“I will ask you one more time, Gregaros! Where is that little twerp?” Lady Morningstar’s voice could be heard clearly coming from inside. The noble sounded at the end of her patience at the lack of answers from the new King Regent. “You’re hiding him, aren’t you?”
Beck had not expected to find Elinor at Gage’s home, but he should have. Her ambitions knew no bounds.
“Still no word from the royal scribe?” Beck asked innocently from the door.
Elinor let out a startled squeal and whirled around at his unexpected presence. “No…no, Your Grace,” she said, bending into a deep curtsy in her nervousness. “Master Asher seems to have disappeared at a most inopportune time.”
“Inopportune for whom?”
She stood back upright and smoothed her long skirts. “This whole…” she wigged her fingers in the air, “…regency issue has many people nervous, Your Grace. Perhaps you should delay your trip until all of this is resolved.”
“All is resolved to my satisfaction, Lady Morningstar. Gage Gregaros is King Regent leaving me to deal with important matters that concern the safety of Iserlohn. And, to locate our missing Princess, of course.”
At least she had the good grace to blush. “Yes, Your Grace. I hope your efforts are successful. We all miss her dearly.”
He almost laughed out loud. “If you will excuse us, Elinor, I wish to speak to the King Regent in private.”
She bowed her head and started for the door, but Beck could see how desperately she wished to stay and listen in on their conversation. Gage strode after her and slammed the door on her retreating figure, ensuring an end to any plans to eavesdrop.
“That woman is a menace to society,” Gage griped. “How do you deal with these people? And, by these, I am excluding myself, of course,” he added with a smile.
“It’s not always easy,” Beck confessed.
“I assume you’re leaving,” Gage said, pointing his chin toward the pack slung over Beck’s shoulder.
Beck nodded. “A Mage did kill Maximus, Gage.”
The King Regent whistled through his teeth. “So, at least one of the rumors is true.”
“It is, and as First Mage it is my responsibility to deal with this. I know I’m asking a great deal of you, Gage. Just do your best to keep the tension to a low boil until I return. Contain the rumors if you can.”
“Which ones?” he snorted.
“What are they saying now?”
“Oh, that you’ve killed Duncan Bartlett and Maximus so you could be King. That you’re abandoning Nysa and never coming back. That you are moving to Hiberi with a busty serving wench. That the Elves and Dwarves are marching toward Nysa to avenge Maximus’s death. The list goes on and on.”
Beck sighed in frustration. “I can’t spend any more time on this.” He held out his hand and traded grips with his long-time friend. “Do what you can.”
“You have my word.”
Beck left Gage’s estate with a heavy heart and headed toward the gates. Gil had still not formulated the enhanced spell he requested, so he was going blind.
Hoisting his modest pack, he made his way onto Dannery Row. People on the street soon recognized him and he felt their chilly eyes boring angry holes into his back. They made no attempt to hide their disappointment, and Beck’s mood sank further, wishing there was more he could do. But, there wasn’t. A Mage needed to be dealt with and Kiernan was missing. That required him to put all his trust—the people’s trust—in the hands of Gage with the hope that the King Regent would find a way to keep an accession war from developing.
He remembered the time long ago when Kiernan vanished from Iserport and the same feelings of helplessness washed over him.
So consumed was he in his thoughts that it caught him completely off guard when a piece of rotten fruit smashed into his shoulder. He ignored it and kept walking. Another brave citizen had the nerve to hit him directly in the head with a tomato and the red juices dripped down the sides of his face. He swallowed back the painful burn of disgrace and walked faster. Mocking laughter chased him as more fruit was hurled his way. He started to run then and didn’t stop. Not until he was out of the city, aching with regret, blinded by tears and wondering if he would ever be welcomed back again.
Chapter 19
Strings
Airron heard the hawk’s signal long before he saw the bird. Two long, high-pitched squawks, two short. Message incoming.
He held a hand over his eyes to shield the blinding sun from his view, and the hawk appeared over the top of the tree line a moment later. The bird dove down and came in fast allowing Airron a glimpse of the parchment attached to its leg.
“Make room!” he shouted and his small group that included his wife, Raine Aubry and Loren Faolin, quickly cleared a spot to allow the bodyshifter space to land. “And, ready a spare cloak!”
Melania stepped up next to him, a worried expression on her face. “I hope it isn’t anything to do with Izzy.”
Airron shook his head. “Izabel is home safe and sound with Elon Aubry watching over her. You mustn’t worry so about our daughter.”
Melania gave him a reluctant nod and turned her head away from the naked bodyshifter coming toward them.
Loren rushed forward to throw his own cloak over the bodyshifter’s shoulders, but the Elf barely noticed as he made a direct line for Airron. He dropped to a knee and held out the parchment. “An urgent message, Your Grace.”
Airron took the note wishing, as he had many times over the years, that there were more bodyshifters, earthshifters or even metalshifters in Haventhal. But, feralshifting was such a dominant magic with the Elves that very few displayed talents in any other forms of shifting. Now, as King, he viewed it as even more of a deficit. Both Iserlohn and Deepstone had full regiments now of shifters in their armies. Not only that, but Maximus had recently added sorcery to his arsenal, and Airron would be the first to admit that Haventhal would be fully unprepared to deal with either threat. Nor did I think I would ever have to.
