Pursuit of Shadows (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by JA Andrews

  “Stay away from me,” she said slowly, biting off every word, fixing Will with a look of pure hatred, “or, I swear by the black queen, I will tell Killien everything I know about you and you’ll be dead by morning.”

  “Why would he build a shrine to you, but kill me?”

  “Because you and I are nothing alike. Stay away from me.” With a last look that threw daggers, she spun and stalked off.

  He stared after her. A gust of wind tumbled around him bringing cool, stormy air and a vacant sense of waiting. Thunder growled through the clouds, and the smell of rain whipped past.

  Rass peeked out around his shoulder and looked at Will with wide eyes.

  “Don’t wander too far away,” Will told her, spinning his ring, watching the direction Sora had gone. “We may be leaving the Roven sooner than I’d thought.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The storm charged closer like an attacking army, smashing into the clan with breathtaking force. Will and Rass copied the other Roven and huddled under the wagon, still pelted by raindrops shot under it like arrows. Lightning stabbed down from the clouds in a chaos of blinding flashes and howling darkness. The wind howled like a creature out of a nightmare, but it whipped the storm quickly past, driving it away to the south.

  Rass ran into the grass to sleep, and Will lay watching stray clouds chase after the storm, troubled by Sora’s unaccountable fury. He could understand frustration or awkwardness at getting credit for something she hadn’t done, but Killien merely thought her prayers had been answered. What was so terrible about that? Of course, the question as to why Killien begged her to pray in the first place was equally unanswerable. Killien’s desperation he could understand, but Sora had never given any sign of being religious.

  The blackness of the Serpent Queen hung over head, clouds scuttling across her, seeming to spread bits of her darkness across the sky. Is that who Sora had prayed to? The monster set on devouring the stars? His mind circled back on the questions, not finding any answers.

  To distract himself he ran over every interaction he’d had with Ilsa. It didn’t take long. The urgency to talk to her again was growing, but with Lilit needing so much attention, he doubted he’d have a chance to see her before they reached the rifts in a few days. And then, would Killien let him stay longer? At what point was the Torch going to tire of his new storyteller? All the thoughts spun in his head like a second storm.

  He finally slept, but the next day turned out to be just as agonizing. Hal was busy, Killien didn’t summon him, and there was no sign of Ilsa, and no sign of Sora. Although that last thing wasn’t bad. Will watched Lilit’s wagon, but if Ilsa was there, she was staying inside.

  The caravan had just stopped for the night, and Will was sitting down to some dwarf-talk with Hal, bracing for another meal of flatbread, when a rider arrived from the north, cantering down the serpent’s wake. She carried sacks of bread baked in the rift and the Roven crowded her, eagerly grabbing fresh loaves.

  The ranger reported that the caravan should reach the rift the morning after next, and the news along with the bread worked a sort of magic. Will sank his teeth into the thick, spongy bread with relish, hoping he never saw flatbread again. From their spot a little away from the fire, Lukas sat with Rett. When Sini arrived Lukas handed her a small loaf with a flourish, and she squealed with happiness and sank down in between them.

  Before he’d even finished eating it, another ranger raced up from the west. He galloped toward Killien, his horse staggering to a stop, its sides heaving.

  “Shepherds killed, Torch, three hours hard ride west. Three Roven from the Panos Clan, and four dozen sheep.”

  Will felt every person near him tense. Killien face turned stony. “Cause?”

  The ranger’s eyes flicked to the people around the Torch. “No sign of weapons. The meat was ripped off the sheep. The carcasses left to rot.”

  Murmurs of “goblins” rippled through the Roven.

  Will stretched out and felt fear growing in people. A spot of coolness appeared as Sora stepped up next to Killien. Will drew back when he saw her, but she didn’t even glance in his direction.

  “And…” The ranger paused, his eyes wide and slightly wild. “There’ve been fresh signs of goblins in every ravine I’ve passed.”

  Will focused on Killien and felt a growing dread in the Torch.

  “How many?”

  “Dozens.” The ranger twitched a nervous half-shrug. “Hundreds, maybe.”

