Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  “I call challenge,” Shelene said loudly.

  “You?” Emily’s throaty laugh carried across to her enemy. “Challenge me?”

  “You cannot challenge a guest of mine, Shelene, and you know it.”

  “I can kill her now, or I can kill her when she least expects it.” She tossed silken white hair shrouding fine-boned shoulders. “But, die by my hand, she will. I don’t care who you are, Prince Dezenial.” Jagged blade manifested into Shelene’s hand. A foot long, its double serrated edges promised it was no weapon made for a simple brawl.

  Retribution for her slur should be his, but Dezenial desired this particular group to gain firsthand knowledge of what he himself already knew about Emily. He stepped further away from his hellcat. These were Balkore’s deadliest, and perhaps most treacherous. He tempered his anger with amusement. How soon before he would have to act upon his chosen fate, revealing his true form? He watched Emily remain passive, a smile tugging her lips. Several gasped, pointing at her, whispering more frantically. Emily hardly noticed. Even Inzyr registered surprise, aiming lethal crossbow at Shelene’s head. “Her eyes glow, yet this time in anger, not in healing,” Inzyr said, revealing a bit of awe in his voice.

  “And this surprises you? You of all Lumynari?” Dezenial moved to stand closer to the assassin, arms folded. Amber fire burned in place of Emily’s eyes. Dezenial grinned. There was no humor in his smile. “She will handle the challenge.” He nudged his chin to indicate Inzyr’s weapon. “You won’t need that.”

  Shelene’s temper flared. “Your human possesses a few tricks of sorcery, and you think to set her lose against me?” She launched onto the table. “Choose your weapon, Emily. I have suffered insult eating at the same table. I will not suffer insult you dare brand me as spy.” Another weapon manifested in Shelene’s free hand. “I understand you are familiar with whips?” The Lumynari laughed outright, though her eyes remained watchful of Dezenial. “Will you defend your whore, or will you—“

  “Do you always babble before battle? I wonder that you are not yet dead.” Emily arched a pale brow, her hair erupting into crackling white flame. Shadow Masters reared and threw up their arms to deflect the brightness. The contrast of white flame against her sapphire gown created a deadly beauty much admired by the Lumynari warriors now slowly lowering their arms in order to better view this unforeseen entertainment.

  “You have lost your opportunity to choose your weapon,” Shelene hissed. Deadly whip snaked out before any could shout warning. Deftly, Emily torqued her body sideways, barely missing the stinging leathers. And then she defied the expectations of present spectators who were already enthralled that a human could have eyes and hair aflame likened to only their highest elevated priestesses. Save for one. He merely smiled.

  She reached out, wrist snapping quicker than flicker of light, and snatched the leathers sailing past in its retraction towards its host. A sharp yank, and the weapon freed itself from the Lumynari. Howling with rage, the warrior jumped from the table, another dagger manifesting.

  Inzyr moved to intervene. Dezenial’s hand snaked out, grasping the assassin.

  “She will be killed.”

  “Observe,” Dezenial commanded, grinning mischievously. “You will be most proud.”

  Shelene advanced, slicing air to intimidate, her steps overconfident.

  Emily smacked her hands together . . . slowly pulled them apart . . . blue flames erupting between her palms. Flames spread to her forearms until she held in her hands, a large, pulsating brilliant blue ball of flame. Both her audience and Shelene were momentarily mesmerized.

  Emily threw the flame at Shelene.

  Daggers clattered. Hideous screams filled the air. Powerful fire catapulted Shelene up onto the table where she crashed down on her back. Emily lifted her elegant hem, used her vacated chair to step up onto the table, her own daggers manifesting in each hand. She walked the length of the table, looking to each side. “Any others wishing to dance?”

  None dared accept her challenge.

  None possessed the power to do so.

  “Her training begins immediately,” Dezenial commanded of the assassin. To surrounding warriors, he announced their meal was now concluded. A few looked tempted to try their hand at battling the fierce warrior calling challenge.

  “I will exterminate your entire lineage, should you make good her threat.”

  Immediately, they dropped their interest.

  “Does she realize what she does?” Inzyr asked.

