The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  “Apparently she did not think to ask him.”

  Chapter 21

  When Warrick came into the library, stomping and cursing and frothing like a mad beyonder, Brodas put his book down and gestured to the guest chair.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Brodas said in a soothing voice.

  “Red. I gave him a simple task. ‘Just go to the gemsmith’s and get a few magic-grade gems,’ I told him. ‘Bargain for the best price, and be aggressive about it.’ So what does the idiot do? He kills the gemsmith and runs out with a chest full of the highest quality gems in the shop.”

  “Did anyone follow him here?” Brodas asked, leaning forward. He felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch.

  “He says no.”

  “So, you’re upset because?” Brodas relaxed again, smiling. An entire chestful.

  “The chest has some kind of lock on it. Red killed the gemsmith before he opened the chest.”

  Warrick didn’t normally let such an insignificant thing as a lock frustrate him this way. “Why the concern over a mere lock? Break it off with an axe. Break the chest if you must.”

  “I can’t. That’s what’s so maddening. It’s no ordinary lock, Brodas. It’s a carved wooden creature - a gargoyle judging by its hideous appearance - with onyxes for eyes.”

  Onyxes? “This I must see. Show me.”

  Warrick stormed through the manor and out the back door, muttering to himself. Brodas followed, shaking his head with amused resignation.

  The box sat on the back step, with Red standing before it, holding an axe and scratching his head. It looked like an ordinary rectangular wooden chest roughly a foot in length and a half-foot high and deep. Its hinges were invisible, and it had a simple silver clasp on the front, tarnished but otherwise in good repair.

  On the lid of the box sat a wooden gargoyle, slightly lighter in color than its perch and about three inches tall. Indeed, tiny onyxes were set into its eye sockets, but despite their size, Brodas knew with his first glance that they were fine quality gems.

  “What happens when you try to open it?” Brodas asked.

  “It burns, m’lord,” Red said. He pointed at the gargoyle with the axe handle. “You can touch the box without a problem, but soon as you try to lift the lid, snap! It gets you.”

  “You’ve tried to dislodge the gargoyle?”

  “Yeh. I tried chopping it off. That spark ran up the axe handle. The thing flew right out of my hand.”

  Brodas sat on the step beside it and turned it to get a good look at the gems. “Did you try prying the onyxes out of it?”

  “Gouging its eyes out?” Red asked with a snort. “No, didn’t try that.”

  “Warrick, give that a try.”

  Warrick gave the box a wary look, then handed his dagger to Brodas. “Be my guest.”

  Warrick’s reluctance gave Brodas pause. He handed the knife to Red.

  Red chewed his lip and reached hesitantly to take the knife. “I don’t think this’ll work either, m’lord.”

  “You won’t know until you try it.” Brodas rose and stepped back onto the dying grass covering the courtyard.

  Red slapped the blade against his palm a few times, perhaps to gather his courage, and stepped up to the chest. Holding the knife handle with three fingers, he poked the blade half-heartedly at the gargoyle’s right eye. The moment the tip of the knife touched the onyx, a blue flash charged up the length of the blade to the hilt. A spark crackled where Red held the grip, and he jerked back with a hiss. The knife fell to the ground.

  “Damn,” Red said, shaking his hand.

  “Interesting,” Brodas mused. If he created a protective barrier, Red could withstand the shock long enough to get the gems out of the gargoyle. “Wait here.” He hurried to his library and grabbed a pair of his few remaining gems. That would leave only three, but if it worked, he would have the entire chestful to work with.

  When he returned, Red stepped back as though anticipating what was to come.

  “I’m going to put a protective spell on you,” Brodas said. “This will keep you from suffering the pain of the gargoyle. Get your knife.”

  Red bent for the knife with a sigh. Brodas glanced at Warrick and rolled his eyes, prompting a chuckle from his cousin.

  “I suppose you want me to pry the eyes out?”

  “Exactly. Ready?”

  At Red’s reluctant nod, Brodas opened his palm and focused on the gems, then pushed the spell of protection toward the battler. The gems in his hand cracked into bits. “Now!”

