by K. C. May
“No need for speaking. I find out what I need this way.” The elderly Farthan closed the door, took Daia by the hands, and smiled as she rocked forward and back. Her hands felt warm and her skin dry. Her threadbare gray dress barely reached the tops of her ankles above straw slippers on her dainty feet.
Daia waited a few moments, but the woman said nothing. She continued to rock back and forth, holding Daia’s hands in hers and grinning. Daia cleared her throat and said, “I came to ask you about--”
“Stay with me. I am searching for you long time. Long time.”
This woman was mad, Daia decided. She must be at the wrong house.
“My name is Jennalia. You seek answers, I seek you, Vusar.”
Daia was wasting her time. She just wanted to know what enchantment the mage had put on the sword. She shook off the old woman’s hands and turned to leave. “I’ve made a mistake. I beg your pardon.” Daia felt a wash of light prickles in her gut. So, the Farthan was a shadow-reader.
“You have questions about sword,” Jennalia said, “but you also seek Risan Stronghammer.” Her eyelids fluttered over those clouded, staring eyes.
Daia stopped. “What? How do you know that?”
“I am not so blind. I see your intent in shadow,” Jennalia said, moving her hands as if shaping a bubble around Daia’s body. “Same way I see intent in Risan when he come with sword.”
“What can you tell me about the sword? What enchantment did you put on it?”
The mage smiled, showing her five brown teeth. “Risan owes debt to man of sword. And he needs help from you.”
If only the mage would tell her something she didn’t already know. “Do you know where Risan is? Can you help me find him?”
“I do not know yet, same as you. But you are vusar. Will you stay and help me?”
“Stay? I must find Risan,” Daia replied. “What do you need of me?”
“You are vusar.”
Daia sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you are saying.”
“Come. Sit. I show you.” Jennalia went to a chair and patted its back. When Daia sat down, the old woman shuffled to a dresser and took something from a ceramic jar. She went to another chair and sat. She placed a pyramid-shaped stone on the table and set a ball of dried leaves, bound with thread, upon it. Waving her hand over the ball, she whispered a few words. The ball burst into light. It glowed like a miniature sun, brightening the room considerably. “For you. Now, I touch Risan. I try find him by his shadow.” She gripped a gem in her fist and rocked in the chair. “I cannot see him. Will you help me?”
Daia realized what the woman was asking. “Yes, I’ll try.” She pushed outward with her mind and reached for Jennalia with her Gift. At once, she felt a fluttering sensation in her gut and knew the mage had taken the connection.
Daia felt as though part of her sailed through the air at unimaginable speed. She expected to feel wind on her face. The grip on her tightened like a python encircling her throat. Daia felt trapped, unable to breathe. She tried to pull back, but she couldn’t get away. She struggled against the hold on her. Let... me... go! Suddenly, she rocked back in her chair, free.
“No need be frighten,” Jennalia said. “I need draw your strength to see farther. You are powerful. Vusar is Farthan word means this ability you have. Most adept Farthan mystics meditate for whole lifetimes to try master this skill. You have without need of training. Very rare and special, but also dangerous for you. If mystic with bad intent joins to you, it will feel sticky like tar, like blackness. If you feel that, you must push all your strength against it. Do you understand?”
Daia shuddered. That feeling as she’d left Sohan -- it had felt tacky, like... yes, like tar. Someone had tried to reach for her. Someone dark. “Yes, I think so.”
The mage groped across the table and found Daia’s hand, gripping it. “Stay, let me teach you. You can be most powerful like Farthan mystic if you learn how harness your gift - and protect it too.”
“I can’t stay. I need to find Risan. Can you tell me where to look?”
Jennalia sighed and leaned back in her chair with a dim smile. “He not is in Ambryce anymore. Go north. I lost sight him past bridge. He is riding, but not on horseback - in carriage or wagon. After you help Risan, you need help knight. Then come see me and I will teach you.”