  “More and more.” Dezenial moved closer to the table. “Keer’dra.”

  “Curious,” Inzyr said, slipping into the secret language of gods. “If Aurelia was granted such power only after training for a decade under the tutelage of her Elders, who has granted our Emily hers?”

  “You forget who Zaiyne’s father was. Why do you think the other protects her during each journey she returns from the dead to walk amongst us yet again?”

  “Impossible,” Inzyr hissed. “I was there. I know who Emily’s sire is.”

  “Ah, but the power remains. Same soul.” Dezenial again called to his beloved. “Keer’dra.”

  The warrior muttered words in a language she failed to understand. Fury surged. “You!” She stormed the distance until towering over him. “You will be fool enough to challenge me?” Her voice dropped down to a whisper. “Do I see anger leaping into your eyes?” She motioned with her daggers, encouraging him to leap upon the table. Instead, his voice escalated, his audience unleashing weapons hidden upon their persons. Inzyr shouted. His eyes exhibited . . . alarm? Her gaze returned to Dezenial. What the hell was he shouting? “You don’t expect me to understand that shit, do you?” She realized she was standing . . . on the table. “What the hell am I doing . . . up . . .” Awful stench. Burning heap. A body.

  “Dez?” She looked to her hands. Blades. They clattered. “I got mad again, huh?”

  “I’d hate to see rage.” He tried very hard not to laugh. “Keer’dra’.” He reached up for her.

  “My head.” Her eyes watered, lips quivering. “Pain.”

  “I know, little one. Come to me, Keer’dra. I will heal you.”

  Emily bent, reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her. She rested her forehead against the throbbing pulse beating in his very warm neck.

  “It would seem you are in need of a rescuing.”

  “I should hit you. My head hurts too much.”

  His hold tightened.

  “Please, please do not leave me. Please don’t let me go.” Heat radiating from his neck acted like a blessed heating pad against her agonizing head.

  “Shhhh. You are with me.” Unintelligibly, he muttered, then blew softly across her face. Pain ceased.

  “I think my lips hurt too. Badly.”

  “Imp,” he growled low for her ears only. “I am not blowing on your mouth.”

  “Could you blow on my—“

  “Keer’dra!”

  She muffled her girly laugh against his neck. His growl of fake annoyance curled her toes.

  “I ruined your dinner party.” She dared a peek. “They’re looking at me as if I’ve introduced them to the wonders of fire.”

  “It is our way.”

  “If I’d known that, I’d have killed the lot of you. I’d be praised and statues made to forever honor me.”

  “Indeed.”

  Her nose twitched. She held her breath for as long as she could, her eyes closed to block out the carnage. “Why does this keep happening?” she muttered to no one. Chairs scraped. “Everyone’s standing again?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should re-enter every ten minutes so they have to keep standing just as they get comfortable.”

  “You enjoy antagonizing.”

  Emily opened her eyes. “You Lumynari are entertaining when pissed.”

  “Keer’dra.”

  “I know, I know,” she changed her voice to imitate his deep accented baritone. “Lumynari are no
t to be toyed with.”

  “I should beat you.”

  “Will you be naked?”

  He arched a brow down at her, stared pointedly at her overly exposed cleavage, then slowly crawled back up to her amber eyes. “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

  “Perv.”

  “You tremble with desire.”

  “Well, maybe if you’d dress like a normal guy—“

  “I am a Shadow Master. I will never be this normal guy.”

  “Thank God for small favors.”

  They shared a grin, Emily waggling her brows up at him. “I can walk.”

  “I am carrying you just fine.”

  “An excuse to look chivalrous.”

  His grin widened. “An excuse to keep you leashed.”

  “Now it will be me beating you for that comment. Dick.”

  Dezenial chuckled. “Hush, I must look stern and deadly.”

  “I’ll play the part of the helpless damsel in distress.” Her head fell against his chest, a heavy sigh escaping her. For added measure, her arm flailed then hung limp.

  “Scarlett would be impressed.”

  The heavy lashes that shadowed her cheeks flew up. “How do you know—“

  “Inzyr.”

