Messenger (The Shifter War Book 1) Read online

  “But—”

  Without warning, she punched him in the belly. Danil doubled over, gasping for breath as the commander struck him again.

  A flurry of blows rained down from every direction, knocking him into the mud. Someone kicked him in the back. His vision whitened. He rolled, desperate to get to his feet only to be pummeled once again.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The beating abruptly stopped. Danil lay in the mud, gasping. His ribs were on fire, his mouth full of blood. Blinking spots from his eyes, he craned his neck to see Magus Ronan astride a powerful bay mare. Blonde hair was pulled back in a severe braid, the mage’s mouth surly as he yanked viciously on the reins of his horse.

  “Get him up.”

  Danil’s vision darkened at the edges as he was roughly hauled to his feet. The two soldiers dragged him to where Magus Ronan sat on his horse.

  Recognition flared in the mage’s pale eyes. “Well, well. If it isn’t the town scavenger,” Ronan said. He sat back in the saddle with a smirk, his cloak unfurling to reveal the firewhip coiled at his side. “And yet again you return without a mage-crystal.”

  Danil swallowed thickly. “Shifter took it,” he gasped out.

  “Is that so?”

  The mage’s firewhip flickered red, indicating that it had recently tasted blood but remained hungry.

  Danil licked his split lip, knowing no answer could save him.

  “Commander Voss,” Ronan purred.

  “My lord.” The commander saluted crisply.

  “You reported that all of the villagers had been dealt with.”

  Danil stared dazedly at the mage. What did he mean by ‘dealt with’?

  “My lord, this one must have left the village before dawn—”

  The mage raised a gloved hand. “Your excuses weary me, commander.”

  She squared back her shoulders and bowed. “Yes, my lord.” She handed Magus Ronan the coin. “He came bearing this.”

  Ronan gave the coin a cursory look before tucking it into his pouch. “Consider yourself on report, Commander Voss,” he said. “This level of incompetence is unacceptable.”

  The commander saluted again, her expression grim.

  “Take him to Lady Brianna.”

  The commander quickly signaled the two guards. They bodily hauled Danil past Ronan and down the street toward the two-story inn. A series of lanterns out the front revealed a dozen soldiers standing at attention outside. All bore the battle horse insignia on pale blue tabards.

  Strangely, Danil didn’t see a single villager so much as peek out through the shutters of the huts as he was escorted past.

  Where is everyone? Danil wondered as the soldiers dragged him up the three stone steps into the inn.

  A wall of cold met him as the door opened to the aleroom. His captors threw Danil across the wooden floor where he fetched up against the legs of a chair. A boot pressed squarely in his back, forcing him facedown onto the floor.

  Across the room, the hearth roared at full strength but the air remained stagnant and chill. Ice lined the windows and corners of the aleroom. Danil’s breath plumed in the unnatural cold.

  Cutlery clinked as someone set aside their evening meal. Danil saw the edge of a fur-lined coat and finely-tooled leather boots.

  “My lady, forgive our interruption,” Commander Voss said with a deep bow.

  “Have we a straggler, commander?” a woman asked. Her voice was mild and finely cultured, more suited to the royal courts of King Liam than an inn at the furthest edge of the kingdom.

  “A deadland thief, Magus Brianna,” the commander said.

  Danil opened his mouth to protest but the boot in his shoulder pressed him down hard.

  The woman, Magus Brianna, leaned back in her chair. The scent of roast venison with vegetables and gravy hung thick in the air.

  “Let me see.”

  A hand grabbed a fistful of Danil’s hair and forced his head up.

  Danil’s neck creaked warningly, his eyes watering from the pain. His vision cleared to see a middle-aged woman with a streak of white in her black hair. Pale blue eyes studied him from a delicate, heart-shaped face. She lounged back in her chair and wiped daintily at her mouth with a napkin. At her elbow was a battered, leather bound tome. Strangely, a thick layer of ice coated it. Mist hovered about the book like greedy fingers.

