The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  “Yeh.” Once he delivered the necklace to the museum and read Ronor Kinshield’s letter, he would retrieve his new sword and be on his way. Maybe he’d see what kind of work he could find in Keayes. No, he reminded himself. He would return to Rogan’s and teach Jaesh to ride Golam as he promised. “Where’re you headed?” Gavin asked Calinor.

  “I’m goin’ to Calsojourn, and Toren’s goin’ to Saliria.”

  “What about you?” Gavin asked Domach.

  “Sohan,” he replied. “I’m supposed to meet a couple bucks here and get a package, but they’re late. Probably got their foolish selves killed.” Toren shot Domach a glare that should have set his eyelashes aflame.

  “What package?” Gavin asked.

  Domach lifted one side of his mouth in a wry smile. “I have a new employer in Sohan. Can’t complain about the wage, but he likes his secrets.”

  “Watch it,” Gavin said. “Sometimes you pay dearest for the jobs that pay best.” Domach was young and naïve. He had a lot to learn.

  “How profound,” Domach muttered into his tankard.

  Calinor stroked his graying beard. “Them’s wise words, Demonshredder. Pay ‘em heed.” He clapped Gavin’s shoulder and gave him an understanding nod. The elder swordsman tipped many a mug with Gavin about five years earlier and had a way of providing just enough silence and just enough laughter to help a man through some troubling times.

  “You care to make a wager?” Domach asked, rapping his knuckle on Gavin’s forearm.

  “Don’t you ever learn?” Gavin asked with a chuckle. “I beat you the last time, and the time before that. Why don’t you just give me a kion and save us both the effort?”

  Domach grinned. “I’ve been practicing. You don’t stand a chance this time.”

  Gavin sighed and drew his knife.

  “A kion says Gavin makes mincemeat of him,” Calinor said to Toren. He slapped a small silver coin on the table.

  Toren tossed a coin down as well. “My money’s on the man with the hungry eyes.”

  Gavin and Domach went to the painted wooden board on the far wall of the tavern, away from the huddle of tables and chairs, and measured five paces. “How much are you looking to lose this time, Demonshredder?”

  “I can feel Arek smiling tonight. Shall we say a kion?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Suit yourself. High score of five.” He threw a coin onto a nearby table to match his opponent’s wager.

  A small crowd gathered. “Mind if we jump in on your wager?” one man asked.

  “This is between him and me,” Gavin said, “but you can bet with each other on the outcome if you want.”

  Once the betting activity quieted, Gavin gestured for Domach to take the first throw. He stepped back, arms crossed, while Domach aimed and threw his knife at the board. It stuck solidly in the circle closest to the center spot, the fifteen-point area. A few of his supporters applauded.

  “Not bad for a beginner,” Gavin said as Domach retrieved his knife from the board. He aligned his feet, took aim and threw, matching Domach’s score. Without prompting from Gavin, his supporters clapped more loudly than Domach’s had.

  They threw twice more, and each time, Domach waved his arms to encourage his supporters to cheer more loudly, even when he hit the five-point area.

  “Tough luck, Demonshredder.” Gavin stepped up to take his fourth throw. Just as he hurled the knife forward, someone stumbled into him from behind. The knife went wild, struck the wall of the tavern three feet shy of the painted board, and skittered across the floor under some chairs. Gavin whipped around and grabbed the man, twisting his fist into the man’s shirt and hauling him up close.

  “Sorry,” the man croaked. “Somebody pushed me. I’m rootin’ for you, Scar.” A few onlookers snickered.

  It’s only a game, Gavin reminded himself. He let the man go and went to retrieve his knife. The score was fifty to forty five, with Domach leading.

  “Hah!” Domach said. “That throw counted. Looks like I’ll take this match.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Gavin said. “But this ain’t it.” All he needed to do was hit the center circle, worth twenty-five points.

  “If you’re so confident, double the wager.” Domach pulled a kion from his purse and tossed it onto the table, smiling with superiority.

  Gavin snorted and slapped down another small silver coin. “Throw.”

