Another burst of light erupted from the Dwarf’s hands, but the torrent was aimed out in front at others this time, not at the wolf.
Dwarves screamed as they scattered from the line of fire.
The wolf slammed its quarry to the ground and pressed its paws into the Dwarf’s back to pin him down.
“Get off me, you stinking fur ball! They’re getting away!”
The Dwarf twisted beneath the wolf. The Grayan had to spring away once again as fire raked its belly.
Hackles raised and lips curled back in a menacing growl, the two combatants circled each other.
Friends and enemies.
Fire and teeth.
Sorrow and sympathy.
“My daughter is dead! Don’t you understand that?”
The wolf did not, but the Elf beneath did. Still, this prey could not be released. He was too dangerous.
The adversaries came together in another brutal clash. Two pureblood shifters seeking conquest. This time, there was no vacillation. Teeth broke skin. Claws swiped and ripped. Balls of fire consumed. The ground exploded in great gouts of dirt. Trees snapped as bodies rolled across the grassland and crashed into the forest in violent spirals.
Flesh dripped with blood. Animals roared, cried and squealed as they were destroyed. Airron lost several forms to Rogan, including his Grayan wolf, burned beyond recognition. It was the Gigan that finally ended the raging by lifting Rogan into the sky and dropping him to the ground from a height of twenty feet. The Dwarf landed in an unmoving heap, but Airron knew he was unhurt. He could hear his cries.
“You don’t understand,” he kept saying over and over.
The air shimmered as Airron shifted. He settled to the ground next to Rogan and fell back, exhausted. Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to his friend and recalled the little Dwarf girl who loved to giggle and tug at her father’s beard when she was little. The girl who did all she could to protect Izzy during the Ellvinian invasion. And, the girl who called him uncle.
He squeezed his eyes closed and Izzy’s image powered through his dark thoughts like a flaring beacon. “Yes,” he whispered. “I do understand.”
They lay there next to each other for long moments, the Elves and Dwarves on the periphery making no attempt to intrude. Rogan finally turned to look at him, his wet cheeks glistening. “I’m not leaving. I’ll fight you again if I must, Airron, but I’m not leaving.”
Airron nodded. “The time for diplomacy is over.”
“Does that mean…?”
A snarl lifted Airron’s lips. “We go to war.”
****
A faint breeze carried the scent of cooking fires to Airron’s nose as he moved through the darkened camp. A welcome smell as it signaled an end to this disastrous day. It had taken hours to merge the two armies to the south and east of Nysa and solidify battle plans with the top Elven and Dwarven officers. Now, his sore body screamed for sleep.
Raine and Loren silently led the way to his tent. Once there, he left them outside and ducked through the entrance. A single lantern provided a small measure of warmth and light to the dim interior. Airron expected to find Melania, but the diminutive shadow that moved at the back of the tent could only be his manservant, Quincy. What is he doing? Airron peered into the darkness and saw that he was quite vigorously polishing a goblet in his hand. Polishing! In the middle of an army camp!
Airron sighed and plopped down on the large throne that took up most of the tent. Another of Quincy’s doings.
“I hope the throne you requested meets with your satisfaction,” the dour manservant said stiffly.
“It’s fine,” Airron replied distractedly.
“Difficult day, Your Grace?”
“That’s putting it mildly, Quincy. We’re officially at war.”
The goblet tumbled from Quincy’s hand. “War?”
“Yes. Summon a bodyshifter if you would. I require that a message be delivered to King Gage at once.”
Quincy quickly recovered. “Of course,” he mumbled and hurried to collect a parchment and quill. “The message, Your Grace?”
“Iserlohn has two days to deliver the head of Elinor Morningstar.”
“Oh, dear.”
“If the head of this woman who is responsible for the unprovoked death of the Princess of Deepstone is not delivered in that time, we will do what we must to administer our own justice.”
Quincy squeaked at that, and an odd look appeared on his face. “Forgive me for saying, Your Grace, but you’re sounding quite suspiciously like…dare I say, a King?”
“I am a King, Quincy. And, what was it you said? ‘Dear Highworld, help us all?’”
“I may have to take that back,” he said cautiously.
“Yes, well, time will tell.” As much as Airron longed to lie down, there was another important matter to see to. One that could not wait until morning. He rose from his chair.
“Wait! Where are you going, Your Grace?” the manservant demanded and attempted to block his way. “Queen Melania will want to know—”
“I won’t be long,” Airron said, stepping around him, but then pulled up short at the tent opening. “Oh, there’s one more thing. I’ll need another robe, Quincy. One with more embroidery, if you will. The other was far too plain.”
With that, he left the tent and walked over to the structure next to his. Elon Aubry and another Gladewatcher stood outside.
“Is she inside?” Airron asked.
Elon nodded.
He moved to the entrance and called out. “Izabel?”
After a long silence, his daughter finally said, “Come in.”
Airron went in and found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, a book of poems on her lap.
