Messenger (The Shifter War Book 1) Page 3

  He’d hoped to make for the village of Scara in the south, but tiny pinpricks of flame in the far distance indicated that soldiers likely searched for him there, too.

  Danil pushed off the boulder and darted around a collapsed mineshaft, grimacing as quartz pebbles clattered down into the chasm. The book sat like a cold weight against his chest. It had to be the reason the soldiers refused to call off the hunt.

  Stupid, stupid, he berated himself.

  No one stood against the magi. They were second to King Liam in power, and only nobles of the highest standing dared to speak ill of them. Danil knew there would be no place to hide in Roldaer, and no one willing to risk Magus Brianna’s wrath by concealing a thief.

  And yet, despite the burden of stealing the book, Danil couldn’t quite compel himself to throw it away. He’d deal with the consequences if it meant stopping Roldaer’s plunge into war.

  With a steadying breath, Danil made for a series of rock formations made into fantastic shapes by centuries of meltwater. The forested borderland of Amas stood another mile away.

  He trudged past the first rock formation, careful of the treacherous shale that sent large plates skittering down the slope. Deep crevasses cut into the boulders. Hard experience had taught him how easy it was to become turned about in this region of the deadlands.

  He rounded a corner, guided by fresh air whispering between the rocks and the glint of rutilated crystals in the moonlight.

  A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, wrenching him hard against a powerful chest. Danil flailed wildly, arching his back and kicking with raw terror.

  “Danil!” a familiar voice hissed in his ear. “Be still!”

  He froze, blood pounding in his ears.

  Spun about, he stared up into Hafryn’s wide eyes. The shifter wore a tunic of mottled blacks and greys, his breeches similarly dyed to blend with the surrounding rocks.

  Frowning, the shifter pressed a finger to his lips.

  Danil nodded, and the wolf released him fully.

  ‘Follow me,’ Hafryn mouthed before slipping into a crevasse that cut deep into the rock.

  Danil hesitated, glancing eastward where the soldiers had disappeared. Their voices carried in the air, far closer than he would like.

  Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, he trailed after the shifter.

  Hafryn took him on a wandering path through the sculpted outcrops. They emerged on a flattened strip of pebbles and slabbed stone. The mountains closed in around them, funneling them towards the towering trees that marked the edge of Amas.

  Danil slowed as Hafryn took long strides towards the imposing elms.

  The wolf shifter turned about. “Hurry up, Danil. It’s not just soldiers who hunt you.”

  Danil glanced nervously at the trees.

  Hafryn took cautious steps towards him. “Whatever’s happened, Danil, you have sanctuary in Amas.”

  That was quite a claim. Humans weren’t welcome in Amas.

  The stupidity of his plan pressed down on him.

  Hafryn waited, eyes earnest.

  Shaking his head, Danil pulled the book out from under his tunic. “I took this.” He handed it over.

  Startled disbelief showed in Hafryn’s eyes as he ran a thumb over a strange symbol on the leather spine. “This is Amasian. A journal we thought lost to—” He stopped, frowning. “How’d you get this?”

  “A mage had it,” Danil said. “I think it’s important.”

  “It is.”

  Strangely, the wolf handed the journal back.

  “You’ve carried it this far,” Hafryn said. “And I’m sure at great cost.” He turned around, beckoning with one hand as he strode for the tree line. “Come, Danil, let’s not tarry.”

  Danil gaped after the shifter, startled by his easy acceptance and welcome. Perhaps it was foolish to give his trust to Hafryn, but he’d made his choice back in Farin.

  Taking a quelling breath, Danil followed the wolf between the soaring trees into Amas.

  Other shifters waited for them amidst a thicket of tree ferns and patches of snow. A massive black bear stood at the edge of a stream, accompanied by a spotted leopard who tilted her nose up to scent the air. A few others in human form watched him silently, hands on swords. One held a crossbow, though thankfully the bolt was currently pointed at the ground.

  Danil glanced tensely at Hafryn, but the wolf appeared unconcerned.

