Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood (53 page)

“W
e are never going to make it!” exclaimed Kiernan in a panic as they climbed out of the grate near Sarphia. “We only have two days left!”

“We will make it,” assured Beck, his voice still full of the confidence she had yet to feel.

She knew she was becoming hysterical, but could not help herself. “We have to find Rogan, find Airron, summon a magical map, find an invisible mystic city, uncover a weapon, and travel to Starfell!” She was babbling now. “We cannot do it!”

Bajan growled an instant before a voice drifted to them from the trees and said, “Well, one down and five to go.” Rogan stepped out of the trees with a Dwarven soldier at his side.

“Rogan!” she cried and almost knocked him down as she gathered him in a hug.

The Dwarf turned red and glanced sideways at his traveling companion. “Good to see you, too,” he said, hugging her back. He let go and reached out to shake Beck’s hand, but Beck was having none of that. He gathered Rogan in an embrace as well.

Rogan finally disentangled himself to introduce Janin. Kiernan had not realized in the dark that the soldier was a female until she spoke in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Janin,” she said, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“We better get going,” said Rogan brusquely, putting a halt to any questions that may have been forthcoming. He called a flame to life in his hand and started away on the path to Sarphia. “We have to find Airron.”

Kiernan smiled knowingly as she followed behind.

“Your pendant?” asked Beck.

Rogan nodded. “It is a long story, but I do have it.”

Kiernan heard Beck breathe a sigh of relief. “Well done, Rogan! Have you had news of Airron?” he asked as they walked.

“Nothing,” said Rogan. “I just hope to find him doing well.”

“Apparently, you are doing well, Rogan,” Kiernan whispered under her breath. Unfortunately, it was not low enough judging by the dark look Rogan sent her and the sly grin on Janin’s face.

Along the way, Beck related to them all he knew of Airron’s misfortune. The news quickened their steps, the group anxious now to see Airron for themselves, and it was not long before they emerged from the Puu Rainforest into the Elven capital of Sarphia.

If Aquataine was an underground paradise, Sarphia was an aboveground fairyland. From the twinkling lights in every tree to combat the unnatural darkness to the symmetrical gardens and even to the raw beauty of the Elven race of people. Every Elf, male and female, exhibited the same silver white hair and purple eyes of Airron, and the grace in the way they flitted from place to place was purely magical to watch.

Kiernan’s delighted perusal was interrupted by the arrival of a dozen Elven soldiers that approached them with a gait as light as air.

“We have been expecting you,
Savitars.
This way,” one said to them. Taking positions on both sides of their group, the Elves set a hurried pace that forced the
Savitars
and Janin to trot between them. As they ran, the Elven people in the city stopped to watch the progression and most of their interest was centered on Bajan. The Draca Cat was evidently highly revered in the Elven world—if the white marble statue of a Draca Cat in the town square was any indication. It was the most beautiful piece of artwork Kiernan had ever seen. Outwardly, her furred friend appeared to take in all of the attention with bored aplomb but inwardly, Kiernan knew, he was quite pleased.

The soldiers halted in front of a wooden building with a thatched roof and long porch. Two Elves dressed in white were carrying a stretcher inside. Kiernan thought it must be an infirmary of some sort.

“You will find Master Falewir inside,” said one of the Elven soldiers, and then the regiment turned on their heels and departed, never breaking formation.

The infirmary was heavily in use. Apparently, the demons had left their mark in Haventhal as well as in Iserlohn and Deepstone. Once inside, she inquired about Airron. “Oh, yes,” said a pretty Elven girl behind a desk. “Master Falewir is down the hall in the last room.”

As they neared, Kiernan was surprised to find two guards standing in front of the door.

“Is this Airron Falewir’s room?” Rogan inquired.

“It is,” said the stoic Elf. “What do you want with him?”

“Is that fireball?” shouted a familiar voice from behind the door. “Let him in, guards!”

The guards opened the door and one by one, they filed into the large room. There sat Airron, propped up in an enormous bed, with four Elven girls attending him. Two were rubbing his feet, one was massaging his shoulders, and one was feeding him grapes. Feeding him grapes!

“You are all here,” Airron said through his mouthful. “It’s about time! In case you have not noticed, we have a job to do.”

Rogan took a step further into the room and planted his feet. “Do you want to kill him, Beck, or should I?”

After dismissing the Elven nurses, it did not take long for Airron to pack. He accomplished the task while recounting his severe injuries at the hand of Avalon Ravener. Without the unsurpassed talent of the Elven healers and an antidote for the venom of the spider, he would have died. He told them of Rory, and they speculated that it was Avalon who appeared to them after the destruction of Pyraan, and the young fireshifter either perished with the others or Avalon had killed him outright.

Suddenly, Kiernan looked at Beck, and they both realized at the same time that Avalon was the one who wanted her to think Beck betrayed her.

Also unspoken was the fact that all but one of Galen’s prophecies had come true. Airron had been gravely wounded, Beck had been betrayed, and she had been lost. That only left the most devastating prediction of all.

And, it would come.

Of that, she had no doubt.