  “I can’t even fathom.”

  “Nor can I, now, hush.”

  She let him nearly clear the dining hall before giving voice to her fear. “I’ll be hunted even more vigorously now.”

  “Not how things are done down here, Emily.”

  “I couldn’t help it. She pissed me off.”

  He vibrated with laughter.

  “I just killed someone, and you laugh?”

  “She challenged you. Her objective was your death. You merely met her challenge and called her bluff. You made a few very rich tonight and several others regret they’d sided with the priestess and not the human.”

  “Jeeze, at least try to act like it was a terrible thing I did.”

  “I will never fake anything with you, Keer’dra. You will be hailed a champion until your next challenge.”

  She reared. “There’ll be more?”

  “No. Inzyr will decapitate the next fool thinking to even come close to disrespecting you—“

  “Is that what happened to the Lumynari sitting next to me?”

  Dezenial’s expression turned mercurial. “He dared look at your leg.”

  Emily did everything she could not to burst out laughing.

  She failed miserably. “Good thing I didn’t flash him a tit.”

  “I’d have . . . “

  “Yes?”

  “It doesn’t bare putting into words what I would have been capable of.”

  Emily nuzzled his warm neck. “Now you know how I feel about Ms. Perfect Tits flirting with you. Next bitch that thinks to slink up next to you and purr, I’m going to cut out her tongue, hang her by her long hair, and—“

  Dezenial’s rumbling laughter caused her to silence her threat, her own giggles mingling with his joy. “You belong to me, Keer’dra.”

  She deflated. “I’m so tired.”

  “Too much excitement for a tiny human.”

  “This tiny human has wreaked havoc in your life.”

  “There is that. We will need to consider an appropriate punishment.”

  She sighed, overly content to be carried as they began down a barely lit cavernous walkway. He was so strong. He strode through various caverns at a remarkable pace, effortlessly carrying her. Never in her life had she felt this safe. What would it feel like to be loved by this majestic being? A warrior. A real warrior, not some paperback cover to drool over. Possessed, that’s what it would feel like. With him, there would be a true sense of belonging. His long white hair, brushed free of its usual thin braids, swept her arm like a silk shawl as she clasped him even tighter. She felt giddy. Silly. Girly. Being carried allowed her to hold this hot, lickable Lumynari close, inhaling the very essence of him.

  Her deep inhale and brazen musings—she failed to remember—were being mentally heard by Dezenial with tortuous clarity. Hot? Lickable? Little did she realize, she entrenched herself deeper into his heart.

  And his lust.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “A trap,” Aunsgar warned.

  “A way in,” Broc argued.

  “Took your time getting here, Outlander!”

  “Seems your Elders had other ideas regarding your care.”

  “And you do obey orders so well.”

  Broc lunged at Blade, Aunsgar, fast as wind, tackled the incensed Forest Lord. “To grasp his hilt is assured death,” the prince hissed, holding down the powerful laird with strength belying his lithe form.

  The weapon quivered. “Yes, yes, take my hilt—“

  “You will cease,” a deep voice resonated. Dark robes flapped in the chilling wind of descending night. The Elder moved closer to the weapon protruding from the snow. Broc tolerated Aunsgar assisting him back to his feet all the while, glaring at the cursed sword.

  A beacon. A mockery. But from Lumynari, or Blade? Why had the Shadow Masters not kept the weapon? Something like Blade would be considered invaluable loot. How was it Blade didn’t currently adorn Shadow’s hip? Or find himself being studied in hopes of figuring out the magicks placing the spirit within the blade to begin with? The horizon to their backs earned his scrutiny. MacLarrin Castle remained cloaked in mist. Yet something had known it was there, looking out at the world like an invisibly sentry.

  Blade.

  The treacherous sword had known the castle would be there. So too, he’d known lookouts would be posted, observing anything amiss in hopes it would lead to Emily. “Where is she?” Broc demanded. “You led her to them, didn’t you?”

  “If you had not conceded to my being buried, I would have never been parted from her.”

  Broc shrugged free of Aunsgar’s grip, moving closer to the sword.

