by K. C. May
“Oh! It’s quite dark for ridin’.”
“We’ll manage.”
The innkeeper gestured towards the dining and betting hall, unusually quiet that evening. “In that case, let’s waste no more time seeing you and your companions fed. It would be my great pleasure to provide your meals and drinks free of charge. Won’t you follow me?” At Gavin’s nod, he led the way through the double doors of the dining hall.
Gavin was surprised by the sight before him as he entered. The pit was empty. The usual crowd of eager gamblers, standing before the table waving their coins in the air, was gone. On the deck circling the pit, dozens of empty tables stood like gravestones. Fewer than a dozen people sat in the usually loud and raucous hall. There was a family of five, whose children played with wooden figurines on the table while they ate, three nuns from the Temple of Asti-nayas, whose white, hooded robes obscured their hair and breasts from immodest glances, and three battlers who were just as boisterous as battlers normally were when gathered together to share tales.
The innkeeper asked them to sit wherever they would like, and then scurried into the kitchen, barking orders.
The room went quiet. Gavin nodded to the nuns, who stared at him with mouths agape. “Domi,” he said, using their titles out of respect. He also smiled and nodded at the family and wished them a good evening.
A chair scraped loudly on the floor as a tall, scraggly-bearded warrant knight stood. “Well, well.” Calinor’s beard was a little grayer, the lines framing his eyes a little deeper, but his smile was wider than Gavin had ever seen it as he approached.
Gavin offered his hand, but Calinor pulled him into a tight, brotherly embrace instead.
“Gavin, damn it’s good to see you’re still alive,” Calinor said as he pulled back, laughter shining in his eyes, along with something else. Something akin to pride. “Someone’s angry husband ha’nt caught up to you yet?”
“No, but if he comes here looking for me,“ Gavin started with a grin.
“I ha’nt seen you,” Calinor finished. It was an old joke they repeated on every meeting. “Would you look at you, all cleaned up and shiny, and with a new sword, too.”
“Yeh, though sometimes I think it’s more than just a sword.” Gavin pulled it from its scabbard to show to his friend.
The blacksmith had used a unique pattern welding technique that gave the blade the appearance of scales. Two intertwined snakes formed the hilt, with the head of one snake as the pommel, and the head of the other at the junction of guard and blade. Four of the five gems he’d received from deciphering the King’s Runes made the snakes’ eyes. It was more than a weapon; it was a work of art.
Calinor whistled his admiration. “Never seen anything like that. You get it dirty yet?”
“Plenty. You’re looking good, Calinor. How’ve you been?”
“Spent the summer in Calsojourn helpin’ my nephew train for the joustin’ tournament, but it’s time to get back to work. How the hell are you, my friend?”
“The work is tough, but I ain’t hungry anymore.” Gavin laughed and patted his belly and then realized he’d lapsed into his old speech habits. Daia rolled her eyes at him, but she said nothing.
“I’m glad to know you’ve taken a wife. I hear she makes a good queen.”
“The best,” Gavin replied with a smile. “Come to Tern and I’ll introduce you.” He introduced his companions to his friend. Calinor was the first warrant knight Gavin had ever befriended, as honorable and loyal as they came. They’d traveled, fought and shared many a meal together as warrant knights. It was a lifestyle that suited Gavin and one he often pined for of late.
The others at Calinor’s table had approached as well, and Gavin greeted them with a handshake. “Kesse, good to see you.” Mikesse had started balding young, while at the same time sprouting hair everywhere else, and a lot of it. When he was shirtless, Mikesse looked like a blond bear. He was a good man and a fine battler, but he was known best for botching every joke he tried to tell.
“And you. Let me buy you a drink,” Mikesse said with a grip so tight it was nearly painful. He’d originally been warranted years ago by the corrupt Lordover Ambryce, but when the old lordover died and his son inherited the title, all the former lordover’s existing warrants were rescinded. Mikesse was distraught, having served his warrant lord with integrity for years. Gavin brought him before the Lordover Lalorian to speak on his behalf. Mikesse received a new warrant, and had been buying Gavin ales ever since.
