The Keeper Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by JA Andrews

  “Are you all right, Gustav?” Brandson asked.

  “If he’s dead, I get his share of the treasure,” Douglon called out.

  “Shut up,” Gustav groaned, and Ayda let out a peal of laughter that echoed through the fog.

  Gustav cursed and floundered, trying to right himself. As Alaric made his way down toward the old man, his own foot slipped, and he barely caught himself.

  It was Milly who got to the wizard first, slipping and sliding down to reach him.

  Gustav waved her away, scolding and complaining. Patiently, she ignored his protests and helped him untangle his foot, then retrieved his pointy, star-swirled hat, which had tumbled a bit farther down the hill.

  He smoothed out his muddy robe.

  “Thank you,” he muttered to Milly as he crammed on his bent hat. “I’m fine,” and he marched down the hill.

  Milly waited while the others made their way down to her.

  “You’re too good, Milly,” Ayda said. “Your kindness is wasted on that old man.”

  “Kindness can’t be wasted,” Milly replied. “If it needs gratitude, it isn’t really kindness.”

  “It might not be wasted, but it’s certainly unappreciated.” Ayda glanced at Brandson who was watching Milly with bright eyes. “Or at least unappreciated by the wizard.”

  When the rain started, it came with huge drops that plopped onto Alaric’s head and shoulders with irritating force. He pulled his cloak tight against his neck, but drop after drop found their way through, dribbling down his back. It took close to an hour before the ground leveled off and they reached the edge of a pine forest. Sunset was still hours away, but between the rain and the trees, they walked through a deep gloom.

  With the pattering of rain sounding distant on the branches high above them, Alaric noticed the unnatural silence for the first time. There were no birds, no squirrels, not even many bugs. The forest smelled stale and forgotten.

  Brandson caught his eye. “Creepy, isn’t it?”

  Alaric cast out a thin, subtle wave, unnoticed by Gustav, but found no animal larger than a bug. The trees held a deep, ponderous hum of energy, like a rumble of thunder.

  Ayda walked by them, brushing her fingertips against their trunks and peering up into the canopy. “The trees are old. They’ve almost forgotten how to talk.”

  “How will we ever bear the loss?” Douglon muttered.

  The rain fell on the canopy of the trees above them. The water cascaded down from above, here and there making the ground a patchwork of dry dirt and mud. They walked, their eyes mostly up, watching for the water and winding from dry patch to dry patch.

  A dry crack from under Douglon’s boot echoed through the forest. Everyone stopped.

  The ground ahead of them was littered with pale sticks.

  “These didn’t come from the pines,” Brandson said looking up at the dark trees around them. “They’re not dark enough.” He dropped down to one knee and picked up a stick. It crumbled in his hand. “Bones! They’re all bones!”

  A slight chill ran down Alaric’s spine. As far as he could see, bones of different sizes poked up out of the ground like misshapen fingers trying to claw free of their graves.

  The party stared in silence until Ayda spoke.

  “What did you expect to find in Bone Valley?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alaric knelt down. These weren’t complete skeletons, just scattered bones. A lot of scattered bones.

  Douglon crept backward, cringing at every crunch under his feet. “Where did they all come from?” he asked, an edge of panic in his voice.

  “Quite a few of these came from chickens,” answered Milly, moving some of the bones around with her feet.

  “Chickens?” said Brandson.

  “Some of them. But these over here are bigger. From a pig, maybe,” she said, reaching down to pick up one of the bones.

  “Don’t touch it!” Douglon said.

  Milly looked at him in surprise. “Why not? It’s very old. Look how smooth the edges are.”

  Douglon didn’t move any closer. Milly looked at him puzzled.

  “They’re just bones,” she said.

  “I know that,” he said scowling, “but there are so many of them.”

  “This one’s big. Horse, do you think?” Milly asked.

  Alaric stepped in among the bones. Milly was right. They were all old. Broken edges were smoothed over from years of exposure to weather, and since little weather made it down beneath these trees, the bones must have been here a very long time.

