Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  Aderyn’s voice drifted through the open window. “You know it isn’t safe to be out once dark falls.”

  “Had to make this delivery. For her,” Madam Sewell said, her words raspy as if she’d aged a decade.

  “You had to go there?” Aderyn’s voice faltered. “Did you see Willem?”

  “No, just the old woman.” A chair scraped across the floor. “I dropped off the last gown I altered for her mistress, and she said the lady wanted me to find someone skilled enough to paint that wooden cask.”

  Paper rustled as Aderyn asked, “I’m to follow these drawings?”

  “She said these symbols must be exact. Lady Mortifer wants it painted in three days.”

  “They know her?” Lyssanne whispered.

  “Venefica rules openly now.”

  Lyssanne nearly cried out at that low murmur, but a hand covered her mouth.

  “I didn’t intend to startle you,” Brennus whispered.

  She nodded against his hand, and he removed it.

  “You really must make a bit more noise when you approach people from behind.”

  “Hazard of the profession,” he said.

  They stood thus for some time, Lyssanne leaning against his solid warmth, listening to her friends speak of things which had been foreign to Cloistervale months before.

  Her entire life had been little different, standing on the outside, looking in. However great her efforts to belong here, she never truly had. In this, she and Brennus were much alike. Only, Lyssanne hadn’t chosen to live as a mere watcher among those she loved.

  Behind her, Brennus stiffened. His arm wound around her waist, pulling her to him, while his fingers again covered her lips. He bent close and whispered, more sensation than sound, “Danger. Move.” He clasped her hand and pulled her around, then started running.

  Lyssanne had a fleeting glimpse of a hulking, dark shape and the glint of teeth. Then, all her concentration was required to simply remain upright as Brennus pulled her through the trees.

  Snarls and high wheezes pursued them. Somewhere along their mindless flight, Jarad, Clark, and the faeries joined them.

  “This way!” Olivia yelled.

  Sudden hoof beats and a flash of white broke through the trees ahead. “There are two others,” Reina said. “I dispatched a third.”

  A root leapt up to snag Lyssanne’s toe, and she lurched. Brennus steadied her as she struggled to draw breath. Still panting, she stumbled onward beside him.

  “She knows we’re here!” Jarad shouted.

  “I think not,” Brennus said, matching his pace to Lyssanne’s. “If she had, the forest would be swarming with her servants. But she’ll know after this.”

  “Then, you must make your invasion now, before she can prepare,” Jada said.

  Blood hammered in Lyssanne’s ears. No! She wasn’t ready! She’d thought she had one more day to prepare. For what, though? How could one prepare to fight vapor and magic?

  “Lyssanne is too weary from travel to cross the valley tonight,” Brennus said, “let alone climb that mountain. She needs a safe place to rest.”

  “The faerie ring,” Olivia said, buzzing just ahead. “We must get her within it, at once.”

  “But,” Lyssanne said between gasps, “if she knows—”

  “A warrior’s no good in a fight if she collapses before reaching the battlefield,” Jada said.

  Reina, who’d been trotting ahead to Lyssanne’s right, suddenly flung herself across their path, shouting, “Wait!”

  Lyssanne and Brennus slid to a halt, just short of plowing into her.

  “They’re nearly upon us, Shining One!” Brennus said.

  “Guard the rear, then. Something feels wrong here.”

  Reina backed up a step, forcing Lyssanne to do the same. The faeries shot sparks behind them, eliciting screeches from their pursuers. Reina bent her head and swept the leaves with her horn, then jumped aside. Something crashed to the ground where she’d stood.

  “A net trap,” Brennus said on a growl.

  “Barbed, too, looks like,” Clark said.

  “How did you know to look for the trip-chord?” Brennus asked.

  “I felt it in the air,” Reina said. “That foul net is coated in poison. One prick of those barbs, and any human will die—unpleasantly.”

  Olivia gasped. “She knows about the sanctuary.”

  “Impossible,” Jada whispered.

  Brennus released Lyssanne to smack a fist into his palm. “Venefica heard you speak of it, months ago, when I watched you in Duncan’s meadow. She’s likely set traps all around the place, suspecting Lyssanne might someday return.”

