David Keck - In the Eye of Heaven

Praise for In the Eye of Heaven

"The world and its cultures that Keck unveils in In the Eye of Heaven are brutal and raw, and t hrough it all the reader senses a fierce authenticity, a depth of knowledge in the author assur ing that every detail, every nuance, is precisely as it should be. This novel marks the debut of a n exceptional series, revealing the mythical depth and resonance possible within the genre of fantasya rare feat these days."

Steven Erikson

"In David Keek's new fantasy, the gritty reality of medieval warfare is all the more believ able against the backdrop of an Otherworld whose magic is roo ted in folklore. Caught between them, the hero wins our sympathy."Diana L. Paxson

"A very intelligent book, with a hero who starts out as raw and physical as the world in which he finds himself but who proves able to use his mind to get out of the situations his body's got ten him into."David Drake

"Is it too early to label a writer visionary based only on a debut novel? Not when that novel's as impressive as In the Eye of Heaven ... This novel marks the arrival of a genuine new talent in the field." Quill & Quire

"A work of laudable ambition and a promising debut" Locus

IN THE EYE OF

HEAVEN

David Keck

TOR

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

IN THE EYE OF HEAVEN

Copyright 2006 by David Keck

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

Map by David Cain

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC 175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010

Tor is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN-13: 978-0-765-35169-2 ISBN-10: 0-765-35169-2

First Edition: April 2006

First Mass Market Edition: March 2007

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

TO MY PARENTS, ElLEEN AND TONY, AND MY WIFE, ANNE, FOR THEIR FAITH AND SUPPORT. I HAVE BEEN VERY LUCKY.

Acknowledgments

First, I must acknowledge the support of friends in education like Carol Braun, Carmen Friesen, Chris Friesen, Leanne Braun, and many others over the years. As a student and as a teacher, I've met some of the best people I've ever known in schools. I also owe a great deal to writers and friends like Steve Lundin, Dennis Valdron, Ian Ross, and Darren Lodge who have shown quiet faith in my work over the years. On the professional side, my agent, Howard Morhaim, and editor, Patrick Nielsen Hayden, deserve credit for taking a chance on a new voice. Last, I offer my gratitude to every poor fool I ever dragged up a castle or around a ring of old stones. To all of you, and many more, I am grateful.

In the fifth year of Ragnal's reign on the Hazelwood Throne.

In the Year of the Sundering of the Heithan March.

In the two hundred and fifty-ninth year after the Fall of the Burning City.

IN THE E YE OF HEAVEN

l.Th e Path of Knots

Tr aveler's Night was coming on, and the horses were uneasy. It was almost as if they knew the numbering of days. Durand scratched the back of his neck, peering through drizzle and branches.

He was meant to be riding home, guiding his lord up familiar tracks, but now he couldn't see for trees, and every breath of wind had the old forest alive with a sound like whispers. In an hour, it would be dark, and they would be caught on the road. On Traveler's Night, no one slept outdoors. Sir Kieren joked, "If I had known your father lived so far up in these wilds, I would have said, 'No reason to climb the forests of Gireth for your father's handouts, we'll have you knighted in the clothes you're wearing.' It isn't fine linen that makes a knight, after all. Now, I begin to wonder. In these wilds, a baron will have a house? Walls? Will he have a roof? Lad, if it's a bear's den, I won't think any worse of youso long as I know."

Durand glanced back. They called old Kieren "the Fox" and he looked the part: A small-boned man, he sported silver-tipped red mustaches that made him look as if a pair of the creatures had just jumped up his nostrils. It had been Sir Kieren's idea to make the journey, and, from the glint in the man's eye, Durand judged that the Fox knew how lost they were. "He's not quite a bear, Sir Kieren," Durand said. "And this village? Your inheritance? I would like to see little Gravenholm, I think. And meet this poor old Osseric

whose grief gets you your fiefdom. The man whose son was lost upon the waves. Who lives alone in his forest hall knowing that his lord's obdurate youngest boy will have every stone of it one day."

"Not this time, Sir Kieren." Durand meant to give Graven-holm a wide berth and head straight for his father's stronghold.

The tracks he'd chosen would lead them leagues from Gravenholm.

"I knew you had come down from the wilds," Kieren was saying, "but now I wonder what sort ofHost of Heaven!"

As his master swore, Durand's head crashed into the branches. Brag, his big bay hunter, screamed and pawed the air so that only a wrestler's grip kept Durand in the saddle. He fought the maddened animal for a look at what had spooked it and caught a glimpse of a pair of yellow eyes flashing up from the track. Then Brag was rearing, and it was all Durand could do to hang on.

After a moment, he found a better grip and took a look. Something had appeared between Brag's hooves: a pup, mottled leaf red and iron gray, and he could see the little fellow looking up with those yellow eyes, shrinking against the earth as hooves chopped down around it.

"Come on, Brag," Durand said. "Come on. Calm now." And, though Brag was no warhorse, the steady pressure of Durand's voice calmed the hunter enough that he could step back.

The pup shivered against the clammy track and looked up as Durand smeared bark and grit from his face. Suddenly he was not so sure the beast was a dog after all. He turned to say: "You know"

And the monster must have stepped out just then, for Durand found the Fox's face stiff and pale, his blue eyes fixed on something.

Slowly, Durand turned back.

Gray and more massive than a man, a wolf flowed into the track only a few paces away. Never had Durand seen such a beast at close quarters. In the wastelands, a wolf was a sob on the wind and a winter thief of children, not a thing a man blundered across. Now, the brute's corpse-candle eyes caught Durand. Lost, and leagues from any village, he could not look awaylost things were what this monster hunted. Beyond the glowing eyes rose a rumble deeper than dungeon chains.

While Durand and his masterboth armed mensat frozen, the wolf cub rolled to its outsized paws and nuzzled at the monster. The tiny creature paid no heed to the long spines of the brute's hackles. The wolf lowered its leering head. For a moment, black lips touched the pup's muzzle, gentle as a kiss.

"God, it's" Durand beganhe was ready to confess surprise. He was ready to say he'd been wrong about wolves. But then the wolf's jaws sprang wide, swallowing the pup.

Durand said, "Hells!"

The word caught the beast's ear.

It stared, and blood welled between its yellow teeth. For a long moment, the wolf held Durand in its gaze, then it tossed its head back and gulped the cracking bones.

Impossible.

Durand wrenched the sword from his gear. The wolf watched.

Bulges moved against the walls of its belly, kicking and pawing more slowly and more slowly.