“What can I do for you, Father? Surely, you haven’t come to free me from my—”
Izzy let out a strangled yelp as Airron grabbed her wrist and yanked her up into his arms. He pressed her head against his chest, wondering how he would feel if it were Izzy lying dead in those grasses and not Jala Radek. “I’m sorry.” That’s all he could manage to say, but Izzy seemed to understand.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t be sorry, Father. I never should have come.”
“I just love you so much, Izzy. If I’m overbearing at times, it’s because I never want to lose you.”
Then, he pulled her down onto the ground and told her about Jala.
She crawled into his lap like she used to do when she was younger and cried.
And, he cried with her.
Chapter 33
Depths of Despair
Rayan bent down, lifted the legs of the dead Mage and dragged him through the dirt to the freshly dug grave on the far side of the caves. With some effort, he swung the body into the hole and it landed on top of the other. He felt no remorse. The killings had been necessary. The cabal had been losing track of their goals for some time and needed to be put down like the feral dogs they were. The sorcery within their bodies had turned them against the cause. Convinced them that it would be acceptable to use their magic to obtain power and riches after the war. A fatal assumption on their part.
With Perrod gone on his suicide mission after Beck Atlan, that left five remaining Mages for Rayan to have to deal with. Of all of them, Zavier would be hardest to kill. Those black, soulless eyes of his that missed nothing. The equally black heart that would allow him to slice Rayan’s throat without the slightest compunction despite the years they had known each other.
Where is he? Why isn’t he here?
Rayan picked up a shovel and pressed it into the excavated dirt with his heel. He threw the first shovelful directly into the face of the Mage on top. He couldn’t bear to look at those open eyes any longer.
The pink rays of dawn were just peeking up over the horizon when his grisly task was complete. It was at that time that he heard the sound of horse’s hooves resounding up the road.
Finally.
He quickly discarded the shovel and hurried to t
he front of the caves.
Zavier raced up the dirt path, his horse frothing at the mouth. He pulled his mount to a stop and slid off. He didn’t look in any better shape than the horse. Rayan let the small dagger up his sleeve drop down into his palm.
“Rayan,” Zavier said hoarsely. “Quick. Get the horse into the cavern. I think I lost my pursuers, but I can’t be sure.”
Rayan made no move to take the horse’s bridle. “What happened?”
“I did it,” Zavier answered, slumping to the ground. “But, two feralshifters have been tracking me through the night.”
Rayan moved behind Zavier, the cold metal poised in his hand. “What? What did you do?”
“I started the race war.”
Rayan paused in thought. No matter where Beck Atlan disappeared to, the First Mage would undoubtedly return at news of a war. Unlike Perrod, Rayan had no illusions that he could defeat the First Mage himself and would need all the help he could get in killing him.
He shoved the knife back up his sleeve.
Zavier’s death could wait a few days.
Rayan turned at the sound of riders approaching. He wasn’t surprised to see his mother and the remaining cabal members. She looked disheveled, her normally well-coiffed hair in disarray. She whirled her horse to a halt, but did not dismount.
“Where have you been?” she barked at Rayan.
“I returned directly here after the disaster at the palace.”
“Ah, yes, Grace Hall, where you ran like a dog with its tail between its legs at first sight of the Dagarmon. You disappoint me, son.”
Debilitating shame reddened his cheeks. His hand twitched toward the knife he just used to murder two men with the intent of shoving it directly into his own eye. But, his mother’s continued questioning stopped him from the act.
“Where are the others?”
Rotting in a grave about ten feet from you. “I haven’t seen them, Mother.”
“Well, find them. I’ll take the cabal with me. The Elves and Dwarves have joined armies. Take the Falcons you brought with you and circle around to harry them from the north.”
“As you command. I won’t disappoint you again, Mother. I promise.”
The smile she gave him held no trace of the warmth he hungered for. “See to it.”
****
The funeral pyre flames burned hot, rising high into the early morning sky. Whorls of color shifted as though alive, reaching—forever reaching—for more to devour. At least Airron could no longer see the tiny shroud that ensconced not one, but two innocent lives. For a time, that burning evidence of such unconscionable evil threatened to tip him over the edge into a rampage of destruction. But, he couldn’t go to that place. Rogan already dwelled there, and it was taking all of Airron’s effort to slowly ease him out.
“They killed my girls, Airron. They killed my girls.”
At least he’s no longer crying. Airron glanced over at him. The two of them had been friends for nearly forty years, but he hardly recognized the husk of the Dwarf in front of him. The firelight flickered over the hard planes of a face etched in pain.
“Lady Morningstar will pay for her murderous acts, Rogan. I give you my word.”
“Poor Janin. I don’t know how she’ll survive this.”
They stood in silence after that for a long time as Rogan grappled with his grief. With each passing minute, acceptance seeped a little deeper, shoulders lifted a little higher. All Airron could do was be there for him. There were a million details that needed his attention, but he would not leave Rogan’s side until Rogan himself asked him to do so.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he finally said. “If you weren’t, I might have… Dear Highworld, all those Dwarves…”
“You didn’t, so stop gnashing your teeth over it.”
“Why, Airron? Why is Morningstar doing this?”
“Does it matter? The answer changes nothing.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Rogan’s jaw clenched. “But, by my blood oath, I will protect my people, Airron.”
