Shades Of Justice Read online

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Legal

  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

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - Justin Sloan

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Social Links

  Series List

  DEDICATION

  From Justin

  To Ugulay, Verona and Brendan Sloan

  From Michael

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  Shades of Justice Team

  JIT Beta Readers

  Paul Westman

  Alex Wilson

  Kelly ODonnell

  Joshua Ahles

  Sarah Weir

  Peter Manis

  Larry Omans

  Kimberly Boyer

  If I missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  SHADES OF JUSTICE (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  This book Copyright © 2017 Justin Sloan, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant

  Cover Design by Damonza

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, October 2017

  The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alastar took an offensive stance and closed his eyes, imagining the goddess, Lady Mowain—his aunt—standing before him. Wind blew against his cheek, warm and gentle like Estair’s nighttime touch. It brought with it the scent of the upcoming palace feast, still cooking while training continued in the yard.

  He wasn’t training there, though. He had found a secluded spot to focus on this damned sword.

  With a quick thrust he dove forward, focusing his energy on the sword. He tried to pretend the legend was real and pull the power from the Sword of Light.

  Nothing.

  It didn’t matter how much he practiced or willed it to be so, it was just another sword. How many times had he heard the story of the magical blade and its green glow when blessed? It had the fabled jade-encrusted hilt, to be sure, but that was about the extent of its being true to the legend. When he had fought with it in battle and cast his magic, it had glowed gold like any other sword he had ever wielded.

  He sighed, holding the sword out with one hand and staring at the fine craftsmanship. Who was he kidding, anyway? Hope that it was the magical Sword of Light meant he was still grasping at a lost cause, at the idea that there had been any truth to be had in the Order of Rodrick.

  Instead, it had all been a lie. His entire life, or most of the part that he could remember, had been a lie. His aunt had killed his mother, taken him and his sister away from their father, and left them with the madman he had grown up thinking was his mentor. His spiritual leader, Sir Gildon of the Order of Rodrick.

  And then he had killed that son of a bitch. And his sister Rhona had taken out Lady Mowain’s daughter, and little Kia had done a pretty number on Master Irdin. All in all, they were doing quite well.

  Hell, he was even a prince, and his sister was a princess!

  Somehow, all of that still didn’t make up for a lifetime of lies. A mother taken before her time, one he would never know.

  But he knew what would make up for what he had gone through so far. He thrust the sword into the ground and made a vow. He would stop this so-called goddess and reveal her for the fraud she was for all Roneland and beyond to see. She would never hurt another person. Never again tear a family apart. Not after he was done with her.

  He glanced back at the sword and considered just leaving it, but just then a door opened and a beam of light fell across him and the sword. It seemed to shine in that moment, to call out to him. As much as he wanted to leave his old superstitions and beliefs behind, he turned back to the sword and wrapped his hand around the hilt with a glance at the person in the doorway. He recognized her by her shadow.

  “You’re not with the others,” Estair noted, exiting and letting the door close behind her. “Why aren’t you training with them?”

  “I had other matters to consider.”

  She looked at the sword, pried his hand off the hilt, and held the hand to her lips. Her kiss was gentle, producing a smooth, tender sensation as those pouting lips brushed his skin.

  “Playing with your sword all by yourself?” She smiled teasingly. “Have I neglected you so?”

  He shook his head, appreciating her ability to always find humor in a moment, but it wasn’t the time for him.

  Apparently catching onto this, she pulled his hand so that it wrapped around her waist, then leaned into him and put her head on his chest. “You have your father again. You should be happy.”

  “For that and so many other reasons, I am,” he replied.

  “And yet?”

  “As long as She is still out there, my thoughts will be troubled.” He held her tightly, watching as men passed the window in an upstairs corridor, visible for a moment as they laughed in merriment. “Laird Summers promised to be part of the march north to find Her, but he keeps stalling.”

  “Stalling…” She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “We’re marching to war, essentially. Whether it’s war with the north or a larger force, we don’t know. You can’t expect that to happen without preparation, planning.”

  “I expect to move on her before she has a chance to hurt more innocents,” he replied. “Before she can pull some more magical forces out of her arse and escape this unscathed.”

  “Well, if we have to fight magical forces from her arse we’ll do so, dammit.” Estair couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Will they stink? You can bet all the saints and spirits in the world they will! But we’ll persevere, cram those evil magic forces so far back up her arse that—”

  “Will you stop messing around?” he demanded. “I’m serious. Father said we would leave the next morning, and here we are still! We can’t sit around here waiting, not with what she’s capable of.”

