Keepers Fall

By J T Williams

How do you deal with a political elite that is destroying the lives of its people? Assassins...

The Island has a problem with its ruling class. A problem a sacred sect called the Keepers will fix. Jerin and Brea strive in the shadows to preserve the race of men and this is just another task to be done. But when the two assassins find the one thing they don't expect, their duty falls away and a fight for the future of the world begins.

Magic was destroyed long ago. A plague killed the others. History is as the people have always known. It's not like everything the Keepers know is a lie... or is it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.T. Williams
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223055457

J T Williams

Dr John T. Williams is a Senior Lecturer in the Textiles Engineering and Materials (TEAM) group, De Montfort University, UK. He has published numerous scientific papers and several book chapters dealing with protective clothing. Dr Williams has also presented numerous academic lectures internationally. He is a member of many groups including Euratex and TechniTex.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Keepers

What worked in the shadows was hidden, a skill known to few. But it was not the festive music playing across the quiet city of Cyr that made it so easy for them. As the moon was high above rain soaked streets and a single dancing fountain bounced almost to the music echoing across the stone buildings. In this courtyard, four statues, representing the opulent rulers of the Island, looked on in blank expression.

Those within the dark alleys had used the advantage of the night as it was. The bright colored dresses of the dancers, the wine flowing like a river from bottle to cup, the merriment... It all helped to mask them and their movement.

In such a shroud of shrieking revelry, no one would pay attention. No one cared.

The Lord of the Ravila district looked on from his high tower above the main promenade of celebration. His servants, tied by chains in a string of human suffering, served his every need.

But that was not why they had come.

No, their masters cared little of suffering, of slavery, of disgusting inebriation of the sense.

Cyr needed to be tamed.

Now, now! More wine! the Lord growled, ringing his bell.

He had finished four bottles already but for a man like him, the night was just beginning.

Show them to me, show them to be now!

A woman standing in the corner of the balcony cowered, a new addition to the Lord’s purchases.

You will bare your chest to me, I own you. You do what I say!

The woman was shaking, struggling to catch her breath.

The Lord went to stand, he staggered but still went towards her.

You will learn your place!

The woman fell to the ground, sinking her head in her palms. She didn’t know what would happen and she began to cry when she felt a faint breeze in the air.

She looked between cracks in her fingers and saw a shadow, a quick form moving from the open window of the tower. Then, she heard a gasp, over and over, then choking.

She lowered her hands to see two figures, both had their faces covered. They were wearing black clothing and they both had slender silver blades.

Her master was face down, a sanguine puddle growing around him. He was dead.

One of the two figures nodded, the woman couldn’t tell much, but it looked to be a man. He vanished over the railing as the other figure began towards her.

She scooted backwards, trying to get away when the remaining figure knelt.

You are free of your master, they said, softly.

It was another woman.

Thank— you—, she squeaked out in reply.

The figure said nothing, backed away, and then vanished over the railing following the other.

A Lord of Cyr was dead. His slaves would free themselves and flee. The Keepers were bringing a true order to the world.

Or so, they believed.

Chapter 2

Of Midnight

One only is good in the light of their own eyes, no true evil believes it self to be so. Are you guilty of the same sins if you know not that they are transgressions?

Cyr would celebrate until morning. The storm clouds had cleared and the festivities were unending.

Standing motionless atop a crenelated wall around the Plaza of Varbin, a man cleaned his dagger on his boot.

He could hear the not-so-sneaky sound of boots behind him, a slow approach, a known stride to the man.

You got there before me, a woman said. Jerin, you really made it through the garden that fast?

Jerin turned, a slight laugh in his voice, And you didn’t make it up the bastion wall as fast as you expected.

She stood beside him, well, I guess it’s to be expected, I’m still a bit shaky from before.

They shared a look between one another and kissed.

Jerin and Brea were Keepers. To most, they didn’t exist. To their Masters, they were the knife to split apart the Lords of Cyr. They had been on the main Island for some time but this was their first kill here.

The Lord failed to negotiate with the Grand Protectorate then refused many, many letters. Finally, after ignoring a demand for gold, his rule was ended.

They would return to High Hollow, a place on the very edge of the city. Here, they had been for several weeks. High Hollow was the name given to what was best described as a cover for their arrival into the city itself. Here, a winemaker employed them as simple hired hands. During the day for the most part, they would spend their time moving barrels and organizing shipments of various raw ingredients he infused into his regal wine.

Turmin, the winemaker, was a friendly man. While he had provided for them simple beds in the spare bedroom of his home, they had insisted that they would stay at the inn. A few blocks away, they had paid up for three months in advance to stay at the inn with no questions asked of their comings and goings or anything else. This was yet another cover for them. High Hollow, a tower just near the winemaker's house, was their true home.

As the sun began to rise, they made it back to High Hollow. While the lower portion of the structure looked like nothing more than an abandoned and broken-down building, to those who knew they could pass into the lower portion and move a series of chains that would reveal a large canvas. Here, they could find a brown door not made of wood but of stone.

Jerin pressed several places into the stone, old runic inscriptions of one of the fallen races.

The doorway opened and they passed through to a short hall and stairwell to begin their climb up to High Hollow.

