An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) (17 page)

“I want to help!”

“Help with what?”

“Look!” she answered, pointing back up the hill.

Kiernan squinted into the darkness. Shadows lined the trench on both sides. She panicked for a moment until she realized what she was seeing. There were people there. Cael’s father. Serah. Salie. Even a few of the Duke’s soldiers. Shoveling the trench. Her trench.

Kiernan’s body trembled with possibility. Have these uncaring people suddenly found purpose? Pride? A voice?

“Are you happy, Maman?”

Tilly’s use of the familial name hit her as hard as any physical blow and left her with a throbbing ache in her chest. A small, choked sound escaped her lips and she dropped to one knee and pulled the little girl close.
Do I really belong here? Would a life here in this shadowy, forgotten town make me happy?

She looked over Tilly’s shoulder at Cael. Her loyal, adoring Cael. She realized then that, yes, she could be content here with him and Tilly. They were in this together now. This was her home. This was her family.

Beck gazed up at the towering waterfall outside of Torg in silent awe. Warm vapor gusted up from the rapids and misted pleasantly over his face. To this day, he found it hard to believe that he had ridden those falls not once, but twice—much to the amusement
and ridicule
of the Malakai. Behind him, his followers murmured their admiration of this oasis in the middle of the Puu Rainforest, and he glanced back with a frown. It seemed every time he did so, more people had joined their group.

But, now, he had to leave them.

He held his hands up to get their attention. “This is where we will have to part for a time,” he said when all were quiet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but if you insist on waiting, you can make camp here until I return.”

Tristan laughed and dropped his bag on the ground. “Of course, we’re staying. Do what you must, King Beck, and we’ll be waiting to escort you back to Nysa. Don’t you worry about that.” Taking Tristan’s words as a formal order, the others began to set up camp and a few even jumped into the fast-moving water. Beck started to protest in fear for their safety, but swallowed back his words at sight of the dolphins that leapt into the air with squeaky cries of delight.

“Now, I’ve seen it all,” he muttered under his breath and turned away to start ahead on the path to Torg. He stopped at a sudden pressure against his calf that nearly tripped him. He looked down in surprise at the black cat slithering between his legs.

A cat in the Puu Rainforest? How in the world…?
He scratched his head
. It looks like…

Then, it dawned on him.

“Mila?”

The cat glided away back along the road they had just come from. Moments later, Mila Stowe emerged, dressed and at the head of an army of Wildcats.

The followers cheered at the impressive sight of the soldiers marching in formation and now adding strength to their numbers.

Mila stopped before him and knelt. “Your Grace.”

“Please stand. What are you doing here, Mila?”

The lithe young woman stood. “I received the message and decided I would rather be here than dealing with those judgmental blowhards in Nysa! An affair? Dear Highworld. No offense, Your Grace, but you’re old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” he sputtered, his fingers flying to the hair at his temples. Last he looked there had only been a sprinkling of gray there. “Hardly, but that’s beside the point. You mentioned a message. What message?”

“What message? Bodyshifters are flying all over Iserlohn calling volunteers to your side.”

Beck snapped his gaze over to Tristan who suddenly seemed to find urgent business at the other end of the clearing.

“I’m not calling anyone to my side!” he bellowed, recalling Vinni’s words. His days of royalty were over. But, how did he explain that to all these people now? “I’m just trying to find my wife, Mila. Doesn’t anyone understand that?”

“Of course, we do. Why do you think we’re here?”

Disbelief widened his eyes. Did he have it wrong? Did these people genuinely care about Kiernan? With some guilt, he admitted to thinking they had come on some adventurous notion with hardly a care for the reasons he was here. “I appreciate you coming, Mila, I really do, but I must leave for a short time. Would you please set your soldiers on watch, particularly at this path while I’m gone,” he said, pointing. “I don’t want anyone to wander into the village beyond. It’s filled with Malakai…or Moshies…and they can be very dangerous if they feel threatened.”

