An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4)

by Valerie Zambito

  Tilly was waiting for her at their cot.

  “Did you hear?” Tilly asked excitedly.

  “Hear what?” she asked, shivering as she stepped into the clean dress that had been put out for her.

  “The Duke is gone.”

  Kiernan’s heart skipped a beat. “Gone?”

  “The Duke left town with a bunch of his soldiers.”

  The terror that simmered just below the surface ever since her encounter with the Duke last night fled in an audible release of breath.

  “Are you all right, Mistress Malley?” Tilly asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Kiernan told the girl reassuringly, already planning what to do with her reprieve.

  After dinner, and with an hour to spare before curfew, she went out the back door and walked through the copse of trees out back, but instead of going left to Cael’s house, she took a right toward the river. The mud was thicker than usual because of the new flooding today, but Kiernan refused to be daunted. She retrieved a shovel from the now deserted mines, and starting at the river’s edge, she began to dig. Little by little, one shovelful at a time.

  A fresh coat of dirt soon covered her clean body, but it couldn’t be helped.

  One way or another, the town of Lewstin would get their trench whether they wanted one or not.

  ****

  Beck had acquired a small army whether he wanted one or not. The line of people stood with him now at the lip of the Valley of Flame, a deep gorge filled with a plethora of swaying red and yellow flowers that gave the appearance that the ground was afire. Beyond the valley on the eastern rise stood the formidable Starfell—once a Mage Keep named after his grandfather, Galen Starr, and now home to the Halfie race of people. It had taken several years after the Demon War to find a suitable home for the Halfies, but this Keep isolated away from most inhabitants of the island fit their needs—and the needs of Massans—perfectly.

  Beck beckoned his followers close and pointed. “We will be entering the lair of the legendary half-pint sprites called the Halfies. Has anyone here ever met a Halfie?”

  Most in the group shook their heads, but a few grimaced with a remembered encounter.

  “If you value your skin, I suggest you allow me to create a shield of protection around you. The mischievous Halfies stand only four feet tall but can be quite injurious without intending to be.”

  When all agreed, Beck cast a spell around himself and the others and started down the steep slope. Not surprisingly, it didn’t take long for the imps to make their presence known. The moment Beck reached the valley floor, a rock whizzed through the air and bounced against his shield.

  “Enough!” Beck growled. “Show yourselves!”

  Amid a flurry of squeaky giggles, three male Halfies eased up out of the flowers dressed in simple loincloths wrapped around their hips. “Greetings, Savitar,” they said in piercing unison.

  Beck was taken aback at their recognition of him as it had been several years since he had last been to Starfell.

  “Greetings, Halfies. I am here to see Vinni Vee.”

  More laughter burbled forth. “Of course you are. We’ve been waiting for you. Follow.”

  Beck shook his head and started after the Halfies. It took over an hour to reach the eastern canyon wall and his shield took several more hits along the way. At the base of the slope, he beckoned Tristan over. “You can make camp here while I go up to the Keep. Instruct the others that we’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a good plan, Your Grace. Just keep that shield nice and tight around us if you don’t mind.”

  Beck assured him that he would and followed his three escorts up to the Keep. The Halfies had built a wooden walkway into the side of the valley wall making the climb easier than it used to be.

  At the top, Beck stepped off the platform into a courtyard littered with refuse and discarded furniture and overturned carts. Halfie children scampered up trees and swung from branches screeching at the top of their lungs. Beck stepped through the disorder and made his way into the foyer of the Keep. He was surprised to find the statue of Galen Starr still standing unmarred because the rest of the interior had not been so fortunate. Beautiful stained glass doors hung on their hinges. White marbled floors were scuffed and cracked. The elegant woodwork and walls were stained with what looked and smelled like black tar.

  Heartbreaking to see, but a small price to pay, he supposed, to keep the menacing confined to one place.

  “This way, Savitar!”

