arrow lay after falling from the stone wall. It had gouged a decent chunk from the rock, but did not penetrate enough to stick. Amazingly, it was still in one piece. Picking it up, he inspected it closely. Surely it was curved, he thought, and he had just not noticed. To his surprise, a thorough study of the arrow failed to detect any significant flaws.
Rightly disturbed, Keeneye walked back to the other side of the room, coiled up the cord, refitted the arrow, pulled and fired. This time the arrow embedded itself in the door with an audible thunk. "Dead on target," he mumbled to himself.

Wiping his hand on the front of his blue-grey tunic he inspected his shot. It was perfect. He could not figure out what had happened the first time, so he shrugged and dismissed the whole incident as a fluke of nature.

Keeneye re-slung his bow and drew his sword. He paused to scratch his nose then wrapped the cord around his left hand and gave it a hard yank. He expected the door not to budge, an indication that it was locked from the outside. To his surprise, the door opened quite easily--too easily, he thought.

Beyond was a hallway running to either side of the door. Keeneye walked carefully up to the door and listened for any sign that his escape efforts had been detected. There were none.

Looking back at the open door, he observed that his arrow had gone almost completely through. Either the wood was rotten inside or the door was made of soft wood; hardly the proper material for a prison door.

His arrow, he decided, was lost. Even if he could get it out, he didn't want to wait around long enough to do so.

Gripping his sword in his left hand, he knelt at the doorway and blew a breath of air at the hallway floor in front of the door. There was no dust, but that was not all. Moving ever so slightly in the light breeze was a thin wire the same color as the stone floor. Keeneye sat back on his heels. A trap, he thought. No wonder the door had not been locked. Whoever had captured him had not really intended to keep him locked up. They had set the trap to either kill him or to test him.

On inspiration, he reached up and snapped his arrow shaft from the door. Removing the cord and stuffing the coil into his tunic, he tossed the shaft down the hall about five feet. The shaft fell to the floor producing a cloud of dust.

Correction, Keeneye smiled to himself. Two traps--the tripwire and probably a trap door. His captors were certainly thorough.

Carefully checking the rest of the doorway, Keeneye could find no evidence of any further traps. He decided not to trip the ones he had discovered because he had no idea as to what they did. It could be anything from poison darts to a silent alarm.

Grabbing hold of the door with one hand, he leaned through the doorway and inspected the walls to either side. They were rough and cracked, but they appeared clear of any traps.

Securing his bow and sword, Keeneye reached through the door and got a secure grip on the adjacent wall. When he was satisfied with his grip, he swung his body around and dug the tips of his leather boots into other similar cracks.

Inch by inch, the former thief moved out of the room along the wall. His fingertips ached with the effort, but he gritted his teeth and struggled on. Once outside, he paused just long enough to reach in and swing the door closed behind him.

Creeping down the hallway on the wall, it took him almost an hour to move out of sight of the door. The effort took its toll as his hands soon grew tired. Fortunately he encountered a stroke of luck. When he rounded a bend in the hallway, he came to an intersection. From the large number of footprints in the light dust, it was apparent that the passage was well traveled. Most likely, his own footprints would go unnoticed.

Keeneye dropped to the hallway and glanced behind him toward his cell. No one would know that he was gone, unless someone personally checked on him. Then, they would have to figure out how he got out without tripping their traps or leaving any tracks in the dust. It would buy him some time to get out. Then when he was back on his own turf, he could talk to Armegon about a little retributive action.

There was a torch on the wall about thirty feet down the hallway. Keeneye strode over to it as quietly as his possible. He didn't take the torch. Being an elf, his eyes didn't require much light. Instead, remembering what Avery had taught him, he studied it for a clue as to which direction the air was flowing. The chances were that moving air currents would indicate the location of a window or door that led outside. However, this particular torch was keeping its secrets to itself.

Getting no clues from the torch, Keeneye knelt down and studied the tracks for a few minutes. The tracks were human for the most part. They also seemed to occur in pairs. As if more than one person would walk by at the same time. Scanning around and finding no other clues, Keeneye decided that he would follow the tracks and see where they led. Drawing his sword again and checking his belongings, he started walking in a quiet, light-footed fashion.