The Kinshield Legacy (an epic/heroic fantasy adventure) (The Kinshield Saga)

by K. C. May

  “Is my sister all right?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  Domach offered his hand to each of them. “Strength and courage.”

  As Domach walked back to the tavern, Gavin relaxed his gaze and examined Domach’s haze. While he still did not completely understand all the colors and smudges he saw there, Gavin’s impression was that Domach had no betrayal in his heart.

  Daia asked, “Do you know him well? Can we trust him?”

  “Yeh. He’s a decent sort. I just read his haze. He means us well. At least, he means you well.”

  Daia smiled. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yeh, but not nearly enough. Let’s get some food and eat in our room. No sense taking chances being spotted by your Sister friends. We can leave at first light.”

  “Good idea,” Daia said. “While we eat, I’ll tell you what I found out at the Sisterhood.”

  Chapter 37

  The ride back to Sohan seemed longer than the ride to the Rune Cave had been. Night had fallen by the time the guards admitted Brawna through the gate at the Sisterhood compound.

  “By Yrys! Is she dead?” “What happened?” the guards asked her.

  “I need to talk to Lilalian,” Brawna said wearily. “Is she here?”

  “Yeh,” one of them replied. “Check her office or her quarters.”

  “Tell us what happened, Brawna,” the other begged.

  “I have to tell Lilalian first.” Brawna nudged Tripsa forward and rode to the stable leading Enamaeria’s horse with Enamaeria draped over its back.

  Women gathered around. “What happened?” “Did you run into highwaymen?” “Was it beyonders?” “Are you hurt?” Two of the women took the reins of the horses.

  Brawna climbed down, her muscles stiff and sore. Without a word, she went into the main building, dimly lit by wall sconces, and climbed slowly up the stairs to Lilalian’s office to tell the guild mistress she’d failed on her first mission.

  Her arm felt bricklike when she lifted it to knock. No answer. She turned to go downstairs. Lilalian entered below. Brawna waited while Lilalian jogged up the stairs, her mouth pinched tight, her gaze icy. Brawna bowed her head. “My lady.”

  Lilalian opened the office door and lit a lamp. Brawna entered behind her.

  “Who attacked you?” Lilalian asked, closing the door.

  “We were not attacked.”

  “Start from the beginning.” Lilalian went around the desk and sat, then motioned to a chair in front of it.

  Brawna sat obediently, laying her hands on her thighs, and gave Lilalian an accounting of the events. “He was not a meek scholar but a battler. He killed her -- in self-defense.”

  Brawna could not read Lilalian’s expression, but the look in her eyes made Brawna shudder; they were as flat and dead as Enamaeria’s.

  “Did you battle him? Did you try to apprehend him?” Lilalian asked.

  Brawna drew back, shocked. “No, m’lady. He’d done nothing wrong. Besides, he was with a Sister.”

  Lilalian’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Which Sister?”

  Brawna suddenly doubted that the Rune Solver’s traveling companion would give him any more credibility. She regretted mentioning it. “Daia,” she whispered.

  “Daia is no longer a Viragon Sister. She has murdered one of our own and stolen Sisterhood funds. You should have brought the Rune Solver here, Brawna. Those were your orders.”

  “What? No. My orders were to follow him,” Brawna argued. “Quietly, without being seen.”

  “Don’t be naïve,” Lilalian snapped. “You were to apprehend him. Enamaeria wounded him to make his capture easier. Now he’ll be on his guard -- and with a champion, too. You didn’t by chance ask his name before you let him go happily on his way?”

  Brawna hung her head. “No, m’lady.” A knock rattled the door behind her. She jumped.

  “Come,” Lilalian barked.

  Cirang strode into the office and looked Brawna over. “What happened to Enamaeria?” she asked.

  “Daia’s little apprentice let her die while trying to carry out her orders and did nothing to stop her murderer or avenge her death.”

  “What?” Brawna screeched, leaping to her feet. “No! I did nothing wrong.”

  “Seer Ravenkind will be very upset,” Cirang said.

  “Lock her in a storeroom for the night and take her to him in the morning. She'll answer for her actions. And get some battlers on the street to look for Daia. If we find her, we’ll likely find Enamaeria’s murderer, too.”

