Island Shifters: Book 02 - An Oath of the Mage Read online

  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

  DEDICATION

  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.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1 Pureblood

  2 Bardot

  3 Another Star Fades

  4 A Pregnant Pause

  5 The Wedding

  6 Missing

  7 A Child’s Tale

  8 Sinister Motives

  9 Half An Army is Better Than None

  10 Changes

  11 Old Enemies

  12 We Ride!

  13 Changed

  14 Clash of Swords

  15 The Hunt

  16 A Colorful Revelation

  17 A Rise from the Ashes

  18 Loose Ends

  19 The Trial

  20 A Cryptic Passage

  21 The Malakai

  22 A Shout in the Dark

  23 An Oath of the Mage

  24 Into the Jaws

  25 Utterly and Without Remorse

  26 Home

  PROLOGUE

  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?

  CHAPTER 1

  Pureblood

  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 fr
ont 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.

  Then, Kenley shrugged her small shoulders and did as her father asked-the one thing that always caused him to laugh and throw her in the air until her belly tingled.

  She flicked her wrist and sent the ball screaming toward his face.

  The adults in the room gasped and shouted simultaneously. “An airshifter!”

  She hoped that was a good thing.

  Kiernan marched down the tapestry-hung corridor toward the suite of rooms she shared with Beck and Kenley when they were in residence at the Nysian royal palace.

  “Come now, Kiernan. You knew this would happen,” Beck pointed out as he easily kept pace beside her. The ever-present Royal Guard, only two since they were inside the palace walls, trailed unobserved behind them.

  She shook her head of blonde wavy hair. “I know, but at five?”

  “She is almost six,” he reminded her. “Besides, look at her parents.”

  She turned her head to glare at him. Why was he grinning so ridiculously? Kenley was pureblood. There was never any doubt that she would be a shifter, and a very powerful one at that, but she was just a baby yet. Most shifters did not begin to develop their powers until their late teenage years.

  Kiernan stopped in the middle of the hallway and put her arm out to stop him. “You are happy about this!”

  “Of course, I am,” he confessed with a chuckle and simply walked around her without pausing. She stared at him in disbelief and then, with a shake of her head, followed behind and caught up to him just as he reached their suite.

  Her handmaid, Leah, was anxiously hovering outside of the room with a handful of dresses flung over one arm.

  Kiernan waved her away. “No.”

  “But, Your Grace! The royal seamstress spent hours making these beautiful gowns! You are to choose one for Court this morning.”

  “I already have more than enough perfectly suitable gowns to wear, Leah. I told the seamstress as much yesterday.”

  The handmaid’s eyes widened in shock. “But, Your Grace, at least let me help you dress!”

  “I can and will dress myself. Thank you, Leah. You may go.”

  “Your Grace…”

  “Goodbye, Leah,” interjected Beck and swiftly ushered Kiernan inside. When the door closed, he said, “I thought we were supposed to allow the servants to do their jobs.”

  “Normally, we do, but I have other…” She let out a yelp when he swept her off her feet and carried her through the sitting room to their large canopied bed. Laying her down gently, he laid his large frame alongside hers and caressed her swollen belly.

  “Are you finished gloating about our daughter?” she asked.

  “I do not gloat, Kiernan. If you think about it calmly, you will remember that you were not much older than Kenley when you first discovered mindshifting. And, she has already bonded with Baya, so you knew it was just a matter of time.”

  She nodded resignedly and remembered fondly her own bond with her Draca Cat, Bajan, at the age of six. Bajan had been dead for years now, but the pain still cut like a knife whenever she thought about him. “I just worry.”

  “Well, try not to. It is not good for our son,” he said and pressed his lips to her abdomen.

  “A son, is it?”

  “I told you before, I am very rarely wrong.”

  “So, you keep telling me,” she laughed and pulled his head down and kissed him deeply, feeling like the luckiest woman alive. The world had changed so drastically in the last six years that sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe it was real. Was it really just six years ago that she was confined to exile? That shifters were outlawed from living anywhere in Massa except the land of Pyraan? The Demon War changed everything for her and Beck, and it truly was a new world. A world where magic users lived free, and Kiernan was returned to the throne for which she was born. Both paled in comparison, however, to her marriage and child. Beck and Kenley. Her husband. Her daughter. Her life.

  “Hmm…forget about Court. Let’s stay right here and the nobles can fight among themselves without us,” she murmured contentedly.

  “If only we could. You know how much I despise the politics of Iserlohn.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And, this coming from the Prince of the land?”

