The Wayfarer King

by K. C. May

  The girls nodded dutifully, but Trevick said nothing. He tossed his milk back and wiped his mouth.

  “Trevick?” Feanna prompted.

  “I don’t believe in Asti-nayas,” he said. “I’m not going to pretend to pray anymore.”

  Feanna touched him gently, shifting, and confirmed what she suspected. His confidence had waned, and he only needed reassurance. “Darling, I love you, no matter what you believe. You don’t need to pray if you don’t want to. I’ll think of you as my son either way.” She kissed his temple, hoping she’d eased some of his fears of abandonment that surfaced now and then. “Tansa, how about you?”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Tansa replied. “I prayed for Jilly to like it here so she could be my sister.”

  Tears burned Feanna’s eyes. “That’s so sweet, dear. All right, let’s go on to bed now. Jilly, you’ll sleep with me for a night or two until I get a pallet for you.”

  One by one, the three children gave Feanna a kiss on the cheek and bid her goodnight. They went to their sleeping room and shut the door.

  At first Feanna dressed Jilly in a night-shirt that was much too big. When she bunched the excess fabric in her fist and said maybe the two of them could fit in it, Jilly managed a smile. She found a smaller shirt in Tansa’s meager stack of clothes, and pulled it on over Jilly’s head. “Much better. You and Tansa will need to share until Adro brings some of your clothes.” She tucked Jilly into bed and blew out the lamp before climbing under the covers herself. Once she settled into the bed, Jilly snuggled uncomfortably close to her.

  “It’s too dark,” Jilly whispered.

  “It is a bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Feanna rose again and lighted a candle, then set it on the dressing table across from the bed. “Better?”

  Jilly nodded, her blond hair glinting in the candle’s warm glow. Feanna crawled back into bed, shifted, and checked the girl’s feelings. Calmer, not so agitated, but still deeply sad, and as good as Feanna could hope for under the circumstances. She waited until Jilly’s breathing slowed and deepened before she let herself relax into sleep.

  Sometime later, she awoke to a terrible scream. Beside her, Jilly thrashed madly, arms and legs kicking and striking out, tangling herself in the bedclothes. “Jilly!” Feanna said. The girl didn’t hear, didn’t respond. Her shrill screams threatened to break Feanna’s eardrums. She shifted and tried to pull Jilly into her arms.

  Fear gripped her. She remembered the smell of blood, of vile beasts and snapping fangs. The sense that a man was screaming made her skin creep. Death was everywhere. Her terror rose to a crescendo, then grief, overwhelming grief, threatened to crush her chest.

  Feanna gasped and jerked back. Heavens! “Jilly!” she yelled. She tried to take the child by the shoulders, but Jilly thrashed too violently. A foot slammed into Feanna’s ear and took her aback. “Jilly! It’s Miss Feanna. Wake up!”

  The child was lost in the nightmare, unable to hear her. Feanna hated having to use her skills, but what choice did she have? She had to calm Jilly.

  When she thought she had a good grip on Jilly’s waist, she shifted, gritting her teeth against the violence and fear that the poor child felt. She shifted again and concentrated on her own feelings of calm, confidence and love, then pushed them at the fright-stricken child. Moment by moment, the terror ebbed. Jilly’s thrashing slowed until finally she lay still. Her quick breaths were the only sounds in the sudden quiet. “That’s it, love,” Feanna whispered, sending calming thoughts and feelings into her, loving, tender feelings of safety and serenity. Jilly’s breathing slowed to normal, then deepened again into the rhythm of restful sleep. Only then did Feanna release the contact.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, stroking Jilly’s sweaty forehead. You’ve been through so much. I won’t take your grief from you. You need it to heal, but I can help you get through the nights.

  “What’s wrong?” Trevick asked. He stood in the doorway with his arms around his two frightened foster sisters.

  “She’s all right.” Feanna beckoned the girls with her free arm. They ran to her and climbed into bed, clutching her for comfort. “She had a bad dream. That’s all. Just a bad dream.”

  “We were afeared beyonders came.” Iriel gazed up at her with wide blue eyes.