Mila bowed at the waist. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Beck turned to go, but Mila stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Yes?”

“I…I was wondering if you will see Kellan where you’re going?”

“I hope so.”

“Will you give him my regards?”

Beck smiled. “Yes, Mila, I will.”

She nodded with a smile of her own and turned away to shout orders to her soldiers.

Beck continued on his way to Torg and made it to the center of the village before any of the Malakai acknowledged him. He recognized their leader, Odawa, sitting on a stump outside of his tent smoking a pipe. The Malakai waved a furred arm in the air, signaling for Beck to approach.

“Odawa,” Beck greeted after traversing the peculiar community where females worked tirelessly cooking, mending and caring for small children while the males lounged and smoked. “It has been many years since we last saw each other.”

“Not enough,” the Malakai answered with a wide simian grin.

Beck laughed and patted him on his shoulder. “I must go into the tents again, Odawa. Can you prepare the mixture for me right away?”

“Sit,” the Malakai answered, gesturing to a stump next to his. “Be ready soon.”

“Prince Beck! Over here!”

Beck whirled around at the voice and gasped in shock. All he could see of Gregor Steele, Haiden Lind and the Dwarf, Iben Rydex, were their heads. The rest of their bodies were buried in sand.

“Odawa!” Beck admonished. “What have you done?”

“What? We feed.”

“Dig them out!”

Odawa made a snorting noise that Beck recognized as a laugh and motioned for some of the younger Malakai to help the beleaguered protectors.

“There are many people down by the falls, Odawa. Please leave them be until I return from the tents.”

“I will not see when return.”

Beck nodded, remembering that when he returned from the Mage world, Torg would be gone. For what reason this was so, Beck still had no idea, but the Mages must have a reason for it.

Beck went over to the protectors while they were being dug out. “I thought you were to return to Callyn-Rhe?”

Gregor spit out a mouthful of dirt. “We were, but never got that far.”

“When did the boys go inside the tent?”

“Several days now.”

“Days?” Beck asked in confusion. It shouldn’t have taken that long.

“We haven’t seen any of the eight since they went in,” Haiden added.

“Eight?”

“Yes, Kellan, Kane, and the six Dwarfs.”

Beck looked pointedly at Iben. “Six Dwarfs? Your King told me only Reilly Radek would be attending the training.”

The protector shrugged as much as the sand would allow. “Kal Rogan wanted more Dwarf Mages.”

Beck sighed, not sure what he thought of this duplicity by his old friend. Rogan clearly did not understand that once Mage, those Dwarves would belong to
him
not Deepstone.

An issue for another time.

As the dirt flew from the many tunneling hands, Beck suggested to the protectors that they wait down by the beach with the others when freed instead of here in the Malakai village, to which they readily agreed.

By that time, Odawa had returned with the preparation. Beck bid the protectors and Odawa farewell and headed toward the same tent he had gone into two decades earlier. It looked exactly the same. Neglected and far too small for him to fit.

He ducked inside. A suffocating heat pressed in on him as he sat cross-legged in front of the circle of stones. Yet, he couldn’t leave.
This is my last chance to find Kiernan. If the Mages can’t guide me to her, I’m lost.
He lifted the cup and brought it to his lips.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying sideways in the cramped tent and all three sides were whipping madly around him. He sat up in a rush, immediately sensing danger. Daggers of light flashed from outside and peppered the tent, threatening to shred the canvas to pieces. One lethal barb slipped through the tent opening and hit him in the shoulder. He screamed out at the burning pain.

It’s an attack!

He quickly crafted a shield, crouched onto the balls of his feet and dove out outside. His body rolled across the barren landscape of the Mage world. When he came to a stop on his back, he threw out his hands, ready to unleash one of his nastier spells.

Until he saw his assailants.

Kellan and Kane stood shoulder to shoulder with a dozen grim-faced, white-robed Mages.

