The Keeper Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by JA Andrews

  Beard beads, his brain offered.

  He pressed his face into his hands and growled. He opened his eyes and between his fingers he could just see the flicker of the nearest small fire glinting off his ring.

  His wide, gold ring.

  “Idiot!” he hissed, trying to work the ring off his finger. The edge of it dug into his knuckle.

  He squeezed his way out of the circle between two wagons and paused at the site of the long line of Roven warriors. Surely the goblins wouldn’t attack something this large? The Morrow Clan looked prepared for an attacking army. Firelight glittered off hundreds of weapons and suddenly he felt foolish for worrying about one small ring.

  Past the line of Roven, the Sweep lay still and dark. For the first time, the grassland didn’t feel empty. It felt full of…nothing. Which sounded the same, but felt very, very different.

  Will was jogging by the time he reached Killien at the far northern end of the clan. Hal stood by his side, huge in the dim light, a wide sword slung across his back. Farther north, separated from the clan by a hundred paces, sat the wagons holding all the metal.

  Killien had a well-used, common looking sword hung at his belt. Slung across his back was another, more rustic one. It took Will a minute to recognize it as the seax Killien had been given by Flibbet the Peddler.

  “Come to join the fight?” Hal asked.

  Will held up his knife. “If this is the sort that needs two swords, definitely not.”

  “Only one sword for fighting.” Killien shifted his shoulders under the scabbard on his back. “This is just for safe keeping. Svard Naj doesn’t sit in the metal wagon with the common things, unprotected.”

  “Speaking of metal wagons…” Will held up his hand with the ring. “I forgot to take this off. But now that I see how much metal is still among the clan, does it matter? There are metal weapons everywhere.”

  “The weapons aren’t gold,” Hal pointed out. “Goblins love gold. You should get that far away from you.”

  “I’ll get a runner to put it in my chest.” Killien motioned to the wagons set fifty paces away across the grass, his voice tinged with irritation.

  Will opened his mouth to explain that he couldn’t get it off, when a faint horn blast cut through the silence of the night. A single fire flared larger near the sheep herds. Another horn rang out three sharp notes and other fires flamed up.

  A spot of blackness raced down the nearest hill toward them. Another burst of a horn called out, this one long, and a handful of Roven rushed out in a wedge, swords drawn, facing out into the Sweep to offer protection to the rider. More fires flared, painting the rise of the Sweep in flickering orange, turning the grass to a dim, mottled red fur.

  Will’s stomach dropped.

  Sora raced toward the clan, calling out something he couldn’t hear.

  The wedge opened and she galloped in, the Roven collapsing back in after her, re-forming the line.

  A low growl seeped out of the ground itself.

  The hillside shifted.

  A wide section of the grass slid sideways, then disappeared, falling into deep blackness. It widened into a gaping, hollow maw. Another appeared beside it.

  A scrambling stream of dark, ill-formed shapes vomited out of the ground. The Sweep trembled from the charge. Grating, piercing shrieks split the night.

  “Heatstones!” Killien shouted and the command was echoed down the line.

  Hal dropped a heatstone close to the fire. Inside it, a kernel of light like a candle flame appeared, spreading and brightening. When it was almost as bright as the fire, Hal kicked it between his fire and the next one. The stone glowed with a searing yellow light, looking almost molten. A rush of heat washed across Will, like he stood in front of an oven.

  Down the line, blazing yellow spots appeared, one after another.

  To the south, goblins broke through the line and reached a herd. Terrified squeals from the sheep mixed with the shrieks of the goblins. The animals panicked, crashing into each other like waves trapped in a roiling sea.

  A heatstone flew in a bright arc, disappearing into the stream of goblins. Screeches rang out and the goblins scattered away from it, into the path of Roven swords and knives.

  “Get that ring out of here,” Killien shouted at Will, pulling two long knives out of his belt and pointing one at the seat in the front of the nearest wagon. “And then get up on something high.”

