The Kinmar
david l. burkhead
Published by David L. Burkhead
Copyright David L. Burkhead
Cover based on an image © 2014 Dave Sammons, used with permission
About this work
The Kinmar
David L. Burkhead
Works in this series:
The Hordes of Chanakra
The Kinmar
Treva's Children
The Kinmar
David L. Burkhead
Kreg knelt to examine the trail. Hard to say how many raiders rode ahead of them. Enough to have slaughtered the people of Three Oaks.
Shadows from the birch trees waving in the slight breeze dappled the ground. Kreg reached out to touch a hoof print, measuring it with his hand. Unshod. That meant either Eastern raiders or very poor bandits.
Tracks overlaid each other in the packed dirt. Kreg's eyes narrowed as he tried, and failed, to count how many raiders were in the party. That little girl--Kreg did not know her name--had been taken in the throat with an arrow. A kindness of a sort--putting her beyond pain when the raider swords had hacked her body to pieces.
Kreg had recognized her tiny, mutilated corpse. She had given him flowers the last time he had ridden through Three Oaks. She had given him flowers and he didn't even know her name.
"Meritha," Kaila said from her horse.
Kreg looked up at her.
"Her name," Kaila said. "The girl."
Despite his fury, the corners of Kreg's lips twitched. Kaila was in his head, much like she always rode in his heart. He did not fully understand it. The Knightbond did not work so for anyone else. The bond between the Knights of Aerioch was still new-forged and they were all still learning what it did.
Calmness stole into Kreg's heart along that bond, a calmness, not of acceptance, but of patience, of fury not extinguished, but banked to be unleashed at the appropriate time.
"Bandits," Kreg said as he stood up. "Some ponies, some larger horses. Raiders would be more consistent."
"Your counsel, Your Grace?"
Kreg's lips twitched again. Kaila loved to twit him about the new title, granted by King Keven, making Kreg a Duke in his own right instead of merely Kaila's consort.
"They're just hours ahead of us." Kreg swung into his saddle. He conjured a vision of a map in his head. "We'd lose days riding to...Zhaivan, I think, to raise the army."
"We twain?"
Kreg nodded
"Risky."
This time the smile escaped from Kreg's lips. "Fear not for us."
Kaila's return smile, as she finished their old challenge, warmed Kreg to the core of his heart. "Fear rather for the evil we face."
And yet...Kreg let his gaze drop from Kaila's eyes to her still-slender waist, then back to her eyes. There were risks and risks. But there was also duty, and that little girl...Meritha. Let there be no more Merithas. Please let there be no more Merithas.
#
As they trotted down the trail, Kaila watched Kreg from beneath lowered lids. He nearly glowed black with his pain and anger over the destruction of Three Oaks.
She understood. When they first met she did not, but now? Now she did, perhaps better than Kreg did himself.
The Gods had brought Kreg to them. This Kaila believed with every beat of her heart. Shillond might speak of powerful magics, but Kaila knew the truth.
Kaila had grown up facing raiders and bandits and villages ravaged. And Kreg? Well, Kreg had not and there was an end to it. While Kaila's heart ached for the slain no less than did Kreg's, long experience taught her to temper her fury until she could unleash it at a just target.
Kreg raised a hand. Kaila reined her horse to a stop. Kreg's hand stabbed toward the ground three times, indicating where the trail had split. Kaila’s eyes widened as she saw the third trail. Just to the side of the main trail, a single track seemed to leap from the ground at her. A heel pad, four oval toe marks, no indents from claws dimpling the ground. Some form of cat, but larger than any cat should be, larger and deeper. A cat that walked on two legs. She looked up and met Kreg’s eyes.
"Kinmar," Kreg said, echoing her own thought.
"I thought they were no more."
"So did I. So did everyone. But..." He waved at the track.
Kaila scowled. The Kinmar, the half-men. When Schah had invaded with armies that kept growing, seemingly endlessly, she, Kreg and her father, Shillond, had discovered that the armies were changelings, animals transformed by magic into human-seeming warriors. In the end, Kreg broke the spell but the changeling warriors had not changed completely back into their animal forms.
