Pursuit of Shadows (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by JA Andrews

  Killien studied him before nodding slowly. “All my books are in crates, sealed against the weather. But the ones you saw in my house are in a red oilcloth sack at the back corner of the book wagon. I’ve left them available for you.”

  Will sat straighter in surprise. “Thank you.” The long trip north suddenly felt a bit less grim.

  “There is also paper,” Killien continued. “Write stories for me that I don’t know and we can discuss them as we ride.”

  Will gave him a bow of acknowledgement.

  “Everything you know about Queensland.”

  Will’s bow stuttered before he recovered.

  “And don’t wander far from the front of the caravan. These are my rangers and won’t trouble you. Everyone else in the clan knows the storyman from Gulfind is my guest, but accidents happen to foreigners on the Sweep.” He glanced at Will’s shirt. “Stay dressed like a storyman. And stay close to me.”

  Behind them, the line of the Morrow stretched back over the next rise filled with thousands of Roven. “I won’t wander.”

  “Wise choice. The book wagon is that one with the orange oilcloth covering the back.”

  Will bowed at the obvious dismissal and turned Shadow toward the books.

  He hadn’t gone far when he reached Lukas riding toward Killien, his face bleak. The slave rode directly into Will’s path. “Enjoy wearing the red shirt while you can,” he said quietly. “It’ll be grey soon enough.”

  Will reined in Shadow and opened up toward Lukas. A coiled, venomous hatred slither into his chest.

  “The only difference between you and me”—Lukas continued, his voice pitched low—“is that Killien’s wayfarer dogs dragged me here, fighting the entire way. You just walked right in.”

  Will drew back, both from the man’s fury and his words. “Killien’s wayfarers?”

  With a last hateful look, Lukas turned his horse away. “The wayfarers may not have brought you,” he said over his shoulder, “but Killien owns you all the same.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The rest of the day passed in a vaguely unsettled way, Will’s mind gnawing on the problem of how to reach Ilsa. He rode Shadow along the eastern edge of the caravan, keeping Lilit’s wagon and Killien in view. Lukas’s warning left a knot in his gut and there was something reassuring about being closer to the Scale Mountains than the Roven. Even if only by a handful of paces.

  The path of the serpent’s wake stretched ahead of them, slithering over the hills, the trail of years of migrations etched into the Sweep. It was strange how a place as vastly open as this could feel so confining.

  He kept busy thinking of rescue stories, hoping he’d land on some idea of how to get Ilsa away from the Roven. Keeper Terre had rescued six children from a pack of direwolves, but even if Will had mastered the skill of making trees topple strategically, there were no trees on the Sweep. Knocking over blades of grass was bound to have a less terrifying effect.

  It was a much needed distraction when Rass appeared. He dismounted and walked with her for a few hours. She ate the food he offered and chattered at him about the grass or the sky or whatever struck her fancy. It had been such a long time since anyone had talked with him so comfortably, it felt both delightful and overwhelming.

  Around midday she ran out into the Sweep and Will found Killien’s book wagon, wide with low side walls, open in the back. A burnt-orange oilcloth spread across the bed. The last arm’s length of the wagon was open and he climbed onto it, lifting the edge of the oilcloth. Beneath it he found crates of books wrapped tightly in more oilcloth. In the nearest corner sat a red bag holding the books from Killien’s shelf, a thick stack of paper, four pens, and a bottle of ink. Sitting on the back of the wagon, he set to writing some innocuous stories from Queensland.

  As the sun set, riders came by ordering the wagons to a central location. A haphazard city grew along the top of one wide hill with wagons and spilling down into the shallow valleys around it. The entire perimeter of the clan was dotted with fires as well, each with a mound of dried grass and dung next to it, ready to be thrown on if larger flames were needed.

  Around him the Roven gathered into small knots talking and laughing and eating together and he sat feeling awkward, wondering where he was supposed to find his dinner. The night cooled quickly and a cold breeze blew across Will’s back.

  He cast out toward the nearest fire, feeling the vitalle blazing up in it. It was too bad Alaric wasn’t here. He could pull a blanket of warmth from a fire all the way across a room. Don’t move the heat itself, create a…sort of a net around it. Then pull the net, not the heat, he’d say.