  The Torch turned toward the approaching goblins. Hal stationed himself by the fire, his enormous sword drawn. Will scrambled toward the metal wagons, yanking at his ring.

  A long line of bonfires and heatstones edged the clan now, stretching down the Sweep like blazing teeth. Outside the line, the first row of grass hills was visible, and streaming from the wide holes came goblin after goblin. They rushed out in an endless stream a half-dozen goblins wide.

  The creatures pooled along the fireline, rushing closer, their eyes reflecting back the firelight in wide, white orbs. The small, hunched goblins scrambled forward in a chaos of green, wiry legs and arms.

  “More heat!” Killien called.

  Whenever a fire flared up, the goblins pulled back. The stream of goblins had stopped flowing out of the hill, leaving the two holes gaping like hollow eyes.

  Will wrenched at his ring, drawing in some vitalle from the grass to heat the gold up, hoping it would stretch. The goblins outside the fireline surged past him in a swarm of limbs and eyes and hunger. But the heatstones seemed to be working and the creatures held back a dozen paces. Roven archers shot into the horde, felling goblin after goblin. But every time, another vicious face appeared, its open mouth edged with thin, sharp teeth.

  Ahead of Will, a more guttural cry rang out and the swarm raced toward the metal.

  Flaming arrows shot toward the wagons, setting the ring of grasses around it into flame and Will slid to a stop, letting his hand fall from his still tight ring. Creatures raced toward fire-encircled wagons. The goblins in the front screeched and scrambled against the mob, trying to stay back, but the mass moved forward like a wave. When the first goblin touched the fire, it let out a piercing scream. Two more were shoved forward into it, then the flames were smothered below burning bodies, and goblins poured through, clawing over each other to reach the metal.

  Will turned and ran back, climbing up on the wagon near Killien. The goblins swarmed against the line, screeching like birds fighting over a carcass. The Roven cut into their numbers with brutal efficiency. But they were falling too. One Roven for every twenty goblins.

  There were not enough Roven.

  Killien strode down the line, calling out commands. Hal stood between the nearest fire and a heatstone, his huge sword sweeping through the frost goblins like a scythe.

  Will’s heartbeat pounded in his ears like a drum underneath the screaming and fighting.

  The goblins swarmed over the metal. The Roven retreated, re-forming a line between those wagons and the clan, hacking any goblins that chased after them. One of the Roven stumbled and a gap appeared between Will and the creatures.

  A single goblin face turned toward him, eyes glinting like two flat moons. It raised its nose into the air as if catching a scent. With a hideous grin, it dropped to all fours and raced toward him, tearing into the earth.

  Will’s feet scrambled back against the wagon floor. He drew in vitalle from the ground, from the fire blazing nearby, from anything he could find, his mind scrambling for an idea of what to do with it.

  Then Sora was there, stepping between the wagon and the racing goblins, two long knives in her hand. Her long braid was disheveled, her leathers glinted dark and wet.

  A different level of fear wormed into him as the goblin raced closer to Sora.

  Another goblin peeled away from the swarm and ran toward them. Then another.

  Will cast about desperately for some way to stop them, some protection he could throw up in front of her. He opened up toward her and felt a swirl of fear wrapped in resolve and surrou
nded by cold, calculated waiting.

  A bright glint of yellow near his foot caught his eye.

  A heatstone.

  He spun around. He was standing on the book wagon where Rett had spilled his heatstones. A new fear gripped him. He’d brought his gold ring to the books.

  Will grabbed the stone. The goblin was halfway to Sora, more and more veered out of the main group to follow. She stood alone. At the sight of claws and teeth rushing toward her, he yanked some vitalle out of the grass and shoved it into the heatstone. The stone lapped it up and began to glow, the surface blossoming with heat. He threw it between Sora and the goblins.

  Sora drew back from it. Will needed a way to focus the heat on the goblins—needed something like a tent of air.

  No, something stronger. Thick, like the walls of an oven.

