Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  Lyssanne's heart fluttered. Was she, at last, to have a clear destination? In the pair of days since the intruders broke through the sally port, her urgency to depart had grown. “Is it nearby?”

  “Depends what you consider near. I’d say, about the width of Gian Plain’s broadest point.”

  How long had their trek across the plain taken? One week? Two? She'd lost much of the memory to the fog of pain.

  “Ahah!” Lord Duncan said, thrusting a fist into the air. “So seals the game!”

  Lady MeMe sighed. “Will I never conquer you?”

  “Not in this, perhaps, but you conquered me long ago in all the ways that matter.”

  Lyssanne joined in their laughter.

  “Why such an interest in Stupasce?” Lord Duncan asked.

  “I…read about it in your library and wondered where it might be in relation to your hall.”

  “Is it not marked on one of your maps, Love?” MeMe asked.

  “It is, indeed.” He strode to his desk and peered into a nook filled with paper tubes.

  He withdrew a tube nearly as tall as Lyssanne. Unrolled, the map covered the wide table where he and the prince had debated strategy on long winter evenings. Lyssanne joined him, smiling as she recalled their discussions of how the outcomes of historic battles might have differed, had an army taken an alternate route or made better use of the landscape.

  “Here it is.” Lord Duncan poked at a spot in the midst of a strip of squiggles. “Stupasce.”

  Lyssanne leaned close, her nose near his finger. A narrow slash of blank paper cut partway through the squiggles representing the Lyrynn Mountains. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to a sizable blank area running alongside the mountain chain.

  “Open country,” he said. “Some fields, but mostly unclaimed lands. The mountains are the only landmarks out there. Travelers use Stupasce as a guidepost.”

  “Sounds like a lonely place,” Lady MeMe said, moving to stand beside them.

  “Mm. It is.”

  “Might I borrow this?” Lyssanne asked. “I’d like to look at it in the light of your library. I know so little of your beautiful land, and this map is large enough that I believe I can read it.”

  “I shall have it delivered to the library first thing on the morrow,” he said.

  The following day, light flooded the Avery library through its two-story windows. The map of Lyrya glowed beneath those sunbeams and four lamps.

  “So, we’d take this road out of Averton,” Jarad said, tracing a route with his finger. “Then, pass through three towns before we get to the big farms, here.” He looked up. “We can stay at inns until then. You won’t have to sleep outside the first week of the journey, I think.”

  “Oh, Jarad,” Lyssanne said, laughing. “I lived out of doors all summer.”

  “Yeah, and it almost killed you.”

  “The King will protect me. Fear not.” She rested a hand on his arm for a heartbeat. “If He sets us a task, He will not leave us ill-equipped to accomplish it.”

  “I know.” Jarad’s voice took on more briskness. “After those towns, it’s nothing but us and the mountains. Not sure how long that’ll take, but I figure, if we head straight for them, we can ride alongside the mountains until we see the pass.”

  “That is a sound plan,” she said. “We should set out at once. ’Tis best, for everyone.”

  “Did I tell you?” Jarad asked. “Captain Gunther finally got something out of that intruder they captured, the one who tried to run away during the fight.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Said that crab-man hired him and a bunch of other thieves to distract whoever might be around, so he could go after his real target.” He looked at her for a long moment, then murmured, “He didn’t know why that Bob creature wanted to kill you.”

  “All the more reason we should leave.”

  She pushed back thoughts of sorcerers, Mists, and long-ago accidents that weren’t accidents. Whatever reason the Keeper of the Shadow Mist had for wanting her dead, it had endangered her friends. She mustn’t remain and give the sorceress reason to attack them again.

  “Think Prince Brennus will be back before we leave?” Jarad asked.

  “Only if he returns by morning. I’d like to be on our way by then.”

  Jarad’s sigh sliced at her heart. The prince had treated him with an almost fatherly consideration. For that alone, she would forever lift his name to the King with thanksgiving.

  “That doesn’t give us much time.” Jarad rolled up the map. “We have to gather our gear, find supplies, tell Reina.” He turned to face her. “Think she’ll want to come?”

