Blood of Kings, page 1
Blood of Kings
By
Karly Lane
Book 2 of Guardians of the Crossing
Blood of Kings Copyright © Karlene Blakemore-Mowle, 2014 First published 2014 Published by Karlene Blakemore-Mowle
2 McLennan’s Lane Macksville, NSW, 2447 Email: karlybm@gmail.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Blood of Kings (Guardians of the Crossing, #2)
Castle PAIRYON
~Castle FOREWICK
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Also By K B MOWLE
Castle PAIRYON
King Pairyon M Queen Pairyon Johnathan Kemble M Elizabeth
| | (Farik)
King Aeron M Evelyn Kemble
(Eborian) (pure Farik)
│
(mother) Syeira M Burk (father)
|
Brica M King Harmend Of Armeania
Wynter
Bern
Trace
Fern
~Castle FOREWICK
King Forewick m Queen Forewick
| |
Queen Wena m King Salis Dogmael m Owena
│ |
Avius - Maisey Boudin (Farik) Marco
| Thedios
DONOVAN BOUDIN
Prologue
THE SMALL COTTAGE BRAVELY faced the raging thunderstorm, it wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last. Through the years, it had weathered many a storm and shielded those within from the worst of the damage. The cottage was more than a shelter; it was a custodian, a protector. A guardian to the family who built it and it had served its owners well.
The rain fell in a deluge. It tore trees from the banks of the rivers, carving them like a hot knife through butter and altering the course of the ancient river. Mother Nature unleashed her fury in a spectacular tirade like a child throwing toys in a tantrum and, in the morning, the aftermath was there for all the world to see.
No more could the past be hidden, buried beneath the earth. It had been pushed from its hiding place, to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world; the putrid stench of evil released once more...
Chapter One
GARRICK SAT UP, HIS heart beating frantically. He looked around, but all he could hear was the loud snoring and night-time sounds of a hundred or more men sleeping in close proximity in the field. He rubbed his hands across his face, as though trying to erase the images in his mind. How many years had it been since he’d had that dream? He knew the answer as certain as his own name: eleven. Eleven long years.
Why were they coming back now? He felt the familiar urge inside him begin to unfurl like a sleeping dragon awoken from a long slumber.
He needed to go to her.
It was stronger than before and he knew there was no fighting it. She needed him and he would find her.
WYNTER FOLLOWED THE trail and breathed in a deep breath of clean, fresh air. The fog was hovering in the gully and hid the steep incline to the river below. She may not be able to see it this morning, but she could hear it: a loud roar in the quiet forest. It drowned out the singing of birds and the scampering of squirrels and other small critters rummaging through the leaves on the forest floor that usually kept her company as she walked home from work. The storm a few nights ago though, had caused the normally tranquil river to swell and break its banks as it carried the surplus water from the mountains, downstream, and the noise shattered the peace and quiet around her.
A shiver ran through her as she walked deeper into the forest. She frowned and glanced over her shoulder. She’d walked this trail for years and had never felt uncomfortable walking alone, but over the last few days she’d been experiencing a strange chill...a prickling of sensation that she couldn’t quite explain, like something was there with her, but nothing ever was.
It was weird enough to make her consider driving to work instead of walking, but sounded too silly to mention to anyone. She prided herself on always being able to keep her head in a crisis, which had served her well in nursing and made her a practical-minded person. One who didn’t believe in ghosts and haunted forests, she told herself firmly as she shook off the notion and picked up her pace.
As the path broke free of the foliage, it opened out onto a clearing where a cottage sat on the edge of the lake across from the village of Lochmanning. Wynter never tired of the scene before her. The lake, for the most part, was a tranquil place, except for a few months over summer when the families whom owed the expensive houses on the other side of the lake came up to spend the summer. Then the lake was buzzing with the noise of jet skis and boats, while the air in the evenings was filled with the smell of barbeque.
Sometimes Wynter would find herself sitting out in the old rose covered arbour, listening to the tinkle of laughter as it floated across the lake, and close her eyes imaging that she was part of that family having so much fun. Her chest would tighten at the thought. Sometimes she’d allow the pain to squeeze her chest for a while, until it got too painful and then she’d go inside and shut the windows, blocking out the sound of happiness and the sound of belonging—shutting out the things that she no longer had.
Tonight, though, it was still and quiet. A gentle, almost soundless lap of water against the dock was the only noise she could hear as she approached the cottage.
