Keeper Of The Lost Cities Fitz Novels & Stories

He looked like something that had once been human but had long since forgotten how to be. “You,” he rasped, staring at me. “You carry the Guardian’s mark.” I swallowed hard. “Who are you?” The creature’s gaze flickered to the book. “The last Keeper of the Forgotten.” The room shuddered, as if the very walls recognized his words. Lena took a cautious step forward. “And what, exactly, were you forgotten by?” A twisted smile spread across his ruined face. “By time. By history. By those who wished to erase what I know.” His gaze fixed on me again. “You seek answers. But are you prepared to bear the weight of truth?”

“Do you know the location of each of the lost cities?” “I do, yes,” said Nicos, then hesitated. She waited for him to say more but he was silent. “And the relics?” she asked. He sighed deeply. “Zlo seems to think I know the precise locations of those too. Like a map. But it is not quite so simple. The relics are not objects but more like living things. Living things move around. No map can show that. There is something else,” he said, taking her hands in his, “The air fortress that the Lightning Bird destroyed,” Ilyria suddenly knew what he was going to say and her heart fell, “That was one of the lost cities.”

"No keeper. No Warden. The city has been surviving on Vael's remote support and nothing else." "Which means we need a keeper there," I say. "Someone who can hold the threshold while we work." We look at each other. The record office holds the implication. There is one keeper in our formation who is not currently stationed at another city. One person whose gift is not city-specific. One person who has been reading anchor point frequencies since before he understood what he was reading. "Where is Ozzie?" I say. Neva looks at the notation. She looks at me.

Jamie shrugged indifferently. "You know the Fortress is protected with magic right?" Alfred asked and the boys nodded in reply. "It was Alex's idea after our futile search for a dependable security." "He created it?" Jamie asked with disappointment. "Yes, he did. In fact, he relieved us all of stress as all he just did was to find a magic book on protection and cast a few spells and that was all." "Still can't believe all these," Jamie sighed defeatedly. "Let's take a look at these," Alfred said, moving from the centre of the room with the boys to the shelves that housed the magic books.

But the niggling doubt was driving me mad. “Poor little clone,” Felicia whispered into my mind, “do you really think he'll still love you when he knows what you are?” “Yes!” I snapped. “You don't know him. He doesn't care about that.” “Oh don't I?" she laughed derisively. “Gregor, the last of the keepers, failed assassin, and traitor to the crown.” “Why do you call him a traitor?” I asked. “He has done nothing but work to put the rightful heir back on the Lobotian throne.”

His crown leaked grey water. “Amara.” Grandmother recoiled at the sound of her name. He lifted his hands. The still ocean above us filled with images. Cities in darkness. Crowds fighting beside dry rivers. Ships trapped in silent harbours. A child pressing an empty cup beneath a tap. The packs watched. Their weapons lowered one by one. The first king’s voice rolled over the city. “Your enemy is not before you.” He pointed at me. “It is the queen who refuses the only cure.”