Finally, Gavin offered his hand to Fyncent, a short buck with unruly, black hair and an eye for tough women.
“Good to see you again, Gavin. Guess I should call you King Gavin now.” Though Fyncent spoke to Gavin, his eyes darted to Daia.
“I’m in the company of friends. Call me what you always have.”
“It’s a good thing, Barto ain’t here,” Mikesse said. “Your champion would cut him down for callin’ you what he always has.”
The men laughed, looking appreciatively at Daia.
“Who’s Barto?” she asked.
Fyncent snorted. “Prob’ly the ugliest, most ill-tempered and foul-mouthed buck who ever lived. I can’t say what he calls Gavin without blushin’.” He winked at her.
“Mind if we join you?” Gavin asked, gesturing to the table where they’d been sitting.
Calinor grabbed two chairs from a nearby table. “We’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
Before Gavin could take his seat, Daia held him back with a grip on his arm. “Do you trust these bucks?” she asked quietly.
“I do. I’ve known them for years.”
“And their hazes don’t tell you something’s amiss?”
He studied her for a moment, wondering whether she had a reason to be uneasy. He unfocused his eyes and scanned them, but nothing in their hazes gave him pause. “No. Is something wrong?”
“No. Just being cautious with my king’s well-being.” She took a seat beside Gavin, and Fyncent sat so close beside Daia, his thigh brushed hers. She shot him a scowl and scooted her chair a couple inches farther from him.
As Gavin settled into his chair, he noticed the nuns and the family staring at him, whispering amongst themselves. He thought about inviting them to join him, but for one evening, he just wanted to relax with friends and be himself instead of having to act like a king.
“Listen,” Daia said, “we’re pursuing an escaped criminal — a former Sister. We could use your swords, if you’re willing.”
Calinor nodded definitively. “My sword’s yours, Gavin.”
“A Viragon Sister,” Fyncent said, rubbing his chin with a lascivious grin. “Sounds like good sport, but I’ve committed to accompanying those nuns over there to Delam.”
“She nearly killed Vandra and would’ve killed the rest of us,” Daia said. “This is a skilled and dangerous battler, not sport.”
“I’d go too,” Mikesse said, “but I’m seeing that family to Sohan. Don’t expect to run into any beyonders, though, thanks to you. Now that you’re the king, shouldn’t you be sittin’ on your arse, drinkin’ wine and admirin’ the gold rings on all your fingers?”
Gavin burst out laughing so suddenly, he spurted a mouthful of ale across the table.
Daia jerked away, her face a mask of disgust. “Ugh, Gavin. Please!”
“Sorry,” he said through his laughter, “but can you imagine it?”
Fyncent used his hand to wipe off the table in front of Daia, then wiped his hand on his trousers. “Kesse’s got a point. How’s it the four o’you are huntin’ a fugitive? Shouldn’t you be in Tern while your...” He eyed Daia lustily. “...battlers track her down?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin could see her stiffen, but she said nothing. On another day, he’d have encouraged Fyncent to misbehave just for the amusement of seeing her teach him a lesson.
“She was taking me to get something she had hidden and attacked Vandra during the night. She hasn’t a shred o’decency in her. If she dies
afore we get her back to gaol, it’d save me having to hang her.”
“We leave at first light, then?” Calinor asked.
“No,” Gavin said. “We just stopped for the meal. We’ll ride another couple hours afore we camp for the night. Appreciate the help.”
“Then we need to drink fast,” Mikesse said. “A toast to our new king.”
While they waited for their food, they plied him with ale and begged for stories about his ascendancy and the battle against the demon Ritol in its own realm. He exaggerated a little, as all battlers did, but he gave due credit to Daia and Feanna for keeping him alive.
“How’d you two meet, anyway?” Fyncent asked, wagging his finger between Gavin and Daia. “There’s a lot o’red battlers walkin’ around, thinkin’ you should’ve chosen a man as your champion.”
Daia and Gavin looked at each other. He’d thought about the backlash he might get for appointing a woman, but no one had said anything directly to him about it. “Anyone who has a problem with it should talk to me,” he said.
“Or me,” Vandra said.
Brawna nodded her agreement.