  “I shall speak with her. She may wish to return to her forests. Why she’s chosen to remain here all winter, confined to the stables with common horses, I can’t fathom.”

  “She’s protecting you,” he said. “It’s like, she thinks you’re her foal or something.”

  They both laughed.

  “We’ll have more to carry this time, too,” Jarad said, “with all your new gowns.”

  “I’m leaving those behind.”

  “Oh.” He studied the map in its protective tube. “Lady MeMe won’t like that. They won’t fit anybody else, anyway.”

  Jarad’s prediction proved true. After several valiant attempts to persuade Lyssanne to stay, Lady MeMe insisted she take the clothing and other conveniences she’d been given. “Brennus will be disappointed you’ve gone,” she said.

  Doubtless, his disappointment wouldn’t match Lyssanne’s, or Jarad’s. He’d likely be relieved. “Will you give him my farewell?” she asked. “And my thanks? For…everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “He is a good and noble man,” Lyssanne said. “The Navvarish people would be fortunate should he seek to regain his throne.”

  “Yes,” Lady MeMe said. “If only he’d accept the King’s truth. Well, I’ll see you shortly.”

  As MeMe departed, Lyssanne resumed her preparations. Oh, how she would miss those long winter evenings spent in his company. As she folded one gown after another, memories of their playful banter brought a smile to her lips.

  An odd emptiness engulfed her at the thought of never again seeing him, but the urgency growing in her spirit would not be denied. It tightened her stomach, demanding she leave at once, lest something prevent her ever hearing the King’s message. A chill shot through her, as though an angel of death had laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Everything’s ready, miss,” Lily said, breaking into Lyssanne’s thoughts. “One of the men’ll settle it all on the pack horse Lord Avery’s sendin’ with you.”

  “Thank you, Lily.”

  “If it’s not oversteppin’, my lady,” Lily said, “I’m wishin’ you wouldn’t be leavin’.”

  “I shall miss you, Lily. You’ve been a good friend.” Lyssanne caught her up in a farewell hug, then turned to take a last, long look at the chambers she’d occupied for the past six months.

  Lady MeMe met her in the entry hall. “Duncan and Jarad await us at the outer gates,” she said. “I’ve had saddlebags packed with provisions. Though, your mare wouldn’t let the stable hands saddle her. Your young Jarad says she’ll sit still only for you.”

  “She is rather particular.”

  Lyssanne hid a smile as they walked down the marble steps. Reina’s insistence that she would not be left behind for this journey still rang in her ears. And Serena? Well, Lyssanne’s shoulder bore the marks of the dove’s refusal to loose her talons at the mere suggestion.

  “My offer of a carriage still stands,” MeMe said, stopping to face her near the inner gate. “Lyssanne, I worry for you out there, with the pain you battle.”

  “I shall be safe enough. Besides, neither of us has ever driven a carriage, and I know not when, or if, I shall have occasion to return it.”

  “Well, should you again venture this way,” MeMe said, embracing her, “Avery Hall will open to you.”

  Several member
s of the household staff greeted Lyssanne at the gatehouse. Lord Duncan’s men filed past Jarad, giving him jovial slaps on the back.

  “Lady Lyssanne!” a chorus of high-pitched voices shouted.

  Noel led a swarm of castle children toward the gate. The offspring of knights and servants jostled each other, all trying to embrace Lyssanne at once.

  “Don’t go,” Noel said.

  Lyssanne returned her hug. “I must.”

  Noel pulled away and waved at the other children. “We have a gift for you.”

  A servant girl stepped forward and handed Lyssanne a stack of paper, tied with string.

  “They’re drawings,” Noel said, “of your stories. We each chose the tale we liked best, and we signed the pictures so you’d know who drew them.” She stepped closer and whispered, “I wrote some of their names for them. I’m teaching them to read like you did in your village.”

  “Thank you, all of you,” Lyssanne said, fighting tears.

  “I want to be a great lady like you,” Noel said, “with servants who read and lots of conversations with the King.”

  “Enough farewells, daughter,” Lord Duncan said.

  After one last hug, Noel led the children away, every bit the lady directing her household.