  “Then,” said Jada, “we shall have to spring them.”

  The faeries and Reina split off in separate directions to search out further snares. Brennus, Clark, and Jarad led Lyssanne around the poisoned net and took a stand well away from its dangers. The three men surrounded her, their backs to her and weapons drawn. Clark hefted his great blacksmith’s hammer; so weighty even Brennus couldn’t wield it.

  Then, the creatures reached them.

  Throughout the maelstrom of shrieks, blurs, grunts, slashes, and zings that followed, Lyssanne wielded the one weapon she possessed. She prayed.

  Within moments, it was over, the ensuing silence almost painful to the ears. Lyssanne’s three champions stood sweat-soaked, winded, and alive. None relaxed his stance.

  The sliver of a moon rose higher, and still they waited. One by one, their mythic friends returned with reports of varying success. None had been harmed, however. When at last the circle of seven was complete, Lyssanne offered up silent gratitude.

  They ventured on toward the site of Princess Tria’s sacrifice, Brennus leading Lyssanne around the bodies of the slain creatures, more akin to misshapen mounds of muck than beasts.

  At last, Olivia called a halt at the edge of a clearing. “Only Lyssanne, Reina, and we of the FAE may enter the sanctuary,” she said. “I think it best the rest of you join the army of men which has encamped in the western foothills of the Lucent Mountains.”

  “Duncan has arrived, then?” Brennus asked.

  “He and his troops traveled night and day, reaching the valley two days before you.” Olivia said. “We’ve aided them in camouflaging their presence. As yet, I do not believe the sorceress is aware of their threat.”

  “Flowers!” Clark blurted. “Flowers are going to protect her?”

  Lyssanne glanced about. They’d arrived. The ring of flowers that honored the saving of her unborn life would shelter her on perhaps her last night.

  “Neither the Shadow Mist nor any other agent of darkness can enter here,” Olivia said.

  “One question, I have for you, Captain of the FAE,” Brennus said, his voice harsh. “If this place is protected, why could Lyssanne not have stayed here from the first, and avoided this entire perilous journey?”

  “You guard her interests well, knight,” she said. “Our testimonies of the King’s deeds are a sanctuary and renewal to our strength, but we cannot live within them. We must move on to the path the King has marked out for us. Lyssanne needed a true home and means of sustenance.”

  Brennus turned to Lyssanne. “I shall send Clark for you after sunset on the morrow. I once discovered an unused passage from the river to the old stone keep attached to Venefica’s manor.” He took her hand. “By that route, we should avoid most of her traps.”

  “I don't think I shall be able to sleep,” she whispered.

  “Is there anything you FAE can do?” Brennus asked. “The curse has been threatening to strike in full intensity for weeks. If she fails to rest—”

  “Lyssanne,” Olivia said, “if you wish, I shall grant you the King’s gift of sweet sleep.”

  All at once, everyone was bidding Lyssanne farewell. Jarad gave her a tight but perfunctory hug. Clark clapped her on the shoulder, almost sending her sprawling. Reina nuzzled her hair before stepping through the ring. Brennus simply stared down at her, his
intensity rendering her immobile.

  The others seemed to sense Lyssanne needed a moment with Brennus, for they ranged themselves in a semicircle facing the wood, claiming to watch for threats.

  Lyssanne looked up at him, that looming shadow of safety in the faint moonlight, and reached for his hand. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t bear it. When she next saw him, he must lead her to almost certain death. They had no more time.

  “Brennus, I…” Her voice broke. What could she say? I love you? She wouldn’t burden his heart more than it already was, not when she was unlikely to survive the next pair of days.

  “Shh.” He cupped her cheek. “Let Olivia help you sleep. I…” He inhaled. “I shall meet you and Clark by the river.” He leaned down and rested his brow against hers. She clung to his hand, and he clung back. Then, he released her and slipped into the night.

  Brennus concealed himself amid the shadows. As long as he remained in sight, Lyssanne wouldn’t tear herself away and get to safety.

