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

by K. C. May

  * * * * *

  Warrick burst into Brodas’s library, red-faced, his hair wet with sweat. “They’re here,” he said, gasping. “Kinshield and another man met Demonshredder at a tavern, then went to an inn near the east city gate. Saberheart wasn't with him, but I heard female voices coming from inside the inn's lobby.”

  “Excellent work, Warrick,” Brodas said, closing the journal. He set the fragile tome gently on his desk and gave the cover a loving pat. “Presumably they will set out first thing in the morning. Get the horses ready and have my company prepare to ride at a moment's notice.” The time was drawing near. The excitement literally buzzed in Brodas’s ears, and it was all he could do to sit still. In a matter of hours, he would have the King's Blood-stone in his hands.

  “Warrick, I need you to watch the inn,” he said. “I know you need sleep, but to be honest, I can’t trust anyone but you and Lilalian, and she's already at the cave.”

  Warrick scrunched his mouth. “What about Cirang? She can watch the inn.”

  “Lilalian is not afraid of risk, but she has good judgment. Her captain is wound a bit too tightly. She might confront them before they leave the city. Red isn’t back from Tern yet, but honestly I'd trust Cirang before I would Red.” Brodas put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “You have never let me down. Just suffer this one inconvenience, and I promise you will be rewarded a million times over. We both will.”

  Warrick nodded. “I know. It’s all right, I’ll do it.”

  “Come and get me when they leave, and we will follow behind at a safe distance.”

  Chapter 54

  The room with its wood-paneled walls and lacy curtains over the window, smelled of cinnamon, reminding Gavin of his grandmother’s house long ago. He would sleep well here. After removing his armor and weapons, he sat on the bed to unlace his boots and became distracted by its comfortable firmness. Lying back to sample it, his feet still on the floor, he fell asleep.

  He lay that way for some time, unmoving. Eventually the grumbling of his stomach woke him. He stumbled to his feet and patted his coin purse. Satisfied that the light jingle meant he had enough to buy a meal, he shuffled out to the dark corridor. As he turned to lock his room, the door to Edan's room opened quietly and from it emerged Daia.

  "Well, well," Gavin said in a low voice. "So that's what all the moaning and screaming was about."

  Daia gave him a sour look as she went past him to her room. "You heard nothing of the kind. Where are you going?"

  Edan stepped out of his room and looked at the two of them with raised brows.

  Gavin chuckled to hide his envy and disappointment that she had given herself to Edan. “I need to get something’ to eat.”

  Edan clapped his shoulder. “I'll go with you.”

  “You'd better get some rest, Gavin,” Daia said. "Morning will be upon us too soon."

  Once she'd gone into her room and closed the door behind her, Gavin grinned at Edan. "So. You finally bedded her, eh? What was she like?"

  Edan scowled at him as they walked to the door at the end of the corridor. "You misunderstand."

  "Come on, I been dying to know. Does she drink from the spigot?"

  "Another word, Gavin, and we'll go to blows," Edan said with a raised finger.

  Gavin had never heard such a threatening tone from Edan. Must have been truly smitten to object so strongly to a joke. "Sorry, Edan," Gavin said. "I forgot myself."

  As they walked to the alehouse across from the inn, Gavin looked at his friend curiously. What was it about him that had drawn Daia? Edan was strong, but not terribly muscular and barely taller than she was. Was it his handsomeness? Could it be that his hands were not so rough and calloused? Hopefully it wasn’t simply that he lacked facial scars or that he had all of his teeth.

  They sat down, and for several minutes, neither of them spoke. The barmaid brought reheated salted pork and ale. While Gavin ate, he remembered Daia’s complaints about his speech and manners. Maybe she liked a man who was well-spoken. If that was all there was to it, Gavin could fix that easily enough. Spending time with Edan had taught him much.

  “I know what you're thinking, Gav, and you needn't worry,” Edan said. “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?” he asked.

  Edan smiled at Gavin and then raised his tankard to his lips. "She cares for you."