  Brawna’s head spun. How could they blame her for something she had no control of?

  Cirang grabbed Brawna’s arm and shoved her toward the door. Then Brawna noticed a gold chain around Cirang’s neck that disappeared under her tunic. A chain just like the one Lilalian wore.

  Chapter 38

  Brodas awoke early the next morning, continuing the methodical search through his remaining books for mention of magical gargoyles. Once the sun had risen, he opened the curtains and extinguished the reading lamp. Just as he returned to his seat with another book, Warrick burst through the door.

  “Brodas, Tyr has arrived. He says he’s brought the rune solver with him.”

  Brodas shot to his feet so quickly, he knocked his chair over. Without bothering to right it, he strode to the great hall with Warrick at his heel. “Is he certain?”

  “Certain enough.”

  When Brodas greeted Sithral Tyr in the great hall with a handshake, he caught a flash of something silver the Nilmarion was holding behind his back. “Warrick tells me you’ve brought the Rune Solver.”

  Tyr gave a slight bow. “That I have, my friend.”

  Toren Meobryn stepped through the door carrying the limp form of a boy over his shoulder.

  “A child?” Brodas asked with a scowl.

  “Not a child,” Tyr said. “A Farthan.”

  Although Brodas had been working with Sithral Tyr in various business endeavors for nearly two years, he hesitated to look into the man’s eyes, for the shallow stare unnerved him. But he did look now, and there he saw confidence, satisfaction and a dark sort of lust. No doubt, Tyr expected that his debt would be paid this day. “Take him upstairs,” Brodas told Toren. “Put him in one of the guest rooms. Warrick, secure the room so that he can't escape. And have the steward clean him up and prepare a meal for us all.” He turned back to Tyr. “What proof do you have that he’s the Rune Solver?”

  From behind his back, Tyr pulled a sword and extended it toward Brodas.

  Brodas gasped. In the hilt were three of the most exquisite gems Brodas had ever seen. He took the sword as a mother would her newborn.

  The craftsmanship astounded him. Not only was the sword artful, it looked sharp enough to slice through rock as though it were water. Brodas focused on the gem in the eye of the snake’s head at the pommel and measured its depth. It felt like putting his hand into a bucket, expecting to touch the bottom and finding nothing as far as he could reach. His heart began to race, and he checked the two others; both were as clear and deep as the first. By the sword of King Arek!

  To hell with the gemsmith’s daughter. To hell with the gargoyle-locked box. Brodas had the Rune Stones and the rune solver.

  * * * * *

  Risan awoke in a room lit by the sun shining through a tall window. He lay upon a firm, comfortable bed covered in clean, soft linens. His head rested on a plump down pillow. He glanced around at the room, at the cheerful yellow walls, the finely crafted dressing table and matching wardrobe. The smell of bacon and fresh bread drew Risan upright.

  This must be a dream. What is this place? How long have I been here? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped to the floor, landing lightly on a round blue and yellow rug. His dirty tunic and trousers were gone, and he wore a long night-shirt of soft blue cotton.

  The window drew his eye, but the smell of food tempted him more. A platter of boiled eggs, bacon, ham, fruit and bread had been laid out on a tra
y with a glass of water and a sweating metal pitcher. He downed the water first, and while he poured another glass with one hand, he began to shovel the food into his mouth with the other, not caring that some of it fell into his beard.

  The first explanation that came to mind for his new surroundings was that he had been rescued from the Nilmarion and brought here to recover. He chuckled to think that he would soon be going home to Arlet, and he looked forward to meeting his hero. Mayhap Gavin Kinshield had saved him.

  His hope of having been rescued was soon shattered when he went to the door and found it locked. He rattled the door in its frame a few times and pounded on it with his fist. “Open door.”

  Pressing his ear to the door, he heard neither movement nor voices. He dropped to his hands and knees and peered under it. He saw only the wooden floor stretching toward a green-painted wall. Bending the tines of the fork, he tried to fool the lock into opening. When that didn’t work, he went to the window.

  About thirty feet below him stretched a courtyard overrun with weeds. Arlet would click her tongue at such an ill-kept garden. Along the back side of the courtyard stood a wall of red brick with a crooked metal gate propped open with a brick. Beyond the wall was a barn with a freshly painted door, and beyond the barn, freedom. Home.