“Knight? Do you mean Gavin Kinshield?” What would the mage know about Kinshield beyond enchanting his sword? “What can you tell me about him?”
Jennalia smiled and cocked her head, rocking back and forth. “If you keep open your eyes and your mind,” she said, tapping her head, “you will see. You will see.”
Chapter 19
Brawna took a deep breath before raising her fist and knocking on the guild mistress’s door. She’d never been summoned here before. Was she in trouble for something? Maybe Lilalian had second thoughts about promoting her to green sash.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Lilalian sat behind Aminda’s desk -- her desk now - shuffling through a stack of documents. Her wide smile looked forced, like a grimace. Bloodshot eyes twitched under a lowered brow. “Hail, Brawna.”
Brawna bowed. The shock and sorrow over Aminda’s unexpected death had affected all the women, but Lilalian seemed in distress. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the deepening lines on her face, and her disheveled appearance concerned Brawna. Lilalian didn’t usually let herself become so weary. “How are you faring, m’lady?”
“How the hell do you think?” Lilalian snapped. She put a hand to her brow and rubbed it. “Sorry. I’ve not been resting well, and the nightmares... Never mind. I have a mission for you. Are you up for it?”
Brawna brightened. “Yes, m’lady. Thank you, m’lady.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s not a glamorous assignment. Our black sashes are all out on other missions at the moment, so I’m sending you out with a brown sash. She’s nearly ready for her final trial anyway.”
“I understand, m’lady,” Brawna replied. A brown sash. Lilalian must have had a lot of confidence in her to send her with a brown sash; mission rules mandated that green sashes may only accompany black sashes, and could never venture into the wilds alone.
“I’ve already explained the assignment to Enamaria, so she’s expecting you. I’ll let her give you the details on your travels. While it doesn’t promise much in the way of excitement, it’s important, Brawna.”
“I won’t disappoint, m’lady.” Brawna smiled broadly. Her first mission -- and with a brown sash, no less. She’d better sharpen her sword, maybe request an extra dagger from the armory. Oh, and the throwing axe her brother had given her when she told him she was joining the Viragon Sisterhood - she should put it in her knapsack. Maybe she’d finally have a chance to try it out on a real foe.
Lilalian watched her, smiling. Brawna felt blood rush to her face. Had the guild mistress said something? Was she waiting for a reply?
“I beg your pardon, m’lady,” Brawna whispered.
“Remember the feeling. It quickly fades.” Lilalian bent back to her papers.
Was she dismissed? Should she bow? Curtsey? No, that was stupid. Battlers didn’t curtsey. Then Brawna noticed the chain around Lilalian’s neck, disappearing under her tunic. A necklace? Battlers of the Viragon Sisterhood did not wear jewelry. What about the guild’s philosophy of rejecting vanity? Had Lilalian always worn the necklace and Brawna just now noticed? No, she’d have seen it before now. Lilalian had definitely started wearing it since Aminda’s death.
“You may go,” Lilalian said without looking up.
“Yes, m’lady. Thank you again.”
As Brawna reached for the doorknob, the door burst open. Cirang pushed past her, red-faced and sweaty. “Where’s Aminda?” she asked. “Something terrible has happened.”
Brawna waited to hear Cirang’s news.
“Shut the door on your way out,” Lilalian told her.
Brawna did as she was told, but paused outside the
closed door. She would be harshly punished if she were caught listening, but she couldn’t help herself. Cirang had been on a mission with Daia, and as Daia’s friend, Brawna considered it her duty to find out if Daia had been injured.
“Beyonders attacked us,” Cirang’s muffled voice explained behind the door. “I must tell Aminda--”
“Aminda’s not here, Cirang. Tell me what happened.”
“Daia disobeyed my order during the battle. She ran off after one beyonder when signs indicated that more were nearby. JiNese and I fought them as best we could, but they far outnumbered us. We called for Daia, screamed for her to stay. When she finally returned and saw the others, she tried to kill one of them with a throw of her knife, but she missed. JiNese is dead, m’lady. Daia killed her.”
