Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood (12 page)

The snake peered at the figure paralyzed in fright on the shore of the lake, her green eyes moving furiously where her body—it seemed—could not. He slid up the bank and probed the air around his prey with a serpent tongue.

Above all else, he tasted fear, unbridled fear.

Moving slowly over the girl, he coiled his body around her waist and squeezed lightly. He opened his jaw wide in intimidation hoping to get the confirmation he had come to this lake to obtain.

As soon as the girl screamed again at the top of her lungs, he had it.

Releasing her, she at last regained her mobility and scrambled backwards. Rolling quickly once to get momentum, the girl brought her foot around and landed a bone crunching kick to the snake’s head. Saliva and blood flew from its mouth in a long string as its head whipped violently to the side.

The snake hissed loudly in pain, blood dripping from its fangs. The girl gaped in shock as the serpent’s open mouth began to transform into Airron Falewir’s grimace as he bodyshifted back into his Elven form. “Bloody hell, Kiernan, that hurt!”

Kiernan’s whole body collapsed in relief at the sight of him. “I hate you,” she managed to spew at him before falling back to lie on the ground.

“What?” he demanded through a mouth stained red with blood. “You are the only one who can wander around here in disguise?”

He held his hand out to her.

She grabbed it forcefully and stood. “You know I
hate
snakes, Airron,” she whined.

“Well known fact, Kiernan,” he said and spit blood onto the ground. “That is why my trick worked so well. Now, tell me, why are you here? Is something wrong at home?”

“What? No, nothing like that,” she responded and walked over to her sword belt, picked it up and cinched it around her waist. “I am actually surprised you have to ask, Airron. You could not have possibly believed that I would stay in Parsis and miss all the excitement?”

Airron sighed. “Kiernan, as we have told you before many times, it is not going to be exciting. We are going to be training, sleeping, and eating with the same thirty-six people day after day for two years. What is so bloody exciting about that?”

“At least, we will be together,” she retorted. “But, don’t worry. I will let the Commander know I am here just as soon as Troop 157 departs. Now, get dressed so you can return before somebody discovers you are gone and comes to investigate.”

“Don’t look!” he said with a chuckle as he quickly walked into the woods where his uniform was hanging from a tree branch.

She laughed back. “I have seen you naked more times than is healthy.”

When he emerged fully dressed, the two friends started back down the path toward camp. After a moment of silence, Kiernan glanced sideways at him and asked, “So, are you the only one who knew it was me?”

Airron shrugged. “If Beck or Rogan suspect, they have said nothing to me.”

“Idiot,” she said, under her breath.

“Who?” asked Airron, amused.

She quickly shook her head dismissively. “Nobody.” Then, just as quickly she reached out to touch his arm. “Do not tell Beck I am here, Airron, all right? I do not want him or anybody else for that matter to know until the time is right. I will just get sent home if I am found out too soon.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.”

When they returned, the Legion was packing up from their short respite, anxious to complete the last leg of the journey to The Bluffs. Airron was just about to tell Kiernan to be careful, but turned to find his friend had already melted unseen into the crowd of legionnaires. Truth be told, he was glad that Kiernan was here. It felt strange not having the four of them together—five including Bajan because the Draca was undoubtedly close by. They were a unit and it was not complete with any one of them missing. It was not just the bonds of friendship that linked them so tightly, but their magic as well. Whatever innate power set them apart from other magic users just as equally joined the four of them together. It was an emotional chain as strong as one made of iron, and it pulled uncomfortably whenever one strayed too far.

Airron spotted Beck and Rogan and walked toward them. He smiled as he watched Rory getting in the way while trying to help Beck pack up his gear. “I’ve got it, Rory,” said Beck not unkindly. “Why don’t you see to your own things?” he suggested.

“All done, sir!” the fireshifter said proudly. Much to Beck’s dismay, Rory had taken to using the honorific after the Halfie encounter.

“Just Beck, Rory, just call me Beck.” Airron saw Beck roll his eyes when Rory was looking elsewhere and then looked up as Airron approached. “Where have you been?” he asked urgently. “Dismore has been looking for you. He was just about to send out a search party to find you.”

Rogan snorted. “He was probably out looking for another form while we are here waiting on him.”

“Don’t worry, firefly, I’m back safe and sound,” said Airron hugging the Dwarf in jest.

“Get off me!” said Rogan shrugging out of his embrace.

“I just went to wash a little of the road dust off me. That’s all.”

“Did you hear a scream?” asked Beck. “I thought I heard somebody or something scream while you were gone?”

Airron did not hesitate. “Nope, didn’t hear a thing.” He would not miss the look on Beck’s face when he saw Kiernan for all of the forms in the world.

Beck ran his hand through his hair and hissed, “Here comes Dismore.”

“FALEWIR!”