They had thought that in banishing the demon Baaltor once more from the world, the Kinmar had likewise vanished.
"Perhaps," Kaila said, "we should gather the army after all."
Kreg shook his head. "Still take too long. This doesn't change that. Although perhaps you could..."
"Do not think of sending me back," Kaila said, "not this day nor any other."
Once again, Kreg's gaze dropped from Kaila's face to her waist, then returned.
"Would you have our child be born to a craven? No, Kreg. We fight together, as we always have since you came to this world."
Kreg nodded. "Together then.”
“Which trail?"
Kreg pointed to the cat track. "The cat. That is the greatest danger, I think."
Kaila looked from one trail to another. Neither she nor Kreg were a truly skilled tracker, although Kreg followed a trail a bit better than did she. Just this one print, distinct from the churned up dirt from where the other creatures--no longer was she so sure that these were mounted riders--had passed. "A single mistake, Kreg," she said. "Mayhap they disguise their trail? Hooved kinmar in the rear to trample the others' tracks."
"Could be. But one cat form, at least, went this way."
"And mayhap it is a deception," Kaila said. She waved at the print. A single print, clear in the dirt when everything but a few hoofprints was too obscured for either of them to read.
Kreg spread his hands, palms up. "We don't have anything else to go on."
Kaila thought for a moment then nodded. "You speak sooth. 'Twould not be the first time we two had ridden, eyes open, into a trap."
Kreg turned his horse to continue down the trail. Kaila followed. She frowned. Kreg had always been the clever one. To ride all-knowing into a trap, trusting to break it when it closed? No, not without great need. Three Oaks had struck him more deeply than she had surmised.
#
The bushes beside the trail ahead rustled in the light breeze. Kreg reined his horse in. Something was not right. He waited. There. Once more. The movement of the bush lasted a little too long in the next breeze. He smiled and tilted his head in the direction of the bush. He felt Kaila through the Knightbond and knew that she had picked up his subtle signal.
Holding the reins in his left hand, he let his right fall to the saddle, resting inches from the pommel of his sword. The horse whickered. Kreg kneed it into a slow walk.
A spear burst from the brush, speeding toward Kreg. Kreg twisted, evading a direct impact. The spear skittered across the rings of his mail. Kreg drew his sword while urging the horse toward the bush from which the spear had come.
Two kinmar burst through the bush. Horse, or donkey-form with wide-set eyes on faces that formed long snouts, and hands that consisted of a single broad paddle, and a short, clumsy thumb. One held a spear and drew back its arm ready to let fly. The other held a large club.
Behind him, Kreg heard the sound of others, moving to attack him from the rear. He ignored them, trusting Kaila to cover that direction.
The spear fl
ew. Kreg's sword licked out and batted it aside. He turned the horse, letting its shoulder strike the spear-carrying kinmar while he brought his sword back to catch the other in the arm, spoiling its swing. The kinmar stumbled. Kreg used that moment to twist, extend and slash the tip of his sword across the kinmar's throat.
The other kinmar was just rising to its feet after having been bowled over by Kreg's horse. Kreg wasted no time. He shifted to a two handed grip, slashed downward, sword biting deep into the kinmar's forearms, then shifted and thrust, driving the sword upward under the kinmar's jaw. The kinmar spasmed and fell backward to lie twitching on the ground. A quick scan showed no more coming from this direction. He glanced back and saw that Kaila had disposed of four more, all horse or donkey types.
#
Kaila watched as Kreg wiped his sword before sheathing it. She wiped the blood from her own sword before sliding it back into its scabbard.
"This isn't all of them," Kreg said. "They've..."
Movement in the trees caught her eye. Her hand fell to her sword and closed about its grip. "Kreg!"
Ahead, Kreg twisted in his saddle. His hand dropped to his own sword and he started to snatch it from its scabbard.
