The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  “He is in forge. He spent too much time on one weapon, and now he is trying to catch up to his work. I will see if he can take rest for talking.” Arlet left through the rear door.

  While she waited for Risan, Daia cleared her throat a few times and practiced in her head what she would say. My lord, what an honor it is to meet you. No, that sounds too patronizing. My lord, I have come in the spirit of--

  Arlet came back into the shop shaking her head. “He told me he cannot talk now, but if you come early tomorrow morning before he will start to work, you can speak to him. At daybreak is best.”

  Daia was far too eager to learn the truth about the Rune Stones to wait until morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue with the future queen. She supposed one more day was not too long to wait. “My thanks, Lady Stronghammer.” She turned to go, but stopped. If she found out now whether the story was true or not, it might save her some time. “If I may ask you just one question?”

  “Of course. And call me Arlet.”

  “I heard a story. I wonder whether it’s true.”

  Arlet’s brow dipped. “What story?”

  “About who’s solving the King’s Runes.”

  Arlet slammed her fist on the table top. “That man has two mile tongue,” she spat. “I knew he would tell. Pour ale into his head and only Yrys knows what will spill out his mouth.”

  “So it’s true? Risan has the Rune Stones?” Daia asked. She felt light-headed. Risan Stronghammer would be king, and this red-faced, pinch-lipped woman would be the queen. Daia put her hand on the weapons display rack to steady herself.

  “It is true,” Arlet said. “But please do not tell others. Risan promised he would not tell about that. It would not be good if more people find out. Not yet.”

  Daia reached hesitantly and covered the future queen’s dainty hand with her own massive paw. “You can trust me. I wish only to offer my service,” she said dipping one knee, “on behalf of the Viragon Sisterhood.” If only she had a way to get word back to Aminda. Perhaps she could find another Sister in Ambryce to ride right away with the news.

  “Have you, perchance, seen a Nilmarion man recently?” she asked Arlet. “Long black hair? He may have been wearing a black shirt and trousers.”

  “Not in last few days. Why do you ask?”

  No need to alarm the queen. “It’s nothing. Good day to you, my lady.” Daia started toward the door. Perhaps she should stand guard outside the shop. No. Her presence there would tell the Nilmarion the truth. She would think of some way to keep the Stronghammers safe until they were situated in the palace, or at least recognized as Thendylath’s new rulers. Would Farthans be allowed to rule? Would the people accept foreigners on the throne?

  “Wait. What’s your name?” Arlet asked.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, it’s Daia. Daia Saberheart.”

  Arlet smiled. “Good evening, Daia. We will see you in morning.”

  Risan rose well before dawn, unable to sleep. Not wanting to annoy Arlet with his constant turning in the bed, he lit a lamp and went to his foundry. Gavin would arrive any day now to collect his prize. Risan unlocked the storage cabinet, retrieved the sword, and turned it in the golden lamplight. He admired the way the light reflected off the blade’s scale-like surface. The snakes that made up the hilt had a curious false-movement effect. When he glimpsed them from the corner of his eye, the snakes seemed to slither and wind around one another, but when he snapped his eyes back to look at them directly, they lay frozen in an eternal embrace.

  Aldras Gar, the sword whispered, enticing him to speak its name and forever bind it to him.

  Risan imagined taking it into the wilds and slaying evildoers and Underworld monsters. But that wouldn’t be right. This was Gavin’s sword. The king’s sword. Besides, Risan’s slaying days were long over.

  He set Aldras Gar down on his workbench, but found it back in his hand only moments later. It begged to be wielded; a warrior couldn’t resist its call.

  Never had Risan made so exquisite a weapon. He longed to take it to show his friends, to hear their exclamations of awe when they felt the power of the weapon surging in their hands. But that would be a big risk. If the sword whispered to one of them, he could claim it as his own simply by speaking its name, and then Gavin’s sword would belong to another.

  A knock shook him from his reverie. Arlet must have awoken, perhaps started the woodstove for some hot tea. Of course, he’d been awake for some time. He could have started it for her and had the tea brewing by the time she opened her eyes. Instead, he’d come to admire his handiwork. Risan cursed himself. He was so self-absorbed these days that he couldn’t think to do small things like start the stove. No, not so much self-absorbed as consumed. Consumed with excitement and anticipation over Gavin Kinshield and the sword. And who wouldn’t be? Thendylath would soon have a new king. A king wielding a sword made by Risan’s own hand.

