The Keeper's Heritage

by Trenna McMullin

  Calistra folded and sealed the innocuous piece of parchment, and then stood and walked to the door, orders in hand. The General would have to direct the eastern side of things from Ainon Caseia. Jeorj was not going back in the field anytime soon—probably not ever, so he would be able to coordinate their strategies from here. Geri would accompany her north with the main part of the army—because regardless of the danger it was her firmly held belief that a leader’s place was at the head of her people. Calistra passed the note to a messenger with instructions to deliver it to the field house right away, and then went down to the bell tower.

  It was time to convene the Elders.

  * * * * *

  Hallahna ignored the strange looks. She was used to drawing the attention of others when she travelled. Shaari so rarely left their lands that they were always a curiosity to outsiders. For the most part, she avoided towns when she travelled, partially because of the attention, but also because of Irakyll.

  Even though the dragons’ existence had been exposed at the battle of Ainon Caseia, the general public still knew nothing about the creatures and the Shaari hoped to keep it that way as long as possible. The dragons were more than mere pets to the Shaari. Their races were connected inextricably, as they had been from the day the First Bonded had discovered a young dragon that had mistakenly wandered into the world from the Place Between and helped protect its clutch of eggs from the dangers of the physical world.

  Irakyll had Bonded to Hallahna at hatching, and it caused them both a certain degree of anxiety to be separated for extended periods of time. So she avoided main roads and towns as she travelled, which allowed the little dragon to stay with her most of the time. Every so often she did need to resupply, however, so entering a few towns was necessary even if it did mean Irakyll had to stay hidden. It also meant she had to deal with the looks.

  Hallahna frowned. It was usual for people to look askance at her presence, but this time something felt different. There was tension in the air that hadn’t been there when she passed through on her way to her homeland. Suddenly being here felt a lot more dangerous. She quickly completed her transaction, taking the bag of food and paying the nervous-looking shopkeeper. She’d already filled her water-skin at the fountain in the middle of the marketplace; now all that remained was to get out of this suddenly-stifling town.

  Hallahna packed the food carefully in her saddlebags and then mounted. Hulde whinnied nervously, even she could feel apprehension their presence was causing. Or maybe she just sensed Hallahna’s own unease. They made it to the edge of the market without incident, and by the time Irakyll rejoined them, in the hills beyond the town, Hallahna had relaxed considerably. Still, if at all possible, she would avoid stopping in anymore villages. The atmosphere in Tirem was changing, and not for the better. Now, more than ever, she wished her father had listened to her about joining their allies. She had a feeling that when this storm broke, they would need each other.

  * * * * *

  “Joran’s been arrested,” Lauryn announced as they entered Sukylar’s room. Taren was just sitting next to the other man’s bed. The two looked like they had been conversing amicably.

  “What?!” Taren exclaimed, standing up and looking at Ky’ara.

  “We have to leave now,” she declared, nodding in confirmation. “Sukylar, do you think you’re alright to get up?”

  Sukylar was already rummaging through his pack for a shirt to pull on over his bandaged side. He looked slightly paler than normal, but otherwise seemed to be mostly recovered from the effects of the shadow-magic.

  “What are we going to do about Joran?” Lauryn asked, interrupting Ky’ara’s consideration of Sukylar’s health. “The soldiers were pretty rough starting out—I don’t imagine they’ll let him wake up enough to give him a chance to escape.”

  “He’s knocked out?” Taren asked, looking somewhat puzzled, “How many soldiers were there? Our best chance of helping him is now—once they take him someplace more secure it will be a lot harder to get him out.”

  “There were eight of them and they didn’t even give him a chance. They just bashed him across the face,” Ky’ara said in outrage, “He’s barely more than a child and they treated him like—”

  “Are you sure they knocked him out?” Taren interrupted her tirade.

  Ky’ara closed her mouth in surprise, then swallowed the instant bitterness she felt at being ignored and considered the question. “I don’t know. I—”

  Taren gave her an expectant look. She shook her head ruefully.

  ‘Joran?’

  ‘It’s about time! I was starting to think you’d just forgotten about me.’

  Ky’ara almost laughed in relief, though she felt a little foolish.

  “He’s conscious,” she announced to the others. Taren nodded as though he had been expecting this.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, still somewhat anxious as she recalled how hard they had hit him. There was a short pause.

  ‘It hurts. A lot. But I’ll get over it,’ Joran replied. Ky’ara’s attention was pulled back to the others as she tuned back in to what Taren was saying.

  “…remembered something from all that training I gave him—find out where they went with him.”

  ‘Where are you now?’ Ky’ara asked, ‘Do you know where they’re taking you?’

  ‘I’m in a prison-carriage next to the stables—there’s no windows, so I can’t look around for you, but I overheard the captain say he was going back inside to get more information out of the owner—I don’t know if any of the others went with him.’

  Ky’ara relayed the information to Taren.

  “We’ll have to move quickly, but carefully,” he said, his eyes scanning the courtyard outside the window. The stables were just visible around the corner of the inn. So far none of the soldiers had appeared. Their horses were tethered to the post on the near side of the building. The prison-carriage had to be on the other side—just out of sight.

