Copyright © 2011 Valerie Zambito
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0615495036
ISBN-13: 9780615495033
eBook ISBN: 978-0-615-56269-8
LCCN: 2011913818
Valerie Zambito, Piffard, NY
Illustrated by Anna Christenson
Dedication
All things are possible with a strong and loving family by your side. Thank you, Joe, for your sacrifice and encouragement. To Jimmy, Colby and Dylan, thank you for your patience while Mom spent all of those hours crouched over a computer. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.
Thank you, Janice, for being my best friend as well as my sister. And, special thanks to you, Debbie, for being the first one to let me know you had my back.
Love and acknowledgment to the rest of my family - Dad, Vinnie, Darren, Josh, Jake, Cody, Joe, Joyce, Brad, Melissa, Jameson, Jayla, Chris & Ryan.
Dedicated most of all to my very own Highworld angels, Mom and Janine.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
1 The Magical Kingdom of Pyraan
2 An Oath of the Blood
3 The House of Ravener
4 Let the Tests Begin
5 A Bid For Freedom
6 Small Surprises
7 A Snake in the Grass
8 When the Laughter Stops
9 Friend or Foe?
10 Duty Calls
11 The Destruction of the Magical Kingdom of Pyraan
12 No Mud
13 The Land of Men
14 An Unexpected Guest
15 The Expendable Pawn
16 Deathbed Confessions
17 First Punch
18 The Wrath of a Princess
19 Precious Trouble
20 Land of the Dwarves
21 Land of the Elves
22 The Dark Army
23 Princess Lost
24 Descent into Darkness
25 Sisterly Love
26 A Family for Rogan
27 Aquataine
28 Heartbreak
29 Queen Grace
30 The Valley of Flame
31 The Last Hope
32 Act of Disgrace
33 Land of the Draca Cats
34 A Call to Arms
Epilogue
Chapter 1
THE MAGICAL KINGDOM OF PYRAAN
“Bloody hell!” cursed Beck Atlan as he pounded the ground to either side of him, his fists leaving twin, bowl-sized depressions in the dirt from the force of his strikes. Clenching his jaw, he shook his head in disbelief. Although just eighteen years old, he had never before been unseated in a jousting competition—and this was the second time today. Tall and powerfully built, the added strength lent to him by his earthshifting abilities was daunting. In fact, his magic was stronger than any in Pyraan had ever seen.
He sprang to his feet smoothly and glared at the packed benches surrounding the makeshift arena where spectators were boisterously enjoying this long-awaited exchange between him and his opponent. The public arguments over who would be the victor in this event were as numerous as the bets taking place in private, and Beck grimaced as the cheers pouring out of the crowd from his rival’s supporters almost drowned out the groans from those who had gambled on him.
Almost, but not quite.
With a determined set to his face, he picked up his fallen lance and strode purposefully to his waiting horse. Not bothering to use the stirrup, he grabbed the pommel with one hand and used his considerable strength to vault himself back into the saddle. Tucking the lance firmly in place, he trotted for the third time back to his starting position at the south end of the arena very well aware that if his opponent managed to unseat him once again, he would lose the match. Unthinkable at any time, but especially now. Especially, against this foe.
Ironically, and a bit arrogantly he admitted to himself, he had never once considered defeat as an option in the weeks leading up to the competition. His only concern had been how to win without seriously harming his opponent. The lance used in the match was made of a light tanga wood that sported a blunt end designed to unseat instead of injure a contender but because of his power, he had to be very careful when participating in friendly contests of skill.
With a steady hand, he soothed his black stallion, Chasin, and stared down the length of the field at his adversary, searching once again for any weakness to stance or carry that he could exploit. The figure in black glared directly back at him through the visor of a steel helm, rigid and strong.
And, smug.
Suddenly, Beck’s eyes locked in on a small movement that he would have otherwise missed had he not been so assiduously looking for it, and he permitted himself a small smile. His opponent shifted subtly and let the protracted lance stationed on the left to dip ever so slightly. An indication, he decided confidently, that the blow he delivered in the first round had found its mark after all.
I have you now, he snarled in his head. To the left then.
The crowd quieted as the nervous flag boy walked tentatively to the center of the field, holding the staff of the red flag out before him as if it were a deadly weapon, which in a way it was if he did not remove himself from the path of the charging horses in time.
The sun was at its apex now and Chasin stomped his feet and snorted, as anxious as Beck to meet the challenger in battle once again. After what seemed an interminably long time with the quivering staff gripped high overhead for long seconds, the boy abruptly dropped the flag in an extravagant sweep and turned and sprinted at a dead run back toward the safety of the fence.
Chasin, needing no further signal, reared back on his powerful hind legs and bolted ahead. Beck held on smoothly, secure and certain in the saddle beneath him, adrenaline coursing through both him and his mount as they thundered down the turf. Sweat trickled down his face, but he ignored it.
Suddenly, several paces before midpoint, Beck scowled as his opponent suddenly lifted the lance into the air and repositioned the weapon on the right. The movement startled Beck, but he quickly dismissed the stunt as an obvious attempt at grandstanding and tensed his muscles as he readied himself to even the score with this maddening competitor.
