Island Shifters
Book One
An Oath of the Blood
Valerie Zambito
Copyright 2011 Valerie Zambito
All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Nick Deligaris
www.deligaris.com
Other Titles by Valerie Zambito
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Blood (Book 1)
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Mage (Book 2)
Island Shifters - An oath of the Children (Book 3)
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Kings (Book 4)
Angels of the Knights - Fallon (Book 1)
Angels of the Knights - Blane (Book 2)
Angels of the Knights - Nikki (Book 3)
Island Shifters Series Reviews
“From this book’s first paragraph, I was hooked until the very end.”
“I have to say it has been a very long time since I read a book and got goose bumps!”
“I was swept away by the colorful characters and brisk pacing of the book, almost compelled to keep turning the pages as Zambito’s action-packed story carried me along.”
“Without a doubt, this is, by far, the best book I have ever read in my entire life. As someone who has read over 780 books in the last 20 years, that’s saying something.”
Map of Massa
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Ruling Nobility of Massa
Afterword
About the Author
Chapter 1
The Magical Kingdom of Pyraan
“Bloody hell!” Beck Atlan cursed 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. He had never before been unseated in a jousting competition, and this was the second time today.
He sprang to his feet smoothly and glared at the packed benches surrounding the arena where spectators were boisterously enjoying this long-awaited battle 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.
He picked up the fallen lance and strode 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.
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 far out in front of him as though it were a deadly weapon, which it could very well be if he didn’t 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, the boy abruptly dropped the flag in an extravagant sweep 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 the side of his face, but he ignored it.
Beck scowled suddenly as his opponent lifted the lance into the air and repositioned the weapon on the right. The unusual move startled him, but he quickly dismissed the stunt as an obvious attempt to distract him and readied himself to even the score with this maddening competitor once and for all.
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 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 flying from 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 spectators, winners and losers alike, went wild.
Beck groaned and watched with equal parts irritation and admiration as the champion rode over to him amid a plume of dust. “Gloating is beneath you,” he pointed out, 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’s not all about brawn. It’s 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. The crowd suddenly exploded into roaring laughter, and Beck looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“You better get back on your horse, earthshifter,” Kiernan said, leaning from the saddle and struggling to suppress her own laughter. “It appears the hole you just ripped in your trousers has gone str
aight through your small clothes.”
Red-faced, Beck quickly turned from the crowd with his hands behind his back. They howled and jeered even more. Bowing in mock humor to the throng of Pyraanians, he sidled to Chasin with as much dignity as he could salvage 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 the arbiter, 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 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 meant to be. 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 in the saddle. He could see the firmness of her thighs through the leather as they gripped the horse tightly. Silky blonde hair fell down her back in soft waves.
Still holding her helmet cradled in the nook of one arm, 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.
He let out his breath slowly, wondering where this sudden admiration of his 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.
***
Beck caught up to Kiernan and together they followed the curve of the roadway around the square, picking their way through the celebration. Today began the weeklong biennial Homage Festival, and he smiled as the townsfolk lining City Boulevard 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.
Mistress Halloran, the rotund innkeeper of the Unicorn’s Tail, 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 flaring in his cheeks, he shook his head curtly.
Mistress Halloran offered him a sympathetic smile and waved as she continued on her way. Beck noted her leaving but 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, couldn’t be sure.
Beck shook his head, but smiled at the thought that he would have a place of honor at the next festival when his two-year tour of duty with the Northwatch Legion ended.
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-league stretch of open beach at the northern Crown Bluffs.
The law was clear. All boys who reached the age of eighteen were required to join the legion and march to the Bluffs to defend the realm against hostile forces. 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 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 before leading 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 with a laugh. “Even my father confided to me that he bet a silver groat on the Princess.” He held up a finger. “And, I have a strong suspicion about Mistress Halloran as well.”
Kiernan smiled as she gently rubbed the nose of her mare. “You would have won if you weren’t 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 didn’t 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. It all sounds noble, but let’s face it. There’s no enemy out there.”
“Well, at least you’ll be getting out of 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’m a prisoner here, Beck! We both are, but for some reason you don’t seem to care.”
He laughed dryly. “That’s the funny thing about exile, Kiernan, you really don’t have much of a choice.”
She continued her rant as if she didn’t hear his response, which was probably the case. “It’s worse for me on two fronts. As a shifter, I can’t leave the boundaries of Pyraan, and as a female, I’m barred from joining the Northwatch Legion. It’s so unfair! I should be going with you. I’m better with the sword than just about any male in this entire land.” She made the declaration 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. It 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 hereditary imperfection passed on from generation to generation. And, while it was important to learn to study and control the contaminant, to even use it for defensive purposes to enable shifters to uphold their oath to the people of Massa, it wasn’t an integral part of their lives.
“We’ll 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 di
d. 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.
Beck came out of the stall and put an arm around her shoulders. “Of course I do. I wish you could join us, I really do, but you know the rules about girls joining the legion. I guess they think it would be too…” He hesitated, blushing. “…distracting or something. How would I know?”
“That’s ridiculous,” she snorted. “Even so, there are so few female shifters coming to Pyraan every year. What would be the harm in letting those of us who are here and more than capable come along?” As she resumed her pacing, she began mumbling something about showing them, whoever they were, that it was not over yet.
Just as she was about to launch into a new argument against the conservative rules of the Northwatch Legion, the stable doors banged open with a loud thud and afternoon sunlight flooded inside. They both turned to see Rogan Radek silhouetted in the doorway squinting to focus in the gloom of the stable.
“Ah, there you are,” he said at sight of his two friends. Five-foot-one and tough as nails, the Dwarf barreled inside with all of the refinement of a charging bull and patted Kiernan on the back. “Well done,” he said gruffly. “About time someone knocked Beck down a peg. He’s too serious all of the time.”
Beck pulled his white shirt down over his borrowed trousers. “Not true. What about the time I buried you to your shoulders in a sinking and left you there all night?”
Rogan smirked at the reminder. “I stand corrected. That was pretty funny… Hey!” he suddenly shouted in panic, kicking out his left leg. “What in the bloody…?”
Beck looked quizzically at Kiernan and then back at Rogan as he suddenly began hopping from one foot to the other.
“Get it out, get it out!” the Dwarf screamed, the two thick braids at his temples flailing wildly.
“What is it?” Kiernan asked, rushing to his side.
“Help!”
“Calm down, Rogan,” Beck said firmly. “What is the matter?”
All of a sudden, a gray mouse appeared at the bottom of Rogan’s trousers. The creature swiveled its head left and right and then leapt free of the jerking pant leg and scampered a safe distance away before turning around and rising on its hind legs to smile broadly and unnaturally at the terrified Dwarf.
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