  A roundish lump lay half buried in the ground. “This one isn’t a horse.”

  It was a human skull.

  The sound of the rain above them lessened and the forest lightened. Alaric scanned the ground and saw a number of skulls.

  “What happened here?” Milly asked.

  Alaric caught sight of Gustav standing at the edge of the bones, squinting into the gloom. His befuddled expression slowly turned sly.

  “There’s only one thing that leaves carnage like this.” Gustav’s voice rang out so loudly that the others jumped. They all turned to look at him. All except Alaric. He knew what the wizard was going to say.

  “A dragon!” the old man proclaimed, throwing his arms out and searching the treetops.

  Milly took a step closer to Brandson, and everyone looked up toward the tops of the trees.

  “A dragon big enough to eat a horse wouldn’t fit in between these trees,” Alaric pointed out. “And one shot of dragon fire would have burned up this entire forest. If these bones were left by a dragon, they were left here a long time ago, as Milly has already pointed out. Before this forest grew.”

  They considered his logic for a moment and nodded. All except Gustav, who glared at Alaric.

  “It does look like the legend of Bone Valley’s dragon has some truth behind it, though,” Alaric said to Brandson.

  “Can we please get out of here?” Douglon asked through clenched teeth.

  Ahead of them, in the direction of all the bones, the forest lightened.

  Brandson straightened. “I’m afraid there’s no way out but through the bones.” He stepped forward, cringing when his foot crunched down onto the eerie bed of bones.

  Ayda and Milly picked their way through carefully, discussing the bones they came across. Brandson stepped through, gingerly testing each step before moving on. Douglon followed right behind Brandson, cringing and shuddering with each step.

  “It was a dragon,” Gustav said petulantly to Alaric.

  “That’s the most obvious answer,” Alaric said. “And it fits with the legend of Bone Valley. But we certainly don’t need to be frightened of a dragon from a hundred years ago.”

  Gustav scowled at him and continued ahead. Alaric shook his head. That old man certainly had a love for the dramatic.

  The bones ended with the trees. The sun had broken through the clouds, and they stood at the edge of a meadow stretching across Bone Valley, dotted with stands of pine trees. Above them, the clouds were chasing each other on the wind. Snow-covered mountains soared above the western side of the valley.

  “We’d better find a place to camp,” Brandson said glancing at the sun, which sat low above the mountains. “Twilight is going to come earlier here.”

  “How about away from the bones?” said Douglon.

  They struck out along the edge of the trees searching for some other shelter. The sun had dropped behind the mountains by the time they reached a little grove of pines set out in the middle of the meadow. After Douglon inspected the ground for any bones, they set up camp between the trunks.

  Brandson carried an armful of wood for the fire. “I don’t suppose you could do that thing again where you see if Patlon followed us?” he asked Gustav.

  “Of course, my boy,” the wizard answered. “I was just about to.” Standing up tall and spreading his arms wide apart, the wizard closed his eyes and began to mutter, spinning in a circle.

  Alaric wat
ched him, keeping his face bland. He felt Gustav’s wave limp past again.

  “We are still alone,” Gustav announced. “That monster did not follow us.”

  “He’s not a—” Douglon started, but at Gustav’s glare he stopped. “We’ll set a watch tonight,” he grumbled.

  Alaric cast out his own wave without any movement or sound, but his findings agreed with the old man’s.

  Gustav ambled over to where Milly and Brandson were setting wood for a small fire. The wizard shooed them away. As he did, Alaric saw a glimmer of silver drop onto the wood. With a flourish, Gustav shouted, “Incende!” and stabbed his staff into the wood. There was a tiny spark and then an explosion as the wood burst into flames. Milly scrambled back and stifled a scream. Smiling in satisfaction, Gustav strode away from the flames, waving them back to the fire.

  Alaric knelt to rummage in his pack, trying to hide his smile. Fire powder! The old man had used fire powder and passed it off as magic. Alaric thought for the hundredth time that he should give up everything else and bring fire powder to Queensland. It was prohibitively expensive, but the wealthy in countries far to the south sprinkled the silvery powder in ovens and over wood. A quick rap would ignite the powder and result in what had occurred in their own fire. How had Gustav managed to get ahold of some?

