The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  Laemyr nodded tentatively. “It does.”

  Gavin ran his tongue over the gap between his teeth. Many tales of King Arek’s death abounded. One version said he’d traveled to another realm to fight a demon that had plagued Thendylath and never returned. Another claimed that upon the death of his wife and unborn child, he’d escaped to a more tranquil realm. In his heart, Gavin believed that Ronor Kinshield, the king’s champion, owned responsibility for King Arek’s death, but he had no proof. If that letter contained the truth about what had happened to King Arek, Gavin had to have it. He had to know.

  “Of course, the scholars are busy studying the letter,” Laemyr said. “It won’t be available for public viewing for quite some time, but you could have your own copy without disturbing our research. Do we have an agreement?”

  The curator had a point. The pendant was a piece of history after all. If Gavin recovered it for the museum, they could keep it safe from thieves. And he would have the letter. Gavin tapped the table with his dagger. He did not think he could wait for the scholars to finish their study, knowing the letter held the answers he’d been searching for his entire life. “Awright,” he grumbled. “I’ll recover the pendant in exchange for the letter, and four dyclen.”

  Laemyr let out a breath. “A copy of the letter,” he corrected. “I’ll have one of our scribes copy it after you bring the pendant.”

  “Word for word,” Gavin said. “You got to copy it exactly.”

  “Of course.” Laemyr gave Gavin a description of the man last seen with the pendant. “His name’s Sithral Tyr, and he’s from Nilmaria, so he wears the customary tattoos of his people. Come see me when you return. The museum’s located on Granite Road--”

  “I know where it is,” Gavin said. Since solving the first King’s Rune nine months earlier, he’d been in the museum many times.

  “Ah, may I see your tag?” Laemyr squeaked. “If you don’t mind terribly.”

  Gavin wished he knew what he did to intimidate people so. Asking a battler to see his tag was a perfectly reasonable request and sometimes the only way to differentiate swindlers from law-upholding warrant knights. Gavin fished in his tunic and drew the wooden tag up by the thong from which it dangled around his neck. He showed Laemyr first the side showing the carved image of a wolf, representing mercy and benevolence, and then the other, displaying his name, with the emblem of the Lordover Lalorian burned into the wood below it.

  “Very well,” Laemyr said, breathing a sigh. “I’ll wish you a good day and good luck.”

  Gavin stopped him with a raised hand. “Ah, I’ll want half payment now, the other half on delivery.”

  Despite the dim light in the tavern, Gavin saw Laemyr blush. “Of course. I beg your pardon. I’ve never hired a warrant knight before.” Laemyr drew back the opening of his robe and withdrew a small pouch from his pocket. Loosening the drawstring, he poured one large and five small silver coins into his palm and gave them to Gavin.

  “Awright.” Gavin pushed his chair back from the table and stood, unfolding himself to his full height of nearly six and a half feet.

  Laemyr stumbled backward. “Good day, then.” He rushed out before Gavin could respond.

  Gavin drained his tankard in one long draw and set it on the table with a bang, then picked up his sword, slipped the strap of the scabbard over his right arm and head, and adjusted it on his back. As he walked to the door, his steps elicited groans from the planks under his feet.

  Ronor Kinshield’s letter. At long last, Gavin would know the truth of what had happened to King Arek.

  Chapter 4

  Under a cloudless afternoon sky, several women sparred with each other on the grass. The clacking of their wooden practice swords echoed across the courtyard.

  As she practiced alone, Daia Saberheart used a real sword and fully executed her thrusts and chops, following through as though her life depended on it. Sweat ran down her face and soaked her neck and armpits.

  From the corner of her eye, Daia saw Lilalian approach and paused her practice to wait. Everything about Lilalian screamed authority: her purposeful stride, the tight braid in her long blonde hair, her cool, humorless eyes.

  “Aminda wants to see you in her office.” Lilalian continued toward the barracks before Daia had a chance to respond.

