Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4)

by K. C. May

  “No, the rune isn’t specific to this creature,” the Guardians said, appearing beside him. “It is, however, locked on the one called Ritol. You must unlock it to summon another being.”

  Hands grasped at his arms. Voices cried in his ears. The warden took his arm. “My liege, we must hurry. It could escape at any moment.”

  Prisoners down the corridor complained about the smell and demanded to know what was happening.

  “Stop.” Gavin shrugged off the warden’s grip. He grasped Cirang’s wrist and looked into her eyes, now wild with fear. “Cirang, listen to me. All of you, listen. I’ve summoned it. I control it. The demon’s no danger to us.”

  Everyone leaped back when its shiny, black head and glittering eye appeared in the window of the cell door. “I know you,” Ritol said. Its voice was like three voices in one, each as sharp and jagged as the next, ripping through Gavin’s head like talons. Two of the guards clutched their ears, grimacing. “You feared me once.”

  “But not anymore,” Gavin said. “You must do as I say.”

  It bowed its head slightly. “You’re my summoner. I’m bound to you here, but come to my realm, and I’ll drink your zhi essence and bathe in your blood.”

  “Sure you will, just like last time.” He wrinkled his nose. “Damn, you stink to hell. Now how do I get rid of it?”

  The Guardians shimmered momentarily. “You simply command it to return to its realm.”

  He raised one eyebrow. They’d been wrong before and cost three men their lives. “How do you know?”

  “We returned to the past and witnessed your ancestor summon and release a being like this one.”

  “My ancestor?” Gavin gaped at them. “No, you got it wrong. I’m descended from Ronor Kinshield, a champion, a battler. He never summoned anything.”

  “And he was descended from a Beresfard king, Emtor.”

  Gavin barked a laugh. It sounded ludicrous, and yet something in the deepest reaches of his most ancient memories, memories belonging to Ronor himself, created an itch in his mind. “Doubtful,” he said, not wanting to believe it could be true.

  “King Arek knew this. It’s why he made you take the vow—so that he could return the crown to the rightful family upon his death.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We’re untethered by time or realm, Emtor. Like you, we travel. We observe. We learn. We don’t know everything—for, when traveling into the past, we can only observe and listen—but if you have a question, such as how to dismiss the being known as Ritol, we can find answers in the time it takes you to blink. We wish to be helpful to you.”

  Beresfard kings, vows, vanquished demons returned. Gavin grabbed a fistful of his hair, wishing he could pull his brain out and give it a rest. After a moment to gather himself, he straightened and slid Aldras Gar back into its scabbard. He looked into Ritol’s eye, disgusted by the malicious glee he saw there. “Go on. Go back to your own realm.”

  Behind the demon, a light flashed once again. The hungry eyes moved backwards and faded into the blackness. The opening snapped shut, leaving behind only Ritol’s foul stench.

  The warden took a hesitant step forward and peered into the cell. “It’s gone.”

  Cirang fell to her knees and began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

  “It’ll take weeks to get rid of that smell,” someone said.

  A heavy silence blanketed the gaol. So that was it. The only plan Gavin had for fixing Feanna and the others was a complete failure. Not only did he not have a summoning rune that was useful, he would need a new one for every person who’d been corrupted by the water—dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Unless Carthis was willing to teach him how to carve the most dangerous rune that ever existed, there was no hope for any of them to return to their normal lives. There was no hope for his tiny son to be born to a mother who loved him.

  Gavin stalked back up the corridor, setting his mind on one thing: getting stumbling drunk. With enough ale, he could forget about his troubles for a time.

  Chapter 39

  As Gavin walked to the stable to get his horse, the Guardians floated alongside him.

  “Don’t despair, Emtor. Your rune can be repaired.”

  “How?” he asked, not looking up.

