An Oath Of The Kings (Book 4) (20 page)

Airron thought back to his skirmish with the four Mages at his camp. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know,” Gage answered, “but Beck Atlan gave up everything to go in search for that answer.”

Rogan listened in as Airron recounted the deaths of Thorn and Eric to Gage. The new King expressed surprise. “We sent messages,” Airron insisted.

Gregaros scowled. “Elinor must have intercepted them. It makes me wonder how long she has been plotting against me. And, the Everards.”

Rogan turned to look out the high windows and considered Gage’s words. Sympathy filled him for the missing Kiernan grieving the death of her father and Beck facing his own battle while grieving both.

The doors to Grace Hall opened and Rogan swung his head to the White Tiger standing at the entrance.

“Your Grace! Lady Morningstar is riding with all haste toward the Dwarven camp beneath a parley flag!”

Gage rose from his throne. “What is that bloody traitor up to? She has no authority to negotiate on behalf of Iserlohn!”

“Rest assured, King,” Airron said. “We have no interest in becoming involved in your accession war.”

“Speak for yourself, Elf,” Rogan stated. “This war and the death of three Kings is too coincidental for me. They are linked somehow, and I’m not leaving until those responsible have been punished for their crimes.”

Gage walked down the dais. “You have my permission to remain on Iserlohn soil for the duration of your enquiry.”

“Very well.” Rogan started toward the doors. “Airron, we should go and find out what this scheming Lady Morningstar is all about.”

“Anxious to fly again, my friend?” Airron teased, keeping pace beside him.

“Anxious to be back with my daughter. If these Mages are here in Nysa, she may be in danger.”

Once out in the courtyard, Airron discarded his borrowed clothes and shifted back into the Gigan. The bird folded its thick legs down to the ground to allow Rogan easy access onto its back. Once he was situated, the Gigan took off once again in an abrupt leap into the air, but Rogan was prepared this time, burying his hands tightly in the bird’s feathers.

They soared over the city of Nysa and out toward the army camp. Down below, six mounted riders raced south across the plains with a white flag raised high overhead.

Airron easily overtook the group and landed in the long grasses several yards from the Dwarven line. As the Elf shifted, Rogan landed on his two feet this time and noticed the two Elves that had arrived while they were gone standing beside two very tall, white Haventi horses. He recognized the Gladewatchers as Raine Aubry and Airron’s friend, Loren Faolin. As they approached, Raine held out a very ornate and
kingly
robe to Airron who turned and slipped his arms inside with an appreciative murmur.

Dear Highworld, why am I surprised?

Rogan shook his head and glanced north to the riders bearing down on them. He quickly strode over to the column of Dwarves, relieved to see Jala there, safe and sound. “A parley group approaches. Jala, Teran and Dallin, come with me.”

The Dwarves dismounted and fell into step behind him. They joined up with the three Elves and waited for the members of House Morningstar to arrive.

“What lies did you hear from Gregaros?” a voice asked in his ear. “I suppose he denied his crimes.”

The familiar stirring of Rogan’s anger burgeoned in his chest, but he quickly stamped it out. “No, I know Gage Gregaros, and he did not order the attack on King Erik.”

“Father?”

The whisperer gave a mirthless laugh. “You believe that? He is responsible for these Mages and their actions, my King! We must destroy him. We must!”

Is he right? Was I too quick to believe Gregaros?
A tide of white fury passed over him so strong, it made him dizzy.

The party from Iserlohn reined in their horses and waited.

“That woman on the horse,” hissed the voice. “She is a sorceress aiding Gregaros. Be mindful.”

“No, she is against Gregaros.” Rogan whirled around to confront the voice, but hesitated at the look on the faces of the three Dwarves.
Which one had spoken to him?
Confused, he turned back as the woman at the head of the parley group swung down from her horse and strode forward. Her shoulder-length blonde hair swung free, just touching the edges of the black armor at her shoulders.

“I am Elinor of House Morningstar and a member of the Iserlohn Court,” she said loudly and with authority. “Who speaks for this group here today?”

“I do,” Rogan answered. “I am Rogan, King of the Dwarves.” He watched intently for any sign that the woman was about to unleash a spell at him and almost called fire when she lifted her hands to remove her riding gloves.

“May I enquire as to your purpose here, King Rogan?”

He noticed that she did not enquire over the health of King Erik.
Do you know more than Gage Gregaros, my lady? If so, how?
“You may not. We have declared our intent and purpose to the King and he has granted my army temporary access to this land.”

“Gregaros may call himself King, but that is a highly contentious point at the moment.”

“For you, perhaps.”

“And, for the six thousand soldiers at my back that call
me
the Queen of Iserlohn.”

“As they are paid to do.”

Lady Morningstar pursed her thin lips even further, her cheekbones twitching in anger. “If you choose to stay, I will view it as a hostile act against our nation.”

Airron stepped in front of him before he could spit off the curse on the tip of his tongue.

“I am King Airron of the Elves, Lady Morningstar. If you will be so kind as to give us a few moments to discuss?”