  The foremost shifter was a man in his early thirties, heavily muscled with black hair held back in a loose tail. He seemed to take up more space than his size demanded. Some nameless instinct warned Danil not to rile him. He remained very still as the man’s golden eyes momentarily flickered with flames at their center.

  Hafryn bowed. “Dragon Prince Sonnen,” he said, and Danil smothered a startled gasp. “This is Danil of Farin.”

  The dragon shifter, Sonnen, merely looked him over, expression closed. The surrounding shifters were easier to read, with some wary and others curious.

  “Why have you crossed into Amas, Danil of Farin?” Sonnen asked, his voice a deep rumble that inexplicably reminded Danil of rolling thunder during the deep of winter.

  Danil straightened his spine and took a deep breath.

  “I bring a message of war.”

  5

  They took him to a campsite a few miles into Amas. Like Hafryn, most of the shifters recognized the stolen journal, although only Dragon Prince Sonnen dared touch it. Danil watched in amazement as the dragon wove a flaming symbol over the journal that quenched the last remnants of ice with a hiss.

  They peppered him with questions as they moved amongst the trees. Danil answered as best he could, trying to recall the smallest detail of what he’d seen and heard in Farin. To his surprise, none of the shifters appeared startled by Magus Brianna’s gathering force.

  Now at the campsite, an oversized owl watched Danil from a branch high above. Firelight caught along the glossy edge of its feathers. Danil felt the owl’s huge eyes on the back of his neck as he picked at the trailbread a man had given him when they first arrived.

  Sonnen sat on the opposite side of the campfire, leafing through pages of the journal as Hafryn and another two shifters leaned over his shoulders to read as well.

  The camp itself was a revelation. Brightly colored tents of reds, greens and blues sat amongst the massive trees, each tent large enough to house a dozen folk. A series of symbols were either dyed or etched into the canvas, and showed golden in the firelight. Chimes hung from the branches throughout the camp, tinkling in the breeze.

  “Here,” a young woman said, abruptly sitting beside Danil. “Hold out your hands.”

  The woman was in her twenties, dark-skinned with curling black hair pulled back by a band of tooled leather. Dimples showed as she gave him a smile.

  Danil blinked and did as she asked.

  She turned Danil’s hands about, inspecting the fingertips. “It’s as I thought,” she muttered. “Frostbite.” She pulled out a small jar of ink from a satchel at her side, along with a fine paintbrush. “Damned magi and their cursed tricks. I’m going to do a healing, okay?”

  “Uh, sure,” Danil said, watching as she painted a tiny symbol onto a white patch of skin on his thumb. The ink had an iridescent gleam that reminded him of mage-crystals. A pleasant warmth immediately cut into the dull ache he’d felt since first touching the journal.

  “Thank you,” Danil said as sensation flooded back into his hand.

  The young woman beamed at him. “I’m Elania, by the way. I was with you on the way in from the border,” she said as she started on his other hand. “The snow leopard.”

  “Oh,” he said. She didn’t have the manner of a predator, but Danil supposed looks were deceiving.

  “You’re fortunate you didn’t die when you touched the journal,” Elania muttered, inspecting his forefinger with amber eyes. “My guess is they didn’t expect anyone to steal it.”

  “I got lucky,” he admitted.

  “That�
�s an understatement if ever I heard one.” Elania dipped the paintbrush into the ink. “The mage who did the ice curse. Was it a woman? Dark hair turning grey, kinda scrawny, dresses in finery and talks like she only hangs out with dignified folk?”

  Danil nodded in surprise. “Magus Brianna.”

  Elaina wrinkled her nose. “Figured as much. We’ve dealt with her before.”

  “You have?” Danil looked at her in astonishment. “Where?”

  She sat back and eloquently spread her hands.

  “In Amas,” Danil concluded. Heart sinking, he realized Magus Brianna had broken the treaty. It explained why such a large party of Amasians patrolled the border. They were already prepared for war.

  “Won’t gaining the journal change things?” he asked desperately. “You don’t have to declare war on Roldaer.”

