Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood (46 page)

A
valon Ravener stopped her horse at the edge of a sharp precipice and peered out from her hooded cloak across the Valley of Flame to Starfell Keep for the first time in centuries. The valley was named for the profusion of red and yellow bird of paradise that carpeted the valley floor and gave the appearance that the terrain was afire, but now all that carpeted the valley floor was a profusion of soldiers.

It had been weeks since she killed the Elven
Savitar
, and she was exhausted and miserable. It took all of her skill as a bodyshifter and sorceress to evade the Elves and animals that pursed her relentlessly. Added to that misery was the string of bad luck with horses and getting lost while traveling through the Puu Rainforest. Oh yes, she was in a very foul mood.

Her body still pained her where that blasted eagle ripped a chunk of flesh from her back and scored her face. If she had been an Amethyst user, she could have made the potion necessary to heal her wounds, but her calling had always been to the Sapphire and Spell Casting.

It was probably too late, but she would ask Adrian to reopen the wounds and restore them properly when she reached the safety of Starfell Keep. Lifting her hand to her face, she gingerly touched the three raised welts on her cheek. If she was left with these scars permanently due to her inability to care for them, she would rouse that insufferable Elf from the Highworld and kill him again!

At least now, her brother had nothing to worry about, she thought with satisfaction.

The prophecy was dead.

Without the Elf and his pendant, the other
Savitars
had no way of finding their way to Callyn-Rhe and the ancient weapon Galen Starr revealed they would need to defeat Adrian.

Her mount snorted impatiently in the cool dawn air. After catching the scent of other horses below, the mare was anxious to go down into the valley where the Cyman Army was camped in front of Starfell. Avalon lashed out and struck the horse cruelly on the side of her head. The mare neighed in displeasure, but did not bolt. Avalon had too tight of a rein on the animal.

“Stupid, beast,” she muttered, and kicked the mare’s ribs to get her moving down the hill. As she descended, she wondered what her brother had been doing while she was gone. She had heard many disturbing stories during her travels of demons in the night attacking the citizens of Massa. Her brother’s doing?

She was not aware that he was capable of summoning spirits from beyond, but learned more years ago than she cared to remember not to underestimate him.

The first Cyman sentries that spotted her sprang to alert when she walked her horse toward the camp perimeter. “Stop there!” one of them shouted and more men ran forward, creating a wall of defenders.

She did not slow her stride but continued to approach. When she was within ten paces of the soldiers, she lowered the hood of her cloak. Recognizing her immediately, the sentries shrank back and eyed her distrustfully. She heard booted feet pounding away to the east and guessed that a runner was off to tell Adrian of her return.

The sentries made no further move to stop or address her, so she continued into the heart of the camp. She passed thousands of soldiers asleep on the bare ground, and those that were not sleeping were engaged in various camp activities. Most lifted their heads to watch her pass with thinly veiled hatred. She knew they did not like her, but did not care. As long as they were frightened of her, she was content.

She heard women’s cries coming from one of the tents and grinned. So, her brother had managed to get his hands on some of the female Elves in Haventhal.

Good for him.

Her horse whined again when she passed an improvised corral containing half a dozen horses. Spoils for Adrian certainly. She knew the Cymans would not ride them.

It took her hours to pick her way through the camped army, but she eventually made her way to a road cut into the eastern side of the valley that led upward to Starfell Keep.

For the first time, she noticed shadows in the darkened woods to her right. At first, she thought it was the pre-dawn light playing tricks on her eyes, but quickly realized it was something more. The shadows moved and slithered between the trees with purpose, and she felt a shiver down her spine.

Adrian was waiting for her when she arrived at the top of the hill and dismounted in the courtyard of the Keep.

“Sister! How nice of you to return.” He paused and frowned. “What happened to your face?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “A minor sufferance for our cause. I will ask you to heal it later.”

“I am a Mage, Avalon, not a bloody miracle worker,” he said with a scowl. “Come. We have much to catch up on.”

She handed over the reins of her horse to a Cyman soldier and followed Adrian up the stairs and past two guards who did not acknowledge her. At the enormous double doors, Adrian threw them open with a flourish and waved his arm around the marble foyer. “Welcome home.”

Her eyes eagerly absorbed every detail as she scanned the bespelled interior. It was exactly as she remembered with the magnificent staircase, elegant cornices with running leaf pattern that ran the length of the room, and stunning, stained glassed doors that led to a sitting room on the left, the furniture still covered in dust cloths. And, the nonpareil?—a sculpture of Galen Starr standing erect in the center of the foyer holding a staff in one hand and a book in the other.

Exactly the same as when she lived at the Keep as a young girl while undergoing shifter studies.

She was home.

And, may the Highworld have mercy on the next person who tried to take it from her.

Adrian pointed to the sitting room. “Let us go and sit down. I want to hear all about your exploits.” She followed him into the room, and Adrian hastily ripped the cloths from the sofa and one of the chairs. He took the chair and leaned forward. “Tell me. Are the
Savitars
dead? Did they perish in the flooding of Pyraan?”

Sitting, she began to remove her leather riding gloves, one finger at a time. “No.”

“What!”