  “Yes, m’lady,” Daia replied to the captain’s back. She sheathed her weapon and performed the ritual series of gestures that properly concluded each practice session.

  I stand before the Spirit and all of humanity and offer these, my vows.

  I seek the wisdom of the three treasures, the five senses, and the power of the earth.

  I seek to earn the love and respect of every man, woman, and child.

  I seek to subdue my enemy without bloodshed and to show mercy to all living things.

  I bow down not in submission but in respect.

  She ended the salutation on one knee, her head bowed and her right fist cupped in her left palm. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and rose to her feet.

  The door to the guild mistress’s office stood open when Daia arrived. At the window, Aminda looked down at the activity in the courtyard. Daia cleared her throat.

  “Daia, come in,” Aminda said. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. Her lips were redder than most women’s. Many of the Sisters, in their idle gossip, speculated that the guild mistress stained them with concentrated berry juice. Daia found it hard to believe. The Sisterhood had a rule against adorning oneself for vanity’s sake. Aminda was no hypocrite.

  “You wanted to see me, m’lady?”

  “Please sit,” the guild leader said, motioning to a plain wooden chair. She sat in the leather chair behind the desk. “Lilalian will be here shortly. First, I wanted to talk privately.”

  Daia nodded as she sat down, hoping Aminda wouldn’t reprimand her for the drinking game she’d hosted in the garrison the night before. She knew that the Sisterhood forbade drinking spirits in the barracks, but sometimes bonding with her peers mattered more than obeying arbitrary rules.

  “I’ve been watching you practice your patterns in the courtyard,” Aminda said. “Your form’s exquisite, and your speed impressive. You’ve been completing missions for the Sisterhood for a couple of years now, and you have battled fierce opponents against terrible odds, yet you are remarkably unscarred.”

  Daia thought immediately of the nine-inch scar across her midsection, a gash so deep she’d had to stitch it herself in the wilds. Aside from that, however, Aminda was right. Her arms and hands were lightly scarred, as were most battlers’, but her injuries had been mostly inconsequential.

  “I had my doubts about you in the beginning,“ Aminda continued. ”You weren’t the first noble-born girl to come here trying to escape the lifestyle of your upbringing, but you are the only one who excelled in the training to become a true battler. Your competence is a measure of your value to the guild, and you serve as an outstanding example to others, particularly the younger women. I have given some thought to promoting you to lieutenant.”

  Daia fought to hide a grin. Finally, recognition for her work in the guild.

  “But,” Aminda said, “there’s one barrier that we must address. You have not sufficiently displayed a certain quality I believe is important in my officers. I want to see whether it is within you.”

  Daia’s heart sank. “What quality?”

  “My officers act in anticipation of problems whereas you act in response to them. Rather than seek out ways to demonstrate your value, you wait until you receive an assignment. On those assignments, you always surpass expectations, but I’d like to see you display more initiative. Act, don’t react.”

  Daia nodded slowly, but wondered what more Aminda was asking her to do. She already helped many of the newer girls without being assigned the task.

  “If you see the weapons in the training hall need repair, take them to the smithy. If you’re returning from a mission and someone’s waiting at the city gate for an esc
ort, offer to accompany them. You know our rates; you can negotiate for the work. Take the initiative. Once I see sufficient evidence of this, I will inform Lilalian of my decision and have her arrange the promotion ceremony.”

  “Thank you, m’lady,” Daia said. “I won’t disappoint.” She started to stand.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Daia lowered herself back into the chair.

  “I’ve got a mission for you,” Aminda said. “You’ll go with Cirang and… Ah, here they are.”

  Cirang and JiNese followed Lilalian in. Cirang rolled her eyes and let out an impatient sigh when she saw Daia, but said nothing.

  “A merchant and his daughter are traveling this week from Sohan to Tern with a wagon full of valuable gems. The three of you will accompany him.”