  “How long ago were the shepherds killed?” Sora asked.

  “Within the past day.”

  Sora sent a girl running to fetch a horse. “Landmarks?”

  “Between the white bluffs and that rift with all the bones.”

  Sora fixed him with the exact same gaze she always gave to Will. “It’s getting dark. Can you be more specific?”

  The ranger shifted slightly. “A bit closer to the bluffs, I think. There’s not much to see out there.”

  “Not if you don’t open your eyes.”

  Killien looked out over the Sweep to the west, his eyes scanning the emptiness. “Word from any other rangers?”

  The man shook his head. “I haven’t seen anyone since I left the rift yesterday.”

  “Take someone with you,” Killien ordered Sora.

  “They’ll slow me down. I’ll be back by dawn.”

  The girl ran back with a horse, and Sora swung into the saddle. For once Will could pick out her emotions strongly enough to tell them apart from the Torch’s. She was angry, which seemed to be directed at Killien, but she was also filled with a roiling fear. Feeling Sora lose her tight control was far more frightening than the ranger’s report.

  “Sora,” Killien said, his tone dangerous. “You are not going alone.”

  She shot him a furious glare and galloped across the grass.

  Killien’s fury and sharp fear matched Will’s as he watched Sora’s shape shrink into the vastness of the Sweep. The Torch barked orders, sending Roven scattering.

  “Hal,” the Torch called, “get the wagons in tight circles tonight, the children and elderly inside. Split the animals into as many groups as you can build fires around. As much fire as you can. Form a line along the western side. Everything done before dark.”

  Sora’s silhouette disappeared over the first ridge, outlined for just a moment against the red sky.

  The dark came long before the frantic activity of the clan subsided. The wagons were drawn into wide circles around tight knots of children and elderly, protected by a ring of Roven with campfires. Hundreds more Roven lined the western edge of the clan, their own fires well-stocked.

  North of the clan sat wagons loaded with all the metal they could find, including Will’s three silver beard beads. Around the metal wagons, a wall of grass and dried dung bricks were stacked, ready to be turned into a ring of fire. The only metal left in the clan was in the weapons they’d need to fight.

  The flurry of activity settled into a quiet nervousness.

  And nothing happened.

  Will lay on the ground at the edge of one of the circles of wagons and actually missed the hard wood of his wagon. The brooding Serpent Queen worked her way up the sky and he spun his ring, waiting, straining for any sounds of goblins in the night. The ground was uncomfortable, and no matter how he adjusted the wool blanket, cold air creeped in somewhere.

  The knife he’d been given felt awkward in his hand, too long, the blade weighted oddly. It was sharp though, so there was a chance his wild, unskilled hacking would turn out to be an effective fighting strategy against goblins.

  He was forgetting something he’d should have done by now. He just couldn’t figure out what.

  Part of it was that he had no idea where either Rass or Ilsa was. A cold wind slid over him, sneaking down inside his blanket. Two Roven sat at a fire not far from him, and Will looked at it enviously.

  He gathered in some vitalle from the flames. He focused on the air above it, bending it into a cl
oth, gathering up some heat and drawing it closer. His fingers tingled with the effort, but it reached him with a rush of warmth lasting for three or four breaths before it cooled.

  Will gathered in a little more vitalle from the grass, an idea forming. If he created a tent of cloth from the fire to himself, then the heat would just roll along the tent continually. Slowly, starting near himself, he constructed the idea of the tent, pushing vitalle into it, ignoring the tingling in his hands.

  He pushed the tent forward until the end of it was over the flames. The first bit of warmth rolled over Will’s skin and he smiled. The warm air wrapped around him, warming his blankets his clothes. When he was thoroughly warm, he cut of the vitalle and let the warm air rise into the dark sky. It didn’t take long before the cold seeped back in.

  He was forgetting something. The feeling nagged at him. But the harder he tried to think of what it was, the more his brain offered up the wrong answer.

  You forgot to take the silver beard beads out, his brain offered for the hundredth time. He heaved a sigh. He had done that. He’d searched his bag three more times to make sure there was no metal left in it. Still the thought niggled at him. What had he forgotten?

