The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book 1)

by Tameri Etherton

  “That sounds exciting. Did you enjoy the work?”

  “Very much. But what I liked most was being with Brandt. He was such a character, and everyone loved him. There was this one time,” she started to laugh at the memory, “at a dig in some rainforest, I forget where exactly, but there was this monkey—” She stopped suddenly, the weight of her words falling heavy upon the hush that had settled over the group.

  She’d forgotten they were Brandt’s friends and she was the reason he was no longer with them.

  Faelara broke the silence. “I hope we can prove as entertaining as your grandfather.”

  “Oh, trust me. You are. But, really, if you want to tone down the excitement a bit, I won’t mind.”

  Hayden rubbed his chest where the sword had nearly pierced his heart. “Do you mean to say you didn’t rescue young men from poisoned swords before you met us?”

  “Not hardly! I also had never met a knight or a duke. Which reminds me, don’t you have more to teach me about, uh, what did you call it? The Crystal Court?” She deftly changed the subject.

  “Empress Lliandra’s palace at Talaith? If you’d like. Or, I could tell you about Caer Idris, the home of Lord Valterys. The place is positively steeped in mystery.” Hayden launched into a story about his predecessors and how they came to build the great castle that overlooked the Western Seas. The entire place was made of stone brought down from the north by men who were half monster and lived on fields of ice. Taryn would’ve believed only half of what he said, crediting his imagination for the rest, except no one challenged him.

  In fact, every so often someone would chime in to add details to Hayden’s story or to tell a tale of their own. Baehlon and Myrddin took turns spinning a yarn about the older man, the details of which Taryn wasn’t sure she quite understood since both men were laughing too hard to form coherent sentences. Something about Myrddin mistaking a goat for a nymph. Large amounts of alcohol had been involved, of that much she was certain.

  By the time they stopped for lunch, her sides ached from laughing so hard she almost fell off her horse. The light mood continued through their meal, and when Hayden suggested another dance lesson, Taryn didn’t object. Running the steps through her mind, she sashayed to where Hayden waited for her. A fleck of black caught her attention. When she looked up, a huge bird careened through the trees, heading straight for her.

  “What the—”

  One minute she was standing, the next, Rhoane knocked her to the ground.

  “Bloody hell, Rhoane,” she wheezed from under him, all the air having whooshed from her lungs on impact. She pushed him off and rolled to a kneeling position to catch her breath. Another creature swept toward her.

  “Taryn, stay down,” Rhoane warned before unsheathing his sword. The sky had darkened with scores of the flying menaces.

  Ignoring Rhoane, she ran to Ashanni and grabbed her sword. Myrddin raised a hand, sending fireballs at the birds. They banked, missing the flames by a feather. Hayden stayed at his father’s back, slicing at anything that flew too close while Baehlon covered Faelara’s flank. Taryn ran beside Rhoane, using him as a shield as she fought off the incoming beasts.

  Dozens of birds tore at their clothes with sharp claws while others grabbed at their hair with ugly, gnarled beaks. To her left, Baehlon swore as he swung his sword again and again, cutting into one and decapitating another. Taryn dodged thick talons while trying to hit the birds with her sword. For their size, they were fast, darting in and around the group, forcing her to spin and duck to avoid getting cut.

  All around her was chaos. She spied the others through the melee, while trying to keep the pests from attacking her. The birds danced around Faelara’s deadly flames, and she quickly changed tactics, throwing a net of ShantiMari toward the flock, capturing them in a web of power. Still, it was useless. For every bird they killed, five more flew down to torment them.

  Nearby trees whipped their branches out to strike at the birds, causing momentary disarray within the flock. Taryn glanced at Rhoane, whose concentrated stare toward the woods answered to her unspoken question. The trees gave the group only a moment of reprieve before the attack resumed, harder and faster than before.

  Duke Anje cried out as a vicious-looking bird caught him on the shoulder, tearing through his jerkin. He impaled the creature with his blade, spitting out several curses as he flung it to the ground.

