Beck noticed Kiernan try to hide her own smile behind her hand. After all, it wasn’t very often that real mice actually looked up at humans with quirky little grins of satisfaction on their faces.
“All right, Airron. You’ve had your fun,” Beck said to the mouse.
Upon hearing the mention of his mischievous friend, Rogan narrowed his eyes at the rodent and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long. The air shimmered and the mouse transformed into a willowy but strapping young Elf with violet eyes and long, silver hair. Airron Falewir’s perfect features were screwed up in mirth as he pointed, howling at Rogan.
“You’re not supposed to be using magic,” Beck said in a rote tone of voice. He used these words often with his friends and knew that it was highly unlikely that Airron, who was doubled up in the corner, was going to heed them any more today than he had any other. “Now, get dressed!”
“Asha, friends,” Airron said, using the Elven word for greeting between bouts of laughter.
Rogan growled as his murderous eyes fixed on Airron.
Kiernan turned her back on the naked bodyshifter. “Come on, Rogan. It was just a furry little mouse. At least it wasn’t a snake,” she said, and shuddered visibly. “I hate snakes.”
Still grinning, Airron quickly pulled on the brown tunic and leggings he must have previously stashed in one of the horse stalls and walked over to put his arm around Rogan. “Kiernan’s right. Lighten up, Fireball, because you know as well as I that it won’t be long before the back of my cloak mysteriously goes up in flames again.”
Rogan grunted in acknowledgement.
“You have to stop grinning when you bodyshift, Airron,” Beck pointed out. “It gives you away every time.”
Airron barked out a laugh, and when Airron Falewir laughed, they all found it hard not to join in.
Together, the four friends headed out into the warm afternoon, blissfully unaware of the frightening events hurtling toward them. Although they did not know it, they would find very little to laugh about for a long time.
Chapter 2
An Oath of the Blood
The full moon and star-studded sky over Parsis lent a diffuse glow to the ring of torches lining the town square creating a dreamlike quality to the evening. Activity from the festival had finally died down with just a scattering of folk remaining awake and gathered in small pockets of whispered conversation.
Beck yawned tiredly as he shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench. Beside him, in front of the dregs of a fire, sat the thirty-five young men who would make up Troop 158 of the Northwatch Legion departing for the Crown Bluffs in the morning. Friends and classmates from the academy, mostly, with the remainder from the outlying towns and villages of Pyraan.
The legionnaires were quiet now, lost in their own thoughts about the journey ahead. Although usually uneventful, the trip was not entirely without danger. The most notable threats coming from Galen’s Pass through the Balor Mountains where travelers had to contend with frequent stone slides, pesky dragonwasps that showed no mercy if roused, and the impish Halfies who made their home in the foothills. For these reasons and more, Pyraanians seldom traveled north of the pass.
Beck heard a collective intake of breath and looked up.
Kiernan had changed into a light blue, strapless gossamer dress that left her shoulders bare. Arm veils secured at her biceps by gold cuffs fluttered out behind her as she walked. Leather sandals laced up her legs to the knees. A magnificent sword embossed on the hilt with the royal crest of Iserlohn peeked up over her shoulder, and a small dagger rested in a sheath strapped to her thigh.
“Move over,” she said to Beck as she approached, oblivious of her effect on the young men.
Beck scooted over and the scent of fresh soap and lavender spiked an unfamiliar sharp ache low in the pit of his stomach. His body shuddered, and he was grateful for the darkness that concealed the flush he knew stippled his cheeks.
Kiernan leaned in close to him. “Who is that with your father?”
Shifting again in discomfort, he looked up to see his father, the long-time mayor of Parsis, hurrying over to the fire with another man in tow.
He cleared his throat and dared not look her in the eye as he responded. “I’ve never seen him before.”
The legionnaires around the fire and Kiernan stood as the men approached.
“Boys, I would like you to meet Commander Trent Dismore of the Northwatch Legion,” his father said.
The standing legionnaires quickly saluted the commander.