  They discussed the details of the mission: once they arrived in Tern, Daia would accept the merchant’s payment, meet with a Sister posted there to receive the fees she’d been collecting, and return to Sohan with the money. The other two women would stay to negotiate with the Lordover Tern for a permanent outpost for the Viragon Sisterhood at the city gate. Thankfully, Daia hadn’t been asked to participate in those meetings; she did not think her father would negotiate anything with her there.

  After Aminda dismissed them, the three women jogged down the stairs. At the bottom landing, they met one of their guild sisters escorting a raven-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache. Daia turned and walked backward, watching him as he climbed the stairs toward Aminda’s office.

  “Who’s he?” JiNese breathed.

  Cirang snorted. “Does it matter? With Aminda’s power and charm, she can have any man she chooses. That one isn’t so ugly. I would take him for an hour or two.”

  “I’d be happy with fifteen minutes,” JiNese said with a chuckle.

  Daia smiled and shook her head. To risk a pregnancy for a tryst with a stranger held no appeal, and she didn’t put stock in prevention spells. Too many women ended up pregnant in spite of them, putting an end to a battler’s lifestyle.

  “I wonder why Aminda’s sending three battlers on this mission?” JiNese asked as they walked across the courtyard to the barracks. “The journey to Tern isn’t so dangerous. Cirang and I could return with the money in another week’s time.”

  Cirang said, “Our coffer’s nearly empty. We need the money now. Besides, one of the Sisters accompanying a priest from Keayes met three separate groups of highwaymen on the North Road.”

  “Now that a monarch is imminent,” Daia said, “brigands are scurrying to earn what livelihood they can before a new royal army puts a stop to them. Not to mention beyonders popping out of their realm at every turn. Why do you think we’re trying to establish guild posts in other cities?”

  “For recruiting more girls,” JiNese replied.

  Daia nodded. “Sure, recruitment’s important, but peace in the lands between the cities is more so. The lordovers can only do so much.”

  Cirang hung an arm around Daia’s shoulders. “Speaking of lordovers, Daia, what advice can you offer for making an impression with the Lordover Tern?”

  Daia shot her an annoyed look. “Put on a dress.”

  Chapter 5

  “It’s time,” someone whispered.

  Brawna Beliril took a slow, deep breath before opening her eyes. She looked around the room at the soft lighting, the practice weapons in the rack along the east wall, the padded suits heaped in a far corner. She might never see this room again. Rising to her feet, Brawna went to the door and stopped to take one last look. She’d spent most of her time here over the last two years. The room felt like an old friend. She bowed to it, paying her respects to the lessons and philosophies it represented.

  Brawna entered the anteroom outside the training hall where seven women were gathered, each wearing a black sash around her waist. Lilalian’s sash bore the gray strip that showed she was a ranking member of the guild. All conversation stopped when Brawna entered. They regarded her with somber expressions. They thought she would fail.

  Lilalian looked her over. Brawna lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

  “Are you ready for this trial?” Lilalian asked. Her voice sounded harsh, accusatory.

  Brawna nodded. She started to answer, but her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “Yes, m’lady. I think so.” She pressed her hands against her legs to stop them from trembling, and she resisted the urge to chew her lower lip.

  “You think so? Brawna, that’s not good enough,” Lilalian said. “Your foe’s ready and eager for battle.” She jerked her head toward the courtyard.

  A small cart waited near the door and on it, a gray beast paced inside an iron cage. Now and then, it stopped and looked about, its claws curled like fingers around the bars. The beyonder’s black eyes looked like glass beads, unmoving in its head. Without fur, its skin rippled like a coat made of tiny worms and smelled faintly of sulfur. It pressed its dark gray snout through the space between two bars, mouth open baring pointed teeth and a long pink tongue. The beyonder looked as benign as a dog panting in the warm spring air.

  Brawna felt her lip curl involuntarily at the sight of the thing. That abomination was far from a dog. One of the instructors snorted softly. Brawna steeled herself against her revulsion, clenching her teeth, and strode toward the cage, determined to show the other women that she did not fear it. A shiver ran up Brawna’s arms and down her spine. She wanted to kill it right then, and to hell with pomp or process.

