Pursuit of Shadows (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by JA Andrews

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Killien stood perfectly calm, his hand resting on the wide neck of the dragon. Even on the shadowed side, with every breath the creature took, glints of red skittered along his scales. The dragon pulled back his wings, folding them along his side. Thin, jagged spikes ran from the top of his head, down his spine to the tip of his tail.

  The only sound in the cavern was the muffled rush of the waterfall. The Roven were pinned against the wall of the cavern. Lukas, Sini, and Rett stood along the side wall, watching Killien closely. Lukas's face was set in a pleased expression. Torch Noy stood rigid at the first table, his hand gripping his yellow stone.

  “That’s Killien?” Alaric demanded in a barely audible whisper. “Your description of him didn’t do him justice.”

  “He’s less impressive when he’s not riding a dragon.”

  Douglon shook his head. “Why is it always dragons?”

  “Does anybody happen to have a kobold?” Will asked.

  “Oh, Tomkin and the Dragon! I love that story!” Evangeline whispered.

  “I know that one!” Sora whispered back.

  “Can we focus?” Alaric interrupted.

  Evangeline leaned forward. “I definitely know that dragon.”

  “We all know that dragon,” Douglon said from behind them. “It’s tried to kill us. Some of us twice.”

  “Anguine,” Evangeline said slowly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she considered the enormous creature.

  “No, Evangeline,” Alaric said. “Ayda knew that dragon. Even if you think you know it, it doesn’t know you.”

  Hal hushed them all as Killien stepped forward to speak. “The first gift is for my friend Anguine.” He ran his hand down the dragon’s neck. He stepped down off the boulder and walked toward Noy, pulling a short sword out of the sheath slung across his back.

  The seax. Will jabbed Alaric with his elbow. “He claims that sword was given to his father by Flibbet the Peddler.”

  Alaric’s eyes widened and he peered at the sword.

  “It turns out that even though Anguine is a dragon, he and I have something in common,” Killien said. The seax glinted a dull silver as he set the tip against Noy’s chest. “Neither of us is interested in being ruled.”

  Noy’s face was white, but his eyes blazed with fury. “You raise your sword at the enclave?” Noy hissed through clenched teeth. “You declare war on every clan here.”

  An unhinged laugh burst out of Killien, and Noy flinched. “A sword?” He flung his arm back at Anguine. “I brought a dragon to the enclave. Yes. It’s a declaration of war.” Killien reached forward and ripped the yellow stone out of Noy’s hand, dragging Noy a step closer by his neck. “Your days of crushing the other clans into submission are over. You no longer have your dragon.” Killien drew his sword back and slashed forward, slicing through the chain.

  He turned his back on Noy and walked back toward the dragon. Noy’s hand dove into a pocket and pulled out a handful of gems. Anguine’s head stretched forward and a deep, low growl rumbled in his chest. Noy’s gaze flickered to the dragon and he froze.

  Killien tossed the stone toward Anguine. The dragon’s jaws snapped shut on it, and the yellow stone sat pinned between jagged teeth for a heartbeat before Anguine bit down and the stone shattered.

  A loud crack echoed through the cave and a shower of yellow sparks exploded from Anguine’s mouth. The dragon spread his jaws wide and shards of yellow glittered from between his teeth. His head snaked closer to Noy. The scales on Anguine’s back rose, bits of light scattering across them as he drew in a breath. Slowly he let it out and red flames flickered in his mouth with a sound like a distant wind. The fire licked along the dragon’s teeth, reaching around his nostrils with clinging fingers of flame, setting the scales of his face glittering a bloody red.

  When the flames stopped, the dragon’s teeth shone jagged and clean.

  Noy took a wooden step backwards while Anguine fixed him with a dead, reptilian gaze.

  “How is Killien controlling that dragon?” Alaric whispered. “I thought you said he couldn’t do magic.”

  “He can’t.”

  “Could Lukas be doing it?” Sora asked.

  The slave stood off to the side, gazing around the room with a satisfied smile.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s doing much of anything,” Will said.

  “Look on the dragon’s back,” Sora said.

