Visioner (The Shifter War Book 2) Read online

  “I agree,” Sonnen said. “But there are those who will think otherwise. That discussion is for another time, however.” He motioned toward the graveled path leading down into the camp. “Let us see what terms the Roldaerian emissary has to offer.”

  They passed under twin pennants that marked the entrance to the camp. Sturdy wooden walkways threaded between ferns and the stream that disappeared into a disused mine shaft at the far end of the gully. A handful of shifters called out in greeting as they headed for the main tent, where the scent of spiced tea was thick and welcoming.

  Sonnen motioned for the tent flap to close behind them before taking a seat amid the plush, embroidered cushions. Emissary Arlyn was already perched on a bright orange pillow, taking dainty sips from her cup. Her two soldiers stood to attention behind her. Danil and Hafryn took up similar positions behind Sonnen, while Blutark stood by the brazier, arms folded over his imposing chest.

  Arlyn watched them all over the rim of her cup.

  “Emissary Arlyn.” Sonnen poured himself a steaming cup and settled back. “I trust this tent is suitable for our discussions.”

  “It will serve, Your Highness,” Arlyn nodded politely.

  “You wish to consider terms.”

  Arlyn smiled and set down her cup. “You are to the point, Your Highness. I like that.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Very well. It is the wish of King Liam of Roldaer that our two kingdoms return to diplomatic talks for settling our quarrel.”

  Sonnen studied her. “Which quarrel do you refer to, emissary? By my reckoning, there is the recent issue of invasion, murder, and thievery by your magi and their soldiers. Not to mention the continued abduction of our people.”

  Arlyn nodded, momentary steel in her eyes. “These are among the matters I must bring before the High Council, Your Highness.”

  Sonnen cocked a brow.

  Arlyn smiled again. “Forgive me, Prince Sonnen. I am merely following the dictates of my king.”

  “The High Council is not here.”

  “That’s unfortunate, but not unexpected. If the High Council is unable to come to neutral territory, then I am amenable to traveling wherever you deem suitable.”

  “You are.” Sonnen raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  Arlyn matched his expression. “Naturally. For the good of both our kingdoms, Your Highness.”

  3

  Late afternoon saw Danil treading the shadowed path to the far end of the gully. The rush of water took him to the mouth of an abandoned mine shaft, where the stream disappeared into the darkness with a dull, frothy roar.

  Danil settled on a boulder overlooking the mine shaft. The pad of animal feet behind him indicated that at least two Amasians slinked in the undergrowth to keep watch. He nodded his thanks. The arrival of the Roldaerians had set the whole camp on edge.

  With a sigh, Danil unrolled a sheaf of parchment and set it upon the boulder together with a stick of charcoal. Taking hold of the crystal at his chest, Danil closed his eyes and searched for the meditative state he so often reached while training with Elania and Blutark. The shimmering gem was a low murmur in the back of his mind. Beyond, the leylines felt like iridescent bursts of color as they stretched through cracks and fissures in the rocks. The thrum of verdant shoots and awakening seeds spread out across the deadlands.

  Danil’s fingers found the charcoal. He sketched passively, letting his connection to the kiandrite and leylines dictate the shapes on the parchment. Whispers seemed to rise above the roar of the water, and half-formed images played across his vision.

  Eventually, he looked down. The parchment was a mess of scrawled lines and swirls, looking nothing like any of the glyphs he’d seen during his time with the Amasians.

  Danil slumped in disappointment and noticed Hafryn’s approach from the wooden boardwalk.

  The wolf shifter had a smooth, predatory gait, his hand naturally gravitating to the hilt of his sword. His braided hair appeared fire-red in the dappled light, and he grinned when he noticed Danil watching him.

  Blushing, Danil rose to his feet. “I thought you’d still be with Sonnen.”

  Hafryn offered a hand to help him down from the boulder. “Elania’s returned. The emissary told the truth—there’s only the soldiers we came upon this morning.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Danil said as he gathered the charcoal and parchment.

  Hafryn said, “I don’t trust Arlyn. It would have been convenient to have proof.” He considered Danil. “What have you been up to?”