  “We’ve wasted enough time,” Lauryn said, “The innkeeper could be up here at any moment—”

  “Get your things, both of you, and be back here in two minutes,” Taren instructed, acknowledging Lauryn’s comment with a nod. He slipped out the room behind them and went to grab his own pack. Ky’ara ran to her own door, glad she had not taken out many of her things.

  ‘Joran, we’re going to come get you as soon as we can,’ Ky’ara said as she tied the top of her pack and glanced around to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

  ‘Ky’ara, are you guys still in our rooms? The captain just came and asked some of his men to come in with him—you need to get out NOW,’ Joran’s anxious thoughts came back over the link instantaneously.

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ she responded, heading back to Sukylar’s room.

  Lauryn met her on the way, clutching the leather tube with the map protectively in both hands. Ky’ara helped her slide it through the top of her pack, and they returned to Sukylar’s room. Just as they reached the door they heard the faint tromp of boots coming up the stairs, along with the muffled tones of the innkeeper’s voice. They slipped inside the room and Lauryn eased the door closed as quickly as possible without making a sound.

  “They’ll be in the hallway any second,” Ky’ara whispered to Taren. Fortunately he had already made it back to the room, his own pack and Joran’s safely slung over his shoulders. He nodded brusquely, looking over at Sukylar, who shrugged, laying a hand on the hilt of one of his swords and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Over here, boys,” Lauryn said dryly.

  Ky’ara looked over towards the window. While they had been silently deliberating whether to fight their way out, Lauryn had simply gone to the window, opened it, and climbed out onto some sort of ledge. Now she had popped her head back into the room to motion them over. Sukylar wasted no time in crossing the room and hoisting himself over the windowsill and out onto the narrow ledge on which Lauryn balanced. Ky’ara went next, at Taren’s ins
istence, and he followed her out and closed the window carefully behind him.

  “Afraid of letting flies into the room?” Ky’ara commented, quirking an eyebrow at him.

  “No reason to let them know exactly where we went,” Taren explained. Ky’ara acknowledged this and turned to examine their predicament. Lauryn and Sukylar had already moved from the ledge onto a tree branch that reached conveniently along the side of the building. Ky’ara turned so she was facing the wall and sidestepped carefully along the ledge to where the branch was located. Carefully, she crouched so she could crawl onto it. Taren followed close behind, navigating the narrow ledge with far less difficulty than she would have expected, given his larger stature. Despite the ease with which he moved, sweat stood out on his forehead and his jaw was clenched.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” Ky’ara asked, confused by his sudden tension.

  “Heights are fine—as long as I’m on a sturdy tower or wide castle wall,” Taren replied tersely, “I’m just not a fan of clinging to the side of a building on a minuscule ledge. Can you keep moving, please, so I can get down?”

  In any other circumstances Ky’ara would have had a hard time suppressing her laughter. As it was, she couldn’t resist giving him a lopsided grin and an amused shake of her head before shimmying along the branch and clambering down the tree. She reached the ground just after Sukylar, the injured man having been slowed slightly by the somewhat restrictive bandages on his side and legs.

  “We’re lucky that tree was there,” Ky’ara said, looking back up at the wall that held their window, “Otherwise that ledge would have been a dead end.”

  Lauryn smiled faintly. “Luck had little to do with it. I picked that room myself—it never hurts to have an escape route ready.”

  “It was good thinking,” Taren commented as he dropped from the lowest tree branch and landed with a soft thump beside them. “If we’d been forced to fight them it could’ve ruined our chance to rescue Joran—speaking of which, we need to find some cover, or they’ll see us as soon as they think to look out the windows of either of those rooms.”

  Ky’ara took the hand he offered and the two strolled as quickly as they dared across the courtyard and out the gate near the stables, as though they were leaving. They earned little more than a glance from the soldiers who waited in the backyard of the inn. Sukylar and Lauryn followed in a similar manner, and soon all four were carefully scaling the simple fence to drop down into the narrow space behind the stables.

  “We’ll go in and saddle the horses,” Lauryn murmured, taking both packs from Taren as he offered them, and then passing one to Sukylar. They slipped around the corner and Ky’ara heard only a muffled thump as Sukylar knocked an unfortunate stableman over the head and dragged him behind a bale of hay. She and Taren walked to the other corner, carefully avoiding the stacks of firewood that lay against the building.

  Taren peered around the edge of the stables, considering the soldiers’ positions as he planned his approach. One of the men stood at attention by the doors of the prison-carriage. The others lounged nonchalantly behind it while they waited for their captain to emerge from the inn. One of them sat casually on a mounting block, carelessly flirting with a stablemaid. He suddenly flashed a genuine smile at something she said, his face lighting up in a way that made Ky’ara realize how young he was—barely older than Joran, probably.

  Ky’ara suddenly thought of all the women she had known in Coledria. Many had been wives, sisters, daughters of soldiers. She had gotten along well with them, for the most part. Some of the people she had identified with best had been soldiers or their families. They were typically middle class or poor nobility—nowhere near her rank, but privileged enough that their interaction with her was not stilted by fawning or excessive formality. And they typically had not held her mother’s lack of rank against her as did the higher nobility.

