by K. C. May
Brawna felt a pulling sensation in her head. It felt as though her brain was being sucked out through her mouth. She looked into Ravenkind’s blue eyes. He focused intently on the gem in the hilt near her chin. A vein bulged on his forehead.
Brawna had an intense desire to blurt out everything. The longer she held her tongue, the harder the description of the rune solver was to keep secret. It would feel so good to tell them. After all, he’d killed Enamaria and he was the reason she was in this mess now. But he would be King. She wouldn’t betray the king. No, no, no, no. She wouldn’t tell them. Not ever.
Pressure in her forehead began to build. She felt like a dam trying to hold back a flood, and one by one Ravenkind pulled out the logs. Brawna curled her hands into fists and held on. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“A tall man,” she heard herself say. She couldn’t stop herself. The words just tumbled out. “With dark hair. A tall battler with a scar on his face and missing a tooth.”
“What’s his name?” Brodas asked. The tugging sensation grew stronger.
“I didn’t ask his name. He was with Daia. The two of them went to the cave together and when they left, the fourth gem was gone. He wore his sword on his back and rode a big gray horse. He had a deep voice and wore a leather thong around his neck. I think he’s a warrant knight.”
The sensation stopped. Brawna opened her eyes. Ravenkind was flushed, his face covered with sweat. “That’s it? That’s all you know?”
Brawna hung her head. She’d betrayed the king. She deserved to die as a traitor. Her tears began to fall onto the wooden floor between her feet, and she wept silently.
Ravenkind sighed. “Why did you bring her to me like this?” he asked. “She has… spittle in her hair.”
“We were just amusing ourselves with her,” Cirang said. “No harm done.”
“Don’t ever bring someone into my home like this again, do you hear?”
“Yes, my lord,” Cirang replied.
“I honestly don’t understand why Lilalian chose you as her captain. If you’re the best of the lot, I might have to rethink the wisdom of our alliance. Toren, do one more favor for me. Take the girl, just don’t kill her yet. We may need her.”
“I can take the girl or the orphan boy, but not both,” Toren said.
“Fine,” Brodas said. “Come back for the boy later.”
“Lord Tyr, would you mind?” Toren said.
“My pleasure.” Tyr stepped up to Brawna and drew a black cloth from his pocket. When he unfolded it, she saw that it was a hood or mask of some kind. Just before he pulled it over his head, she met his cool gaze. She gasped and jerked reflexively away from him. His eyes -- they were lifeless, like Enamaria’s. Brawna shuddered and averted her gaze, worried that staring into the Nilmarion’s eyes might drive her mad. Or worse. Then his face was covered. What was he doing? He took a pouch from his shoulder bag and dipped a couple fingers into it. The others stepped back. He blew a pinch of dust into her face.
Intense dizziness overcame Brawna. She dropped to the ground and clutched her head as she tucked into a ball. The room spun. She shut her eyes, but that only made it worse.
“Take her,” someone said.
She tried to concentrate on calming the wild spinning sensation while the blond battler pulled her up and over his shoulder. Dangling head down with her chest against his back, she thought she would vomit. The ground spun upside down as he carried her. She couldn’t get her bearings. She had a vague sense that he was putting her into a tiny room. A coach. The blond and the Nilmarion climbed in with her. When the coach lurched ahead, she fell off the seat and onto the narrow floor between the seats.
“Get up,” someone snapped.
A pair of hands grabbed her under the arms and lifted her. She was on the seat again, leaning into the blond battler and trying to stay upright. She tried to look around. As scenery raced past the window, her stomach turned somersaults and she gagged. Then, thousands of tiny black dots obscured her vision.
Chapter 41
On the road leading west from Sohan, Gavin and Daia stopped, their horses standing side-by-side. Gavin held the map while he and Daia studied it.
“Is this north?” Daia asked, pointing at one edge.
Gavin turned the map around. “I can’t tell. Who drew this damned thing, anyway?”
