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

by K. C. May

  Pain exploded in Risan’s nose. He tumbled back against the wall. Blood streamed across his mouth and into his beard.

  Domach stepped toward him. “No,” he said again, as his fist slammed into Risan’s face. “No, no, no.” His words punctuated every blow as it landed.

  With every strike, Risan bounced against the wall behind him and stumbled forward, only to be driven back with the next blow. His left eye began to swell. His cheeks, his eyes, his nose and mouth burned with pain as Domach’s fist hammered him again and again. The skin above his right eye burst open and bled rivulets down his face.

  “No,” Domach repeated with every slam of his fist. “No, no, no, no.”

  Risan made no sound aside from the involuntary grunt when Domach's blows knocked him into the wall. He took the beating stoically, straightening with steadfast determination after each staggering punch. He would never give in.

  Now his left eye was swollen shut, his lips numb, and his mouth filled with the acrid tang of blood. A front tooth broke free, and he spat it out onto the floor.

  Domach paused and bent over. His dark hair hung like a curtain, obscuring his face. He stumbled to the corner of the room, then puked onto the floor. After wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, he turned back with a white face and moist eyes, and continued to pummel Risan, saying, “No,” again and again.

  Risan began to swoon. The room closed in, filled with a million grains of black sand. He held up a hand to beg for a pause while he bent down to clear his head. Domach waited. When Risan nodded that he was ready, still swaying on his feet, the pounding resumed.

  “No, no, no.”

  The sand returned, but before Risan could signal for a pause, the room went completely black.

  Chapter 46

  The pain in Gavin’s chest had lessened considerably, and he chanced a deeper breath. He coughed, wincing. Almost. He climbed to his feet.

  “You're hurt,” Daia said as she came to him, her voice thick and low. “Let me see your wound.” She reached for his cuirass and started to pull it off, but he pushed her hands away.

  “It's a scratch,” he croaked. He looked her over. “You awright?” While Gavin had been stabbed and would probably develop several bruises from his fight, Daia had not a mark on her. Hm.

  “Gavin, I saw you take his sword in the chest. Let me see. I can help—”

  “If it was as bad as it looked,” he said in a raspy voice, “would I be standing here arguing about it? You should’ve let me kill Meobryn. I had him where I wanted him.” He could stand up straight now, and took a deeper breath. The pain was nearly gone. He looked down at his chest. The cuirass had a neat two-inch slice in it and a trickle of blood thickened in place on the front. He passed his cuff over it, wiping it away.

  “Sorry,” she said with a wry grin. “I didn’t realize.”

  “I owed him,” Gavin muttered. He looked down at his hand covered with blood. His blood. He wiped it on his shirttail. So much for this shirt.

  “Hey,” Gavin said as he approached the coach driver. “Did Tyr have a Farthan man with him?”

  "Yes, m'lord. He took a Farthan from Ambryce to the home of Seer Ravenkind in Sohan. That's where Lord Tyr received the young lady."

  "Young...?" Gavin went to the door of the coach and yanked it open. A girl lay crumpled on the floor between the two seats -- the young battler he’d met in the woods near the cave. He put a finger to her neck. “She’s alive. Let’s get her out of here and lay her down.” He tossed his sword and scabbard to the ground while Daia went around to the other side of the coach and opened the door.

  “Brawna,” she gasped.

  Daia worked the latches to open the shackles binding Brawna's hands while Gavin eased the knife from the girl's belly, uncorking a slow stream of blood. He slid his hands under Brawna's shoulders. Daia climbed into the coach and took her by the knees. They carried her to the side of the road and set her down in the tall grass.

  Gavin ripped apart the bottom of the girl’s tunic and assessed her injuries. Blood flowed slowly, but at least it still flowed. It wouldn’t for long if he didn’t hurry.

  “I have a needle and sutures in my pack.” Daia stood and ran to her horse.

  Gavin put one hand over each of the wounds on Brawna's abdomen. Instantly his hands burned hot. Clenching his teeth, Gavin closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the fluttery sensation he had felt before.

