by Karey Brown
SHADOWS
OF THE
KEEPER
By
Karey Brown
Original Text Copyright © 2007
Text Copyright for Modified Edition © 2013
Fictional Character Names
&
Fictional Locations Copyright Protected © 2013
Shadows of The Keeper
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described here are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author.
For my husband who keeps an open mind about a great many things—he’d have to, being married to me for so long.
My two amazing daughters: I am beyond proud to be your mom. So much laughter and support.
For all three of you, and my friends who believed, encouraged, slogged through numerous revisions and, even though the first edition had glitches, still loved Emily & Dezenial’s story.
Every now and again, we authors are granted an opportunity to enhance some of our stories, making them
so-much-better. This is one of those times.
Enjoy!
TABLE of CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE-AURELIA
CHAPER TWO - EMILY
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY- THE KEEPER
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THRITY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER ONE-AURELIA
Thirty-six hundred years ago . . .
Clutching tuft of matted hair, Inzyr raised the ghoul’s severed head.
“Is this the location?”
Milky eyes snapped open, illuminating the dank cavern. “Yes,” it rasped. “Through the fissure, if you dare.”
“If this be deceit, you’ll spend eternity as a troll’s dung pot.”
“Because guiding Lumynari through the bowels of Balkore is much preferable.”
“Did you speak?”
“Merely clearing my throat.”
Tossing the atrocity, Inzyr ignored its yelps as it thumped back down the jagged ravine. Fisting his sword, the Shadow Master eyed above and behind. What he’d already clashed with and defeated, just to get this deep into the wilds of Balkore—as if every debauched creature Shadow had ever conjured had been sent down here, once she’d grown bored with her newest acquisition. And those were the lucky ones. Others were pitched into the battle arenas where they fought to the death. No squads here to protect the faint of heart. One final cautionary look, and Inzyr squeezed through the tall fissure. More than halfway in, forced to pause, he questioned the wisdom of his decision. Degree of tightness became formidable. Scuttling. Above. Slight vibration. As if the wall were a living—
Damn! A trap!
“Are you going to show yourself,” the booming voice queried, “or do I command the rock to continue until I hear a resounding pop?”
Inzyr grinned and shoved with such force, he shot out, headfirst. “I feel as if I’ve been birthed.”
Dezenial’s luminous brow arched. “Shall I find a wet nurse?”
“Not too buxom.” Inzyr stood, swiping dirt from his leggings. “I’ll not have it said, the Great Assassin was brought down by being smothered between cleavage.” He rotated his left shoulder. “Drakar’s armies march.”
“You venture down here, interrupting my exile with your conceit and arrogance, then dare herald nonsense regarding Drakar?” The prince unsheathed his blade. “Or do you spy for my mother?”
“Your mother grants him command of her elite, and Ardra to lead them.”
“Ardra? That vile—ah, he traps humans and mountain Elves.” Prince Dezenial’s glowing eyes diffused. “I care not the fate of mortals, nor their prim caretakers. Humans break quickly, die just as easily.” Like Zaiyne. He shoved the memory aside, striding quickly towards yet another fissure. Eerie green glowed from its depths.
Inzyr didn’t follow. Instead, he tightened his stance. “My concern is not wasted on a witch Elf hunting slaves.”
Dezenial snapped around. Claws and canines, weaved into the ends of his lunar white war braids, clanked like creatures clamoring along cave walls. “Few traipse this deeply and return. None return, once visiting my presence.”
The assassin freed his dagger.
Venomous smile tugged Dezenial’s mouth. “I see a thousand years has not diminished your insolence.”
“I’m bringing you home.”
“Nor your arrogance.” Humor vanished. “I am content here, assassin. I will grant you leave of your own accord, honoring loyalty of long ago.”
“And I will allow you to accompany me, of your own accord, back to Balkore. Then again,” Inzyr made it a point to study his blade, “it is my hope that you refuse. Your head will make a unique bookend.”
“Still the scholar?” Nonchalantly, Dezenial raised his sword.
“It eases me.”
“Your humor needs improvement.” Azure eyes merged into an ember glow of death.
“Under no circumstances am I returning to my mother’s domain.” The prince spun away. “Never seek me again.”
“Whispers abound of a female who—“
“The nature of their lot, Inzyr.” Dezenial slipped into the glowing fissure.
“ . . . emits flame from her hand.”
“Be sure to warn her fire is not child’s play.” Footfalls faded.
“They say,” Inzyr muttered, eyes roaming in search of lurking vermin thinking to waylay a Shadow Master, “the back of her hand bears a peculiar symbol.” He paused, grinning wickedly when the shadowy outline of his liege halted. “A blue crescent moon pierced by an arrow.”
Inzyr tamped down temptation to laugh over how quickly Dezenial made his way back.
“You have seen her?” Deadly prince closed the distance between himself and the assassin.
“I would not have disturbed your millennia long pout otherwise.”
