The Keeper Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by JA Andrews

  Two Roven children stepped up to him, delivering more piles of flatbread and fish. During the day, all the children of the clan had romped along the side of the caravan doing as they pleased, but now that the camp was settling, those old enough were busy hurrying about just like the slaves, helping the clan settle down.

  “What was it like,” Will asked Sora, “growing up with the Morrow?”

  She looked away and took a bite of fish.

  “You won’t get any information from Sora,” Killien said, sitting across the fire and reaching for the basket of fish. “She’s angry tonight.”

  Sora didn’t acknowledge the Torch.

  “Are there some nights she’s not?” Will asked.

  That she acknowledged with a glare.

  “She’s especially angry tonight because I didn’t send her out with the latest scouting party.”

  “What’s the point of sending out a scouting party when none of them can scout?” Sora asked.

  “They’re all rangers,” Killien said mildly.

  “They all wear ranger leathers,” she corrected him. “Not one of them could track a black sheep in a field of snow.”

  “See?” Killien said. “She’s angry.”

  Sora went back to scowling at her fish.

  “I didn’t know there was an alternative,” Will said, feeling a grim, if childish, satisfaction at her annoyance. “This is how she talks to me all the time.”

  Hal reached for the basket of food. “She can’t answer your question anyway. Sora didn’t grow up in the Morrow. She’s from a mountain tribe.”

  “Really?” Will turned back to her, several things clicking into place. “Of course, your eyes are green.”

  Sora looked at him with a stony face. “Your beard is stupid.”

  Will’s hand went to his beard. “What?”

  “I thought we were stating obvious things.”

  Will waved away her comments. “I’ve never met anyone from the mountain tribes. You live in the Hoarfrost Range year round, don’t you? How? In the winter the mountains are so…”

  “Cold?” offered Hal.

  “Yes, cold. How do you stay warm?”

  She gave him an exasperated look but didn’t answer.

  “Alright, we’ll play the ‘I make up your answer’ game again,” Will said. “You live in huge communal buildings and keep fires burning all the time?”

  “Yes.” She graced him with a flat look. “Because everyone knows the Hoarfrost Range is full of huge communal buildings.”

  “Good point.” Will’s mind skipped to other ideas. “Do you build houses out of snow?”

  “Good guess, storyman,” Hal broke in with a wide grin. “That’s how we met Sora. Killien and I were in the Hoarfrost hunting when a blizzard rolled in. We thought we were going to freeze to death.” He gestured at Sora. “Until, thank the black queen, an angel appeared.”

  Sora raised an eyebrow.

  “She bossed us into helping her make a snow hut, then crawled inside.”

  Killien smiled and even the corner of Sora’s lips rose slightly.

  “We didn’t know what else to do, so we followed her. When she learned that we were hunting a snow cat, she looked at us.” He nodded to Will. “With that angry, scary look.”

  “I’m familiar with that one,” Will said.

  “Then she left.”

  Will laughed. “She left?”

  Hal nodded. “Wasn’t even gone long enough for us to decide whether she’d deserted us, when she came back, dragging…a dead snow cat.”

  Will turned to Sora. “You hunted it that fast?”

  Sora started to shake her head, but Hal nodded. “That’s when we knew she had creepy magic.”

  “You do?” Will asked.

  Sora let out a long suffering sigh. “I didn’t use magic. I hunted it with a bow and a knife. It was dead before I found these idiots.”

  “So she claims,” Hal finished.

  Will cast out toward Sora, but there was nothing unusual about her vitalle. If she could do magic, she wasn’t doing anything right now. Not that she’d have a reason to. He opened up to her as well, assuming he’d still feel nothing. But here, sitting with people she was comfortable around, she had relaxed slightly. Her emotions were still muted, but he found hints of both amusement and irritation. He closed himself off to her, wondering if she ever relaxed enough to let her emotions be fully felt. “So the mountain clans live in ice houses?”