  It started at the top of his head and intensified there as it crept to his forehead, the base of his throat, his chest, solar plexus, belly and down to his groin. He saw nothing but whiteness, growing ever brighter to the point that it was blinding in his mind. The warm whiteness fluttered while a current flowed through his body, his hands, and into the girl. The longer he held his hands on the girl’s wounds, the harder it became. He felt trapped under water and could not breathe, yet the feeling was in his gut rather than his chest.

  Finally, his hands cooled and the whiteness dimmed. He opened his eyes, gasped for breath, and rocked back. Black spots rained upon his vision. He felt himself falling.

  A warm hand stroked his face, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Something soft pillowed his head, but the rest of him lay on a hard surface. Gavin opened his eyes.

  Daia’s lovely face smiled down at him. “It’s just one surprise after another with you, isn’t it?”

  “Tell me I didn’t puke on myself.” He pushed himself upright. Happily, his cuirass was dry.

  “No. You just fainted.” She turned toward the girl. “Brawna’s sleeping peacefully now, her wounds all but scars. You should have let me help you heal her,” Daia said. “I’m a conduit, remember?”

  “I remember the last time you helped me,” he grumbled. He licked his dry lips and, as if on cue, she handed him a flask. He drained it at once.

  “I amplify the skills you have, that's all.” She grinned at him. “You read hazes, you heal wounds – including your own. You did take Meobryn’s sword in the chest, Gavin. I peeked under your cuirass. What else do you have in your haversack, Mage Kinshield?”

  He moved objects with just his will. “Stop. I ain’t a wizard.”

  “Then you have another explanation?”

  He shrugged and looked around. "Where’s the coach?"

  "He left after you fainted."

  "You didn't go after him?"

  Daia gave him an impatient look. "I had to choose between following him or tending to you and Brawna. We know where Risan is; we didn't need him further."

  Gavin grunted. She was right, but he would have liked to ask the driver a few more questions.

  He crawled over to Brawna. Moving aside the tattered pieces of her blood-stained clothing, he checked the wounds. Even those he had not focused on healing were closed. “She bled overmuch. She’ll be weak for a while.” Brawna lay still, but she breathed deeply and steadily. Gavin went to the Nilmarion's body, squatted and began to search the pockets.

  "You're looking for spoils at a time like this?” Daia asked.

  “No, I’m lookin’ for…” Tyr’s pockets were empty. “Damn it. He ha’nt got it.”

  “What?”

  “Calewen’s Pendant.”

  “What do you want with it?” she asked.

  “I got to take it to the Institute of Scholarly Studies in Sohan. If I give them the pendant, they’ll give me a copy of Kinshield’s letter.” He searched Toren's body, too. “DAMN IT!”

  “Kinshield’s letter? You mean Ronor Kinshield?” she asked. “That letter burned in a fire over a hundred years ago.”

  Gavin stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the bodies. Tyr should have had the pendant. Where could it be? “’Parently not,” he explained absently. “They found it, or a copy of it.” Bloody hell. Tyr had already given it to Brodas Ravenkind. That had to be it.

  "What about these two?" Daia asked, toeing Tyr's corpse.

  Gavin bent to Toren's body again and cut the thong around his neck, then inspected the tag. "The L
ordover Tern issued this."

  "Let me see that," Daia said. Gavin offered it to her to examine. "Forged. My father has his tags scored on the edge in a particular fashion. These are wrong."

  "I'd better take this to him, let him know. Can you get me an audience with him?"

  Daia stiffened. "I think the gem in your pocket would get you one faster, and a more agreeable one at that."

  "Hm. Let's move these two off the road. Leave them to their own kind to feed on."

  As Daia dragged Sithral Tyr's body to the side of the road, a small wad of beige cloth fell out of his waistcoat. "Gavin, look at this." She bent to pick it up.

  “You lookin’ for spoils?”

  She unwrapped the cloth. “Ugh! I wouldn’t call this ‘spoils.’ It’s hideous. Look at the eyes. They give me gooseflesh.” She held a greenish gray cat sculpture. “It’s heavier than it looks, like something’s inside.”

  “Smash it. See what it is.”

