An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4)

by Valerie Zambito

  Maybe they understood what he did. If Rogan died—perhaps even if he lived—Lady Morningstar had won. Neither the Dwarves nor the Elves would recover from the loss of their Kings and their Savitars in time to prevent a hostile takeover. Morningstar would take advantage of the chaos and uncertainty to invade the kingdoms and by the time anyone thought to put up resistance, it would be too late. That was why it hadn’t concerned her who overheard her confession. With wizards and two armies at her back, she had no plan to rule by winning the hearts of the people. She planned to rule by ripping them from their chests.

  A violent wind sprang up out of nowhere. The Iron Fists surrounding him cried out in unison as they were knocked off their feet and flung away. Rogan sat up, pressing a hand to the bolt in his shoulder. A man stalked forward through the melee, hands sweeping, clearing his path of obstacles. Rogan focused his gaze. Wait. I recognize him. How could I ever forget that block of a face? There could be no doubt. He’s the one. The Mage that killed Jala.

  Wrath smoldered through Rogan’s chest like molten fire and danced at his fingertips. Rage flared in his eyes and scoured his heart. He screamed and threw his hand out to burn away the arrogant look on that rock of a face.

  Only, nothing happened.

  With a flick of the Mage’s wrist, the fire that hovered above Rogan’s palm was snuffed out.

  He tried again to no avail.

  His elemental magic may as well have been gone. The wizard stalked closer. Panic gripped Rogan. He struggled to his feet and reached for the short sword on his hip, but the Mage was there, slamming a fist into his jaw and sending him back down to the ground. A boot strike to the ribs curled Rogan into a ball.

  “Prepare to die, King.” The Mage stretched out his hands to grab Rogan’s head.

  No!

  An odd sensation seized Rogan’s body. The killing curse! Wait. No. A shield! The reaching hands stopped short before they could make contact. The Mage’s head snapped up. A flicker of surprise crossed his features an instant before he disappeared from view.

  Rogan fought to turn his head.

  Two men in short black cloaks and with tattoos on their faces sprinted toward Rogan, cursing the fact that their prey had slipped through their fingers.

  Before Rogan could speak to the Dagarmon, a sudden roar issued forth behind them. A roar so feral it made Rogan want to cover his ears.

  The Dwarves.

  In a great wave, they pounded forward in a mass of bodies to join with the Elves against the Land of Men. There would be no stopping that furious swell. Elinor Morningstar had achieved her race war after all.

  Another disastrous thought occurred to Rogan at the same time. I’m about to be killed by my own people.

  Chapter 37

  Dying Friendships

  Blood pounded in Izzy’s ears rendering her deaf to the horrific sounds around her. The sobs, moans, grunts and blood-curdling screams. An Iserlohn soldier grabbed her ankle to pull her from her saddle and she slashed down at him with her short sword. The well-placed strike took the man’s left hand from his arm, but he seemed not to notice and reached for her with his right. Her wolf snapped its head around at her shriek of anger and turned from another attack to sink its fangs into the soldier’s calf. The man went down beneath the wolf, but Izzy’s reprieve didn’t last. Another Falcon ran at her with an upraised dagger. She lifted her foot and kicked him square in the nose. He stumbled back, but not before clutching her leg and dragging her from the saddle. The air rushed from her lungs as she hit the ground bottom first. She rolled across the ground to avoid being trampled as her horse reared, front legs pawing at the air, and then ran away in fright.

  The Falcon stepped in close and swiped his dagger at her face in a backhanded horizontal swing. She lifted her sword in time to slide the blade aside. He took a wary step back to plan his next go at her and it was his last. The flat of a Haventhal blade struck him in the temple and he crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Behind him stood a bloodied Quincy, his white hair plastered to his head and streaked with red. He let the point of his sword fall into the dirt and leaned tiredly against the pommel.

  “Quincy! Thank the Highworld. Where’s your horse?”