“Very well.” She turned to go and then stopped to look back over her shoulder. “Make the right decision, King of Elves. Many lives depend on it.”

****

“I’m not leaving until I have my vengeance, Airron!”

Airron pulled Rogan to the side. “This is not about you, my friend. We wear the mantle of rulers now and it carries with it the burden of the welfare of our peoples. We cannot jeopardize their lives on a whim.”

He could tell from Rogan’s face that the comment stung.

“If you think I do this for me, then you do not know me very well,
friend
,” Rogan snarled.

Airron sighed. “Look, Gage told us it wasn’t the
Dagarmon
and I believe him. Beck wouldn’t have left if it was. He went in search for whoever killed the Kings and we have to have faith that he will find them. There is nothing left for us to do here.”

Rogan tilted his head to the side, paused, and his whole body shook violently. “I’ve held on to this anger for too long, Airron. I’ve traveled too far. I can barely contain the need to spill blood.” He held out his shaking hands as proof.

“That’s not like you.”

“I know.”

“Wait here.” Airron left Rogan to speak to Raine and Loren. “
Na alia
,” he told them. Another one.

The Elves barely twitched an eyebrow even though Airron had told them a Mage hovered close by.

“
Vol vocat eo ex. Si para
.” I will call him out. Be ready.

A barely perceptible nod signaled their understanding.

Airron walked over to the Dwarven army and raised his hands. “Soldiers of Deepstone! King Rogan and I have decided that it is in the best interest of all concerned to leave Iserlohn!”

Rogan made a twitching motion over his right shoulder and then roared, “No! We are here to fight!”

The air around Airron flickered as he started a bodyshift into his Grayan wolf. Halfway through the transmutation, he charged Rogan and bared his lengthening teeth over the Dwarf’s shoulder with a savage growl.

A frightened grunt followed, and a hooded figure materialized behind Rogan and shouted, “
Bindeno!
”

Airron had been expecting a spell, but wasn’t fast enough.
Demon’s breath!
The shift fell away from him and his arms and legs snapped together. A warm spray splattered over his face as he tipped forward into the dirt. He caught sight of Raine’s sword punching through the wizard’s chest right before his face smacked into the ground.

The spell fell away as the Mage died, but not before Airron took a boot to the head as a dozen Iron Fists swarmed in to extricate their King from the conflict.

Loren held a hand out to help Airron to his feet.

“
Sansai
,” Airron said, looking down at his robe with a frown. “It’s ruined now.”

“I thought you loathed that robe? Said it was too tight around the neck, if I recall.”

Airron lifted his eyebrows. “I said that?”

Loren’s laugh was drowned out by Rogan’s bellow. “Put me down!” he ordered, his feet barely touching the ground as he was hauled away. Reluctantly, the Fists obeyed the command of their King and Rogan returned with a look of bewilderment creasing his features. He looked down at the dead man. “How did you know?”

“I had an encounter with Mages in my camp as well,” Airron told him. “This one was most likely using sorcery to trick your mind into viewing the people of Iserlohn as evil. That’s why you’ve felt so angry all the time.”

“I’m still angry! I want those Mages held accountable!”

“But, Iserlohn is not our enemy, Rogan. Beck will punish the Mages, but it won’t happen here or now.”

Jala stepped up next to her father and took his hand. “Uncle is right. It’s over. It’s time to go home.”

The late afternoon grew quiet. All who stood on that stretch of plains just south of Nysa waited for Rogan Radek to decide on peace or war. Although the sinister prodding of the Mage had been dealt with, Airron knew that it would still be difficult for Rogan to let go of his anger. Or the belief that he would be failing the Dwarves if he pulled out now.

The decision came sooner than Airron could have hoped.

“All right.”

Airron let out the breath burning his lungs in a burst of exhaled air. Although the political climate in Iserlohn poised a distinct threat to all on the island, the two armies here would only further flame the hostilities, and that would serve no one.

Jala grunted loudly and her eyes widened in delight. “Father!” She took Rogan’s hand and placed it on her belly. “Can you feel it?”

Rogan’s frown quirked up into a smile and it warmed Airron’s heart. “Yes, I feel him, Jala.”

Jala laughed. “Not a him, but a her. And, her name is Lorra.”

“That…” Rogan cleared his throat. “That was my mother’s name.”

“I know.”

Rogan spun to Airron. “What do you think of that, Elf? Lorra! Princess Lorra of the Dwarves!”

“That I hope it’s a girl,” he murmured.

Rogan turned back to Jala and placed a hand on her cheek. “If my daughter says it’s a girl, then a girl it is. I can only be so fortunate to have another Princess in my life.”

Airron came around and placed a hand on Rogan’s shoulder. “Go home with your family. If Beck has not made contact by then, we will go after him. Just the two of us. Like old times.”

Rogan cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s supposed to convince me?”

“I was hoping,” he admitted with a smile.

“Yes, I suppose I can live with that.”

With that settled, Airron peered to the east. “My army should be close. In fact they should be near the border…”

The plains before him resolved into a wall of white seemingly out of thin air. White horses, white hair, a thin layer of dust in the background. A more beautiful sight he had never seen.