  Nestled into the glittering red scales at the base of his neck, something flashed light blue. Like a bit of sky caught in his scales.

  “That’s the same stone he used to control the frost goblins,” Sora whispered.

  “A compulsion stone,” Will whispered. “It can transfer thoughts into a creature.”

  “He’s trying to implant thoughts into a dragon?” Hal asked. “He’s completely lost his mind.”

  Sora studied the blue glimmer on Anguine’s back. “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “That wouldn’t work if Killien is next to it,” Alaric pointed out. “He’d nullify the magic.”

  Will sank back away from the crack remembering Lukas's notes about compulsion stones. He spun his ring. “It could work. Killien keeps energy from being transferred near him. But Lukas discovered that if you put emotions instead of thoughts into a compulsion stone, that they’ll resonate. Once he created a stone, the emotions would resonate into anyone the stone touched.”

  Alaric looked unconvinced.

  “Trust me,” Will said. “Emotions resonate. And he could use them to control a dragon.”

  “The Sunn still have stonesteeps.” Noy’s voice rang out shrilly. “Hundreds of them. Many of which are right outside this cave. You will never leave this enclave alive.”

  Killien let out a short laugh. “I also bring a gift to all the slaves in this room.” There was a long moment of silence. “To you who have served these Torches, I offer you your freedom. Come to me and the Morrow will see you safely across the Scale Mountains, where you can return to the homes you were taken from.”

  A ripple of movement spread among the Roven and the slaves. Lukas's head snapped towards Killien, his eyes narrow.

  “All you have to do is step forward. You have my word.” Killien watched the huddled slaves at the back of the room patiently.

  “Killien’s freeing the slaves?” Will whispered to Hal.

  The big man shook his head slowly, his face disapproving. “He’s freeing his enemies’ slaves, stripping the other Torches of any advantage they might have. You can tell from Lukas’s expression that it’s not a universal freeing.”

  Hal was right, Lukas’s face was furious.

  One elderly man stepped forward. The enormously fat Torch Albech grabbed at his arm, but the slave wrenched it away and walked toward Killien, his eyes flickering to the dragon.

  “What land do you come from?” Killien asked.

  “Baylon,” the man answered.

  Killien nodded. “We will see you returned.” He faced the others again, waiting.

  Slowly, other slaves stepped away from the crowd, walking over to join the old man until the only ones against the far wall were Roven.

  “My final gift,” Killien said, his voice as cold and sharp as the wall under Will’s fingers, “is for Ohan of the Panos Clan.”

  Sora swore quietly next to him.

  “A man I trusted,” Killien continued, “a man who claimed he also wanted out from under the thumb of the Sunn and the Boan. A man who joined into an agreement with Torch Vatche and myself.”

  The Roven near to Ohan backed away. Vatche stepped up behind him and gave him a shove. Ohan stumbled forward. Lukas stalked over to the man and took a hold of his arm, while Vatche took the other.

  Killien strode toward the man. Ohan tried to back away, but Lukas and Vatche held him in place.

  “You convinced Vatche and I that you wanted an alliance. The Panos would join the Morrow and the Temur in our endeavors to break out from under the
stranglehold of the larger clans.”

  Vatche shoved Ohan a little closer.

  Killien stepped within reach of the man. “You burned my land. You sent men into my home under a sign of peace to kill me. You partnered with the Sunn, for what? To gain a little favor? To fawn at the feet of men more powerful than you?”

  Ohan shrank back against Vatche, who didn’t move.

  “I have a question for you, Ohan.” Killien stepped even closer. “And if you answer me truthfully, I will be merciful.”

  Ohan’s entire body trembled. Killien pressed the edge of his sword against the man’s neck.

  “The night my father died, the night he traveled to broker peace between you and the Temur, was it a stray arrow that took his life? Or something more…cowardly?”

  Ohan’s jaw clenched and he stared into Killien’s face, his eyes half-furious, half-terrified.

  “A stray arrow.” The words were rough and broken.

  Killien stood very still, the blade still pressed against the man’s throat.