  Red grabbed the back of the gargoyle’s head with one hand and plunged the knife into its right eye. He twisted the blade, digging the tip into the socket. A growl gurgled up from his throat through gritted teeth. With a yip, he yanked the knife away and threw it on the ground. “Damn it.” He shook his hand, sucking in his breath.

  “Why did you stop? You were doing well.”

  “M’lord, the thing wasn’t budging. Even with your spell, it hurt like a bitch.”

  Brodas sighed. “All right. Let me study it for a while and see if I can find a way to defeat it.”

  “Maybe we can find the gargoyle’s maker,” Warrick said. “Ask him how to get it off.”

  “Good idea. Why don’t you both ask around in the market. And don’t kill anyone. I don’t need the lordover’s armsmen coming around asking questions.”

  Chapter 22

  On arriving in Ambryce, Gavin led Golam to the Good Knight Inn, took his satchel, and handed the reins to the stable hand. Stepping over the broken step leading to the porch, he lifted the door and shoved it hard enough to squeeze through the opening.

  “Trayev, you here?” he called out as he set his bag on the floor.

  The innkeeper swept aside the curtain and walked in. “Gavin, what a surprise.”

  “I said I’d be back in a week.”

  “You also said you’d fix the door.”

  Gavin sighed. “I know. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

  “You promise, right?” Trayev said with a sardonic grin.

  Gavin glared at Trayev, unamused. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” He took his leather bag and headed to his usual room.

  After stripping off his shirt, rinsing it in the small wash pan and hanging it to dry, Gavin took a sniff under his arms and then wiped himself down with soapy water. He put on one of the new tunics Liera had sewn for him and headed toward the museum, his steps heavy on the pavement. He did not relish the task of telling the curator he’d lost Calewen’s Pendant, but if he got it over with now, he could spend the rest of the evening in the tavern without it weighing on his mind.

  The Gwanry Museum of History appeared to have been a house at one time, with what had probably been a sitting room, music room, dining hall and kitchen on the ground floor, and some unknown number of rooms upstairs. Now, each of the rooms downstairs contained rows of shelves on which various artifacts were neatly arranged. One room was dedicated to the reign of King Arek, displaying letters he and the queen had written, gifts they had given to others, items they had once touched, worn or owned. Gavin was unfamiliar with the other rooms; he’d never visited them.

  When he stepped into the foyer, a smartly dressed woman rounded the corner. “May I help-- Gavin.” She smiled broadly and curtsied.

  Gavin took her delicate hand in his calloused one and bowed over it. “M’lady Tolia, always a pleasure.” He planted a kiss on its back.

  Tolia giggled and patted her gray-streaked brown hair as though to tuck up a stray lock. “May I bring you some tea?”

  “Got any ale?” he asked with a grin.

  She laughed and patted his arm. “I’m afraid we’re out of ale today. Feel free to browse the exhibit. Stay as long as you’d like. Oh. We have something new you’d be interested in seeing. Come, let me show you.” She waved him to follow her into the next room and stopped at the back wall. They stood side by side and looked up at a portrait on the wall.

  Gavin did not recognize the child’s face, but t
he golden brown eyes looked right through him, piercing his heart. “Who is she?”

  “Ronor Kinshield’s daughter. She was just four years old when she died. Dagaz. Isn’t that an odd name for a girl?”

  Gavin felt his knees weaken. That was the name he called Caevyan in his recurring dream. No. It couldn’t be. Surely he’d misheard.

  “Her death was so tragic. Apparently, Ronor’s suicide followed not long after, but you can’t really blame him. His inability to protect the king and queen must have been devastating, and when the Lordover Tern declared him a hero for saving the Rune Tablet, his guilt must have gotten the better of him. It’s no wonder he became a drunkard. But then to watch his own daughter get impaled on-”

  “Stop,” Gavin choked. “Please. Stop.”

  “I’m sorry, Gavin. Did I say something wrong?”

  He tore his eyes from the painting and looked down at Tolia. A sympathetic line creased her brow. “Actually I’m in a hurry,” he said. “I’ve got to talk to the overseer.”