  The knock came again, louder now. It did not come from within the house but from the shop. Who would come to the market so long before sunrise? The swordswoman. Aiy! He’d nearly forgotten about their meeting. He had told her to come early, but this was ridiculous. It was still the middle of the night. He started to set the sword down, and then thought better of it; he didn’t know what she wanted yet.

  Risan went into the shop through the back door and saw her shadowy form peering through the window with hands cupped beside her eyes. “I am coming,” he muttered. He shuffled through the shop around the display cabinets, then set the lamp on a table and continued to the door. “You are quite early.” He drew back the bolt and opened the door.

  She rushed in, shoving him, and Risan stumbled back to keep his footing. In the glow of the lamp light, he saw that a black cloth covered her face, not even a pair of slits to see through. A hood covered her head, concealing her hair. A black sash belted her black tunic at the waist accentuated her form -- a distinctly unfeminine form. Wait. This wasn’t a swordswoman. It wasn’t a woman at all.

  Risan started to raise Aldras Gar. A puff of dust blew into his face. He shut his eyes and turned his head, but too late. Instantly the room began to spin and he staggered. As he groped for something solid to steady himself, his fingers relaxed their grip on the sword and it clattered to the floor. Risan went to his knees, and with one palm flat against the floor, reached dizzily toward Aldras Gar again. With the shop whirling this way, he couldn’t judge the distance or the direction. His hand went wide and missed.

  The man kicked him in the ribs. Pain exploded in Risan’s side, and he drew his legs up. The figure in black spun as quickly as the shop did. Time seemed to slow as the intruder pulled his hood down to reveal jet black hair tied behind his head. The cloth fell from his face.

  From the swirling dark lines around his eyes, nose and mouth, Risan knew him to be a Nilmarion, olive-skinned and wiry with narrow eyes. The intruder bent down and picked up Aldras Gar. Risan wanted to leap to his feet and wrestle the weapon from him, but this profound dizziness kept him meekly on the floor. Please, Risan begged the weapon. Stay quiet. He pushed himself back upright, but kept his hands on the wooden floor for balance.

  “My,” the Nilmarion said, “what a beautiful sword.” He spoke quietly and with a pleasant, lilting accent. “And with the Rune Stones embedded in it. So the story was true. Come, Risan Stronghammer. We have much to discuss.”

  Daia spent at least two hours pacing in her room at the Princess Inn before the sun started to lighten the sky. Come early, Arlet had said. Was it too early?

  Already dressed and with her sword strapped to her waist, she decided to go to Stronghammer’s shop anyway. If he hadn’t awoken yet, perhaps she could get a cup of tea in the market and wait.

  Her heart thudded as she walked through the quiet, dusty streets of Ambryce, and her thumbs, jittering rhythmically, tapped her thighs as her hands swung past.

  He’s not the king yet. He’s just a blacksmith. A blacksmith who needs the support of the Sisterhood, like any other
citizen might. As long as the story of his rune-solving activities did not continue to spread, he was probably not in so much danger. But when it came to protecting the king, she couldn’t be too cautious.

  When she arrived at the shop, the Closed sign still hung in the window. Inside the shop, a lamp sat sputtering on a table. She knocked hard on the door, hoping someone was within earshot.

  After a few minutes and a few more knocks, Arlet entered the shop through the rear, wrapped in a brown robe too big for her, and shuffled to the door. As Arlet passed the lamp, she gave it a second glance and a scowl. As she opened the door, she started to speak, and then paused, a curious expression on her face. “I am sorry, I slept overmuch this morning. Risan should heard you from foundry. I will see what he is doing.”

  “Is something wrong?” Daia asked. “You look surprised. Did you forget I was coming?”

  “No, I did not forget. I also did not forget to bolt door last night. But now it was unbolted. Maybe Risan went out earlier.” She turned her head and bellowed, “Risan,” toward the rear shop entrance, her voice surprisingly loud for her tiny stature.