  “Don’t hurt them, please,” Ky’ara whispered.

  Taren turned, his stance relaxing ever so slightly. “Ky’ara—” he started,

  “Don’t kill anyone…or permanently injure them,” she clarified. “They aren’t the enemy. They’re just doing their job.”

  “That’s going to make this a lot harder you know,” Taren told her bluntly, “They aren’t just going to let him go at the first sign of a struggle.”

  Ky’ara nodded. “I know. But we don’t want to draw any attention with magic and I can’t just let you kill men who are probably just as misinformed as I was…I’m just asking you to try. Don’t put yourself at risk, but try to avoid any unnecessary maiming.” The corner of her mouth turned up slightly, but the humor did not reach her eyes. She did not want to be responsible for someone else’s loss—even if it seemed like they were in the wrong.

  Taren nodded mutely and turned back to his consideration of the carriage.

  “The best thing to do would be to get him out now, while the others are inside…but we have to wait for Lauryn and Sukylar to finish with the horses, or we’ll have a hard time getting away quickly,” he murmured just loud enough for Ky’ara to hear.

  “There are only three…you could handle that many if I go help with the horses.” Ky’ara suggested.

  “Yes, but if the others come back it’ll be a lot more troublesome,” Taren replied, “…and that girl is going to get in the way. Ask Joran if he still has his knife.”

  Ky’ara did. When she relayed Joran’s negative reply, Taren grunted in annoyance and narrowed his eyes, studying the inn’s windows for any sign that the captain was returning.

  “It’s probably better to risk it now than to wait…go help them with the horses. The soldiers won’t know me and I doubt the girl knows anything about what’s going on…I’ll send her to help you. If the others come back before we’re gone, Joran can let you know and you can come help.”

  Ky’ara nodded in agreement. “Be careful,” she told him, kissing him lightly on the cheek and heading into the stables. Taren adjusted his cloak so it better concealed his weapons, and then strolled over to the carriage.

  “Could we get some help with our horses?” he asked the stablemaid innocently, flashing her a disarming grin. “I have to go back in for our things and my sister could use some assistance.”

  The girl looked up from her flirting, “Isn’t there someone in there already?”

  Taren shook his head and spread his hands helplessly. “No one we saw,” he answered truthfully.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Rogir deserves a pop on the nose, he does. Never where he’s s’posed t’ be. Alright then, I’d better go see to it.” She shrugged apologetically to the soldier, and then smiled coyly in response to his farewell.

  Taren waited until she had entered the stables and was out of earshot.

  “Didn’t you say you were going back inside?” one of the soldiers prompted, indicating with his eyes that Taren had better move along.

  “Yes,” Taren replied pleasantly, “I did.”

  * * * * *

  Joran sat up when he heard Taren’s voice outside the carriage. An ordinary person would not have been able to distinguish what was being said through the thick, solid wood of the prison-carriage, but a Keeper could. Thank the light that Taren had trained him to tap into those abilities. His head still smarted from where the soldier had struck him, but luckily he’d been able to time it correctly and move with the blow—both lessening the impact and allowing him to stay conscious when he should have been knocked out. The week they had practiced that skill had been particularly painful, he remembered. Taren had never hit him hard enough to knock him out, but had maintained that Joran would not get the timing right if his trainer pulled back at the last second. Joran had complained rather vocally—why was it so important that he be able to feign unconsciousness?

  Now he was grateful that the Keeper had insisted on training him for every possibility. If he’d truly been knocked out, he would not have been able to warn Ky’ara that the captain was returning. He would have been incapacit
ated and unable to relay information to aid in his rescue, and he would have had a much worse headache than the one he had now.

  He turned his attention back to what was going on outside of the carriage.

  “Yes,” he heard Taren say, “I did.”

  Joran smiled to himself as a muffled thump followed this simple statement. One down, he thought, two to go. He started to yell and bang on the door of the carriage, creating a distraction to hopefully allow Taren to take out the other two guards without attracting any attention from the inn. Another thump on the backside of the carriage, accompanied by a brief cry of alarm, told him another guard had been neutralized.

  “Hey!” the guard at the door yelled, “Cut the racket—” his yell cut off abruptly, followed by a heavy whump as something fell against the side of the carriage.

  Joran listened carefully…he heard the muted sound of something being dragged around to the back.

  “Taren?” he called softly, rapping his knuckles near the rear corner of the carriage to catch the Keeper’s attention.

  “The guards didn’t have the key,” Taren’s muffled voice came from the other side of the wall. “Have you tried picking the lock from the inside?”

  Joran wasn’t offended that he’d skipped the pleasantries—Taren tended to focus on what was important and they were probably short on time. The captain and other guards could return any minute.

  “It’s a halfway lock,” Joran told him, “It’s only on the outside of the door—doesn’t go all the way through…you could probably pick it, but it’ll take some time…”

  During their training sessions that winter, Joran had reversed their roles and taught Taren a few of his more…obscure skills. The Keeper’s callused hands weren’t as sensitive to the minute moving of tumblers, but his enhanced hearing more than made up the difference. A little more practice and he’d be as good as Joran.