Sword's Call
Authors: C. A. Szarek
Tags: #Book One of The King's Riders, #dragons, #elves, #elf, #magic, #love, #half-elf, #king’s, #rider, #greenwald, #wolf, #quest, #swords, #wizard, #Romance, #good, #vs, #evil, #redemption, #shade, #province, #c, #a, #szarek, #nicole, #cadet, #gypsy, #shadow
Sword’s Call
Book One
of
The King’s Riders
by
C.A. Szarek
Sword’s Call
by
C.A. Szarek
Book One of
The King’s Riders
All rights reserved
Copyright © February 14, 2013, C.A. Szarek
Cover Art Copyright © 2013, Nicole Cadet (http://www.nicolecadet.com/)
Series Imprint Copyright © 2013, Tatiana Barfod
Map Copyright © 2013, Matthew Bryant
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: 978-1-941151-00-6
Print book ISBN: 978-1-941151-01-3
Published in the United States of America
Second eBook Edition: January, 2014
Second Print Edition: January 2014
Other Books by C.A. Szarek
The King’s Riders—Fantasy Romance
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)
Coming June 2014!
Anthologies
Deep in the Hearts of Texas—
FREE read!
Story: Promise (A Crossing Forces Companion)
THE NORTH
DEDICATION
For anyone who has ever believed in me. You have all made this possible.
And you know who you are.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This story always was, and always will be very close to my heart—for many reasons. I met Jorrin and Cera when I was a teen, so I’ve known them for a really long time, and I can’t adequately express how exciting it is to share their story—and the world of the King’s Riders with others.
There are so many people who have helped me along this journey of chasing my dream!
To my critique partners, Michelle, Clover, Jen, Gina: Y’all rock! Thanx for helping me make this book what it is! (AWESOME, of course!)
Susie and Kim, thanx for telling me I’m a good writer when I disagreed!
Amee, Jo-Anna (‘eh Jo), Alanna, Kerry, Toni, Michelle—you girls are so fantastic I can’t even put it into words!
JoAnna (y’all Jo), Thanx for buying my book the day we met—LOL! A friend for life! *wink* Thanx for always being there for me!
To all my FB and Twitter friends who are staunch supporters, promo masters and just all-around made of awesome! Without you, I couldn’t do this!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Heart pounding and fists clenched, Cera sat in the
Dragon’s Lair’s
darkest corner. By choice, the candle on the table was unlit. The bowl of stew half eaten, food the last thing on her mind.
The door to the tavern swung open. Her white wolf growled low and deep beside her.
Cera glanced up, squinting in the sudden flood of sunlight. As the door slammed shut and her eyes adjusted to the renewed murkiness, she took in the newest arrival.
Then she focused on Trikser. She couldn’t have him going for anyone’s throat.
“Shhh, Trik, it’s all right.” She ran a hand through his fur, smoothing his hackles along the length of his spine. The big wolf looked up at her and licked her hand. One corner of her mouth lifted and she bit back a sigh.
The only reason the owner of the tavern even let him in was because no one else was allowed to enter the
Dragon’s Lair
if she was inside without him.
No one according to Trikser, that is. He’d almost taken the hand off the last guy who’d tried.
“What’ll ya have?” Marshek barked, revealing his instant dislike of the newcomer.
She locked eyes on the bartender. Then she took a closer look at the man sitting in front of him.
His pointed ears betrayed his heritage, but his height suggested he was not of pure blood.
Marshek was known to be tolerant of elves, but he hated half-breeds.
Cera could imagine what the grumpy, middle-aged tavern owner was thinking, and it wasn’t friendly.
She rose, Trikser also immediately rising, awaiting her move. The white wolf was her bondmate and had been since he was young.
Relax,
she thought-sent.
Trik sat, but his body was tight, tense. He didn’t respond to her mental order.
She moved to the bar, her wolf following. He moved in a slight crawl, slinking close to the floor. His belly probably touched the filthy wood planks.