  Danil glanced about desperately. A soldier wearing a pale blue tabard stood behind the bar looking bored, while another stood by the frost-rimed front window. The door leading to the kitchen remained closed. Now that he concentrated, Danil noticed a strange silence when normally the inn rang with the familiar clatter of the cook and her underlings going about their work.

  “I was under the impression no one in Farin could survive the deadlands,” Magus Brianna said, looking at the commander.

  Commander Voss tensed. “I was mistaken, my lady.”

  “Indeed.” The mage turned her cool gaze on Danil. “You look rather young to walk the deadlands with any real familiarity. Does the commander speak true?”

  Danil swallowed with an effort. “I’m not a thief, my lady,” he muttered, wincing as the grip on his hair tightened. “The innkeeper can vouch for me.”

  “I’m sure,” Magus Brianna said, mouth tilting upwards. “Do you actually walk the deadlands, or merely scavenge the surface?”

  It was an odd question. “I know the tunnels, my lady,” he hedged.

  “Excellent.” The mage tapped her fingers on the table, contemplative, before waving her hand. “Let him up, commander. We should not treat our own countryman so harshly.”

  At her command, the soldiers released Danil and stepped back. Startled, he warily rose to his feet.

  Magus Brianna pointed to a chair at her table. “Sit.” At his hesitation, she added, “Please.”

  He walked across and gingerly eased himself down, wincing as bruised muscles protested. The air felt colder still. He glanced cautiously at the ice-bound book—peculiar symbols on the leather writhed across the leather. Danil’s skin crawled.

  The mage reached across and took his hand in both of hers. “What is your name, my dear?”

  Danil glanced uneasily at the soldier behind the bar. The man’s posture was relaxed, but his hand rested on his belt close to his sword. “Danil.”

  She smiled. “A strong Roldaerian name,” she said approvingly. “Are you badly hurt, Danil?”

  “I—no, my lady.”

  “Excellent. I shall be sure to have my physician look you over nonetheless.” She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Danil glanced again at the soldiers spread about the aleroom. “Forgive me, my lady, but where is everyone?”

  “Your fellow villagers, you mean?” Magus Brianna shrugged delicately. “I’m afraid they’ve been evacuated.”

  Danil mouthed the word, not sure he’d heard right.

  “It is for their safety, of course,” Brianna continued. “War is brewing and we cannot have our good people in harm’s way.”

  Danil frowned at her. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Nor would I expect you to,” she said. “These are delicate matters. Amas has robbed us for too long.”

  Perhaps he’d been struck harder than he thought. “We’re at war with Amas?”

  She gave a tittering laugh. “Dear boy, we have always been at war with those animals!”

  Danil bit the inside of his cheek. Living on the edge of the Roldaerian kingdom granted him a certain insight on the Great War treaty. For all his larceny and trickery, Hafryn never treated him like an enemy.

  His cheeks warmed at the traitorous thought.

  Magus Brianna looked him over. “I must say, you present me with a quandary, Danil. Knowledge of the deadlands is most needed at present, but in times of war, Commander Voss here has the power to rule on a Roldaerian’s crimes. If she judges you a thief, then so you are.”

  The commander’s face showed no emotion.

  “Of cou
rse, your aid in guiding us into the deadlands has the power to change the commander’s mind. Isn’t that so, Commander Voss?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Magus Brianna smiled. “There, you see? In return for your service, you’ll be treated most fair, and you’ll be with your village friends soon enough.”

  With a sinking feeling, Danil nodded. “I’d be honored to help, my lady.”

  “Excellent!” She clapped her hands. “There is a place deep in the deadlands that I’ve a mind to reach. Have you the skill to guide us?”

  Danil managed a nod. “I’d find you safe passage.” He hesitated. “But there are no mage-crystals of note left in the deadlands, my lady.” He knew how desperately the magi needed the mage-crystals to perform their spells.

  “We shall have plenty enough crystals when Amas falls, my dear,” she said, her pale eyes gleaming.

  Danil couldn’t even fake a smile at that.

