Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1]

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "What are you doing out here?” he asked when he reached her.

  "I needed to get away."

  "That's the truth. You can't go anywhere without hearing battle stories or battle plans.” Kalsan reached for her hand. He cocked his head to one side and smiled crookedly at her. “Where were you going?"

  "To explore the woods. I doubt enemy soldiers would be hiding in it,” she added, forestalling any protest he might make.

  "I should hope not. I've done three patrols through there already.” He nodded toward the trees. “There are several nice, shady spots there—private places—that I've been meaning to mention to you."

  "Oh?” She let him tug on her arm to get her walking again.

  "Not as nice as our place back at Faxinor, but rather charming.” He chuckled and slid his arm around her waist. “I'm just curious why you didn't ask me along."

  "You, I thought, had other plans for this afternoon.” She leaned into the delicious comfort of his arm around her. It amazed her again how much she enjoyed such simple contact.

  "My plans can go drown in the sea if they interfere with my more important duties."

  "Such as?"

  "Tending to the happiness and comfort of the Sword Bearer.” He pulled his face into a somber mask of pompous dignity, drawing laughter from her. “That's much better. You've been too serious lately."

  "I can't imagine why.” They stepped into the shadows of the forest. The trees rose tall and thick around them, immediately cutting them off from view of the monastery's walls.

  "I like to hear you laugh. What's wrong with that?” he asked, chuckling a little when she shook her head.

  "I sound like a donkey when I laugh. It's from when I was so ill. And ... it still hurts sometimes to laugh."

  "I know. I can hear the pain. But I hear your strength and healing, and your determination to know joy despite it all. That's what's so beautiful about you,” he finished on a whisper, drawing her close.

  "Kal,” she sighed, feeling herself melt as he brushed the lightest kiss across her lips. “You make me feel..."

  "Hmm?” Kalsan drew back enough to see her face. Mischief and hunger sparkled in his eyes, making her blush. “What?"

  "I don't have the words. Complete, maybe. That's the closest I can come."

  "Flatterer.” He shook her a little. “This moment, all I feel is lustful. Forgive me."

  "No.” She laughed when he blinked, startled. “You flatter me, my Lord Kalsan. And what's wrong with feeling lustful inside our marriage vows? I think this is a gift from Yomnian, too."

  "My wise lady.” Kalsan tucked a wisp of hair back into her kerchief. “Only you could see Yomnian's guiding in something so earthy.” He nodded, drawing her close so her head rested on his shoulder again. “Maybe everything in this world is good in its proper place and time."

  "The way Yomnian wanted it to be, before we sinned."

  "Hmm. Yes. But I must tell you what is not in its proper place. This dress on the battlefield.” He scowled when she could only laugh. “Every warrior will watch you and not fight."

  "It's just for today, you know. To get out unseen."

  "Why would you want to do that?” Kalsan brushed a soft kiss across her lips.

  "I wanted to get away from everyone for a while."

  "Even me?” he whispered, tightening his arms around her.

  "No, but...” Gladly, she let him stop her words with kisses.

  "But what?” he whispered, releasing her mouth for a few seconds.

  "I don't remember."

  Kalsan grinned and captured her mouth again. Laughter bubbled between them, and they clung to each other until the quiet of the forest took over.

  "What we should really do is sneak back to our room and catch a few hours of sleep,” he said after a moment. To give lie to his words, he tightened his arms around her.

  "But?"

  "But we are warriors, and though these woods were declared safe this morning doesn't mean they are now."

  "We could have a pleasant walk, at the very least.” She slid her arms between them and pushed. “Kalsan—"

  He resisted, sparks appearing in his eyes. “Where do you think you're going, wife?"

  "We have to patrol."

  He grinned when she pushed harder. “Right now?"

  "Yes, right now,” she retorted, pushing with the heels of her hands planted square on his breastbone. Kalsan laced his fingers together behind her back, locking her tighter into his arms. “Sometimes, you are so—stubborn!"

  "Thank you, my lady. The compliment is returned in double force.” He kissed her nose, drawing a squeal from her.

