by Smith,Darian
She leaned forward and took a handful of his hair, pulling his head up to face her. “Physicians know how to kill,” she reminded him. “Thanks for being a good teacher.”
She pulled back the blade to strike.
Brannon launched himself upward, and drove his fist into her stomach.
Jessamine grunted in surprise and let go of his hair, stumbling back, doubled over in pain. “No! That’s impossible!” She slashed at him with the knife.
Brannon grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her.
She pulled away but he went with her, pushing forward and using his weight and momentum to slam them into a workbench. He pinned her down.
“Let it go.”
She struggled and he pulled her arm up higher. Her fingers opened and the dagger fell to the floor.
“That’s better.” He looked up to see Taran already cutting Ylani and Tomidan free. “Nice work.”
“You cut it a little fine there,” Taran said. “I thought I might have to step in.”
“Nah, I had it covered. I needed to hear everything.”
“Where did he come from?” Jessamine spluttered. “How are you moving? I saw you get dosed. The dart!”
Brannon chuckled and pulled her other arm into place, ready to be tied.
Taran joined him with some rope.
“Our Brother Taran has quite a knack for sneaking into places and picked the lock on the back door. He also realized you’d taken some of the loredin from his supplies along with the koroleen and he dosed us both with the antidotes before we came.” He pulled her up off the workbench and turned her around. “You’re not the only one who can plan ahead.”
Ylani picked up Tommy and held him close. He buried his head in her shoulder. “Do your contingencies include a way to avoid the death sentence?” she hissed at Jessamine. “Because that’s what you’ll be getting when we get back to Alapra.”
Jessamine licked her lips. “Actually,” she said, “They do. I can give you Roydan’s plans. All of them.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The palace balcony overlooked the whole of Alapra. The city was awash with lights and music, festooned with streamers and banners, a riot of color and celebration. Fireworks sprinkled the night sky with bursts of crimson and green and gold, like fantastic flowers in the garden of the gods.
The crowd that was gathered in the palace grounds below cheered and clapped with each new colorful display. They themselves were decked with many-hued splendor, all dressed in their best for the king’s celebrations.
Brannon clapped the king on the shoulder as they watched the fireworks display in his honor. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” Aldan smiled. The light from the lanterns inside gleamed on his hair, making it seem as golden as the crown he wore. “This celebration wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for you. You’ve done well.”
“It was a group effort, Your Majesty.”
“So you said.” Another burst of red sparks highlighted the king’s face. His lips were tight.
“You still don’t trust Ambassador Ylani.”
Aldan sighed. “She’s Nilarian. It’s difficult to see past that.”
“Yet you trust a Child of Starlight.”
The fireworks changed to brilliant green, lighting the sky like a handful of spilled emeralds on black silk.
“Taran earned my trust when he warned me about the assassination attempt years ago. He saved my life.”
“And now Ylani has as well. We’d have never found out what we did without her.”
“Perhaps.” Aldan stared down at the gathered Kalans below. The jovial atmosphere no longer reached the balcony. “Ahpra’s Tears, Brannon, I know you told me what you found, but I just hope you’re wrong.”
Brannon scratched at his earlobe where his scar began. “So do I.”
They continued to watch in silence as the hail of colored sparks entertained the crowd. As the last firework faded, the band began to play. King Aldan waved to the crowd below and the people cheered, a sound that lifted almost as high as the fireworks had done. The king smiled for his people, though Brannon knew the concern that was in his heart.
A valet stepped forward and cleared his throat, a gesture more than sound given the ongoing cheers.
“They do love a celebration, don’t they?” Aldan said.
“They love you, Your Majesty,” the valet said quickly.
Aldan chuckled. “That too, perhaps.”
Brannon jerked his head toward the crowd. “Really? Only perhaps?”
Aldan laughed properly this time. It was a sight and sound Brannon had gone too long without. “Well, it’s good to be loved! And Ahpra knows they deserve a celebration. It’s been a hard few decades.”
“Blood and Tears, that’s the truth,” Brannon said. “But you do know how to throw a party.”
“Your Majesty,” the valet said, clutching his hands together. “You’re due at the gala performance. We need to leave now.”
Aldan gave one final wave to the crowd. “Yes, well, they’ll hardly start without me. Don’t fret.”
“It’s my job to fret, Your Majesty,” the young man said. He led the way inside and Brannon, Aldan, and a few other attendants followed.
The room off the balcony was a broad entertainment hall lined with portraits of previous monarchs of Kalanon and a polished wooden floor that shone like a mirror. Reflected in its surface was an array of armed men.
Twenty or so men in visored helmets and the livery of the palace guard were stretched across the room, blocking the path to the door.
Roydan led them. At his gesture, they drew their swords.
“What’s going on here?” Aldan asked, his voice firm.
“I’ve decided,” Roydan said quietly, “that it’s time for a leadership change in Kalanon. I’m taking the Crown.”