The kinmar leaped from the concealing foliage above. Cat form, Kaila saw. Female. She finished drawing her sword. The kinmar tackled Kreg and drove him from his horse. As they hit the ground, the kinmar drew its legs up and raked, its claws scittering across the rings of Kreg's mail tunic, then across and through Kreg's leather boots. Blood spurted from Kreg's torn thigh.
"Kreg!"
Kaila dropped her sword. It had scarcely struck the ground before she had snatched her bow from its saddle-sheath and fitted an arrow to string.
The arrow flew true, striking the kinmar just beneath the left shoulder, but it struck bone rather than penetrating deeply. The kinmar turned for an instant to look at her as Kaila prepared another arrow. It snarled, with a face that blended human features and cat. Kaila lifted the bow and started to draw. The kinmar turned and leaped into the surrounding woods. Before Kaila finished her draw, it was gone.
Kreg lay very still.
"Kreg," Kaila moaned as she dropped the bow and leaped from her saddle. Blood continued to pour from Kreg’s thigh. Kaila scooped up her sword in passing as she ran to Kreg.
Kreg struggled to rise, his breath coming in short pants. Kaila knelt by his side. She shook her head. The experience of a hundred battlefields seemed to have deserted her. Blood. Too much blood.
A wounded knight, Kaila told herself, one of many she had dealt with over the years. The mental discipline calmed her. For a moment, she could convince herself that it wasn’t her friend, her lover, her husband that lay bleeding before her, but just another knight that needed treatment.
First the bleeding. Four parallel gouges in Kreg’s right leg, running from two-thirds of the way up his thigh down to just past the knee. She placed the heel her hand against his thigh, where the artery crossed the bone and leaned into it. The flow of blood slowed. She drew her dagger with her other hand and cut away the remains of Kreg’s boot.
Kreg moaned. “Hurts.”
“Rest, Kreg. Rest.” Kaila said.
“Chest,” Kreg said. “Hurts. Ribs.”
Kaila’s lips pressed into a thin line. As she worked, she cast quick glances at the forest around them. Quick, but thorough. The forest remained still. Kaila berated herself. If she had been watching the forest instead of brooding over her concern for Kreg she might have spotted the kinmar.
“Don’t,” Kreg said, his arm quivering as he lifted it in the direction of her cheek. “Please. Not your fault.”
The bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Kaila whistled. Her horse—Kreg’s had fled with the kinmar’s attack—trotted to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Kaila released the pressure on Kreg’s leg and stood. More blood flowed but less, much less, than before. Moving quickly, she opened the pack strapped behind her saddle and pulled out a spare tunic and undershift. She again knelt beside Kreg and folded the undershift into a long pad. She tore the tunic into long strips and used them to bind the pad onto the wound in Kreg’s leg.
Kreg’s eyes were closed, his face slack, his breathing short and ragged. She closed her eyes and reached for the Knightbond. The power resisted her efforts. It always did. She called it anyway, called it and shaped it. Slowly, the power responded to her will. A portion of the power she directed to Kreg’s leg. Shillond, her father, could have stopped the bleeding with a thought. She could only encourage it to stop on its own. The flow of blood soaking into the bandage slowed and stopped.
Once the danger of bleeding to death ended, Kaila turned her attention to his chest. Kreg’s breath continued short. After casting another glance at the forest she reached out with the Knightbond. The break, breaks, in Kreg’s ribcage glowed black in her head. Tentatively, she touched the breaks with the power. One rib had been driven inward, piercing the lung. Already that lung was starting to collapse.
She wished Shillond were there instead of on a diplomatic mission in far-off Merona. She felt his love for her through the Knightbond, love and power. Keven, in his palace in Norveth. All of them, all the Knights of Aerioch bent power her way. The Knightbond joined the Knights of Aerioch, making all their powers one.
“A knight of Aerioch is never alone,” she whispered. She laid a gentle hand on Kreg’s side, reaching with the power for the broken ribs. Even with the power, she could do so little. The rib gradually slid back into place. Again, she nudged the power. The puncture in the lung contracted. She could not close it but it would leak no more. Kreg’s blood ceased leaking into the lung, and into the space between lung and ribs.