  Feanna kissed her forehead. “No beyonders would dare.” She looked at Trevick with raised brows, asking silently if he was all right. He gave her a small smile. As much as he liked his role as the man of the house, at twelve he was hardly immune from the fears of childhood, especially when nightmares kept alive the worst memories for orphans like himself.

  Chapter 5

  The cook carried plates of food to the table — ham, boiled eggs, potatoes, bread and an assortment of fruit. Gavin’s stomach grumbled appreciatively as he filled his plate. He did his best to mind his table manners, though the hungrier he was, the more he tended to forget himself. He shoveled food into his mouth as quickly as he could chew and swallow, ignoring Daia’s sounds of disgust. Hell, he was hungry and needed a lot more food than she did. She should try being as big as he was and see if she could still eat daintily.

  “Daia,” Edan said, “what do you know of Ronor Kinshield’s secrets supposedly kept by your family across the generations?”

  “Not much,” she said. “My father hinted at a few things as I grew older. He told me that when I was old enough to understand, there were things he needed to tell me. Things he’d been told by his father, and his father before him. Things that were never to be written down.”

  “You mean, there’s more?” Gavin asked.

  “More than what?” Edan asked.

  “Swallow first,” Daia said. “Then talk.”

  Gavin gulped what he had in his mouth. “More than what the letter said. More about Ronor’s shame and failure as Arek’s champion.” More about the curse that prevented his soul from resting until the promise to King Arek was fulfilled.

  “I wish I could tell you,” Daia said. “I don’t know. I left home before my father revealed any of those secrets to me, and I highly doubt he’d tell me now. I’d offer to go with you to talk to him, but I wouldn’t be doing you any favors. Edan, you probably have a good rapport with him. The two of you could go.”

  “What’s the point?” Edan asked. “He has no reason to tell us anything. We have nothing he wants except you, Daia, and we’re not giving you up.”

  Gavin took another bite. “But if he knew who the king was, he would. Wouldn’t he?”

  Edan raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying you want to tell him?”

  He didn’t want to, but if the Lordover Tern had some information or artifacts that might help him vanquish the demon Ritol, he would. Gavin used his fingernail to pick a bit of food from between two teeth. “He’s going to find out sooner or later. If he has knowledge or artifacts or something that could help us, I guess there’s no reason not to tell him sooner.”

  Edan clapped his arm. “I knew you’d come around.”

  “Let me do it, though,” Gavin said. Edan’s smile fell. “Or at least barter for it. Don’t send him that letter you wrote.”

  Daia was the first to finish her meal and push her empty plate away. “Before we leave, I want to get you fitted for mail. I’ve made an appointment at the armorer.”

  “How did you get an appointment so soon?” Edan asked.

  “I arose early and banged on his door until he opened it.” Daia smiled sweetly. “Thodas made my father’s armor. He’s among the best.”

  “Money’s scarce.” Gavin took one last bite of food. “I can wear my cuirass for a bit longer.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not sufficient protection for my king. It has a three-inch gash in the front.”

  “And yet I’m still alive.”

  “You were lucky Toren’s blade missed your heart. You’ve made me your champion, and my duty is to protect you. Before you fight Ritol, you’re getting mail. Don’t worry about the cost. I have a plan.”

  Ga
vin smiled and wiped grease from his chin with his sleeve. He liked that she hadn’t stopped being Daia when she realized he was the rune solver. People would bow and scrape, call him ‘my liege,’ kiss his ring and all that crap, but as long as his friends treated him as Gavin, and not as The King, he could manage the rest. “Cost ain’t the only problem. Those things take months to make.” He pushed his plate away with a long, satisfying belch.

  “Ugh. Gavin,” Daia said.

  Edan looked at him with eyebrows scrunched in disgust. “Be glad my mother isn’t here.”

  Gavin chuckled. “Yeh, she’d soap my neck for that, king or not.”

  “Is your cuirass in your room?” Daia asked. When he nodded, she stood. “I’ll get it. Thodas should be able to repair it before we leave.”

  The square in the city center was probably the busiest section of Tern. Every building was three stories tall, with a shop of some kind occupying the bottom two, and living quarters on the third. Among the popular grocer and butcher was also a jeweler, clothier, stationer, confectioner, apothecary, watchmaker — every type of business someone could need, and even some no one needed. Gavin stared at the lottery office as he walked past. People walked in with money and came out with nothing but hope. That didn’t seem right.

