Drums in the Rain Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Look for these titles from J. C. Owens

  Title Page

  Copyright Warning

  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

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Also by J. C. Owens

  More Romance from Etopia Press

  Excerpt from Goldenfall by Zia Quinn

  Look for these titles from J. C. Owens

  Now Available

  The Anrodnes Chronicles

  Dark Rain (Book One)

  Night of Rain (Book Two)

  Drums in the Rain (Book Three)

  The Taken Series

  Taken (Book One)

  Out of the Darkness (Book Two)

  The Wings Series

  Wings (Book One)

  Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth (Book Two)

  The Tarsus Series

  Tarsus (Book One)

  Fire and Ice (Book Two)

  Wishes

  The Ice Prince

  Betrayal

  The Falling

  Soulseeker

  The Chosen

  Dragon Forge

  Siren’s Call

  Farfall

  The Emperor’s Wolf

  Drums in the Rain

  The Anrodnes Chronicles Book Three

  J. C. Owens

  Etopia Press

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  1643 Warwick Ave., #124

  Warwick, RI 02889

  http://www.etopiapress.com

  Drums in the Rain

  Copyright © 2019 by J. C. Owens

  ISBN: 978-1-949719-28-4

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2019

  CHAPTER ONE

  Zaran

  Bhantan

  Prince Zaran Anrodnes sat on the edge of the lake, naked and unconcerned with it, watching the sunset.

  His skin burned from the brutal scrubbing he had given it, yet he still did not feel clean, felt like blood had soaked into his very soul.

  All the stories, the legends, the ballads of war. All lies.

  He let his foot dip back into the chill waters, watching the ripples with absent-minded absorption.

  The battle, if battle it could truly be named, had been short, brutal, and in the end, unsatisfying.

  There had not been the feeling of victory that stories told. There had been cold satisfaction that Bhantan was safe, the invasion was over, and no more atrocities would be committed in Odenar’s name. The empire had finally brought Odenar, its rebellious territory, to heel, but only after so much tragedy…

  Images swam through his mind of those of Odenar who had fallen to his blade, the fear in their eyes, the pain of their deaths nothing glorious, nothing to sing of.

  There was justice.

  It seemed little enough in the end.

  One face stood out above the rest. A young man, barely into manhood. His helmet knocked free, the strap breaking as he hit the ground. Zaran’s blade running into his chest even as his face was revealed.

  The boy, because he was little more than that, had cried out, then raised a shaking hand to touch Zaran’s blade where it desecrated his body, his eyes wide and shocked. He had looked up, tears of pain and fear spilling from his eyes, and went to speak. Blood had poured from his lips, and he had slumped back to the ground, eyes fixed and staring. Between one breath and another, he had slipped from life.

  Zaran had stolen it from him like the specter of death himself.

  When the battle was done, when they held the field, Zaran had given orders to the Shadows, then walked away. Through the trees, down to the lake that lay at the town’s side. The lake had been frigid, but he had waded into it without a flinch, dropping his sword into the shallows, ripping the clothes from his body with vicious force.

  Scrubbed himself over and over.

  It was only when his legs began to crumble, numb with cold, that he finally forced himself out of the cleansing embrace of the water and collapsed upon the shoreline.

  The warmth of a cloak settled around his shoulders. He looked up, expecting Hredeen, only to find Ralnulian standing over him.

  He nodded his thanks, then turned his gaze back to the lake.

  Ralnulian settled in a crouch at his side, picking up stones and skipping them over the smooth, reflective waters. His broad-shouldered form was coated with blood, his tightly braided dark gold hair wet with it.

  “How can you do this?” Zaran asked. “Kill. Walk away. Feel no regret.” He wished away the harshness and the insensitivity even as the words left his lips.

  Beside him, Ralnulian shrugged, rolling a smooth rock upon his palm, fingertips ghosting over its surface. “I’ve never known anything different. I was raised with the belief of righteousness being the only order. The masters knew all. I knew nothing. So if they stated that the moon was blue and I was told to accept it, I would have done so, even though it quite clearly was not true.”

  Behind Ralnulian, Zaran caught sight of Hredeen, his slim form frozen, pale hair marred with blood even as Ralnulian’s was. Those stunning purple eyes were wide and fixed with pain before he turned and faded back into the trees, driven away by Zaran’s words no doubt.

  He went to rise and follow only for Ralnulian to put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.

  “Leave him be. When you are more yourself, less shattered, then you can speak to each other. At the moment, you would only further open raw wounds in you both.”

  Zaran subsided, biting his lip. “My earlier words… They were poorly said. My apologies.”