  The answering silence made the hair on Daia’s neck bristle.

  “I will check,” Arlet said. “He is probably outside tending to jackass.”

  After Arlet left to see whether Risan was tending the donkey, Daia once again admired the weapons the Stronghammers had for sale. She picked up the knife she’d seen in the display case the day before and turned it over in her hands. What balance. What smooth lines. She flipped it into the air intending to catch it in a reverse grip, but misjudged its spin. The knife clattered to the floor. Daia cringed, hoping Arlet hadn’t heard it. She glanced toward the door at the rear of the shop, and then squatted to retrieve the knife.

  The floor was dusted with specks of fine white powder. Not the entire floor, just a small area near the door. She touched her finger to the powder and raised it to her nose for a sniff.

  The room spun. Daia reached for the cabinet to steady herself until the sensation passed. Serragan powder. She’d heard of its strange dizzying effect, as well as rumors of its growing use by robbers and rapists.

  “He is not outside and his coat is still--,” Arlet said as she came through the door. “Miss Daia?”

  Daia stood, still clutching the display case. “I’m here.” She slipped the knife back into the cabinet. “Do you use serragan powder for anything?”

  Arlet wrinkled her brow. “What is serragan powder?”

  “It’s made from a plant that grows in the hills of-” Nilmaria. Daia glanced at the door. Arlet had said it was unbolted. Hell’s bones! The Nilmarion had come. Wait. Could there be another reason for the powder on the floor or the door being unbolted? She did not want to alarm Arlet needlessly, but she couldn’t imagine another explanation plausible enough to sell. “Lady Arlet, did you hear anything unusual during the night?”

  “No, just Risan bang around. What is wrong?”

  “This powder on the floor - when inhaled it makes you dizzy and disoriented. Do you have any use for the powder that might explain its presence here?”

  “No, I never heard of powder before. You think someone...” Arlet’s eyes widened. “Risan? Someone stole Risan? Oh no, no!” She began to cry.

  Daia put her hands on Arlet’s shoulders. “Now, we don’t know for certain that’s what happened. Remember I asked if you’d seen a Nilmarion man?”

  “Yes, but I did not see him.” Arlet wrung her hands. “Why? Why someone would kidnap Risan? He is simple blacksmith.”

  Daia pressed her lips together. “Listen, Arlet. I don’t think anyone would hurt him. If he has been abducted -- and we don’t know yet if he has or not -- his kidnapper might simply want him to solve the remaining runes. Perhaps this person wants to claim the King’s Blood-stone for himself.”

  “Solve runes? Risan is not--” Arlet tucked her lips between her teeth and looked away.

  “Risan’s not what? What is it, Arlet?”

  “He is not kind of man to tell kidnapper answers to runes.”

  “Do you think he already knows the meanings of the remaining runes?”

  “No, he does not, but even if he knows, he would not tell. Not on purpose.”

  “Is anything missing?” Daia asked, looking around. The display case had no empty spots to suggest a burglary, but theft was worth hoping for in light of the alternative. “Perhaps you’ve only been robbed and Risan’s in pursuit of the thief.”

  Arlet snatched the lamp from the table and ran from the room with a whimper. Daia followed her into the foundry.

  The workshop was clean and orderly. The forge in the middle of the room was cool, its weight-powered bellows still. Three anvils of different sizes sat on a low workbench, and eight hammers hung from nail-pegs on the wall above it. Various sets of tongs and pokers lined the wall beside the hammers, arranged by size. Arlet opened and slammed the doors of the three wardrobes standing against one wall.

  “What are you looking for?” Daia asked.

  “Sword.” Arlet stopped her search and faced Daia. She looked pasty. “Sword Risan made -- it is gone.” She buried her face in her hands and wept.

  “Perhaps he simply went into the wilds to test it? Could that be why he isn’t here?”

  Arlet shook her head firmly, and said through her sobs, “No. He does not do that. He would not take this sword - this is special sword. It has-- it has special enchantment.”

  “All right, a sword’s missing,” Daia said, “anything else?”

  “Nothing important. Thief could take every weapon in shop and I do not care, if only he leaves this one.”

  Daia studied the Farthan woman. She seemed as upset about the missing sword as her missing husband.