  Daia stood at the open door of the armorer’s shop, waiting patiently. “Is there a problem?”

  “There will be.” He squeezed past her and went inside.

  The shop’s front room was so small, Gavin could touch both walls with his arms extended. A door opened in the rear wall, filling the room with the heavy clang of hammers on anvils. A muscular, middle-aged buck entered wearing a leather apron, his skin glistening with sweat.

  “Good morning, good morning,” the armorsmith sang. “Welcome to Thodasworks.”

  “Thodas,” Daia said, “this is the friend I told you about, Gavin. He needs a mail hauberk.”

  “We’re so pleased you’ve come in, my good sir. I’m Thodas Wirgenfed, master armorer. It’s an honor to meet you and my pleasure to craft a fine suit of armor to meet your battling needs.”

  The tedious greeting threatened to overfill Gavin’s mug of patience. Had Daia told the man his secret? He raised his brow at her to ask silently, and she answered with a shrug.

  “First, my lord, I’ll measure you for a perfect fit,” Thodas said. “If you’ll kindly stand with your arms raised... That’s perfect. Wonderful. I can tell you’ve done this before.” He pulled a bundle from his pocket and unrolled it: a strip of cloth with black marks at regular intervals along its length.

  “How long’s this going to take?” Gavin asked. He’d been fitted for clothes before, but he preferred the things his sister-in-law Liera sewed for him. She knew his measurements and always left extra room for him to move. The clothiers he’d gone to before had without exception cut his shirts too small. They always ripped at the seams during battles. If this armor made him sluggish, Daia could holler all she wanted. He wouldn’t wear it.

  “The measuring won’t take but a few minutes, my lord. The mail will require three months.”

  “See?” Gavin told Daia.

  “Any chance you could finish it sooner, Thodas?” Daia asked.

  The armorsmith wrapped the tape around Gavin’s waist. “These things take time, even with my diligent crew.”

  Daia smiled sweetly. “Isn’t there some way to get it done more quickly?”

  Thodas sighed. “We’re nearly finished with a hauberk for the Lordover Saliria’s captain. I suppose I could add links and size it for you instead. He’ll be mighty red about the delay. I’ll have to add twenty percent to your price to offer him a discount for his trouble.”

  “Twenty percent!” Gavin spat.

  “That’ll be fine.” Daia winked at him. “Two days, then?”

  “A week,” Thodas said. He wrapped the tape around Gavin’s upper arm.

  “I ain’t waiting that long,” Gavin told her.

  “Could you repair his cuirass in the meantime?” She showed it to Thodas and stuck a finger through the gash in the front. “We have to leave this morning.”

  Thodas eyed Gavin with a long look. “You took that from a corpse?”

  To explain that he’d been wearing it at the time would undoubtedly raise more questions. “Can you mend it or not?”

  “Give me an hour.”

  Daia clapped Gavin’s arm. “Good. We can leave after that, yes?”

  He sighed. The ride to Saliria would take roughly six hours, and they could stay the night at Rogan’s house. “I s’pose.”

  They left the shop an hour later with Gavin in a soured mood. Edan was going to choke when he learned of this. “We can’t afford mail, let alone extra charges.”

  “It’s all right. My father has money to litter with.”

  Gavin stopped in the street. “Wait. The Lordover Tern’s paying for it? Did he agree to that?”

  She grinned wickedly. “Not exactly, but he owes you money from taxes he’s collected. Just take it off his bill.”

  He groaned. This wasn’t how he’d meant to start his relationship with the lordover.

  They were nearly at the inn when someone behind them screamed.

  Aldras Gar, the sword whispered in his mind.

  Chapter 6

  The following day was somber and cool, fitting for what had just transpired. A breeze tossed Brodas’s hair and billowed his tunic. A drop of rain tapped his head and another his face beneath his right eye, mixing with the tear that ran down his cheek. This should never have happened. Kinshield would pay for this, the bloody bastard. Brodas felt the conviction burn in his chest.

