An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) (18 page)

Elinor sidled up behind Rayan and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh, my darling boy. You’ve really found him?”

Put up a good fight, too, the little man.
Rayan’s eyes rolled up in his head as her hands dipped lower. “Yes…he’s in the cellar now awaiting questioning.”

“You’ve done well,” she breathed against his neck, and it made him want to cry in relief. “Your father would have been so proud that you are seeing his plans through to fruition.”
Do you really think I give a cow’s dung about that pathetic excuse of a man, Mother?
He cared little for the short, balding man who had spent all of his years scheming for the Iserlohn Crown. Rayan lived only to please his mother. Overseeing her affairs and lands, becoming a Mage to further her objectives and, yes, even stepping in to fulfill her carnal desires after his father’s death. He craved her approval as a starved man craved a meal. It nourished him, sated him. Filled in the cracks of his façade and eased his insecurities, making him feel whole and well.

His mother pushed his trousers down his hips and took him in her hands. “Come,” she whispered. “We have a little time to spare before speaking with Master Asher, and Mother wishes to show her son just how proud she is of him.”

Every hand in Grace Hall poised tensely on the hilt of a sword. Every narrowed eye gleamed dangerously in the candlelight. Every muscle clenched in readiness to move. At the center of all the uneasiness sat the royal scribe, Josef Asher.

Rayan adjusted the gray and orange tunic of House Morningstar and regarded his mother standing proud and confident before Gage Gregaros. Her blonde hair was pulled back away from her face—which was still quite flushed from their recent liaison. She was dressed for battle in tight-fitting, black armor that made her look every inch the Queen she already considered herself to be. Many Nysians had suspected that an accession war would start with her, and they had been right. If the King Regent knew of the number of troops she had stationed within the palace and throughout the city at this very moment, he would not be sitting but swinging. It would happen soon enough in any case.

Rayan counted the heads in the room. Gregaros, of course, sat in rigid fury on the throne. Knapp and Hamilton were present, but House Stowe was suspiciously absent. Some suggested the Lady Stowe had been run out of town on the heels of the Prince due to her affair with him, but several high officer Wildcats remained behind and were seemingly in league with Gregaros.

Captain Bo Franck of the Iserlohn Army and Captain Nic Cresson of the Scarlet Sabers were in attendance. They would follow the ruling King whoever that might be, and right now it was Gregaros. Anyone picking an illegitimate fight with the regent would have the full might of Iserlohn to contend with.

Rayan’s eyes flicked across the room to a dark-haired woman standing behind the throne. A sorceress by his best guess. It was common knowledge that House Everard had close ties to the witches and it appeared House Gregaros was falling into the same. The woman made his skin crawl, and Rayan licked his lips in anticipation of meeting her in battle.

The black-robed
Dagarmon
were absent although they, too, were purported to belong to the ruling King. Rayan didn’t believe that for a moment. From what he had witnessed, those men belonged to House Everard and cared little for the politics of this land. That was one particular loyalty that had yet to be tested.

Gregaros stood from his throne and the room grew deathly still. “I see you have found Master Asher, Elinor, and seem determined to make a show of what he has to say. However, we have since learned that two armies approach Nysa. No word yet why they are coming, but as King Regent, I will ask that all accession matters be postponed until we find out.”

“No,” Rayan’s mother said, the quiet menace in her voice cutting through the silence like a sharp knife. “Iserlohn will meet these armies strong and united with a rightful ruler in place. Not one who was fraudulently raised.”

Fingers twitched restlessly on all sides.

“You have reason to doubt the legitimacy of my regency?”

“I do.”

The silence grew thicker. Heavier. All in the room knew that a single word could send them into violence. And, possible death.

The gray-haired lord lifted his chin. “Very well. I will hear from the royal scribe directly.”

Rayan’s mother moved to the center of the room where Josef Asher sat alone inside the circle of bristling metal. “Master Asher, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

The small man gave a weighty sigh. “I will answer your questions, my lady, as I am bound to do.”

“Is it true that the ruling King, Maximus Everard, has been murdered?”