“At ease,” Dismore drawled.
Beck regarded the stout commander, and with his full face and ruddy complexion, he looked exactly as Beck suspected a military leader might look in these quiet times. One who had seen more dinner tables than battlefields.
“The commander will be your escort to the Crown Bluffs tomorrow as well as serve as magical coach once you arrive. In this capacity, he is very anxious to observe your skills during the testing tomorrow.” When several of the boys groaned, his father quickly gestured for them to quiet. “As you have been told before, you are not expected to have mastery over your talent at the age you are.”
Beck glanced to the side and saw Airron nudge Rogan and smirk arrogantly. Unfortunately, the commander also noticed and narrowed his eyes at them with an expression that promised unpleasant interactions in the days ahead.
“During your two years of service,” his father continued, “you will build upon your magical knowledge and be introduced to legion battle tactics. Commander, do you have anything to add?”
Standing with feet apart and hands behind his back, Dismore glowered at them. “I have one rule and one rule only. Follow orders. It’s that simple. Follow orders and we will not have any problems. Step out of line just once and there will be repercussions that you will not enjoy.”
Beck cringed. Non-hostile time or no, it was obvious the man was clinging to a very tight military tenet.
“I don’t care how good you think you are,” Dismore said, looking pointedly at Airron and Rogan, “but we cannot uphold our duty to the citizens of Massa unless we have strict order within the ranks. We will meet at the academy an hour before sunrise.” With that, he simply walked away, the legionnaires smartly saluting his departing back.
Instinctively, Beck’s father also turned to salute before he remembered himself and clapped his hands together instead. “All right, then. You heard the commander. It’s time you all headed for bed. Come now, off you go.”
“Er…Master Atlan, can I ask you a question?”
Beck turned to a young fireshifter by the name of Rory Greeley. Small for his age, he had little magic as of yet to command.
“Yes, Rory?”
The short youth kicked at the dirt shyly. “Well,” he began, “the shifters have been guarding the Crown Bluffs for a long time now, but why, Master Atlan? I mean…I have heard about the blood oath, but how did it all happen?”
Beck’s father looked puzzled. “Have your parents not discussed the debt with you, legionnaire?”
Rory blushed and shook his head. Some of the young men from the northern towns forfeited formal academic training to stay at home and work their family farms, never setting foot in Parsis until joining the legion at the age of eighteen as the law required them to do.
“Come around and I’ll explain,” Beck’s father said, gesturing for the legionnaires and Kiernan to sit once again. He was silent for a moment as he picked up a metal rod leaning next to the fire and gently rearranged the logs to coax the blaze back to life.
Beck was already well versed in Massa’s history, but not wanting to appear rude, decided to stay.
“It all began long ago,” Beck’s father began as he sat down, his hushed voice lending a conspiratorial tone to his words. “Over three hundred years now, in fact. Back when this great island of ours was a much larger continent and home to many different races. It was a very prosperous time for Massa, and also a tim
e,” he paused reverently, “of great magic.”
It would be incredible to live in a world where people didn’t blame shifters for all of life’s evils, Beck thought. It was something they all longed for.
“Under High Mage Galen Starr, magic’s dictate was to be used for the greater good of the people. As prominent members of the Assembly of Races, Galen Starr and the seven Mages under his command were involved at the highest levels of politics to make this so. There came a time, however, when one of the Mages began to plot to undermine the government in order to usurp their power. His ultimate goal was supremacy over the lands and even suggested in private the enslavement of the other races. Little by little, his sinister plans met with success and as with most forms of power, it had an intoxicating effect. He grew drunk with it. He grew more evil.”
Beck’s father shook his head in silent admonition to the long-dead Mage.