  She tilted her head, amber eyes assessing. “Your Magus Brianna and her cohorts are rogues, Danil. It’s what happens when a mage has too much wealth and influence.” She sniffed. “We’ve no interest in war. We’ll deal with her the same way we’ve dealt with treaty-breakers in the past.”

  Danil glanced at the bear shifter patrolling just beyond the edge of the camp. Its dark eyes gleamed in the firelight.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I broke the treaty, too.”

  “Not exactly,” Elania said, looking up. “You were invited.”

  Danil followed her gaze to where Hafryn stood with his fists resting upon his hips. He spoke to the dragon as an equal, tapping at something in the journal. Sonnen listened closely, tilting his head in acquiescence. Used to the trickster side of the wolf, Danil found Hafryn’s ability to command attention strangely compelling.

  As if sensing eyes on him, the wolf shifter glanced up.

  Danil quickly averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

  Elania gave a low hum and continued to inscribe tiny symbols onto Danil’s hands. A faint vibration could be felt under each symbol, growing stronger as she continued her work.

  “What’s so important about that journal, anyway?” Danil asked. He’d assumed the shifters would have been more alarmed by the presence of the mages and their personal guards in Farin. But the varying reactions of surprise and dismay evident when Danil handed the journal to Sonnen indicated otherwise.

  The young woman hesitated, dark eyes conflicted. “It’s very old—a Great War relic, in fact. As for what’s inside, it’s not my place to say.”

  Danil glanced again at Hafryn reading over the dragon prince’s shoulder. “Magus Brianna was using it to find something in the deadlands. And in Altonas.”

  Elania made a noncommittal noise. “Altonas was destroyed in the Great War. There’s nothing left but ruins.”

  “Well, something in that journal was enough to bring Magus Brianna to Farin,” Danil replied. “And she ordered everyone away from Farin so that no one could see what she was up to.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Elania began. She sat back, grimacing slightly. “Don’t you think it odd that they all up and left without you? The villagers, I mean.”

  He did. But he also knew common folk didn’t gamble with their lives by disputing a mage’s orders.

  “We can discuss the villagers later,” a deep voice declared.

  Danil glanced up to see Sonnen make his way around the campfire. The same feeling of being prey stole into him as the shifter approached. Danil wondered if it had something to do with having a dragon contained within a human form. Hafryn paced behind Sonnen, green eyes bright.

  “What’s your assessment?” Sonnen asked, glancing at Elania.

  Elania rose, dusting her hands on her breeches. “Danil’s fine, for the most part. Biggest risk now is deadland poisoning from some scrapes, but the glyphs should take care of those, too.”

  Danil threw Hafryn a dour look as he clambered to his feet. They both knew just how he’d gotten those deadland scrapes.

  The wolf scratched the side of his nose, his mouth quirking.

  Sonnen turned back to Danil. “I’ve not thanked you fully for the information you brought us, Danil of Farin. We’re in your debt.”

  Danil rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “I—the soldiers might have followed me into Amas.”

  The dragon prince nodded. “We’ve panthers guarding the border. No one will slip past,” he said.

  Relief eased the tension across his shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “It’s not often that a human comes to us for sanctuary,” Sonnen continued. “Nonetheless, you have it. Come morning, you and I will talk more about your place here in Amas, should you seek it.”

  “I’d like that,” Danil replied.

  “In the meantime, it is late and I’m certain you’re weary from your journey. Dawn is some time away. Hafryn can show you a place where you can clean up and refresh.”

  The wolf winked. “This way, Danil,” he said, beckoning.

  Danil sketched an awkward half-bow to Sonnen and followed, feeling the eyes of many shifters upon him as he trod across the camp.

  They wordlessly strode between the tents until Hafryn stopped at one dyed dark forest green. The wolf pulled back the tent flap and indicated for Danil to duck inside.

  Soft light emanated from lamps set about the tent, the ground covered with plush, ornately woven rugs. A single oversized pallet lay in one corner, a heavily-scrolled wooden chest positioned at the foot of the bedding. In front of a curtained alcove was a veritable collection of cushions piled together like a nest.

