Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Read online

  Oathbreakers’ Guild

  The Rose Shield: Book Two

  Copyright © 2017 D. Wallace Peach

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ISBN-13: 978-1635354201

  Cover Art © Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  To my husband

  for his endless support

  of my forays into the imagination.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many who helped this book on its journey from concept to completion. Many blessings to my dedicated beta readers and to readers everywhere who offer their encouragement and support along the way. A loving thank you to my husband, Randy, who year after year supports my all-consuming passion for words. I owe you all my heartfelt gratitude.

  Table of Contents

  Oathbreakers' Guild

  Map

  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

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Farlanders’ Law

  About the Author

  Books by D. Wallace Peach

  Map

  Chapter One

  Darkest Night.

  Contrary powers waged war in her skin. Her shield, the rose birthmark encircling her eye, the singular force that had mangled her youth, was the realm’s secret salvation. Or so her mentor dreamed. Catling’s reflection brushed fingertips along the petals’ imperfections, edges tattered, small holes where pink skin shone through.

  Her shield severed the influence controlling a kingdom, broke the sway that moved a heart between love and fear, a body between pleasure and pain, life between healing and death. Vianne had sighed with relief to find the shield intact.

  Catling turned in the mirror, her underdress draped around her waist. A garden of luminescence carved her back, colors climbing her neck and capping her shaved head. Vines curled, wending between flowers, dragonflies, and a crimson bird, its wings flared.

  Red feathers, the distilled hue of death.

  The power of influence was now hers, despised and untried. She would master its mysteries, wield it as a weapon, and when she’d taken her revenge, she would rip it from the realm.

  “The Poisoner does fine work.” Vianne lingered in the doorway to her chamber. Her words were complimentary, but Catling couldn’t help wonder if she heard a trace of envy. A whip’s scars striped the beautiful woads on Vianne’s back.

  Catling pulled up her underdress, covering the design. “Why do you call him the Poisoner?”

  “An old term,” Vianne said. “The bleaker reaches of influence are hardly pleasant. We aren’t from this planet. Luminescence doesn’t naturally course through our veins.”

  Whether Vianne’s understanding was fact or supposition, it mattered not. Catling finished buttoning her jacket. “I’m ready.”

  “Well then, to Dalcoran.”

  Darkest night marked mid-season, all three moons shadowed in the night sky. Lanterns of luminescence hung from the branches of potted trees in the twelfth tier’s central garden. Overhead, a vault of infinite blackness glittered with a swath of stars.

  Catling strolled beside Vianne, skirting a fountain as they crossed to the Founder-made hall. A new aspirant, she would face the four doyen of the Influencers’ Guild. Other aspirants submitted to an examination prior to receiving the needlers’ woads. That way, in the event they proved unsuited to an influencer’s life, the doyen could simply send them home.

  For her, the dream of escape remained an illusion. Her life refused ordinary paths; destiny broke all rules.

  Vianne tapped the door’s panel. She led the way down the hall, straight backed, her cinnamon hair threaded with pearls and pinned up, soft streaks of gray adding dignity. The green woads on the back of her neck curled above her ivory collar in delicate vines.

  Ancient artwork decked the smooth, gray walls, and the plush carpets felt as soft as grass beneath Catling’s boots. Tubes of luminescence glowed overhead.

  At the hall’s end, Vianne inhaled and opened the door. Catling paused, judging the mood within and testing for influence. Vianne glided across the salon to join the other doyen who’d arranged their cushioned chairs for an interrogation. As the senior doyen, Dalcoran occupied a central seat, his frame stiff with ever-present discomfort. His refined features, fine hair, and perfect attire lent him a fragile appearance that belied the strength of his convictions.

  Another victim of the whip, Piergren stood by the wall, legs planted, fists on his hips, his face a mask of stony suspicion. Sweat dampened the swarthy man’s shirt, and he wore no jacket. Catling had never cared for him, not only the unkempt roughness of his appearance but the dark leers and aggressive energy that underscored her slight size and her vulnerability in the face of brutal strength. Until Dalcoran had ordered him whipped, he’d used his power to grope her with influenced pleasure. Had he learned his lesson?

  Tunvise occupied the chair to Dalcoran’s right, the old man’s fingers laced over his belly, a drowsy sag to his eyes. Vianne tapped his shoulder, stirring him to wakefulness. She assumed the seat beside him and beckoned Catling in.

  Catling entered and bowed. “My respects.”

  “If you would both step forward,” Dalcoran said.

  Both? His instructions baffled her until she tracked his gaze. Kadan stood by an open window, initially beyond her vision. He approached the doyen, his interest flickering to her shaved head and the woads ornamenting her skin. No mischief colored his face, his expression tightly controlled. All of them suffered wounds and flaws, none of them free of pain or infirmity. The Influencers’ Guild suffered a maelstrom, and she spun at the vortex.