“Yes, yes, we all know that.”

“Is it true that the ruling heir, Princess Kiernan Everard Atlan, has abandoned her duty?”

The scribe shook his head vehemently. “No! We don’t know for sure—”

Blue eyes blazed in anger. “Answer the question, Master Asher!”

Thin shoulders lowered in defeat. “She is gone from the city, yes.”

“Is it true that the husband to the ruling heir, Prince Beck Atlan, has also abandoned his duty?”

Through a strained gurgle, he whispered, “Yes.”

“Please speak up, Master Asher!”

“Yes!”

Angry growls and complaints spewed from Gregaros’s side of the room.

Rayan’s mother casually walked back to her soldiers. “Upon the death of a ruling King, it is incumbent upon the ruling heir to ask for swords to preserve the reign of their House. Is this correct, Master Asher?”

“Yes.”

“If the swords are not freely given within the allotted time, what happens next?”

“Another House may challenge the reign.”

The noise in the room shattered the silence of before. Feet shuffled in anticipation.

“One last question, Master Asher, and undoubtedly the most important. Is the
spouse
of a ruling heir permitted to name a regent in the absence of the ruling heir?”

The royal scribe squirmed in his seat.

“Answer the question, Master Asher!”

“No.”

And, that was the single word all had waited for.

A grating rasp sounded the first sword to spring free from its sheath and several more followed in a simultaneous lethal clamor. Boots thundered across the floor as men rushed to engage. Guttural roars erupted from furious throats. Eyes bulged with madness.

The Scarlet Sabers appeared to hesitate, unsure how to react upon hearing Asher’s admission, but at a shouted order from Captain Cresson, the royal guard collapsed in around Gage Gregaros. As did the Iserlohn soldiers, Stowe’s Wildcats and Knapp’s Panthers.

Fortunately, Lord Hamilton valued his neck sufficiently enough to send his Dragons into the fight with the Falcons. The soldiers stationed outside burst into the hall in a hail of pointed tips.

Rayan turned his attention to the sorceress on the dais.

All calm ice, she appeared to watch the struggle below dispassionately—unless you looked at her eyes. They gave away her true emotion, and Rayan knew she wanted nothing more than to unleash a storm of sorcery to end the hostilities. But, while the laws of the land prohibited her from acting, no such bonds held Rayan. With no shifter or Mage oath to restrict him, he was free to act upon his mother’s interests.

He pushed through the melee toward the dais. A Scarlet Saber came at him with his sword raised above his head and a snarl on his lips. Rayan cast out a hand and the Saber was lifted off his feet and slammed into the far wall.

Two Iserlohn soldiers gave pause at the display of sorcery and then crashed toward him with vengeance in their eyes. A whispered spell smashed the duo together tighter than twin babies in a womb and sent them crashing to the floor. Rayan stalked on. Men screamed and fought and died along the way. A mace whistled through the air at Rayan’s head and he ducked just in time. The wielder, off balance from the swing, never saw his own mace rotating around to crunch into the back of his skull.

Rayan turned his attention back to his target. Suddenly, the sorceress snapped her head to the side. Two black-robed men, fingertips crackling with magic, rushed in through a back door.
Dagarmon!
The Mages climbed the dais and one of them, a stout bald man, stepped forward and threw his hands in the air. A bright fireball screamed toward the beautiful fresco of the city of Nysa painted on the domed ceiling and exploded, sending sparks raining down on the combatants.

I’ve got to get out of here,
Rayan thought and started making his way to the doors.

The King Regent, sporting a bloody gash on his cheek, jumped up on the dais next to the Mages. “Elinor Morningstar! Show yourself!”

A Falcon officer stepped protectively in front of Rayan’s mother, but she gently pushed him aside and came forward. Elinor Morningstar was no coward. She would not run.

“You’re done here, Elinor!” Gregaros growled.

His mother eyed the
Dagarmon
on the dais and bowed her blonde head. “House Morningstar concedes your win here today, Lord Gregaros. Will you allow us to leave Nysa unmolested?”

The King Regent showed his teeth. “I will insist upon it.”