“All people. That means we will leave the people of Nysa be.”
“Not Elinor Morningstar. She’s complicit in this whole affair by working with these rogue Mages. Damn that woman to the Netherworld and back! She led us by the nose right where she wanted us and we came.”
Airron rubbed his jaw and lamented once again the fact that Haventhal did not have Elven wizards. He supposed King Thorn never imagined his kingdom would be under attack by Massans. Neither did Airron. Yet, here he found himself.
“I wonder how many Mages there are,” Rogan wondered aloud. “Look at the damage Adrian Ravener caused on his own. Neither one of us can put off a coordinated attack by a faction of wizards. Our people will be slaughtered.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’ll kill Morningstar.”
“How?”
“You take the armies forward and I’ll infiltrate the camp and kill her before anyone suspects anything. If she’s dead, those Mages will have no reason to fight.”
“That’s speculation.”
“That’s all I have.”
Rogan sighed heavily, but did not argue. “How many soldiers do they have?”
“Two House flags, the Falcons and the Dragons. Lady Morningstar indicated she had six thousand with her.”
“And, us?”
“Three.”
“I like those odds.”
Airron snickered.
“What do you think Gregaros will do?” Rogan asked.
“I sent word to him. He has two days to turn over Lady Morningstar. Most likely, he’ll do nothing and hunker down behind his stone walls until this is all over. He wants Elinor Morningstar gone more than we do.”
“You really think he’ll stay out of it?”
“I’m sure of it.”
****
Gage crumpled the note from Airron Falewir in his fist. “Not on my watch, Elf,” he growled under his breath.
“Your Grace?” Captain Franck enquired. “You’ve been holding that parchment since yesterday.”
“Because I face a dilemma that I do not take lightly, Bo. Prince Beck put faith in me to make the right decisions for the realm, but I’m not so sure he will ever accept this one.”
The captain did not respond.
“Where the hell has Lord Hamilton scuttled off to? I would like to get the opinion of what’s left of the King’s Court on this matter.”
“Outside the gates, Your Grace. With Morningstar.”
“That bloody coward!” he murmured vehemently. “Turning against the Crown with hostile forces on our land? Elinor has found a way to his balls somehow.”
“Are they truly hostile, Your Grace?”
Gage turned to the Iserlohn captain, a long-time supporter of House Everard and a friend of his for many years. “I can’t let them do it, Bo.”
“Those Kings out there are Beck and Kiernan Atlan’s best friends,” he pointed out.
“I realize that, but no matter what Elinor has allegedly done, I cannot stand by and let those armies start killing the people of this land. I am King! I own the responsibility for their protection! Me!”
The captain’s mouth twisted. “As you command, Your Grace.”
“You think I’m making a mistake.” It wasn’t a question.
“It’s not for me to decide.”
Gage nodded. Bo was right. No one could make this decision but him, and he would do what he thought necessary. He stood and tossed his robe over his shoulders. “Carry the order, Captain Franck! Open the gates! We will join with Morningstar against the Elves and Dwarves!”
Chapter 34
Motives
A fierce wind blew, yet there were no clouds or sun or blue sky even. The flat, desolate horizon was all that separated land from air. Beck’s grandfather, Galen Starr, explained that very often the unsettled events in other realms produced an analogous effect here. So, what turmoil is brewing
now? Does it have to do with Kiernan? Nysa? Another threat I have yet to learn about?
Beck paced, agitated, at the lip of the deep valley that looked down on the Mage city. The passage of time moved differently in this sphere of existence, and no one could tell him how long he had been trapped here. It felt like minutes, but it could have been hours, maybe even days. Galen told him it was dependent on need and one could never be certain at what point in time the realm would expel him back to the world of the living.
Until then, the Mages worked tirelessly, battering at the obstructed barrier with a level of sorcery Beck could only hope to achieve one day. So far, nothing worked. Massa stubbornly remained sealed away from them.
Although he came for news of Kiernan, and was disappointed yet again, he had finally learned how the rogue Mages had come to be. According to Galen, fourteen men had arrived for training several months ago. At the completion of the instruction, these malefactors had overpowered Arias Sarphia before delivering the Mage oath, escaped and barred the veil behind them. Their ultimate goals, no one here knew for sure.
A tall figure appeared at Beck’s side, and he turned to the man on his mind. A man whose appearance had not changed in the twenty years since Beck had last seen him. “Any progress?”
Galen Starr shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“There has to be more that can be done,” Beck growled. “The people of Massa are powerless against these oathless Mages.” And, my wife is missing.
“We are doing all we can, I assure you.”
Beck ran a hand through his hair. “What do they want?”
“I do not have that answer, Beck.”
He tried another question. “How did they find Torg?”
Galen let out a heavy breath. “That I do know. It was the realmshifter.”
“The realmshifter? Do you mean the Oracle?”
“Yes, but she did not give up our location easily. She was drugged, kidnapped, beaten and ultimately tortured to death.”
Beck cringed at the thought of what that poor woman had to have endured. “I find it difficult to believe that someone managed to kidnap her. Not with her abilities.”
An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) Page 21