  “Brawna, you are ready for this,” her instructor said. “You’ve passed every waypoint exam with strength, skill and grace. Don’t let the ceremony or the beast intimidate you into losing confidence. We wouldn’t let you do this if you weren’t ready.”

  Brawna shot a glance at Lilalian and found that the captain’s expression had softened. As she looked around at the instructors that were to serve on her panel, she now saw compassion in their eyes. Compassion and maybe, possibly, faith. “Yes. I’m ready,” she said, the strength in her own voice surprising.

  “Let’s begin,” Lilalian said, and walked out.

  The black sashes exited the building in a line behind the captain, marching across the grass. Brawna followed in her white trousers and tunic and blue sash, pulling the cart behind her. As Lilalian approached the center of the courtyard, she called, “Clear the grounds.” She waved her arms to the warriors who were practicing their moves. They obeyed without hesitation.

  Women gathered to watch, leaning against the walls of the surrounding buildings or squatting in the patch of shade under the oak tree in the corner of the compound. Most were very young and inexperienced. Some hadn’t yet faced their first trial as evidenced by the white sashes around their waists. One day many of them would be facing this trial themselves. Brawna knew they were there to watch as much for their own mental preparation as in support of her. Among them, the older warriors stood out.

  They moved with a rare grace born of narrow misses, years of swinging heavy weapons and the quick instincts that kept battlers alive. The gray in their hair and the lines on their faces were not signs of growing weakness, but of incredible strength and wisdom. Brawna knew in her heart that one day she, too, would be as distinguished.

  From the center of the courtyard, Brawna searched the audience and when she saw Daia she smiled, relieved. Everything would be all right.

  Daia held up two fingers in the popular “V” salute of the Viragon Sisterhood, and nodded at Brawna.

  As the instructors and judges in the courtyard inspected Brawna’s sword and the cage, Brawna walked about, head bowed, shaking her hands. “I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “I am strong; I am prepared; I am a battler.”

  The last judge handed Brawna her sword. She slid it into the scabbard on her belt while the warriors walked away from her to stand at their places. Once the women had formed a wide circle around Brawna and her foe, they readied their wea
pons; three notched an arrow into their short bows and four drew swords. One of those was intended for Brawna should she be mortally wounded during her trial. Lilalian was charged with dispensing a merciful death to end a student’s suffering if it came to that.

  Lilalian raised her arm, calling for silence among the spectators. When the chatter died away and only the ryna’s steady growling remained, she called to Brawna, “Are you ready to face your foe?”

  Brawna took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Let the Trial of Fortitude begin,” Lilalian declared.

  Brawna bowed to each of the judges in the circle around her, and each bowed in return. She shook her hands out once more and checked the short sword at her hip. If only she could flip open the latch with her sword. But doing so would mean her dismissal.

  Stepping up to the cage, she reached gingerly toward the latch. The ryna lunged. She jerked her hand away and retreated so quickly that she stumbled and landed on her backside.

  The spectators laughed. Brawna felt a rush of heat spread across her face.

  Lilalian turned around and glared at the audience. The laughter died away.

  Brawna got up, brushed off the seat of her pants and shook out her hands. Once again, she stepped forward and reached for the latch, confidently this time. With a click, the door swung open. The ryna leapt toward her, its mouth wide.

  Brawna jumped to one side. The beast charged out of the cage. Her weapon slid from its sheath with a ring. The ryna turned and rushed her, clawed at her again and again. She retreated, running backward across the lawn.

  The ryna slashed at her. It ripped through her pants and gouged her shin. It burned, oh Yrys how it burned. The beast was fast like lightning. Brawna couldn’t get her footing. She swung the sword like a scythe.

  The beast lashed out with first one claw and then the other. Brawna turned her sword and swung. She missed, swung again and again. Her sword severed the ryna’s paw and flung it into the grass. The beast roared.