  He scanned the area and, with his forehead pressed against the glass, looked down as well as he could. He saw no one. Not a single groundskeeper, repair man or stable hand was in sight. Risan grabbed the handles on the window and tugged. It did not budge. He scanned the frame and saw four nail heads pounded flush with the surface of the wood.

  Not a problem. He took the quilt from the bed and held it up to the window, tucking it as close as he could. With his elbow, he broke the glass. The quilt muffled the sound somewhat, but if anyone had been within earshot of his call, they’d have heard the window break. Risan wasted no time waiting for the sound of footsteps. He pushed the broken shards of glass out of the window frame and spread the quilt across the bottom. Sitting on the sill, he started to swing his legs over. Nightshirt. No shoes. Damn.

  He quickly opened and slammed the drawers in the dresser, hunting for a pair of trousers. To his surprise and good fortune, he found his own clothes in a drawer, washed, dried, pressed and folded, and his boots in the corner beside the wardrobe. He changed hastily, then returned to the window.

  The drop to the roof of a porch below him was about twenty feet. Casting a glance at the bedroom door, then back down at the roof, Risan felt like he was between a hammer and an anvil. The slope of the roof gave him no chance of a solid landing. He would probably break one or both of his ankles. But he had no reason to hope that the door would lead to a more pleasant exit. Whether his cell was a dank dungeon or a well-furnished guest room, Risan was a prisoner.

  A weapon might be helpful. He picked up the fork, bent the tines straight again, and put it in his pocket. Sitting on the edge of the window, he swung his legs over the sill.

  Risan took a deep breath and jumped.

  * * * * *

  “What a remarkable story,” Brodas said as he pushed his chair back from the dining table. “That you happened to be within earshot of those telling the tale in the tavern is further proof of my destiny to rule. Tyr, my friend, you’ve done exceedingly well.” Brodas gave him an appreciative nod. “Let’s relax in the sitting room and let our meal settle while we talk.” He gestured for Warrick and Toren to lead the way, and as he followed behind with Tyr, he turned the sword over in his hands, admiring the quality of not only the gems embedded in the hilt, but of the weapon itself. “The Rune Stones. They’re magnificent.” He looked up, unable to keep the smile from his face. “But don’t you think the sword is a bit long for a Farthan?”

  Sithral Tyr smirked and took the sword from Brodas’s hands. “Obviously, it’s a decorative piece, not meant to be used for spilling blood. Look at the craftsmanship and the elegant symbols etched into the blade.”

  The servant arrived with a carafe of wine, four glasses and a plate of after-dinner cookies. He set the tray on a low table in the center of the room, and began to pour wine for everyone. Toren Meobryn declined with a raised hand. The steward left his glass empty on the table, and then bowed and left.

  Brodas relaxed in his favorite chair. "Ornamental or not, that is undoubtedly the finest weapon I've ever seen. Please, make yourselves comfortable." He gestured to the sofa across from him, and Tyr sat down, but Toren remained standing, positioning himself beside Tyr with his hands loosely clasped in front of him to affect a casual stance. For all that Brodas and the Nilmarion pretended to be friends, Brodas had never trusted Tyr and felt certain the feeling was mutual.

  “It’s enchanted,” Toren said. “I’d caution you against trying to use its magic. The thing is shuddersome.”

  Tyr chuckled. “Toren believes the sword has its own mind and speaks to him through his thoughts.”

  Toren narrowed his eyes at them. “Laugh if you like. I know what I heard. I won’t touch the vile thing.”

  "I didn’t sense any magic within it,” Brodas said. "Just the gems. Unless you’ve suddenly become a more powerful mage than I am, I don’t see cause for such melodrama. I’ll let my associates know that we have found the Rune Solver and they can stop looking.”

  “Just be wary,” Tyr said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “He will try to escape.”

  Warrick snorted. “I have little to fear from an eighty pound Farthan. Meobryn, on the other hand, must be quivering at the thought of him.”

  Toren made a rude gesture at Warrick. “I’ll give you something to fear, wench.”

  Brodas held up a hand. “Now, now. A determined man can be a formidable opponent, no matter his size.”