  Rhoane kept close to Taryn, warning her when a bird approached from her blind side and protecting her flank, much like the others were doing for each other. Rhoane swore as a beak nipped his arm, and Taryn smelled the sharp tang of his blood. Panic gripped her, but there was no time for fear. It was a luxury they did not have.

  Another feathered creature angled toward Taryn and she steadied herself for its attack.

  Die, you filthy fucking birds, every last one of you!

  She heaved her sword up with both hands. As the steel met bone, a loudcrack stuttered across the clearing. The blade cut into the bird’s rib cage, slicing clean through, sending feathers flying in every direction. A revolting stink assaulted her nostrils. An all-too-human scream came from the beast before it fell to the ground.

  Taryn spun around for the next attack, but Rhoane and the others just stared at her, swords paused in midair, hands held up to an empty sky. All around them birds lay on the ground, each cut in half exactly as the one she’d slain.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, even as her stomach soured. “What happened?” The sight before her made no sense.

  “Good question. Would you care to enlighten us?” Myrddin stepped to the bird closest to him, kicking it with his boot. “How is it you managed to slay all these feiches at once?”

  “Feiches?”

  “Yes, these birds. How did you do it, Taryn?” Myrddin’s face was a storm cloud.

  “I didn’t. I mean, I don’t think I did.” Taryn stared in dull shock at the feiche carcasses. “Does it matter? They’re dead.”

  Faelara tread between them, avoiding the birds. “Let’s get away from here before something larger comes to feast.” She looked pointedly at Myrddin. “We can discuss this later.”

  He grunted and shot Taryn a withering glance. “It might be best if you didn’t swing that thing around any of us until you learn to use it.”

  Stung by the recrimination in his voice, she gaped at him. She hadn’t expected applause or accolades, but she hadn’t expected a rebuff, either. Biting back a retort, she turned from him to clean the blade on a patch of moss before sheathing the sword behind her saddle.

  Hayden approached as she tightened Ashanni’s girth.

  “What?” she snapped.

  He placed his fist over his heart and inclined his head. “My lady.”

  Her answering snort made him wince. “Lady, my ass. It’s this damned sword.” She pulled herself into the saddle, turning her horse toward the road. Each time she recalled the scene with the dead feiches, her stomach roiled and the taste of bile teased her throat. Outwardly she remained impassive, but inside was a mixture of excitement and frenzied action, countered by a calm that came from her martial arts training. There was more—a sense of purpose to the killing.

  Taryn, Rhoane said in her mind,do not let Myrddin upset you. The sword and yourcynfar were protecting you. You did nothing wrong.

  Thank you. Taryn appreciated his saying so, but Myrddin was right. She had to learn to control the sword before she hurt someone she cared about. Or worse.

  Chapter 12

  THE dark sea glittered like a jewel-encrusted gown, beckoning. How often had he stood on that very balcony and wished for nothing more than to explore the vast wonders that lay beyond the dazzling expanse of ocean? Too often for a man of his privilege, his power. Valterys watched the seagulls hunt for their dinner, dipping into the waves and surfacing with their catch. They were scavengers and hunters. Not too unlike himself.

  At the polite sound of a throat clearing, he turned from the temptation of flying with the
m, of seeing blood stain their feathers as his sharp talons bit into their feathered flesh. Of hearing their screams as they died.

  A servant stood in the doorway, and Valterys motioned him forward.

  “Have you located Zakael?” Concern laced his words. The man had been gone well over a fortnight.

  “He entered the city not more than a half bell past. The sentry at the eastern gate sent the message, my lord.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “Very well. Let me know the minute he enters the castle walls.” Valterys returned to his position on the balcony, the sea lost from view as his thoughts clouded.

  He’d placed his trust in Marissa and sent Zakael to Mount Nadrene. All of his plans hinged on the arrival of the anomaly. So far, Marissa had never given him false information. He had no reason to doubt her. Not once in all the past seasons had Lliandra given him hope that his child had lived. With his own eyes, he saw the infant corpse, and yet Marissa claimed there was another, secreted away moments after her birth. A girl. Not the son he’d wished for.