  “Amazing, Gustav!” exclaimed Milly.

  “Wondrous,” Alaric agreed.

  The evening stretched out, perfectly quiet, as the group settled down around the small fire. It was a little eerie that there were so few noises, and Alaric found himself constantly straining to hear something. Anything.

  Brandson volunteered to take first watch and ambled to the edge of their small pine grove. Milly watched him for a moment. Seeing Ayda’s encouraging nod, she prepared a plate of food and took it over to him.

  “Thanks, Milly,” Alaric could just hear Brandson say to her.

  “She’s a nice girl,” Ayda said, following Alaric’s gaze.

  Alaric nodded.

  “I think Brandson should marry her. I’ve been trying forever to get the two of them together.”

  “Marry her?”

  “Yes. Brandson is lonely. He has been since his parents died,” Ayda said, her face thoughtful. “I think he needs a more satisfying family than a bunch of misfits.”

  “Who are you calling a misfit?” Douglon asked.

  “You,” she laughed, stepping over to him and poking another flower into his beard.

  Alaric glanced around at the ground but didn’t see any flowers. Where did she find these things?

  “Alaric is a handsome man with good prospects,” Ayda said, “and I’m— Well… me. So the misfits are you and the crazy wizard.”

  Gustav harrumphed and stood up from the fire, stalking away to sit on the opposite side of the camp from Brandson.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Milly.” Brandson’s voice drifted through the darkening trees.

  “Me, too,” she answered. “Those trees over there are lovely.”

  “The oaks?” Brandson said. “They are. Strange to see a stand of oaks when the rest of the valley is full of pines.”

  Alaric looked up and caught Gustav whipping his head around toward Milly.

  Alaric waited for a grand announcement from Gustav claiming to have solved the riddle, but the wizard hunched back around and studied his fingernails.

  So Gustav didn’t plan on sharing his knowledge with the rest of the group. That was interesting. Alaric settled himself back against the tree. What was the old man’s plan?

  For a long time, Alaric rested against his tree, watching Gustav who was busy looking bored. The Wellstone was close. It was past time to let this group know that he knew what the ‘oatry’ clue meant. With that, there’d be nothing to stop them from finding the treasure. Tomorrow morning, Alaric decided, he would tell everyone he was a Keeper. It might not be precisely true, but it was as good of a title for him as anything else. The nagging guilt of lying to this group had become too strong to ignore. It would be a relief to tell them.

  One by one, the others fell asleep. When Gustav hadn’t stopped snoring for at least an hour, Alaric allowed himself to close his eyes as well.

  It was still dark when Alaric awoke to a shriek. From across the campsite, Gustav ran screeching toward the fire. He reached the group and bunched up his robe, catapulting himself over the fire, white bony legs still pumping in mid-air.

  “Dragon!” he yelled as he barely cleared the small fire and landed, legs still pumping as he raced through their grove of trees and toward the grass separating them from the main forest.

  Alaric leapt up and searched the clear, moonlit sky with his eyes and mind. The night was quiet and empty.

  Then an enormous power burst into the valley. A dragon shot through the night sky. Dark red flashes glittered off its scales in the moonlight. It flew in front of the moon, and for a moment, its thin wings glowed scarlet. It was massive, its wings blocking out ragged sections of the stars as it soared across the sky. It turned and dove, making straight for them.

  Gustav, still shrieking, had reached the grassy meadow and ran toward the main woods.

  Alaric’s blood thrummed with the energy of the dragon. A dragon!

  Milly screamed and cowered behind a tree. Brandson threw his arm around her.

  “Gustav!” yelled Brandson, “Get back here!”

  But the old man ran heedlessly on.

  “Idiot!” Douglon swore.

  Alaric snapped into motion, running to the edge of the grove, searching for a spell to protect Gustav.