  Domach took his position. With a deep breath, he sighted down his knife blade toward the board. Carefully, slowly, he bent his arm back then forward again, practicing the throw. Then, he let loose his knife. It came to a vibrating stop with its point buried just shy of the center spot. “Fifteen points,” Domach sang, retrieving his knife. He stepped back out of the path and crossed his arms. “You’ve got to hit the center spot if you don’t want me to call you The Loser Kinshield.”

  Several of the men whispered, “Kinshield! Did you hear? Scar’s a Kinshield.”

  “Wait. Up the wager,” a man said.

  Coins rained onto the table. Gavin sighed, shaking his head. Fools.

  “All right, quiet down now,” someone said. “Step back, give the man some room to breathe.” A hush settled over the tavern. Even people in the pit quieted.

  Gavin stepped up to the line, sighted the board, and threw. Time seemed to slow as he watched the knife spin. It sailed so slowly, he thought he could walk over and snatch it before it reached the board. Then the shaft of the knife was quivering with the shock of its strike, its blade buried in the center circle.

  The crowd around him erupted in cheers. Hands patted his back and shoulders.

  Gavin plucked his knife out of the board, sheathed it and picked up his winnings. “Let’s do it again some time.” The look on Domach’s face was picture-worthy. Gavin chuckled as he returned to their table. Settling back into his chair, he raised his tankard to the other two men. “All in a day’s work.”

  Domach sat down, shaking his head. “Lucky bastard.”

  “It ain’t luck,” Calinor said, pocketing his winnings. “I seen Gavin put his knife in a man’s eye at yards. Wisdom don’t bet against that.”

  Gavin snorted and let his eyes wander the tavern, pausing on each of the women. The tall redhead whose father owned the tavern nodded and smiled at him from the pit. Gavin nodded in return.

  “So, what are you doing in Calsojourn?” Toren asked Calinor.

  “The spring festival. My cousin and nephew’s in the joustin’ competition. I like goin’ to cheer them on.”

  A woman with shiny dark hair and almond-shaped eyes caught Gavin’s eye from across the room. She lifted her tankard with a smile, then tugged the top of her blouse down to reveal a shadow of cleavage.

  “Jousting?” Gavin asked, holding eye contact with the woman across the room. “Didn’t know folks did that anymore.” He smiled and lifted his tankard to her. She stood and walked toward him like a cat, her eyes locked to his.

  “What?! Calsojourn’s the joustin’ capitol o’Thendylath,” Calinor proclaimed. “They even got a school to teach young bucks how to do it. When I was a few years younger, I jousted against a man who...”

  Gavin stopped listening as she neared. He held his breath. Would she find his scars repulsive and stop?

  She slowed her approach as a look of concern crossed her face. She glanced at Toren, but he was listening to Calinor’s story. Gavin beckoned with a finger and a smile and she continued toward him, wariness darkening her eyes. He held his hand out for hers and although she hesitated, she did give it to him. He pulled her into his lap and loosely wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “I won’t bite,” he said, “hard.” His gaze lingered on her lips, then slid down to her soft golden throat and to the swell of her breasts above her low green neckline.

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “In that case, buy me another ale and tell me: if your bite ain’t hard, what is?” She glanced at Toren again, but Gavin just smiled and pulled her closer. She sat
on his lap, not Toren’s.

  “That I’d have to show you,” he murmured against her skin. He kissed the line of her jaw, tracing a path to her ear, then down the side of her neck, settling there.

  “Watch out for her angry husband, Gavin,” Calinor said.

  The others laughed.

  Gavin barely heard the conversation at his table. Once he and his new lady friend finished their ales, he led her by the hand to his room.

  He kicked the door shut and threw the bolt while she untied the drawstring in the neck of her blouse and let the fabric fall. His eyes dropped to her breasts spilling over the top of her corset, and he trembled with longing. Gavin bent down, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bent toward him to breathe into his ear. Her tongue darted inside, sending a shiver of pleasure down his neck.

  “You’ve been to a healer?” he asked. As eager as he was for her sort of recreation, he’d take no chance of siring bastard children. If that meant not having her in the traditional sense, so be it. He set her down again.