  For near on thirty-five seasons he and Zakael had searched every kingdom on Aelinae, save for the Narthvier. The Eleri allowed very few to cross their borders, but no matter. Valterys had spies everywhere. If the Eirielle was hidden in King Stephan’s forest, he would’ve known.

  Valterys allowed himself a rare moment of speculation, and a surge of power flowed through him as he dared hope it was true—his and Lliandra’s child, the one of prophecy, was alive and among them now.

  He would restore Rykoto’s freedom and, in return, be granted immortality. With his rise, all of Aelinae would bow to him as their one true leader. Valterys smiled to himself. As soon as he had the girl, he could set about destroying Lliandra.

  Zakael swept through the doorway, ignoring protocol to grasp his father’s arm in greeting.

  “What kept you? It has been too long since your last missive.” Valterys kept his tone even, not wanting to alert Zakael to the fact he’d worried about him. “What in Ohlin’s name are you wearing?”

  “I had some difficulties.” Zakael rubbed the back of his head. “I will tell you all, but let me first refresh myself. I’m afraid my horse will be useless for a sennight. Order us dinner. I will meet you here in three-quarters of a bell.”

  The peasants’ garb he wore bespoke of more than a few difficulties. Zakael was nothing if not vain.

  His son arrived moments before the food and poured himself a large glass of wine without bothering to offer any to Valterys. He kept his anger in check. His son was getting too bold, too full of his own importance. He would need to set Zakael straight soon enough, but not before he got what information he could. When they were seated, Valterys leaned eagerly toward the younger man, prompting him to tell of the events at Mount Nadrene.

  “Glennwoods was there, as was Brandt.”

  “Truly? The Eleri prince and Lliandra’s high priest? But what of my daughter? Did you see her?”

  “Aye, she was with the old man. Very fair of face and dressed in strange garments. I could not discern where she’d been all these seasons, but if I had to guess, it would be with the Eleri. Perhaps with a lesser clan, on the outskirts of the Narthvier.”

  Valterys leaned back, thinking. “We will have to assume Stephan knew nothing of the girl. For now. I don’t want war with the Eleri until the end.”

  “This can be a huge bargaining tool, if necessary.” Zakael ate his food between sentences, taking care not to spill anything on his tunic.

  Valterys looked away, it was a habit that irritated him. “What happened in the cavern that you did not return with the Eirielle?”

  Zakael started slowly, spinning a tale about his confrontation with Rhoane, the arrival of Brandt and the girl, and the subsequent fight. “They were gone before I recovered. There’s more, Father. The Shanti Brandt used against me…it felt wrong. I know the priest. He would not willingly kill. She didn’t use her power, but I suspect the girl had a hand in helping the old man defeat me. The raw strength of his attack was clumsy.”

  “Marissa tells me the priest died in the cavern.”

  “What?” Zakael looked genuinely flustered. “Not by my hand. My Shanti was enough to stun, nothing more.”

  Valterys took a long drink of his wine, savoring the delicate taste of Geigan blood in the mixture. “No matter. Brandt was an inconvenience, that’s all. While you were otherwise indisposed, I went to Ravenwood to retrieve the sword.”

  A flash of excitement crossed Zakael’s face. “Where is it?”

  “Myrddin was there with that giant knight of his. Come to think of it, Glennwoods was there, as well. He must’ve met up with Myrddin after the cavern.” Valterys thought hard, his mind racing over the events at Ravenwood. “I didn’t see the girl, but there was a presence that I could not explain.”

  “And the duke’s heir? Is he dead?”

  “Myrddin blocked my way, but if it is as Marissa claims, the boy is dead.”

  “Do not doubt her powers, my lord. Or her loyalty.”

  Valterys snorted. What Zakael didn’t know about the crown princess could fill volumes. “Time will tell. For now, I’ll trust in your judgment and hope Myrddin does not possess the sword.”