  “Prince by marriage only.”

  She pursed her lips in a pout. “If you hate it so much, you could always leave me and go live a quieter life elsewhere.”

  He grabbed her with a growl. “Over my dead body.”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around him. “That is what I thought. Now, let me up. I have to get dressed.” As Prince and Princess of Iserlohn, their absence would be tantamount to throwing fire on a stack of hay with the current climate surrounding her family. Before soup was served, a dozen rumors would have leaked outside of the palace doors regarding the probable reason for the missing royals.

  Beck let go of her, and she stood from the bed and pulled her dress over her head and let it drop to the floor as she walked to the mahogany wardrobe. “Did Airron take Kenley to Captain…,” she paused and had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder for Miss Belle. The insufferable but dear woman was opposed to Kenley learning how to handle a sword with Captain Franck, but this was one area where Kiernan would not relent. No daughter of hers was going to spend her time sipping tea and learning embroidery. Not when she should be learning how to defend herself and her realm. She glanced back at Beck and finished her sentence. “…Captain Franck?”

  Beck nodded and followed her. “She is there. Where is my black silk coat?” he asked, rummaging through the wardrobe over her head. As an earthshifter, he towered over her much smaller stature. All earthshifters exhibited an abundantly muscular physique and a powerful strength, but none alive today was as strong as Beck. Along with their friends Airron Falewir, a bodyshifter, and Rogan Radek, a fireshifter, the four of them were the most powerful shifters on the Island of Massa. “Did I leave it at home?” Much to her father’s dismay, home for them was the city of Bardot two leagues north of the city of Nysa. Beck adamantly refused to live at the palace. After a lifetime of exile, living behind walls was unimaginable to him.

  Kiernan pulled out a scarlet and black silk gown, the House colors of Everard, and stepped into it. “Three coats from the left.”

  Beck found the coat embroidered on the collar and cuffs with King Maximus’ Golden Lions and slipped it on over his broad shoulders.

  Kiernan whistled appreciatively. “You look very handsome, Prince Beck.”

  He bowed graciously. “As do you, Princess Kiernan.”

  Thanking him with another kiss, she quickly ran a brush through her long hair. When she was satisfied with the result, she exited the room with her husband and turned her thoughts to the troubling rumors about this evening’s council brought to her by the her personal guard, Captain Kirby Nash. It seemed that one of her father’s liegemen, Lord Davad Etin, intended to make trouble of some kind. That the Lord was allowing gossip to spread freely could only have one meaning—he had considerable backing for his schemes. And, they were schemes. He had always been the most cunning and ambitious of the nobles, but with civil unrest brewing in the section of lands he controlled, he was becoming desperate to lay the blame at the feet of another.

  Her father?
/>
  She shook her head. Not on my watch.

  Attuned as always to her emotions, Beck gave her arm a brief squeeze. Highworld, but she was fortunate to have him.

  Together, they descended to the first floor of the palace and when they arrived at the open doors of Grace Hall, she was surprised to find a line of citizens awaiting an audience with her father. For some reason, and totally against custom, he was seeing petitioners at the beginning of Court. All knelt to one knee or curtsied as they approached.

  “Please rise,” she commanded and, with the help of the Sabers, a path opened up for them before the doors.

  Kiernan was tense as she entered the hall and made the walk between towering black marble pillars to the front. For once, the colorful fresco of the city painted on the concave ceiling above did nothing to calm her. She would not feel at ease again until she knew exactly what Lord Davad Etin was about.

  Her father, sitting on his throne atop a raised dais with three wide steps, looked resplendent in a scarlet robe with black trim, his dark eyes showing not a hint of the concern that plagued her.

  The nobles occupied the spaces to the left and right of him. Lord Etin, Lord Winslow and the young Lady Conry sat to one side and Lord Hamilton, Lord Gregaros and Lady Knapp to the other. A clearer line of House loyalties could not have been made.

  Kiernan and Beck took their places in the two empty seats to the immediate right of her father, and Captain Kirby Nash slid into position behind her chair and alongside her father’s personal guard, Captain Darin Morel.

  A man was standing in front of the dais wearing a threadbare tunic and wringing his hat in his hands nervously.

  “You may continue,” her father told him kindly.

  “It is a disgrace, my King! An honest man just cannot make a living in Iserport. There is no work! Buildings are abandoned and left in disrepair and the roads are impassable. Rioters roam freely and terrorize the folks that are left. If not for the recent trade agreement with Haventhal, we would not even have enough food for our tables!”