  Daia started toward her horse. “I think I’d like to ask around about it first. There’ll be plenty of time for smashing later.” She put it in her pack. “What about Brawna? We can’t take her back to Sohan. She’s obviously fallen out of favor with the Sisterhood. I wonder what happened.”

  “She’s the one I saw in the woods. Prob’ly taking the blame for her companion’s death and my escape.”

  "She's the one you saw?" Daia asked, her voice rising with incredulity.

  "Yeh. I got a friend in Lalorian who’ll look after her.” The time to speak with Edan about the King's Blood-stone drew near. "He'll also help us rescue Risan."

  “We know where he is, Gavin. We don’t have time to go to Lalorian. Let’s leave Brawna in the care of a family outside the city. You and I can rescue Risan.”

  “No. We can’t battle Ravenkind alone,” he answered. “We need all the help we can get.”

  “Domach can help us.”

  “Demonshredder’s good, but he ain’t enough. Trust me on this.”

  He reached for Brawna’s arm, intending to draw her up over his shoulders. Brawna stirred and whimpered. “Wha—What’s happening?” she asked as she struggled to sit up.

  Gavin squatted beside her. “Here, drink.” He held a flask to her lips.

  She took it without hesitation and guzzled the water. After a moment, she wiped her mouth and looked up at him. "Thank--" An expression of confusion crossed her face, then widened to a gape. “You!” Her eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, my liege,” she whispered.

  Daia squatted beside them, smiling. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

  “Daia! What happened? How did you find me?”

  “Your brother.” Daia gave her a short summary of the events from their conversation with Domach to the fight. In return, Brawna told them what she knew about Ravenkind and the Sisterhood's alliance with him.

  “Cirang thinks he’s going to become king.” Brawna looked up at Gavin. “Didn't you say you were looking for a Farthan blacksmith?”

  “Did you see him?” Gavin asked.

  “No, but Ravenkind talked about a Farthan blacksmith that the Nilmarion brought to him. They thought he was the Rune Solver until Cirang told them that I'd seen you at the cave. I think he’s at Ravenkind’s house. Ravenkind has a sword with some jewels in the hilt.” She trembled. “He used it... Oh, my lord. He--” Brawna turned away and retched.

  "What's wrong?" Daia asked, her hand on Brawna's back. "What did he do?"

  "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry," Brawna whimpered. "He used magic and the sword to make me describe you. He’s the one who wants to find you so he can steal the King's Blood-stone. I'm so sorry. I tried to resist him, but I couldn’t.”

  “I know," Gavin said. "It's not your fault. Don't punish yourself. Ravenkind's more demon than human." He turned to Daia. "Let’s get goin’. She needs food and rest.” He stood and whistled. Golam trotted over with his head high, dragging his reins in the dirt. Gavin mounted and offered Brawna a hand up. “You can ride with me.”

  Chapter 47

  Risan cracked his right eye open. Narrow shafts of light shone down through the crevices between the boards above him, illuminating particles of dust in the air. Thinking it too realistic to be a dream, he pushed himself upright on the stone floor. He should be used to waking up in a new place by now. But he wouldn't complain; at least he had woken up.

  Risan’s left cheek throbbed and his head pounded. He licked his swollen lips and tasted dried blood. The gum where his tooth had been was tender when he touched it with his tongue. His left eye was swollen shut, the right nearly so. He tried running his fingers through his beard, and found dried blood caked there. Squinting to see in the dim light, he looked around.

  Rats skittered into their hiding places, their nails scratching the floor. The cellar stank of urine and rotting food. Some old furniture lay heaped in one corner, and he stood to rummage through it, realizing then that his wrist shackles had been removed. His heart sank; no shackles meant he might starve before he escaped. Mayhap he could fashion a weapon or tool from the broken pieces of wood. He caught sight of a small blond boy, huddled on top of an old wardrobe, watching him.

  “How now, young fellow,” he said, wincing at the pain in his mouth. He made an effort to sound jovial. “How do you find yourself in this cave?”

  “It’s a cellar,” the boy replied quietly.

  Risan looked around him with exaggerated motions. “Why, so it is. Are you prisoner here? Kidnapped like me?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do not tell me that wizard is your papa,” Risan said.

