Ammey McKeaf Read online

  Ammey McKeaf

  The Chronicles of Azulland

  ~Book 1~

  Jane Shoup

  Also by Jane Shoup

  Down in the Valley

  Spirit of the Valley

  Will of the Valley

  Knightfall

  The Restoration

  Zan, Birth of a Legend

  The Key

  A Choice of Captors

  Copyright © 2012 by Jane Shoup

  ISBN: 9781695403918

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my daughters, as always, to Scott, and to the next generation,

  Laleigh, Elizabeth, Maggie, Ari (and may they keep coming.)

  Prologue

  In the middle of the Cantabric Sea, surrounded by the Kingdom of England, the Kingdom of France and the five kingdoms that make up the Iberian Peninsula, was the island country of Azulland. It is no more – or so they say, and yet every ship that attempts sailing past that phantom area is lost, never to be seen again. ‘Cursed’ is the whispered accusation. Perhaps. I once thought so.

  The mystery of Azulland has been an object of great speculation and utter fabrication. Eventually, in the passage of time, it may be forgotten altogether, just as we’ve forgotten Khlohar, Atlantis and so many others. Perhaps it matters naught, yet there are legendary tales from that place worth knowing.

  Obviously, I do not know what the writers of history will ultimately conclude. At present, Azullanders are indicted with heresy, but both accusation and condemnation came after the vanishing. What a convenient thing to explain a consequence by fashioning a crime to fit, and there is always a cautionary lesson to be learned. As for myself, I believe Azulland is still there, merely cloaked from the mortal eyes of the outside world.

  If you are willing, humor me and journey there with me now. I grant you a bird’s eye view as we approach the island’s far north on mid-afternoon of an early spring day. Below, the sea is deep blue, then azure and then nearly a translucent green as we reach the shore of Bellux-Abry, the great, northernmost city. It boasts the grandest palace in all the land, completed in 1214. Few observers fail to be awed by the gold-topped turrets, blinding in their sun-lit brilliance. Swoop downwards like a gull and you will see sleek, shimmering redfish in the moat. Sail past the lavish formal gardens and you will see beyond palace grounds. Like all cities, there are regions where commerce thrives and the wealthy reside, and areas where the masses live and labor. There are slums, as well.

  Moving southward, you will pass scores of villages and towns, rich farmland currently obscured by patches of snow, and countless rivers, lakes and creeks. Much of the year, you will see fields of red poppies, cultivated for their yield of opium, and fields of wild blue loira, indigenous to the island, but it is too early in the year for them now. The Blue Mountains are ahead and one must gain altitude to clear the snowy peaks. The mountain range is massive, eight pholeagues long from east to west and five from north to south. There are passes through them, but they are not easily traversed.

  If you dare, venture east to Oisenbant, home of the leviathans. They are a giant race, averaging some nine feet tall. Their faces looked somewhat deformed to our eyes and they are commonly perceived as stupid and dangerous, but two things should be noted. They have always held their own in battle, and they never initiated the skirmishes that led to war. They are not a threat, provided you do not come within their reach. They no longer venture beyond the region of Oisenbant and no sane person ventures in.

  If you have no wish to see it, keep a straight course and eventually you will come to N’awllah, the walled city near the center of Azulland. Its palace is long and flat, built around courtyards with strange trees, exotic florae and massive fountains.

  Further south is Vihlae Forest, purported to be the home of white magic. Beyond the forest is Wydenyl, an ancient village settled by druids which boasts a remarkable eight-sided temple built from the great oaks of Vihlae. Further still is the Southern Valley, renowned for vast individual estates. It is greener and warmer here. For now, pass over the grounds of Stonewater Forge, and turn eastward to reach Thender, a castle built with the pale-blue stones mined from Vhahas Cavern. You will likely marvel at the enchanting structure. You may wish to watch its guards training with sword and shield on the greensward. The clanking of metal is distracting as are the sparks of sunshine gleaming off blades. However, if you look up the wall of the castle to the third floor, you will notice a different jot of gold from the hair of Ammey McKeaf, the nineteen-year old daughter of the general who made the name famous. She is perched in the window seat, leaning out to watch the guards below.

  Past her is an elegantly appointed bedchamber in shades of indigo and violet. It is the bedchamber of Julia Cator, the dark-haired daughter of the house who sits frowning into a looking glass as her hair is fashioned by an older woman, a servant of the house.

  Chapter One

  “It’s too tight,” Julia complained, scowling at her maid.

  “Perhaps if you’d hold still,” Hizdrah snapped back. “You and your vile mood,” she added under her breath.

  “I will not hold still, because you are twisting it too tightly. Do you want my head to ache?”

  Hizdrah stepped back with a disgusted harrumph and pointedly tossed the hair accoutrements onto the table. “It is not too tight, and you can let me know when you’re prepared to be civil,” she said before stalking off.

  “Lady’s maids are not supposed to be surly,” Julia called after her.

  The slamming of the door was Hizdrah’s only reply.

  Ammey looked over as Julia began undoing a braided strand and clucked her tongue in reproach. “Everything you undo, she’ll only have to do again.”