“Someone who didn’t want a curious warrant knight to find the place.” Daia gave him a resigned smile. “I think that’s north. This might be the road to Calsojourn here.”
“Or this one,” Gavin pointed out. “The only way to know for sure is to start at the crossroad and try them both.” They nudged their horses forward.
“All right, you’re the k—”
“Don’t say it,” Gavin said.
“You have to explain it to me, Gavin. Why do you think you can shrug off your responsibilities onto someone else’s shoulders?”
He shot her a dark glare. “Let’s just say I ain’t fit to wear the crown.”
She cocked her head. “Then who is?”
“A nobleman, for one thing. Someone who’s educated, well-mannered, well-spoken, caring, responsible, someone that others can look to as a leader. All the things I ain’t.”
“You are those things. Except for well-spoken.” Daia winked.
“I ain’t a noble,” he countered. “Or educated or well-mannered. Hell, you won’t even take a meal with me.”
“Education and manners can be changed. Actually, now that I think of it, so can habits of speech. I noticed that you dropped the peasant-speak back there.”
“Huh? What’re you talking about?”
“When we were in the Rune Cave, you spoke differently, like someone well brought-up, not your usual ‘ain’ts’ and ‘got tos.’ Are you unaware you were doing it?”
Gavin shrugged. “Maybe that’s what you heard ’cause that’s what you wanted to hear. You wish a nobleman was solving the runes.”
“Gavin, nothing could be further from the truth. A noble man is defined by noble deeds – saving a drowning stranger, helping a child in the street, standing up for a tavern wench – that’s the sort of man people want sitting on the throne. A man of character.”
“Define character,” Gavin said.
Daia pursed her lips. “It’s the way a man approaches life, the values he stands for.”
“And how do you know what he stands for?” he asked. “Some people make their living by lies and deceit.”
“Exactly, Gavin. The way a man behaves reflects his character,” Daia said. “You behave like an honorable man. People will respect your character.”
“People see me as a warrant knight. A “’ranter.” They ain’t going to accept a man like me as their king. I ha’nt got a kingly air.”
“A ‘kingly air’ can be learned in the course of being a king. Do you honestly think a nobleman on the throne is inarguably better? People will accept the true rune solver before they accept some stingy, uptight highbrow who thinks he’s better than everyone else. They’ll accept a leader who understands the daily struggles and challenges that common people face. A man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to help someone. A man who knows his own limits, hungers more for justice than for power, and doesn’t try to fool people into believing he’s someone he’s not.”
Gavin chuckled. “You trying to convince me, or you trying to convince yourself?”
Daia sighed. What a stubborn cad. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”
Gavin shrugged. “I still ain’t goin’ to be king.”
“If it’s your destiny, there’s no avoiding it.”
“Is there such a thing as destiny?” he asked her. “What if I choose not to follow it? That means it ain’t my destiny, then. Maybe choosing not to follow my destiny is my destiny.” He started to chuckle. “But then I couldn’t reject my destiny if my destiny was to reject my destiny.” He slapped his knee while he laughed at his own silliness.
“You’re assuming you have
the choice whether to follow a path,” she said, “but how do you know you’re choosing it? Perhaps it’s your destiny to follow it.”
“Everything I do is what I choose to do. I haven’t been held back from making my choices yet, so I guess that must mean there’s no such thing as destiny.”
“Freedom of choice is an illusion. Just because you believe you have free choice doesn’t mean there’s no such thing as destiny.”
“And just because you believe in destiny doesn’t mean I have no free choice,” he countered. “You choose to believe in destiny. I choose not to. And I choose not to be the king.”
She looked at him and tapped her chin. He had a good point. If the choice was truly his to make, what did he owe to Thendylath that would compel him to accept a position he clearly did not want? Was her own situation any different? Had she not refused a life that was decided for her in favor of one of her own choosing? Had she been destined to leave Tern and join the Sisterhood? Or had she rejected her so-called destiny in order to follow her chosen path? Was it even possible to reject destiny?