“They are alive, Adrian, but they are children. Just children. Powerful, yes, but young and inexperienced.” She proceeded to tell him all she knew about the four young
Savitars
and the pendants that Galen Starr instructed them to locate. “Once fitted together, the pendants contain a map that shows where the power is located that can destroy our plans.”

Adrian was silent as he processed the information.

“I killed one of them.”

He sat upright. “You killed one of the
Savitars
?”

She nodded. “Thus, the scars. He was an Elf and a bodyshifter, and I now have his pendant with me.

Adrian scowled and pounded a fist into his open palm. “What are the chances that I would have the
Savitars
directly in my sight and let them escape? I actually ordered them to go!” Then, he quickly brightened. “Regardless, this is very good news, Avalon. Without the
Savitars
to interfere, the next phase of our plan is guaranteed to succeed.”

“Which is?”

“That the Kings swear fealty to me by Earthshine in five days time.”

Avalon got up from the sofa. “I am not so sure, Adrian. At least not with King Maximus, anyway. He plans to fight.”

“Is he mad?”

“The defeat of Teag and his soldiers outside the walls of Nysa bolstered the King’s confidence. Even if it was with the help of the
Savitars
.”

Adrian shook his head. “I thought as much when Teag did not return. He got what he deserved. How many dead Massans did he leave in his wake?”

“None.”

“Not one?”

“No, I told you the
Savitars
are very powerful. But, there are only three of them left and they are unsophisticated. They will be but pesky gnats against the full might of the Cymans.”

The front door slamming open interrupted their conversation. It was Lucin. The large man looked around and then stormed into the sitting room when he noticed them. He glared directly at her. “I ‘eard you were back. What news do you ‘ave of my son?”

She sat back down. “Nice to see you, too, Lucin,” she drawled.

He waited, arms crossed.

She sighed. “Very well, if you insist. When I last saw him, he was alive. In fact, he seemed to be quite at home with his captors.”

“Why didn’t you bring ‘im back with you?”

“I tried, but I could not do so. Not with the
Savitars
and all of the legionnaires crawling around King Maximus’ palace. If you want your son back, Lucin, you had better be prepared to fight for him.”

He narrowed his eye and then looked at Adrian. “You think it will come to that, Mage?”

“It looks that way. Avalon tells me the Massans plan to contest my rule.”

Lucin nodded. “I will ready the men.”

Adrian held up a long finger. “Before you go, please order one of the soldiers to bring me a woman from the tents.”

Lucin glared at Adrian brazenly, allowing the disgust to show on his face.

Avalon stood. “Did you hear my brother, Captain?” she shouted. “That was an order! Now move.”

Adrian snickered as Lucin turned to go. “It has been a while, Captain, since you have seen your wife,” he taunted. “If you or one of your officers would like to partake in a little Elven flesh, please be my guest.”

The Captain turned his reddening face. “I ‘ave never in my life, nor ever will, commit rape against an ‘elpless woman. As long as I breathe, neither will any of the soldiers in my command. I can’t stop you from doin’ what you will, but the spirits know I wish I could.”

Avalon laughed as a livid Lucin glared at her.

One of the guards from outside the Keep suddenly rushed in to the sitting room, eye blinking wildly.

“Captain! They are ‘ere! An army approaches the Valley of Flame from the west.”

The small brick house sat apart from the others on the street. Neglected and rundown, it was obvious that nobody had entered the home in quite a long time. Weeds popped up through the cracks in the stone walk and the windows were boarded with slats of wood.

Dillon and Janin shifted warily while they peered through the trees and searched the area, but Rogan stood frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes or tumultuous thoughts from the little house in front of him. In a chilling and unexpected fashion, memories he did not know he possessed rushed through him in a torrent, and he began to recall the events that led to his exile. Events he did not know that he had been present to witness.

The scene played out in his mind as realistic as if it were happening at that very moment.

His mother was standing in the doorway with an apron tied around her waist, auburn hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was calling him to dinner with a smile on her face.

His father ran up behind the six-year-old Rogan who was playing in the front yard and tossed him into the air. Laughing, little Rogan turned in his father’s arms to wave good-bye to his friend, Dillon. They neared the house, and Rogan’s senses reeled as he inhaled deeply, and the aroma of his mother’s cooking infused him. He heard the frantic bark of a dog coming from further down the street. Then, he saw Dillon run to join other neighborhood children in play now that Rogan had been called inside.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the ominous sound of horses thundering down the small lane.

The adult Rogan watching from the trees saw his father tense and turn in the doorway toward the horsemen, setting the younger Rogan down just inside the house and stepping in front of him protectively. He heard his mother gasp and gather him up in her arms and run out the back door. She threw him into the back of a wagon that was still hitched to their plow horse. She shushed him gently and told him to stay down and hang on tightly as she climbed in beside him. His father rushed out of the house and leapt up onto the horse’s back, slapping reins against the animal’s rump harshly. The frightened animal, evidently not used to such rough treatment from his father, took off with a lurch.

Both versions of Rogan were crying now. The boy because he was frightened, and the man because he knew how it would all end. How could his father hope to outrun the King’s men—for that was surely who they were—with a plow horse?