Beck looked into the eyes of each Elder and was surprised by what he found.
Terror.
They were terrified that he would not agree to take the oath. Terrified that, as the protectors and wisemen of the watershifters, they would be unable to ensure the safety of their people.
“With all due respect, Elders, it is not necessary. If keeping your world a secret will preserve the people of Aquataine, then I shall keep that secret. I am already bound by a blood oath to protect the people of Massa. The magic that courses through my veins is more powerful than any verbal oath I could give to you.”
The Elders looked at each other again, and Beck could tell that they were still nervous.
Sighing, he said, “If it makes you feel more confident, I will do as you say.” He went to one knee. “Until released, I, Beck Jaimes Atlan, earthshifter, and Savitar, do solemnly vow to undertake an Oath of Silence regarding the world of Aquataine and all of its citizens to all non-magical entities on the Island of Massa.”
When Beck looked up again, he could see the relief in the faces of the Elders. “We are in your debt, shifter.”
Beck nodded. “Now, how do I get out of here?”
“You could have told me about the shoes!” barked Beck to Digby as soon as he and Bajan sprinted from the temple and leapt back onto the raft.
“Oops.”
Digby dove elegantly into the water, grasped the rear of the boat with his hands, and began to propel them at breakneck speed back to where he and Bajan first entered Aquataine. It was all Beck could do to hang on. It was staggering how fast the watershifter could move in the water.
Once clear of Ebba and back on the beach in the first cavern, Digby pointed out the concealed stairway that led back to the Surface World, as the watershifters called it.
“Thank you for showing me your world, Digby.”
Digby grinned ear to ear. “Of course. Good luck, Master Atlan. I hope to see you again soon.”
“And I you,” responded Beck genuinely. He jumped from the raft and started toward the stairs when something that one of the Elders said rushed back to him. His heart skipped a beat at the possibility. He turned back toward Digby.
“Digby!” he called to him. “Just where are all of the entrances to Aquataine?”
Adrian drummed his fingers on his desk as he listened to Lucin’s report. The Iserlohn Army was camped on the western lip of the Valley of Flame, but had made no further move as of yet. Whether they were there to surrender or fight was still uncertain. Of the twelve demons sent out weeks ago to harass the citizens of Massa, none had returned. Either they were still engaging the enemy or were defeated, the latter being a very unlikely possibility. The people of Massa were no match for a demon.
There had been no word of the Savitars. He had expected to hear from them by now, with Earthshine only days away. And, what of the armies of Dwarves and Elves? The scouts he sent on foot had not returned. It was taking far too long to obtain the answers he needed. He had no choice but to create more demons.
As usual, Lucin was being difficult and refusing to allow more of his soldiers to be sacrificed. The Cyman was very quickly becoming a dangerous liability and would have to be dealt with soon.
He looked at his Captain threatening. “I need them, Lucin.”
Lucin shook his head. “My soldiers will fight for you just as well as men instead of the abominations you wish to create.”
He laughed cruelly. “And, are you not an abomination of my creation, Lucin?’
The big man flinched. “We are not mindless, evil monsters.”
Adrian snorted. “Yes, something went horribly wrong there,” he murmured in agreement.
“Give the Cymans a chance, Master,” said Lucin.
“I do not have time for chances, Lucin. We are at war! I need information, and I need it now!” Enraged, he stood up from his desk. “Especially, since you refuse to give me the third prophecy. Do not for one single moment think that I cannot retrieve that information from you by force if I so choose. I could peel the skin off your body one strip at a time to get that prophecy! You and your army are serving a purpose, so you may keep your skin for a while longer. Now, run along and give me thirty soldiers for this evening’s rite or you will no longer serve that purpose. Can I make it any simpler than that for your thick skull? It is either thirty men or the entire Cyman Army!”
The doors to his chambers opened and his sister stalked in, black robe trailing behind her. “Well, well, some things never change. At it again, you two?” she asked, walking directly to the mahogany sideboard to help herself to wine. “Lucin, if this is about Adrian’s Demon Army, I assure you that I was as shocked as you about his ability to spiritshift. Unfortunately, Captain, we do need them.”
“For what purpose?”
“Prophecy, Captain. ‘For the dark to conquer the land of old, the spirits will need to sing.’” she recited. “Adrian will need the aid of the demon spirits to be successful.”
Lucin’s shoulders dropped in defeat and he sighed. “I just want this to be over,” he said softly. “I just want to win this war and get my people back to Nordik.” He turned and started walking toward the door. “You will ‘ave your thirty men, Mage. I will send them at nightfall.”
And he was gone.
Adrian joined his sister at the sideboard. “What an idiot. Tell me, sister, is his son really still alive?”
“Of course not. He was too much of a threat to leave behind alive.”
“I am starting to feel the same way about Lucin,” he scoffed.
“Have you had any word about the Dwarven and Elven armies?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, none.”
“Trust me, Adrian, I think they will fight. From what I have learned, these lands will not submit easily.”
Adrian’s eyes turned hard. “Then they will submit the hard way. It makes no difference to me either way.”
“The problem,” she reasoned, “is that the Demon Army can only travel at night. They cannot walk the land during light.”