Her head spun. She really did not want to think about this right now. They had other pressing concerns, and to debate philosophy with – the king – an uncultured battler was not how she cared to spend this ride. Once they found Tyr’s house and rescued Risan, they could all sit and drink and contemplate such ideas as destiny and freedom of choice.
From behind them came a scream. Before Daia had a chance to react, Golam spun around and was off in a thunderous gallop with Gavin pounding his sides.
Chapter 42
Brawna crawled her way through a heavy darkness toward the voices. Toward the real and the tangible. Her mouth felt dry, her lips caked.
“How much of that shit did you blow on her?” someone asked.
“Not so much as to cause this reaction. She’s overly sensitive.”
“She’s a woman, what do you expect?”
Brawna wished she had her faculties so that she could punch whoever said that.
A hand grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. Her stomach flipped and she opened her eyes. They were on a road surrounded by forest. The black coach waited nearby, its door open. The driver watched from his seat.
“Get in,” said someone behind her. He shoved her toward the coach and pushed her inside and onto the rear-facing seat. The blond battler climbed in and sat beside her, and the Nilmarion sat opposite. Tyr pulled the door shut and latched it, and the blond slapped the front wall of the coach. It jerked forward.
“Now that you’re recovered,” Tyr said, “what can you tell me about the rune solver that you did not tell Ravenkind?”
Brawna did not answer. She wouldn’t tell them anything more, and they couldn’t pull the information from her mouth with magic.
She felt the steel of a knife slice into her shoulder, and she screamed. Warm wetness washed over her skin. The battler held a blade wet with blood and wiped it off on her thigh.
“Answer my question,” Tyr said.
Brawna said nothing. She would rather die than betray the king.
“You need to cooperate, Miss Brawna,” Tyr said. His accent was like the lilting of a bard, the timbre of his voice soft and pleasant. “Toren, urge her to cooperate.”
She licked her lips. She was going to die here, and they would dump her body in the forest. It could be years before Domach found out.
Toren buried about two inches of the blade into her gut. A gasp escaped her lips.
The pain! Oh Yrys, it hurts. She huffed quickly, trying to concentrate on willing the pain to stop. Find your center, Brawna, Daia’s voice in her head reminded her. She was so thirsty. Oh please Yrys make it stop please make it stop.
“You know more about the man solving the runes?” Tyr asked her.
She shook her head, huffing still.
“Something you want to share with me that you didn’t share with Ravenkind?”
Again, she shook her head. She clenched her eyes shut and breathed through her teeth. Calm the pain. Slow the bleeding. Relax. Slow. Slooooow.
The knife bit into her thigh. Brawna cried out, “No! No. I don’t know any more. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“There’s something else you know,” Tyr said. “Some vital clue. Maybe you don’t think it’s meaningful. Tell me everything you left out.”
“No. Nothing.”
The knife cut into her other thigh, deeper this time.
Brawna screamed. “Yrys, no. Please, no more. There’s nothing, I swear it. I told him everything.”
“Let me see if you forgot something. What color was his hair?”
“Brown! I told him that.” If he was going to kill her, she wished he would hurry up.
“What color were his eyes?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him that—” Pain exploded in her upper right arm. “No! No! I swear I don’t – brown! They were brown. Brown eyes, brown hair.”
“Now we’re making progress,” Tyr said. “Very good. Would you like some water?”
She nodded, opening her eyes. A water skin hung around his neck.
Tyr pulled the strap over his head and uncorked the flask. “What was he wearing?” he asked.
Brawna started to cry. She couldn’t help it. She hurt so badly, and she didn’t remember what he was wearing, and Toren was going to hurt her anyway.
“What color shirt?” Tyr asked again, his voice soft and soothing. He tilted her chin up with a finger and held the water skin close to her mouth, but not close enough that she could drink.