  “I have something for you as well,” Duncan said. “You’ll find it in the saddlebags.” He held a hand out to her. “Safe journey to you both.”

  “I shall remember your kindness, always.”

  “It’s our honor to know you. Now, I believe your escort is waiting.”

  “Escort?”

  Clark stepped forward. “I’ll see you as far as the road out of Averton.”

  Lyssanne draped a blanket over Reina’s back, declining the saddle a stableman held out to her. Reina knelt, drawing gasps from the onlookers, and Lyssanne settled atop the blanket. Her breath hitched as they rode through the gatehouse and out of Avery Hall.

  Along the empty road to the nearby village of Averton, Clark spoke of his recovery from the knife wound that should have claimed his life. He’d told anyone who would listen that the King of All Lands had heeded Lyssanne’s plea on his behalf. He would not, however, share his certainty that she had been the instrument of that healing.

  “Rumors can endanger one’s life sure as any weapon,” he said. “Good thing the knight who saw my wound is convinced it couldn’t have been as deep as he thought.” He glanced at her. “I tell ya, though, I’ll never forget that warmth spreadin’ from your hands all over my icy body.”

  Indeed, had tales of her part in Clark’s recovery swept through the castle, she doubted even Lord Duncan or Prince Brennus would have been able to save her.

  Silence fell between the travelers as they wove through the busy streets of Averton. Lyssanne glanced about at the crowded but tidy village, charming in its simple beauty. Flowers bloomed in little cottage yards, shop windows poured forth pleasant scents, and laughter filled the air. Everywhere, were signs of a prosperous, happy people.

  “Eighteen years,” Clark said as they left the town square. “Who’d have thought it?”

  “Eighteen years since what?” Jarad asked.

  “My last battle. I was once a foot soldier.” Clark grinned. “Hard to fathom, I know. Gave it up to wed my Carol.”

  “Did you ever miss it?” Jarad asked.

  “Not a day.” Clark cleared his throat, turning to Lyssanne. “But, Little Starling, should you ever have need, and I’m at hand, I’d lift blade or hammer to aid you. I’d fight a hundred such creatures as the one gave me this.” He patted his side.

  “Let us hope the need never arises,” she said.

  “May the King grant it so.” Clark halted at a crossroads. “That dirt track straight ahead will take you to Melodine. Lord Avery said you’d be headed that way.”

  “Yes. Clark I—”

  He lifted a hand. “Here I must leave you. Farewell, Little Starling.”

  Before she could speak, he vanished into the crowded streets of Averton.

  Noire’s wings beat slower and slower, the weight of his oath pressing heavier with each field or village he passed. Yet, the chain of his loyalty to those up ahead jerked at his throat, pulling him onward. What would he find once he reached Avery Hall?

  Whatever form Venefica’s attack had taken, every man in Duncan’s service would raise hands to defend Lyssanne’s life, as would Duncan and MeMe. Noire’s feathers shook with a new thought. What if Lyssanne had been with the children when Venefica’s agent struck? Noel was too fiery for her own good, and Lyssanne couldn’t defend herself, let alone protect the children.

  Noire beat the air as if to torture it into revealing the fate of his friends.

  And what of Lyssanne? He shook his feathers again to dislodge the question, but it clamped its talons around his mind and wouldn’t release him.

  Venefica wished him to kill her. It was as simple and complex as that.

  If only Lyssanne hadn’t persisted in searching out the answer to that mad riddle, she never would have stumbled upon the truth of Venefica’s past. Even if she’d survived the assassination attempt, Avery Hall was no longer safe for her.

  Indeed, no place could now shield her from Noire’s oath. Venefica had sent one attack without his knowledge, what more might she do if he failed her?

  Perhaps he could send Lyssanne away to Duncan’s cousin. As vassal to Avery Hall, Sir Fenard must comply with Duncan’s wishes. Even his marriage was subject to the approval or arrangement of his liege lord. To protect Lyssanne, Duncan would issue such a command.

  Bile coated Noire’s throat at the thought of her wed to such a man, but she would be safe.