Adrian walked away to study the camped army outside of Starfell. “I have been thinking about that as well. If my army cannot tolerate light, then I will give them darkness.”
Chapter 28
HEARTBREAK
Rogan rolled out of the dive off the porch of his ancestral home and crouched, igniting a sword of fire in his hand with a flick of his wrist. The magic in his blood was pumping furiously, but it was not the King’s men that were the threat—it was the two black wraiths with glowing red eyes hovering in the air behind them.
The six Iron Fists immediately unsheathed their swords at the sight of Rogan’s fiery weapon. “Extinguish your magic now, shifter!” shouted one of the men.
“Get down!” screamed Rogan.
The wraiths swooped over the heads of the Fists and settled on the ground between them, materializing into horned demon monsters thick with muscle and shadowy swords of evil clenched in their claws. “By your magic, I name you Savitar,” one hissed, forked tongue darting in and out in a constant motion. “My Master has been looking for you.”
Rogan signaled with his free hand for the Iron Fists, Janin and Dillon to stay out of the way. “Well, here I am, demon,” he said, twirling his sword of fire in readiness.
One of the demons snapped his head around at the movement of the soldiers as they began to slowly inch toward safety and in one swift motion, rushed over and grabbed one of the Dwarves by an ankle, lifting him upside down into the air. The dangling Fist lashed out with his sword but then dropped it and screamed in pain when the demon ripped open his abdomen with a single swipe of its clawed hand. The demon howled in gratification and let the soldier fall to the ground writhing in mortal agony.
Rogan clenched his teeth together and stalked toward the demon, his blood oath demanding retribution.
It would not be denied.
Sword in his right hand, he summoned a ball of fire with his left and hurled it at
the demon.
It shirked the fire with an evil smirk.
Rogan continued to advance. He lifted his arm and called down a fiery bolt of lightning from the sky, and it sliced with deadly precision into the demon, stunning him. Rogan bounded into the air at an inhuman height and swung his fire sword, beheading the monster. Fire licked over the collapsing corpse and it disintegrated and turned to ash.
One threat eliminated, he immediately turned to search out the second demon. Janin and Dillon were engaging the fiend and another Iron Fist lay dead between them. The first Fist attacked was still lying on the ground shrieking in anguish. Rogan grimaced. It would be a slow, painful way to die. The man’s fellow soldiers must have thought so as well, and Rogan watched as one of them walked over, whispered a word in the man’s ear and then stood over him and buried his sword in his chest.
Rogan rushed back into the fight, but was not fast enough. He watched in horror as the remaining demon raised his spectral sword high into the air and brought it down on Dillon, severing his arm at the shoulder. Dillon cried out as blood spurted out of the wound, drenching the soldiers closest to him in scarlet strings of matter. Dillon crumpled to the ground and Janin dropped down next to him, pulled a knife from her belt, and cut off a piece of her uniform to try to stem the bleeding.
“Demon! Over here!” yelled Rogan. “It is me that you want!”
The demon moved unbelievably fast and stopped in front of him. “Yes, it is you, Savitar,” he hissed, and Rogan shrank back from the foulness emanating from the creature. This thing loved to kill, derived great pleasure from killing. It narrowed its red eyes. “If only I had time to play with you before the end, shifter. I would enjoy taking you to the brink of death many times over many days before the final release. Do you know what it feels like to have your face separated from your skull? Your bones pulverized? Alas, prepare to die…” The demon stopped short as a sword erupted from his chest. The creature turned around in confusion, and there stood a defiant, tear-stained and bloodied Janin. Rogan did not waver, but took the monster’s head from his shoulders from behind with his sword. The headless corpse fell first to its knees and then sideways to the ground, crumbling to fiery dust.
Rogan ran to Dillon and realized immediately that his friend was gone. He had lost too much blood from the wound and his lips were blue in a ghostly pale face. Rogan kneeled and leaned his cheek on Dillon’s forehead, letting the tears fall. “Until we meet again, friend,” he whispered huskily.
Gentle hands, he never knew who they belonged to—probably Janin—guided him away from Dillon and they prepared his friend’s body for burial. The sun was just beginning to rise when the last stones were laid on the graves of Dillon and the two Iron Fists who perished in the fight with the demons.
“You will tell his family that he died honorably and in the defense of his fellow soldiers?” demanded Rogan of one of the Fists.
“On my word, shifter.”
Rogan thanked the man and rubbed his neck. He had not slept since his last night in the cell of the King’s palace, and even then not well, but he needed to keep moving. Earthshine was quickly approaching. He knew it was down to days now.
The sound of a large number of horses approaching echoed in the quiet of the early morning. He sensed Janin step up silently to his side, and he looked at her, grateful she was unhurt. He did not smile at her, though. He could not do that yet. His grief over Dillon was still too new.
The King of Dwarves, Rik Rojin, rode into the yard in front of his house, surrounded by Iron Fists. Reining in his white stallion with a flourish, his eyes scoured the freshly dug graves and the blood. Finally, his eyes rested on Rogan and he pointed. “Take this man into custody,” he said to the four Fists on the ground.