This structure was something of the Elven race. A fallen culture, plagued by horrible disease that spread through them hundreds of years ago. Though neither Jerin nor Brea knew what had started it, it was well known that those of the races of magic, being the original races that had colonized prior to the arrival of the race of men, were a danger to all.

Over the years, there had been many holdouts and survivors, those that were infected with the disease but yet did not take any offering of the Grand Protectorate to assist them. Those infected have become mad, striking out in rage at those around them becoming true menaces. The race of man was all that remained in the world of fractured powers. Ancient magic, dangerous, volatile, and thought to be the original cause of what was first deemed memory sickness. In truth, such trivial things were nothing more than history now and the focus of the Keepers of the Grand Protectorate was far removed from anything of magic.

After several flights of stairs following a circular path of the tower, they came to a passage and an ornate red wooden door. Jerin went to open the door first and Brea jumped ahead, nudging him with her shoulder.

You're not beating me to getting changed first.

And why not? he asked.

Brea pushed through the door and nearly slammed it on him as she hurried into one of the side rooms.

Because, she shouted, after everything, you pushed me into a vat of wine the other day.

Jerin laughed, I would say you're overestimating the size of that wine vat; it was no more than a barrel. Plus, you like the kind infused with pomegranate, you told me that many times.

She stuck her head back out the door, I enjoy drinking said wine not being thrown headfirst into a barrel.

Jerin began unstrapping his many belts that held the scabbard for his sword as well as his throwing knives, setting them on a nearby table. Here, in High Hollow, they had any number weapons both on the table and on the walls. Some are more specialty, stringed bows of numerous sizes including miniature crossbows that they had used at times. Spears, short and long axes, and many different forms of swords and armor. The hollow had been used by The Order and its Keepers for many hundreds of years. Jerin and Brea were simply the current stewards of the place. Though High Hollow had many other locations of similar design and purpose. All across the lands stretching all the way from the Vindas Sea over to local and further east to the Barrier Mountains to the Shadowlands, the Keepers had many hideaways.

Jerin thought of this as he waited for Brea to finish up in the other room. None of the Keepers knew how many of their organization existed, and rarely did they ever work with others, but for the last year Jerin and Brea had been together. They had become close, very close. What started as a mutual understanding and background of knowledge of winemaking, had turned into a strange dance of continual learning under their employer, occasional task of their order, and a strangely and dangerous romantic interest between the two of them.

Brea came out of the other room wearing not much more than the simplest of garments.

Jerin looked her up and down and she shoved his fist into his lower stomach as she passed.

Not again, she said.

She went to a series of cushions on a nearby sitting area and collapsed and Jerin moved to change out of his clothes.

You can oil the blades; I'm not doing it again, Brea said

That’s fair, but at least there was no acid involved with this one, Jerin said from the other room.

We’re probably going to get two to three hours. I think he has an entire shipment of juniper berries coming in. He keeps trying new things, new infusions, Brea said, wish he would just keep it simple. Winemaking doesn't have to be difficult.

No it doesn't, Jerin said, but when he took us on as hired hands it was that particular ability to infuse additional ingredients into the wine that we used as our angle to get through the census.

Oh I know, Brea said, and that just makes even more sense. Why we had to do so much to protect our cover in a place already controlled by the Grand Protectorate, not to mention the fact that we’re taking out those that do not continue to serve as ordered.

Jerin came back out, wearing simple cloth pants and laid on a seat opposite of Brea.

Everything's been strange, he said.

From the sudden eruption of multiple bouts of madness across southern Taria, to our joining to come here. It was an oddly specific wish for us to come together and learn more of winemaking. At first, I thought our target was Turmin himself but that would have been too easy.

Turmin was a type of winemaker that spent his early mornings eating sweet bread and sweet coffee, his middays perusing through his receipts, and sometimes actually getting some amount of real work done before nighttime. He was a simple man trying to make his way and he had quite done so in his younger years. Most of his wines would sell with just the mention of his name. But still, Jerin and Brea do as they were ordered to continue to serve him as hired hands during the day. Something that both of them were thinking about as they drifted off to sleep, a slight tinge of blood still in both their noses. At least, they both sleep well knowing that the Lord of the Ravila district was dead.

Chapter 3

A Simple Life

The morning sun cut across the open window in High Hollow and the two Keepers awoke. They gathered their things, both hiding multiple blades into their robes as they took on the part they continued to play. Leaving High Hollow they made their way down the road to the inn and past the small bakeshop that served the sweet bread Turmin loved. They each picked up a loaf as well as small cups of hot tea.

They would make their way to the winemaker’s workshop.

Cyr was an island of particular quality, a melting area of multiple trade routes including some from the far north and some from the south. This all combined meant there were any number of fruits, vegetables, spices, and oddities from time to time. Traveling caravans would come from afar offering many items that none of Cyr had ever seen but also that many of the occupants of the islands could more than afford. Perhaps, many of these items were completely worthless back in the homelands of the different traders, but here? Everything was valuable. The odder and stranger, and particularly relics of the fallen races, were valuable. Though banned by The Order and in turn the Grand Protectorate, items of the old magic races were some of the most expensive things that Jerin or Brea had ever seen offered for