  “You were to guard her, Blade,” the grizzled Elder stated. Silence ensued. After a strange standoff, the ancient faced Broc. “I am Xyn.” He nodded, Broc doing likewise. “You will take the sword. He will guide you to The Keeper.”

  Broc stared, complete surprise on his face. “He will slice my throat first chance given.”

  Xyn raised his hand. “He has been . . . shall we say, redirected?” Xyn’s odd violet eyes twinkled, much like Aunsgar’s when up to one of his Elf pranks under the guise of ‘For Broc’s Own Good’. The laird snorted in disbelief and turned away. Breath billowed in front of him, frigid air warning of more snow. He owed nothing to these men, regardless their power, their position. How could they have not intervened, preventing Emily from becoming prisoner of Lumynari? A memory rocked him. He swung his head back around, glaring at Xyn from over his shoulder. Where were they when Emily was but a small child and came under attack, her parents executed in full witness?

  “Everything is for a reason,” Xyn stated.

  “You read minds.” Broc was tempted to whip up one of Emily’s retorts, but declined.

  Xyn spoke in an odd, but gentle voice. “Paths are created by Lady Destiny—vicious goddess—pawns placed upon these paths, then given choices. Whichever path these pawns choose, not even we dare cross Destiny, nor her sister, Lady Fate.”

  Broc took a menacing step towards the old man. “I care not which god, Emily is no pawn!” Aunsgar grabbed Broc’s arm, staying the ancient Forest Lord from power best not crossed. He was helpless to stop the laird from speaking. “My people were no’ pawns, nor was Aurelia!”

  “Emily was observed, as were others . . . as were you.”

  Broc snorted his indifference. “I far surpass caring about the opinions of those content ta’ observe, too cowardly to intervene. Nay, ye’ cower and hide from battle, then swoop down from yer’ lofty pedestal, and dole out judgment and punishments.”

  Aunsgar squeezed his shoulder. “Careful, my friend.”

  “Or what? I’m turned into some hideous creature?” Hair whipping wildly in the increasing
wind, Broc shot Blade a glare of pure loathing. “Perhaps welded into a weapon tha’ fer’ all its supposed glory, could no’ even keep a wee lass from harm, aye?”

  “A difficult woman in this time. I cannot help I’ve awakened into an age where women have been so neglected by man as to no longer have an affinity for their counsel.”

  “Counsel?” Broc’s eyes burned onyx. “You had no business calling to her—oh, aye, Blade, I ken it ‘twas by the call of yer’ voice she’d even ken ta’ look fer’ ye’. Ye’ ne’er dared call ta’ me!” Stealthily, the laird advanced upon the weapon. “Why is that? Three thousand years, and ye’ ne’er made a sound. Difficult woman? She is a modern. Aurelia was a difficult woman! She wielded the power over ye’. What power could a modern possibly ‘ave that ye’ could no’ control?” Broc now loomed over the sword, its hilt standing tall and proud in the snow, level with Broc’s chest. “Ne’er ‘ave Lumynari entered Aunsgar’s domain. No trails could be found, no’ even by the Elves and their uncanny eyesight. Why is that?” He spun, glaring at Xyn. “Perhaps, Blade, ye’ ‘ad help in Emily’s abduction.”

  “Broc, curb your temper; be wary your accusations,” Aunsgar warned.

  “Perhaps the Outlander needs to save face, so places blame elsewhere,” Blade snarled.

  “Ye’ say Outlander like ‘tis a dirty word—“

  “I come from a time it was.”

  Broc growled, rage erupting. Yanking Blade from the snow, seething fury course through him.

  Aunsgar sprinted towards his friend . . . and slammed against an invisible barrier.

  “Now, Kintharin!” Xyn commanded.

  Blade illuminated. Chanting commenced. Broc’s arm forcibly yanked high above his head, brandishing the fiery sword. Arcs of lightning flashed down from the weapon into Broc, his head thrown back, howling.

  Roaring their ancient battle cries, Forest Lords charged. Aunsgar stepped away from the shield. An eye command from him, and his elite guards joined him, placing themselves in front of the lethal ancient warriors.