  “Caves!” Sora said in exasperation, “Caves large enough to house a village. Wide and clean with crystal clear streams. Rooms. Chimneys. Walls that glitter with silver and gems.”

  Will stared at her in amazement. “Really?” He glanced at Killien who grinned openly, then turned back to Sora. The mountain tribes lived in caves? Like dwarves? “How big are they?” His mind toyed with the idea, turning it slowly around. “Will you take me there?” The Keepers knew next to nothing about the mountain clans. “You can tell me the tales of your people. Has anyone ever written them down? I’ll make you a book of them!”

  “Sora’s the one you’d want to write stories about,” Killien said.

  Sora dropped her bread, her eyes thin slits of green, and stood up. “I’m not your personal guide, storyman. I have no desire to travel anywhere with you, and I wouldn’t subject my people to your…” Her eyes searched his face for a long moment before she gestured at him.

  “My what?” Will demanded.

  “Your everything.”

  Will hadn’t even realized he’d opened up toward her until he felt her deep, pulsing anger bloom in his chest. Jaw clenched, she turned and walked off into the darkness. Will took a breath, clearing her anger away until all he felt was the now familiar knot of worry that was all his own. He glanced at the Torch and saw nothing but amusement.

  Hal’s eyes glinted in the firelight and his teeth shone white through his beard. “She’s definitely starting to like you, storyman.”

  Will let out a laugh that sounded weak even to his own ears. “It seems that way.” He glanced at Hal. “Can she really do magic?”

  Hal shook his head. “It’s just uncanny how good she is at tracking. And it’s fun to say because it makes her so mad.”

  “Never mind Sora,” Killien said. “It’s time for you to earn your keep, storyman. Tell us a tale.”

  “Something about dwarves,” Hal added.

  “Shut up, Hal.” Killien glanced toward where Sora had disappeared. “Do you know any about angry women?”

  Will ran through the tales he knew from Gulfind and Coastal Baylon. No angry women jumped out at him.

  “What about Keeper Chesavia from Queensland?” Killien’s eyes were bright. “I haven’t heard the entire tale, but from what I know, she was angry.”

  Will shifted, giving himself a moment. Chesavia was very angry. But it was going to be tricky to tell that story without showing how well he knew the Keepers.

  “Have you visited Queensland a lot?” Hal asked.

  Will nodded. “I’d venture to say I’ve visited every country you’ve ever heard of.”

  Killien raised an eyebrow. “Have you crossed the Roven Sweep west to the land of the white rocks?”

  “No.” Past the westernmost Roven cities the grassland turned to desert and continued for days, lifeless and barren. “Have you ever met anyone who has?” Will asked.

  “Legend says once a wizard crossed the desert on a dragon.”

  “Well, if I ever have access to a dragon,” Will said, “I’d consider it.”

  “If I had a dragon,” Hal said, “I’d make it hunt for me. And cook.”

  “If I had a dragon,” Killien said, “I would destroy my enemies quickly and utterly. I’d destroy all those who keep the Roven weak and divided. Then I would kill all the Keepers in Queensland so the Roven could take back that land with barely a fight.”

  Will kept his face mild like a disinterested storyman from Gulfind. “Give me a little warning first. I’d love to learn more
of their stories before you wipe them out.”

  A bleak smile twisted the edge of Killien’s mouth. “Agreed.”

  “One of the times I was in Queensland, I visited the queen’s court.”

  Both Hal and Killien looked impressed.

  “The night I was there, a Keeper told the story of Chesavia.” This was also true. The first time he’d gone to court, Will had arrived just in time for a feast and Alaric’s storytelling. “She lived years ago and had battled a water demon. By the end of the tale, Chesavia’s angry. I’ll warn you, though, it’s not a happy story.”

  “Most tales with angry women aren’t.” Killien laughed.

  “You can remember the story, after hearing it only once?” Hal asked.

  “I don’t have many skills in life,” Will said. “I can’t fight, I can’t make anything.” I’m fairly weak at magic and I’m not great at translating old runes, he added silently. “But I can remember every story I’ve ever heard, or ever read.”