Brawna gasped and then slapped a hand over her mouth. This couldn’t be. Daia was a skilled battler, probably the best in the guild. She wouldn’t miss and hit a fellow Sister.
“Are you certain?” Lilalian asked. “Where’s Daia now? I want to hear her telling of the story.”
“I don’t know. I hoped she’d have returned by now. The Lordover Tern wouldn’t grant us an audience, so JiNese and I caught up with her to journey back to Sohan together. After the incident with the beyonders, she panicked and ran off. I yelled for her to come back, told her it was an accident and she wouldn’t be charged, but she didn’t return. She still has the merchant’s payment and the money Tennara had collected.”
Brawna narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. This was a lie. Daia would never behave so dishonorably. Why would Cirang say such things? How could Lilalian believe such a ludicrous tale? To paint Daia as a murderer and a thief - how could she? How dare she?
“Cirang, I don’t know what to think of all this. I need to hear from Daia. Did you bring JiNese’s body?”
“I couldn’t, m’lady. Her horse died in the attack, and I barely escaped with my own life. I know where she is. We can return with a wagon for her.”
A clatter followed.
“I pulled it from JiNese’s chest. It’s Daia’s, m’lady.”
Brawna cocked her head. Daia’s knife? No. This couldn’t be. Daia wouldn’t have done this. Cirang was a two-faced, lying whore.
“Gather a team to retrieve our fallen Sister. But first, Cirang, there’s something I must tell you about Aminda.”
Brawna took the opportunity to sneak down the stairs. All right, think about this a minute. There must be some explanation for it. JiNese was dead and Daia faulted. What was happening to the Sisterhood? First Aminda died, now this.
Brawna walked to the garrison with her head down. Going on her first mission was not as exciting as it should have been. A part of her wished she could stay and await Daia’s return. She would come back. She had to come back.
Chapter 20
The carriage rattled and creaked as it headed north. On the rear-facing seat, Risan swayed with its movement. He looked out the window, watching the scenery pass and grow distant behind the carriage.
He tried to ignore his captor, who slapped the curving blade of a knife repeatedly against his open palm. If Risan could get his hands on Aldras Gar, lying across the Nilmarion’s lap, he might stand a chance of defeating his abductor. He did not dare speak the weapon’s name without having it firmly in hand, lest it bind itself to the man who had called himself Sithral Tyr.
“I’m sorry I had to spell you with the serragan powder,” Tyr said, “but I couldn’t take the chance you’d call out an alarm. It’s important we have a chance to talk.”
The dizziness had subsided considerably, but not completely. With a quick turn of his head, the world around him tilted and spun, and Risan did not trust his judgment enough to attempt to overpower his captor. Not yet.
“Now then,” Tyr said, “why don’t you tell me about how you solved the King’s Runes?”
Risan blinked. He realized that his mouth had fallen open and snapped it shut. So, Tyr wanted Gavin. But how did he find out...? Risan cringed mentally. His big mouth had brought this upon his head. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Don’t shit on my spoon, Risan Stronghammer.” Tyr patted the sword lovingly. “The Rune Stones are in this fine sword of yours -- beg pardon -- of mine.”
Risan would sooner die before he revealed Gavin’s name. If Tyr wanted the answer to the remaining runes, Risan would let him think he was the right man. Once Tyr discovered the truth, he wouldn’t risk having Risan live to tell his tale.
“Tell me how you solved the runes, or learn the limit of your tolerance for pain.” The Nilmarion’s accent had a way of making everything he said sound like the song of a bard, even a threat such at that.
“I meditate,” Risan said. “Ancient Farthan way of explore inner realm.”
“And you’ll meditate the solution to the fourth rune for me.”
Risan shrugged. “Answer comes when answer comes. One cannot force it.”
“Well, you had better hope it comes soon.”
“Traveler approaching,” the coachman called out.