  Warrick nodded, but his smile remained. “You speak truly, cousin.”

  “I can keep my secret no longer,” Tyr said as he stood. “I’ve brought you not one gift, my friend, but two. The Rune Solver is now in your custody, and with Toren's help, I’ve managed to secure your prize.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a black pouch, then opened the top and pulled out a diamond necklace.

  This was no ordinary diamond; it was Calewen’s Pendant. Brodas could not mistake the rosy glow of Arek’s essence. “My word,” he breathed. He took the gold chain gently and laid the gemstone across his open palm.

  According to Crigoth Sevae’s journal, Brodas could use this pendant to become Wayfarer. Once he discovered how to extract King Arek’s essence, he’d have access to all seven realms. He could travel to the beyonders’ realm to find the ultimate guardian: Ritol, the warrior demon. With Ritol as his champion, nothing could harm him, and no one would dare dispute his claim to the throne.

  “There is still the small matter of a token,” Tyr said as he handed Brodas the empty velvet pouch.

  Brodas gave Tyr a polite smile as he returned the necklace to its pouch. He'd held Tyr's leash for so long and had enjoyed commanding the Nilmarion's repertoire of tricks, he hesitated to set the dog free. Returning Tyr's token would mean the end of their relationship.

  A hideous porcelain cat figurine with some religious significance, the token kept the Nilmarion nearby and behaving well. Brodas had Tyr’s precious bauble well-hidden. Almost a year ago, he had promised to return it in exchange for Tyr's help in claiming the throne. Now it looked like he wouldn't have Tyr's services for much longer, but he wouldn't release his powerful ally a moment sooner than he had to. “You're racing the horse, my friend," he said. "Once we ascertain that the blacksmith is, indeed, the Rune Solver, I will return your token to you and your debt will be paid.”

  Tyr scowled. “Stronghammer is unwilling to disclose the secrets of the King’s Runes. It could take weeks to torture them from him, and my business in Nilmaria is long overdue. I've probably lost all of my clients to competitors in my long absence.”

  “Worry not. I have ways of making people say what’s on their mind.”

  “Then there is no reason to delay. Perhaps I can offer you some
thing else in exchange for my token’s immediate return.” He patted the sword lying across his knees.

  Brodas looked at the sword on Tyr’s lap. "You aren't thinking to trade that sword, are you? The Rune Stones are in it -- they belong to the king, and so they are part of our agreement."

  A crooked smile lifted one corner of Tyr’s thin mouth, warping the tattoo surrounding his lips. "I beg to differ," Tyr said. "I agreed to help you claim the throne. Neither these gems nor the sword itself are required to achieve your goal." He turned the sword and let his eyes slowly caress its length. "I'm sure this would fetch a good price in Nilmaria."

  Brodas pinched his lips together. The weasel had him. “All right. Give me the sword -- and promise to do one more favor for me -- and I’ll give you the token.”

  “We will make a simultaneous exchange.”

  Brodas sighed. “I’ll be just a moment.” He hurried to the kitchen, opened the freezing box, and dug through paper-wrapped meats and vegetables until he found the container in which he had stashed Tyr's figurine.

  Rust dotted the metal box. Layers of frost crusted its surface. He sent a wave of heat through his hands, causing the frost to melt and its water to drip through his fingers. With a rag, he wiped first the box, then his hands, and returned to the sitting room.

  Tyr's face glowed with anticipation as he rose from his chair and came forward. Brodas set the box on a table and lifted the lid. Tyr reached for it, but Brodas shut the lid quickly and pulled the box away.

  "The sword?" he asked.

  Tyr thrust the weapon into Brodas's hands, not taking his eyes from the box. With a delicate touch, the Nilmarion opened the lid, reached in and lifted the cloth bundle, then carefully unwound the wrapping.

  Brodas had not looked at the figurine since he had tucked it away. Once again, he was appalled at the hideousness of the thing, more despicable than he'd remembered.

  The cat-shaped statuette was a dull grayish-green color, shiny with glaze, posed in a sitting position, its porcelain tail curled like a whore's tongue around its body. Its eyes were not the slitted golden, green or blue of a true cat, but round and black. Looking into them sent a shiver down Brodas’s spine. The unnatural color did not disgust him as much as the sense that they were alive.