  He waved his free hand and she noticed he still wore his gloves, although they were no longer white. “Oh, I lost that bloody thing a long time ago.”

  Izzy ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I was so worried.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her and patted her back while all around them the Elves fought with their feralshifted partners by their sides. Growls and screams echoed in the air. Birds raked claws over skin, wolves tore flesh and sinew from bone, a large brown bear mauled a prone man on the ground.

  Izzy wanted to cry. The men of Iserlohn had been friends to the Elves ever since she had been alive. Why, then? Why are they trying to kill us? What has changed?

  “We have to help the others,” she murmured against his shoulder.

  He gently entangled her arms from his neck and looked around fearfully. “Where is your guard?”

  “Dead.”

  “All of them?”

  “All but Elon. She’s wounded pretty badly. I dragged her to the edge of the woods to keep her safe until we can get a healer to her.”

  Her answer only served to put more terror in his eyes.

  “I think the time has come to try and reach the main army,” Quincy said. “Call your wolf. He can lead us into the woods and we can escape that way.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Quincy.”

  The manservant’s thin shoulders slumped. “No, I suppose not.”

  She grabbed both of his hands in hers. “You’re not a soldier. I will not hold it against you if you go.”

  He shook his head. “We’ve had this discussion. I will stay with you, Your Grace.”

  She nodded gratefully and retrieved her weapon from the ground. “I need to find my horse. Follow me and keep your sword out.”

  At his nod, she took off toward the fighting horde in a low crouch. The scene once again took her back in time to the Ellvinian invasion. Yet, this was different. At Northfort, the combat was more organized with skilled fighters. Here, confusion and panic ruled. Many of the Elves were huddled together in groups, shoulder to shoulder, metal points out protecting the weaker inside their prickly circles. Instinct supplanted skill, but courageous wild lunges served to keep the enemy at bay.

  Pride filled Izzy, and she raced ahead to provide whatever aid she could. Until she saw a Falcon a few yards away run down a lone young Elven servant and impale him on his sword. Izzy snarled in anger and sprinted after the soldier, calling her wolf as she went.

  Come!

  The animal answered her summons and moved to join her. Somewhere behind, Quincy shouted at her, but she only had eyes for the man she meant to kill. A red haze colored her vision. She imagined the blade in her hand slicing his flesh, twisting and turning, destroying the evil that existed inside.

  A sudden bestial yelp pierced through the blood fury of her mind an instant before the wolf crashed into her, taking her to the ground.

  The animal collapsed on top of her, panting in pain. Izzy stretched her neck and noticed the bolt sticking up from the wolf’s side. The bolt meant for her.

  She pushed the animal as gently as she could, so she could wiggle her way out from underneath the heavy body.

  A Falcon holding a crossbow stalked over to her, picked up the wolf by its scruff and jammed a knife into its belly. Another distressing whine issued from the wolf and then the solider tossed the dying animal to the side like a broken toy.

  Before she could run, the Falcon yanked her to her feet by her hair. “You are a feisty one, I’ll give you that.” He pulled her face close to his. “And, pretty, too.” The man’s eyes abruptly widened as he looked over her shoulder. “What in demon’s breath do we have here?”

  Izzy struggled to turn her neck as far as his tight grip on her would allow
.

  Angels.

  That was the first thought that came to her mind, anyway.

  Five identical men stood in front of them, the hilts of magnificent swords peeking up over their shoulders. They were tall, blonde and had the most beautiful golden eyes Izzy had ever seen.

  No, not angels, but close.

  The soldier threw her to the ground and leveled his crossbow at the man in the middle, but the bolt passed through air.

  Izzy smiled. He’s never the one in the middle.

  ****

  Izzy hugged her knees to her chest and tried her best to avoid looking at the bodies scattered and twisted across the ground. Men, Elves and animals. Senseless deaths. All of them. Instead, she sought out Kane moving through the Iserlohn soldiers, shouting orders, calming fears. The tension melted away from her at sight of him. For two days, he had traveled through Aquataine to Bardot just to get to her and she wanted nothing more than to wipe the weariness from his eyes.