  His Halfie escort pointed through the broken doors into a large sitting room. Beck squeezed through the opening and found Vinni inside sitting on none other than a tiny throne made for a petite King.

  Beck had to bite back a laugh. The Halfie always did have quite the ego.

  The imp looked older, his shock of curls a bit grayer, his middle a bit thicker. The eyes, however, were as sharp as ever.

  “Savitar,” Vinni drawled in a bored voice while meticulously studying his fingernails.

  “Well met, Vinni.”

  “Let’s dispense with the niceties, shall we? What can I do for you?”

  “All right then,” Beck replied, wondering at the brusqueness of the Halfie’s tone. “The clouds, Vinni. Can you still read them?”

  Vinni issued a loud snort. “Vinni Vee, Son of Verdi, Tribal Leader and Cloud Reader, is a name that is not given lightly.”

  “No offense intended, Vinni, but I need your help.”

  Vinni sat forward with a sneer. “Of course you need my help! Why else would you be here? It’s not as though you would ever visit otherwise. Oh, no, not a busy Savitar such as yourself. What would you care about a Halfie who saved your life and that of your wife?”

  Beck’s face reddened with guilt. “You’re right, Vinni. I do consider you a dear friend and I should have visited long before now.”

  The Halfie’s expression came alive. “Really? I am your friend?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Vinni hopped down from his throne and Beck involuntarily took a step back, his hands crossing to cover his lower region. “Well, then, friend, I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “I know what you seek,” he whispered conspiratorially.

  Thank the Highworld! Beck squatted down. “I can’t thank you enough, Vinni. You don’t know how desperately I need to find my wife.”

  “Not your wife!” Vinni scoffed with a wave of his hand.

  Beck blinked. “Yes, Vinni! She disappeared and—”

  “No! You need to find you!”

  Beck stood, panic burrowing into his stomach. “What in demon’s breath are you talking about?”

  “Just as I do, my friend, you go by many names. Earthshifter, Savitar, Prince, First Mage. Some you wear more easily than others, but you have to decide soon. Who are you, Beck Atlan?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked in an exasperated groan.

  “Yes, the future of the races depends upon it.”

  Beck knew enough about the Cloud Reader to know that what he saw had merit, but he had no time to dwell on it. “I will think on it when I have time, I promise. In the meantime, can you tell me where Kiernan is?”

  The curly head shook vigorously. “I have not been granted that knowledge. I am sorry.”

  Beck’s shoulders slumped in misery. All this way I’ve traveled to nothing but a dead end.

  “There is one more thing that you should know,” Vinni said.

  “Yes?”

  “A woman stalks you.”

  Beck’s eyebrows rose in shock. “A woman? What does she want?”

  “To kill you.”

  Beck’s memory roamed over the few women who had joined him from Iserlohn. None appeared threatening in any way, quite the opposite in fact, and he did not sense malevolence from anyone in the group, although it was a feeling that could easily be masked. He settled a hand on Vinni’s shoulder. “Thank you for the warning, Vinni, I will be on guard.”

  “I tell yo
u because…” The Halfie’s face turned three different shades of red as he struggled to say his next words. “...you…are my…friend.”

  Unexpected emotion swelled in Beck’s chest, and he vowed to visit the Tribe Leader more often. “I feel the same way,” he assured Vinni as they walked together toward the broken gap that served as a door. “I don’t suppose the clouds have shown you anything about the trouble in Nysa?” he asked casually.

  “The race war?”

  Beck stopped. “The race war? You mean the accession war?”

  “They are one and the same, no?”

  Beck shook his head. Did the Halfie misinterpret the clouds in some way? “And, House Everard? How will we fare in this war, Vinni?” He had to know, for Kiernan’s sake.

  “Now that I do know!” he said with a pointed finger in the air. “House Everard is dead and will never rise again.”

  Chapter 26

  Crumbling Walls

  Kiernan’s days in Lewstin passed much the same. Drudgery at the mines with the sun and grueling nights digging her trench with the moon.