****

“First blood on my watch.” Gage Gregaros cursed and kicked a fallen sword across the room.
Netherworld, what a mess!

The doors to Grace Hall opened, and Captain Bo Franck walked in.

“Are we secure?” Gage asked.

“For now, although Elinor’s soldiers are amassing outside the gates.”

“I knew she would betray me, but I couldn’t very well kill her on the spot once she conceded. I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Highworld for the
Dagarmon
. Who knows what would have happened otherwise.”

“What now?” the one-eyed captain asked.

Gage ran a hand across his jaw. “Now that this farce of a regency is over, I will have to take the throne in truth. I’ll have to ask for swords.”

“You’ll never get them.” Bo walked over and picked up the fallen sword. “Prepare for a long siege, Your Grace.”

“What other choice do I have? I have no intention of giving up the Crown to those frothing hounds outside. Prince Beck will have to understand.”

Bo shrugged. “We shall see.”

The doors to the hall opened once again, and the
Dagarmon
leader
,
Gil Jordin, walked in.

Gage gave Gil a pointed look. It was time all in Iserlohn knew just where these Mages stood. “I’ll be asking for swords, Master Jordin. Will I also have the support of the
Dagarmon
in this accession war that we’ve now found ourselves in? Will you swear an oath of fealty to House Gregaros?”

The look the Mage gave him sent the hair on the back of his neck up. “The
Dagarmon
swear to no one.”

A crack of thunder sounded frighteningly close to Izzy and she nearly jumped out of her skin. All around her, the silhouettes of Elven soldiers drifted through the foggy evening like silent specters. She pulled her hood tight around her face, skirted the more active sections of the camp and made her way toward the command tents hoping to get a glimpse of her parents.
Just one peek to remind me that I really am still Izzy Falewir and not Merci.

Should I reveal myself to them now?
It was a question she had asked herself often since the army had crossed into Iserlohn two days past, but terror over what her father might say kept her from making her presence known. Then again, the camp steward, Nandra, could be just as terrifying, and Izzy had had enough of scrubbing pots to last a lifetime.

Still unsure, she crept nearer to the tree line of the Du’Che Forest where she felt most at home and slipped inside. With a soft whistle, she called for the familiar presence of the woodland animals she loved with all the passion of a feralshifter.

Two birds swooped in to hover in the air around her head and she giggled in delight. A rabbit darted out of its burrow to hop along beside her, and she bent down and scooped the animal up into her arms. “Hello, little one,” she cooed, hugging the silky body close to her chest. One of the birds settled on her shoulder, and she lifted a hand to run a loving finger down its feathery back. Overhead, an energetic squirrel kept pace, leaping from one branch to the next.

Izzy lifted the rabbit and kissed its nose. “So, what am I to do, my friend?” she asked. “Surely, you have an opinion?”

In answer, the rabbit nestled into her neck with a tiny squeak, and she giggled again.

Then, froze.

She tilted her head to listen, her curiosity piqued by an unusual noise deeper in the woods.

Voices
, she thought in surprise. She could now clearly hear the whisper of hushed tones speaking urgently to each other.
Who would be out here now?

She carefully set the rabbit down on the ground and released all the animals from her shifting. Flitting from tree to tree in a soundless pursuit, she inched closer to the voices and found the source of the conversation in a small clearing. Four figures stood huddled together speaking animatedly. They wore Gladewatcher uniforms, but they were not Elves. They were men.

“The King is an idiot!” one complained.

“Do not underestimate him,” another warned.

“We should just kill him now.”

“No, you heard Zavier. The King must lead the attack on Nysa.”

“How are we going to get him to act? The Elf hardly takes a piss without his wife telling him to.”

“We kidnap her.”

“Who?”

“The Elven Queen.”

Izzy gasped and stepped back. In her shock, her foot caught on a tree root and she crashed to the ground.

The four men were on her in an instant and dragged her into the clearing. One ripped her hood off her head.

“Demon’s breath!” he cursed. “What are we going to do now?”

“It’s just a servant girl. Kill her.”

