by Diane Rapp
The Havenshire Resistance
Heirs to the Throne
Book 2
By Diane Rapp
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Corey, my biggest supporter and the best husband in the world. Thanks for believing in me.
Disclaimer
All the characters in this series are imaginary, except for Kriegen. As a German Shepherd Dog, Kriegen served as a model for the wolf character of the same name. He gave me permission to use him if he received an unending supply of dog cookies and frequent petting. Anyone who knew the real Kriegen will recognize him in this series of books. We will always miss his loving presence in our household.
Publisher: Diane Rapp
Copyright © 2011 Diane Rapp
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or distributed by any means (electronic, photocopied, recorded, or mechanical) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1 ~ TROUBLE IN THE KINGDOM
2 ~ BREACHING HAVENSHIRE
3 ~ MAKING PLANS
4 ~ CONFRONTATION
5 ~ FIRE MOUNTAIN
6 ~ TESSA ~ SIX YEARS LATER
7 ~ LAURYN ~ THE HEALER
8 ~ ANDREW ~ THE HORSEMAN
9 ~ FELESIA ~ THE SHAPE-SHIFTER
10 ~ TANYA’S BAND OF ESCAPEES
11 ~ KRYSTAL ACTIVATES THE PLAN
12 ~ KRIEGEN’S PACK
13 ~ MARRA GOES HUNTING
14 ~ ANGELA ESCAPES THE TEMPLE
15 ~ JORDAN MEETS THE PANTHER
16 ~ AMBER GETS INTO TROUBLE
17 ~ CROSSING THE CRAGS
18 ~ THE BLOODY LAKE
19 ~ MARASUTA’S ARMY
20 ~ BATTLE AT HAVENSHIRE
21 ~ TRAPPED IN THE BLOODY TOWER
DEFINITION OF TERMS
CAST OF CHARACTERS ~ Books 1 and 2 (Alphabetical)
A Note From Diane Rapp
Summary ~ HOWL OF THE WOLF, Heirs to the Throne, Book 1
Preview ~ DRAGON DEFENSE, Heirs to the Throne, Book 3
About the Author
1 ~ TROUBLE IN THE KINGDOM
(New readers please note, Definitions of Terms, Cast of Characters, and a Summary of Book 1 can be accessed by clicking each line in the Table of Contents.)
Two weeks on horseback usually left Trenton unfazed, but tonight he felt bone tired, itchy, and ravenous. He longed to sink his teeth into hearty chunks of stew and dunk a slab of fresh baked bread into the savory sauce; he longed to soak his aching body in a steaming tub of water and rid his skin of horse stink. The smell never left his trapper’s leather but it was part of his disguise.
One more night at this friendly country inn, and he’d be fit to greet Maggie. He thought about her waiting at home, could almost feel her curves against his chest and warm kiss on his lips. He nudged Sparks with his heel and the young mountain-bred filly broke into a bouncy trot. She already smelled fresh oats waiting in a trough full at the inn just ahead.
The time he’d spent winding through overgrown trails, backtracking, and slogging in the icy water of rocky streams was necessary. There were a dozen henchmen trying to find the trail to his mountain hideaway, but Trenton wasn’t the best tracker on Drako for nothing.
Sparks broke free of the dense forest and charged down the well-worn mountain in a brisk canter to the barn. Pitchfork in hand the stable boy scurried out of her usual stall before Sparks pushed open the gate and plunged her nosed into a bin of fresh oats.
“Your stomach rules your head, Sparks,” Trenton grumbled as he handed Abe the reins and slid from the saddle. “Make sure she doesn’t gorge herself and die of bloat.”
“I put out jest enough to satisfy her trail hunger, and I’ll let her drink water in small doses. You want I should brush her down?”
Trenton nodded. “I’m happy for your help, Abe. It’s been a long ride and I need a good meal and hot bath. I’d be barred from the cabin if Maggie caught a whiff of me.” He tossed a silver coin into the air, and Abe caught it before it hit the ground. “You’ll see another if you get Sparks ready to leave at dawn wearing the fancy saddle.”