  He knelt on a folded cloth laid on the mound of fresh dirt and brushed a few stray crumbs of soil from the flat stone marking Warrick’s grave. In his fist he clutched a gem, smooth and warmed by his touch, and concentrated on the task at hand.

  “Otra kerven,” he whispered. He drew his trembling finger over the surface of the stone, spelling out Warrick Rone Darktalon, beloved cousin and friend. In the path his finger made, a dark line appeared and deepened, seeming to burrow into the rock itself. “Good-bye, my cousin,” he said softly. “You were like a brother.” The only sons of twin mothers, he and Warrick had been born only four weeks apart and had been each other’s constant companion their entire lives. They were more than cousins bound by blood. They were friends bound by love. “I will avenge you. That’s my most solemn promise. I’ll have justice for your murder.” He wiped the drop clinging to his lashes before rising. Several paces away, the gravedigger leaned on the end of his shovel, respectfully bowing his head. Red came forward and took a long look at the grave marker before giving it his customary two-finger salute.

  “Let’s go,” Brodas said. His steps fell heavy across the grass of the cemetery while his thoughts continued to circle the injustices perpetrated by not only Gavin Kinshield, but his entire family, all the way back to King Arek’s champion. Cirang waited by the horses and greeted him with a respectful bow.

  “Do you need to send word to family members?” she asked.

  Brodas supposed he should send a message to their mothers. That could wait. Now they needed to get away from Sohan before the Viragon Sisterhood found them. “Later,” he said as he climbed into the saddle. “Now we ride for Calsojourn. My former associate, Sithral Tyr, had a farmhouse near there.” He heeled his horse and pulled the collar of his shirt up to shield his neck from the cool gust that sent shivers across his skin.

  “Is he there?” Red asked, riding up alongside Brodas. “We could use his help.”

  “He’s dead,” Brodas snapped. He shouldn’t blame Red for not knowing these things; the battler had been away.

  “Are you certain, my lord?” Cirang asked from his left.

  Did she have no thought in her head? “You saw him leave my home with Brawna. Days later, she arrived at the Rune Cave with Kinshield and your fellow Sister, Daia Saberheart. Ask me again whether I’m certain.”

  “Sorry, my
lord.”

  “My liege,” Brodas said. “I’m the rightful king, and I prefer you use the correct honorific when addressing me.”

  “Sorry, my liege,” she said. Red smirked, and she shot him a seething glare. “What the hell are you smiling at, you ugly bastard?”

  Brodas held up a hand. “The last thing I need is for you two to be at each other in a jealous feud. Red has seniority with me, Cirang. You’ll defer to him until you earn my respect. Red, don’t antagonize her. Honestly, must I treat you as children?”

  “No, my liege,” Red said, though a trace of his derisive smile remained on his mouth.

  They rode hard to reach Rheodry before nightfall. Brodas paid for a room for himself and one for Red and Cirang to share. If they were going to work together, they might as well start getting comfortable with each other. He undressed and lay abed, going over the recent events in his mind and trying to devise a plan that would put him within reach of the throne that should have been his.

  “I claim the bed.” Brodas heard Cirang through the wall as easily as though there were no wall. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

  “I’ll arm wrestle you for it,” Red answered.

  “You’d lose. I understand why you’re loyal to him,” she said more quietly. “He’s a powerful man, the kind who gets what he wants, but why does he think he’s the rightful king? He didn’t solve the runes.”

  Brodas scowled indignantly, though he supposed it was a legitimate question. She didn’t know he was descended from King Arek’s cousin, a man who should have been the successor to the throne. No one did. Not yet.

  “Don’t ask me, witless shrew. Ask him.”

  “You just follow people blindly?”

  “No more than you. What happened to his eyebrows?” Red asked.

  “He was burned in the fight with Kinshield. If you’d been here, you’d have known.”

  “If I’d been here, he wouldn’t’ve gotten burnt, you ugly sow.”

  A few snappish remarks from Cirang were followed by a few crude comments from Red, then they seemed to settle into an agreement. Brodas was astonished when he realized the sounds that awoke him late into the night were those of the bed frame creaking and grunts of passion. Red had better not be ravishing her, he thought groggily. He could ill afford to have her storm away in anger or, worse, kill Red in his sleep. Brodas had few enough allies remaining as it was.