Daia crossed her arms and leaned confidently back in her chair. “I’ll duel anyone who thinks I’m not the right horse for the race, starting with any of you.”
“Oh, I never said that,” Fyncent said, holding up his palms. “Just heard it from bucks who wouldn’t’ve got the job anyway.” He chuckled. “But I’ll arm wrestle you for a quick tumble afore you ride.”
“That will never happen.”
“You then?” Fyncent asked Brawna.
The younger girl blushed. She was all of seventeen years old and possibly had never been tumbled.
“Don’t mind him,” Gavin told her. “He favors strong, tough women, but he’s harmless.”
“He could show a little more respect,” Vandra said. “If he makes the mistake of putting his hands where they don’t belong, he’ll find himself without one.”
Fyncent elbowed Mikesse. “See what I mean? Don’t that kind o’talk get you hot?”
Mikesse crooked an eyebrow at him and shook his head.
Calinor set his tankard down and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me more about this former Sister you’re huntin’. What was her crime?”
Two barmaids arrived with plates of meat, fruit and vegetables and set them onto the table. Gavin grabbed a leg of chicken before he even had a plate in front of him, and set his teeth into it.
“Murder, to start with,” he said. “She also helped Ravenkind escape justice and kidnapped my family.”
“And that’s just half of it,” Daia said. She took a piece of chicken and started to eat ravenously, forgetting her dainty manners. Gavin smiled, proud of her.
Fyncent asked, “There’s more?”
Gavin nodded. “You won’t believe it, but she’s actually two people after a fashion.” He and Daia took turns telling the story of Sithral Tyr and the broken soulcele token.
“Sithral Tyr?” Calinor asked, throwing a chicken bone onto his wooden plate in disgust. “I’ve been lookin’ for that whoreson for six years. You’re tellin’ me he’s dead?”
“He was dead,” Daia said. “I killed him, but his spirit was released from the soulcele token and now lives in Cirang’s body.”
“That’s the strangest thing I ever heard,” Mikesse said, crossing his arms.
Calinor nodded. “I’m ready to leave when you are. If that’s Sithral Tyr, I want to see him die. Gavin, if you’d give me the pleasure o’runnin’ my blade through that bastard’s black heart, I’d be grateful.”
“What has Tyr done to you?” Vandra asked.
“He done nothin’ to me, but he spent years roundin’ up orphans livin’ on the streets and sellin’ them to slavers who dock near Lavene at night. I met him when he first came to Thendylath. Damn near got himself killed by some brigands in an alley. He seemed like a decent buck at the time, naive but kindly. I should’ve let him die.”
When the meal was eaten and the flasks were refilled with water, Gavin left a handsome gratuity for the barmaids who had to clean up the mess on the table. The battlers called for their horses and helped the stable hands saddle them up.
Fyncent and Mikesse walked with them outside, shook hands with them all and wished them well.
“There’s still time to change your mind about that tumble,” Fyncent said.
Daia made a rude gesture with one hand.
“Any idea where she might be headin’?” Calinor asked.
“Let’s see if I can find her.” Gavin connected with Daia and used the gems in his sword to strengthen his magic. He let his hidden eye float up high above the trees. Though it was night, this type of vision didn’t require light. He searched first north, looking for Cirang’s dark, turbulent kho-bent haze, then south. Something resembling a haze lay beside a stream not far from the calm white haze of a horse. All animal hazes were plain white, he’d noticed, where human hazes were usually blue, yellow or white with colorful accents. In time, he’d learned to tell horse hazes from deer, fox, squirrel and dog by the way they pulsed, like a heartbeat. The one thing he couldn’t do was differentiate between two horses. They looked identical to him.
“South,” he said. “She’s heading towards Ambryce and has a good lead on us, but she’s camping for the night. We’ll close the distance, though she’ll reach the city well before we do.”
“Could we send a bird?” Brawna asked. “If there are any warrant knights or former Sisters in Ambryce, they might be able to apprehend her for us.”
“This village has no roost,” Vandra said. “We’d have to go back to Calsojourn.”