  “Of course, you’ll have to stay here at the inn for the night,” Magus Brianna continued. “I’m sure you understand.” Without waiting for his reply, she motioned to the soldiers behind Danil. “Please escort our guide up to his room.”

  One of the soldiers who had beaten him edged up close.

  Danil mustered a bow to Magus Brianna before he was marched up the stairs to the second floor of the inn. The soldier shoved him into a sparse room with just a pallet on the floor and a battered dresser in one corner.

  Before he could turn about, the door slammed shut behind him.

  The lock clicked into place with finality.

  3

  Soldiers patrolled through the dark courtyard below Danil’s window with regularity, their boots crunching on the graveled path as they passed.

  Danil watched through a crack in the shutters. Unable to sleep, he waited for the pair of soldiers to disappear around the corner of the inn. More of Magus Brianna’s soldiers had arrived during the night, slipping quietly into Farin without fanfare. From his vantage point overlooking the stables, Danil had watched as they were billeted into the various empty huts about the village.

  A heaviness lay over his heart as he glanced about the sparse room. A pitcher sat untouched on the battered dresser, brought in by a soldier hours before. The pallet was a bundle of moth-eaten blankets, the room itself a remnant of a time when folk visited Farin seeking their fortunes on the deadlands.

  Danil gingerly touched a bruise on his jaw. He scarcely believed everyone he knew had abandoned Farin. He never thought he’d find himself accused as a thief with no one to vouch for him.

  The kitchen door below him creaked open. Danil peered between the shutters to see Magus Brianna as she stepped out into the muddy courtyard. Mist curled about her feet, growing thicker as she turned to wait for a man in heavy furs to close the door and join her. Moonlight served to brighten the man’s white braid and the blood-red whip glowing at his side.

  Ronan.

  Dislike coiling in his gut, Danil pressed his ear against the wall.

  “…dealt with,” Ronan was saying, pulling his fur coat tightly about him. “General Valas will be here with the remaining contingent tomorrow. We’ll make our sortie by week’s end.”

  “Excellent,” Magus Brianna said, walking sedately towards the stables. “We must raid the broken citadel of Altonas quickly.”

  “Attacking the shifter camps first is our best bet,” Ronan said, trailing after her.

  Magus Brianna made a soft sound of negation. “The journal indicates otherwise.”

  “I would prefer not to have an enemy at our back,” Ronan muttered, hands clasped behind him. “The dragon prince himself is said to be patrolling the borderlands.”

  “What is a dragon to the might within Altonas?” Brianna replied, voice bright.

  “If what lies within the citadel is as useful as you say, sparing the deadland rat serves no purpose.”

  Danil held his breath, staring through the shutters.

  The woman paused and turned to look at her companion. “That is where we disagree, my friend,” she said mildly. “Crossing the deadlands cannot be taken lightly.”

  “You can’t expect the rat to know where the entrance is,” Ronan argued.

  Danil stared hard, heart thundering. Entrance to what? The deadlands were naught but collapsed tunnels and scorched rock.

  “I am certain he does, he just doesn’t realize it. According to the journal, there are glyphs designed to turn common folk away.”

  “Which means he’ll take us to the wrong place,” Ronan growled.

  “Young Danil is motivated to keep his skin intact,” Brianna countered. “I think you’ll be surprised by how useful he’ll prove to be. He found that coin, did he not?”

  Ronan muttered something under his breath. His fists clenched behind his back. “He can’t be trusted. How do you know he’s not listening now?” The mage threw a dark look up at the inn.

  Danil ducked out of sight. Blood roared in his ears.

  Magus Brianna laughed softly. “A sedative was put in his water. Fear not, he won’t wake until I will it so.”

  Danil glanced across the darkened room to the pitcher lying untouched on the dresser. His mouth thinned.

  “You should not be so dour, my friend,” Magus Brianna continued. “Today is a great day. Your whip’s thirst has been slaked, and we are on the cusp of obtaining all we have ever strived for.”

  Danil risked a glance out the window to see Ronan scowl.

  “I get the rat once you’re done with him,” the man muttered.

  “Of course,” Brianna said, disappearing into the stables.