Abe nodded. “I’ll even polish her hooves so she looks right smart. Be sure to give Maggie my greetings.”
Trenton’s eyes sparkled as he saw the boy grin. “I’ll tell her, son. Next trip out you can expect more of her baked goods.”
“Don’t let her go to no trouble jest for me,” Abe said with a shrug.
“Trouble? Baking is Maggie’s life. She loves to hear that you gobble up her wares. It gives her pure pleasure.”
Trenton unlocked the door of a nearby cupboard, grabbed a satchel, and handed Abe the key. “Stow my trapper’s gear for me, son. I’ll get the key in the morning.” He ambled down the row of stalls in the barn. “Looks like the inn’s full tonight,” he said. “Anybody I should hear about?”
Abe pointed at a sleek gray horse in the last stall. “That filly looks like desert stock but her rider sports light hair and skin. Maybe he bought it from some desert rider down on his luck.”
The gray stood two hands taller than Sparks with graceful legs and an arched neck. Its nostrils flared as Trenton approached. “You’ve got a good eye, Abe. She’s pure Arabian with a pedigree long as my arm. A desert rider would sell his wife and children before he’d sell this horse. I’ll keep an eye out for him. See you at first light.”
Warm air hit Trenton’s leathery skin as the heavy tavern door swung open with a whoosh. The smell of yeasty bread, simmering stew, and beer beckoned him into the dining room. He felt like Sparks lured by a bin of oats. Rosy-faced bar maids hefted platters and zigzagged between stout plank tables, delivering fare to raucous patrons. Trenton hung his leather coat on a wall-peg and headed to a table near the fireplace. He straddled the stout bench, leaned his back against the stone wall and scanned the room through half-lidded eyes.
Shaggy hair and weathered skin marked Trenton as an outdoorsman. His leather pants and vest were dusty, boots scuffed, and faded homespun shirt looked worn. With a hunting knife strapped to his narrow waist and bear claws dangling along a rawhide cord at his neck, he was the image of a skilled hunter—an image he cultivated.
Without asking, a barmaid delivered a steaming bowl of stew, crusty rolls and a tankard of beer to his table. Trenton grinned, flashing sparkling white teeth. “You know jest how to please a gent, Sally.”
She shrugged and glared over her shoulder. “Some gents don’t notice nothing but my favors.”
“They’re right pretty favors, but I’m off to see Maggie tomorrow. When I finish my grub, I’ll need a full tub of hot water in my room.”
Sally grinned. “You want Jake to scissor your hair and shave your beard?”
“No! It took me a month to get it looking like this, lass. Maggie forgives shaggy hair, but she won’t abide me smelling like a horse.”
“I’ll have the kitchen start boiling kettles, and I’ll fetch you some right good smelling soap. You scrub everywhere, you hear?”
“I’m in your debt.” Trenton raised his mug in salute. He drank deeply and watched Sally dodge a drunken customer with ease. While eating, he listened to nearby conversations. As part of his job for King Donovan, Trenton paid attention when he heard the king’s name. He grinned when he heard stories that he’d recently spread through the countryside.
Folks loved to hear tales about King Donov
an’s heroic struggle to claim the throne, so Trenton “embellished” truth. It wasn’t his fault that in the retelling, the stories grew into epic sagas. Donovan deserved to be a figure of legendary proportions, although it would be unwise for superstitious peasants to learn the truth about the king’s “talents.”
A burly farmer gulped his beer. “I heard it direct from a gent who saw it happen. Donovan rode a beam of starlight from the heavens. He carried Krystal on his arm and brought a band of warriors at his back. Didn’t he tame that devil horse, Tempest, and win the crown by shooting arrows faster than lightning? It’s got to be true.”
Another man grinned. “Aye, Donovan fought like King Halder when he used that sword. The old king was dying from a foul poison, so he poured his soul into a magic sword and gave it to Donovan. That way King Halder took vengeance on the murderer of his family. As Halder’s ghost drank the blood of his enemy, the white jewel in the ring of truth turned bright red.”