  She glanced back then stepped over the flowers. A wall of brilliant light shot up from the circle. Brennus blinked to regain focus. Lyssanne was gone. The faeries passed through the cylindrical blue shimmer, then it, too, vanished. Only the ring of blossoms remained, empty.

  27

  Stone’s Cry

  As the hood of dusk fell across the face of Cloistervale, Brennus shook free of the cloth that had shrouded his raven eyes. He scanned the trees, his battle plan fully formed.

  Jada met him just outside Duncan’s camp. “There’s something different about you,” she said, “less repulsive. Not much, but somewhat.”

  Brennus shrugged. “I bathed two evenings past.” He grinned. “When I swore fealty to your King.”

  “So, you’re not made of stone after all,” she said. “Good. I won’t have to waste time deciding whether to fight at your side or use you as pillow stuffing. Now, let us do this thing.”

  “Once we reach Venefica,” he said, “she’ll likely loose her minions on the village, using the people’s suffering to weaken Lyssanne’s resolve. ’Tis best you and Duncan strike first, engage her forces and rob her of that one weapon.”

  “A wise strategy,” she said, opening the dome of silence surrounding the camp to allow him entrance. “We FAE shall provide aerial support, but be warned. None shall see us, save Lord Avery and other followers of the King who accept the unexplainable.”

  He nodded. “Let us hope Duncan has prepared the troops for the host of unnatural things they’re soon to witness.”

  Glancing up from the crude model of Cloistervale he’d constructed of rocks, leaves, and sword-drawn lines in the dirt, Brennus addressed the officers assembled in Duncan’s war tent. “Command your men to beware dark thoughts,” he said. “Regret, guilt, rage—such is the fuel and fodder of the Shadow Mist. This is an enemy all the deadlier because it is unseen. Still, forget not your advantage. The Mist has power only if you allow its tendrils to take root.”

  “Why will you not command us, Sire?” asked the captain of archers.

  “My fight is against the one who controls the enemy forces.” Brennus eyed the rising sliver of moon. “And it is time I be about it.”

  The men’s voices rose in chorus, offering him a traditional battle wish for strength of arm and courage of heart.

  He echoed this, adding, “May the King’s hand be our might, His power guard our backs.”

  “For Lastarra and Lyrya!” a knight shouted, fist raised.

  Duncan bellowed, “For Lady Lyssanne!”

  Brennus’s shout rose above them all, “For the King of All Lands!”

  At that, every fist or sword was thrust into the air. For, many had followed Duncan in pledging fealty to the King.

  Far into the night, Lyssanne and Clark met Brennus at an ancient, fallen tree beside the river. Lyssanne leaned against its petrified bark.

  “The hidden passage is clear,” Brennus said. “Lyssanne, you must rest.” He lifted her onto the trunk. “The shadow of pain darkens your eyes. The curse again whispers its presence?”

  She nodded, taking the water-skin he offered. “Is Jarad safe?”

  “He wished to warn your friend Aderyn and the scribe of the impending battle. Said he’d stay the night at your cottage and assemble the village children there at dawn. Olivia vowed to send a contingent of FAE warriors to protect them.”

  “Brennus,” she said, her voice tentative, “there is one thing I must ask of you.”

  “Speak it,” he said, “and it is yours.”

  “I-if…” She took a long breath. “Should I not return…please, may I have your promise to keep Jarad safe?”

  “It is done,” he said. “I’ve made provisions with Duncan. Whatever should befall either of us, Jarad is assured a place at Avery Hall for as long as he wishes it.”

  “You did that,” she whispered, “without my having to ask?” She flung her arms, water-skin and all, around him. “Thank you.”

  She tried to pull away, but Brennus held her fast.

  “One thing you’ve never asked, would never ask,” he whispered, “yet it, too, is yours. So little I’ve found worthy of faith in this sham of a life, but, Lyssanne…” He stroked her hair. “I believe in you.”

  Brennus hacked through one last tangle of branches, revealing the lip of the stone basin from whence the river flowed. He beckoned the others into the cave concealed beneath it. Clark had to stoop almost double to navigate the narrow passage.

  Near the tunnel’s end, Brennus halted, sword raised. “Ready yourselves,” he whispered.