  “It’s nothing,” Danil replied quickly.

  Hafryn merely waited, green eyes patient.

  Danil leaned against the boulder and handed Hafryn the parchment with a sigh. “I’d hoped to create a glyph,” he admitted. “Something to protect the leylines now that Roldaerians are here.”

  “You don’t trust Arlyn either.”

  “How can I? She’s a representative of King Liam, and we both know what he allowed to happen in Farin.”

  Hafryn eyed the parchment. “I don’t think even custodians can create glyphs, fala. Not anymore. Our enchanters make do with the relics left after the Great War.”

  Danil nodded. “It was a silly hope.”

  “Hardly that.” He looked at the parchment closely, casually tracing the scribblings. “Your task as custodian is to protect your leylines. They chose you for a reason.”

  “Elania mentioned once that custodians are trained by their predecessor.”

  Hafryn raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly helpful for us, is it?”

  Danil folded his arms. A lump of unease formed in his throat. “Hafryn, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Hafryn clasped his hand while indicating toward the surrounding forest. “You need only lift your eyes to see otherwise, fala. Or look down at the first crystal on your chest.”

  The crystal was a contented blue with striations of silver. It brightened to turquoise as if knowing it had Danil’s attention.

  Hafryn snorted. “See? You’re the custodian of the deadlands. The leylines trust you to protect them.” He tightened his grip. “Perhaps it’s time you start trusting yourself as well.”

  Danil mustered a smile. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s a start, at least.”

  Danil hesitated, then motioned for Hafryn to hand back the parchment. “Here, join me.”

  The wolf followed him to the pebbled edge of the stream, where Danil set the parchment to the current. It spun lazily across the water’s surface before being sucked down into the mine shaft. Hafryn watched it disappear, his expression bemused.

  “Just in case,” Danil said with a shrug.

  Early morning light cast a soft shade of pink upon the canvas as Danil stared up at the tent ceiling. Hafryn lay curled beside him, his face wedged between the pillows and Danil’s shoulder. He snored softly, his red hair free of its usual braid.

  Soft footfalls indicated the arrival of a servant to light the brazier in the living quarters of their tent.

  Danil sighed. It was tempting to just lay there, basking in the warmth of the familiar body beside him. He idly traced the freckles dotting Hafryn’s bare arm. The wolf snuffled and burrowed deeper into the mound of pillows. Danil resisted a snort.

  Pressing a kiss to the wild mess of hair, he gently eased himself out from under the blankets and went to their trunk in search of fresh breeches and a homespun shirt. Hafryn didn’t stir as he pulled on his boots, and so Danil quietly slipped out into the living quarters in search of tea.

  He frowned to find the servant nowhere in sight. The brazier remained unlit, the space undisturbed. His cloak was thrown haphazardly over the sprawl of cushions, the remnants of a late meal still on the desk.

  Movement caught his eye. Perched on the edge of the desk was a massive, grey-winged owl. Far too big to be anything but a shifter, it nonetheless was strangely translucent, like a ghost. Danil made a warding sign as it glared at him with predatory intensity.

  Wings flaring, i
t launched to attack.

  Danil jerked back just as a blade whistled through the air from the shadows.

  A woman leaped from behind the desk, another blade in her clenched fist. She bore the red tabard of the Roldaerian Magi Guard, but the ghostly owl Trueform followed as if somehow tethered to her.

  “Amasian,” Danil snarled.

  The woman bared her teeth. “Custodian.”

  A heartbeat later, she was on him. Danil rolled, narrowly avoiding the blade as she stabbed at his neck. They fetched up against the legs of the desk. She slashed his chest, slicing open his tunic and barely missing flesh. The crystal awakened to a blinding white.

  Danil yelled, gripping the crystal. He stabbed upwards into his attacker’s shoulder. Skin sizzled where the crystal bit deep.

  The woman screamed in shock.

  A red wolf suddenly slammed into her, and the desk toppled over with a crash. The woman scrambled backward before Hafryn was on her, fangs bared as he leaped at her throat. With a sickening crunch, bones snapped, and the woman fell limp.

