Rogue's Call Read online

  Rogue’s Call

  Book Three

  of

  The King’s Riders

  by

  C.A. Szarek

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Books by C.A. Szarek

  Map of The North

  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

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Rogue’s Call

  C.A. Szarek

  Book Three of

  The King’s Riders

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © April, 2015, C.A. Szarek

  Cover Art Copyright © 2015, Nicole Cadet (http://www.nicolecadet.com/)

  Series Imprint Copyright © 2013, Tatiana Barfod

  Map Copyright © 2013, Matthew Bryant

  Edited by Fiona Campbell

  Paper Dragon Publishing

  North Richland Hills, TX

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Paper Dragon Publishing or the Author.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-941151-10-5

  Print book ISBN: 978-1-941151-11-2

  Published in the United States of America

  First eBook Edition: April, 2015

  First Print Edition: May, 2015

  Other Books by C.A. Szarek

  The King’s Riders—Epic Fantasy Romance

  Sword’s Call (Book One)

  Love’s Call (Book Two)

  Crossing Forces—Romantic Suspense

  Collision Force (Book One)

  Cole in Her Stocking (A Crossing Forces Christmas)—FREE read!

  Chance Collision (Book Two)

  Calculated Collision (Book Three)

  Highland Secrets Trilogy—Historical Fantasy Romance

  The Tartan MP3 Player (Book One)

  The Fae Ring (Book Two)

  The Parchment Scroll (Book Three)

  Anthologies

  Deep in the Hearts of Texas—FREE read!

  Story: Promise (A Crossing Forces Companion)

  THE NORTH

  Dedication

  I can’t believe this is book three! It seemed a long time in coming, and it was a hard book for me to write. It took forever, too.

  I ended up loving Alasdair and Elissa, and I hope you do, too!

  So, this one’s for you. My readers! Love you all, and without you, I couldn’t do this!

  Chapter One

  “Over here, Majesty.”

  Nathal tried not to sigh as he dismounted his white stallion, Destroyer. Dust puffed into the air as he thumped to the ground. His heels smarted but he ignored the minor bother and handed the destrier’s reins to his squire. He strode toward his lifelong friend and captain of his personal guard, Murdoch.

  Not. Again.

  But it had happened again, this time in his own Province of Terraquist.

  He was well aware of what awaited him inside.

  It was the only reason he was here. Normally, his men handled these types of situations and reported back to him.

  This was the third time, and Nathal needed to respond himself.

  As king, his people were his responsibility.

  He had to dip his head to enter the low doorway of the crofter’s cottage. The acrid smell of burned flesh and blood smacked him in the face and roiled his stomach. Bile rose; Nathal swallowed, clearing his throat and exchanging a glance with one of his men.

  “Your Highness.” Murdoch inclined his head. The large man was hunched over a female body.

  Her pale blonde hair was stained deep red, matted at the back of her head. She lay face down on the wood-planked floor of the small home, both her arms bent at an odd angle. Her legs, too, were broken, facing opposite directions. Blood pooled beneath her.

  “Dammit.”

  “I know it, sire.” His captain’s auburn brows were drawn tight. “The third lass.” Murdoch was on a knee, careful to avoid the crimson coating the floor.

  “I believe it confirms they’re looking for her, if the second did not. It’s not a coincidence.”

  “Aye. They’re killing any lass who looks about the right age if they don’t get the right answers to questions about magic, I’d wager to guess.”

  Nathal cursed long and hard, tightening his fist until his gauntlets creaked a protest.

  “My king, in here!” one of his knights called, peeking his head out of what had to be the main sleeping quarters of the cottage.

  The crofter home sat on its own parcel of land, well outside the City of Terraquist, his capital. Although small, it was independent. According to the official royal records, it was owned by Fergal Onsted.

  Onsted was a farmer by trade, and made the appropriate tithes. An upstanding citizen.

  No reports of any issues—of any kind. The provost in charge of the area had confirmed. He, too, was outside with his marshals.

  “What is it, Tarmon?” Nathal asked, but his stomach dipped, and he just knew.

  “Two laddies.”

  Nathal’s heart plummeted. The look on his knight’s face confirmed the children were dead, too. The woman face down in the main living space was probably their mother. He assumed she was Onsted’s wife, Rohaine—according to the records.

  He blew out a breath and went to the doorway, dread churning his gut.

  Two small forms lay crumpled and broken on the woven rug.

  Nathal closed his eyes and looked away. “Blessed Spirit.” Blood covered the room, the walls, even the large bed.

  “They probably tried to hide.” Tarmon’s low voice was thick, the man obviously affected by the scene. Then again, who wouldn’t be?