  A plan came to her. She continued pressing back, stretching his arms to their limit. She balanced on one foot. Kalsan sensed the change and looked down. She stomped hard on his booted foot. Her bare foot felt bruised, but Kalsan let out a yelp. His hold loosened for a moment. She threw herself against him and dropped to her knees, to leap and twist free and run.

  Laughing, Kalsan raced after her. Andrixine stumbled on forest debris, bruising her feet more. She wished she had worn her boots, even if they did look ridiculous with her skirts. She skimmed over piles of leaves and darted behind trees, trying to throw him off her trail. Her heart hammered, and her breath caught in her lungs. It was hard to run when laughter tried to bend her double.

  Kalsan didn't shout after her, all too aware of the possible danger in their play. Andrixine raced up an incline, gaining a few seconds. Kalsan raced up after her, arms outstretched. She heard multiple hoof beats and paused to discern the direction. Kalsan leaped, wrapping his arms around her. They tumbled down the incline, picking up bits of twigs and leaves and moss until they hit flat ground and slowed to a stop. They lay tangled together, helpless in shudders of laughter.

  "You're a terrible man, my Lord Kalsan,” she sputtered, and wriggled as he kissed the nape of her neck.

  "Indeed he is,” a tenor voice said, accompanied by hoof beats entering the clearing where they had landed. “Kalsan of Hestrin, don't you have anything better to do than tumble peasant girls almost under the king's nose?"

  "That voice,” Kalsan growled in her ear. He released her and struggled to sit up. “Vorberon, how nice to see you again."

  Andrixine recognized the name. Kalsan had told her about the officious bully who used the king's authority like a club. Vorberon had tried to intimidate Kalsan during his short trip to Cereston to track her uncle, until he learned the young warrior was to marry the Sword Bearer. Her husband was anything but pleased to see the man now.

  Andrixine rolled over and sat up. She brushed her hands over herself, making sure her clothes were straight and nothing exposed. After one look at the tall, broad-shouldered blond man in the king's green and black livery, she knew she wouldn't have liked him even if Kalsan hadn't told her about him. Not his cool, slightly scandalized tone of voice or the arrogant tilt to his head or the way his lip curled a little when she faced him. His gaze roved over her, noting the curves in her bodice.

  "I assume we're almost to Snowy Mount,” Vorberon said. He dismounted his chestnut gelding and strode over to the heap of leaves and twigs they sat in.

  "Through the woods.” Kalsan's voice tightened, sending a thrill through Andrixine.

  "Hurry on ahead and tell them the king is coming."

  "Isn't that your job?"

  "It is, but you'll obey me.” Vorberon held out a hand to Andrixine. She refused his help and stayed seated in the leaves.

  "How close is the king?"

  "Close enough that if you don't tell the High Scholar and the Sword Bearer he's coming, both sides will be upset with you,” he said, tone light, a nasty gleam in his eyes.

  "The Sword Bearer knows,” Andrixine said, her voice breaking slightly from smothered laughter. Kalsan glared at her—then worked to stifle his own grin.

  "What would a peasant slut know about the Sword Bearer?” Vorberon snapped.

  "Watch your tongue, Vorberon!” Kalsan leap
ed to his feet, fists clenched.

  "No, you watch yours,” Vorberon said, breaking out in nasty laughter. He gestured over his shoulder as four foot soldiers stepped out of the trees behind him. All four were the type of muscular hulks with minimal intelligence that weak men with much power kept around them. “What do you think will happen, Hestrin, when your wife learns about your betrayal?"

  "My wife?” His voice cracked.

  "His wife?” Andrixine wanted to laugh, but it chilled in her chest as she realized Vorberon threatened Kalsan. “You don't know what you're talking about."

  "Not that I blame him for playing while he can,” Vorberon said with a sneer as his guards stepped closer. They watched Kalsan carefully, especially the sword in his belt. “The Sword Bearer is manly enough she would look ridiculous in a dress."

  "Oh, really?” Andrixine bit her lip against laughing. “You've seen her, have you?” She grinned at Kalsan, and saw he glared at Vorberon.

  "I don't need to see her. Just look at the Sword Sisters—every one of them took up the sword because no man would have them. You, girl, will play with me, too, or your sweetheart could lose his head.” Vorberon reached out and grabbed at Andrixine's arm.