Chapter 8

W
HEN THE
L
AUGHTER
S
TOPS

S
tanding concealed in the shadows of the crate-laden deck with the grunts of hundreds of working men permeating the background, the large figure stood at the rail of the Cyman-built ship and tilted his head back in unadulterated pleasure. He could not help himself from moaning in delight as the wind whipped through his shoulderlength hair and, for the first time in his nineteen years of life, the air did not carry the smell of rancid decay to his nose. After a lifetime of darkness, this new encounter with light and warmth was almost more than he could comprehend.

He wondered if his father was right and the skies east of Nordik were like this, untouched by the Mage’s foul arts.

“Three days at sea has done nothing to improve my brother’s temperament,” came a woman’s voice from behind him. “He has already thrown close to thirty soldiers overboard.”

The boy stiffened but remained silent. He knew better.

Her pungent musky scent obliterated the clean ocean breeze as soon as she walked over to stand next to him. They remained silent for long moments gazing out at the calm, open sea before she asked, “Were you aware that your father has been bargaining with my brother for the release of your people when the war is over?”

“Yes, ‘e ‘as told me, Mistress.”

She turned to face him and put a hand on his arm. “Titus, what will you do if Adrian holds true to his word? Is your desire really to go back to Nordik?”

Surprisingly, the question made him hesitate. Beholding blue skies for the first time, he was suddenly unsure. Breathing in fresh air and feeling the sun’s warm rays on his face was reviving his spirit in a way he never thought possible. But, what was Avalon Ravener really asking him? Because no matter how beautiful the woman standing next to him, she was the embodiment of darkness.

“Despite my Da’s ‘ope, I find it doubtful that Master Ravener will set us free,” he replied carefully.

Her big brown eyes lowered and she sighed dramatically. “I am afraid you are probably right, Titus. Although, I cannot say that I would be disappointed if that were to happen. Curiously, I find I am not yet ready to give you up.”

Titus swallowed. “You will find a man in the Old World, Mistress.”

“I do not want a
man
, Titus, I want you,” she said looking up at him and reaching down between his legs to rub her hand possessively over him. “And, I will have you.”

To his shame, he felt his body respond. The witch was skilled at exploiting his carnal urges to humiliate him.

“Look, Titus!” she shouted suddenly, pointing.

He jerked his head around and peered over the rail into the distance where, barely visible, was the unmistakable outline of land. Hope and optimism flooded through his body, and he began to tremble. What if the Mage kept his word and the Cyman people really were standing at freedom’s doorstep at this very moment? All they had to do was win the war by convincing the Massans to lay down their arms against Adrian Ravener.

Can it be that simple?

Avalon gasped, digging her nails into his arm, “Oh, Titus, we are almost home! I have dreamed of this for more years than I care to remember.”

“I must tell the others,” he said, pushing off the rail and out of her grip.

“Titus, wait!” she said, her eyes suddenly hard. “Do not forget what I said. You are mine and you always will be.”

And, just like that, the cold and dark slammed back into his world.

It was dusk when the sight of the twin Crown Bluffs came into view. Two magnificent waterfalls fell in a torrent down each side of the cliffs, and the roar of the falls was tremendous as they thundered down and pooled into a large, clear blue lake fed by the Arounda Sea through a narrow chasm that separated the bluffs.

The spray of the falls was heavy in the air and, as he sat on his horse overlooking the scene, Rogan could feel the pleasant pinpricks of mist on his face. Small buttes jutted out on the south side of the pool providing a clear view of the lake, falls, and sea beyond.

This is it
, thought Rogan. The outpost that has housed generation after generation of Northwatch Legions. There was so much history and emotion tied to The Crown Bluffs that Rogan could not help but be overwhelmed in the shadow of their presence. While it truly was a stunning landscape, he could see more importantly that the location was easily defendable. The narrow channel that flowed inland through the bluffs would not allow for a large number of ships to land at one time, and defenders could quite easily position themselves on top of the wide bluffs to impede any intruder from the seaside who came ashore on the beach.

Rough stairs hewn into the side of the cliff ran to the top with roped-off landings at spaced intervals, and a simple pulley system transported supplies in a bucket to the men patrolling there. The encampment, spread out resourcefully around the lake, consisted of two barracks for the Legion, a dining hall, bathing stalls, and a small private dwelling for Commander Dismore. A large vegetable garden full of tomatoes, cabbage and beans, along with several fruit trees and grape vines dotted the western horizon.

Rogan was pleased to discover a self-sufficient, well-organized living environment. This was Dismore’s fifth and final term as Commander, which meant that he had lived at The Crown Bluffs for ten years.

The legionnaires of Troop 157 were standing rigidly at attention to greet Commander Dismore, and one of the legionnaires stepped forward and sounded out a familiar military salute on his trumpet.

“Look ahead, Airron,” said Rogan, pointing at an outhouse. “That is where you will be spending most of your time.” Everybody within earshot laughed—along with Airron—whose punishment for his disappearance act had cost him two weeks of latrine duty.