  Gavin raised his own tankard to hide his smile, and took a long draw. “After all these years, you're reunited with her. I could tell she was a noble from the moment I met her, and she told me she was the Lordover Tern's daughter, but I didn't put it together until we got to your house.”

  Edan nodded. “She’s not just his daughter. She’s his heiress. Rather, she was. She hated her life. I only spent a few hours with her the night we met, but,” he paused and glanced toward the door. “I fell for her that night.”

  “I remember well. You wouldn’t shut up about her for months.”

  “Not months,” Edan argued.

  “Months. Years, maybe. You caught her eye once before. You could do it again.”

  Edan exhaled loudly. “She ran away shortly after we met. Later I heard that she'd joined the Sisterhood. I don’t think it’s a husband she wants.” He averted his gaze, picking at the nail of one hand. “I know this is a sensitive matter for you, Gav, but it’s something you need to face: you’ll need to remarry.”

  Gavin nodded, hanging his head. “I know.”

  They sat silently for a while, drinking their ale. A wife. The thought of it made Gavin's stomach churn. The idea of replacing Talisha with another felt wrong. She was his wife; she would always be his wife, no matter if she were alive or dead.

  He had loved being married, and he had chosen the most beautiful, the warmest, kindest, most entertaining woman ever born. No man had ever been luckier or more happily married than Gavin was. She was perfectly matched to him, and it was as though they shared a single mind and heart. His hope of finding another mate for his soul was dim. Yet, there was one he would consider.

  Gavin sighed and put his hand to his brow. No. She wouldn’t marry him; she’d made it plain she had no interest in Gavin romantically. Edan was right. The epithet she had chosen was evidence that her heart was in soldiering and not in housewifery. In truth, Gavin could not see her hanging up her sword to don a dress and apron, nor would he want her to. He liked her exactly the way she was.

  * * * * *

  Daia pulled off the stiff corset she wore under her tunic, then pulled her shirt back on and strapped on her short sword. She leaned over Brawna's sleeping form. Brawna breathed slowly and deeply. Her mouth dropped open, and she snored softly.

  Satisfied, Daia went to the door and pressed her ear to it. Once she was sure Edan and Gavin were out of earshot, she turned the knob slowly, quietly, and opened the door just enough to see out. The hall was dark and silent. She crept to the outer door and down the two steps to the street. The city was asleep.

  She kept to the shadows and between the buildings as she made her way toward the Sisterhood compound to the southwest. Gavin would kill her if he knew what she was up to, but she had some unsettled business there. Cirang had murdered JNese and must be brought to justice.

  At the northern-most end of the compound, a bit of the fencing had broken. She had slipped detention this way during her less than fine moments as a trainee looking for excitement. In fact, it was likely a continued practice among the trainees. Never had Daia considered she would be sneaking into the compound as an outcast.

  She crept across the dewy grass to the east wing of the garrison where the officers’ quarters were. The guild mistress and her captain were not required to share a room as the other women were. Hopefully Cirang did not have an overnight guest.

  Daia's mind drifted to her talk with Edan. For years, she had wondered what had become of him. Had he married? Had he forgotten her altogether? Part of her was glad he had done neither.

  Focus, Saberheart.

  She sneaked around
behind what she guessed would be Cirang’s room. Surely, Lilalian had taken Aminda’s larger room and let Cirang have her old room. Daia side-stepped along the wall of the barrack and peeked around the corner. No one there. A cluster of barracks to the south hid her from view from the gatehouse. As she reached toward the door handle of Cirang’s room, she held her breath. It did not budge.

  Damn it. She went around to the rear of the building. The window would have been large enough to crawl through if she'd been unconcerned about being heard, but she needed to get in without alerting Cirang. Peering through the glass, she saw Cirang's dark hair against the white pillow.

  A voice in her head warned her to abort this ridiculous plan now while she still could. No. Cirang had all but buried Daia when she stole her knife and drove it into JNese’s back. Daia would have her vengeance and justice for JNese, too. She stooped to gather a handful of pebbles and acorns, and put them in her pocket.