  “Do not vex me.”

  Ammey gave an unperturbed shrug and turned her attention back to lawn below where the guards drilled. “Oh, the trials and tribulations of being noble,” she teased.

  “What would you know about it?” Julia grumbled.

  “Only watching you the whole of my life” Ammey studied the footwork of a man below. He’d executed an impressive sidestep maneuver, although whether by accident or design she could not tell. She hoped he would repeat it.

  Julia rose and came toward her. “What are you looking at?”

  “Your men engaged in mock war.”

  Julia peered out the window with a dour expression. “Drilling. Always drilling. Because what if Corin and the beasts of Bellux-Abry suddenly show up? I swear, I think men would invent monsters if there were none. And perhaps they invent monsters when there are, in fact, none.” She walked away running her fingers through her kinked hair.

  Ammey lifted a knee and hugged it. She hoped Julia was right, but her father, who was no alarmist, was concerned enough that military men and political rulers were gathering at their home that very moment to discuss the recent spate of aggression from Marko Corin. She caught a glimpse of distant red banners extended high above a procession of horses and coaches approaching and sat up straighter. “I see red banners. They’re coming.”

  A groan was Julia’s only response. She sat on her bed and fell flat on her back, her arms extended wide.

  “Who is it today?”

  “Petre Lucias of Portugal,” Julia replied, enunciating precisely.

  “Think of it. They brought all those those horses and carriages across the sea to impress you. Are you impressed?”

  “I can hardly find the words,” Julia replied drolly.

  Ammey got to her feet. “Enough pouting. Let’s choose what you’ll wear. Or have you already chos
en?” She walked over to the bed and offered a hand up.

  “I don’t want to.”

  Ammey nearly rolled her eyes. “Julia. Even if you do not care for Petre Lucias of Portugal, you want him and all his many attendants returning to their far, far away court, able only to speak of your great beauty and charm, do you not?”

  “Oh, yes. Great beauty. Except my nose is a bit too sharp and my hair tends to look like this,” she replied with a wild gesture to her hair.

  “Stop,” Ammey chastised. “The man who falls in love with you or me or any lady will think she is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Julia sat up. “My hands are my only true claim to beauty,” she commented, glancing down at them. “You shouldn’t ignore yours as you do.”

  Ammey hauled Julia her to her feet. “Come choose what you’ll wear.”

  “I am jealous of your hair. And your perfect, careless beauty.”

  “You are being silly and you are wasting time.”

  Julia pulled away. “Because I do not want to meet Petre Lucias of Portugal. They speak a different language there.”

  Ammey went and opened Julia’s extensive wardrobe and began looking through.

  “You have a perfect nose,” Julia continued, “and those green eyes that make everyone gape. Honestly, I would steal your face, if I could.”

  “What about this one?” Ammey asked, selecting a silk overgown of orangey-red.

  Julia wrinkled her nose. “It makes my skin look sallow.”

  “The blue, then,” Ammey suggested. “You’re very pretty in that.”

  Julia ignored her. “So who’s at the Forge?”

  “Scores of men I’ve never seen before. It’s all very serious and grim.”

  “Are any of them handsome?”

  Ammey gave her a look. “Few are noble.”

  Julia huffed. “Did I ask if they were noooble?” she asked, making the last word absurd. “I asked if they were handsome.”

  “I wasn’t standing at the door studying them as they arrived.”

  “I would have.” She sighed with disgust. “Do you know what I think? I think the concept of nobility is ridiculous and unfair. Why should I have one set of rules, as if they are the law of heaven itself, while you enjoy complete freedom of choice?”

  “Very few have complete freedom of choice,” Ammey rejoined. “By the way, has it occurred to you that you might actually like Petre Lucias?”

  “Not really. No.”

  Ammey sighed with exasperation and then went to get her cloak. “I have to get back.”

  Julia pulled her best pout. “Don’t go. I’ll be nicer.”

  “I have to. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.” She threw her cloak around her shoulders and tied it. “Shall I send Hizdrah back?”

  “No.”

  Ammey shrugged and started for the door.

  “I think I’ll go with you,” Julia said mischievously.

  Ammey turned back with an exasperated sigh. “Julia! Allow Hizdrah to finish dressing you and go meet Petre of Portugal.”

  “But I’d feel better after a bit of air and exertion. Perkier.”

  “You won’t feel better and perkier for long because your parents will be furious.”

  Julia’s amused expression vanished and her eye flashed. “Imagine for a moment that you have to choose a husband in the next twelvemonth or one will be chosen for you. What do I care if they’re furious? I’m furious at them. So there.”

  Ammey started for the door, intent on going. “I’m leaving.”

  “Do you remember our plan to marry each other’s brothers?”

  Ammey stopped abruptly and laughed. She turned back. “We thought it was the most wonderful plan ever.”

  “I so wanted to marry Anthony,” Julia said wistfully.

  “Yes. And then Richard and then Tom and then David. Do I have the order right?”

  Julia squealed. “At least I never wanted to marry Nicolas.”