Brannon stepped in front of his king. “Roydan, don’t do this!”
The duke held out a hand. “Stand down, Brannon. You’re a friend. There’s room for you in my court.”
Brannon felt as though his guts had been pulled out with a hot hook. He’d not truly dared to hope that they’d been wrong about Roydan, but some part of him had refused to believe. That part was now crushed. He drew his own sword. “No, Roydan. There’s no room for me in a traitor’s court.”
Roydan shrugged. “Have it your way. It’s your funeral. As you can see, I’ve recruited most of the palace guard. There’s no way out of this room alive. I’ve also brought my own men in from Sandilar and they’re capturing strategic locations around the city as we speak.” He nodded toward Aldan. “Your fireworks were the signal to attack.”
The king stroked his beard and frowned. “But why? I don’t understand why you would do this, Roydan. You’re already my heir. You’re my cousin!”
“Fat lot of good it does me,” Roydan spat. “We’re the same age. No, it’s time I took the power for myself. I own Sandilar, which means I control the economy. Why shouldn’t I rule the kingdom as well?”
Brannon turned to look at the king.
Aldan nodded. “That’s enough. It’s what I needed to hear.”
Brannon put his sword away. “All right then. Arrest him.”
The palace guardsmen moved in, grasping Roydan by the arms and holding him tight.
Roydan looked around, his eyes wide. He tried to shake them off, but could not. “What? You work for me! What are you doing? Stop this!”
The sound of feminine laughter filled the room and two more palace guards brought in Jessamine, shackled hands and feet, to face her father.
“You!”
“I told them everything, old man,” she said. Her face was radiant with glee. “Your men never made it to Alapra. Brannon intercepted them along the way. And your precious Nilarian swords? Confiscated and replaced with fakes. You never had a chance. And I brought you down!” She laughed again, her body shaking with it so that the guards had to hold her up.
Roydan fought as his own shack
les were put on. “But this whole thing was her idea,” he said. “She came to me! She told me how to do it!”
“We know,” said King Aldan. “But it was you who did it.” He turned away. “Get them out of my sight.”
One of the guards pulled off his helmet. It was Darnec Raldene, the young man Brannon had wounded in trial by combat before all this had begun.
“Darnec.” Brannon gestured him to come forward.
“The compromised guards are already locked up, Sir Brannon. He claimed to have most of us but I’d say it’s more like a third. We’ve made sure that no one is on duty alone, just in case there’s someone we missed.”
Brannon nodded thoughtfully. “Good work. You did an impressive job identifying the traitors.”
Darnec made a rueful face. “I’m new and have a reputation for being easily corrupted. Mostly they came to me.”
Brannon chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to say your reputation will probably change.”
The young man blushed and pulled himself to attention. “That’s because of you, sir. You got me this post and I’m grateful. I’m indebted to you, Sir Brannon, and from now on I pay my debts.”
Brannon smiled, pride warming the wound in his heart left by Roydan. “Good man. Now see to the prisoners.”
Aldan settled into a plush, brocade sofa, his hands over his face. The valet came close but the king waved him away.
Brannon crept closer. “Aldan? Are you okay?”
The king took off his crown and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. “Part of me just didn’t believe this would be enough to turn him. I really thought he was my friend.”
Brannon sighed and sat down beside him. “So did I. To be fair, Jessamine spent her entire life planning how to bring him down. She’s a master manipulator.”
“But she couldn’t make him do it if he’d only said no,” Aldan said.
Brannon stared at the ground. A rough reflection of himself stared back from the polished wood. It was older than he remembered.
“I’ll need a new heir,” said the king after a long silence.
“Tomidan.”
“Yeah. It’ll be strange to have a child around.”
“If I had to deal with having an apprentice, you can deal with having a child.”
“And look how that turned out.”
They both laughed. It was nice to just be friends again. Not king and subject. Not champion and lord. Just friends, talking about the ordinary madness that was their world.
“This physician thing,” Aldan said. “It’s not really a phase, is it?”
“No,” said Brannon. “It’s not.”
“And you don’t like killing anymore. Fighting, I mean.”
“No.”
They sat quietly for a while. Thoughtful. Brannon stared at his friend’s reflection in the polished wood. He looked older as well. Wiser.
“I think I need to make better use of your talents,” Aldan said at last, shaking himself and sitting up straight. “You’re good with a sword, but this business has shown me you’re an asset in other ways and I’ve been neglecting that.” He stood up.
Brannon lifted his head to look up at his king. “What do you mean?”
Aldan paced a few steps then turned back. “There are all sorts of things that go on in this kingdom. Crimes and mysteries that might never be understood. I want to set up a position—a team, actually—to look into such things for me. I think you should be the head of that team. But it would require you to delegate some of your responsibilities as King’s Champion.”
Brannon felt his breath stop.