  But the dragon reached the wizard first. The dragon’s roar shook the ground, and the blast of energy created as it produced its fire knocked Alaric off his feet.

  Its massive body hurtled through the air, spraying out a jet of flame, which enveloped the old man. The huge jaw opened, and the teeth snapped shut around Gustav. The dragon spun around, shooting high into the air and leaving behind empty, charred grass.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A dragon—a real dragon! And Gustav…

  But there hadn’t been a dragon in Queensland for a hundred years.

  Silence reigned in the valley. The clouds had cleared, and the wet grass glinted silver in the moonlight. Alaric stood with everyone else, frozen, staring at the scorched ground where Gustav had been.

  High above them, the dragon roared. The sky lit up with red flames, startling them all into action.

  Alaric scrambled to his feet and moved to the edge of the trees, searching the sky. He caught sight of the dark shape spiraling impossibly high before turning back toward them. What were they going to do against a dragon?

  Alaric glanced around at the group. Brandson held his knife uncertainly. It was a knife for skinning animals, not fighting a dragon. Douglon hefted his axe, which was a little better. But the two looked small and insignificant. Milly ran to the fire and smothered it with dirt. Alaric gave her an approving nod. Looking around for a weapon, she grabbed a frying pan.

  Alaric noticed in passing how clear his mind felt, and he glanced at Ayda. She was focused on the sky.

  Don’t fight a dragon, Keeper Gerone would say. Leave that sort of business to warriors. Distract it and flee.

  Distract it with what? They were in an empty valley. But they certainly weren’t equipped to fight it. Not this group. Douglon was the only one even close to a warrior. There was no archer. No one even had a sword. Alaric could protect them somewhat, but only from the fire. He had no defense against dragon teeth.

  “Any ideas?” he asked Ayda.

  “Befriend it?” she offered.

  Useless elf.

  “If he lands,” Douglon said, “we might have a chance to injure it and drive it off.” His voice didn’t hold any real hope, though. “Stay in the trees until he does.”

  “What if he sets the forest on fire first?” Milly asked.

  Alaric gathered some energy. He began to weave an invisible shield over the nearby trees, enclosing the grou
p in it. It wouldn’t stop the fire completely, dragon’s breath was too hot, but it would protect the trees from enough heat that they shouldn’t burst immediately into flames. And hopefully, it would stop the flames from reaching them down on the ground. His hands began to burn as he stretched the shield farther. He had guarded Douglon, Brandson, and Milly from the heat and was turning toward Ayda when she flashed him an irritated look.

  “I don’t need your help,” she said. “Take care of the others.”

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling the shield away from her and anchoring it above the rest of them.

  “Here it comes!” Douglon warned.

  A rushing sound began high above them, then plummeted down.

  Douglon was right. Any chance they had of even injuring the creature depended on it being on the ground.

  Maybe a strong wind could ground it. Alaric began to gather energy again, pulling it in as fast as he dared, feeling the pressure of it building inside of him. He wove a web across the space between their grove of trees and the main forest, containing a portion of air. When the web was complete, he drew energy out of the air above it, pulling out the heat, making it colder and colder. The cool air pressed down on his web, getting heavier the colder he made it. He drew out more and more heat until the air was frigid. An erratic wind began to move at the edges of his web, and the trees on either side where he had anchored it bent down toward the ground.

  The dragon pelted toward them. An ear-splitting roar cracked the night.

  Alaric’s hands were in agony, and his arms burned as he forced more and more energy into the net. He stretched clawed hands forward one more time. The grass at his feet withered as he pulled energy from it to replenish his own. The leaves of the nearest tree shriveled. Alaric reached farther, searching for more strength to put toward his task.

  The dragon sped down along the grass. With a surge, Alaric tore his net off the trees and let the cold air plummet down. The dragon, caught in the draft, crashed to the ground. But in a moment, it bunched its legs and launched itself back into the air.

  He caught a glimpse of Brandson’s knife as he threw it. It tinked harmlessly off the red scales of the dragon’s belly and tumbled into the grass.