  Beard beads, his brain offered.

  He pressed his face into his hands and growled. He opened his eyes and between his fingers he could just see the flicker of the nearest small fire glinting off his ring.

  His wide, gold ring.

  “Idiot!” he hissed, trying to work the ring off his finger. The edge of it dug into his knuckle.

  He squeezed his way out of the circle between two wagons and paused at the site of the long line of Roven warriors. Surely the goblins wouldn’t attack something this large? The Morrow Clan looked prepared for an attacking army. Firelight glittered off hundreds of weapons and suddenly he felt foolish for worrying about one small ring.

  Past the line of Roven, the Sweep lay still and dark. For the first time, the grassland didn’t feel empty. It felt full of…nothing. Which sounded the same, but felt very, very different.

  Will was jogging by the time he reached Killien at the far northern end of the clan. Hal stood by his side, huge in the dim light, a wide sword slung across his back. Farther north, separated from the clan by a hundred paces, sat the wagons holding all the metal.

  Killien had a well-used, common looking sword hung at his belt. Slung across his back was another, more rustic one. It took Will a minute to recognize it as the seax Killien had been given by Flibbet the Peddler.

  “Come to join the fight?” Hal asked.

  Will held up his knife. “If this is the sort that needs two swords, definitely not.”

  “Only one sword for fighting.” Killien shifted his shoulders under the scabbard on his back. “This is just for safe keeping. Svard Naj doesn’t sit in the metal wagon with the common things, unprotected.”

  “Speaking of metal wagons…” Will held up his hand with the ring. “I forgot to take this off. But now that I see how much metal is still among the clan, does it matter? There are metal weapons everywhere.”

  “The weapons aren’t gold,” Hal pointed out. “Goblins love gold. You should get that far away from you.”

  “I’ll get a runner to put in in my chest.” Killien motioned to the wagons set fifty paces away across the grass, his voice tinged with irritation.

  Will opened his mouth to explain that he couldn’t get it off, when a faint horn blast cut through the silence of the night. A single fire flared larger near the sheep herds. Another horn rang out three sharp notes and other fires flamed up.

  A spot of blackness raced down the nearest hill toward them. Another burst of a horn called out, this one long, and a handful of Roven rushed out in a wedge, swords drawn, facing out into the Sweep to offer protection to the rider. More fires flared, painting the rise of the Sweep in flickering orange, turning the grass to a dim, mottled red fur.

  Will’s stomach dropped.

  Sora raced toward the clan, calling out something he couldn’t hear.

  The wedge opened and she galloped in, the Roven collapsing back in after her, reforming the line.

  A low growl seeped out of the ground itself.

  The hillside shifted.

  A wide section of the grass slid sideways, then disappeared, falling into deep blackness. It widened into a gaping, hollow maw. Another appeared beside it.

  A scrambling stream of dark, ill-formed shapes vomited out of the ground. The Sweep trembled from the charge. Grating, piercing shrieks split the night.

  “Heatstones!” Killien shouted and the command was echoed down the line.

  Hal dropped a heatstone close to the fire. Inside it, a kernel of light like a candle flame appeared, spreading and brightening. When it was almost as bright as the fire, Hal kicked it between his fire and the next one. The stone glowed with a searing yellow light, looking almost molten. A rush of heat washed across Will, like he stood in front of an oven.

  Down the line, blazing yellow spots appeared, one after another.

  To the south, goblins broke through the line and reached a herd. Terrified squeals from the sheep mixed with the shrieks of the goblins. The animals panicked, crashing into each other like waves trapped in a roiling sea.

  A heatstone flew in a bright arc, disappearing into the stream of goblins. Screeches rang out and the goblins scattered away from it, into the path of Roven swords and knives.

  “Get that ring out of here,” Killien shouted at Will, pulling two long knives out of his belt and pointing one at the seat in the front of the nearest wagon. “And then get up on something high.”

  The Torch turned toward the approaching goblins. Hal stationed himself by the fire, his enormous sword drawn. Will scrambled toward the metal wagons, yanking at his ring.