  Hafryn opened the chest and pulled out a clean tunic and breeches. “Here,” he said, handing them over. “Bathing tub is behind the alcove. There’s glyphs that keep the water clean and hot. But be sure to use the soapsand. The deadlands has a particular smell to it.”

  Danil thumbed the homespun cloth, finding the tunic softened and well worn. It was too large for him, but a perfect fit for Hafryn. Danil eyed the wolf. Used to seeing him naked, Danil was surprised at how the mottled tunic the shifter wore hinted at the muscle and lean planes underneath.

  Hafryn noticed the intensity of his look. “What?”

  Danil felt himself flush. “I’ve never seen you clothed before.”

  Hafryn folded his arms, looking Danil up and down. “Well, I’ve never seen you naked.” He grinned in challenge.

  Danil rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t an invitation, wolf.”

  Hafryn raised his hands, chuffing. “Fine. I swear not to peek.” He ambled over to the pile of cushions and threw himself down, wiggling to get comfortable. Tucking his hands behind his head, he smirked to see Danil still watching him. “Take your time. To get cleaned up, that is.”

  Muttering a curse, Danil went behind the alcove. There was indeed a simple wooden tub upon a platform, with steam rising off the water’s surface. Plush towels and a robe hung off a nearby stand. A small side table sat beside the tub, a wine goblet within easy reach.

  “Figures you’d be all about your own comfort,” Danil muttered under his breath. It was far beyond anything he expected for a tent in the middle of nowhere.

  The wolf shifter called out, “You should try my pallet. Only the finest bedding and silks.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  Hafryn chuckled.

  Danil loosened the ties to his tunic and tugged it free before kicking off his boots. He eyed the curtain before shucking off his breeches and quickly hopping into the tub. Heated water made him sigh in bliss as his muscles relaxed. After a short while, he grabbed a handful of soapsand and began working away the grime.

  He froze before yanking his hands out of the water with a splash.

  The symbols!

  He checked his fingers only to see the litttle inscriptions still sharply defined on his skin.

  “They’re called glyphs, fala,” Hafryn said, clearly having heard his surprised gasp. “They won’t fade until their task is complete.”

  Tilting his hand, Danil watched the glyphs change color in the lig
ht. The skin underneath was a healthy pink. Then his eyes narrowed. “What did you just call me?”

  Hafryn moved on the cushions. “What? Fala? It means moonflower.”

  “Moonflower?”

  Hafryn huffed. “The moon calls to me, and you’re pretty. Like a flower. So, moonflower. I figure we’re at a point in our relationship where pet names are permissible.”

  Danil gaped at the curtain. “We’re not—”

  “You came to me in your time of need,” Hafryn said reasonably.

  “You grabbed me!”

  “The details are open to interpretation,” the wolf allowed, voice grudging. “But there are places in the deadlands where you could have stayed hidden for a time. You needn’t run for Amas.”

  That was the truth right there. He sank down in the water to his earlobes. While he didn’t want to see Roldaer and Amas at war, it wasn’t exactly his duty to intervene. He wasn’t quite ready to explore why he’d thought Amas was his best ally in stopping it.

  Shaking his thoughts loose, he sat up and focused on scrubbing his arms with the soapsand. “How did you even know where to find me?”

  Hafryn hummed in contemplation. “Instinct, I suppose. Plus you make enough noise for a herd of buffalo.”

  Danil rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “Well, I’m grateful, anyway.” He rinsed off the suds.

  “The magi weren’t keen to let you escape,” Hafryn said. “And not solely, I suspect, because you stole the journal from right under their noses.” He sounded rather jovial at that. “Do you have any idea what the magi meant when they spoke about an entrance?”

  Danil rose out of the tub, shivering from the cold air. “A tunnel, maybe?” He quickly dried himself off. “Most of the mineshafts have collapsed, though, and the ones that remain are dangerous. I try to avoid going down there if I can.”

  “Common sense, do you think, or a compulsion?” Hafryn mused.

  Danil pulled the clean tunic over his head. He wondered that himself. Some places he avoided more than others. He pulled on the breeches and tied the lacing closed. “Could there really be anything left down there? Some of those tunnels go deep.” He stepped out from behind the alcove.