  She planted her boot in the crook of the tree’s lower branches and pulled herself up. She stepped up twice more and stretched her torso across the widest branch that hung over the roof of Cirang’s barrack. Pushing with her feet and pulling with her arms, she scooted across the branch. Wrapping her feet around it, she let her hip roll off to the side. She swung down and lowered herself silently to the roof, then crept to the edge just above the window.

  Daia tossed a pebble. It clinked against the window and fell into the grass. She tossed a few more.

  Clink. Clink. Clink-clink.

  She heard stirring below her. “What the hell?” Cirang asked, her voice muffled through the roof.

  Clink.

  The latch on the door clicked. Daia scrambled over the roof to the front of the building. Below her, Cirang's dark head appeared, turned first right then left. It bobbed as she went past Lilalian’s room to the corner of the building and around toward the back window.

  Daia put one hand on the roof and jumped down to the ground, landing in a squat to silence her drop. She slipped into Cirang’s room and flattened herself against the inner wall. Her heart pounded.

  “All right, who's playing games? Keep it up if you want detention,” Cirang called. Daia saw her through the window, her form silhouetted against the glow of the nearly full moon.

  Daia hunkered down and went to the bundle of clothing draped over a chair. The strap of Cirang’s sword hung over the chair back, and her knife lay atop the wadded clothes. She took the weapons and backed to the wall again, enjoying the idea of killing Cirang with her own blade.

  The voice in her mind warned, I have no proof it was murder. Daia paused, suddenly unsure of her decision. What if JNese was killed by beyonders, and Cirang put my knife in her back to make me look responsible?

  No, Cirang had killed JNese. But she needed to have proof before she put her knife to Cirang's throat. Damn it. She had to find another way; she wouldn't chance committing murder. Besides, Gavin needed her. Once he was king, she could bring Cirang before him for justice.

  How was she going to get out of here unseen? Cirang’s footsteps crunched through the grass and gravel on the side of the barrack. She was coming.

  Daia took another couple of pebbles and tossed them at the window.

  Clink. Clink.

  One of them bounced off the window, landed on the pillow and rolled down onto the bed sheet. Shit!

  The footsteps stopped, then turned. Cirang hurried back around to the window. “Who the hell is there, damn it?”

  Daia slipped from the room and went left, down to the other end of the barrack and around the corner. She waited, her chest heaving, her back pressed flat against the wall. She held Cirang’s sword in the crook of her left arm and the knife in her right hand.

  You are mad, Saberheart. Mad. What if she were caught? Gavin would be on his own. No, she wouldn't be discovered. Cirang had not heard her.

  At last, the footsteps crunched through the gravel once again and the door creaked shut. The latch clicked into place.

  Daia shut her eyes and thanked Yrys for His watchful eye. She waited for a moment to see if Cirang would notice her weapons missing or the pebble on her bed and call out an alarm. Get moving, Saberheart. Don’t wait to be caught. She hunched down and started across the grass.

  She heard shouting in the growing distance behind her, undoubtedly from Cirang's discovery of the pebble. But Daia was beyond the fencing and moving quickly in the shadows. The exhilaration of success raced through her veins. She giggled to herself the entire way back to the Harper Lodge, and her muscles jerked with unused energy.

  When she reached the inn, she pressed her back to the wall and focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself so as not to make any noise when she went inside. She raised her eyes to the sky, to the brilliance of the stars and the shapes they formed, the stories they told. This was one story she wouldn't tell. Not yet. Not for many years to come.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded a deep voice behind her.

  She whirled around, raising Cirang’s sword in reflex.

  With a thick, dark mustache and handsome face, the man looked familiar. He held up his empty hands in a calming gesture. “No need for that,” he said, his voice low.

  “Be on your way, ‘ranter,” she said. “I’m on official business of the Viragon Sisterhood.”

  “Is that so? Did Cirang send you?”

  Cirang? How did he know--? Daia remembered where she’d seen his face; he had come to see Aminda the day before Daia, Cirang and JNese had left for Tern. “What do you know of it?” she demanded in a hushed voice.

  “I’ve got the inn covered.”