  The air about the wolf shimmered as Hafryn transformed. “Danil, did she cut you?” Hafryn turned him about, green eyes frantic. “Danil!”

  Danil shook his head mutely. The crystal cast angry light about the tent.

  Hafryn almost sagged in relief. “Elania must have missed her last night. Cursed Roldaerians.”

  “I saw her Trueform,” Danil said numbly, staring at the dead woman.

  Hafryn froze, his face paling in shock.

  “Hafryn, she’s Amasian.”

  “Four of our sentries are dead,” Sonnen growled as he entered the tent. “As are the guards outside. You have much to do to convince me this is not the work of Roldaer.”

  Danil and Hafryn shared a look.

  The dead assassin had been moved onto the uprighted desk, where Elania and Blutark busily removed an accoutrement of blades and needle-like implements from her clothing. Magelights bobbed about the tent to glint off the weapons.

  “She appears Roldaerian,” Elania said as they reached the desk. She inspected the assassin’s tunic. “This fabric is from the royal city, no less.”

  “Her dagger’s also poisoned,” Blutark noted, turning the blade toward the light. A black film thickly coated the edge. “A favored method of Roldaerian slayers.” He tossed the blade into the brazier, where the flames hissed and crackled.

  The rumble in Sonnen’s chest deepened as he made to leave. “Let us see how Emissary Arlyn explains this.”

  “Sonnen, wait,” Hafryn said, stepping in front of him. “Arlyn can’t know what’s happened.”

  Danil quickly nodded. “If the emissary discovers I was attacked, she could use it against us. I don’t believe that this woman is Roldaerian.”

  The dragon prince frowned in confusion before his gaze dropped to the angrily glowing crystal against Danil’s tunic. “Your crystal has tasted blood, custodian.”

  He wondered if it was as bad an omen as he suspected. “Amasian blood, no less.”

  Together with Hafryn, he quickly recounted the events of the attack, careful to describe the Trueform he’d seen.

  Sonnen grimaced and shook his head in denial. “That cannot be. Hafryn, did you also see this owl?”

  Hafryn shook his head. “I woke to find Danil fighting for his life.”

  With a cold rush, Danil realized seeing the ghostlike owl had likely saved his life. “It’s like I could see both her and her Trueform at the same time,” he said. “That’s how I avoided the first blade.”

  Sonnen rubbed his chin. “The ability to see both shifter and Trueform is not a gift I’m familiar with. Can you see our Trueforms now?”

  Glancing about the tent, Danil shook his head. “I don’t know how I did it,” he admitted ruefully.

  “Perhaps the ability revealed itself because there was a need,” Blutark mused as he tapped a blade restlessly against his thigh.

  “Or it’s somehow connected to the first crystal,” Elania said. “It did come to your aid when she attacked you, Danil.”

  The crystal’s agitated glow softened a little under the praise.

  “Well, there’s one way to confirm if this assassin is Amasian,” Hafryn muttered, moving to the desk. The wolf shifter bent close over the body, examining between the woman’s fingers and then her armpits. Muttering under his breath, he turned to her scalp.

  “What are you looking for?” Danil asked as he peered over Hafryn’s shoulder.

  “All Houses have a glyph,” Sonnen said, arms folded as he watched. “If she’s an owl as you say, she’ll belong to House of Eyrie.”

  The House glyph on Danil’s own palm shined as if freshly painted. “What does a House glyph have to do with whether she’s an owl or not?”

  “The Eyrie is the only House to which owls are born,” Elania uttered, face grim in the magelight. “They’re the assassins of Amas, and they pride themselves in never letting a contract go unfulfilled.”

  “Contract?” Danil blanched in alarm.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Blutark muttered with a placating gesture. “Even if she is Eyrie, we can’t know for certain that Danil was her target.”

  Danil said dully, “She called me custodian.”

  Flames showed in Sonnen’s eyes.

  Hafryn straightened, his mouth thin. “Well, there it is.” He pointed.

  Behind the woman’s left ear was a tiny glyph no larger than a fingernail. Surprisingly delicate, it comprised of concentric waves and small florets in a tight, repeating pattern.