Kaila sank back, exhausted and released the power. She could do no more. Kreg’s own strength would have to complete the healing she had started.
She struggled to her feet. She had another task. The kinmar would be back.
#
Warm sunlight shone down on Kreg's face. He stretched. He hurt. No, more like the memory of pain in his leg, his chest, his body. He looked down. No injuries that he could see, just the short-sleeved tunic, trousers, and leather slippers that he wore at home with Kaila.
Off to the left, a child's laughter broke the stillness. Kreg turned in that direction. No forest this, but a meadow, with a gentle rise separating Kreg from the source of the laughter. Curious, he walked in that direction.
A stream ran on the other side of the hill. A child sat on the grass, facing away from Kreg. In front of her sat what had to be the handsomest young man Kreg had ever seen, light skinned, with red hair that fell in curls to his shoulder. His eyes glittered like starlight in a clear night sky.
Kreg paused. The young man plucked a blade of grass. "Like this, sweetie," he said. He clasped his hands together with the blade of grass stretched between the base and knuckle of his thumbs. He lifted his clasped hands to his lips and blew. A great honking sound echoed across the meadow.
Kreg smiled, remembering that trick from his own childhood. He would have to teach it to his own children in time. He stopped and looked down. No wounds. He remembered the Kinmar's attack, yet no wounds, nothing but the memory of pain.
"Welcome, Kreg," the young man said. "Come, sit a while."
Kreg hesitated.
The little girl turned and looked at him. Kreg knew. He knew where he was, or thought he did.
The girl jumped to her feet and curtsied. "My Lord. I mean, Your Grace. I didn't think I'd see you again."
"Hello, Meritha," Kreg said. "You look happy."
"This man said that Mummy and Daddy were waiting for me," Meritha said. "But we had to wait a while so he showed me tricks to pass the time. He's nice."
"I see," Kreg said.
"Run along and play, little one," the young man said. "And do not fear. Nothing can harm you here. Nothing can harm you ever again."
"Okay." Meritha scurried downstream, stopping occasionally to toss rocks or sticks into the water.
&n
bsp; Kreg looked over the young man. A simple buff tunic, secured by plain leather belt, tan trousers, sandals of sturdy leather, nothing out of the ordinary in his attire. "And you are?"
The young man smiled. "I think you know."
"Pireth, I believe you're called."
"That is one name by which I have been called, yes. Others call me simply The Guide."
"Death," Kreg said.
"Oh no," Pireth said. He held out a hand. "Please, sit. Let's talk. I am not death, not as you think of it. Death comes with life, whether I will or not, whether any gods will it or not. I am simply The Guide."
"So I'm...."
"Oh, no. Not yet, anyway." Pireth peered at Kreg with eyes that gleamed like starlight in his face. "Your wounds were well tended. You lost much blood, but enough remains, I think. If I'm not mistaken, your companion will soon start the herbcraft that will hold infection at bay." Pireth smiled again. "So your wounds are not mortal, not this time. I cannot speak to the future, not tomorrow, not a candle from now, but now, this moment, I am not here for you."
"So why am I here?"
"I wanted to talk. Please. Sit."
Kreg sat cross-legged on the ground. Pireth sat in front of him. "So...talk."
"'No more Merithas' you said." Pireth tilted his head in the direction Meritha had gone. "Tell me, Kreg, did she seem unhappy to you?"
Kreg looked after Meritha. "That's not the point."
"No," Pireth said. "No, it isn't. You are right. There are things that little girl will never know. Life is a journey, Kreg. A venture to see and to learn. And there are so many things she will never see, will never learn, because her journey was cut short. And at the end, she was fortunate. A moment of pain, then darkness. She never knew the indignities the kinmar inflicted on her body. Here, she is whole, she is happy, and soon she will be reunited with parents who love her."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Pireth looked past Kreg for several seconds, then said, "We learned long ago that, despite our intentions, if we take too much direct hand in the affairs of mortals--" he shook his head "--it does not go well."
The Kinmar (Knights of Aerioch) Page 1