  The plan had merit. If Noire avoided setting eyes on Lyssanne once he reached Avery Hall, he could deceive Venefica into believing she’d departed before his return, and that he didn’t know where she’d gone. Venefica would never find her.

  All thoughts of his well-laid scheme fell to ash as he flew over Duncan’s outer wall.

  Lyssanne was gone.

  Whether by death or departure, her absence pulled at him, an inexplicable but tangible void permeating the air.

  Noire sped through the dying sunlight, slowing only as he spotted Duncan leaving the armory with his captain. He squawked a hasty greeting, flapping above Duncan’s head.

  “Ah, I see Brennus has returned!” Duncan said.

  Noire hovered before him, uttered two croaks, then clicked his beak thrice—a signal of urgency they’d prearranged long ago when fighting for the king of Lyrya.

  “I shall speak with you later, Gunther,” Duncan said, leaving his captain at a run.

  Noire flew ahead, toward his chamber’s balcony. An instant after landing, he shifted. He'd paced a furrow in the thick Navvarish rug by the time Duncan joined him.

  “She set out nigh a week after you left,” Duncan said, interrupting his volley of questions. “She was whole and well, Brennus, not to worry.” Duncan stared into his eyes. “We had a bit of trouble just before she left, but she was unharmed.”

  Brennus forced his remaining questions to wait, while Duncan detailed the attack.

  “What’s most puzzling and worrisome,” Duncan said, “is that the monstrous abomination leading the assault was bent on Lyssanne’s death. I assured her we’ve taken every precaution to prevent another breech, but she insisted she must leave.” He shrugged. “So, I gave her provisions and a purse of coins for the journey. Nothing more I could do.”

  Brennus fair growled. “Where?”

  “She gave no destination.” Duncan scratched his chin. “She did express an odd interest in Stupasce. I’d shown her the place on a map and, next evening, she announced her intentions.”

  So, she’d gone in search of the granite tree? Brennus’s jaw clenched. Did she value his counsel so little? He’d thought she’d accepted his urging, weeks ago, to make a permanent home at Avery Hall, where she’d be well tended when her ailment struck.

  He’d thought she had come to trust him, t
o rely on his judgment. To care for him.

  Obviously, he’d been mistaken.

  He had tried to shield her from his oath, but she’d denied herself that protection. Very well, let her reap the consequences.

  “Brennus?” Duncan stepped forward then faltered.

  “I leave at dawn,” Brennus said. “Pardon my incivility, friend, but I must rest.”

  With arms aching from flying the greatest distance in the shortest time since he’d first sprouted wings, Brennus rang for a hot bath. Though his every muscle cried out to spend days ensconced in a soft bed, he had to find her. Duty required it.

  If he didn’t, Venefica would. And that would be worse…for all of them.

  The next morning, Noire left his horse in the stables. He no longer needed to deceive Lyssanne or her companions as to his mode of travel. They would never even know he was near.

  Venefica’s command had been clear. Lyssanne mustn’t suspect danger. He could afford her no chance to use her magic or summon her faerie friends. Nor must the unicorn interfere.

  As he hurtled toward the Lyrynn mountains and the fulfillment of a bargain he never should have struck, he sifted possibilities. He must make it look like an accident. A swift, decisive accident.

  She would simply cease to be…no pain, no fear, just a quick passage into nothingness. Then, they would both be free.

  At last, he found them encamped near a narrow pass into the Lyrynn Mountains. In the waning sunlight, Lyssanne and Jarad rearranged supplies into small packs, discussing the trek they would undertake afoot on the morrow.

  “I shall ennsure your steeds await you,” Reina said. “Rocky ground is no place for us.”

  Noire sailed over Stupasce, searching for the means to carry out his vow. The pass would provide cover when night fell and he shifted. He settled among the pebbles to wait.

  Moments later, in his true form, Brennus arranged his trap. He laid a branch fallen from a mountaintop tree across the path and wedged it beneath a pile of loose stones. The narrowness of the canyon would aid his purpose. Impossible to walk around, yet gray as the rock, the branch would make the perfect tripwire, bringing the stones down upon anyone who dislodged it.