  Hal raised his eyebrow. “Every one?”

  “If I’ve only heard it once, or if it was poorly told, I have to work a bit to remember it. This story was told by a Keeper. You may not be fond of them, but they are excellent storytellers.”

  The small fire in front of them flickered, tossed about by the wind. Will looked into it, considering how well he should tell the story. “The tale becomes interesting the day her childhood friend arrived at the palace, wounded and begging to see her.”

  Will fell into the story, minimizing the way he spoke of Keeper magic. Killien watched him closely, seemingly hungry for more of the tale, and at the end, he thanked Will and looked into the fire for a long time.

  “Do you know more tales about Keepers?” Killien asked.

  Will glanced at him, then looked into the fire too. He knew every story of every Keeper recorded in the Stronghold. Dozens of which he had rewritten himself, combining different tellings into complete tales. “A few.”

  “I want to hear them,” Killien said. “As many as you can remember.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun disappeared over the horizon, and the sky pulled the last lingering light up into itself, turning the Sweep into a puddle of darkness. Will tried twice to walk among the wagons where Lilit and Ilsa were, but both times rangers efficiently directed him away. The second time was barely civil. Whatever orders Killien had given them regarding the foreign storyman, Will doubted it would keep him safe if they decided he was paying too much attention to the Torch’s wife.

  Killien offered Will a place to sleep in one of his wagons along with a pile of blankets. Between a bundle of fabric for a pillow, and wool blankets from the Torch, he had a reasonably comfortable place to sleep.

  At least at first. The ever-present wind sent swirls of cold night air jostling around him. His emotions were just as blustery.

  First there was Ilsa. All day he’d strained to see her near Lilit’s wagon, but in vain.

  Then there was Killien. On the one hand, he was more civilized than Will had ever expected. Even his slaves could read. But he had slaves, ripped from their homes and brought here. The truth of that was so stark he felt furious and sick at the same time. And just in case Will ever started feeling too comfortable, there was Killien’s hatred of Keepers to keep things interesting.

  Finally there was Lukas's warning. Was Will fooling himself thinking he’d be free to leave?

  Just above the Scales, the sinuous trail of black emptiness rose. A cold darkness crept into Will’s chest at the sight of the snake. The Serpent Queen kept drawing his eye back to her utter blackness. As though she were drawing in the whole world. She’d moved halfway across the sky before he fell asleep.

  The caravan rumbled to a start as soon as the grasslands were visible. Will walked, trying to work the aches out of his muscles. He stayed close to Shadow, using the horse to block the relentless wind. It wasn’t terribly strong this morning, but the constant pushing of it was tiresome. He kept his eye on the covered wagons trailing behind Killien, wondering which one held Ilsa.

  He’d remembered a story of a woman who’d rescued her sister from the Naponese blood doctors. She’d disguised herself as one of the servants who disposed of the dead bodies and carted her sister out with the corpses. But unless he and Ilsa could camouflage themselves as a hill of grass, it was unlikely any disguise was going to help them.

  Not long after dawn, a noise behind him made Will turn sharply. There was Sora, walking behind him, leading her own horse.

  “Is there a reason you’re sneaking up on me?” he demanded, his heart racing.

  Her eyes took him in, narrowed, and she drew her lips into her usual tight line. “You seem nervous.”

  He ignored that and took a calming breath. He really shouldn’t try to irritate this woman. She was too close to Killien. And now that she was here, he felt the slightest sense of relief. Like he’d been waiting for her without realizing it.

  “Does Killien want me?” he asked, hoping he’d be saved from the boredom of walking.

  She shook her head. “He’s busy.”

  She came up next to him anyway, wearing the same hunting leathers she had since he’d met her, well-used and plain. Where her arms had been bare yesterday, she now wore a blue wool shirt under her leathers, her shoulders shielded by a flap of chainmail, her wrists covered in thick leather bracers. Her braid lay heavy on her back, catching the sunlight in strands of bright copper. The entire Morrow Clan stretched out around them, but as he walked with her, the two horses blocking out the world around them, it felt almost like they were alone. She didn’t seem as annoyed today, so he risked some conversation.