That was something Gavin would change. The Lucky Inn was strategically positioned for all travelers. The only reason the village hadn’t grown into a larger city was because the nearest water source was an hour’s ride away, and they relied on rain barrels to provide their supply.
While they rode by the glow of Gavin’s light ball, his companions reminisced about meeting Gavin for the first time, each telling his tale. Calinor he’d met while fighting beyonders during a storm, when the rift kept opening and letting more of the monsters through. Twenty-four lay dead by the time they were satisfied no more would come that night. They’d shared a skin of wine while Calinor stitched Gavin’s deeper cuts and chaffed him about being too aggressive and overeager.
He’d first met Daia when she enlisted his aid finding the kidnapped blacksmith who’d crafted Aldras Gar. It wasn’t until she fought Sithral Tyr on the road that he realized how skilled a fighter she was. Tyr had two blades to her one, and she didn’t even have a shield, yet she came away without a scratch, while Gavin had been run through the lung by Tyr’s companion, Toren Meobryn.
He’d met Brawna in the woods after deciphering the fourth king’s rune. The Viragon Sisterhood, under the control of Brodas Ravenkind, had sent battlers to the rune cave to lie in wait for him. Gavin had killed Brawna’s companion for attacking him, but he’d spared Brawna, whose innocence and concern for him had made it clear her honor was still intact. He later found her unconscious in the carriage with Tyr and Meobryn, bleeding from the multiple stab wounds they’d inflicted while torturing her for information about Gavin. She’d nearly died to protect his identity, and Gavin had promised her a place by his side.
Vandra was one of the first to leave the Viragon Sisterhood to pledge her service to the new king. She’d been disillusioned by Lilalian’s careless leadership and had volunteered for every task Gavin had needed during his ascension to the throne.
Spending time with his friends trading stories, Gavin realized for the first time that he hadn’t laughed much since Rogan died. It felt good to wear out the muscles in his face and belly, to laugh so hard he lapsed into coughing and nearly tumbled from Golam’s back. Though the two men’s language was coarse, Daia seemed to enjoy herself as well, contributing her stories with the rest of them. To his surprise, Gavin was the first among them to yawn.
He
’d created a magic ball of light that burned brightly enough to illuminate the road in front of the horses even during the darkest hours, but it was time to rest. They followed their ears to a nearby creek where the horses could drink, and they dismounted to prepare camp.
Under the magical rain canopy, everyone claimed their sleeping spot for the night and began to lay out their bedrolls, but before Gavin settled in for the night, Calinor pulled him aside. “Say, Gavin,” he said, averting his eyes. “A quick word, if you don’t mind. I’m gettin’ a bit long in the tooth, an’ I wouldn’t mind settlin’ in one place. I was hopin’ you could use a strong sword arm and the experience of a gray-beard on a more permanent basis. You know, in Tern.” He grinned in the self-conscious, embarrassed way a man did when he asked a favor he didn’t particularly want to ask.
Gavin grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It so happens I could. Hell, I’d be a fool to turn down a battler like you. I’d be honored to have you join my garrison.”
“I’m much obliged, my friend. It’s my very great pleasure to see a man o’honor, integrity, and courage sittin’ where you’re sittin’.” Calinor went to one knee onto the wet ground and bowed his head.
Gavin felt the blood rush to his face. He still wasn’t used to people doing that, especially not a friend who’d been a mentor to him in his early years as a warrant knight. “Get up, Calinor, damn it. You’ve proven your friendship and loyalty over and again.”
The battler held his position for several more heartbeats, and when he rose, wetness in his eyes betrayed the stony expression on his face. “And I’m damned proud, too,” he said quietly. “Damned proud.”
Chapter 28
Cirang followed an old path marked on the map that led straight towards the Superstition Mountains. She’d traveled the road to Ambryce at least a dozen times during her years as a Viragon Sister and had never noticed it fork before, probably mistaking it for a deer trail. The ground was soft enough here for her horse to leave well-defined hoof prints among the coyote and deer tracks. If Kinshield saw them diverging from the main road, he would follow her, though she had several hours’ lead. Perhaps by then, the rain would make her horse’s tracks look like ordinary puddles.