  Estair nodded, her expression now stern. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “I am?”

  “Let’s go kill that bitch.” She stepped past him, pulled the sword from the ground, and handed it over. “Don�
��t forget your sword, my prince.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that, but mostly because of the way she bowed when passing him the sword.

  “Stop it,” he said as he took the sword and sheathed it. “If I become King someday, you realize what that will make you?”

  She frowned. “Your mistress? Concubine? Don’t forget, we’re not…” Her voice caught as he pulled her in for a kiss.

  “Not yet,” he said, laying a finger to her lips as they pulled apart. “But when this is all over, maybe that’s a discussion we should have?”

  Her cheeks reddened and she shrugged. “Maybe it is.”

  They turned, heading off hand in hand to find Laird Summers. No more waiting around—whether the troops were coming or not, Alastar meant to see this completed.

  ***

  “Cheat!” Kia said, poking Lannis in the chest.

  “Ow,” the boy replied, rubbing the spot and looking to Rhona for help.

  Rhona glanced from one kid to the other and then at Laird Summers’ game board—squares, triangles, and circles covered in little knight and dragon pieces. As far as she knew they were both cheating, but she was supposed to be the adult here.

  “Both of you need to learn to play nicely, or don’t play at all.” She sat back on the comfy red satin couch, very proud of herself. That sounded like a very adult thing to say, didn’t it?

  The kids weren’t buying it, though. They immediately went back to arguing, completely ignoring her. Damn.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Donnon shouted, entering with a tray of crackers and goats’ milk. They were lucky the invaders hadn’t killed off all the animals and burned the farms, as was sometimes the case in these situations. Apparently Lady Mowain had planned on taking ownership of this place, and had left in a bit of a hurry after learning that her top sorcerers had been defeated.

  “I leave for two seconds and you lose control?” he asked Rhona.

  She shrugged. “Put me up against an army of sorcerers and a goddess, I’m good. These little brats?”

  “Excuse me?” Kia stood, hands on her hips, and frowned.

  Rhona couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s be honest. In a fight, you’re pretty much an adult. Put you in a room with another kid and a game, and you both act your age.”

  “We’re not allowed to be kids sometimes?” Lannis asked, then pulled a piece from his sleeve. “And I did cheat…kinda. But I’m pretty sure that’s how this game is played, right?”

  He looked to them for an answer, but they both shrugged. None of them had really gotten the hang of it, and now Kia joined in the laughter.

  She shook her head, then wiped her eyes. “It’s all this sitting around. It’s driving me nuts.”

  How odd that someone wouldn’t be able to sit back and enjoy the peace while it lasted, Rhona thought. While it wasn’t exactly peace, it wasn’t as bad as the relatively chaotic days of late.

  She was about to reply when Alastar and Estair came to the doorway.

  “That’s why we’re going to do something about it,” he stated. “We’re on our way to talk to, er, Father right now.”

  She hadn’t gotten completely used to the idea of having a living father either, so she got his hesitation about saying the word. On top of that their father was a king, and still somewhat intimidated her.

  “You’ll do the talking?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then I’m in.” She stood, and the others joined her. Apparently they were all going. “And what, exactly, are we going to tell him?”

  “That we’re leaving come sunrise. It’s time to take our land back.”

  “Wow, this ought to be a fun conversation,” Donnon noted, and smiled. “Let’s get to it, then. But first…” He held up the tray he had brought. “Snack?”

  The kids each grabbed a couple of crackers, stuffing them in their mouths and downing them with some milk. Rhona started to walk to the door, but she paused and went back for a cracker, then headed for the door again. The cracker was a bit too buttery for her taste, but it still helped calm her nerves.

  Going off to finish the war would be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she wanted the whole thing over with. On the other, she had lately had more than one dream that involved magical storms of ice spears and worse, light and shadows twisting around her, suffocating her while that evil aunt of theirs, Lady Mowain, laughed.

  The halls still showed signs of the enemy’s occupation, even after the last couple days’ cleaning. Someone had taken a sword to the portraits of Laird Summers’ ancestors, and cleaning out the potty-fest they’d had in his room had simply proved impossible in the short term, so he’d been sleeping in one of the guest rooms. In this specific hall, parts of the walls were missing where, they guessed, Lady Mowain had blasted her way out in a fury when she had departed.