  “This sword is very important,” Arlet explained. “Kidnapper also stole sword. This is terrible, terrible.”

  Daia took a deep breath. “Tell me about the sword, then. What sort of enchantment did it have?”

  “I do not know. It is ancient Farthan enchantment. Mage put it.”

  An enchanted sword of some significance, but Arlet didn’t know what magic possessed it? Or perhaps she knew but wouldn’t say. Why was she so concerned about the bloody sword? “Where can I find the mage?” Daia asked. “I’d like to know what interest the sword might hold for its thief.”

  “Her name is Jennalia. You can find her south-east of here on Mill Road. Brown house with yellow window shutters. Miss Daia, please help us. Please find Risan, will you?” Arlet took Daia’s hand. “Please.”

  “Of course I will, Arlet.” Daia reached tentatively and stroked the future queen’s black hair. It felt like strands of silk. “I will find him.”

  “And sword?”

  “I will do my best.”

  “I know someone can help you,” Arlet said. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the voluminous sleeve of her robe. “Warrant knight name of Gavin Kinshield. Find him. Sword belongs to him. He will want it back.”

  “How do you know he doesn’t already have it?”

  Arlet cocked her head. “I do not understand what is you are asking. Risan made it for Gavin. Gavin promised to come get it after one week passed and that is one week ago. He should be here soon, but I did not see him yet.”

  Daia wondered how well Arlet knew this Gavin fellow. The surname of Kinshield came with no guarantee of integrity. “Is it possible that Gavin Kinshield came during the night?”

  “And kidnap Risan? No. Gavin is not like that. He is good man - very good man.”

  “Tell me about the sword. Why is it so important to you?”

  Arlet chewed her lip for a moment. “Risan made it for Gavin because he saved my life. It is fël - repayment like valour-gild, but more. If Risan does not give sword to Gavin, he would be dishonor.”

  Daia straightened. The tale she’d heard said that Risan had saved a child from drowning -- and Arlet was about the size of a child. “Did Kinshield save you from drowning?”

  “No,” Ar
let said, glancing away. “From, ah... robber on street. He had knife. Gavin saved me. Lots of people witnessed - you can ask townsfolks in market. Ask them. They will tell you how brave he is.”

  Daia suspected Arlet wasn’t being entirely truthful about Kinshield. “Where can I find him?”

  Arlet shrugged. “I do not know where he lives. Mayhap townsfolks at inns or taverns knows him. He is big warrant knight with scars here.” Arlet ran two fingers down the side of her face. “He will come back soon for his sword -- I will tell him to find you.”

  Daia thought it best if she found Kinshield first. She put her hand on the future queen’s shoulder. “I’ll find Risan. Try not to worry overmuch. If I must, I’ll have the entire Viragon Sisterhood looking for him.” She turned to leave.

  “Miss Daia?” Arlet asked to her back. Daia turned around. Arlet took the dagger Daia had been admiring from the display case. “For helping Risan.” She walked forward, the knife across her open palms, offering it to Daia.

  Daia hesitated. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it, only what any good citizen would do: promise to help the king.

  “Please,” Arlet said softly. “A fël cannot be refused.”

  With a nod, Daia took the knife, certain she was violating some code for accepting valour-gild before having earned it or for coveting a blade that hadn’t been hers. Now she couldn’t fail.

  The house with yellow shutters, like its neighbors, sat four paces from the road. At the door, Daia paused to scrape the dirt from the soles of her boots on the edge of the stoop. The door swung open just as she raised her fist to knock.

  “Vusar,” the woman said with a mostly-toothless smile.

  Some sort of Farthan greeting, Daia supposed. “Good evening. I came to--”

  “Come in, please,” the woman said, stepping back. Her filmy eyes were wide, but Daia got the impression by the way they were directed at her ear that the woman was blind.

  The home had one room with a narrow bed in a corner behind a curtain not quite fully drawn. The scent of simmering herbs lingered in the air of the tidy home, reminding Daia of her mother’s garden and prompting a pang of sadness that she pushed aside with a practiced effort. Without a lamp, the house grew dimmer by the moment as the dusk deepened. “I’m Daia Saberheart of the Viragon Sis--”