Trenton cringed. This story was too close to the truth, and he wondered how it got started.
The first man said, “Queen Krystal has more power than any of the royals. She’s a fairy princess who gave up immortality to live as Donovan’s consort. On the day her three daughters were born, the fairies arrived in a silver spaceship to take her back into the sky. When they attacked, the earth shook and the sky turned crimson, but Donovan and his warriors hurled their spaceship into the black night of space with a thundering explosion.”
Trenton smiled. That version of the story wasn’t too bad. He should arrange for a balladeer to sing it at the next festival. Tales of magic and fairies were more acceptable to superstitious peasants than the truth—an Institute warship tracked the Zebulon to Drako and the planetary defense system repelled the attack. The defense system was damaged and Donovan needed to repair the satellite before another ship arrived. It’s too bad they blew up the Zebulon.
“You’ve got it all wrong!” A gruff voice interrupted Trenton’s thoughts and he looked up to identify the speaker. “King Halder summoned Donovan and Krystal with secret technology, and they arrived on a spaceship a month before the tournament. They hid forbidden weapons in the old abandoned spaceport. Our ancestors colonized this world and outlawed the blasphemy of spacer weapons. I heard that Donovan, Krystal, and their mercenaries practice banned science. Doctor Alexander used vile technology to help the queen birth daughters when she could not carry a babe in the normal manner.”
A cold pang of fear pierced Trenton’s chest. Who would dare to leak pieces of the truth? Jarrack must be the source. Trenton stared at the man speaking. He had light hair and skin and dressed in drab homespun garments, but his manner of speech sounded foreign. The gray horse in the barn must belong to this desert rider, an infiltrator disguised as a normal peasant.
A burly man confronted the desert rider, “You’re spouting nonsense. We’ve all seen King Donovan wield a bow and fight with a sword. Spacers are weaklings. They’re rich tourists who carry ray guns, ride in powered carts, and fumble when they wield ordinary weapons. No one’s landed at the spaceport since our king forced them off our world over three centuries past.”
The desert rider scoffed. “Donovan landed in a space ship. He’s a spacer bent on taking control of our planet and used King Halder to gain the throne. Halder’s family died from a weakness in the royal blood, but Doctor Alexander convinced the dying man that enemies had poisoned his family. No ordinary man shoots a bow as fast as Donovan, or wields a sword in the manner of the dying king. He used sorcery to steal Halder’s mind and gain the throne.
Donovan’s second in command, the man called Trenton, still sneaks into the spaceport and removes banned technology from a secret cave. He uses banned tools to build a mountain fortress out of solid rock. Why does Donovan need a secret mountain fortress and banned technology? What evil do these sorcerers plan to inflict on our world?”
Silence fell over the room. Trenton’s stomach clenched, realizing that his frequent pilfering at the spaceport had been detected. The innocent use of laser drills to carve out his mountain cabin might jeopardize Donovan and his shipmates.
A gruff laugh boomed through the room, breaking the silence. “You’ve got an active imagination, son. I’m a trapper and I’ve met Trenton myself. That man is as straight as an arrow and loyal to this world. If he’s a spacer I’ll pack up my traps and go smoke hashish with the desert sheiks. Try your conspiracy stories on someone with sand for brains.” The trapper banged his fist on the table and stood towering over the desert rider. “If you want to fight, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
The desert rider’s blue eyes raked the burly trapper as he tossed coins onto the table and stomped from the room without comment.
Trenton exhaled without realizing he had held his breath. The trapper glanced his way but didn’t acknowledge him before leaving the room. Sally stopped at Trenton’s table.
She whispered, “Daniel will follow the man and report back before you leave.” Louder she said, “Your room and bath are ready, sir. You need anything else?”
Trenton shook his head as he handed her some coins, retrieved his coat and quietly walked up the stairs. He felt relieved when the din of conversation returned to its rowdy level.