&nb
sp; She obeyed the doyen, moving closer, Kadan falling in beside her.

  “So, here we are.” Dalcoran sighed. “I thought it best to be forthright regarding expectations. I’ll hear no misunderstandings. In fact, I’ve endured enough internal chaos to last me an eternity.”

  Vianne met Catling’s eyes, a mask of serenity hiding whatever opinions and feelings stewed beneath her skin. “Catling is an aspirant of the Influencers’ Guild. She has two years’ worth of woads, but no training, which will commence immediately. We decided to pair the two of you for purposes of remediation and to address the less than tolerable nature of your relationship.”

  Catling blanched, stifling the urge to glance at the young man beside her. She sensed nothing from him, not a trace of fidgeting or the barest flutter of nerves.

  “Furthermore, Catling, you will reside in the dormitory beginning this evening. In light of Qeyon’s…” Vianne steeled herself. “In light of Qeyon’s death, you will join your peers for lessons with the Academian Guild.”

  “Do either of you have any questions?” Dalcoran asked.

  “None, Dalcoran-Elan,” Kadan said.

  “No, Dalcoran-Elan,” Catling murmured, though her head babbled with so many questions they leaked out her ears.

  “Excellent,” the doyen said. “Vianne will continue to explore Catling’s shield and will report back to the council regarding her progress. You will both abide by guild codes and refrain from any use of influence or shield unless instructed… without exception. Aside from the heiress, we are the only souls who know of Catling’s ability, and so it will remain. I will not tolerate a breach—from anyone.”

  Catling assumed Dalcoran directed his warning at every soul there except Tunvise, the only one, aside from himself, yet to flip the guild on its head. She kept her mouth closed, waiting for the dismissal, which would free her to loose a barrage of questions at Vianne.

  “Dismissed,” Dalcoran said. “Kadan, if you would linger a moment longer.”

  A slow sigh escaped Catling’s chest, and she stole a glimpse at Kadan. He returned the brief inspection, his body wooden, an absence of sentiment in his eyes. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel.

  “Catling,” Vianne called from the door.

  Kadan nodded, the acknowledgment a slight concession. Catling turned her attention to Vianne and followed her into the garden.

  “You need to pack,” Vianne said, without a glance back.

  “Why am I paired with Kadan?” Catling hurried to catch up.

  “It wasn’t my choice. He’s Algar’s nephew, and the two of you share a thorny start. Dalcoran insists Kadan has learned his lesson, and his manner seems changed if somewhat subdued. The council believes you will learn faster if challenged to stretch your power, and he will undoubtedly stretch it. I couldn’t disagree.”

  Thorny start seemed an understatement. Kadan had badgered her without end, wielding influence to pinch her, make her itch, and flush her with embarrassing pleasure. Three times, he’d faced the doyen’s penalty.

  She crossed the garden with Vianne. A light breeze perfumed the late-Summertide night with the sweet scent of ripe fruit. Catling brushed a hand over her smooth head, the sensation ever curious.

  By the central fountain, Vianne halted as if whatever collected in her head had erected an impenetrable barrier. “Catling, you must not use your shield without permission, no matter how much you may wish to. Piergren and Dalcoran need only the slightest lapse.”

  “To kill me.” She saw no point in softening the words.

  “Perhaps.” Vianne faced her. “Influencer training is not kind. You experienced the extremes in the Poisoner’s pools. They will push you harder than they push your peers. They will expect you to harm, and you will be forced to endure the harm inflicted by others, by Kadan. Do not use your shield. Bear it and then seek me. We have the heiress’s protection, and we shall use it.”

  “Piergren?”

  “He owes me his life,” Vianne said. “Yet, we are human, and despite our most noble intentions, our natures are flawed. The range of what qualifies as acceptable is difficult to define when dealing with influence.”

  Catling shuddered, the warning burrowing into her skin. Despite her hopes, the threats and secrets hadn’t changed. She released a silent sigh. “Thank you, Vianne. I will do as you say.”

  “Now then.” A smile lit the doyen’s face. “I have a surprise for you.”

  ***

  Kadan stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back while Dalcoran finished with Piergren and Tunvise. His influenced beating had nearly killed him, and he still suffered nightmares that left him bathed in sweat and staring at the ceiling with a racing heart.

  Dark dreams trapped him in Mur-Vallis, milled beneath his uncle’s heel and molded by fear. High Ward Algar believed power equaled entitlement, privilege without consequence, brutality acceptable in the maintenance of one’s stature. His uncle had encouraged a careless mean-spiritedness. Kadan had complied. Why wouldn’t he?