  “How long have you been with the Morrow?”

  She gave him a long, searching look, as though weighing whether the question was safe to answer. “Almost three years.”

  A twinge of sympathy caught him off guard. He was exhausted after only one year in the Sweep. “That’s a long time.”

  She turned her gaze back forward. “Not to the Morrow.”

  “Do they…” He paused, trying to find words for his questions. “Are you still a foreigner to them? Or do they see you for who you actually are?"

  Her face tightened a little but she didn’t answer him.

  “They don’t see me either,” he said.

  Silence stretched out between them. It felt like camaraderie at first. Until the chill of her silence crept in and turned it into just a new form of isolation. Will spun his ring on his finger.

  “Why are you here, Sora?”

  “I don’t trust you.” She sounded more thoughtful than hostile.

  “The Torch trusts me.”

  “He doesn’t trust anyone.”

  That was unsettling. “Hal likes me.”

  She fixed him with her inscrutable look. “I don’t trust you, storyman. And I intend to keep an eye on you.”

  “Well, anytime you feel the need to walk with me, please do. You’re far from the most pleasant person I’ve ever met, but you are opinionated. And that’s entertaining.”

  Sora stopped and put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him and turning him toward her with one motion. Will’s heart lurched as she stepped right up to him. She stood almost as tall as him, her eyes sharp and cold.

  “I’m watching you all the time.” Her hand weighed like stone on his shoulder. She was so close to him he could see the stark green of her eyes, the dark copper lashes. Will was sure she could feel his heart pounding.

  “Are you waiting for a goodbye kiss?” Will whispered.

  Her eyes went flat and she dropped her hand. With a withering look she mounted her horse and disappeared into the crowd. Will stood for a moment, letting out his breath, still feeling the weight of her hand on his shoulder.

  Will sat on the back of the book wagon and stared dully across the grass. It was the third morning and he already felt like he’d done nothing in his life but trundle slowly northward across the Sweep. He’d wanted to ride among the wagons
that held Lilit and Ilsa, but between Killien commanding him to keep his distance and the number of Roven rangers that surrounded Lilit, he couldn’t figure out a way to do so. When he wasn’t talking with Killien, riding among the other rangers who merely tolerated him for Killien’s sake felt awkward and lonely. He’d ended up spending most of the day yesterday and all of this morning near the books. He’d written out four stories for Killien and read a good portion of one of the Torch’s books.

  His mind continued its useless search through stories for a rescue plan, but he’d thrown out three more ideas. He had neither floating firebrands nor a broken dam, and it would be hard to time his escape during the distraction provided by an attacking gryffon. If any gryffons still existed.

  Last night, Will had given in to Rass’s pestering and let her put three thin braids in his beard, each sporting a silver bead. She’d pronounced it “much better.”

  Talen had come and landed next to him on the wagon until he’d eaten all of Will’s dried fish, then launched into the sky again and Will found himself wishing the little bird would stay.

  The Clans and Clashes of the Sweep lay open on his lap to a page that mentioned the Morrow Clan. “Insignificant… weak… probably the only reason they survived is that they remain relegated to the easternmost margin of the Sweep, and have nothing worth plundering."

  He toyed with his braids. The slight weight of the beads felt odd—empowering almost. As though adding those small beads gave him an unexpected measure of strength, or courage.

  Sora rode up to the back of the wagon. “Killien wants you.”

  “Good.” He tucked the book into the bag. “I’m terribly bored.”

  She had a knife strapped to each ankle and a bow slung across her back.

  “Expecting me to put up a fight this morning?” Will mounted Shadow.

  “Yes. The entire clan is preparing for an attack from you.”

  He let out a short laugh, until a thought struck him. “That’s all for frost goblins?”

  She leveled a pointed gaze at him. “Do you know of any other enemies nearby?”