The king’s gaze was steady. “You probably wouldn’t have time for trials by combat, for example. So it’d be up to you. Will you accept this new position as Master of Investigations?”
Brannon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’d like that very much.”
KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
AGENTS OF KALANON: BOOK TWO STARLIGHT’S CHILDREN
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.
Please post a review online and tell your friends about this book. Word of mouth makes a huge difference to an author and is greatly appreciated.
If you’d like to read some of my other work or keep up to date with future books, you can check out my website, join my e-mail list, or follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
Website: www.darian-smith.com
Facebook: DarianSmithAuthor
Twitter: @DarianWordSmith
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Darian Smith lives in Auckland, New Zealand with his wife (who also writes) and their Siamese cat (who doesn’t).
By day, he works with people who have neuromuscular conditions such as muscular dystrophy or charcot marie tooth disease. He is also a qualified counsellor/family therapist and can be seen – by those very swift with the pause button – on television shows such as Legend of the Seeker and Spartacus.
For more information about Darian and his upcoming work, please check out his website at
http://www.darian-smith.com
SHIFTING WORLDS
A collection of short stories by Darian Smith
Foreword by Jennifer Fallon
Drag queens fight zombies.
An immigrant artist hopes love conquers all.
Deep space explorers wrestle with an alien artifact.
A superhero is locked in an insane asylum.
These 16 stories span the worlds of fantasy, sci-fi, and literary fiction, and cause the characters’ worlds to fundamentally change. Includes several prize winning stories as well as some that are seen for the first time in this collection.
“Never fails to entertain and surprise…this collection has it all” – Jennifer Fallon
Excerpt:
There’s a moment, just before waking, when I forget it’s gone. I feel the ghost of it on my shoulders, the warmth inside. It boosts my confidence and makes me stronger. I am more myself. I am ready to rule the islands and mould the day to my bidding.
Opening my eyes is a disappointment. My old bones ache with craving. It’s been missing from me for almost three decades, but I feel it just the same. I’m simply an old man with his memories and regrets. I had my chance. I was not worthy.
Get your copy at Amazon.com & selected bookstores.
CURRENTS OF CHANGE
by Darian Smith
Haunted house. Haunted heart.
When Sara O’Neill goes on the run, she believes the tiny New Zealand town of Kowhiowhio is just the sanctuary she needs. But a dangerous presence haunts her new home, threatening Sara’s chance at peace. Can she create a new life while dealing with ghosts from the old?
For local electrician, Nate Adams, parenting his young daughter alone has not been easy. Even with his help, can the house – or Sara’s heart – be repaired?
Someone doesn’t want an O’Neill in Kowhiowhio. Sara’s return is awakening generations of secrets.
Why has the house never had electricity?
What was the fate of Sara’s ancestors?
Can she discover the ghost’s story before it’s too late?
The truth will set…something…free.
"Well-paced paranormal romance. . . would appeal to readers who like a good ghost story, with a little bit of history and a dash of romance in the mix."
- SQ Mag International Speculative Fiction eZine
"Such an engaging mix of paranormal ghost story and modern day mystery and suspense that one can hardly put it down." – InD’Tale Magazine
Get your copy at Amazon.com or selected bookstores.
AN EXCERPT FROM
AGENTS OF KALANON: BOOK TWO
STARLIGHT’S CHILDREN
Taran leaned over and studied the gravel path. The alley smelled of old urine, rotted scraps, and horse dung. Garbage was piled against the walls. In a more affluent part of the city, it would have been cleared and sanit
ised. Here, it merely collected, growing like moss over the brick. Foot traffic in the time since the killing had churned the stones, making the evidence difficult to see. Even taking that into account, there was less blood than there should have been. It speckled the gravel but there was no sign of pooling where the body had lain. “Hmmm. Are you sure this is where he was actually killed?”
“Yes, yes, of course. We have a witness, remember?” Magistrate Dawrick hugged himself and glanced up the alleyway for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I do wish you’d waited for my guards to attend the scene with us.”
Taran picked up a stone with a splash of red on it. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in his pocket. “It’s best to see the scene as quickly as possible. Before things get disturbed too much.”
“This is a less than savoury part of the city,” the magistrate said, louder.
Taran nodded, keeping his expression mild. “Mmm. Many poor people live here.” He gestured to the other end of the alley. “My monastery brings food to an orphanage just down there. A lot of children lost parents in the war. Not everyone is paid to pass judgements, Magistrate.”
Dawrick’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been spending too much time with your boss.”
Taran widened his eyes and spread his hands innocently. “The goddess, Ahpra?”
“Sir Brannon.”
Taran turned away to hide his smile. “Perhaps.”
“One should always be careful who one’s mentors are.”
The smile vanished. Taran swallowed. “That’s true.”
A few steps on, the blood had sprayed up the wall, drops splashing on the collected refuse, dark red. Still less than he’d expect from a sword strike to the heart, but a better indicator of where the man whose blood it was had been attacked.