Izzy struggled against her captors. “No! Leave me alone!”

“Shut her up!”

“You really expect me to kill her?”

“She’s heard too much. We have no choice.”

Izzy cast out with her feralshifting in a frantic attempt to find an animal close enough—and vicious enough—to help her.
This can’t be happening! Please, Elán! Help me!
she prayed desperately.

She inhaled deeply to calm her mind and allow the presence of her deity to infuse her with courage.
I am a child of the forest. A Princess. A shifter.

The men were still arguing, but she barely heard them as she focused on survival. Her magic snaked out through the vast forest, seeking, summoning.
Until then, I need a distraction
. In the tree branches high overhead, she sensed the squirrel she called earlier moving closer.
Come.

The squirrel obeyed her command and dropped noiselessly to a limb above the clearing. She could see his tiny little hands moving covetously over the prize he held, and she gave the order.

“Ouch!” the man directly across from her yelled. He bent down and picked up the nut that had bounced off his head. He looked up into the trees, and Izzy struck. She leaned into the man behind her and kicked with all her might, connecting with the other’s jaw. Bone crunched and the man fell to the ground holding the lower half of his face in place with two hands. Her other foot rammed backward into a hard kneecap.

The captor behind let go of her with a pained scream.

Another moved in to take his place before she could run. His hand lashed out and slapped her across the face, leaving a burning imprint behind.

“Use the killing curse!” came the angry growl from the man holding his knee.

Izzy’s heart stopped beating at the knowledge that she faced a Mage. Her magic fell from her in a rush of terror.
No, not here! Not like this.
A stab of regret pierced through her fright that her parents would never know what had happened to her. How many days, months or years even would they look for answers? Their only child vanished, leaving behind a lifetime of heartbreak.

At the sound of a heavy snort nearby, all turned their heads toward the woods. Izzy shrank back at sight of the Grayan wolf poised just outside of the clearing. Its head—almost as large as a Draca Cat’s—moved in silent, intelligent perusal.

“The girl must have summoned the beast,” the man behind her said in a breathless whisper. He squeezed her arms. “Send it away!”

“I…I didn’t,” she stammered.
At least, I don’t think I did.

Her captor yanked her around, holding her out in front to shield himself from the wolf. Mumbled words sprang to his lips. Izzy recognized the spell for what it was and slammed her head back into the Mage’s nose. His scream was drowned out by a ferocious howl as the wolf bounded into the clearing. Izzy wrenched away out of the man’s grip and dove to the ground.  

The wolf pounced, muzzle open wide, reaching for the Mage’s neck, shredding flesh in a gout of blood. Elon Aubry and Raine Aubry leapt into the clearing with swords out, but the other men shouted frantic spells and disappeared into thin air.

Izzy lay on her back, panting, struggling to get her breathing under control.
I’m alive,
she thought in relief and then paused
. But, for how long?
Izzy got up on shaking hands and knees and started to crawl away.

“Stop!”

The voice chilled the blood in her veins. Slowly, she got to her feet and turned around. Her father stood in the clearing dressed in the white cloak of a Gladewatcher.

His purple eyes were livid.

Izzy lifted her chin so the tears that pooled in her eyes at sight of her father would not fall. “Father.”

He turned toward Raine Aubry. “Escort my daughter to a tent next to mine and do not allow her to leave.”

“Father—”

“I do not wish to hear from you, Izabel! You disobeyed me and you were almost killed for it!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

“Just what?” he said, stalking close. Too close. She could still see drops of red in his teeth. “Elon traveled night and day to catch up with the army after she discovered you missing. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have known you were here, let alone find you in time to avoid…whatever this was about!”

“You must listen—”

“Enough!”

Izzy stood her ground, this was too important. “They were planning to kidnap Mother!”

He spun back around, sudden alarm replacing the anger in his eyes. “What did you hear?”

“They were Mages,” she told him. “They planned to use mother to get you to lead a fight against Nysa.”

He ran a hand through his long hair. “Nysa? Why in the Highworld would I do that?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I heard.”