As Trenton soaked in the tub of hot water, he mulled over the situation. Jarrack had wormed himself into a desert rider group, but Trenton had put little thought into the consequences. Jarrack was an Institute assassin with the ability to use mind control. He infiltrated the Zebulon’s crew with orders to kill Dr. Alexander and Donovan, but Donovan and Krystal foiled his plan. Jarrack was still a dangerous adversary.
Word of this incident was too important to send by messenger bird. He’d send a coded message warning Donovan that Jarrack was up to something and take Maggie to Havenshire to tell the full story. Work on his mountain retreat would have to wait until a quieter time and he’d stay away from the spaceport. Drat, he hated to let perfectly good tools go to waste when he had a real need for them.
Trenton climbed out of the tub, rubbed his hot skin with a fluffy towel and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened his kit and extracted a razor and soap. “If I must go to the castle, the beard will need to go.” He gazed thoughtfully at his reflection and muttered, “I’ll keep the long hair. Donovan might send me out spying for him. Maggie’s going to be tickled pink to see those three little girls. Don’t look so downtrodden. You’ll be glad to see them, too. I just hope we have time to enjoy the visit.”
*****
Lord Mannfried banged a meaty fist on the table to emphasize his point. “As king you must proclaim a list of bridegrooms. Your daughters are of an age for betrothal.”
“My daughters are barely five years old! I won’t use little girls as pawns in a political game of chess.” Donovan scowled, looking ready to break a few heads. “You can’t auction my daughters to the highest bidders.”
Mannfried fumed. “At least declare the name of your firstborn to ensure the line of succession.”
“Why? You’ll pounce on her like rabid dogs. My heir will grow up free to choose her own husband unhampered by political intrigue.” Donovan’s nostrils flared as he shouted, “Learn from history! Evil and conspiracy festered in royal families because royal heirs fought over the throne. My daughters love each other, and if they choose to marry, they will marry for love…not politics.”
“Queen Krystal has born no sons,” Lord Hembly interjected. “With no male heir at least name a protector for the future queen.”
Donovan glared at Hembly. “My daughters are not short of male protectors! My men-at-arms act out of duty and loyalty rather than personal gain. You sell the idea of betrothals to protect the crown, but I’m not buying! Stop your constant badgering!” Donovan stormed out of the council chambers.
He was joined by Bryant who asked, “Do you think your actions are wise?”
Donovan’s anger erupted. “Doesn’t anyone listen to reason?”
Bryant shrugged. “U
se the Lords’ avarice against them by asking them to form a committee to prepare a list of candidates. It is well-known that committees never agree. The Lords can spend years fighting among themselves to formulate a proper list while holding you blameless. As it stands now, they hatch plots together against you.”
“You astound me, Bryant.” Donovan ran freckled fingers through thick red hair. “Politics and subterfuge are not my strong points.”
“King Halder was a master of political strategy. He avoided the betrothal of his daughter for years. In the end the maiden princess was murdered with the rest of his family. No one foresaw murder as a sane political ploy for a rejected candidate.”
Donovan arched an eyebrow. “A man refused a royal marriage kills off the rightful heir and gains his objective by force…Sounds like politics to me. If I declare a line of succession, there will be no end to the tricks employed to reach the heir.”
“If you don’t establish a reasonable process, the political climate improves for Jarrack. He sows dissent among Lordlings who feel their future is threatened by your ideas of self-government. Since you don’t foster the Lords’ sons, you haven’t forged alliances. They can’t fathom your scheme.”
Donovan sighed. “My scheme is to rid this planet of the monarchy. They won’t approve so what can I do to buy time without selling out my daughters?”
“Go back to the meeting. Let them talk you into forming a committee. In the meantime you foster several Lordlings at the castle. A son fostered at court generates good will since the sons will gain acquaintance of your daughters. Each Lord will believe his son capable of winning the hand of one of your daughters. As a bonus you have access to a new generation more likely to accept new ideas.”
Donovan laughed. “I’m astounded! You can be so devious and at the same time so insightful…I’m grateful for the good advice.” Donovan strolled back into the council chambers with a more relaxed attitude.