“His name was Adrian Ravener, and he was a very skilled fireshifter, but his persuasive skills turned out to be even more deadly when he convinced three of the Mages to side with him. Ravener also had formidable accomplices in his sister, Avalon, and her friend, Niema Gesbina, both of whom were sorceresses. By the time Galen Starr learned of Ravener’s treachery, it was too late. Dubbed Savitars, which means ‘saviors’ in the old tongue, Galen and the three uncorrupted Mages were forced into a war of sorcery against the evil Mages. Unfortunately, it cost Massa dearly.”
Beck knew that his father was putting it lightly. He had heard the story many times throughout his childhood. For days, lightning rained down from the sky and burned everything it touched. The earth heaved and killed hundreds of thousands of people. Buildings, property and livestock were destroyed. Mountains fell. Entire lands disappeared when oceans converged and encircled the now smaller island of Massa.
“The war lasted for five days, and the devastation was immeasurable. Many races were wiped out completely. The Savitars destroyed three of the evil Mages, but Adrian, Avalon, and Niema confiscated ships and fled to the land north of here, which was once part of Massa. All of the Savitars perished in the war except Galen.
“Distrust was rampant after that, and the last three surviving races of people elected new Kings and made the decision to live separate from each other. As you know, the Dwarves migrated to the southern part of Massa and named their country Deepstone. The Elves moved east to the newly created Haventhal, and men carved out the land of Iserlohn in the west. Before the Kings departed with their kinsmen, however, they extracted an oath from the High Mage. An oath to make up for the loss of so many lives and for the destruction of the world as they knew it.
“Galen was brought forth before the Kings bound and naked. While he could have easily used magic to break the binds that held him, he wanted the people and the Council of Kings to know how ashamed he was of the acts of his brethren, and he held his humility out in recompense to them all. It was then that he delivered the unbreakable oath of protection on behalf of all magic shifters.”
Beyond the quiet crackling of the fire, the silence was complete.
“When the Kings asked Galen by what means he would secure this debt, the Mage replied simply, ‘blood.’ And, they took it. With three brutal cuts to his body.”
Jaimes paused again.
“The Kings also demanded that Galen gather the magic users and isolate them from the rest of the island and have them marked so that all shall know them.”
Beck unconsciously raised his hand to finger the symbol of the athame, a double-edged dagger, tattooed on his neck.
The young fireshifter Rory cleared his throat and whispered innocently, “Galen Starr exiled us with his blood oath?”
“Yes, Rory. Because of Galen’s oath, all shifters were exiled to Pyraan with the duty to protect the races from evil magic. We’re the only ones who can.”
Rogan spoke up. “So even though Galen Starr is long dead, to this day the shifters remain bound by his oath?”
“Oh, but my dear boy, Galen Starr is not dead. He is still alive.”
A murmur ran though the legionnaires, and Beck was just as stunned.
“Still alive?” questioned one of the larger legionnaires with red hair. His bulk gave him away as an earthshifter, but Beck had never seen him prior to the festival. “Sir, you would really have to think us daft to believe such a thing.”
“It is true, Heath.”
“How can that be after so long?”
“That would make Galen Starr almost four hundred years old!” exclaimed Airron.
Jaimes held up his hands to calm everyone. Once he had them quieted, he explained that, yes, Galen Starr was alive and living in the Elven land of Haventhal. “He is the only known magic user living outside of Pyraan, and he is actually more like six hundred years old. After devoting many years to the creation of the Magical Kingdom of Pyraan, he petitioned the Council of Kings to live out the end of his days in seclusion in an undisclosed location. His request was granted only after weeks of immensely heated debate by the council as none of the Kings were comfortable with having any magic—no matter how benevolent—outside of Pyraan.”
Again, the redheaded legionnaire grunted disrespectfully.
“Do you have a problem, Red?” Rogan asked, temper rising to the surface.
“I might,” replied the earthshifter with a level look.
Rogan slowly stood, along with Beck, Airron and Kiernan.
Heath laughed scornfully. “Yeah, I did hear that you freaks traveled in a pack. Come on, Jon,” he said to his friend seated next to him. “I’ve had enough of child tales for one evening. Mages six hundred years old? Bloody hell, what a joke.”