  Kellan and Reilly were with him as well, along with, of all things, a civilian shifter army. It was hard to believe that her childhood friends were now Mages. The boys worked efficiently to bring the fighting to a halt, but it really didn’t take much. As soon as the soldiers recognized Kane and Kellan most threw down their weapons and surrendered.

  Kane admitted his own confusion to Izzy as to what had driven his people to attack the Elves, and he had been quite aggressively questioning them since arriving.

  But, as dreadful as this day had been, Izzy couldn’t help but feel hopeful. If she had her way, she would never leave Iserlohn again. Kane would put everything back to rights with regard to their two nations, ask her to marry him and all would be well. She swore that as Queen of Iserlohn, this would never happen again under her rule.

  Kane shared a few words with the injured Elon Aubry and then came toward her. She stood to greet him.

  A sad smile lit up his handsome face and when he held out his arms to her, she ran into them. His gentle hand stroked the back of her head. “Everyone is talking about your courage here today. You have won the hearts of your people. Are you all right?”

  The moment had come. The moment she had dreamt of with all of her heart and soul. She melted into him, feeling safe for the first time that day. “How could I not be? I’m with you.”

  He chuckled and leaned back to look into her eyes. “You’re not hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Golden eyes blazed with anger. “I can’t apologize enough that this happened to you here in my land.”

  “I don’t understand it either, but my parents may still be in danger, Kane. We must go to them.”

  “My father’s there now. I promise you that we’ll end this.” His tone turned grim. “No matter what it takes.”

  “I’m going with you,” she said and threw her arms around him once again.

  “You’ll be safer here.”

  She reached up and planted a kiss on his lips. “I want to be with you, Kane. If we’re to be married…”

  He stiffened beneath her embrace.

  A stab of unease stole her breath. “Kane?”

  “Married?” he asked and peeled her arms from him.

  “Of course. I love you. You said you loved me, too,” she reminded him.

  “I…I do love you, Izzy. Like a little sister.”

  A burning lump formed in her throat. “Are you saying…”

  “I’m so sorry, Izzy. If I did anything to give you the wrong impression, it was unintentional.”

  She turned from him, her cheeks ablaze with humiliation. “I don’t know what to say. I…I thought you felt the same.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. You do know that, don’t you?”

  She batted back her tears, forced a smile in place and turned to face him. “Yes, I do know that. How silly of me. Ready the horses if you will. We’ll need to leave right away.”

  He bowed his head and ran off to see to her request and all her dreams went with him. Marriage. Happiness. Freedom. All gone.

  Heartbreak clutched her chest in a painful grip, but in truth, she couldn’t blame Kane for not loving her. She didn’t love herself very much either.

  She gazed northward and imagined the port of Northfort and the Arounda Ocean beyond. She made a promise that as soon as she was able, she would leave Massa. Somehow, some way, she would secure passage on one of those majestic ships in the harbor and find her place in this world.

  And, perhaps I’ll find me along the way.

  Chapter 38

  The Return

  Rogan pressed through the mindless tangle of fiercely fighting combatants, grateful that the Dagarmon had managed to haul him to his feet before the stampede.

  The Iron Fists, led by Teran Mathis now, surrounded his movements, obscuring his view. “Where is he?” he barked, and a sharp pain radiated through his entire face. “I need to find the King of Elves!”

  Teran pointed. “He’s over there.”

  Airron’s guards, Raine Aubry and Loren Faolin, stood over the Elf, swords out, violet eyes blistering all who ventured too close.

  “My King,” Teran said, “you should see a healer first. Your jaw looks…loose. And, there’s a bolt in your shoulder.”

