Island Shifters: Book 02 - An Oath of the Mage
Read Island Shifters: Book 02 - An Oath of the Mage Online
Authors: Valerie Zambito
Copyright © 2012 Valerie Zambito
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-615-59975-5
eBook ISBN: 978-0-615-64218-5
Valerie Zambito, Piffard, NY
Illustrated by Anna Christenson
D
EDICATION
Dedicated to the horde of remarkable fantasy writers whose words not only gave me countless hours of pure enjoyment but also gave birth to a dream.
T
ABLE OF
C
ONTENTS
9 Half An Army is Better Than None
25 Utterly and Without Remorse
The hooded figure stood well back in the shadows of a partially collapsed merchant’s building and stood perfectly still. Broad shouldered and muscular though he was, Iserport was not the place to be caught out alone. There were only two types of people who roamed the dark in Iserport these days.
Predator and prey.
Gangs and rioters littered the city streets hoping to relieve victims of their coin and valuables or worse, to use as a torturous form of mob entertainment. No, Iserport was definitely not safe and if he had a choice, he would be far from here. But, he did not. Events long in the planning stages were coming to a head, and a mistake now could very well prove fatal to him and his co-conspirators. This meeting of the faction was critical to finalizing the last minute details of their assignments.
“Mr. Red?”
The voice caused him to gasp audibly.
Demons hell,
he swore to himself. Showing any form of impotence with this group could prove as deadly as the mob in the streets.
It was Mr. Black.
“I am here,” he acknowledged, pushing his fury at the slip-up aside.
“I am present as well,” said a gruff voice from the dim recesses behind him.
He managed to steel his reaction this time. But, just barely.
Mr. Blue.
How both men entered without his knowledge was unsettling. He was at the top of his profession due to his proficiency for stealth and an acute awareness of every detail concerning his surroundings at all times. What had he missed? It was his nerves, he knew, that were scrambling his ability to concentrate. He needed to pull it together. Quickly.
Screams and shouts from outside drifted to their place of concealment.
“Follow me,” commanded Mr. Black, and their leader picked his way carefully through the concrete rubble and debris of the vacant building. Mr. Black stopped in a dark corridor to hold open an interior door that was on the verge of ripping off its hinges.
He ducked past Mr. Black into the dilapidated room and noticed the same table and four ladder-back chairs that were present when they had met on two previous occasions. Mr. Blue entered behind him and proceeded to light the single taper in a brass holder in the center of the table.
Taking a seat, he silently studied his companions.
Mr. Black was the leader and mastermind behind their plot. Thin, but extremely handsome, he already held a significant amount of power in Iserlohn.
A man of few words, Mr. Blue was several years older than Mr. Black but with a soldier’s rugged countenance and constantly roaming eyes.
“Court is in session in ten days,” began Mr. Black as he sat, apparently not deigning to wait for the tardy Mr. Orange. “Has the portrayer been well tutored? He knows his part?”
“Yes, and he is very good,” responded Mr. Blue, turning one of the chairs around and straddling it. “Trust me. They will believe every word he says.”
“Good, his performance will remove the first card from Maximus’ already shaky house.”
“Am I late?” questioned Mr. Orange as he stepped into the room. The last member of their group was the only man he did not know by his real name. He had never seen him before these clandestine meetings began and knew nothing about him except that he was bald and had the strangest eyes. If the man ever blinked, he had never seen it. Mr. Black brought the fellow on board a few months ago, but did not elaborate regarding the reason or what Mr. Orange would be contributing to their plans.
Their leader grunted noncommittally to Mr. Orange’s question and continued. “Mr. Blue, I trust you will ensure that the portrayer you hired does not live long after his performance?”
“I have a man in Nysa now,” Mr. Blue confirmed.
Mr. Black nodded. “It will take at least three weeks for the army to reach Nysa. When do you plan to depart?”
“We leave at dawn tomorrow.”
“Very good.” Mr. Black then swung his gaze to Mr. Orange. Their eyes met and in the gesture was an unmistakable acknowledgement of a silent understanding between the two that they did not share. Seemingly satisfied by the unspoken exchange with Mr. Orange, their leader looked his way. “Mr. Red, you know what you have to do.” It was not a question. “Any last minute reservations? She is a woman after all.”
He snorted. “None.”
Mr. Black looked at each conspirator around the table. “Anything else?”
They all shook their heads, and Mr. Red watched them depart one by one.
When he was alone, he again thought of Mr. Orange and his lack of knowledge regarding this particular collaborator. A wise man knew that it was safer to know the motives of those you worked with. It is what kept you alive.
But, true motives could be tricky to ferret out. On the surface, the motive of the faction was to rid the island of a threat to their very existence. A royal family with the capacity to wield powerful magic was a powder keg waiting to explode, and they were all in agreement that House Everard must be eliminated at all costs.
However, he knew there were other motives just as compelling.
Mr. Black wanted supreme power.
Mr. Blue wanted money, the Crown’s money.
And, his motive had always been clear. Revenge. Even more than he wanted to take his next breath, he wanted Kiernan Atlan dead.
But, what did Mr. Orange want?
Five-year-old Kenley Atlan sat cross-legged on the floor of Grace Hall in her grandfather’s royal palace and looked up curiously at the adults peering down at her. Her mother, glaring at her father with hands on her hips, looked angry.
“Beck, admit it, you must be mistaken. You are just seeing what you want to see. Enough of this now, Kenley needs to be seeing to her lessons with Captain…,” Kenley watched her mother throw a nervous glance over her shoulder at Miss Belle who was waiting with an arched eyebrow for the remainder of her sentence, but she clamped her mouth shut without finishing. Her mother might have had the upper hand with her father, but Miss Belle more often than not, had the upper hand with her mother.
Kenley brushed black curls away from her face.
This is getting interesting.
Her father shook his head adamantly and picked up the leather ball on the floor next to her. “Kiernan, she can do it. Just watch.” Squatting down in front of her, he held out the ball and said, “Kenley, darling, show Maman how we play catch.”
Kenley paused, unsure. Her grandfather, King Maximus, paced anxiously by the hall doors muttering something about allowing little girls to be little girls. Uncle Airron leaned against the wall with an amused grin on his face, which he did most of the time. Uncle Rogan stood with his arms crossed at his chest and tapped his toe impatiently, which he also did most of the time. They were not really her uncles, of course, since Airron Falewir was an Elf and Rogan Radek a Dwarf, but she called them by the familial name all her life. Miss Belle was still watching her mother intently, and Baya, her Draca Cat, lounged nearby licking her paws indifferently, ignoring the humans around her.