Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood
Read Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood Online
Authors: Valerie Zambito
Copyright © 2011 Valerie Zambito
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0615495036
ISBN-13: 9780615495033
eBook ISBN: 978-0-615-56269-8
LCCN: 2011913818
Valerie Zambito, Piffard, NY
Illustrated by Anna Christenson
Dedication
All things are possible with a strong and loving family by your side. Thank you, Joe, for your sacrifice and encouragement. To Jimmy, Colby and Dylan, thank you for your patience while Mom spent all of those hours crouched over a computer. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.
Thank you, Janice, for being my best friend as well as my sister. And, special thanks to you, Debbie, for being the first one to let me know you had my back.
Love and acknowledgment to the rest of my family - Dad, Vinnie, Darren, Josh, Jake, Cody, Joe, Joyce, Brad, Melissa, Jameson, Jayla, Chris & Ryan.
Dedicated most of all to my very own Highworld angels, Mom and Janine.
Table of Contents
1 The Magical Kingdom of Pyraan
11 The Destruction of the Magical Kingdom of Pyraan
“B
loody hell!” cursed Beck Atlan as he pounded the ground to either side of him, his fists leaving twin, bowl-sized depressions in the dirt from the force of his strikes. Clenching his jaw, he shook his head in disbelief. Although just eighteen years old, he had never before been unseated in a jousting competition—and this was the second time today. Tall and powerfully built, the added strength lent to him by his earthshifting abilities was daunting. In fact, his magic was stronger than any in Pyraan had ever seen.
He sprang to his feet smoothly and glared at the packed benches surrounding the makeshift arena where spectators were boisterously enjoying this long-awaited exchange between him and his opponent. The public arguments over who would be the victor in this event were as numerous as the bets taking place in private, and Beck grimaced as the cheers pouring out of the crowd from his rival’s supporters almost drowned out the groans from those who had gambled on him.
Almost, but not quite.
With a determined set to his face, he picked up his fallen lance and strode purposefully to his waiting horse. Not bothering to use the stirrup, he grabbed the pommel with one hand and used his considerable strength to vault himself back into the saddle. Tucking the lance firmly in place, he trotted for the third time back to his starting position at the south end of the arena very well aware that if his opponent managed to unseat him once again, he would lose the match. Unthinkable at any time, but especially now. Especially, against this foe.
Ironically, and a bit arrogantly he admitted to himself, he had never once considered defeat as an option in the weeks leading up to the competition. His only concern had been how to win without seriously harming his opponent. The lance used in the match was made of a light tanga wood that sported a blunt end designed to unseat instead of injure a contender but because of his power, he had to be very careful when participating in friendly contests of skill.
With a steady hand, he soothed his black stallion, Chasin, and stared down the length of the field at his adversary, searching once again for any weakness to stance or carry that he could exploit. The figure in black glared directly back at him through the visor of a steel helm, rigid and strong.
And, smug
.
Suddenly, Beck’s eyes locked in on a small movement that he would have otherwise missed had he not been so assiduously looking for it, and he permitted himself a small smile. His opponent shifted subtly and let the protracted lance stationed on the left to dip ever so slightly. An indication, he decided confidently, that the blow he delivered in the first round had found its mark after all.
I have you now,
he snarled in his head.
To the left then.
The crowd quieted as the nervous flag boy walked tentatively to the center of the field, holding the staff of the red flag out before him as if it were a deadly weapon, which in a way it was if he did not remove himself from the path of the charging horses in time.
The sun was at its apex now and Chasin stomped his feet and snorted, as anxious as Beck to meet the challenger in battle once again. After what seemed an interminably long time with the quivering staff gripped high overhead for long seconds, the boy abruptly dropped the flag in an extravagant sweep and turned and sprinted at a dead run back toward the safety of the fence.
Chasin, needing no further signal, reared back on his powerful hind legs and bolted ahead. Beck held on smoothly, secure and certain in the saddle beneath him, adrenaline coursing through both him and his mount as they thundered down the turf. Sweat trickled down his face, but he ignored it.
Suddenly, several paces before midpoint, Beck scowled as his opponent suddenly lifted the lance into the air and repositioned the weapon on the right. The movement startled Beck, but he quickly dismissed the stunt as an obvious attempt at grandstanding and tensed his muscles as he readied himself to even the score with this maddening competitor.
To the left
, he thought again, and as the two horses converged, he drove his lance sharply at the black figure. The crowd gasped in surprise as the rider narrowly managed to avoid his thrust by suddenly plunging the lance into the dirt on the right with both hands and, using the powerful momentum generated by the speeding horse, swung upward and whirled around the shaft of the weapon. Beck could only watch helplessly as a strong kick hit him square in the chest, sending him up and out of his saddle. The rider continued through the motion of the swing and used the lance to vault forward, back arched and arms and legs clawing at the air to land back on the charging horse.
The Pyraan spectators, winners and losers alike, went wild.
Beck watched with equal parts irritation and admiration as the champion rode over to him amid a plume of dust, adding a layer of grit to his mouth. “Gloating is beneath you,” he commented, waving his hands to scatter the motes from around his face.
Laughing, Kiernan Everard ripped off her helmet and let her long, blonde hair tumble free. Icy green eyes stared down at him as she cocked her head. “As you should know by now, Beck Atlan, it is not all about brawn. It is about anticipating your opponent’s next move, and I read yours easily in your eyes. It seems you fell for my little feint,” she said holding her left side in exaggeration.
Beck ignored her and stood, putting a finger and thumb in his mouth to whistle Chasin back to his side. Suddenly the crowd burst out in roaring laughter, and Beck looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“You better get back on your horse, earthshifter,” said Kiernan, leaning from the saddle and struggling to suppress her own laughter. “It appears the hole you just ripped in your trousers has gone straight through your small clothes.”
Red-faced, Beck quickly turned from the crowd with his hands behind his back. This, of course, caused them to howl and jeer even more. Jorge Owen, the spirited blacksmith who lived next door to him and his family, stood and yelled out. “What is the matter young, Beck? Did you forget to guard your
rear
?” More raucous laughter.
“No, Jorge,” came another reply from the stands. “Beck is just a little
behind
in his thrusts today.”