  It just so happened that as they passed one of the still-open sections of wall, Rhona felt a chill breeze and heard faint laughter.

  “Just…one moment,” she said to the others, then stepped through the opening into the night.

  “Sis?” Alastar protested.

  “I’ll be right there. Go on.” She waved them forward, her focus on that laugh. It was pleasant, bringing her back to a world she had never really known, but she recognized nonetheless.

  Rounding the side of the armory that had been turned into a stable, she saw her father the king with his hand on Rose’s unicorn, moving up the mane and resting on the horn.

  “I have to admit there’s something powerful about this beast,” he said, hand on the fake horn in what looked to Rhona a very suggestive way.

  She frowned and pulled back, then cautiously moved forward again. The king needed to be in the manor to hear what they had to say, not out here. But as she drew closer she saw Rose at his side, the woman’s hand was not visible but at about waist level. Rhona had a horrible feeling she knew exactly where that hand was.

  “I’d say magical,” Rose replied, leaning in to kiss him.

  “Whoa!” Rhona said, stumbling and catching herself at the edge of the wooden wall.

  The other two turned in surprise, both quickly making themselves decent—which involved Rose pulling her top closed and the king adjusting his britches.

  Bile filled Rhona’s mouth and she looked for a mode of escape. Her intention had definitely not been this.

  “Rhona, dear,” the king said. “You should be—”

  “Should be what, Dad?” She shook her head, embarrassment turning to anger. “We should be riding to battle, not… Not…”

  “Appreciating my unicorn’s magical horn?” Rose offered.

  For an instant Rhona thought she might punch the woman. This was not the time for jokes.

  Instead she turned and stomped away, calling over her shoulder, “We’re going to find Laird Summers and tell him it’s time. I suggest you two join us.”

  “Daughter,” the king said. “You forget yourself.”

  “No.” She paused, turning back to him. “You forget yourself.”

  And then she was back in the hallway, maneuvering around the rubble and ignoring the stares from the others, who had apparently not gone on as she had told them to do.

  “Did we…miss something?” Donnon asked.

  She stopped, glanced at Kia and Lannis, and just shook her head. “Where the hell is that uncle of yours?” she asked Estair.

  Estair scrunched her nose in confusion but took the lead, and Rhona was glad to see the others follow. Lingering here was the last thing she wanted to do, especially since she could still hear Rose giggling outside.

  They found Laird Summers in a room off the great hall, where he sat with Laird Lokane and several other men in what appeared to be a war council. They even had small knight figures, like the one from the game Kia and Lannis had been playing, laid out on a crude map of Roneland.

  Laird Lokane glanced up with a frown. “Estair?”

  She hesitated, then moved aside for Rhona. Already upset by her brief i
nteraction with her father, Rhona had no problem taking the stage.

  “We’ve talked long enough,” she stated. “Days pass, and we do nothing. The longer that’s true, the more we are at risk of losing this whole endeavor.”

  “This endeavor,” Laird Summers replied, “involves our full forces riding quite some distance to war, you might recall. One doesn’t simply charge forward without a plan for provisions—”

  “She’s right, though,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned to see her father enter the room. Rhona half-expected to see Rose behind him, but there was no sign of her. The king wore his crown now, gold lined in silver that sparkled in the candlelight. “We cannot allow this to go unchecked, not if we truly hope to reunite the Lost Isles.”

  “We aren’t ready, sire,” Laird Summers stated, his cheeks reddening.

  “Then get ready,” the king replied, standing over the table and assessing it. He pointed to the northern tip of Roneland. “How far is that?”

  “If we go by ship, maybe a couple of days,” one of the men stated, “Sire.”

  “But we can’t all go by ship,” Laird Lokane interjected, “because there could be enemy troops on the ground, and we honestly have no idea how far north Lady Mowain has gone. She could have an army waiting to march right back at us, or she might have set up her stronghold along the river here.” He stood and leaned over the table to jab a finger at the body of water in the north.

  “So we sail some of our troops north, have some march from here, and catch her from both sides.” The king stood with hands on his hips like a grand conqueror. “Assuming one side can wait for the other.”

  “Or send a signal of some sort,” Laird Summers stated thoughtfully.

  “The mystics,” Alastar offered. “If each side had one with them, all you’d need to do was be sure they were close enough to communicate.”