  “Oh, but give my little brother a few years.”

  “Sadly, it won’t be within the twelvemonth, so—” She dashed to the wardrobe and retrieved a cloak. “I desperately need some air.”

  “No! They’ll blame me.”

  “Well, of course they will. It’s because you are a bad influence,” Julia teasingly agreed as she put it on. “Not that you can help it. It’s the result of not having a mother to guide you. And also a famous father who spoils you.”

  Ammey huffed at the notion. “Spoils me!”

  Julia shoved past her, opened the door a crack and peeked out. “Not to mention six brothers, who have coarsened you.”

  Ammey blinked, stung by the description. “Am I coarse?”

  Julia looked back at her with a wry look. “Oh, yes. As coarse as you are homely and a bad influence. Come on,” she said, grabbing hold of Ammey’s hand.

  Ammey almost resisted, but what was the point? Julia would do what she wanted. She always did. They left, taking the long back way.

  “Stay quiet,” Julia warned. “We must not get caught.”

  “No, indeed. They may string us up to teach us a lesson.”

  “First, they’ll strip us naked, then parade every man about to take a good, long look …starting with Peter Lucias.”

  They were giggling as they slipped outside. They pulled the hoods of their cloaks forward to conceal their faces and rushed toward the smaller family stable.

  “Now, about me being coarse,” Ammey said on the way.

  “Oh, shut up, Ammey.”

  “I will not shut up. It was a terrible thing to say.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny. You know I love you more than anyone. I do sometimes want to kill you, though.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Only I could get away with it.”

  “Being of noble birth?”

  “Exactly. I have unfair rules for marriage, but nobility is an advantage when murdering a commoner.”

  “Especially a coarse commoner.”

  “Indeed. Sadly, I’ll have to somehow destroy your face. One look at your beauty and they’d string me up without so much as a trial. Fuck nobility,” she added in a whisper.

  Ammey’s jaw dropped and then she chortled. Only Julia could shock, insult her and make her laugh at the same time.

  The stable was conveniently empty of hostlers for the moment. They were probably in the larger stable seeing to the horses of the the newly arrived guests. Ammey led her mount to the door and waited anxiously for Julia to ready her horse. Moments later, they rode out at full speed, wind in their faces and hoods blown back. Ammey rode exceptionally well and Julia was right behind her, riding side-saddle, no less, as proper noble ladies did.

  “I’ve never felt so free,” Julia called joyfully.

  “I’ve never felt so guilty,” Ammey returned no less merrily.

  Julia laughed. “That is the price of being a bad influence.”

  They didn’t speak again until they made it to the creek. Ammey started for the shallowest place to cross, but was distracted by the sound of a fast-approaching rider. She looked and saw Saren on his glorious gray stallion. “Your brother,” she said.

  Julia scowled fiercely as she turned to him.

  “Ladies,” Saren said when he reached them. “Your escape was noted and must therefore end here and now, although I must commend you both on your riding.”

  “Escape?” Ammey rejoined innocently. “We’re just taking a ride.”

  “Act as though you couldn’t catch us,” Julia wheedled. “Just this once.”

  His eyes danced with merriment. “Back you go, absurd one. We have guests eager to meet you.”

  Two guards from the castle approached on horseback.

  Julia glared at her brother. “You just had to ride out and catch me.”

  “Yes, I did,” Saren replied pleasantly. “By order of our mother who gave me that look,” he finished with a comic flare. He motioned over his should
er. “Your escort.”

  “I’ll get back at you for this. I swear it!”

  “I rather look forward to it,” he returned glibly.

  Julia and Ammey exchanged a resigned look and then Julia rode back with perfect posture and dignity. Only the flush of her face and possibly the grip on the reins betrayed her agitation as the guards flanked either side of her.

  Saren chuckled as he watched. He looked at Ammey and donned a mournful look. “Oh, why the sad expression? You know she enjoys making everything more dramatic than it need be.”

  “Why aren’t you off courting someone? You’re older than she is. Why has she been given the time limitation?”

  “I, too, have been given the year to choose an appropriate bride or it is to be Elizabeth Eigmore of Braith.”

  Ammey felt a flush of embarrassment. “Oh.”

  “Of course, I may choose someone else before then.”

  “How nice for them, I’m sure. Goodbye.” She started toward home, splashing through the creek.

  He’d spurred his horse on, as well. “I’ll escort you home,” he said when he caught up.

  “Since when do I need an escort?”

  “Since now. We can’t have the daughter of the McKeaf getting plucked up by Corin’s wolves, now can we?”

  The words needled her. There had been too much talk of Corin for days. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

  “What? Being attacked by Corin’s men?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I might know if I was at the Forge rather than having been stuck at home having to meet yet another of my sister’s suitors. From Portugal, no less. Can we not find a suitable match from our own country?”

  “I agree. I certainly prefer to keep her close.”

  “Ah, but that’s implying you will stay close.”

  “I only live at Stonewater Forge,” she replied breezily.

  “But you’re of marriageable age now, Amaryllis. You may be whisked off to some far off place any day now.”