Tyr slid the window open and leaned his head out, then closed it again and moved to sit on Risan’s right. “You’d be wise not to utter a sound as he passes.”
Risan peered out first one window then the next, eager to catch a glimpse of the traveler. If he were to grab the door handle, fling it open, and dive out before his captor had a chance to react, the traveler could aid his escape.
A deep voice called out, “Hail and good day.” It sounded vaguely familiar.
Risan’s hands grew moist and his muscles tensed. Wait... wait...
“Good day to you, sir,” the coachman responded.
The traveler passed the window on Risan’s right: a dark-haired man wearing a sword on his back and riding atop a large gray horse. Is that--? Gavin! It is! It is Gavin Kinshield.
Risan opened his mouth to call out, flinching as he started to stand and grab for the handle of the carriage door.
A blade pressed at his throat.
He pulled back slowly, trying to escape the sharp tip of the knife.
“You don’t want to do that,” Tyr said quietly.
Risan watched through the carriage window as Gavin rode past. Turn around, Gavin. Look at me. Please, look at me.
“There now, that wasn’t so bad.” Tyr moved back to his seat and smiled, warping the tattoos around his mouth.
With a heavy heart, Risan watched out the rear window of the carriage as Gavin and his warhorse grew smaller in the distance.
For two days, Risan sat with his hands and ankles tied as the carriage made its way slowly northward. At night the Nilmarion blew more powder into his face and gagged him with a length of burlap while they slept alongside the road. On the third day of travel, the carriage slowed and stopped, but Tyr made no move to exit. He leaned over to look out the window, then settled back in his seat and continued to stare at Risan.
“You’re late,” a voice from outside called out.
Risan looked out the side window to see a battler lead a saddled warhorse to the rear of the carriage. He considered calling to the battler for help, but quickly realized the man would offer Risan no assistance. After a minute, the carriage door opened and the battler climbed in.
A blond with a thin beard lining his jaw, he sat beside Risan on the rear-facing seat and looked him over. He was dressed in a blue waistcoat, uncharacteristically elegant for a battler. “So you’re the one.” The carriage started moving again.
“Do you have my prize?” Tyr asked him.
In reply, the blond reached into a pocket and withdrew a black velvet pouch. “You should be aware,” he said as he handed the pouch to Tyr, “that someone’s looking for you: a Viragon Sister by the name of Daia Saberheart.”
Risan’s ears perked. Daia? The swordswoman who’d wanted to talk to him? He fought back a grin. Surely she was aware by now that Risan was missing. Perhaps in time, she would track them to... wherever they were going.
“We are upscores, then?”
“Not quite,” Tyr said. He put the necklace into the pouch and pocketed it. “With the help of our friend, here, your debt will soon be paid, as will mine. Take a look at this.” Tyr handed Aldras Gar to the battler.
Toren whistled. “This is quite the sword. Did you make this?” he asked Risan.
Risan said nothing. Please be silent, he begged the weapon.
Toren cocked his head. “What’s that...?” He looked at Risan and furrowed his brow. “What heathen magic is this? It must be enchanted. It’s trying to tell me something. Is this some kind of trick?”
Risan pretended to try to hide a smile. Let the stupid battler believe it was a trick. If he feared speaking the weapon’s name, Risan would have time to get it and kill him with it.
“Enchanted?” Tyr asked. “The sword said nothing to me. Perhaps it speaks only to the weak-minded.”
Toren narrowed his eyes and put on a disgusted expression. “Take the cursed thing. It’s an offense to Asti-nayas and makes my skin creep to touch it.”
Tyr shrugged and took back the sword. “Tell me about this swordswoman. What does she want with me?”
“She didn’t say. She approached me at the Lucky Inn the evening you were there, asking about you.”
“By name?”
Toren shook his head. “By description.”
Tyr smiled. “I believe I know who you mean. Attractive young lady. It’s a trifling matter. She won’t find us -- unless Domach made a blunder and told her where to look.”