  “No, it was not.” An older slave stepped forward from the knot of grey shirts who had come to Killien’s side. “The arrow that killed Tevien, Torch of the Morrow, came from Ohan’s own bow.”

  Ohan shot a blazing look at the slave and opened his mouth in rage.

  “Do not speak.” Killien’s voice was thin. He glanced toward the slave. “Do you know this to be true?”

  “I stood beside the Torch that night,” the man said. “Like I have every night. He waited in ambush for your father and killed him from his hiding place. Like a coward. And the order to burn your grasses and kill you were from his very lips less than a fortnight ago.”

  Killien stood utterly still. A thin line of red dribbled down Ohan’s throat under the sword. Killien drew in a long, trembling breath and took a step back, dropping the sword to his side.

  “If you’d only told the truth, my gift to you would have been a quick death.” Killien nodded to Lukas and shoved his sword back into his sheath. “You should have told the truth.”

  Will leaned forward, the rocky wall rough against his palms. In front of the dragon’s enormous body, Killien looked small, but his posture was as vicious as the dragon’s.

  Lukas pulled an amber colored burning stone out of his shirt, dangling from a thick silver chain. He lifted it up over Ohan’s head and Vatche yanked his hands off the man, stepping away. Lukas dropped the necklace over Ohan’s head and stepped back, watching.

  A strange glow formed in front of the man like wisps of fire. Tendrils of light slid out of his clothes and his neck, snaking out of his face.

  “No.” Alaric drew back from the rock, his breath jagged.

  Evangeline drew in a sharp breath, then pressed her hands to her face, her fingers white.

  “No, no, no, no,” Alaric whispered, his eyes fixed on the man down in the cave.

  “What is he doing?” Will asked.

  Alaric pinched his mouth shut and shook his head. “That’s an absorption stone—or a reservoir stone.”

  “It’s pulling out his vitalle,” Evangeline whispered, between her fingers, her voice pained.

  Will stared at her. “Like Alaric did to you?”

  Ohan screamed and Alaric flinched, turning toward Evangeline and crushing her to his chest. Ohan’s screams rose, echoing through the chamber. He clawed at the necklace, trying to pull it off, but the gem stayed fixed to his chest. His screams changed to a shriek, feral and savage as he dropped to his knees.

  Swirls of orange-bronze light tore out of his body and spun around the gem, sinking into it, mixing with the amber color of the stone, glowing like rusted honey.

  Ohan’s screams pierced into Will like daggers. Alaric clamped shaking hands over Evangeline’s ears. Sora grabbed Will’s arm, her face horrified.

  With a final thin cry, Ohan tumbled sideways onto the ground.

  His body was utterly still and the gem at his chest glowed with swirling light.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The enclave was silent.

  Lukas knelt down next to the body and dragged the stone off Ohan’s head. Standing, he offered it to Killien.

  Killien held up the stone, watching the orange light for a long moment. “It is a shame that the Sweep has turned into this. Clan killing clan. Roven fighting amongst ourselves when we could be banding together.”

  Evangeline dropped her hands and looked into the cavern, flinching when she saw the body of Ohan sprawled out on the floor. Hal’s eyes were fixed on Killien, horrified.

  “We should be gathering our strength to fight the real enemies.” Killien’s words carried throughout the cavern. “Those who live across the Scales.”

  “That’s unsettling,” Alaric muttered.

  Killien stepped away from Ohan’s body with a disgusted look. The slave who had betrayed him stepped forward. Grabbing Ohan’s arms he dragged the body out of the smaller cave and tossed it along the wall of the main cavern.

  Killien nodded to the man and climbed up next to Anguine. He hooked the swirling orange stone over a thin spike on the dragon’s neck. “Nothing is ever accomplished on the Sweep without bloodshed. And today is no exception. We have never come together in peace. Every change in our land, every bit of progress comes from pouring the blood of our people into the grass.

  “But let today be the last.” Killien toyed with the gem for a breath before turning away from it. “Let us purge the hatred out of our clans today so that tomorrow can dawn a new age for our people.”