  She paused in her work to adjust the white cloth that wrapped both of her blistered hands. Every muscle in her body throbbed. Her skin itched unbearably from the layer of dried mud she wore. To make matters worse, she had contracted stomach blight and struggled with frequent bouts of nausea.

  The one comforting departure to the onerous routine was her growing attachment to Cael and Tilly. Cael seemed to feel the same. He was more playful now than when she’d first met him and often wore a tender smile whenever he looked at her, and little Tilly eased a bit of the ache Kiernan felt for her own missing children.

  She couldn’t help but wonder. How old are they? How many are there? Do they live still? If they are alive, I will find them. It was a vow that burned deep inside her chest as a beacon of hope for her future.

  Until then, there was her trench.

  She continued to dig until she could no longer lift the shovel and then stumbled back to the barracks and her cot.

  It seemed like she had just closed her eyes when the morning bell rang, startling her awake. Kiernan covered the yawn that widened her mouth. How many more days she could keep up this pace, she wasn’t sure. But, not many.

  She sat up on the cot and stretched. It lifted her heart to see one of the women watering the flowers Kiernan had taken pains to arrange in the windows of the barracks. Pride. A sense of belonging. A first step toward taking ownership of their surroundings.

  The door slammed open and the redheaded Salie rushed inside. “An army!” she shouted. “Come quick.”

  Kiernan flew from the cot, dressed and joined the others rushing to squeeze out the front door. An army coming here to Lewstin? She followed the crowd to the palisade. Several leapt up onto the horizontal slats in the middle of the fencing and Kiernan didn’t hesitate in doing the same. She stepped up onto the wood and peered over the top.

  Her jaw fell open in shock.

  An army of Dwarves passing by on the northern road toward Nysa. A vanguard of Iron Fists in the maroon and blue of Deepstone rode out in front, their eyes darting in all directions as they searched for threats to the King that followed just behind. The handsome monarch wore an opulent robe around his shoulders and a golden circlet upon his head. He sat casually in his saddle, sharing a laugh with the female Fist riding beside him.

  Kiernan racked her brain wondering why the King looked so familiar. She hadn’t seen King Rik since she was very young, but he had been much older then. This King was younger.

  The appearance of Dwarves in Iserlohn was also very puzzling. The last she knew, they refused to have anything to do with the Land of Men. Or the Elves, for that matter. What would make them venture onto foreign soil?

  The chestnut-haired King suddenly turned to look toward the palisade. He could have been looking at anyone, but it seemed to Kiernan that his gaze was directed at her. A frown creased his brow. Does he know me? Even if he did know Princess Kiernan, how could he possibly equate her to the woman with short hair and muddy face peering over a fence?

  Still, her heart started to beat wildly at the possibility. Will he call out to me? A big part of her wanted him to do just that. To march in and save her. Take her away from this awful place. Yes, I’m here! Her hand lifted in a silent plea. Yes. It’s me, Dwarven King! The Princess of Men!

  But, the King’s eyes slipped from her and he continued on his way and out of view.

  Kiernan watched a few moments longer as the foot soldiers marched by in an endless parade of heavy staccato footsteps.

  Guilt prickled at her conscience that she could so easily turn her back on Cael and Tilly and the townsfolk of Lewstin at sight of a few Dwarves. I am no Princess of Men, she reminded herself. I am Larkin Malley, once a scullery maid and now a miner.

  With a heavy heart, she made the morning trek to the mines. As was her usual practice, she sat alone, choosing not to subject herself to the matron’s glares. She took a look at her half-dug trench. Although satisfied with her progress thus far, she judged the remaining distance to the top—provided the guards didn’t stop her before then—would take her many weeks yet to complete. Then, what? Her actions would not come without consequence. Was she really provoking the Duke into a fight?

  She stewed on that question all day, and after work made her way back to the barracks intending to enjoy a few hours of rest before her return to the mines for her nightly labor.