“…or here.”

“We need to inform Lady Morningstar of our decision,” Rogan said.

Airron had forgotten all about the parley group.

“I’ll go,” Jala offered. “Teran, pass the order on to the army that we’ll be departing.”

The Iron Fist ran off to follow through with Jala’s request and she in turn jogged away in the opposite direction toward the mounted party awaiting word from them.

Airron turned back to watch the Elves approach. Melania sat regally in front and his sullen daughter rode a few paces behind. Melania’s knowing smile told him that it was she who pushed the army to arrive so quickly. He smiled back.
But, of course, I already knew that, my wife.

A muted cry drew Airron’s attention to Rogan, and he felt the smile slide from his face. The noise from the now active Dwarves and the oncoming Elves drowned out the sound of Rogan’s scream, but Airron could see it clearly and it terrified him. He followed Rogan’s horrified visage to a seemingly innocent scene. Jala was returning from giving her message to Elinor Morningstar. She looked so tiny, plodding back through the tall grasses, arms swinging gaily.

Then, Airron looked up and saw what Rogan must have seen.

Behind Jala, one of the soldiers from Morningstar’s party stood upright in his stirrups with a bow in his hands, the arrow notched and held tight to his cheek.

“Jala!”

He wasn’t sure who screamed it louder, him or Rogan.

The man let the arrow loose.

Jala stopped upon hearing the warning, but it was too late. The arrow hit her square in the back and she fell into the grass, disappearing from view.

No! This can’t be.

Lady Morningstar jerked the reins of her horse and turned and fled.

Rogan crashed forward in a mindless charge. Behind, the Dwarves howled their fury and Airron heard mass movement as the Dwarven cavalry broke free to give chase. He spared a glance to the east. Melania, Izzy and the Elves were in a full sprint now, thundering toward the chaotic scene.

Dear Highworld, let Jala be all right.

He took off after Rogan, closing the distance between them just as the Dwarf fell to his knees at Jala’s side. A dark red stain soaked the back of her blue and maroon tunic. Rogan carefully turned her over so that her head was in his lap.

“Lorra,” she whispered. “My…little…Lorra.” Her eyes fluttered briefly and then were still as she died in her father’s arms.

Airron felt like he had just taken a violent blow to the gut.

Rogan threw his head back and groaned in agony, rocking Jala from side to side.

Airron sank down beside him. “Rogan, I…I’m so sorry,” he muttered helplessly. If his friend heard, he made no sign.

Somewhere behind, another Dwarf wailed his grief. Teran, perhaps. Or Dallin Storm. Then, another alarming sound. That of the terrified scream of horses.

Airron leapt to his feet. The archer who killed Jala hovered in the air before the cavalry and called lightning down from the bright afternoon sky. The black-robed figure swept his arms in grand, sweeping strokes to direct the dangerous bolts in among the galloping horses. The charge came to a halt in a tangled horde of horseflesh. Dwarves flew through the air as their mounts reared in fright.

“Raine!”

The Gladewatcher was by his side in a single heartbeat.
Another Mage,
he signed, fingers flying fast.
Send the order to the cavalry to retreat. Get them out of there!

Raine did not acknowledge the command. He simply disappeared.

Rogan’s choking sobs were reduced to a pitiful moan. Airron never felt so helpless.

“What’s happening?” Rogan asked a moment later, rousing from his misery at the sound of racing hooves as the first of the cavalry made their way back. With a reverential hand, Rogan set Jala aside and shot to his feet. “Why are they returning?”

“I gave the order.”

The wounded look Rogan gave him was one Airron would not soon forget. “You betrayed me? Why?”

He shook his head and placed a hand on Rogan’s arm. “No.”

Rogan shrugged out of his grasp and stomped forward through the oncoming horses.

“Rogan! Stop before you get yourself killed!”

“Get away from me, Elf!”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to kill them!” he roared, snapping his hands to the sides to ignite twin flames of fire to his palms. “I’m going to kill them all!”

“No! Stop!”

Rogan whirled around and Airron reeled back on his heels. Grief had twisted his friend’s features into someone unrecognizable. “If you’re not going to help me in this, then leave! Out of my sight!” With that declaration, Rogan ran ahead, rolling a fireball in his hand to heave toward the Morningstar party. Only they were long gone and it was the troop of Dwarves in his clouded sight.

With a growl, Airron shredded the ruined robe from his body and shifted. Hair sprouted along his flesh, teeth lengthened into sharp fangs, fingers curled into claws. Sinewy muscle bulged along the skin of his legs infusing him with feral strength.

The Grayan wolf narrowed its sight onto its prey. It took two bounding leaps and hammered into the running Dwarf, taking him to the ground.

A bright flare flashed in the space between the wolf and the snarling, struggling body beneath. The Grayan yelped and leapt away from the scorching pain.

The Dwarf laughed manically and started to crawl away. The wolf pounced again, grabbed the creature by the scruff of his neck and gave him a good shake.

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.”