  Lukas still stood where Ohan had fallen. All semblance of servitude was gone, and he stood with arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed coldly on Killien. The Torch met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. A vicious smile lifted Lukas's mouth and he strode away, his steps echoing as he passed through the silent cavern and into a tunnel near the mouth of the cave.

  “Only a little more unpleasantness.” Killien stepped away from the dragon and walked toward the back of the room where the other Roven still stood pressed against the wall. He reached the farthest table and swung his legs over the bench.

  “Come join me at the tables, and let us dream of what the Sweep can be.” His words echoed more with a note of command than invitation.

  The other Roven shifted.

  “If any of you are concerned that troops or stonesteeps from the camp below will disturb our talks, let me assure you that they will not. The Roven below have their problems and we have ours. They will fight for today, but we must sit together and fight for the whole future of the Sweep.

  “Come.” Killien snapped across the room.

  Torch Vatche stepped forward and sat at the table across from Killien. The two warriors with him sat as well. One by one the others sat until the only Torches that stood along the wall were Noy and Albrech.

  “Do you not want a say in the future of the Sweep?” Killien spoke quietly enough Will could barely hear it. “Today you lose all the power you’ve had. Albrech, you will lose many of your warriors. Noy, you have already lost your dragon, and your stonesteeps will soon fall. A new era is dawning.”

  “What have you done?” Albrech demanded. “Do you dare attack my army with your pitiful handful of warriors?”

  “My warriors are safe at home with their families. It is only yours who are in danger.”

  A horn rang out from the Sweep. Then another. Distant shouts and clashes echoed feebly through the cavern.

  “The frost goblins,” Sora whispered.

  The Torches shoved themselves up from the table.

  “Sit.” Killien’s voice cracked like a whip. A threatening growl rumbled in Anguine’s chest. “The way to help your clans is to sit here, at this enclave, and discuss the future of the Sweep.”

  With a ripple of scarlet light, Anguine raised his head until it hung high in the air over the tables. The Roven sank back down in their seats.

  “Now, if you would all hand your weapons to the good people who used to be your slaves,” Killien continued
, “we can get this discussion underway.” The slaves stepped closer, taking swords and knives. “If you wouldn’t mind staying close by,” Killien asked them, “you might help the conversation to stay civil.”

  In moments a ring of grey shirts encircled the table, knives and swords held in their hands.

  “Very good. Now, let us begin. Anguine will root out any who would disturb us.”

  The dragon’s head curved around and the enormous creature’s claws scratched against the floor as it crawled back toward the sunshine.

  “If we’re going to find Ilsa,” Hal said, his face set in hard lines, “we need to do it now.”

  “Agreed,” Will said, stepping back from the gash in the wall.

  Hal led them back out into the original tunnel.

  After only a few minutes they came to a hole in the floor. Following Hal, they descended a ladder, reaching another tunnel that wound forward with a hint of brightness. A handful of doors were set on either side.

  “Storage rooms,” Hal whispered. “This will lead us to the main cavern. Usually the Torches clear out this area when the enclave starts, sending everyone else down to the Sweep. So it should be empty. Let’s hope Killien keeps them all back in that cave, because we’re going to have to walk across the cave mouth to get to the living quarters.”

  Will nodded for him to continue, and they walked quietly down the dim corridor. Douglon and Patlon kept their axes out, Sora held a long knife in her hand. The tunnel brightened measurably around each turn until they could see an arched doorway where it spilled out into the bright main cavern. Hal motioned them forward, and they crept toward it.

  A flash of red glittered in the sunlight and Sora drew in a sharp breath. A crushing weight of emotions flooded into Will. Anger, impatience, hunger. Sora grabbed Will’s arm just as the dragon’s head filled the arch. With a growl the dragon drew in a breath and the group scrambled backwards.

  Anguine shot out a stream of flame that filled the tunnel with a stunning burst of energy. An answering burst of vitalle rushed past the other direction from Alaric, and they sprinted toward the turn. Will and Hal were the last to reach it, diving around just as a wall of flickering orange flame rushed by.