  “The spells the healers cast don’t work too good. I got three children as proof of that. I use serragan powder. It works better.”

  “Serragan powder?” he asked. “Never heard of that.”

  “I’ll show you.” While she fumbled in her pocket, Gavin stripped off his shirt. Her eyes went to his chest and flew wide. She backed away. “I-I didn’t know you was a warrant knight.”

  “You don’t play with warrant knights?”

  “No, it ain’t that, just...” The woman looked away and swallowed.

  He’d sworn never to remove the tag hanging around his neck, but to alleviate her concern, he took hold of it and flung it over his shoulder. It circled his neck and lay against his back, out of sight. “There. What’s your name?”

  She had a pretty smile despite crooked teeth. “What name would you like to call me?”

  Talisha! He would have given anything to make love to his wife one more time. But no. She was not Talisha. Calling her by his wife’s name would be disrespectful to them both. “I want to call you by your name.”

  “You’re sweeter than you look. It’s Dalli.” She drew a small pouch from her pocket and pulled open its drawstring neck. Dipping two fingers into the bag, she brought out a pinch of white powder. “Ready?”

  Gavin scowled in confusion. Ready for what?

  With a deep breath, she blew it into his face.

  Intense dizziness overwhelmed him. He fell to the floor. He tried to reach for the bed to haul himself up, but the room spun too violently for him to get his bearings. Dalli dug into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse. He grabbed at her hand and missed.

  She checked the contents, then darted from the room, pulling up her blouse and slamming the door behind her as she fled.

  Bloody hell! Calewen’s Pendant was in the purse. “Come back here,” he tried to say, but his tongue flopped uselessly in his mouth, garbling his words beyond recognition. Gavin tried crawling to the door after her. The motion made his stomach spin. Unable to judge his direction, he ran his shoulder into the wall and fell onto his chest. He tried to stand and fell over, crashing against the table. He pushed himself up once again, using the wall to guide him, and stumbled against the bed. He tripped and fell to the floor. This wasn’t doing him any good. Maybe he could use his new healing powers to defeat the powder’s effect.

  He lay on his side, taking in steady, even breaths, and concentrated on slowing the spinning room. At first, nothing happened, but after a time, he felt less queasy. When he chanced raising his head, the feeling returned and the room spun faster. Damn it! She was getting away. No. Calm down. Take it bit at a time.

  Then he was clawing his way out of a heavy slumber. His head felt like Golam had trampled it flat. He found he could stand, though unsteadily. Light streamed into the room from the window, announcing a new day.

  He flung the door wide, then stumbled down the hall, hitting first one wall, then the other with his shoulders. The inn lobby was coming alive with travelers preparing for their journeys. He looked around, but saw no sign of her. “You seen a short woman? Brown hair?” he asked no one in particular. And no one answered. No one appeared to have heard him. “People, listen,” he shouted. The lobby went suddenly quiet as the inn’s patrons turned and stared at him. “Have you seen a woman? Wearing a shirt and skirt... uh... green--”

  “No,” the man at the desk said. “I’ve been here for an hour already. Haven’t seen her.”

  “Hell,” Gavin muttered. He ran, barefoot and bare-chested, outside and into the dirt road. “Dalli,” he yelled, looking around. Travelers mounted and departed, and stable hands saddled and hitched horses. He questioned them, but the boys all shook their heads.

  “Damn it!” Gavin shouted. His voice carried across the quiet village and heads turned in his direction. He looked around frantically. If the stable hands hadn’t saddled her horse or hitched her carriage, she might have left on foot. He ran out through the gate and onto the main road, ignoring the rocks and sticks that jabbed the soles of his feet. A few people had already set out, but in the distance, Gavin saw only men, and women too plump, too tall or too fair-haired to be his lady thief. He could go after her, but the Lucky Inn sat at a crossroad, giving him only a one in four chance of guessing her path correctly.

  Then he remembered his drinking companions were each going in a different direction. If they hadn’t left yet, he could ask them to look for her and retrieve his stolen purse.

  Toren had already left, but Gavin found Calinor at the stable preparing his mount to leave, and Domach standing idle, chatting with him. “You remember that woman I met last night?” Gavin asked.