  "Leave her be!” Kalsan growled. He flung the courtier to the ground, making him tumble backwards.

  The four guards attacked en mass. Kalsan ducked and rolled aside and leaped to his feet fighting. Andrixine turned to find a stout stick for a club, to help, but Vorberon's arms snaked around her from behind.

  "Now we can have some fun.” He chuckled, his breath hot against the back of her neck when she started to struggle. He had her arms pinned at her sides.

  "Let her go!” Kalsan shouted and tried to break through the wall of men. Two held onto his arms, so he couldn't pull his sword free. A gloved fist hit his face and blood spattered.

  Andrixine muffled a squeal when Vorberon shifted one hand to search her bodice. Hot fury flowed through her, fighting the chill of terror and memory. She freed one arm and found her knife. It flashed in the sunlight as she slashed down. Vorberon jerked aside so she only sliced his hip. That distracted him enough she could turn and twist free, and in the process bring a knee up into his gut.

  Vorberon gasped and hunched over, one clutching hand swinging out and snatching at her kerchief. Andrixine slammed her doubled fists down on the back of his neck, and he crumpled like a puppet with no strings, yanking the kerchief free.

  Kalsan shouted wordless rage. She turned to see one opponent sway a moment before falling flat on his face. That left three still fighting him.

  Vorberon's sword lay in clear view. Andrixine knelt on his chest and yanked the weapon free. The man blinked and stared at her through tear-filled eyes.

  "Move, and I'll gut you like the filthy pig you are,” she growled as she got up, digging her knee into his chest one last time. She turned back to the fighters, the sword raised. Another man staggered back from the fight. He turned, saw her bring the sword within a hand of his chest, and froze. His face turned white in the forest shadows.

  Hoof beats broke through the sounds of flesh thudding on flesh and men shouting in pain and anger. Andrixine stepped toward the combatants, hesitant to strike without warning. They were the king's men, after all. The man she held at sword's point broke and ran.

  Riders appeared around the bend in the forest trail. One man shouted and pointed. The cry was echoed. She heard someone give blurred orders, and suddenly more men in livery and fighting leathers appeared, leaping off their horses to race up and separate the fighters.

  Kalsan struggled several moments longer, until he realized the two men he fought were also being held. His face was bruised, blood trickling from his nose to clot in his new beard. He turned, searching until he found her. His eyes widened, and he grinned when he saw the sword in her hands, her warrior braids hanging free.

  "Let him go,” she told the two horsemen holding Kalsan.

  "Not without the king's orders ... Sword Bearer?” the taller, red-haired one ventured. The double cord of blue and silver binding her braids was a telling clue, she realized, even if she hadn't been threatening him with a sword.

  "Where is the king?” she demanded. From the corner of her eye, Andrixine saw Vorberon begin to struggle to his feet with the help of more liveried men.

  There was a commotion at the head of the column of riders. One man dismounted and approached. Andrixine studied him, noted his cloak and trousers, rich in color and weave, yet simple in cut; noted the fine make of his helmet and the dull silver gleam of his chain mail shirt; noted how some people moved out of his way and others followed in careful attendance. Dark red hair like banked coals, blue-green eyes, wide cheekbones and a nose like a hawk, Rafnar, king of Reshor was a striking man. He looked enough like his cousin, Commander Jeshra, that Andrixine would know him even without the other clues. The moment she thought that, Jeshra herself appeared from behind the king. She nodded to Andrixine, face somber but eyes dancing with laughter.

  "Lady Andrixine Faxinor?” King Rafnar said, giving her a nodding bow, one power to another.

  "Majesty.” She curtsied—difficult with a sword. “Please tell your men to release my husband."

  "Would you kindly tell me what happened?” He gestured for his men to do so.

  "The strumpet tried to kill me,” Vorberon said as two servants helped him limp to meet the king.

  "My wife doesn't try, Vorberon. She succeeds,” Kalsan growled.

  "He ordered his men to attack my husband so he could rape me. Or rather, try to rape me,” she countered. She didn't fight her chilly smile when Vorberon's face went pale and his mouth dropped open. Panic made his eyes dull.