  “Mr. Surraent? Oh yes, come to think of it, he did mention you would be by. I’ll show you to his office.”

  “No need. I can find it,” Gavin said. He had to get away from that painting. Those eyes.

  “Upstairs and to the left. It’s the room at the end of the hall.”

  Gavin gave her a nod and as much of a smile as he could manage, then cast one last look at the portrait. He took the wooden steps two at a time while he chewed on what he’d learned.

  Dagaz had been Ronor’s daughter. But it was Caevyan in Gavin’s dream, not a stranger. Gavin understood why Ronor had fallen into the drink. He’d done it himself after Talisha and Caevyan were killed, and often wondered how he’d managed to survive it.

  Plush red carpeting muffled his footsteps as he walked down the hall past four closed doors. The one at the far end stood open.

  Inside his office, the curator sat hunched over a wide desk littered with books and papers. Shelves loaded with papers in haphazard piles lined the wall, and on their tops sat broken pieces of pottery and sculptures. Gavin rapped on the door. Laemyr flinched and knocked over a glass, spilling its contents onto the desk.

  Laemyr’s left eye was swollen and black. His bent spectacles sat crookedly upon his nose. “Oh. Gavin, you’re back. You startled me.” He gestured to the pair of wooden chairs in front of the desk. “Please have a seat while I clean up this mess.” Laemyr moved the books and papers to one side and dabbed at the spilt water with a handkerchief.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Gavin pulled the scabbard from his back and leaned the sword against the desk. The chair creaked when he sat down.

  “Oh, I’m just clumsy. It’s of no consequence.”

  Judging from the way Laemyr had flinched when Gavin knocked, he was frightened, not clumsy. “I’ve got some bad news,” Gavin started.

  “You didn’t find the pendant?”

  “Oh, I found it. It has some writing on it, did you know that?”

  Laemyr cocked his head. “I did not. What does it say?”

  “‘A promise to transcend death. Forever yours.’ Do you know what it means?”

  “It sounds familiar.” The curator reached for a thick tome and began to flip pages. “Arek was fond of proverbs, so it’s likely a reference to one of them... Hmmm. Sorry,” he said looking up. “It’s not here, but I’ll try to find it for you. Do you have the pendant? May I see it?”

  “That’s the bad news. On my way back to Ambryce someone stole it.”

  Laemyr pushed his spectacles farther up his nose. “But you’ll go after it again, won’t you?”

  Gavin had expected a different reaction: anger, annoyance, concern, surprise. But Laemyr’s face looked eager, hopeful. Strange that he wasn’t upset about it. “O’course. It’ll take some time though.”

  “That man sure is a wily one.”

  “What man?”

  Laemyr gaped at him for a moment, then forced a nervous laugh. “How silly of me to think a man could ever wrest it from your powerful grasp. Why, you’d sooner kill him than let him take it from you - I could see it in your eyes the day we met. It had to have been a woman using seduction and trickery. That’s the only way--”

  “You’re not answering my question.” How did Laemyr know so much about it? “Who stole it?”

  “I-I don’t know. Perhaps she’s just a petty thief with a stroke of good fortune. How could she possibly have known to target you?”

  “That’s what I want you to tell me,” Gavin said. His voice got louder as his annoyance increased.

  “I’m telling you I don’t know.” Laemyr’s downcast eyes said otherwise.

  Gavin relaxed his gaze. A shimmering haze grew outward from Laemyr’s body. At the level of his head, yellowish smudges marred an otherwise blue bubble of light. Laemyr was lying.

  He narrowed his focus again and met the curator’s enormous blue eyes, which stared behind his spectacles like those of an opossum awoken in the daylight. “Why didn’t you tell me someone else was after it?”

  Laemyr stuttered for a moment while he fussed with the items on his desk. “Not someone else. Just Tyr.” He got up and shut the door, then sat in the chair beside Gavin. ”Sithral Tyr did a favor for me several years ago. A big favor. Ever since then, he has asked for recompense time and again. I couldn’t seem to repay this debt, no matter what I did.