  Like himself, the knight was a father, too.

  Both lads were blond, and they couldn’t be more than four or five turns old. Two small hands were entwined, despite their contorted bodies; the brothers were connected in death.

  “Any sign of the husband?” Nathal called to no one in particular. “His name is Fergal Onsted.”

  “Aye, Majesty,” someone answered from the third, and final room of the cottage. “Over here. He’s burned badly.”

  “Shite.”

  This was the third family decimated in t
he last sevenday. Three young women, their husbands, and now the toll of children sat at five.

  “Get Rory in here to sweep for magic,” Murdoch ordered, catching Nathal’s eye as he came back into the main living space.

  Nathal nodded agreement and watched one of the lads dash outside.

  “Your Highness?” The redheaded half-elfin mage bowed as he appeared in front of Nathal, but he didn’t miss the lad’s eyes resting on the dead lass before meeting his gaze. Rory brushed his bright hair out of his face, the movement drawing Nathal’s attention to the magic user’s long tapered ear.

  “Where’s your sister?” he asked. Unlike Rory, Edana was tiny, barely over four and a half feet. She resembled a full-blooded elf more than her six-foot-tall brother. Neither came close to Nathal’s own six-foot-seven-inch-frame. Few men did.

  “Probing outside, Majesty.”

  “Good. She doesn’t need to see this carnage. Tell her to stay out there, mark the perimeter and note any magic.”

  Rory gave a curt nod. He was still and silent, and although Nathal couldn’t hear the message being relayed, there was no doubt the mage was thought-sending to the other redhead. He and his twin were Nathal’s two most powerful mages, and connected to each other much more so than his other mages, because of their twin-tie and elfin blood.

  “Tell me what you find here, lad.”

  “Aye, Majesty.” The mage’s chest heaved as if he’d taken a deep breath, and he closed his vivid green eyes. Rory spread his arms wide, and Nathal watched as his skin started to glow.

  “Nathal.” Murdoch spoke too low to have been overheard, so Nathal didn’t chide him for calling his given name. His captain rarely did so when they were in the company of their men—as it should be.

  They’d been lads together, trained together, and fought together. Even married at the same time. Nathal had no closer friend.

  “What is it?” He tore his gaze away from Rory, and knelt next to his captain.

  “Look.” Murdoch had flipped the lass’s body over.

  Nathal glanced away from her mangled face, and the burned flesh of her neck and collarbone. One of her ears was missing. He cursed again as his friend gently closed her sightless eyes. The lass’s bodice and tunic were torn open, baring her breasts. He murmured a prayer that the Blessed Spirit keep her soul safe.

  Anger and regret darted across Murdoch’s face when Nathal met his teal eyes. “A waste of one so young.”

  “Aye. There is no greater waste. What did you find?”

  The captain pointed to a scorch mark high on her ribs, on her right side. “I think they know about the birthmark.”

  “Enough to look for it, aye. But this lass has none.”

  “Aye, but this is new. Different from the other two deaths.” Murdoch gave a nod and sighed.

  Nathal chewed over that bit of information, but it was true. “Cover her up, Mur. She deserves dignity.”

  The captain worked quickly, straightening the damaged bodice as well as smoothing bloody skirts. The lass’s expression was serene in death, despite the horrors that’d escorted her to the afterlife.

  He had to look away from everything that’d been done to her. He’d seen many bloody battles in the time he’d been king, but the death of innocents never sat right in his gut. Especially when this lass and her family—as well as the other two—had no idea what they’d done to become targets of evil.

  Nothing. They didn’t do a damn thing to deserve this.

  “The question is, if they’d thought they’d actually found her, would they’ve killed or captured?” Nathal mused, trying to assuage the guilt churning in his gut.

  “Captured. They covet her magic, do they not?”

  “Aye, so we’ve always assumed. But why?” He growled as he climbed to his feet. “They haven’t established where they think she is. The first lass was from western Greenwald. The second, North Ascova. Why were these lasses targeted? Three small holdings, none of the women were noble, or married to noblemen. It’s as if they do not know their real target at all.”

  “Questions we need to answer, but thank the Blessed Spirit for any ignorance that’ll play to our advantage.” Murdoch shook his head, whispering prayers over the lass.

  Neither of them had ever been considered holy men, not really, but in the face of the tragedy—and the other two—Nathal needed guidance. His people had been slaughtered. They deserved better.

  He would avenge them—and protect his own, as he always had.

  “Why would they come after her now? After all these turns?” Murdoch asked when he’d straightened.

  “How did they find out she’s alive?”

  “I know not, Sire. We’ve done what we could to protect her, to keep her hidden for almost twenty turns. But never did I fathom it’d be at the expense of three lasses and their families. Innocents murdered. We have to catch these bastards.”