She was seated at the kitchen table, about to take a sip of the tea she’d just made, when the door swung open and banged against the wall before slamming shut a few seconds later.
Wynter continued to sip her tea as a tall, dark haired man came to a stop beside the table.
‘I told you to wait.’
Wynter carefully replaced the cup onto the table before holding the man’s angry glare, calmly. ‘I told you not to bother coming to get me. It’s a waste of time.’
‘You know that I have to. Why do you insist on making my life difficult?’
‘On the contrary, Garrick; I’m making it easier. You don’t have to follow me around all day,’ she shrugged. ‘You’re the one making things a lot more difficult than they need to be.’
‘Your father—’
‘My father isn’t here,’ Wynter cut him off sharply.
Garrick stared at her silently for a few moments, his scowl softening, but the sympathy Wynter saw there irritated her. She didn’t want his sympathy. ‘I want you to go back and tell him you’re not needed here anymore.’
‘I can’t do that. I have my orders.’
‘Orders,’ she muttered bitterly, picking up her tea and carrying it to the sink to tip out with an annoyed flick of her wrist. ‘They mean nothing here.’
‘You know that’s not true. Your father only wants to protect you.’
‘Well, he succeeded. I’m safe. I’m also grown up now,’ she snapped, waving a hand between them. ‘This is no longer necessary. It’s weird and it’s making people gossip. They think you’re some kind of jealous, over-possessive boyfriend.’
‘Gossip can’t hurt you. People can. Your parents won’t change their minds about this.’
‘I don’t need you, Garrick. I can take care of myself. This is not Ebornia.’ For goodness sake, she thought, mentally throwing her hands in the air. It’s Lochmanning, a small, sleepy village where nothing has changed in the last two hundred and fifty years. ‘You’re wasting your life here, watching over me when there’s no reason to do so.’
‘My job is to protect you. I don’t consider this a waste of time.’
This was pointless, she thought, pushing away from the sink to leave the room. She’d been having the same argument with her father’s men forever. Well, at least it seemed like forever. She was twenty-three years old and basically living under house arrest. It didn’t help that a little voice niggled at her conscience and reminded her that the only reason Garrick had to stay here was because she’d refused to go home when her father had given her the chance to return.
She gave a tired sigh. It was exhausting being the strong one. No one understood the real reason behind her unwillingness to return home. Returning was simply too dangerous and she refused to take the chance.
Her parents thought she was simply rebelling. Maybe there was a tiny
Here, she felt no lingering weight of doom which had haunted her since she was a child. If she stayed, she believed she may be able to alter what she feared could become a reality in her homeland.
But, unfortunately, her parents were determined to interfere and would not allow her to live here without protection, which left her in a frustrating position; she could never return to Pairyon, and so then, neither could anyone else they sent over to look after her.
It was one thing to deny herself the family and home she left behind, but it was another thing to keep her father’s guards from theirs. It added to the guilt she carried when she saw the hurt in her parents’ eyes and the knowledge that she could never tell them that it was for them that she stayed away.
GARRICK BIT BACK HIS irritation, reminding himself he was a highly trained lieutenant in his Majesty’s Royal Guard and he never let anyone unsettle him...ever.
He’d been here five weeks. Five of the longest damn weeks of his life. He knew it wouldn’t be easy—he’d heard some of the stories and knew to expect a little resistance, but he figured after the things he’d already done in the service of his country that this wouldn’t be as bad as some of his predecessors had made out. After all, it was protecting one woman...how hard could it be?
Now he had to concede that perhaps there was some merit in those stories of guards being used as not-so-willing victims when Wynter had been a trainee nurse. Many had returned home with a fear of injections, not to mention anyone waving about long tubes of any kind—especially anything resembling a catheter.
She’d also been known, on occasion, to use the old laxatives-in-the-guard’s-food trick to buy herself some time alone. Hence why he always preferred to cook his own meals, but he honestly hadn’t believed she’d manage to rattle him the way she constantly did.
He was respected, and sometimes feared, amongst the trainees he moulded into warriors—but this had no apparent effect on Wynter. She either ignored him for the most part or enjoyed pushing him to his limits of patience in those moments when she was bored and needed a distraction.
Garrick’s commander had assigned him personally when her father had demanded tougher measures to ensure his daughter’s protection. It seemed they were running out of options...not to mention volunteers. She’d managed to break more than one good soldier during the last few years, and her name was whispered amongst the men in much the same way a bout of explosive diarrhoea was discussed—with a suppressed shudder of horror.