  “It was an honest, needed question after today.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of offense within Ralnulian’s calm tone.

  Zaran eyed him, increasingly fascinated with this man who was placid upon the surface with deadly undercurrents beneath. “Do you regret your past?”

  Ralnulian rolled the rock in his hand, then whipped it out over the water, hazel eyes watching as it skipped three times before sinking out of sight.

  “No. I don’t live in the past. It’s a foolish enterprise at best. I can’t change anything, can’t go back, so why would I return time and again to mull over the matter? It makes no sense whatsoever, and
I’ve never managed to understand those who waste their present and their future by mourning what has come and gone. I live with it, and learn from it.”

  Zaran pulled the cloak more tightly around his body as the wind picked up and ghosted over his exposed flesh. Shivering, he pulled his legs in under the thick wool, which still retained Ralnulian’s heat.

  It smelled like Ralnulian.

  Zaran realized with faint surprise that he could identify the scent. A mixture of horses and wild spaces, a hint of sword metal and the scent of pine. A whimsical identification that he would never have considered before.

  “I’ve never had this problem before. I’ve overseen executions, which are far more coldblooded than what happened today. Never blinked an eye or felt the least troubled in the taking of a life.” He huddled deeper in the thick cloak, almost concealing himself against the emotions that were overwhelming him, weakening him.

  He glanced at his companion. The man squatted on his heels, not showing the least concern for the cold wind. Ralnulian stared out over the lake, his hands relaxed but his body coiled, ready, like the predator he was.

  Zaran wondered if he ever really let his senses go, ever really rested. With his background and the War Guild after his throat, it was unlikely.

  It seemed a lonely existence. Zaran had a home, had those who loved him. Not many, but enough to make life worthwhile.

  What did this man have?

  Yet he seemed to enjoy the moment, tilting his head back and breathing deeply of the crisp air that flowed off the lake, rich with scent and damp mist.

  “What will you do when we leave?” It seemed important suddenly, more so than Zaran could explain.

  Ralnulian eyed him speculatively, curiosity flashing for a brief moment before his expression faded back into impenetrable calm once more. “I will continue as I always have, Your Imperial Highness. Why would you ask?”

  Zaran shook his head, waved a hand outside the protection of the cloak before jerking it back inside the precious warmth.

  “Don’t use my title. Not here. I’m just a man. You have never shown the least bit of disrespect, so I trust you enough to leave the formality behind.”

  Ralnulian inclined his head, a quirk at the corner of his mouth and a hint of amusement in his eyes. “As you wish.”

  There was a comfortable silence between them. Faintly, on the wind, they could hear the sounds of the Anrodnes army, faint voices and occasionally a louder command shouted.

  Zaran drew a harsh breath, glad he was far away from the scene as the battlefield was cleared. The army would no doubt draw some distance away from the carnage and set up camp. The men would be exhausted and battle sore. There would be those who were injured or were mourning those who had fallen. They would need to bury their dead and give their thanks for the sacrifice.

  He wished fervently they could just leave it all behind and head home. No doubt many wanted that as the high emotions of battle faded away into exhaustion and reality. He shivered, laying his head down upon his knees, afraid of his own weaknesses.

  Taldan had trusted in him to do this, as had his father.

  If they could see him now.

  “Do you think your father never had his doubts?” Ralnulian asked softly. “Never felt regret at the end of battle?”

  He jerked up to meet Ralnulian’s stare.

  “He was a strong emperor.” Zaran heard a note of defensiveness in his voice.

  “He was. But he was not infallible. No matter the mask or the title, no matter the link with the gods, the emperor is a man beneath it all. He is still a being who has emotion, regardless of how hard the training to eliminate it.”

  Like Ralnulian himself. After all the War Guild had done to him, after all he had done in their name, Zaran had no doubt he felt and felt deeply. He didn’t know where that impression had come from, because certainly the man showed nothing of himself beyond surface ripples, but Zaran had faith that Ralnulian was more than he seemed.

  He didn’t wish to mention his impression to Ralnulian. He would simply take the other man’s advice to heart. If that advice pertained to Zaran’s father and to Ralnulian both, then so be it.

  But the silence between them didn’t have long to last. Ralnulian looked him in the eye and spoke again.

  “Cermin is my son.”

  Zaran blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. Surely not…

  Ralnulian picked up another rock, rolled it slowly in his calloused palm, eyes fixed upon the motion.