  “Aye, Murdoch. Before anyone else is killed.”

  Nathal held himself responsible.

  He knew who they were looking for. And where she resided.

  * * * *

  The little girl giggled and Elissa failed to hold back the smile curving her lips. “Sit still, princess, so I can finish quickly,” she admonished her young cousin.

  “I am sitting still, Issa,” Mallyn complained.

  “Hmm…” She gave a gentle tug of the tawny-colored braid she was weaving.

  The newly ten-turn-old whined for good measure, but straightened her thin shoulders and sat taller.

  “That’s better, lovebug.”

  Mallyn flashed a grin in the mirror and Elissa kept her fingers moving, fixing her cousin an intricate nest of braids for the feast. The little princess had begged for a grown-up style, one like her mother often wore. It was her birthday supper; the child had been a ball of excitement all morning and well into the afternoon. She’d had trouble focusing on her lessons, too. Mallyn had asked if she could get dressed in her special outfit for supper even before midday meal.

  “Elissa, may I have a word?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” She released Mallyn’s hair and bowed to Queen Morghyn as she entered the room.

  “Mama.” Mallyn’s high pitched whine made the queen’s pale brows knit tight. “Issa is doing my hair! She can’t go with you right now.” The princess leveled a frown to match her mother’s.

  “Sweeting, just because it’s your birthing day doesn’t mean you can speak to me like that.” Queen Morghyn’s admonition was on the gentle side, but her dark eyes flashed.

  Mallyn hung her head. “Aye, Mother. I’m sorry.”

  The queen swept further into the room, her fine golden gown rustling with each graceful step. She cupped her only daughter’s cheeks, caressing her with both thumbs and murmuring.

  Elissa bit back a smile she watched them together. The queen was her blood kin, first cousin to her dead father, and the only mother she’d ever known.

  She resembled the white-blonde beauty more than Mallyn, who looked more like King Nathal. Elissa’s eyes were hazel instead of deep brown, but her facial structure was just like the queen’s; high cheekbones and straight nose. They’d been mistaken as sisters many a time, though the queen was old enough to be her mother. She’d never remind the queen of such things. Her cousin held her age well, looking much younger than her forty or so turns.

  “Lady Elissa shall return to finish your hair with plenty of time before your feast, my love.” Queen Morghyn kissed Mallyn’s forehead, like she’d done to Elissa so many times over the turns.

  Elissa was—and always would be—grateful her cousin had taken her in when her parents had died, and raised her as a lady-in-waiting. Her father had been a minor lord, and Elissa’s position at Castle Rowan was one of honor. Lady-in-waiting or not, Queen Morghyn had always shown her affection, hugs, and love—as well as discipline—during her childhood.

  The king, her cousin’s husband, had always treated her with respect and love. Elissa couldn’t have had a better
man to consider a father.

  Mallyn’s expression was solemn. “Can you hurry?”

  “Mallyn.” The queen’s voice held warning, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

  The little girl beamed, unrepentant as usual.

  Elissa cleared her throat to cover her laugh. “I know what we can do, lovebug.”

  “What?” Her little cousin’s pale blue eyes went wide.

  “I’ll call Ketrice, and she’ll help you get dressed. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back to weave flowers into your hair.”

  “Oh, aye!” Mallyn clapped.

  The other handmaiden quickly stepped into the room as if summoned, the princess’s fancy blue birthday gown in her capable hands. Elissa thanked her friend.

  “Oh, Mother?” the child called as she slipped to her feet from the chair. Her ivory dressing gown was crinkled, and Elissa leaned forward to tug it straight.

  “Aye, love?”

  “You can still hurry, right?”

  Elissa laughed—she couldn’t help it.

  Queen Morghyn whirled away so her daughter wouldn’t see her smile. “Impudent lass,” she muttered as they left her child’s rooms.

  Elissa knew better than to point out her young cousin wasn’t much different from her mother. “Is something wrong, Your Grace?”

  “Nay, lass. Don’t worry. The king has some news.”

  “For me?”

  “Aye.” The queen’s expression was serene, but Elissa’s gut churned with unease.

  What could the king have to say to me?

  The dreams—nightmares, really—that’d been haunting her all sevenday danced into her mind, though she’d told no one, not even her roommate.

  Women screaming, running; fire everywhere. White-hot pain searing her arms and legs, and her face. Elissa had woken screaming, too. She’d frantically grabbed for her left ear. It’d been burning, the pain only fading after she’d panted her way through two couplets of a calming spell she’d learned as a child. It’d taken much longer than that for the shake in her limbs to dissipate.