  They emerged in a servant’s hall near the kitchens. All was silence. Brennus doused his torch and propped it against the panel concealing the passage. On soundless feet, he led the way toward the entry hall and main stairway. Still, nothing stirred.

  Stone busts, vases, and gargoyles cast eerie shadows in the flickering dimness. Beside him, Lyssanne’s soft footfalls whispered along the dark hardwood.

  Then, an inhuman cry shattered the stillness. “The power of the King is at hand!”

  Brennus spun, finding nothing but the hideous visage of a gargoyle staring at him.

  “The daughter of the King of Light has come!” screamed another voice. This, from a statue near Lyssanne.

  “That noise’ll wake the house,” Clark hissed.

  All along the corridor, statues, gargoyles, and even busts sprang to sudden life.

  “Get behind me!” Brennus shouted to Lyssanne.

  He swung his sword at the nearest stone adversary. The blade clanged against the statue, the jolt numbing his arm. He spun his hilt in his hand to use its raven’s-head pommel as a cudgel. With a leap and a mighty kick, he sent the statue crashing into a wall, where it shattered.

  Before he could savor his victory, two more stone figures rushed him. “Beware!” he shouted, staring into the darkness swirling in the marble eyes of his nearest foe. “She’s animated them with the Shadow Mist.”

  While Brennus kicked, spun, and pummeled, Clark’s hammer rang out, making short work of sinister statuary.

  Another spin left Brennus facing Lyssanne, and he nearly let a bewigged bust brain him. A gargoyle held her pinned to the wall. Stone claws pressed so hard to her throat, her face was purpling. Her lips moved, and a sudden, brilliant flash flung the gargoyle backward. It lay lifeless on the floor; its eyes empty of Mist.

  By instinct alone, Brennus swung his arm up and back, smashing away the bust just before it could bash in his head. Then, he whirled to fend off another gargoyle. He’d dispatched two more by the time silence shocked him from his battle haze.

  Shards of stone and shattered crockery littered the floor. It was over. For the moment.

  Brennus bent to catch his breath, his thoughts racing to all the places Venefica might be lurking. At this predawn hour, her chambers would have been his first guess. The Mist-ensorcelled statues, however, left no doubt she was awake—and aware of their presence.

  “You!” an all too f
amiliar voice screeched from the shadows.

  Magda. The crone shuffled forward at surprising speed.

  “I always knew you for a bad egg!” she shouted. “You’ll wish she’d left you to die when she finds out, crow!” She lunged for Brennus, brandishing…a broom handle?

  Before Brennus could react, Clark caught the crone around the throat, his beefy forearm forcing her chin toward the ceiling.

  “Where is she?” Brennus demanded. When Magda only stared, he pressed his sword’s tip to her midsection. “Tell me, crone, and I’ll spare your wretched life.”

  Magda’s eyes bulged, and a rasp escaped her lips. “Tower.”

  “You know the place?” Clark asked.

  “Yes,” Brennus growled. Venefica had retreated to her site of greatest power to cast her spells. This did not bode well.

  Clark nodded then smacked a fist atop Magda’s head. She slumped, unconscious.

  “Clark!” Lyssanne cried.

  “She’ll live,” the blacksmith said. “Though, she may wish she hadn’t.”

  Footfalls pounded overhead, drawing Brennus’s eye to the ceiling.

  “Which way?” Clark asked.

  “Back down the corridor,” Brennus said. “In the old keep.”

  “Go,” Clark said. “I’ll hold off whoever’s coming.”

  “We don’t know—”

  “Go, man! Get our lady where she needs to be. I’ll catch you up when it’s done.”

  Lyssanne rushed to Clark and hugged him around the middle. “Be careful.”

  “And you, Little Starling,” he said. “May the King’s own hand be your shield.” He turned and bounded up the grand stairs.

  “Come,” Brennus said. “It is time.” He took Lyssanne’s hand and led her back through the rubble toward the door to the old keep.

  Fighting for breath, Lyssanne halted before an iron-studded, arched door. They’d climbed more stairs than Mr. Fescue’s tower could boast. The pounding of her blood intensified the pain growing in her head.