To the left, he thought again, and as the two horses converged, he drove his lance sharply at the black figure. The crowd gasped in surprise as the rider narrowly managed to avoid his thrust by suddenly plunging the lance into the dirt on the right with both hands and, using the powerful momentum generated by the speeding horse, swung upward and whirled around the shaft of the weapon. Beck could only watch helplessly as a strong kick hit him square in the chest, sending him up and out of his saddle. The rider continued through the motion of the swing and used the lance to vault forward, back arched and arms and legs clawing at the air to land back on the charging horse.
The Pyraan spectators, winners and losers alike, went wild.
Beck watched with equal parts irritation and admiration as the champion rode over to him amid a plume of dust, adding a layer of grit to his mouth. “Gloating is beneath you,” he commented, waving his hands to scatter the motes from around his face.
Laughing, Kiernan Everard ripped off her helmet and let her long, blonde hair tumble free. Icy green eyes stared down at him as she cocked her head. “As you should know by now, Beck Atlan, it is not all about brawn. It is about anticipating your opponent’s next move, and I read yours easily in your eyes. It seems you fell for my little feint,” she said holding her left side in exaggeration.
Beck ignored her and stood, putting a finger and thumb in his mouth to whistle Chasin back to his side
. Suddenly the crowd burst out in roaring laughter, and Beck looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“You better get back on your horse, earthshifter,” said Kiernan, leaning from the saddle and struggling to suppress her own laughter. “It appears the hole you just ripped in your trousers has gone straight through your small clothes.”
Red-faced, Beck quickly turned from the crowd with his hands behind his back. This, of course, caused them to howl and jeer even more. Jorge Owen, the spirited blacksmith who lived next door to him and his family, stood and yelled out. “What is the matter young, Beck? Did you forget to guard your rear?” More raucous laughter.
“No, Jorge,” came another reply from the stands. “Beck is just a little behind in his thrusts today.”
Bowing in mock humor to the throng of Pyraanians, Beck carefully and with as much dignity as he could salvage, sidled to Chasin and remounted, sneering at Kiernan the entire time. She laughed again and dug her heels into her horse’s flanks causing the animal to leap away. Guiding the mare expertly over to Jorge, she easily caught the winning purse he threw her way without stopping and held the bag of coins overhead as she took a victory lap around the field.
Beck grudgingly smiled and waited patiently while she graciously accepted congratulatory shouts from the crowd and then followed behind when she exited the arena onto City Boulevard to set out for Mincer’s Stables at the edge of town. Wearing black leather trousers, short jacket, fitted corset and leather arm pads, Beck decided she looked exactly like the Warrior Princess she was. He always thought her an extraordinary blend of brute strength and subtle femininity and that belief was more in evidence today than ever. Her mastery in sword fighting, near blademaster rank, and her innate ability to anticipate the moves of much larger adversaries, made her a lethal fighter.
She was also one of his best friends.
Raising an eyebrow, he coolly appraised her slightly arched back and the soft curve of her hips as she swayed slowly in her saddle. He could see the firmness of her thighs through the leather as they gripped the horse tightly, and silky blonde hair fell down her back in soft waves. Still holding her helmet cradled in the nook of one arm while she rode, she suddenly glanced back and fixed him firmly in incandescent eyes that, as a mindshifter, held entirely too much knowledge about the thoughts of others.
Beck sucked in his breath guiltily and held it.
After a long moment, she smiled, amused, and gestured with her head for him to ride beside her and then turned to the front again.
He let out his breath slowly, wondering where this sudden admiration of his best friend’s physical appearance was coming from. As he considered the uncertainty of these new and stirring feelings, he was without a doubt very certain about one thing. If Kiernan knew, she would bash his skull in.
Gently nudging Chasin to a brisk walk, he turned his thoughts to Festival and his impending departure the following day for The Crown Bluffs. Today and long into the night, the residents of Parsis would be celebrating their biennial Homage Festival, and he smiled as the townsfolk lining City Boulevard enthusiastically took part in all manner of events ranging from archery competitions and arm wrestling to eating contests, and even dancing and drinking— although it was not much past the mid-day hour. The normally reserved citizens of Parsis had been in high spirits for weeks baking, decorating and sprucing up the buildings and shops along the wide, tree-lined boulevard, but all of their hard work was now long forgotten as they basked in merriment.
Beck reached Kiernan and together they idly followed the curve of the roadway around the square picking their way through the celebration. Mistress Halloran, the rotund innkeeper of the Unicorn’s Tail Inn, hurried out into the bright afternoon carrying a plate of pastries. She nodded a greeting as soon as she noticed them and shouted up to him, “Did you win, my boy?”
Heat flushing his cheeks, he shook his head curtly. Mistress Halloran offered him a sympathetic smile and then waved as she continued on her way. Beck noted her leaving and then paused. He could have sworn that out of the corner of his eye he saw the plump little woman jump in the air with a skip of cheer! His head snapped around when he also thought he heard a snicker coming from beside him but, with the noise of the city, could not be sure. And, Kiernan was looking at him with such questioning innocence.