  His inclination for mischief had followed him to Ava-Grea. Why he’d chosen Catling to badger, he had little idea. Because all the aspirants tested the limits? Because she wasn’t an influencer and therefore fair game? Because she was Vianne’s pet, a girl of the warrens with status of her own? He’d forgotten that here he held neither power nor privilege.

  A lesson he’d remember.

  When Piergren and Tunvise exited, Dalcoran closed the window and waved him to a seat. “Do you have questions?”

  Kadan sat on the chair’s edge and considered what the doyen expected. “None, Dalcoran-Elan.”

  “You’ve traveled a precipitous road, Kadan, and I believe your experience has granted you a weightier respect for our guild. The burden of responsibility to the realm is not lightly borne.” Dalcoran sank into his chair. “You are broadly talented. In time, you may earn a place in Ava-Grea… if you show yourself worthy.”

  The last statement lodged in Kadan’s mind like a barbed hook. Did the doyen speak of the present and his role as aspirant? Or did he refer to the future? “My uncle expects me to return to Mur-Vallis and serve him.”

  “High Ward Algar exaggerates the scope of his power.” Dalcoran arched an eyebrow, amusement thinning his lips. “Your oath is to the realm and the guild. If we choose to apply your talents elsewhere, we shall do so.”

  A mountain of tension crumbled from Kadan’s shoulders as the potential for a reprieve flowed to the ends of his fingers and toes. A smile creased his face. “I would like that. Thank you.”

  “Then we shall keep that goal in mind,” Dalcoran said. “Now, I require your assistance.”

  “I will do my best.”

  The doyen leaned back, a slight wince of discomfort pinching his face. “You will assist this girl in learning her skills. I want you to drive her, challenge her. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

  Kadan’s smile fled as caution wormed beneath his skin. “I’m to help her catch up.”

  “Without question. But there is something more.”

  A blank mask slid over Kadan’s features as he sat back, distancing himself from the doyen. “What is it you wish?”

  Dalcoran’s eyes narrowed. “I am not suggesting you break the guild’s codes, Kadan, for such action would surely demand your death. You will not influence her unless instructed to do so by a doyen as part of your training. I have little use for oathbreakers. Is this point clear?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Kadan cringed inwardly at the admonishment while simultaneously sighing with relief.

  “In the interests of the realm, the guild needs to learn how much Catling can bear and at what point she breaks. We must know her tolerance for pain and fear.” Dalcoran met his gaze. “This is not a meaningless act of spite. Her power is flawed; she’s unable to shield herself and others at the same time. If she’s charged with shielding another from influence, how much agony can she resist before she shields herself?”

  Kadan mulled over the implicati
ons, weighing the wisdom of the request. “Does Vianne-Ava know?”

  The doyen nodded. “However, Catling does not, though I doubt she’ll be surprised by your cruelty.”

  The last word struck Kadan in the chest. Cruelty had exacted a harsh toll, first in Mur-Vallis, then in Ava-Grea. He’d barely survived the doyen’s punishing onslaught of influenced pain and fear. Could he inflict that on another? Could he risk the future Dalcoran flashed before his eyes like a gold coin? He met the doyen’s gaze. “Your request is reasonable.”

  “We are in agreement then.” Dalcoran rose from his chair, their discussion apparently at an end. “Vianne will apprise me of the girl’s progress. I would like your impressions as well.”

  “You will not be disappointed, Dalcoran-Elan.” Kadan bowed before retreating from the room. He would do anything necessary to be free of Algar and Mur-Vallis. He would be whoever Dalcoran desired him to be.

  Chapter Two

  A gust of wind blew copper leaves against the window, a tapping of Harvest’s impatient fingers. With his hands clasped behind his back, Dalcoran’s exasperation had nowhere to show but his face. Catling eyed him where he lingered against the wall in a clay-colored jacket and polished boots, his grooming and attire impeccable. A grim-faced instructor, he pushed her to master the basic skills. She’d rather he forced her to wash the floor with her tongue.

  He gestured to continue. Catling swung her attention back to Kadan. Now seventeen winters, the boy of Mur-Vallis had lengthened, his hair longer and more brown than blond, his face handsome despite the angular features he shared with his uncle.

  Lips tight between her teeth, she focused. Influence was more nuanced than her shield and twice as difficult to control. She continued to refine her shielding skills with Vianne, honing the precise edges of her talent. Like a Cull Tarr blade-spinner, she could wield her weapon with practiced ease: shield one or many, shield selectively, identify who influenced whom. She could provide a full barrier, as she often did with Vianne, or fluctuate her shield’s strength, allowing the receiver an awareness of the emotional sway. Her persistent failing was her inability to protect herself while shielding others.