“Curb your barbs and tell me how you possess knowledge Zaiyne no longer resides with Hades.”
“Drakar once again hunts the Keeper for your mother. In this life, Zaiyne is known as Aurelia—“
“The future queen of Quemori?”
“No longer. Exiled, Pendaran’s magicks have thrust her kingdom int
o a realm Lumynari, nor she, can follow.”
“Banished.” A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. “Your apprehension poisons the air. Speak your secrets.”
“Aurelia is Drakar’s half-sister. Completing your curses upon Hades, you might as well also know she has once again been entrusted to the Forest Lords.”
“Their treachery is what killed Zaiyne!”
Inzyr shrugged. “Your father’s logic is not for me to discern.”
“How long?”
“Broc, son of Larrin, swore oath to Pendaran three winters past.”
Dezenial’s face became a glowering mask of rage. “And?”
“Shadow’s attacks on surrounding villages have led the fools to believe a sacrifice will curb your mother’s wrath.”
“Aurelia.”
“So it would seem.”
“And your loyalty, assassin?”
Unwavering amber gaze bore into the prince. “I am here.” He looked around. “Though it will require getting used to.” He shrugged. “So long as I have my books and an occasional kill, I’m happy.”
“Why I have forever tolerated you . . .”
The two beings embraced, gave each other a resounding backslap and broke apart. “Once again, they hunt my beloved. Let’s make this the last time my mother seeks to possess the Keeper’s soul.”
* * * * *
Cold bit deeply, sinking it fangs of ice into her bluing flesh. As if diseased, shivering commenced. Aurelia dipped her head, allowing the hood to cast her face in shadows as she merged with the rowdy bunch eagerly placing wagers on tomorrows sacrificial burning. If they realized their quarry shuffled alongside them, they would greedily kill her now and collect their winnings.
And then where Na’Dryn be?
Aurelia tamped down a snort of derision, lest she bring attention to herself. Broc’s wife would screech like a speared boar, protesting the denial of watching Aurelia burn.
Shifting the cumbersome market basket, Aurelia slowed her gait. Best be wary those paying too close attention, lest they realize one of their own is suddenly short a sword. She adjusted the threadbare cloak, hoping to conceal the stolen weapon. Once upon a time, her cloaks had been of the finest fabrics and furs. Na’Dryn now owned them, prancing around as if born to those royal threads instead of the barn where she’d been conceived.
If Aunsgar were here, he would put an end to this madness—and Broc’s life.
Alas, the Elf prince and most of his retinue had yet to return. At Broc’s request, they were escorting Erchyll and the few survivors from Shadow’s attack on the small clan. Any day now, they should arrive, Broc having invited all survivors from various clans to settle here, and those yet to have been attacked. Safety in numbers. Aurelia couldn’t refrain from mental eye rolling. No one would ever be sheltered from Shadow Masters, regardless the fortification of Broc’s keep.
Too bad his indestructible keep couldn’t keep out the runner.
He’d bled from the entrance where he cried out, to where Broc had stood with his group of guards and their gasping, clutching-their-throats women. He’d fallen against Broc, clinging to the laird in terror. Gasping. He’d looked over his shoulder, wild-eyed. Everyone had followed his gaze, they too wondering what evil chased the lad. Colin put a water skin to the boy’s mouth, but water had dribbled down his chin, saturating his tunic where it mixed with blood, a watery, red river running down his leg as if his bladder loosened. “Th-they came.”
“Who came?” Broc had asked. But he knew; they all knew.
“Said they were . . . looking for . . . “ he panted. And paled.
“Looking for what? Speak, lad, tell us what they want?”
No amount of cajoling would persuade him to repeat what horrors had befallen his village. Then, before he breathed his last, as if pulling forth all the unused air his lungs held, he’d screamed one word: “AURELIA!”
All accusatory gazes swung towards her.
This was her third winter, since her exile, that Lumynari had attacked distant villages, brutally hunting her. Shadow’s determination was omnipotent. Pendaran had been a fool to assume his powers were enough to keep them all safe. Worse, he’d been gone these past three winters. They were sheep surrounded by wolves and their shepherd had vanished!
And from Broc’s keep on down to the furthest farms, the whispers had spread with the speed of fire: Aurelia’s magicks had brought down the wrath of Shadow.
“The only way we’ll be forsaken is to sacrifice the royal!” Na’Dryn had screamed this, spittle running over her thin colorless lip. “Is she not exiled? Has it no’ been three winters since any laid claim to her? And why? Look what comes of having her here, amongst us? She lives while your women and children are slaughtered! I have heard the whispers, at night, coming down from the mountain. Burn the witch, burn the witch, burn the witch, and all will be forgiven.”