  “I was a fool. Once. Only once did I break and look for companionship. A woman. A strong, amazing woman. She knew who I was, what I was, and claimed she didn’t care. We were together for a month. A glorious sliver of time that remains within me as a light. A light those like me are not allowed.”

  He grimaced, lips drawing into a thin line. This time, he threw the rock with force. It flew far out over the water, before hitting with a splash, startling several waterfowl further out.

  “I left her. I couldn’t stay. I knew what the result would be, the danger she was in. I left despite her pleas and never knew that a piece of me remained behind.”

  Zaran thought of Cermin, safely guarded back with the supply wagons. He thought of several conversations the boy had initiated, memories of his mother who had died of a fever that swept through the region when he was five.

  Never once had the boy speculated about his father, though he had mentioned his grandfather had told him he was a powerful warrior.

  The truth was far more than that.

  “By the time I gave in to my own wishes and returned, intending only to see if she was safe, I found her grave—and a child that bore my eyes.”

  Zaran could not imagine the reactions to her death, the promise of a son, then the realization that he could never claim him.

  The cruelty of it all was breathtaking.

  Ralnulian shook his head. “It was my fault. All of it. I should never have touched her, tainted her. Then I left her with a child out of wedlock, a sin within her people. She was vilified for it, according to her father.” His expression was shadowed, then he looked up and met Zaran’s stare fully. “You asked if I hold regret. That is what I am repentant for. Not for killing. Not for being the tool of the War Guild. Only for harming one whose only wrong was loving me.”

  His lips twisted into a curl of self-loathing. “I left the boy behind as I had left the mother. Gave the father money to keep them going, promising to quietly drop off more when I had the chance, if I could make it back through the region. He refused more, taking only the initial sum. He was too proud to accept anything else.”

  He gave a harsh chuckle that held nothing of true mirth. “He was a good man. Didn’t blame me, even though I wanted him to. Wanted him to hate me. Down through the years, I would occasionally stop in, never letting Cermin see me.” He eyed Zaran. “I thank you for your care of him. I came too late to spare him. I feared he was dead when I found his grandfather’s body.” His jaw clenched. “I thought I was seeing things when I saw him in your pavilion.”

  “You will not claim him now?” Zaran knew the answer before the words finished leaving his lips.

  “I cannot. I will not put him in danger for my past. Besides, what future would he have as the son of an assassin?” His eyes were cold and hard as they met Zaran’s.

  The prince nodded, unwilling to offer any opinions on the matter, not when pain fairly pulsed from Ralnulian. He could not judge. He had not been there, had no foul memories of the War Guild to dictate his actions.

  It was what it was.

  “If I get permission from Bhantan’s king, I will be taking Cermin back to Anrodnes,” he told Ralnulian. “Come with us. You can be part of his life, even if he never knows. Besides, we need you. The War Guild had a hand in the attempted assassination of my brother. Anything you could contribute, any skill, any inside knowledge you could provide would be valued beyond price.”

  Ralnulian was silent, watching him with intense focus
as though somehow he could divine Zaran’s intent, truth or lie.

  Maybe he could. The training of the assassins was rumored to be almost on a level with the Shadows themselves.

  He pressed on, feeling almost desperate to convince this solemn, intense man not to disappear again. “Perhaps your knowledge could let us defeat the War Guild and whatever plot they are working against Anrodnes.”

  Ralnulian was silent, watching him, then he turned away to stare over the lake, rolling the stone over and over in his palm.

  Zaran felt a surge of disappointment fall over him, in a far more personal way than he was comfortable with.

  Finally, Ralnulian glanced back at him, a dark smile curling his mouth into something feral.

  He nodded.

  * * *

  Naral

  Persis

  The Anrodnes Empire

  Naral felt a familiar frustration overcome him, and he slammed his fist down on his desk with a virulent curse.

  Nothing. Again.

  No leads toward finding the link between Julne, the mage group that Valsen had been part of, and the War Guild. It was like chasing wisps of fog, knowing there was something there but never quite able to grasp hold of it. Valsen had killed Emperor Taldan’s first Chosen and tried to seize the magic of the Illumitae during the ceremony.

  Valsen might have failed in his attempt, but that did not mean there were not others ready to try again, perhaps even within Persis at this very moment. If the War Guild was truly behind this, they would not stop until Emperor Taldan was dead.

  He snarled silently, running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. He leaned back in the chair, his mind too exhausted to continue going over the possibilities. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he finally rose from his seat, unable to keep still and risk falling asleep. Staying up nights in search of clues was not helping either his temper or his health.

  As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and he grimaced in annoyance. He was turning into Taldan, ignoring his body in favor of his mind and suffering for it.