  Danil felt the strength drain from his bones. He sank to his knees, his breath hollow in his lungs. They were going to kill him. He’d always known the magi to be hard and merciless, but this was something else.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Danil forced himself to his feet. He wouldn’t sit about and wait to be slaughtered. Treading across to the door, he carefully tested the handle.

  Locked.

  Danil pressed his ear to the wood, listening. The floorboards at the far end of the corridor creaked under the weight of a guard.

  Pushing himself away from the door, Danil looked again at the window. The drop to the ground below was perilous, even without the regular passage of patrolmen. Only a fool would risk breaking bones to escape.

  With little other choice, he checked the courtyard for movement before easing open the shutters. He swung his legs over and grabbed hold of the ledge. His boots scraped upon the rough-hewn clay until he found the tiniest of niches.

  He eased himself down, fingers gouging into tiny gaps. His muscles quickly set to burning as he blindly searched for another handhold. After a few moments, his legs dangled above the kitchen door. Closing his eyes, Danil dropped onto the paved steps a few feet below.

  He hit the ground with jarring force and lay still, breathless.

  The crush of gravel underfoot had him flailing blindly for the door handle. Danil threw himself inside, closing the door behind him. He pressed against it, lungs wheezing. No cry of alarm rang from outside. Glancing quickly about the kitchen, he found it devoid of people.

  He slid to the floor in relief, listening as the soldiers marched by on the other side of the door.

  The kitchen was stripped unusually bare, the worktable scrubbed clean and the hearth turned cold and dark. But on the cushioned chair beside the hearth sat the ice-trapped book Danil had seen in the aleroom. Mist billowed across the battered cover, while a layer of ice coated the chair and a wide circle of the stone floor around it.

  Danil hesitated.

  Perhaps this was the journal the two mages spoke of. The frozen floor had an unnatural, silvery sheen that warned of magic. Whatever the book was, the magi didn’t want anyone to touch it.

  But Danil equally couldn’t bear to see his kingdom at war with Amas. He knew better than most what it meant to go up against a shapeshifter, even one who viewed their interactions as play rather than en
mity.

  And Amas had long upheld the treaty, demanding nothing of Roldaer in the Great War despite resounding victory.

  Taking the book might avert a new war.

  Against his better judgement, Danil stepped onto the frozen floor. A shock of pain burst up his legs. Gasping, he snatched up the book. For a heart-stopping moment, his fingers turned to ice. Danil stared in horror, unable to move as a rush of whispers filled his ears. Then blood pumped painfully once more. He gritted his teeth, fingers numb, but held tight as the layer of frost melted under his hands.

  He glanced nervously toward the door leading to the aleroom. The inn felt remarkably silent, but Danil knew his luck couldn’t hold for long.

  With a grimace, he tucked the book under his tunic.

  Looks like I really am a thief, he thought with a certain level of vindictiveness.

  Hurrying back to the kitchen door, he carefully eased it open. The courtyard was quiet. Thanking the gods, he dashed along the shadows to the far side of the stables where a thin alley spilled out between two huts. Snores resonated from one of the huts, while low, unfamiliar voices murmured in the other.

  Danil made it to the spindly grass lining the outskirts of Farin. The book dug into his ribs like an accusation as he studied the oily blackness that marked the edge of the deadlands.

  He reached the first line of rock as an enraged scream came from the depths of the village.

  4

  The scrape of boots on rock echoed loudly in the quiet, emanating from somewhere to his left.

  Danil pressed his back into the shadow of a boulder and counted six of Magus Brianna’s soldiers on the far ridge. Their pale tabards shone whitely, no matter that night still hung thick overhead.

  He released a slow, shaky breath.

  The remaining soldiers had fallen within an hour of the chase, waylaid by the sprawling shale pits a scant mile from Farin. Their cries had rung out across the barren landscape for a whole day.

  Now it was nearing midnight on his second night in the deadlands. Exhaustion pulled at him, but Danil clung to the shadows, watching as the remaining six soldiers disappeared over the ridge and down into the gully beyond.