One of the men stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace, if you will permit me to explain…”
“No! I will not permit anything except that you bind that man’s wrists and take him into custody! He is an escaped prisoner and I want him returned before he has a hand in the death of any more Dwarves of Deepstone.”
The soldier hesitated, and it was a fraction too long for the King’s taste. He raised his sword and from his seat on his horse, swept it toward the Fist. Rogan rushed forward and knocked the soldier to the ground, the King’s sword missing all but a lock of the man’s hair.
Rik’s face turned scarlet. “How dare you!” Before the King could articulate another order, a young voice interrupted him.
“What is going on, father?”
A boy, dressed in all white and on a white stallion similar to his father’s, approached from behind. He looked to be of twelve years or so and wore a golden circlet upon his brow.
“The Prince,” the Iron Fist under him whispered.
The King turned toward his son. “Erik, you must not interfere with this matter. This man,” he said, thrusting a hand out toward Rogan, “must be punished.”
The young man stared into Rogan’s eyes. “What is his crime?”
The King faltered slightly and then said, “He is a shifter, for one, and according to the laws of the land, magic users are to be exiled.”
The boy considered his father’s words. “We all know that Pyraan has been destroyed, father, so there is no more exile,” he pointed out candidly. The young Prince looked around at the scene and then back to Rogan. “Did you use magic, cousin?”
He winced right along with King Rik at his use of the familial address.
“Yes I did.”
“Explain.”
“I used magic to destroy two demons that killed two of your Irons Fists…cousin.”
The Prince smiled slightly and addressed one of the Fists. “Can you verify the truth of this man’s word?”
The soldier nodded. “I can. Not only that, our swords were ineffective against the demons. If not for the fireshifter, we would all be dead.”
Satisfied, Erik turned to the King. “Father, this man is to be commended, not punished. He acted in defense of his life and the lives of his fellow Dwarves.”
“He has committed other crimes,” the King gritted out through clenched teeth, not pleased at all with the way things were going.
“Such as?” inquired the Prince.
The King did not blink. “He killed my brother, your Uncle.”
“I did no such thing,” protested Rogan. “I was only a small child when my parents were killed!”
“Maybe not by your hand, but by your very birth,” he spit. “The day you turned six years old and snapped your fingers to ignite fire was the day you killed your parents.”
“My parents died trying to flee from your soldiers, Uncle, not by magic!”
“Stop calling me that!”
There was an uncomfortable silence then and the soldiers shifted on their horses. The Prince broke it. “If my father frees you, where would you go?”
Smart boy, thought Rogan. He was giving his father a way to do the right thing and save face in front of his soldiers. “I must travel to Sarphia to rejoin the other Savitars.” He looked around at all of the Dwarves. “I have already taken a blood oath to protect the people of Massa from all harm, but I will swear again to all of you now, with the Highworld as witness, that I am a friend of the Dwarven people and all of Massa. I go forth now to battle the Mage Adrian Ravener from enslaving the people of this island, and I will not stop until he is destroyed. If you wish, I will return here to Kondor after the threat is over to stand trial for any crime I may have committed.”
The King glared down at Rogan. “The Dwarves have done their part as well. Two cohorts of the Deepstone Army were dispatched to Starfell yesterday.”
Rogan held his breath.
“There is still much to resolve,” King Rik pointed out, “and I will have you back here as soon as the war has been won.”
“You have my word, Your Grace,” Rogan said, standing.
“Now, get out of my land,” he demanded and wheeled his horse around aggressively. As the King thundered away,
the mounted Fists scrambled to catch up.
Janin walked over to Rogan. “I am still going with you.”
He stared into her eyes and noticed for the first time that they were a lovely shade of gray. “Where I am going, only the Savitars may travel,” he said. “But, I very much appreciate the offer.”
She looked crestfallen. “You need me.”
He realized then that she did not want to part from him just yet, because he felt the same way. “Would you be interested in traveling to Sarphia with me? I would like to have the company. Then, after I rejoin my friends, you can meet up with the Deepstone Army.”
She smiled. “I would like that.”
He gestured to the house behind him. “Unfortunately, I need to get a few hours of sleep before we go. I do not think I can take another step otherwise.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I will take watch.”
“Cousin!” It was Prince Erik, dismounted now and hurrying over to them. “Cousin, I just want to thank you and apologize for my father. He can be a little belligerent at times.”
Rogan tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.
“All right, very belligerent,” laughed the boy. “But, he does see reason after he thinks things through.”
“No thanks necessary,” he said. “If you will excuse me, I need to get some rest and be on my way.”
“Wait! I came to give you something.” The Prince held out his hand and a silver pendant dangled from his grip.
“Where did you get this?” he breathed in shock.
“My father has had a box of keepsakes from your family home for many years. I was looking through it once and saw this pendant. One look at how the flaming torch flickered confirmed to me that it was infused with magic. I vowed that if I ever had the chance to meet you, I would return the pendant.” He suddenly sounded like the young boy he was. “I love magic.”
“Thank you, Erik,” he said as he put it around his neck. “You may have saved thousands of lives by bringing me this pendant.”
Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood Page 32