“The most frightening part of all,” said Airron, “was that after the fight when she thought I was dead, she tried to bodyshift me!” He shuddered. “Then something scared her off at the last moment. Thank the Highworld because she would have realized I was still alive if she put her hands on me. The last thing I remember was her reaching down and tearing the pendant from my neck.”

Three horrified gasps reverberated throughout the room.

“His pendant is gone!” Kiernan said and threw up her hands. “Now what?”

“We’re done,” moaned Rogan in anguish. “It ends here.”

“Take it easy,” said Airron smugly. “Luckily, I suspected that something was up and I hid the pendant in my pack. Avalon stole a harmless piece of silver I purchased from one of the dockworkers in Havenport.”

Kiernan grunted in relief. Rogan was right. It would have been the end—at least an end to the way of life that the Massans had always known. “I guess now is as good a time as any to put our pendants together and retrieve the map.”

Bajan and Janin looked on as the four
Savitars
knelt in a circle. They each held their pendants out in front of them and, to Kiernan’s complete surprise, the four pieces flew out of their hands and clinked together with magnetic force. The
Savitars
leaned back out of the way as the combined pendants spun in the space between them, chains whipping around furiously. The air in the room began to stir and was soon a gusting whirlwind.

Kiernan flinched when an oil lamp crashed to the floor behind her. Her hair stood on end and twirled above her head as her dress flapped wildly against her skin. Still, she kept her eyes on the transformation happening in the middle of the room. One by one, the links in the chains began to shorten and meld into the pendants. The spinning started to slow only when the molten silver pieces bonded together and all that was left was a single round disc. A flash of light brightened the room, and the wind abruptly stopped as the silver circle fell to the floor with a small clink. A narrow orange flame flared to life over the pendant and etched something onto the silver.

When the glow disappeared, Kiernan reached out gingerly to pick up the silver disc expecting it to be hot, but it was not. It was cool to the touch.

“It is a compass of some sort,” she said, noticing a thin orange flame still wavering on the surface.

She handed it to Beck and he held the compass in the palm of his hand. “It is pointing due east.”

“East it is,” said Airron, hefting his pack.

Rogan offered a clumsy and hurried good-bye to Janin, who was remaining in Sarphia to await the Deepstone Army, and then they raced out of the infirmary. Curiously, the people on the streets were bowing down to Airron as they passed.

“They treat you like royalty,” grunted Rogan.

Airron laughed, purple eyes sparkling. “I
am
royalty, my friend. A fact I have learned since being with the Elves!”

“Does King Jerund J’El know that?” asked Rogan, doubtfully.

“Of course, although, I will admit that he was shocked at first.”

“I’ll bet,” snorted Rogan. “I have my own royal story to tell when we have more time.”

“I could not communicate for weeks,” Airron continued, “but once I came around, King Jerund believed my story with the help of King Maximus’ Decree, and then departed with the Elven Gladewatchers to join the Iserlohn Army at Starfell.” The Gladewatchers were the elite Elven Calvary Force. The battle adage was that as soon as you laid eyes on the golden hem of the Gladewatcher’s tunic, you were dead.

“What about the rest of the Elven Army?” asked Beck.

Airron shook his head. “He took only the Gladewatchers.”

The soldiers who escorted them to the infirmary intercepted them. “You must hurry,
Savitars
. We have just learned that it has begun. Iserlohn has engaged the Cyman Army. They did not wait for King Jerund or King Rik.”

“What is my father thinking?” cried Kiernan. “They will be slaughtered without reinforcements, as meager as they may be.”

Beck held up the silver compass in his hand. “Not if we can help it. Come on!”

In the midst of the ongoing carnage and bloodletting, King Maximus sat despairingly astride his enormous warhorse at the devastation he could see but not quite comprehend. Hundreds of soldiers in the scarlet and black of Iserlohn lay sprawled across the Valley of Flame in frozen twisted death. Hundreds more at this moment, on his orders, were now throwing themselves at the mass of Cymans and grappling in hand-to-hand combat. Men who had served the Everard family and the land of Iserlohn for years. Even the sons of those men.

They never had a chance. He foolishly disregarded the strength of this enemy and all battle strategies that may have made a difference. The Iserlohn Army alone was no match for the Cymans. These creatures from the north who did not fight with weapons, were bigger, stronger, faster, and outnumbered his army three to one. The archers were useless as their arrows bounced harmlessly from the tough, leathery skin of their opponents, and the Cyman giants wrestled swords and pikes from the foot soldiers as if they were naught but toys and beat the men to the ground in bloodied heaps with their own weapons.

Atop their powerful and war-ready horses, the Nysian Cavalry held its own against the Cymans, but the foot soldiers were being decimated. The mounted troops were doing all they could to protect the soldiers on the ground, but hour after hour, the bodies continued to pile up.

The King yanked hard on his horse’s reins as a Cyman grabbed at his leg and tried to pull him out of his saddle. The experienced horse reared up onto his hind legs in response and pawed at the enemy with his hooves. The King heard the satisfying crunch of bone, and the grip on his leg slackened. One more well-placed kick with his boot at the bloodied face was all he needed to disengage and permanently disable the Cyman.