Grumbling ran rampant throughout the hall. At long last, Broc gave a curt nod. She’d been too shocked to bother running. Numb, the rest had been a blur. Roughly grabbed and hauled across the hall like a thief, faceless voices screaming obscenities, spitting, throwing food at her until they’d entered a freezing corridor and down, down, down, she was forced deep within the bowels of the earth. They’d not bothered chaining her—what was one small woman against a heavy iron lock? Aurelia, exiled future Queen of Quemori, found herself left to rot in Broc’s dungeons.
Their first mistake.
Garreck had quarreled against Broc’s foolishness. Had they not vowed to protect the exiled princess until such time when Pendaran came for her? Aunsgar had warned of the druid’s temper, of the Elders’ wrath. Broc relented, relegating Aurelia to a forgotten tower until his people settled. Aurelia mentally scoffed. More like, until Aunsgar was of a distance; hence, the real reason he’d been sent to collect Erchyll. Not even three days out, Na’Dryn resumed her poisonous plots to do away with Aurelia, the chieftain’s mind hers to command.
And so began Aurelia’s imprisonment and Na’Dryn’s cruelties. Though a few secretly remained kind to Aurelia, slipping her food, water, and fresh clothing, too many had been swept up into the frenzy to burn the Lumynari witch.
Aurelia dared lift her face a bit, assessing her distance from the gate.
Not much further.
Her false limp helped her guise as peasant, but she fervently prayed Sister Wind would not whisper, thus ruffling the hood covering her long white hair.
There will be no hiding then. If only I still possessed Blade. Instead, I am strapped with this Elvish sword. Na’Dryn would not be so brave then, should I have Blade.
But Broc had ordained her sword to be locked away and buried. Aunsgar, forever the peacekeeper, had explained the entity residing within the weapon frightened the humans. She knew, if she did not escape now, she would be nothing more than billowing smoke for the Elves and Erchyll’s clan to see upon a distant horizon. Nor would she bother calling for Pendaran. Too long, the druid had ignored her telepathic pleas for help.
I want to be as far away as possible from these traitors! I will take care of myself until such time that my exile has expired! Has not three winters been long enough to hunt down Drakar? For me to be returned to my beloved Quemori?
A few more paces would take her through the gate, and then only a handful more to the forest line. Once amongst the trees, she could use magicks to blend with shadows, hiding her person from the vision of pathetic mortals.
The guards were distracted with people milling in and out of the tall gates. Happiness swelled her heart. Soon, soon she would be free from this barbaric—
“You there! Halt! What silver flickers from your kirtle, auld woman?”
Damn! She continued shuffling, limping, pretending is wasn’t her being called down to. Maybe they’d wave her off, thinking her too daft to—
A hand clamped down and painfully squeezed her shoulder as she was spun around. Hood slipped.
“I ordered you to—you!”
Aurelia
kneed the guard. Losing his balance in the snow, he collapsed, writhing. Their scuffle drew unwanted attention. Whipping the cloak from her person, the exiled royal unsheathed her sword, the brilliant flash of silver acting as beacon. This was fast turning into everything she’d feared. Aurelia snapped her attention upwards, mindful numerous bowmen upon the towers were alerted, glaring down at her. Women scattered, yanking their small children, wanting no part in swinging blades. Maneuvering her feet within the snow for a stable foothold, Aurelia slightly crouched and tightened her grip around the hilt of her sword, several guards running towards her.
“You will not set torch to me, swine. I take my leave. Allow me to go in peace. This is your only warning.”
“You have brought down the wrath of Danu! You dare mock her with your magicks. Now, we are hunted by Shadow. Death of our brethren is on your head, witch. We will stand by no longer!”
“Pray to your pathetic gods that Pendaran’s wrath does not mete out your own burning!” She readied, several guardsmen unsheathing their own swords as they fanned out.
Bloodcurdling screams erupted from nearby. Wild-eyed villagers scattered.
Three swift thuds hit Aurelia’s back. She arched. Air whooshed from her just as Innya’s horn wailed over them from the turrets.
Hundreds of black and gold arrows whisper-soared from the forest. A shaft skimmed Aurelia’s thigh, leaving a fiery ribbon of blood in its wake. Arrows hazardously swept down from defending archers, a frantic volley to defend Broc’s keep. Arrow slits echoed with male screams, the enemy deadly accurate with their crossbows. Chorusing shrieks razed across snow covered fields, and weaved throughout Brwenwind Forest where those trying to flee instead met their hidden enemy.
Ominous as a moonless night, Lumynari unfurled from the winter-dark forest. Their gait steady, blazing amber eyes targeted those whom their scythes, arrows and maces would next claim. Ghouls, from previously decimated villages, fanned out and cut down those once considered brethren. No remorse; no recognition. Face submerged in snow, his life waning from a mortal wound, a hapless victim was fallen upon by an armor-clad priestess, her bloodied talons yanking the howling soul from his skull. Twisting, screeching, battling against its captor, the deformed specter abruptly complied to the evil curse and obediently snatched up a discarded sword, though his final scream was forever fixated as he joined the ranks of the damned. Soul-harvesting priestess followed, seeking her next prey.