  “It was crafted by an Elyle named Rarga. She was the only one to succeed where we failed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The procedure we attempted, to combine our essences in the Nal Disi and withdraw them again—Rarga succeeded. Her complement died before he completed his part, but she survived. Her body became animated by a combined essence, and she was able to draw upon the other half of the combined essence—the part stored in the gem—to double her lifespan. She was both kho and zhi, and she dedicated her life to learning the teachings of Carthis. She had much knowledge of use to your last king.”

  In his despair, Gavin didn’t see how any of that was relevant to him. He reached the stable and went to Golam’s stall, ignoring the offer of the stable hands and master to ready his horse for him. He could saddle his own damned horse. “How now, mule,” he said, patting the horse’s dappled gray neck. “You ready to go home?”

  Golam nudged him with his big head and bent back to his feed trough.

  “Rarga can re-etch your summoning rune,” the Guardians said, “so that it no longer summons Ritol and can be used to summon another being from another realm.”

  “She can,” he said, “but would she?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the Guardians shimmer. “She was reluctant to carve a second rune for the one known as Arek Engtury, but perhaps she would accommodate your request if you explain the situation.”

  Gavin flapped out a blanket and let it drift down atop Golam’s back. “Sure. I’ll bet she’ll happily teach me how to carve a few dozen o’them because I was careless enough to let a prisoner escape.”

  “That incident was not your fault, Emtor. You must not blame yourself.”

  “It was my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on getting hold o’that journal, you’d still be haunting the wellspring instead o’me.” He set the saddle on his horse and began adjusting it and buckling the straps.

  The Guardians were silent for a moment. “The minerals in the water would still be draining our essence. You saved us. We cannot be anything but grateful for what has happened.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Gavin put a bridle on Golam’s big head, checked the girth strap once more, and opened the door to the stall to lead him out of the stable.

  “Emtor, what we mean to say is that perhaps you only need Rarga to carve the rune once.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because your companion, the twice-embodied one, has the skill of a carver. With her skill, she can make the runes you need.”

  Gavin stopped and gaped at their translucent forms. Sithral Tyr had been a carver. Gavin saw some of his work at the farmhouse where he’d hidden the journal, but there was nothing in Cirang’s haze that suggested she had magic power.

  “Your companion has a special gift for carving because of her unique circumstances.”

  He shook his head. “The person she was before was a carver. The person she is now isn’t.”

  “Carving is a skill of kho, as carpentry is a skill of zhi,” the Guardians said. “When your companion, in her original male form, first committed murder, he became kho-bent, and his carving skill improved. With every subsequent murder, he grew more skilled. He eventually came upon the hidden cellar that once belonged to the sorcerer known as Crigoth Sevae, and there your companion found the Rune of Summoning. He learned the shape of it but not the order that gives power to its lines. Though his spirit now occupies the body of the one born as Cirana Delusiol, the imprinted skill remains. By observing a knowledgeable Elyle, she can learn to carve every rune you would ever need.”

  Cirang? Gavin gaped at the Guardians. Shit. This would make deciding her fate more difficult.

  Then it hit him. Maybe his ha
ze swapping plan would work after all. There was one way to find out. He led Golam out and nearly ran into Daia and Cirang coming in. “There you are,” Daia said. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “Yeh. Get your mounts and gear.” The pair went into the stable while Gavin waited with his horse, stroking the thick neck absently. He waved one of the guards over and instructed him to bring Hennah with her wrists shackled behind her back.

  Two more horses were brought out, along with their tack. “Bring the horse Adro was riding, too, and put a long lead on it.”

  “Four horses?” Daia asked, joining him outside.

  “We didn’t go to the yellow realm for nothing. When Rarga fixes the rune, I’ll summon the Baron, get your ring back, and perform the procedure to fix Hennah. I don’t want to have to come all the way back here to get her.”

  Daia nodded, looking at Cirang. “You and I’ll need to take turns guarding her. She’s not escaping like you did.”

  “She doesn’t have serragan powder like I did.”