  Daia’s heart thudded so hard, she was afraid he would hear it. This had to be Ravenkind’s cousin. “Look, a renegade Sister was seen entering this inn. I’ve got orders--”

  “I know,” he said with an impatient tone. “I will handle it. You get back to the complex and tell Cirang to keep her nose out of my business.”

  “You know? Who in blazes are you?”

  He sighed. “I’m Lilalian's ally, Warrick Darktalon.”

  Warrick. That was him.

  “Now go back to the complex like I told you, or I’m going to have to—“

  Daia lunged at him with Cirang's sword. His reflex was quick and he parried with his left hand. The blade cut deeply into his palm, nearly severing his index finger, but he avoided a mortal wound. He drew his sword with a ring, holding his useless hand against his chest. Blood gushed down his wrist and forearm.

  “You’ve made a big mistake,” he said through gritted teeth. “Put down the weapon and I won’t kill you.”

  “You’re already dead,” she spat. “Just like your idiot cousin.”

  Warrick let out a growl and lunged. Daia parried, but his blade glanced off hers, skipped over the guard and sliced into her arm. Her hand was suddenly too weak to grip the sword. The weapon fell to the cobblestones at her feet. Before he could swing again, she dropped to a crouch and whipped the knife in her left hand up alongside his groin, slicing through the artery. Spinning away, she rose again and stepped back into a defensive stance.

  He dropped his weapon and clutched himself. Going first to one knee, he slumped to the ground as the blood soaked his trousers. His eyes rose to hers and pleaded for help before freezing in a glassy stare. He fell onto his face.

  With her left hand, Daia dragged Warrick by the arm further into the alley so casual passersby wouldn't see him from the street. She gathered up all the weapons. As she started to wipe his blood off Cirang’s knife, a wicked grin crept over her face. If Brodas thought the Sisterhood was his ally, then leaving Cirang’s knife covered with Warrick's blood would be the perfect revenge for JNese’s murder.

  Chapter 55

  The leaves whispered of promises unkept as they shivered in the trees and tumbled across the forest floor. A copper-haired girl with tiny freckles on her nose beckoned him. She was Caevyan, yet he called out “Dagaz!” as he ran after her. His legs were wooden and unbending. The ground wa
s soft like sand. “Papa!” she called, then ran away. Always elusive, staying ahead of him. She turned and waited, beckoning.

  Her eyes were the color of blood.

  A sharp noise jerked Gavin out of the dream. He looked around, trying to identify its source.

  Tak-tak-tak.

  The door. Papa was coming to tell him he'd forgotten to light the heater in the chicken coop. Coming to tell him the baby chicks were dead.

  “Gavin,” someone whispered loudly.

  No, not Papa. Coming more fully awake, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on his trousers and picked up his dagger. In the darkness, he made his way to the door, holding the knife between his teeth while he laced his trousers. Through the crack between the door and its frame came the sound of heavy breathing. Gavin took the knife in hand, drawing it from its sheath.

  “Gavin, it's me. Wake up. Gavin?” Daia's voice.

  Tak-tak-tak.

  He unbolted and opened the door, but the hall was darker than his room. He squinted, trying to fit the image before his eyes into the context of Daia Saberheart. She had an armful of weapons. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She squeezed past him into his room. “I've just killed someone.”

  “Who? How?”

  “Warrick Darktalon. He was lurking in the alley outside. Watching us, no doubt.”

  Gavin shut the door and rubbed his eyes. “Did you say you killed Warrick? Brodas Ravenkind's cousin, Warrick?”

  “Yes. Gavin, they know we’re here.”

  “Hell, tell me what happened,” he said.

  “I was out... for a walk, and as I was coming back, he snuck up behind me.”

  “He attacked you?”

  “No, he thought I was an ally, sent by Cirang to watch the inn. He knew we were here, so the Sisterhood must know, too. When he told me who he was, I killed him.”

  Gavin used the night candle to light the oil lamp. The sight of blood on her sleeve twisted his gut. “You’re injured. Let me see,” he said, setting down the knife.