  Rogan ignored him, all thoughts on Airron. The sounds of battle grew louder. Rogan knew he didn’t have a lot of time, but he had to know his friend’s fate. It would be difficult to end this conflict without Airron. Hell, it would be difficult to go on without Airron.

  The Elven protectors stepped aside as he approached, allowing him to drop down by Airron’s side. He looked down at the pale white face. Someone had thrown a cloak over him, but it was already soaked through with blood.

  “Why isn’t there a healer here?” Rogan questioned.

  “They’re on their way, King of Dwarves,” Raine answered.

  Rogan leaned down. “Airron, can you hear me?”

  The Elf’s eyes twitched.

  “Airron, I’m here.”

  “Is…is that you, Fireball?”

  “Yes, you ass, it’s me.”

  Airron chuckled and a bubble of blood formed on his lips. The purple eyes slit open and peered up at him. “They got me, my friend.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” he lied.

  “No, I can feel it. I…I always wondered if I would know when it was my time. Sadly, the answer to that is yes.”

  Rogan swallowed, refusing to believe it. How many more people do I have to lose here on Iserlohn soil? Airron, too? Someone who had been like a brother to him for as far back as he could remember?

  “Others might lament their regrets at a time like this, but I can honestly say that…I don’t have any.” Airron’s words were barely above a whisper. “A beautiful family and friends. Dying on the battlefield…as the King of Elves.” He paused. “I take that back. Dying in bed with my wife would have been far more enjoyable.”

  “Airron…”

  “I’ve lived a spectacular life, my friend. No…no regrets.”

  “Stop,” Rogan begged. “You’re not dying.”

  “You’ll look out for Melania and Izzy for me, won’t you?”

  Rogan looked up. “Healer! Where is the bloody healer?”

  “No healer can fix me now.”

  “You’re not dying!”

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine! If you fall off your horse on the return journey to Haventhal and break your neck, then, yes, I will look after your family.”

  “Are you crying again, Torch?”

  “Of course not!”

  Airron chuckled again and then began to choke.

  Rogan gently turned him on his side to help him breathe. He had to lift his eyes to blink back the tears so he could see. Dear Highworld, don’t let it be true!

  The Gladewatcher, Loren, slapped his shoulder. “King Rogan!”

  The urgency in Loren’s voice brought him to his feet. He followed the Glade
watcher’s pointed finger.

  And then, he started to laugh. A big, bellowing laugh that drew the eyes of all around.

  ****

  Hidden beneath an invisibility spell, Rayan Morningstar passed through the battlefield killing indiscriminately. After leaving his Falcons in the north to deal with the small band of camp followers, he returned to Nysa in time to see the Elves rush the field of battle followed by the Dwarves. There was no shortage of people to kill, but Rayan’s real targets were the Savitars. Pureblood though they might be in shifting, they could not defend against that which they could not see.

  Once the Savitars were dead, he would finish off the cabal and be done with it. He would hold his mother to her promise to proclaim him the King of the South while she reigned as Queen of the North. Together they would rule the entire island of Massa and there would be no one left to challenge them. Ever.

  Thoughts of glory pushed Rayan further into the madness. With luck, the Elf King was dead already or at the very least incapacitated. From what he knew of Rogan Radek, the Dwarf King would be hollering and flailing his arms about, making himself an obvious target.

  He was right.

  He found the Dwarf making noise all right, but of all things, he was laughing boisterously. What in the bloody hell is there to laugh about with the King of Elves lying dead at your feet?

  Rayan slowed his pace at the odd behavior. Good thing, too. What he saw next made his blood run cold.

  A hole opened up in the horde of fighters and a giant of a man strode through. Tall and powerfully built, his probing gaze surveyed the mob with an intensity that Rayan remembered from the Earthshine Festival. Long strides carried him along at a furious pace. Crackling magic rippled along his skin with palpable potency.

  Despite all the power emanating from the First Mage, Rayan realized that he was vulnerable in this moment like he never would be again.