  A net. Will stretched his fingers toward the fire. He gathered its vitalle, imagining it forming a close woven net, capturing the heat and pulling it toward him. His fingertips stung, but he felt a wave of warmish air. He sat up straighter.

  A net had too many holes. He began again, imagining a cloth wrapping around the heat. Slowly, his fingers starting to ache in earnest, he drew the cloth closer.

  The enormous form of Hal stepped between him and the fire, and Will’s concentration broke. The cloth dissolved and the heat escaped into the night.

  “What are you doing over here?” Hal said. “Come get dinner. Unless all this wagon gathering is your fault, in which case I hate you.”

  “I may have had a part in it,” Will admitted. “Killien and I talked about goblins this morning. The entire Sweep is worried about them."

  Hal glared at the sprawling mass of Roven. “This will cost an hour of travel each night. It’ll add at least a day to the trip.” Hal motioned for Will to follow him. “You can pay for it by entertaining us with a story. Something about dwarves.”

  They wound through wagons, Hal keeping up a continual grumble until they reached a small fire near the edge of the clan where he dropped down next to Sora. She offered Will her usual scowl and Will gave her an especially wide smile back.

  Hal passed a basket of thin bread and smoked fish before a young girl arrived, asking him a question about a herd. Will ate his piece of salty, dried fish half listening to Hal’s herd management, half watching Roven children carrying baskets of food.

  Killien walked up talking to some rangers. Neither Lilit nor Ilsa was with him, but he was followed by Lukas and the two other slaves from the porch in Porreen. Lukas and the younger girl swung bags of heatstones off their shoulders and sat a little ways back from the fire. When the big man sat next to them, he clutched his own bag to his chest.

  Lukas spread a book on his lap and flipped through the pages before finding a place to read. The girl leaned over and ran her finger along the page. Will stared at the two of them. Did all of Killien’s slaves know how to read? They were obviously well cared for. Maybe slavery in Killien’s household wasn’t as bad as other places. Was it possible that Ilsa’s life had been better than he’d feared?

  The big slave stared disinterestedly at the fire, relaxing until his bag slouched and two heatstones rolled out, unnoticed.

  “Keep them in the sack, Rett,” the girl said kindly, tucking the yellow stones back into the bag and cinching the top closed.

  “I’m sorry, Sini,” he said absently. “I forgot.”

  “It’s alright.” She patted his large hand reassuringly with her own small one.

  Rett pulled the bag onto his lap, wrapping one hand firmly around the drawstring and his other arm around the bag. With it secure, he lifted his head and looked around with an aimless curiosity. There was a familial type of ease among the three of them.

  Sini watched him for a moment, a little crease of worry in her brow. Lukas reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, glowing green stone.

  “Don’t,” Sini pleaded.

  But Lukas held the stone out toward Rett.

  The large man’s eyes locked on the stone and a wide smile crossed his face. “You found one!” He reached out gingerly to take it, then cupped it in his hands, curling his body over it.

  “Don’t watch
it too long.” The gentleness in Lukas's voice caught Will off guard. “It’ll hurt your head.”

  Rett nodded and kept his eyes fixed on the green glow, a look of utter contentment on his face.

  “I wish you’d stop giving him those,” Sini said.

  “I’ve said no for weeks. If he begged you all the time, you’d give in too.” Lukas watched the man. “Sometimes I think he needs them.”

  The little bit of green glow was almost hidden in Rett’s hands. He watched it with a desperate sort of fascination, as though if he blinked, it might disappear.

  Sini looked down at her hands. “I can’t bear how sad it makes him.”

  “But it makes him happy first.” Lukas turned back to his book.

  She pinched her mouth into a thin, disapproving line and sat silent for a moment before glancing at Lukas's book. “Did you figure it out? Does it work?”

  Lukas shrugged. “Killien won't try it.” He shot a glare at the Torch. “He’s so fixated that he’s missing opportunities.”

  Sini shushed him and Lukas answered her too quietly for Will to catch.

  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 ho
w 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.”