Airron unfurled the note and read. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.
“What is it, Airron?” Melania asked, placing a light hand on his arm.
“It’s King Erik.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
“Assassinated by a Mage.”
“Just like Thorn,” she pointed out unnecessarily.
“Rogan Radek—King Rogan now—and his army are marching to Nysa as well.” Airron watched a dark look pass between Raine and Loren. “What are you thinking?”
“Two Kings dead?” Raine answered. “I’m thinking that either King Maximus is dead as well or he has declared war on the land.”
Airron looked south out over the gray expanse of the Illian River and tapped his chin in thought. “I agree, Raine, there are too many coincidences for my liking.” Kings murdered. Both the Elves and the Dwarves following the same trail to Nysa. Someone, somewhere, was pulling his strings and it rankled. But, it wasn’t Maximus. The King of Men, if he was still alive, simply wasn’t capable of such iniquity.
He directed a glance back east to the main body of his Haventhal Army spread out along the Illian in an ordered sea of bristling spears and silver hair. The lives of all those Elves rest in my hands now. In order to protect them, I must first discover the name of my unseen handler. His lip lifted in a snarl. And, if someone thinks to lead a lion on a leash, they had better be prepared to be eaten.
****
Izzy plopped down at the edge of the river and lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Only three days into this miserable march to Iserlohn and she had more aches and pains than ever in her life. Sunburn, blisters on her feet, sore muscles—just to name a few of the ailments troubling her. Some adventure this is turning out to be, she lamented sourly.
At one point, she had asked Nandra, the camp steward, for a horse to ride and the Elf laughed at her in front of everyone. Ca
mp servants do not ride! What a ridiculous request, girl! Who do you think you are?
The Princess of Haventhal, Nandra. That’s who. Oh, how she would love to see the look on the steward’s face when that little fact became known. But, that wasn’t likely for a very long time yet.
A tear formed in her eye as she thought of her parents traveling at the head of the army. She missed them so much more than she thought she would. It made her long to forego this silly ruse and let them know she was here. To run into her father’s arms and have him tell her all was fine and demand that she ride in a place of honor with her family.
But, she was smart enough to know that it would never happen that way. Her father would be very angry with her for disobeying him and she would be fortunate if the most he did was send her back to Sarphia with a few harsh words.
No, she couldn’t go to them yet. Not until they reached Iserlohn.
“No dawdling now, Merci,” Nandra shouted at her. “Those pots aren’t going to scrub themselves!”
Izzy muttered an oath under her breath and shoved her hands back into the river. Merci. The name she had chosen for her adventure. Although not as exciting as she envisioned the trip would be, at least she wasn’t sitting home in Sarphia with that cow, Celena, tormenting her.
As she cleaned the pot, she allowed her mind to wander to a more pleasant thought.
Kane Atlan.
Golden eyes and hair. Tall and lean like the Elves, but with more strength and…confidence. Yes, that was the best word to describe Kane’s demeanor. Where Kellan was all muscle and arrogance, Kane exhibited a quiet confidence that somehow felt all the more powerful for its subtlety. With the passing of years, he had only grown more attractive in her eyes. And, he said he loved me. The more she thought about their last conversation, the more convinced she became that they belonged together. A prickling thrill surged through her body at the thought of surprising him and how pleased he would be that she had finally come to him. She chastised herself for not figuring it out sooner. Her father would most likely insist that they wait a few years to marry, but that would be fine with her as long as she was allowed to remain in Bardot with Kane.
The Queen of Iserlohn. She nodded approvingly at the sound of that.
Izzy picked up her pot and walked back toward the servants’ tents with a smile lighting up her face. She supposed she could endure a few more blisters if it brought her a few steps closer to her dreams.
****
Rogan clutched the parchment in his fist as he strode through the night-shrouded camp, General Klay Arsten and a complement of Fists following close on his heels. Despite the late hour, the camp was humming with activity. Dwarves conversing, cursing, bellowing, standing over cooking pots, sharpening weapons. Swords crossing in the clang of metal. Animals baying and stomping. It took a lot of noise to keep an army this size operating and Rogan knew from experience that the bustle would continue throughout the night.
And, I’ve never felt so alive! he thought with a savage smile. Purpose filled his life now where mere days ago, he wondered how to fill his time. This threat to his homeland had spiked his blood oath to a boiling level and crowded his mind with thoughts of vengeance.
He lifted the paper in his hand. And, now this unexpected missive from Airron that the King of Elves suffered the same fate as Erik. None of it made any sense no matter how he tried to look at it.
He shook his head. Him a King? Airron a King? Neither one of them had thought to be in this position for decades, if ever. Now, in a blink of an eye, Dwarves would die at his command…or lack thereof. I will not be indecisive like Erik. I refuse to sit idle in the face of this threat.
At the entrance to his tent, an Iron Fist lifted the flap and Rogan ducked inside the spacious shelter. A lit brazier provided soft, yellow light and emitted a thin column of smoke that drifted upward to vent through a hole in the top of the canvas. Colorful, thick rugs covered the floor. A table and six chairs took up most of the room in the main chamber while a hung tapestry cordoned off another section that held a bed and washbasin.
