The Keeper
Oren looked out across the ruins. The heat seared his face, sweat stung all the little nicks and cuts, but it didn’t bother him much. The spear stuck in his gut however, did. It had to happen sometime he supposed, Keepers rarely died in bed. He only wished there had been more time, just a little bit, for Kara. To watch her grow, come into her own.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the rough stone wall that propped up his dying body. Before him lay a pile of corpses, at least a score. Another score lay spread out among the ruins along the path of his retreat, all dressed in black and silver armor. They’d sacrificed an entire platoon of Reaver elites to take him down. It looked like they would have their wish too, hollow victory though it was. The Keeper may die, but the Keeper lives on.
He could hear Kara’s voice, shouting his name somewhere out there among the sounds of battle dying down. She would find him eventually. His head felt too heavy to move, and his gaze fell on the young man laying closest to him. The one whose spear was sticking out of his belly. It would have been a great honor to be the one to strike down The Keeper. He didn’t look like he enjoyed it much, though. The dead rarely did.
A noise brought him out of his reverie, someone moving through the remnants of this forgotten city, coming closer. Three men stepped around the corner of a crumbling wall and stopped, staring. Oreana’s face darkened with rage as his gaze traveled over the corpses to finally land on Oren.
“So,” he said, “The Keeper has fallen at last.” Oren could hear his teeth grinding, and couldn’t help but smile.
“The Keeper may die, but the Keeper lives on.” he replied, “Was it worth it, Oreana?”
A hate so fierce he could almost feel it contorted Oreana’s face. It was to be expected. The man was insane, after all.
“Your protégé?” he sneered, “Don’t worry, we’ll get her too.”
Oren laughed, though it hurt like fire poured down his gullet. “Is that what you think? I suspect you are in for another disappointment.”
A vein throbbed on Oreana’s temple, his mouth worked but no words came out. He looked like a rabid dog about to chew his own foot off.
“Kill that rat!” he finally managed to spit out, and his bodyguards drew their swords. There was a soft sound punctuated by a couple of thunks, and two heads rolled across the ground, their bodies collapsing behind Oreana.
Insane he may be, but never slow. Oreana threw himself forward in a roll, drawing his sword. Standing between the two twitching bodies was Kara, her slender blade dripping red.
Oreana, beyond words now, threw himself at her with a shriek, swinging his heavy blade. She hardly seemed to move, simply side-stepping, cutting across, forcing him to a quick parry. He was drooling, a deranged look on his face.
“Die then, bitch, along with your master!” he screamed, spittle flying.
He attacked in a fit of berserker rage, his great blade hurtling through the air, again and again, hitting nothing. Kara moved, seemingly unhurried, waiting her moment. She didn’t even bother to parry.
It didn’t take long. Oreana was past reason, keening like an animal, frustrated beyond madness. It was only a small misstep, a slight stumble. It was all she needed. A quick double step, the glint of her blade, and Oreana sagged to the ground, life slowly fading from his eyes as the blood gushed from a severed throat.
Kara cast her eyes around the ruins, and Oren felt a fierce rush of pride. Even in the midst of battle, with him lying there wounded, she held to her training. Only when she was sure no more enemies remained, did she run to him.
“Master! I couldn’t find you! I searched everywhere!” Tears stood in her eyes as she sank down on her knees beside him, her gaze moving from his face to his midriff and back again.
“We have to get you out of here. Their army has been pushed back, and will surely scatter once word of their king’s death gets out, but there are still…”
He interrupted her with a look and a smile. “I will not be going anywhere, little one.”
Kara frowned at him. “Nonsense. A gut wound is bad for sure, but Jhondry’s surgeons are some of the best, let’s just…”
He interrupted her again, laying a tired hand on hers. “The spear may have missed my heart, but it didn’t miss my spine. I’ll walk no more, not in this world at least.”
He could tell she was about to continue arguing, that stubborn look on her face, but he forestalled her with a shake of his head.
“I’ve lost too much blood, Kara. That’s all there is to it.” He fumbled at the chain around his neck, but finally managed to lift the medallion over his head. It seemed very heavy all of a sudden. He placed it in her hands, saw the shocked look on her face.
“The Keeper may die,” he said.
“But The Keeper lives on” she replied, completing the ritual. “Oren, I’m not ready for this, I can’t…”
“You can, and you will. No one is ever ready for it. That’s the way of it.”
He sighed and let his head fall back against the hot stone wall. There were no more words, from either of them. They were not needed. She sat vigil over him as he faded slowly. His vision grew dim, and he looked one last time upon her tear-streaked face. He smiled at her, and then he died.
And as dusk fell The Keeper lived again, and what remnants of King Oreana’s army were left on the battlefield died at her hands.