  “Guardians, where will I find Rarga?”

  They faded into view. “She lives in a village on the bank of Acorn Lake, the large lake east of the town your people know as Westlake Village.”

  Gavin drew his brows together. “I know this country from border to border and never heard o’Westlake Village.”

  “That’s where the Lucky Inn is,” Daia said. “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Oh. I never knew the name o’that town. Yeah, west o’there, they said.”

  The sight of the horses being dressed in their leather armor drew the attention of the lordover’s guards, stable staff, warden, servants, and groundskeepers. Gavin shook hands and chatted with them, offering encouragement and thanks for their good work. He’d already bidden the lordover farewell and didn’t see the point in repeating it.

  Hennah stood at least a couple inches taller than the two guards who led her out, and she was as broad as they were in the shoulders, waist, and legs. She’d been a dedicated battler with a pronounced protective instinct, making her ideal for her assignment to protect the queen. Now she glared at Gavin with viciousness and hatred in her widely set brown eyes, and her upper lip was tucked into a snarl. She wasn’t a woman who turned heads like Daia did, or at least not in the same way. “What have I done to deserve the punishment of your company?” she asked.

  “Put her on the pied horse and give the reins to Cirang,” Gavin said.

  Once they were all mounted with their belongings tied to the saddles or worn on their backs, Gavin threw up a disguise for himself and Daia to look like ordinary First Royals escorting a prisoner. He let Daia lead the way, with Cirang next and himself taking up the rear, thinking that if they had indeed been First Royals, he’d have been assigned the position behind the prisoner. They turned a head or two as they rode out of Ambryce, but no one seemed to have any inkling that the king was riding among them.

  When they were a few miles outside of town, he let the disguises drop, and they continued their journey to Westlake Village.

  Chapter 40

  After Feanna’s supper dishes were taken away the following evening, the night guard, Norna, offered to escort her for a walk around the palace. Feanna declined, saying she had a headache and wanted to turn in early. In truth, she was eager to make her way to Kaoque’s room to see what he’d come up with to offer her.

  She thought again of the useless wooden hoop tied with string. That they would think that was a suitable gift for a queen—the queen of a country with which they had a tentative peace—was ludicrous. If they couldn’t come up with something more suitable... well, she didn’t know what she would do. She desperately wanted that Mark of Zhulis Whatever-It-Was for herself. Without it, Gavin would continue to order her around and worse, keep her prisoner in her own home. But they should be willing to give her something more worthwhile for her trouble than a trinket.

  Eriska brought her some pain tea and a hot towel to lay over her eyes. Feanna thanked her and asked not to be disturbed again until morning. She listened for the lock turning and began to pull the nails back out of the servants’ door.

  With her candle and map in hand, she made her way back to Kaoque’s room, pausing where necessary to avoid being detected. The two Cyprindians were finishing their supper when she eased the servants’ door open. She wondered why their two guests weren’t invited to dine with the royal family in the dining hall. Perhaps it was because the children would let it slip that the queen was in the palace, being held prisoner, and Edan didn’t want them to know.

  “Queen Feanna,” Kaoque said, rising. He blotted his mouth with a napkin and bowed. “Would you care to join us?”

  “No, thank you for asking. You’ve had a chance to consider my request.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “I regret that you find the Soul Ward to be an inadequate gift. The Lord Ruler will be most displeased to learn that.”

  Was he threatening her? Perhaps trying to pressure her into accepting the wooden hoop. She would not. It was an insult, and he knew it. She crossed her arms. “Not half as displeased as I was to be offered such a thing. I can only conclude that your Lord Ruler is insincere, and that he does not take the matter seriously. How displeased would your Lord Ruler be to learn that his Emissary could have prevented hostilities but instead chose to threaten the Queen of Thendylath in the Lord Ruler’s name? If you wish to renew hostilities, so be it.”