  “Mistress Malley?”

  Kiernan turned toward the bathing section at the back of the building. Serah beckoned to her with a furtive wave.

  Kiernan walked over. “There must be some mistake,” she told the woman. “I’m not due for another bath until tomorrow.”

  “No mistake,” Serah told her with a wink.

  The matron made a grunting sound of disapproval from her stool on the other side of the barracks.

  It remained a mystery to Kiernan why Marian disliked her so. The woman gave her openly antagonistic looks every time she brought flowers into the barracks or sang songs to the children at night or shared her knowledge of herbs and cures with the other women. Despite the matron’s unpleasant manner, however, Kiernan found the barracks becoming more and more like home. At least, as long as she managed to forget that she was a prisoner.

  Kiernan yelped as Serah yanked her inside the curtained room. Salie joined in helping to pull Kiernan’s filthy clothes from her body.

  When she was naked, Kiernan gritted her teeth, preparing to take a plunge into the ice-cold water. But, when she turned toward the tub, she noticed the heat mist rising sinuously above the surface. She placed her hand inside the water. It was hot.

  “Come now, don’t just stand there, Mistress Malley,” Salie chided.

  A sudden stinging pressure at the back of Kiernan’s throat made it difficult to swallow as she stepped into the tub and sank down into pure ecstasy. “But, why?”

  Serah poured water over her head and began to scrape the mud from her scalp.

  “Because you help us to believe, Mistress Malley.”

  “Believe in what?”

  “In a future without walls.”

  ****

  A future without walls. Kiernan wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty brow at another round of retching and picked up her shovel once again. I need to rest. Not now, not when the walls are crumbling. But, soon.

  A rustling sound at the edge of the trees turned her around.

  A hooded figure stepped out of the woods.

  Kiernan gripped the shovel in both hands and lifted it out toward the intruder, but relaxed her stance when she recognized the matron. She couldn’t imagine what could have brought Marian out here tonight.

  The gray-haired woman crossed the distance between them and folded her arms across her ample bosom. “I knew it was you making this bloody trench, but I had to see for myself.”

  Kiernan leaned on the shovel. “What do you want, Marian?”

  “Why are you
doing this?” she snapped.

  “Because I don’t like living in mud,” she answered simply.

  “But, it’s against the Duke’s express wishes.”

  “I refuse to live like an animal, and so should you.”

  The comment gave the matron pause, but years of subjugation forced her to reject the possibility of a life of her own making. That road was far too dangerous. Too painful. “You will be punished.”

  “Some things are worth fighting for. Find your courage.”

  “What do you know about courage, maid?”

  “Courage shapes and defines our world, Marian. It dictates how we live, how we learn, how we love. Have the courage to demand more for yourself.”

  “Words like that will only get you tied to a whipping post.”

  “Perhaps. But, they also have power,” she said, remembering an oft-used adage of her mother’s. “Words are ripples of hope that become waves. Big, beautiful waves that can destroy, yes, but also have the power to leave beauty in their wake.”

  The matron did not look convinced.

  “Everything all right here?”

  Kiernan twisted around at the sound of Cael’s voice.

  Without another word, Marian turned on her heel and walked away. Kiernan had no doubt that she would immediately report all she had heard to the Duke as soon as he returned from his trip.

  Kiernan sighed. In the end it wouldn’t matter. The Duke was determined to abuse her regardless. She had nothing to lose by giving back to the townsfolk. By encouraging them to think. To appreciate flowers and song and laughter. The more they experienced these things, the more unwilling they would be to give them back.

  “Everyone is talking about you,” Cael said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Oh?”

  “They say you leave a trail of light wherever you go.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she muttered, thinking of the fractious matron. Kiernan told him about her conversation with Marian.

  “She’s just jealous.”

  “Jealous? Whatever for?”

  “Marian enjoys a certain elevated status from her position as matron. I think she is afraid that you will usurp her power.”