  “Impossible. Only one of the true blood can wield it.” They looked at each other in alarm, Zakael voicing their shared thought. “Nadra’s tit,” he swore. “If the Eirielle is at Ravenwood, that means they are in possession of the blood and the blade.”

  “Now that we know she is out of hiding, we can proceed with our plans.” Valterys went to the balcony, resting his arms on the railing. “She will be of age soon—that is why Lliandra has chosen to reveal her now. Very cunning. It must be a public declaration, but when?”

  “There is the duke’s ball, but I doubt she would present her there. She will wait until they are at the Crystal Palace and the seat of her power before announcing the return of her long-lost daughter.”

  Lliandra needed the sword to convince the court the girl was her true daughter, yes, but if she wanted them to believe she was the Eirielle, Valterys must also acknowledge the girl. Even though his daughter could not inherit the Obsidian Throne, he needed her to further his plans, which meant he had to publicly claim her.

  He slammed his glass on the stone railing, sending tiny shards spraying in every direction. Blood seeped from several cuts on his palm.

  “If I’d known she was at Ravenwood, I would not have left so quickly.” Valterys cursed under his breath. “Still, I could not fight them all, not alone. We must make haste to Talaith. If Lliandra plans to present my daughter to the world, I should be there.”

  “Give me a day to rest and see to my work, and then we’ll do as you wish. But first, we should pay your cousin a visit.” Zakael’s eyes glinted like polished granite in the firelight, his lips curled in a wicked smile. “What better way to observe the Eirielle than at a masked ball?”

  Chapter 13

  AFTER the attack, Baehlon increased not only the length of Taryn’s sword training but the intensity. Each night, she crawled beneath her blankets exhausted and sore from his ministrations. For the next seven days, they encountered no further assaults but stayed wary as they traveled. The dark shadow tracking her movements had vanished after she killed the feiches, the flicker at the edge of her vision gone, as well. Its absence should’ve made her feel better, but it only added to the many questions she had about her home world.

  On the last day of their ride to Paderau, Taryn awoke before the others and trekked a short distance to a secluded spot. Each morning, she rose early to practice her kata. The hour or so alone became her solace, a time of quiet she learned to value with so little privacy afforded by the group.

  She moved through her forms, reflecting on her promise to Brandt. At the time, it had been difficult, and her first few days on Aelinae a trial, but being with the others taught her to see the beauty of this world, not just the monstrosities. Giv
en the chance again she would willingly give her word that she would remain here.

  Her longing to avenge Brandt’s death thrummed just beneath the surface of her thoughts, making the hard work she put in every day more bearable. Her constant travels with Brandt meant she’d never had lasting relationships, but the others had accepted her, giving instant friendship. Each day, she felt more a part of the small group, and with that came a sense of loyalty to them. It was important to her that she not disappoint them.

  She was so completely focused that when a heavy hand gripped her shoulder, she acted on instinct, seizing it, then twisting and pulling as she thrust her hip into the intruder. He flipped over, landing on his back with athunk. Heart racing, knees trembling with the rush of adrenaline, Taryn placed her foot at his throat, hands up in a defensive stance. It took a moment for her to register the face of Baehlon as he stared up at her, his dark eyes huge with a mixture of anger and curiosity.

  Taryn blinked down at him. “What are you doing here?”

  He moved slightly, but her foot prevented him from getting up. “Do you mind?” He indicated her leg. Taryn removed her foot and held out a hand to help him up. He eyed it warily. “You won’t flip me again?”

  “You surprised me.”

  Baehlon stood, rubbing his backside. “A mistake I will not make again.” He stretched his long body and rolled his head from side to side. “Faelara is looking for you. She wants to go over last minute details before we ride into the city.”

  “I’m sorry, really. It was reflex. If I’d known it was you, there’s no way I would have, you know…” She rolled her hands to indicate him flipping.

  “All is well. But Taryn, why didn’t you tell me you could fight?”

  “You never asked.”

  His laughter boomed through the trees, frightening several birds into flight. “Can you teach me what you just did?”

  A tickle of excitement fluttered in her belly. “Now?”