“Let them go,” Beck’s father warned as the two legionnaires departed.
“Someone needs to teach that one a lesson,” snarled Rogan.
“For the record, it is common knowledge that the Mages of old did have access to spells that extended life. Unfortunately, all of the lore and histories of the Mage were destroyed in the war, and we have never been able to regain even a fraction of that which was lost.” He stood, signaling an end to the evening’s impromptu history lesson. “Off you go now. You’ve only a few hours before your tests and journey tomorrow. Good luck, gentlemen. Your duty is appreciated.”
As the legionnaires dispersed, Beck’s father pulled him aside. “I probably won’t have a chance to do so in the morning so I wanted to wish you well, son. Your mother and I will miss you terribly. We are very proud of you, Beck, and all that you have accomplished at the academy. The Highworld knows, the next time I see you, you’ll be taller than me!”
Beck looked down at his father and laughed. “I’ve been taller than you for over two years now, Father, but don’t worry. The only thing I’m in danger of dying from at the Crown Bluffs is boredom.”
“Just be careful. There are dangers everywhere, Beck, and you should be more mindful of that.”
“I will be careful,” he assured his father and smiled inwardly at the concern. An only child, Beck had always been very close to his parents. If either of them still had any family in Iserlohn, he had never met them. Beck’s extended family had always been his friends and neighbors in Parsis. There was Jorge Owen, the huge blacksmith, who taught him how to ride a horse. Jakob Martyn, the hawk-faced grocer, who spent many afternoons with Beck teaching him how to hunt and fish. Of course, there was also Master Martyn’s son, Ben, who taught him how to filch a pint of ale from the back of his father’s store, and pretty Katrin Allendale who gave Beck his first, if awkward, kiss.
But, above all, there were his best friends, Kiernan, Rogan and Airron.
Beck bid his father good night and began the half league trek home. As he walked the well-used path with Hawthorne Lake on one side and the thick Grayan Forest bordering the other, he thought about his friends.
For some reason, he had always been the unspoken leader of the group. He guessed it was due to the inherent strength that evolved out of his dominant magic.
Like
him, Airron was born in Pyraan. His parents, Jeni and Joshe Falewir, were both shifters and had lived in Parsis all their lives. Since no other Elves had come to Pyraan in over a century, it was assumed that the Falewirs were the last of the Elven magic users. The commonly held belief by the professors at the academy was that the Elves had never been very strong with magic and the spark had simply bred out of the race.
Rogan and Kiernan were both born to non-magical parents and did not arrive in Pyraan until after their abilities emerged as children.
Rogan had been abandoned in Pyraan at the very young age of six. No one knew who his parents were or why they left him behind in that way. The Dwarf chose to believe that his parents must have been alarmed by his magic developing at so early an age and did only what the laws of the land demanded they do—they brought him to Pyraan to be exiled with other shifters. Rogan often voiced his hope that his parents’ actions were motivated by love and that someday they would be reunited. For his friend’s sake, Beck hoped he was right.
Kiernan, on the other hand, was the cherished daughter of Maximus Everard, a leader of people and ruler of a kingdom.
He was the King of Men.
By his own law, King Maximus had no choice but to send his daughter to exile when she was twelve years old and her shifting was exposed. Over the years, the King visited Kiernan as often as he was able, but his onerous duties in Iserlohn made it very difficult for him to get away.
Hurrying down the path and lost in his ruminations, Beck was caught completely off guard when he was hit from behind with enough force to send him sprawling face first into the dirt for the fourth time that day.
Adrenaline pounded through him as he sprang to his feet and whirled around to meet his attacker in a low crouch. The ground began to rumble at his feet, churning in a rolling boil with the magic he instinctively summoned to his aid. Dust rose all about as a ball of earth erupted from the dirt and began to rotate in the air in front of him. Thinking of the black wolves that prowled the Grayan Forest, Beck peered along the roadway, ready to unleash the deadly missile at whatever delivered the blow to his back.