  “No,” the boy shot back. He huddled further back on the wardrobe.

  “Glad to know it. I am Risan. Who you might be?”

  The boy bit his lip. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  “I am not stranger,” Risan countered. “I am Risan Stronghammer of Stronghammer Blades, maker of finest bladed weapons in all Ambryce, and husband to Arlet, loveliest woman you ever put eyes on. If I was stranger, you would not know so much about me, would you?”

  The boy shook his head again, and a small smile brightened his face. “Dwaeth.”

  Risan stood on the chair beside the wardrobe and offered his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, young Dwaeth." The boy put his small, soft hand in Risan's. "Do not mind my new face. I am sure it is not as handsome as one I came here wearing. This one is compliments of our host, Mr. Ravenkind. Is he friend of yours?”

  “He said he’s my uncle,” Dwaeth whispered. “He sent my mother away and he won’t tell me where she is.” He began to cry.

  “Now, now,” Risan said. He crawled up onto the wardrobe with the boy, not much smaller than he was, and put his arm around Dwaeth’s shoulders. “When I figure out way to get out of here, I will help you find your mother.”

  * * * * *

  The boy slept fitfully in Risan's arms. It was all Risan could do to sit still, so sore was his bottom from sitting for hours atop the wardrobe. He was all this child had now, and a few moments of discomfort would do an old Farthan no harm. He licked his swollen, scab-covered lips and drained the last drop of water from his dented tin cup.

  A rattling sound from the top of the stairs announced a visitor. The door opened, and a pair of footsteps descended the top few stairs.

  “Dwaeth.” Ravenkind’s voice. “Come upstairs.”

  Dwaeth jerked to wakefulness and blinked.

  “Come upstairs. I have a surprise for you, Dwaeth.”

  “Mama?” the boy asked, sitting taller. He looked to Risan as if for confirmation.

  “Do not hope for too much. Go. You do not want to anger Lord Ravenkind. I will help you down.” He climbed down from the wardrobe and opened his arms to the young boy. He lifted Dwaeth and set him gently on the floor.

  “Dwaeth, don't keep me waiting,” Brodas called.

  Dwaeth took a few steps and turned, looking back at Risan with a quivering chin. “I don't want to. I want to stay here with you.”
/>
  Risan knew the boy would be better off going upstairs than witnessing whatever cruelty or execution Ravenkind had in store for Risan. “You will be fine,” he said. “Just do what he tells you.”

  “But what about you?”

  “Crusty old Farthan like me cannot be hurt so easy. You do not worry about Risan.” He gave the boy a hug. “Be brave.”

  He watched Dwaeth go to the stairs and climb slowly up. With every footstep, Risan felt his heart breaking a little more.

  His own son had not been much older than this boy, taken by the plague that had swept through the province twelve years earlier. Risan and Arlet had prayed to Yrys night and day, sacrificed everything but the clothes on their backs, but none of it had helped. If you are listening now, Yrys, please keep Dwaeth safe.

  Warrick came down first, armed with his sword. Risan made no move to attack. Warrick motioned with his hand. Another set of footsteps started down the stairs.

  “Now, then,” Brodas said. “Since the sword won't let me use its gems against you directly, we have to do this the old fashioned way.” The cold look in Brodas's eyes made Risan shudder.

  Warrick handed his sword and the knife at his hip to Brodas, and then advanced on Risan.

  Risan feinted one way and dived the opposite. Warrick lunged after him. Risan tried to slip the battler's grasp, but his tunic was caught in a powerful vice.

  Warrick shoved Risan to the table, wrestled his left arm behind his back and forced his right hand onto the table. He held it there by the wrist. Brodas swept the crumbs aside and splayed Risan's fingers on the table.

  A black eye would fade. Even a lost tooth was not so terrible. But now the monster was going to dismember him. Risan started to tremble.

  “It would be a shame for you to lose your livelihood over something so easy to prevent,” Brodas said. “Tell me who you made the sword for.”

  Risan's heart pounded. He feared the pain, yes he did, but more than that, he feared this man becoming king. “Go to hell.”