  “I know this glyph,” Danil murmured, trying to recall where he had seen it.

  “Of course you do, fala,” Hafryn said. With a sigh, he pulled back the sleeve of his tunic to reveal the inside of his elbow. A matching symbol lay there, small and gleaming pale blue.

  Danil gaped in astonishment.

  Hafryn lowered his sleeve. “I’m of the House of Eyrie.”

  4

  “You said you’re from the High Reaches,” Danil blurted out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Hafryn spread his hands apologetically. “The High Reaches are within Eyrie territory. I don’t associate with my kin anymore, fala. I wasn’t exactly suited to the role of assassin.”

  “You still bear their glyph,” Danil objected. He knew how glyphs worked—they stayed until their magic was spent. For House glyphs, it was when the bearer rescinded their connection or became part of a new House. Or died.

  Hafryn grimaced. “One doesn’t generally leave the Eyrie. I’ve stretched my luck already with my association with Corros.”

  The realization of how little Danil knew of the man burned deep. “Did she attack me because I’m with you?” he asked with an effort.

  “Unlikely, fala. The Eyrie aren’t generally motivated by emotion.”

  Sonnen grunted in agreement. “The House of Eyrie is renowned for fixing problems for a fee, Danil. Owls are unique due to their hunting abilities, keen eyesight, and silent wings. They are formidable assassins and rarely fail.”

  “Someone paid for the Eyrie to kill me?” Danil asked, dumbfounded. He sat heavily on a chest, his stomach unsettled.

  “A contract would have been made with a Keeper,” Hafryn muttered. He scrubbed his hair. “Keepers handle all assignations and decide who to send out. No one acts as sole agents—at least, not for long.”

  “But why come after me at all?” Danil asked, feeling a chill in his bones. He’d never given it much thought, but there had to be Amasians who hated humans as surely as the Roldaerian magi hated shifters.

  “The border lies a great distance away for many Amasians,” Sonnen replied, expression perturbed. “There are some on the High Council who argue that protecting the deadlands is not an Amasian fight.” He raised his hand when Danil opened his mouth to protest. “I speak for everyone here when I say that is not our thinking, Danil.”

  Danil folded his arms, thinking hard. “That’s why you’re back so soon. You think the Hig
h Council will decide against sending aid.”

  “We have allies—perhaps enough to make a difference,” Sonnen replied. He studied the dead woman and released a disconsolate sigh. “You were right to seek discretion. Should the Roldaerians discover Amas is not united, the magi will quickly grow bold.”

  Danil thought of what Magus Brianna had almost wrought in her bid to possess mage-crystals. He chafed his arms against the chill.

  Hafryn scrubbed his face in agitation. “But the assassin had known what Danil is. Murdering custodians is anathema to all Amasians, including the Eyrie.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’m human,” Danil whispered dully.

  Hafryn scowled. “What? No—”

  “He makes a fair point, Hafryn,” Blutark countered. “Not all Amasians are so enamored by humans.”

  Elania made a soft sound of contemplation. “Even fewer believe a human could be custodian, least of all to a land that has been dead of all magic and life for centuries—no disrespect meant, Danil.”

  “None taken,” he replied dourly.

  Hafryn gaped at them.

  “It is why I returned here, rather than continue to privately broker for the support of our councilors,” Sonnen muttered. His gaze returned to Danil. “You must stand before the High Council in Corros and be heard. You are the best suited to helping them understand what is happening here.”

  Danil shook his head in denial. Only months ago he had been little more than a deadland scavenger under the thumb of the magi. “I’m no diplomat, Sonnen,” he argued. “I’ll make things worse.”

  Sonnen gave a mild smile. “Let them see who you are, custodian. It will be enough.”

  Danil snorted in disbelief.

  “What of the assassin?” Hafryn argued. “Once Danil’s enemies realize they’ve failed, they’ll send others. He won't be safe in Corros.”

  “Nor is he safe here, but in Corros we have a greater chance of protecting him while also identifying who ordered his death. However, we must act as if the attack this morning never occurred,” Sonnen said.