  “Got lucky, eh?” Calinor said with a wink.

  “Yeh, she did. She stole my purse.”

  Calinor whistled. “Stealin’ from a warrant knight? Hard to believe.”

  “Damn,” Domach said, shaking his head. “She has a bigger pair than I do.”

  “She took Calewen’s Pendant.”

  “No,” Domach breathed.

  “I got to get it to the GwanryMuseum in Ambryce.”

  “If I see her,” Calinor said, “I’ll get the pendant back and take it to the museum myself. I’ll brand her for you too.” He traced the initials GK on his forearm with his index finger.

  Gavin nodded. “Good. Thanks.” Calinor was an honorable man; Gavin trusted him.

  “As will I,” Domach agreed. “Though I won’t be leaving for a few days yet. In case my package arrives.” Domach held no warrant and, therefore, had no right to brand a criminal, but under the circumstances, Gavin would forgive him the deed this once.

  That narrowed down the routes to two: Ambryce and Saliria. He had to go to Ambryce for his new sword anyway. With luck on his side, he’d find the woman on his way, get the pendant back, and all would be well. Otherwise, he’d have to head back toward Saliria and see if he could catch up to her. He’d found the pendant once before; he could do it again. He just wished he didn’t have to. And now, without money, he would have to hunt for his food and sleep on the ground.

  Chapter 18

  This is it, Daia thought as she looked up at the wooden sign swinging gently over the shop’s door. Stronghammer Blades. In just a moment, she would meet the next king of Thendylath.

  Although she’d grown up among the wealthiest families in Thendylath, with her father the most powerful among them, Daia felt a lump rising in her throat. Her stomach churned, and her hands felt clammy. Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s just a blacksmith.

  Soon to be a king.

  She took a steadying breath and went inside. A bell jingled as it knocked against the door.

  Two long display racks took up most of the space in the shop, and a small, scratched-up desk stood in a corner, scraps of leather littering its top. Old swords, knives, axes and halberds graced the walls, all scarred and stained from use. Edged weapons of all kinds filled the wooden dis
play racks. A dagger caught Daia’s eye and she ran her finger along the flat of the shiny blade. She couldn’t resist picking it up, feeling the balance, the solid weight of it in her hand. Its hilt bore a symbol she recognized, the Farthan symbol for strength, artfully yet subtly executed more as a declaration than a decoration. Daia wished she had enough money of her own to buy it as a replacement for her lost knife. She would get a new one from the Sisterhood’s armory, but this was a weapon to covet.

  A Farthan woman entered from the rear door wearing a sunny smile. “Good day, Lady Sister of Virago. What I can do for you today?” she asked in a charmingly thick accent. She rolled her Rs and pronounced a V instead of W.

  “I’m looking for Risan Stronghammer. Is this his shop?” Daia asked. She put the knife back in its place.

  “It is,” the shopkeeper replied. “He is my husband. I am Arlet. I mind store. If you are looking for nice dagger, you will find none better than ours.”

  Daia smiled and imagined what Arlet would look like in silk clothes, wearing a crown atop her head. Her nose was flat on a wide face with prominent cheekbones and full lips. Not much over four feet tall, she had a slim, dainty build. Daia felt like a Behemoth next to this woman.

  “You are vusar, yes? Condit?” Arlet asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Arlet gave her a secretive smile. “Never mind. How I can help you?”

  A little eccentric. “I wonder if I could speak with Lord Stronghammer for a moment, if he’s not too busy.”

  “Lord Stronghammer,” Arlet said, slapping the top of the display case. “Better to call him Risan or he will soap your neck. If you need weapon made, I can take your order.”

  “Actually, my lady, it’s in regard to the Viragon Sisterhood.”

  Arlet smiled broadly. “Ah. The Sisterhood want weapons made for your lady battlers? Risan would love to hear it. Take look at his beautiful style,” she said, gesturing to the display of weapons. “There is not any better in all Thendylath.”

  “Yes, I admire the quality of your knives. But that’s not exactly why I’m here,” Daia replied. “Might I speak with him for a moment?”