Raine Aubry stepped up beside her father. “We will double the Queen’s guard, Your Grace. We will find whoever is responsible for this.”

“Unlikely. For all the expertise of the Gladewatchers, Raine, Haventhal has no defense against sorcery.”

“What do we do then?”

Her father scratched his chin in thought. “I need to find Rogan Radek.”

****

Rogan tapped his chin in thought, only half-listening to the logistical concerns of his quartermaster.

After weeks on the road, tomorrow they would arrive in Nysa.

Although his boiling temper had cooled to a low simmer and as much as it twisted his guts to have to make this trek, his need for vengeance had not been quelled. Someone would pay for the death of Erik. He would see to it. Over the leagues, he had come to terms with the weight of the crown upon his head and accepted that discord would often force his hand to deal with the more unpleasant aspects of governing. He felt up for the task. With his Mage son and fireshifter daughter by his side, the reign of the Radeks would be long and fruitful. Soon more grandchildren would be born to carry on his legacy. The thought brought Rogan’s humble beginnings as an orphan in Pyraan to mind, and he felt a sense of pride at how far he had come.

“The Land of Men will mock you. They do not believe you a worthy King.”

Rogan straightened on his throne at the insidious, whispered voice in his ear. The quartermaster droned on and the servants moving about his tent showed no sign of having heard his deep-seated fear spoken aloud. Rogan sat alert for a long moment before finally settling back down.
I need more sleep
.

“Weevil larvae have been discovered in every bag of wheat we brought from Deepstone,” the quartermaster complained. “We had hoped to purchase more along the way, but have been unsuccessful. Weapons are missing, soldiers and animals are sick, winds stir up these odd little dust storms, and rogue fires—”

Rogan snapped to attention. “Rogue fires?”

“Out of nowhere, my King! The blazes are small, but simply impossible to extinguish.”

A chill crawled up Rogan’s spine. He got up and walked out of the tent. Outside Jala and Teran stood talking quietly.

“Father?” Jala asked when she saw him. “What is it?”

Rogan continued on through the camp without answering, but heard them fall into step behind him.

The acrid smell of thick smoke burned his nostrils just as he heard the screams. He took off at a sprint directly into chaos. He skidded to a stop, held back by the unbearable heat that rolled off the administrative row that held the officer shelters.

A soldier rushed to his side. “They just started, my King! Small fires at first, but now they’re out of control!”

Rogan watched three fiery tents rock violently as the Dwarves trapped inside fought in desperation to escape. A line of soldiers with buckets of water tried in vain to put out the flames.

I have to get to them!
Rogan dropped the robe from his shoulders, pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth and dashed for the tents. He didn’t get far. A wall of fire rose up in his path, blocking his way.

“Dear Highworld,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Jala demanded, arriving at his side.

“More water!” Teran shouted urgently.

Rogan shook his head. “It won’t work. It’s shifted fire. I need fireshifters right away. And, healers! Quickly now!”

Jala sprinted away, bellowing out his orders. She had only been gone seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to Rogan. He lifted his hands to seek the origin of the fire.
Where are you?
If this was an organic fire, he would be able to find the source with little effort, but this was shifted fire and not so easily discernible.

He was still working on it, the dying cries of the Dwarves chafing away at his sanity, when Jala and two fireshifters arrived to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “Forget about the source for now,” he told them. “Just put them out!”

Together, they merged their magic, beating at the fires, snuffing their flames. It worked, but for every blaze they extinguished, another rose in its place.

“We’ve got to try something else!” Jala cried.

Rogan could take no more. “Stay back!” A snarl ripped from his throat as he put his shoulder down and charged through the wall of fire. The magic inside sprang to his defense keeping the fire from consuming his body, but still he burned. His hair, his beard, his clothes. His flesh.

He ran to the closest tent. Bile tickled the back of his throat at sight of the charred smoking humps hanging halfway out of the opening. White teeth gleamed in gaping black mouths.

Rogan gulped back his revulsion and rushed to the next tent and ripped apart the flap that tied the entrance together. To his amazement, two Dwarves engulfed in flames hurtled out of their hellish prisons.

He jumped back.