  Kaoque put his hands up defensively. “No, Your Majesty. I meant nothing of the kind. You misunderstand. I have a gift for you that you are sure to accept.”

  Feanna put on a pleasant smile. “What is it?”

  “I offer my personal amulet of misdirection.”

  “Ohk,” Tokpah said. He followed with a series of sharp-sounding gibberish.

  Kaoque said something to Tokpah too quietly for Feanna to make out. She strained to hear, hoping that his talent for tongues would enable her to understand at least his side of the exchange. The only thing she made out was “...minor sacrifice in exchange for her cooperation.” Tokpah scowled darkly and gripped his weapon in an iron fist. The two had a spirited exchange in low voices, and occasionally looked at Feanna while they spoke, perhaps assessing her trustworthiness. Feanna looked up at them with her eyes widened in innocence, her lips slightly parted. Inside, she trembled with excitement. She’d never done anything like this before, and it was absolutely intoxicating.

  Kaoque gave a small shake of his head and a hard, final hand gesture that ended the disagreement. He turned to Feanna with a self-satisfied twinkle in his eye. “We often travel to dangerous locations. The amulet contains a spell for misdirection, which enables us to pass by people and creatures unnoticed.”

  Her heart beat faster. “What does that mean, exactly? I would like to see it.”

  “When you wear it, you will go unnoticed. Even a queen can move about in a crowd without being harried by her subjects.” Kaoque pulled something out of his satchel—an amulet on a leather thong. Within a delicate basket of gold threads was a magnificently cut, teardrop-shaped gemstone the color of a dark peach. It sparkled orange and yellow in the glow of the lamplight.

  Entranced with its power, Feanna reached for it, wrapped her hand around it, pulled it from Kaoque’s grasp. “It’s lovely. How does it work?”

  “It activates when you wear it. You’ll go unnoticed by all except when you speak or touch someone.”

  “By wearing this?” she asked breathlessly. She imagined moving around the palace unseen, perhaps even escaping altogether.

  “That is right. In some ways, it is better than the light-bending spell mages use that renders a person invisible to the eye, because the misdirection spell hides your essence as well.”

  She snapped her eyes up to his. “Do you mean mages won’t be able to see me either?”

  “Precisely so.”

  She caressed the amulet lovingly. What a divine gift this was. Even Gavin’s hidden eye wouldn’t be able to see her i
f she didn’t want to be found. “Yes, this will do nicely. I accept this gift as a token of Cyprindia’s earnest desire to improve the relations between our two countries.”

  Kaoque beamed. Again, he put his palms together and bowed. “Excellent, Your Majesty. I am glad you find this gift acceptable. When your husband returns, you will give him the message from our Lord Ruler and consult him about our agreement?”

  “Yes, of course.” She slipped the thong over her head and caressed the amulet against her breast.

  “The ceremony is always held under a full moon, so you would be advised to plan your—”

  “Can you still see me?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m aware that you’re here in the room, and so I cannot fail to notice you. Anyone walking in right now would, however.”

  She smiled, eager to try it out on the guard standing outside her apartment door.

  “As I was saying, should your husband agree, you would be welcomed to travel to Cyprindia to participate in the ceremony, and he can make his offering at that time. Dock at Port Gotnok. The warriors will escort you. You need only present the token I’ve given you.”

  His words confused her. “I’m the one making the offering, not my husband.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I failed to explain clearly. Your husband must declare to the Lord Orator that he offers you for the Mark of Zuhlis Fahn. As his property, you cannot receive it without his consent.”

  “His property?” she screeched. “I’m no one’s property. How dare you! Do I look like a thing to you? Do I look like a slave without a thought in my head?”

  Kaoque took a step back. “I know you are no slave. In our culture, men own their wives. I realize that isn’t the case in your culture, but in order to participate in our ceremony, you must meet our requirements. Zuhlis Fahn does not steal men’s wives. A man must offer her. That is the only way the god would accept a married, pregnant bride.”