  “He’s clever and well-connected. This favor-swapping is how he does his business. He finds a way to make people indebted to him, and then he exploits them. He has such associates everywhere. He does favors for anyone: battlers, scholars, merchants, bards, tavern maids, prostitutes, even a lordover. Once someone owes him a favor, they have to keep paying until he’s satisfied or bad things will happen. Very bad things.

  “Some time ago,” Laemyr went on, “the Lordover Ambryce had asked me to care for some of the artifacts at the Grand Mausoleum and showed me how to open the lock -- a keyless lock that works by magic. Tyr found out about my work in the mausoleum and asked me to help him get into Queen Calewen’s shrine. He promised that if I helped him get the pendant, my debt would be paid. I refused. The next day my sister...” Laemyr paused and took a deep breath. “...died in a bizarre carriage accident. He came to see me the morning after her funeral and repeated his request. Again I refused. That afternoon my father slipped and drowned in a watering hole,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. A tear ran down his face. He took a moment to compose himself. “My point is that Tyr has ways to get to you, possibly magical ways. Anyone you met along your journey could have been watching and reporting to him. If you mentioned the pendant to anyone...”

  The barmaid. In front of Gavin’s drinking companions, she’d asked if he’d found the diamond. Damn it. He needed to have a few words with her. Surely, his battler companions had had nothing to do with the theft. Warrant knights were an honorable lot; they lived by a code. Although Domach had no warrant tag, Gavin had known him for years. He wouldn’t have been involved in such treachery.

  “Tyr came to see me two days ago,” Laemyr said. “He told me he had someone watching for you.” He pointed to his bruised eye. “He did this. Somehow he knew I’d hired you to get the pendant back. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t just drop the matter, but I can’t.”

  Gavin sighed. He was starting to get a headache and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do I want to know why not?”

  “The pendant has part of King Arek’s essence bound to it.”

  King Arek’s spirit bound to the diamond? No wonder it had affected Gavin so profoundly.

  “Tyr works for a wizard,” Laemyr said. “Someone named Ravenheart or some such.”

  All the muscles in Gavin’s body tightened at once. “Ravenkind? Brodas Ravenkind?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Tyr told me once that Ravenkind intends to extract Arek’s essence from the pendant so he could become Wayfarer. You’ve got to save what’s left of King Arek’s spirit.”

  Brodas Ravenkind. Dam
n it. Gavin had hoped never to hear that name again. “Listen,” he said. “This is serious. I need all the facts. I need to see the letter.”

  “What letter?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Surraent. Ronor Kinshield’s letter.”

  Laemyr stood and backed away. “I-I don’t actually have it, you see.”

  “What?” Gavin rose slowly from the chair.

  “It’s at the Institute of Scholarly Studies in Sohan. The sage promised me a copy of it in trade for loaning them the pendant to study. If you give me the pendant, we both get the letter.”

  “You lying bastard. How can I trust anything you say?”

  “I know, Gavin, I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll pay you the second half of your fee. Here.” He dug in his coin purse and came up with two large silver coins. “And two more when you deliver the pendant.”

  Gavin pocketed the coins. “I hate to tell you this, but since you helped Tyr steal Calewen’s Pendant, you’re an accomplice.” He drew his dagger. “I got to brand you as a criminal.”

  “Wait, Gavin. Please, listen. I did not help him steal it. He must have had his henchman follow me to the Mausoleum, because once I opened the lock, the thief pushed me inside and blew some powder in my face. I was overcome with dizziness. I tried to stop him. You must believe me.”

  Gavin sighed. He believed it. Damn it. This information would have been helpful to know before he’d left on the mission. Now it looked like he would have to confront Brodas Ravenkind. The man who’d murdered his family.

  Chapter 23

  A sign hung by one corner from a rusted chain attached to the eve of a building, and swung gently in the breeze. The first gust from the approaching storm would surely bring it down altogether. “The Good Knight Inn,” it read, painted over several times. Rectangles of darker paint on the walls looked like the ghosts of window shutters from years past. Several large boot prints marked new pine steps.