  He molded the air around the heatstone into the idea of clay walls. Reaching toward the nearest fire, he drew energy in one hand, singeing his fingertips, and out his other hand until those fingers hurt as well. He wrapped the walls around the heat on three sides and over the top.

  In a breath, the cool night air brushed against his skin as the heat from the stone was channeled away. From the side of the stone facing the goblins he pushed out the idea of a tunnel of clay, funneling all the heat in that direction. Thankfully, the fire near the wagon was burning strongly and he pulled more energy from it, strengthening the walls. His fingers burned from the vitalle pouring through them.

  The heat hit the first goblin and the creature twisted back away from it, with a shriek of pain. Will pushed the heat forward and more goblins cried out in pain, drawing back. The wave of heat pushed them all the way to the metal wagons before they stopped running and sank down, their white eyes glaring towards Will.

  Sora spun around and stared at him.

  His fingers ached, but this wasn’t enough. He needed so much more heat.

  Will dropped to his knees and looked under the wagon seat. A half dozen heatstones lay shoved in the corner. Will grabbed them all, tossing them down onto the blazing one.

  Sora cried out and dove away from the pile.

  The heatstones exploded into searing yellow light and Will flinched back, but the clay wall held and no heat reached him. Will drew even more vitalle from the nearby fire, pouring it into his air-walls. The tunnel rippled with heat, rushing toward the goblins in a narrow river, flattening and searing grass in a long line before widening out into a wave of air so hot that the goblins shimmered through it.

  The creatures shrieked, pulling back.

  Seeing the goblins’ hesitation, the Roven attacked with renewed fury, cutting at the edges of the swarm. A few Roven reached into the line of heat and spun away, crying out and cradling singed arms. Will turned his palm out instead of just his fingers, letting more and more vitalle flow through him to shape the walls. The energy pushed clay walls farther, wrapping the heat around the goblins until it herded them back out of the Roven lines.

  Will followed the retreating goblins with his wall, pushing the heat after them. The skin on his palms blistered. He squeezed his eyes shut, shoving away the pain, and cast out again, this time searching for all the fires and all the heatstones. He visualized another long, tall wall of clay along the inside of the fire line, growing up and bending out over the tops of the fires, reflecting all the heat out at the goblins on the Sweep.

  With a sharp slice of pain a blister on his palm burst, then another. Will bit back a cry and focused his mind on the wall.

  The goblins paused, then with a twist like a flock of birds spinning in flight, they turned and darted toward the openings in the hills. A cry went up from the Roven and hundreds of arrows shot into the air, dropping goblin after goblin to the ground.

  In moments the Sweep was empty. There was a shudder of the ground and the entrance of the goblin warren quivered and sank, turning the hillside into a mass of torn up earth.

  Will cut off the flow of vitalle. For just a moment the clay wall held, then the air relaxed into itself and a wave of heat rolled off the heatstones next to him, burning the skin on his cheeks and sending searing pain across his burned palms. He ducked down onto the seat of the wagon, cradling his hands on his lap.

  He’d never controlled that much vitalle before. The thought was dull and heavy. He stretched his fingers and pain lanced across his hands. Raw, red skin filled his palms, covered with blisters, some taut and shiny, some split open, dripping. His hands blurred as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him.

  Celebratory shouts from the Roven echoed around him as though they came from far over the Sweep. He heard Hal bellow something incomprehensible. Will’s body melted down against the wagon, his head falling back against the hard wood wall.

  The earth was spinning, falling. There was nothing but the sharp pain in his hands.

  Will closed his eyes.

  The pain in his palms was excruciating. He closed his eyes and cast out toward his hands, feeling the energy from his own body pressing against the inside of his skin, beginning the long process of healing. Burns were much harder to heal than cuts. Instead of drawing skin back together, this required growing new skin across both palms.

  Maybe he could dull the pain a little. Will cast out toward the grass below the wagon. His mind worked sluggishly, and when he reached for the vitalle, it dribbled through his grasp like water. His eyes slid shut and he lost focus. His arms rested heavy on his lap like two dead weights.