“I don’t know.” She licked her lips. “I don’t remember.”
“Concentrate. You want this water, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What color was his shirt?”
Tan. It was tan. “I can’t remember. Please. Just one sip.”
“Shhhh!” He pulled the skin away and cocked his head, listening.
The sound of hooves thundered closer. “Stop,” a man’s voice yelled. “Stop the coach.”
Please let it be a warrant knight.
“Who is it?” Tyr asked.
Toren leaned out the window. “Damn it. It’s Kinshield and that Viragon Sister, Saberheart.” Toren’s eyes went wide and he looked at Brawna. “It was Kinshield? ”
“Daia,” Brawna cried. She looked to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her fellow Sister. A man rode past the coach in the opposite direction, and a moment later he rode up along side it at a gallop, yelling at the driver to stop. It was him – the rune solver. “Help--” Brawna started.
Toren plunged the knife deep into her belly. The world slowed down. She heard more shouting, felt herself falling. Then everything went black.
Chapter 43
“Get Tyr,” Gavin shouted to Daia. “Meobryn’s mine.” He rode up beside the coach on the right and yelled at the driver to stop.
Gavin reined Golam to a trot, then a walk as the coachman slowed his team and stopped. Inside the coach sat two men.
Toren Meobryn stepped out, shutting the door quickly behind him. “Gavin Kinshield,” he said. “Or should I say, Your Highness? Ah, but you’re not the king yet. Perhaps ‘Your rune solver-ness’ is more appropriate.”
What the hell? How would he have known that unless... Risan. Gavin hoped to hell the blacksmith was still alive.
“I must say I’m surprised,” Toren continued. “You don’t strike me as a man capable of stringing two thoughts together, let alone understanding something as profound and complex as the King’s Runes.”
“Been talking to the blacksmith, eh?” Gavin took the glove from under his saddle. “Is he in there? I heard a scream.”
“A scream? Oh, that. I apologize for alarming you. My companion has been shrieking with laughter.”
“Where’s Stronghammer?” Gavin started pulling the leather glove onto his left hand.
“That hardly matters now, does it? But that sword he made for you is unnatural. If you were going to live long en
ough to see it, I would advise you to throw it into the sea like you did Ravenkind’s precious bauble.” At Gavin’s raised brow, Toren smiled. “Yes, Kinshield. I know quite a bit about you.”
“Speaking of baubles,” Gavin said, “I’ll take Calewen’s Pendant back now.”
Toren raised his brows. “You lost it? That’s a shame. What makes you think I have it?”
“You sent the wench to steal it from me.”
Toren laughed. “Gavin, really. If I’d wanted to take it from you, I could have just put a sword through your chest. But I’m like you — a warrant knight, not a thief.”
“You’re nothing like me,” Gavin spat. “I branded her in Sohan. She told me all about it.”
“She’s a whore and a thief. Of course she’d lie and blame someone else. If not me, then Domach or Calinor.”
Gavin relaxed his gaze and watched Toren’s dull gray haze. The colors were starting to make more sense. Ill intent. That’s what the gray means. “Are you telling me you never seen it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
A murky cloud grew on Toren’s haze at the level of his forehead. It hovered for a moment and faded away.
Gavin climbed down from Golam’s back. “One benefit of solving the runes, Meobryn — I can tell you’re lying. Tell me where Stronghammer is.”
Toren smiled patiently and shook his head. “My client pays for my discretion as well as for protection. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Throw your weapons to the ground and take a brand for the—”
“I had nothing to do with Stronghammer’s abduction,” Toren said, raising his palms.
“The brand’s for the theft of Calewen’s Pendant.”
Toren stiffened. “You can’t brand me. I hold a warrant from the Lordover—”
“I was hoping you’d refuse.” Gavin drew his sword.
Daia pulled her mount to the left side of the black coach and stopped. “Sithral Tyr, step out of the coach.”