“Hold your sorcery! It’s First Mage Beck!” one of them cried out.

“How did he get here?” another asked in surprise.

“We almost killed him!”

Kellan and Kane rushed to his side.

“Father, are you all right?” Kellan asked in a panic.

Beck touched his tender shoulder. “I think so.”

“Why did you come?” Kane asked. “You shouldn’t have!”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re trapped. There’s no way out.”

****

I’ve got you trapped now
, Rayan growled silently in his head. He accepted a mug of ale from the serving girl with a grunt of thanks and watched her scurry away.

The inn was one of the quieter in the city, most likely due to the enormous barkeep who wiped goblets behind the bar. Rayan sipped at his dark ale and eyed the families conversing and supping as though no one of import were in the room. Rayan knew different. He knew without a doubt that the man seated by himself at a corner table with his nose buried in a book was the most wanted man in Nysa.

Josef Asher.

Morningstar’s Falcons had been combing the city and marketplace offering an exorbitant amount of coin for any information regarding the missing royal scribe.
And, now I have him.

“There’s speculation, but no one really knows where they are,” Perrod complained, bringing Rayan back to their conversation.

Both Beck and Kiernan Atlan had disappeared around the same time as the scribe. One allegedly of her own free will and the other chased out through the gates.
When the mighty fall, they fall hard
, Rayan thought with sinister pleasure.

“I want him dead,” Perrod snarled.

So do I. Followed by the cabal.
“Kill him then,” Rayan goaded. Perrod’s death would be one less Mage for him to deal with later.

“You heard Zavier,” he countered. “He wants them alive.”

“To the Netherworld with what Zavier wants,” Rayan hissed, pushing aside his plate of boiled potatoes.

“What does that mean?”

“You want him dead, just do it.”

A feral smile lit up the Mage’s face. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I do. In my mind, it’d be far easier to win this war without the First Mage.”

Perrod narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Rayan, but his arrogance quickly quelled all concern. “I agree. If only we knew where he was.” He made the statement as though it were a question. Which it was.
This is too easy.

“Think, Perrod. Beck Atlan needs answers and there’s only place he would go to find them.”

It took a full minute, but Perrod finally put it together. “Torg.”

“Exactly.”

The red-haired Mage scraped back his chair, walked to the door of the inn and vanished into the night without another word.

Rayan lifted his ale with a grin.

He waited another quarter of an hour before the scribe finally started to pack up his books. Rayan left a silver groat on the table and exited the inn ahead of Asher. Once outside, he moved through the light crowd milling about on the street to a darkened alleyway. Soon after, the scribe came outside with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. His eyes darted around nervously before he turned and started toward the alley where Rayan stood in the shadows.

That’s it. Keep coming right this way, Asher. I’m waiting for you.

****

The Falcon led Rayan up a flight of wide curving stairs to the second floor of the Morningstar estate. The soldier left him alone at a pair of double doors left slightly ajar. Rayan paused at the voices coming from within and peered through the gap. He stood for a moment to listen.

“You have two choices, Johan. Either you back me or you’ll be wearing the same necktie as Duncan Bartlett. Trust me. Hemp is not your color.”

The elderly Lord’s jaw twitched in anger. “You bitch.”

“I prefer Queen Bitch.”

Rayan gave a quiet laugh and pushed through the doors. Elinor Morningstar turned from Lord Hamilton, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, hello, darling.”

“Hello, Mother.” Her steel-blue eyes latched questioningly on to his and he gave her an imperceptible nod.

The smile she gave him in return sent shivers of pleasure racing through his veins and to his horror, his body responded. To cover his impiety, he turned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine.

“You may leave us,” his mother told Lord Hamilton curtly. “But, don’t go far. I’ll need your answer within the hour.”

Rayan didn’t turn around, but could imagine the look of prying interest on the lord’s face. When no further information was forthcoming from his mother, Hamilton shuffled out, closing the door behind him.