Cera made a face, but forced a breath.
Detached control. Show them you don’t care.
Sliding onto the stool next to the half-elfin man, she was just in time to hear his order. His voice was clear and deep.
Marshek filled a mug with ale and started to put the jug in its place on the shelf.
“Wait, Mar,” she said with a wave of her hand, “I’ll have some of that, too.”
With a curt nod, the older man poured her a mug. She brought it to her lips, glancing nonchalantly at the stranger. His coal black hair brushed the collar of his hooded gray cape, giving him a rather unkempt look, but rugged rather than messy.
Cera couldn’t see the hue of his eyes from her seat, but his high cheekbones made his profile appealing, his sleek tapered ears adding to the attraction. His powerful jaw line was clean shaven, an oddity in these parts. He was young, not much older than her, and had the stunning beauty of the elves. She could tell he was aware of her perusal.
His chest heaved, and he finally glanced at her.
Blue.
His eyes were a deep, sapphire blue.
Her heart skipped a beat, but she ignored it.
The man said nothing—not that she’d expected him to.
She set her mug down and swallowed against the liquor burning its way along her throat to her belly. Warmth exploded and her tongue got heavy. Cera bit back a grimace. How could anyone drink the stuff?
“Rotten, dirty half-breeds,” Marshek mumbled under his breath, shoving a wet rag along the top of the weathered bar.
The half-elf slammed his mug down, his brows tight and jaw clenched.
Some of the other rustics in the bar shared the bartender’s sentiment, and before she could blink, a man named Herik had seized the stranger by the shoulders.
The half-elf cursed and tried unsuccessfully to slip out of the bigger man’s grip, his hand missing the grab for the hilt of his sword.
“For the Blessed Spirit’s sake,” she muttered, rising from the stool. Cera drew the dagger from her belt pouch, but kept it hidden under her cloak.
There was going to be trouble. She loathed trouble.
The problem was, lately it seemed to follow her.
She shouldn’t get involved; should let the man handle the situation on his own, but somehow she couldn’t hold her tongue. She’d do what she could, no matter how little that might be.
Cera was familiar with the rough men in the tavern. They all lived locally in the slums—Lower Greenwald. His life would truly be in peril if she didn’t step in.
Herik pulled him off the stool and held him from behind.
Another man readied himself to inflict violence.
The half-elf struggled against the hold, but they’d pulled his arms behind his back, pinning him.
Helpless.
Dammit.
“C’mon, Gordo, this one’s not worth it,” Cera said to the tall, but portly dirty blond man—the ringleader of the rustics.
Dirty
was more than the color of his hair.
She was grateful that Trikser’s way of slinking to the bar had raised little notice. They still didn’t seem to notice him, even though she could sense him bristling at her side. She sent him a mental command to wait, but he’d react to real trouble without her instructions.
“I bet his point-ears he is,” Gordo growled, and many of the others nodded agreement. “They would look good above my fireplace.”
“I don’t think they would, Gordo.” She pulled her dagger into view. Darting forward, Cera pressed the tip into the throat of the man that had seized the stranger.
“This is none of your concern.” The bartender glared.
“It is if you want Herik, here, to live,” Cera bit back.
She sank the tip of her dagger further into the flesh of the man’s throat. Herik sucked in a sharp gulp of air. The scent of his foul breath roiled what little of the stew there was in her stomach.
No wonder the half-elf looked a bit green; the apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed several times. He probably needed to retch.
He should aim for Herik’s filthy boots.
Gordo wrenched her arm to her back, twisting her wrist. White hot pain jolted up her arm. Cera winced, dagger clattering to the floor.
A snarl erupted as Trikser leapt up in a lightning flash of white, landing on the man’s arm. He screamed and dropped to the floor of the tavern. His hand and forearm hung from an odd angle, even as Gordo tried to cradle it against him. Blood spurted, spraying Trikser’s white coat.