If ever the saying of looks can be deceiving were true, it was in Wynter’s case. Outwardly, she was a picture of sweetness – hardly the torment, responsible for making grown men cry. However, he, better than anyone else, knew that there was far more to this woman, and the reminder gave him the fortitude to take a deep calming breath and focus on what he needed to do.
He knew why she pushed him, and everyone else who tried to get close, away. It was the reason he hadn’t turned down her father’s request that he take the assignment—not that anyone would be stupid enough to say no to her father in the first place. Although if he knew Garrick’s underlying reason for accepting, he may have thought twice about asking him.
Chapter Two
VAN
Donavan Boudin, Van to his friends, stared at the newspaper the Sergeant dropped on his desk.
‘No wonder you left the backwaters to move to the big city, Boudin,’ Bill Mathers grunted, nodding at the article.
Human Bones Discovered in Lochmanning Woods. The headline jumped out at Van as he scanned the article.
‘Isn’t that near where you came from?’
‘Yeah. Not too far,’ Van said, as he began reading the article with interest. When he’d finished, he sat back in his chair and gave a small grunt of surprise. Who would have thought Lochmanning would be put on the map for something like this?
The towns up in that part of the country were small and close knit. Lochmanning was only a stone’s throw from where he grew up, but they were all the same: judgemental and full of self-righteous gossip.
His upbringing hadn’t been the picture-perfect family life he often watched on TV and dreamed about having.
His mother had been a single parent when it wasn’t the norm, and struggled with severe depression. Once she’d been carefree and happy; he knew because he’d seen her smiling in an old photo album full of pictures she had hidden in her bedroom closet, but he couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d been like that as an adult—he’d certainly never seen it. He’d reached the conclusion when he was only very young that he must have been the reason she lost her smile.
He’d tried his best to make up for whatever he’d done to make her lose it—he’d tried not do anything to make her mad, but nothing he did seemed to make any difference. Eventually, he’d stop trying.
Then two years ago, after a long history of drug and alcohol abuse, his mother suffered a stroke and lost all ability to move or speak. She no longer recognised him and spent the day staring at the wall across from her bed in the nursing home he’d had to place her into.
He had no fond memories of the place he’d grown up in and while he didn’t hold the town responsible for his mother’s bad choices, he did hold them accountable to the fact they could look down their noses at a young woman and her son, but not bother to reach out and help in any way.
He shook off the old feelings of hopelessness his childhood memories always brought back and reminded himself it was in the past. He’d left all that behind him. Only, it occasionally reared its ugly head from time to time and stirred the vengeful sting of revenge, which was never too far from the surface.
As a kid, he’d made the decision to become a Detective. He’d watched people like his mother—victims, suffer with no retribution for the crimes committed against them. He’d made a vow that when he grew up he’d track down the man who’d destroyed his mother and bring him to justice. It was a seemingly unattainable thread in his life that continued to taunt him. He’d spent hours of his own time pouring over every resource available to him, searching for the man who had raped his mother as a young girl only to turn up nothing but dead ends and frustration. The man had been a ghost.
His attention returned once more to the newspaper article.
Having just come from his boss’s office, annoyed at being overlooked for a promotion he’d been hoping for, he was a little distracted. His superiors felt he still needed to prove himself. He longed to work on some big cases, but stationed here in Portscope, there was a lack of opportunities to do so. He supposed a relative peaceful community was a good thing, but it didn’t help a homicide detective’s career when there were no homicides to work on.
As he re-read the article once more, an idea began to take shape in his mind. Maybe this was the break he’d been looking for? He had the edge on the other detectives—he knew the area and knew the people. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone—solve a case and prove himself to a town who thought he was destined for the same fate as his mother.
Something that felt a lot like hope flared inside his chest at the thought. Pushing out from his desk, he went in search of his Sergeant with a proposition.
Chapter Three
WYNTER SAT IN THE ARBOUR with a coffee cup balanced on her raised knees as she watched Garrick split timber behind the cottage.
She followed the smooth swing of the blade as the axe cleanly sliced the wood in two; the movement so effortless on his part that the axe almost seemed like an extension of his body.
Wynter made it a rule to stay out of Garrick’s way as much as possible, but living under the same roof as the man made it somewhat impossible most of the time. She took refuge in the arbour, and allowed herself to be fooled into thinking at least here he couldn’t watch her every move. He could. He was always watching her—even when she thought he wasn’t.