Continuing through the square, he caught sight of Katrin Allendale, a classmate at the Academy, face flushed as she skipped from partner to partner in a lively reel in tune to the music of a pear-shaped lyra played by her elderly grandfather. Master Jakob Martyn, the hawk-faced grocer and tavern owner, was lounging at a table outside of his establishment wiping a towel across his sweating brow and sharing ale with patrons. He waved as they passed.
The next Homage Festival will be for me, thought Beck with satisfaction. This year, the celebration was in honor of Troop 157 of the Northwatch Legion who was ending their two-year tour of duty as defenders of The Crown Bluffs or simply “The Bluffs” as it was referred to most. As a member of the newly-formed Troop 158, Beck’s detachment would replace the returning legionnaires. Every two years, all boys who reached the age of eighteen were required to join the Pyraan Northwatch Legion and travel to The Bluffs for a tour of Legion duty. For the residents of Pyraan, a land of disgraced exiles, it had been this way for three hundred years and would continue to be for this protection of the island was in repayment of a debt owed to all of Massa. A debt recorded in the history tomes and owed to all of the men, the Elves and the Dwarves by the Magical Kingdom of Pyraan.
It was only right, thought Beck glumly. After all, every Massan knew that it was the magic users who destroyed the world.
After passing through nearly all of the merriment in companionable silence, Beck arrived at Mincer’s Stables with Kiernan. Apart from the occasional bark of a dog, it was quiet at this end of the city with most residents gathered around the square and the arenas. Dismounting, Beck waited for Kiernan to do the same, and then led Chasin through the wide stable doors. “I let you win, you know,” he said, glancing sideways at her.
She looked at him incredulously. “You really expect me to believe that?”
“No,” he said laughing. “Even Jorge confided to me that he bet a silver groat on the Princess.” He held up a finger. “And, I have strong suspicions about Mistress Halloran as well.”
Kiernan smiled as she gently rubbed the nose of her mare. “You would have won if you were not so distracted about the journey tomorrow,” she conceded. “Are you that excited to be leaving?”
Beck shrugged cautiously and led Chasin to one of the open stalls. “I guess so.” He was actually more than excited, but had to tread very carefully. He did not want to get Kiernan any more riled up on the subject than she already was.
She eyed him doubtfully.
“Come now,” he scoffed, hoping it sounded genuine. “The entire tour will be nothing but a waste of time and you know it. If enemy forces do exist, they have never shown an eagerness to visit Pyraan.” Surrounded by the Arounda Ocean and cosseted by steep cliff walls that encircled the entire island, landing on Massa by ship was impossible at any location except at a quarter of a league stretch of open beach at the northern Crown Bluffs.
“Well, if not Pyraan, at least you will be getting away from Parsis,” she replied and began to pace back and forth.
Here we go, he thought, and walked over to a row of shelves outside of the tack room to search for spare trousers. Holding up a pair and deciding they would fit, he went into an empty stall to change.
“I am a prisoner here, Beck! We both are, but for some reason you do not seem to care.”
He laughed dryly. “That is the funny thing about exile, Kiernan, you really don’t have much of a choice.”
She continued her rant as if she did not hear his response, which was probably the case. “It is worse for me on two fronts. As a shifter, I cannot leave the boundaries of Pyraan, and as a female, I am barred from joining the Northwatch Legion. It is so unfair!
I should be going with you. I am better with the sword than just about any male in this entire land,” she said without even a hint of boast in her tone. She was simply stating fact.
Beck peered at her over the stable door, reluctant to say anything when she was so clearly agitated. He was in agreement with her. In his opinion, it was unfair that she not be allowed to join the Legion. Small, but with an athletic build, she had proven repeatedly at the Academy that she would be a very formidable legionnaire. She was also a very skilled mindshifter. She could bend people to her will simply by gazing into their eyes and transferring her own thoughts and ideas to theirs. Hers was a very potent and dangerous power, and she never used it recklessly. In fact, she rarely used it at all. Contrary to the name, there was very little magic performed in the Magical Kingdom of Pyraan.
For young people just coming into their shifting talents, the use of magic was permitted only during school sessions at The Parsis Academy with an experienced instructor. As for the adults, well, these were peaceful times in Massa and over the years the four metamagics of earth, fire, mind, and body began to offer less and less value to their everyday lives. In fact, it began to be viewed as something unwholesome. A taint, even. A genetic imperfection passed on from generation to generation. And, while it was important to learn to study and control the contaminate, to even use it for defensive purposes to enable them to uphold their oath to the people of Massa, it was not an integral part of their lives.
“We will be back before you know it, Kiernan. You won’t even have a chance to miss us. I promise.”
“You don’t understand,” she murmured.
But, he did. Along with their two friends, Rogan Radek, a Dwarf and fireshifter, and Airron Falewir, an Elf and bodyshifter, they had been inseparable for the past six years. While most shifters started developing their first stirrings of power in their mid-teenage years with a mature command of the magic by their early twenties, Beck, Kiernan, Rogan and Airron began exhibiting magical tendencies as very young children and now as teens, they were the most powerful shifters in Pyraan.
Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood Page 1