  A crack split the night and Will’s eyes snapped open. Sora stood at the side of the wagon, her knife jabbed down into the wood of the wagon seat. The brightness of the heatstones cast her face into stark light and black shadows.

  Her eyes glittered with an icy coldness he hadn’t seen before and her voice cut through the night like a blade. “What did you do?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sora stood by the wagon, her face livid, but he was too exhausted for it to cause more than a thin thread of fear. And he was far too tired to open up to her and deal with her anger.

  Will closed his eyes again and the wagon beneath him spun slowly. All he wanted to do was sleep. But Sora shifted, and the movement sounded angry.

  She was always so angry.

  Will had just saved her life. He, Will, the least useful Keeper in the history of Keepers, had just fought off a horde of frost goblins and saved dozens, maybe hundreds of Roven lives. He cracked one eye open and worked to focus on Sora. She stood stone-still, her glare sharp enough to cut.

  If only it was Alaric standing there, not Sora. He’d appreciate what Will had done. How far had that wall reached down the line? He grinned. Yes, Gerone, he thought, I had a motivation problem.

  The palms of his hands were hurting worse by the moment, but he didn’t care.

  “Stop grinning like an idiot,” Sora hissed. “Do you realize—”

  “Sora,” he interrupted her, “why are you always so angry?”

  “I’m angry,” she hissed, “because you keep doing stupid things and I have to save your life.”

  He pushed himself up. “You’re the one who got me into all this, by telling Killien about me.”

  She leaned over the edge of the wagon, her hands gripping the side, her voice furious. “Killien knew about you before you finished telling your foreign story at the festival. He already saw you as a threat. I came to see if you were as dangerous as he thought.”

  “You hid in my room and threatened me!”

  “Killien had men set to take you when you left the city. I told him he should see if your stories were worth hearing.

  “I was going to help you escape while the clan packed. It’s not my fault you decided to play bosom friends with the Torch.”

  “He likes foreigners,” Will objected. “He knows more about foreign people than anyone I’ve met in this wasteland. Everyone else jumps straight to the sword. Killien realizes not everyone outside his clan is an enemy.”

  “Not everyone. Just you.”

  A rock fell into his stomac
h. “I’m a storyteller.”

  “Stop it.” Her face was taut and her shoulders tense. He opened up toward her and, for once, felt a rush of emotions. She was mad and scared and exhausted. She looked at him for a long moment, suspicion fighting with something else in her expression.

  Leaning closer, she whispered, “You’re a Keeper.”

  The word hit Will like a punch. He opened his mouth to answer her, but found nothing to say.

  At his silence she shoved herself away from the wagon.

  “Killien isn’t opposed to magic.” He shook his head, desperation growing. “He’s studying it.”

  “He’s against Queensland. And Keepers.” She turned away from him and rubbed her hand across her mouth, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

  To the east, the top of the Scale Mountains were visible as a dark wall beneath the stars. “What do I do?”

  She looked away from the mountains. “Tonight, after first watch, I’ll slip you westward into the grass. There are some small rifts that are almost impossible to find. You can hide until the Roven are gone, then you can get yourself off the Sweep.”

  “West?”

  “Killien wouldn’t imagine you’d go farther into the Sweep. He’ll think you ran home.”

  “I want to run home. I’d run home crying if I thought it would get me there faster. What I don’t want to do is go farther into the Sweep and hide in the exact places where frost goblins frequent.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know. And Killien will be counting on that level of…”

  “Cowardice?” Will offered, glaring at her.

  “…inexperience. He won’t send trackers west. He’ll send me. And I’ll take all the best trackers with me. When we can’t find your trail, we’ll blame it on your evil, deceiving magic. We just need to keep you away from him for the next few hours.”

  Will stared at her for a long moment. “You’re very sneaky for someone who disapproves of deceiving people.”

  The clan spread out around him, and he had no idea where Ilsa was. Or Rass.