  "That is a serious charge, my Lady Faxinor.” The king frowned, then turned to Kalsan who joined Andrixine and mopped at his bloody face with his sleeve. “Kalsan of Hestrin and Faxinor?"

  "Your service, your Majesty.” Kalsan managed to keep the growl from his voice. He bowed, but shallowly. Despite his torn, dirty clothes he looked more regal than two-thirds of the nobles surrounding them now.

  "You serve me well by serving your wife so well.” His stern face softened a little when Kalsan straightened and some of his anger faded. “What do you add to the charge Lady Andrixine has made?"

  "Vorberon is a fool.” Kalsan rested his hand on Andrixine's shoulder. “He saw us sparking and thought I betrayed my wife. After all, how can a woman warrior be lovely?"

  "How indeed?” the king murmured. A hint of amusement touched his eyes. “Go on."

  He appeared not to notice when chuckles rippled through the long column of soldiers and nobles fading into the forest shadows behind him. A good portion of that laughter was female, and Andrixine looked long enough to see many warriors with Sword Sister purple in their braids.

  "He called Andrixine a peasant slut and then said my wife was too manly to be a woman. Then he demanded that Andrixine ... entertain him. He set his men on me when I defended her. We never really had a chance to explain the truth,” he added, shrugging. Andrixine felt the shaking in his hand that rested on her shoulder, and knew he held her to hide it.

  "Rape is punished by death. Attempted rape by castration,” King Rafnar said. “What do you say in your defense, Vorberon?"

  "Your Majesty...” Vorberon shuddered. He turned to Andrixine, opened his mouth to spill the pleading in his eyes—and stopped short when he saw his sword in her hand.

  "Stupidity and arrogance shouldn't be punished so drastically,” Andrixine said, surprising herself with her words. She turned the sword and offered it to the servant supporting Vorberon. The man's hand shook as he reached to take it.

  "Indeed not, Lady Andrixine.” The king smiled. “We do have more serious matters to discuss.” He offered her his arm.

  "Very serious, Majesty. We have already fought a small force from Sendorland, and the men we captured say more will appear any day now."

  "Then it seems we have arrived just in time."

  * * * *
>
  THE ECHOING, STONE-PAVED refectory at Snowy Mount became the king's council chamber. Andrixine sat at King Rafnar's right hand, the sheathed Spirit Sword resting on the table before her. The tables had all been moved to form a disjointed oval, with Jultar, Brother Klee, High Scholar Lucius, Kalsan and the members of her war band near the head table; Commander Jeshra and Commander Caleen of the Cereston Sword Sister Chapter House, with their seconds, and the king's counselors and warlords sat further down. Sword Sisters stood along the walls and before the doors as guards, dressed for battle. They watched Andrixine as if she were the only person in the room.

  She sat still and listened, weighing the news the king's men had brought. She didn't need the sword's gift of visions to see Reshor would be in trouble if they listened to the blandishments of the Sendorland envoy. He had come to the king speaking of peace, of holding back the raider bands that crept through the barrier mountain range, in exchange for the return of land Sendorland had lost generations ago.

  Andrixine knew the envoy would claim Lord Mordon had acted without King Drahas’ knowledge or approval. From what her mother had taught her of Sendorland, Lord Mordon would not dare move without the king's knowledge. The envoy was there to delay Reshor's preparations until his own military had the advantage.

  "Yomnian, guide me. Work in me. Work through me. I am your servant,” Andrixine whispered. Beside her, Kalsan held her hand under the table.

  The Spirit Sword's glow brightened, flickering with white and gold. Kalsan noticed and turned to watch. Then the counselors past him saw and reacted.

  Prompted by a silent voice in her mind and by stories of previous Sword Bearers, Andrixine stood and raised the sword, scabbard in one hand and hilt in the other, stopping the king in mid-sentence.

  "Majesty, will you listen to what the Spirit Sword says?” She almost smiled when the king nodded, eyes widening. Almost smiled, but for the certainty she would not like what she saw.

  Andrixine slid the blade free, raised it to point to the ceiling and closed her eyes. Silently, she prayed what Brother Klee had taught her, to calm and open her mind. The light grew stronger, piercing her closed lids. She could almost feel the fearing wonder of the counselors around the table.