Rogan gestured Klay, who had followed him in, to a seat around the table. He turned to one of the servants. “Find Princess Jala and Teran Mathis and have them join us.”
The servant bowed away to see to the task as another hurried forth with cups of mead.
“No word from Iserlohn?” Klay asked.
Rogan shook his head. “Nothing yet, but I must admit that I’m relieved to know that the Elves will be there to support our position should Iserlohn attempt to turn a blind eye. I will not be turned away, General.”
“Do you think the Dagarmon have turned on Beck Atlan?” Klay asked, reaching for his cup of mead. “Is that what this is about? They’ve deserted their oaths?”
Rogan drummed his thick fingers on the table in thought. “I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Yet it happened.”
“Then, why attack Deepstone and Haventhal? What are they hoping for?”
“Two armies on the move?” a voice suggested.
Rogan turned and smiled. Jala stood in the entrance wearing her Fist uniform with her husband-to-be standing behind her. Rogan’s eyes slid to her stomach, but had yet to see evidence of the baby growing within. “Speak your mind, daughter.”
“It appears as though someone wishes the Dwarves and Elves in Nysa. Any fool can see that,” she said and sat down.
Teran bent to one knee, but Rogan waved him up. “No more of that, son. As far as I’m concerned, you’re family now.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Teran took a seat next to Jala and Rogan noticed his daughter’s guard, Dallin Storm, slip into the tent and disappear into a corner.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Rogan asked in answer to Jala’s observation.
Jala gave him a rueful smile. “I don’t know, but let’s just hope we have that answer before the jaws snap shut.”
Chapter 20
Under the Same Sun
Beck ignored the creeping sounds behind him and strode ahead in an exhausted torpor. Two days of travel on an Aquataine transport simply did not allow for sufficient sleep—not on those small, hard bunks that were clearly not built with an earthshifter in mind. Spending time with the brokenhearted Digby only added to his misery. After three years, the watershifter still found it difficult to move on with life after the brutal death of his only daughter, Alia, and Beck felt terribly inept at finding the right words to ease his pain.
When Beck had finally stepped out of the grate in Sarphia, he hoped to find some relief in the isolation of the Puu. In the tranquility of the woods, there were no politics. No plotting. No grievances. Just peace and quiet and a blanket of humid air to cocoon him in an embrace as fierce as that of a protective mother.
This time, however, it merely served to make him feel small. A single blade of grass beneath a ficus tree. An ant under a man’s boot. A drop of rain in a downpour. Insignificant. Incompetent. Like no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t be enough. Not in finding his wife or in saving Nysa. He looked down at the bits of red that still clung to his cloak. Had he overestimated the loyalty of the people to House Everard? Had he really just thrown away Kiernan’s legacy?
Another rustle of leaves sounded behind him followed by a muffled curse.
If you’re going to follow a wizard, you’ll have to do much better, he silently admonished his pursuers.
He shook his head and continued ahead through the leafy tunnel that was the Puu. Fronds as big as tents barred all traces of the afternoon sun. Enormous hanging jungle vines glinted wetly from the incessant drip of water from above. The forest resonated with a veritable symphony from the myriad of living creatures that called this place home. Yet, Beck never felt so alone in his life. His humiliation in Nysa was nothing compared to how desperately he missed Kiernan. He felt half the man without her. Drowning in a sea of self-doubt. Longing for her presence and counsel. Talking to her, touching her was as natural to him as bre
athing. She was what made life worth living—not the nameless tomato throwers of Nysa.
The errant thought swung his gaze north instead of south and he stopped. Then, why am I serving their needs before hers?
That single question that passed through his conflicted mind made the decision for him. Although if he were to be honest it had been made long before, in every grief-stricken thought since she disappeared and in directing his steps to the land on which he now stood.
He would put finding Kiernan above all else. Above duty and above oaths and despite the fact that she herself would have discouraged it.
When he first thought about who could help him track his wife after she went missing, he thought of two people. First, of course, there was Diamond who would travel to the Netherworld and back to find Kiernan. Only, her stone had revealed no insight. Not with all of the other events happening on the island. Next, he had thought of the enigmatic Oracle and her unparalleled mystical talents, but he had never been able to call on her at will. Perhaps she would hear of the troubles in Nysa and arrive to provide assistance as she had before, but he couldn’t count on it.
However, there had always been another name hovering at the back of his mind. An old friend that lived at the former Mage Keep of Starfell. He wished he didn’t have to travel that far, but there was no help for it. This was his last hope. Something to help keep his fears at bay. Particularly, the gnawing dread that Kiernan was being mistreated in some way. If that meant going north, that’s where he would go.
He perked up as the footsteps behind crept near. They were getting closer than they had dared to venture since they had started following him out of Nysa to Bardot and then through Aquataine to the grate in Sarphia. Three men and two women. Usually, they made more of an effort to keep their distance. Beck idly wondered at their intention, but sensed no malice in their motives.
An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) Page 12