  A long line of bonfires and heatstones edged the clan now, stretching down the Sweep like blazing teeth. Outside the line, the first row of grass hills was visible, and streaming from the wide holes came goblin after goblin. They rushed out in an endless stream a half-dozen goblins wide.

  The creatures pooled along the fireline, rushing closer, their eyes reflecting back the firelight in wide, white orbs. The small, hunched goblins scrambled forward in a chaos of green, wiry legs and arms.

  “More heat!” Killien called.

  Whenever a fire flared up, the goblins pulled back. The stream of goblins had stopped flowing out of the hill, leaving the two holes gaping like hollow eyes.

  Will wrenched at his ring, drawing in some vitalle from the grass to heat the gold up, hoping it would stretch. The goblins outside the fireline surged past him in a swarm of limbs and eyes and hunger. But the heatstones seemed to be working and the creatures held back a dozen paces. Roven archers shot into the horde, felling goblin after goblin. But every time, another vicious face appeared, its open mouth edged with thin, sharp teeth.

  Ahead of Will, a more guttural cry rang out and the swarm raced toward the metal.

  Flaming arrows shot toward the wagons, setting the ring of grasses around it into flame and Will slid to a stop, letting his hand fall from his still tight ring. Creatures raced toward fire-encircled wagons. The goblins in the front screeched and scrambled against the mob, trying to stay back, but the mass moved forward like a wave. When the first goblin touched the fire, it let out a piercing scream. Two more were shoved forward into it, then the flames were smothered below burning bodies, and goblins poured through, clawing over each other to reach the metal.

  Will turned and ran back, climbing up on the wagon near Killien. The goblins swarmed against the line, screeching like birds fighting over a carcass. The Roven cut into their numbers with brutal efficiency. But they were falling too. One Roven for every twenty goblins.

  There were not enough Roven.

  Killien strode down the line, calling out commands. Hal stood between the nearest fire and a heatstone, his huge sword sweeping through the frost goblins like a scythe.

  Will’s heartbeat pounded in his ears like a
drum underneath the screaming and fighting.

  The goblins swarmed over the metal. The Roven retreated, reforming a line between those wagons and the clan, hacking any goblins that chased after them. One of the Roven stumbled and a gap appeared between Will and the creatures.

  A single goblin face turned toward him, eyes glinting like two flat moons. It raised its nose into the air as if catching a scent. With a hideous grin, it dropped to all fours and raced toward him, tearing into the earth.

  Will’s feet scrambled back against the wagon floor. He drew in vitalle from the ground, from the fire blazing nearby, from anything he could find, his mind scrambling for an idea of what to do with it.

  Then Sora was there, stepping between the wagon and the racing goblins, two long knives in her hand. Her long braid was disheveled, her leathers glinted dark and wet.

  A different level of fear wormed into him as the goblin raced closer to Sora.

  Another goblin peeled away from the swarm and ran toward them. Then another.

  Will cast about desperately for some way to stop them, some protection he could throw up in front of her. He opened up toward her and felt a swirl of fear wrapped in resolve and surrounded by cold, calculated waiting.

  A bright glint of yellow near his foot caught his eye.

  A heatstone.

  He spun around. He was standing on the book wagon where Rett had spilled his heatstones. A new fear gripped him. He’d brought his gold ring to the books.

  Will grabbed the stone. The goblin was halfway to Sora, more and more veered out of the main group to follow. She stood alone. At the sight of claws and teeth rushing toward her, he yanked some vitalle out of the grass and shoved it into the heatstone. The stone lapped it up and began to glow, the surface blossoming with heat. He threw it between Sora and the goblins.

  Sora drew back from it. Will needed a way to focus the heat on the goblins—needed something like a tent of air.

  No, something stronger. Thick, like the walls of an oven.

  He molded the air around the heatstone into the idea of a clay walls. Reaching toward the nearest fire, he drew energy in one hand, singeing his fingertips, and out his other hand until those fingers hurt as well. He wrapped the walls around the heat on three sides and over the top.