Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

same concept to me months ago. Sounded crazy back then, but now—well, it still sounds crazy—but Michael, you and my dad share the same talent! You absolutely belong in the military.”
    Michael growled. “Garen, I’m a carpenter! That’s all I care to be! I build houses, I build furniture, things people need. That’s what makes me whole. That’s what makes me content. I have no desire to run off and fight battles for a king I’ll never meet.” He pointed at Garen. “You want to gallivant across the country in search of glory be my guest.” He thumbed at his chest. “I’m not interested!”
    Michael realized he was close to shouting and clapped his mouth shut, slightly embarrassed. Garen’s smirk did not help either. “Besides,” he added, regaining his composure, “a hammer feels better in my hand than a sword.”
    Garen’s face lit up. “You’ve never held a Master’s blade. I have. Dad let me hold Hothfyre.”
    It meant ‘Heaven’s fire’ in the old, ceremonial language. A long, single-edged blade slightly curved with a chiseled tip. It was a product of Crafting, metal melded with magic. Close to indestructible, Hothfyre could penetrate the strongest armor with ease, yet never lose its edge. Ironically, the most famous attribute was the blade’s red hue.
    In the last century, less than fifty such swords had been made in Timmaron and each crafted specifically to enhance the traits of the wielder. A man with brute strength became stronger, agile wrists quicker, a tactician more cunning. The skill, leadership, and valor required to earn a master’s blade was the substance of legends.
    Jensen Baldwin, Garen’s father, became one such legend for his role in the Sarlon War. After the war, the king promoted him to general, but, to everyone's surprise, he insisted on taking charge of the southern border garrisons—Whitewater’s Forge, Glokstein, and Blackstone. Other generals scoffed at the idea, and the king was reluctant. Baldwin cared little what other men thought and whatever reasons he laid out to the king proved sufficient. Under his command, the garrisons became the posts soldiers requested most frequently despite being far removed from the citadel in Tallijor. Once a place soldiers were sent to for career ending infractions, the southern border garrisons were now the premier training grounds.
    “It felt better than any sword I’ve held; the balance, the grip, the edge!” Garen looked at his practice sword, realizing he held it up as if it had transformed into the legendary blade and let it fall to his side. “We could earn our blades together, side by side. I bet they’d start working on yours the day you signed up.”
    “I doubt it. I’m just a carpenter, Garen. Besides, I’ve held your father’s sword.” The shocked expression on Garen’s face was priceless. “And I don’t think it has an equal, but it didn’t feel right in my hands. It didn’t have the feel a hammer does. It didn’t feel...” he paused, searching for the word to describe what he felt, “It didn’t feel complete.”
    Hothfyre was the most amazing blade he had ever held. His movements had been so precise, so fast, as if the blade could read his thoughts. He had felt a strange connection to the sword, like something within it called to him, but he had no desire for battle and glory. That was Garen’s path. His calling lay in serving others and for that the hammer fit best.
    “When did you hold my father’s sword?”
    Michael grinned. “You’re not the only one to try and persuade me to join.”
    “You’re telling me my dad let you hold Hothfyre as an attempt to recruit you?”
    “Hold it?” Michael laughed. “He let me spar him with it.”
    “My dad let you spar him with Hothfyre?” Garen asked, incredulous. “What did he use, a stick?”
    “No, he used his other sword.” Michael chuckled as his friend almost choked from what he heard.
    “And let me guess. You beat him, right?”
    “No, it