by K. C. May
He came over the top of the roof and down the front slope to the nearest edge. Daia caught herself staring.
Not only the look of him made her gape, but also the strength that radiated from him. This power had nothing to do with physical strength, although she could plainly see he had that in abundance. His well-muscled chest and arms rippled as he squatted at the edge of the roof. No, something was different about him. He had a commanding presence, the sort of man one could not help notice enter a room.
They looked at each other for a long moment without speaking. The intensity of his gaze might have made some people squirm, but Daia found herself drawn in by it. She was tempted to connect to him using her gift to see how he would react. There would be time for that later.
His head cocked slightly, he looked down at her from the roof while a breeze ruffled his dark mop of hair. Two or three days’ growth of stubble darkened his face, whose long scars she could plainly see from where she stood. Despite his roughened appearance, he radiated warmth and caring. Benevolence.
“Are you Gavin Kinshield?” she called. Inwardly, she cringed. Of course he is, dunce.
“I am. Who might you be?” His voice, resonant and masculine, reminded her of a spring so deep it had no bottom, a voice any bard would kill for.
“I’m Daia Saberheart of the Viragon Sisterhood.”
“What does the Sisterhood want with me?” A gap between his teeth showed when he spoke.
“I need your help with a quest. Would you come down here so that I might speak with you?”
“I’m in the middle of fixing a roof.”
“How’s it looking up there?” the innkeeper asked.
Gavin looked toward the dark clouds approaching from the north. “I expect to have it done afore the storm gets here, but the mortar won’t be fully dry. I need something to cover the patch.”
“I’ll hunt around in the shed for something. About three feet wide, do you think?” the innkeeper asked.
“That should do it. And while you’re in there, see if you can find a few nails. You got a piece of fencing behind the inn that needs righting. Might as well do it while I’m here - and afore a big gust of wind knocks it--”
“This is important, if you please,” Daia said.
“Maybe you ha’nt noticed,” Gavin said, “but a storm is coming this way. I think this is more important. As much as I’m looking forward to nuzzling that pretty neck of yours, you’ll have to wait.”
If she hadn’t needed his help, she might have reddened his ears with a string of insults. Instead, she clenched her teeth and muttered a few curse words under her breath. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all.
Gavin smiled, drawing attention to his missing right eyetooth. “I’ll be at the tavern down the road later. If you want to talk, you can come up here and help me finish this roof, or find me later for an ale.”
Without replying, she turned and headed to the tavern. This was going to be painful. An ale or two might help.
* * * * *
Gavin donned a new tunic before going to meet Daia that evening. He ran his hands down his chest trying to smooth some of the wrinkles, but realized the futility of it.
She was certainly comely, but there was something more, something intriguing about her in the way she carried herself like a woman of nobility. Yet, she wore men’s trousers and a sword on her hip. He found the glitter in her eyes as attractive as the smile lines that framed her mouth. She radiated sophistication and class, but also strength and competence.
He’d never known a Viragon Sister, though he had joined a few in battle over the years. They tended to sit amongst themselves or alone in taverns, sharing neither drinks nor tales with battler men. Their mystery and aloofness had fascinated Gavin, and now he would sit and share a drink with one of their lovelier members. Gavin found himself hoping she would like him.
He made his way to the tavern, and within a hundred feet of its doorstep, a few drops of rain tapped his head and shoulders. A low rumble of the approaching storm warned the scurrying townsfolk to find their homes.
A blonde pigtailed girl, not more than three years old, galloped across the road on a small wooden horse, its lopsided wheels rattling. Ahead, a man came out of the tavern arguing with himself in a slurred jumble of obscenities and gesturing wildly as he stumbled across the road. Gavin saw what was going to happen, but even breaking into a run, he could not reach the girl in time. The drunk caught the wooden horse with a foot. He pitched forward, yanking the toy out from under the child with a clatter. She tumbled to the ground.
Her cries brought the man’s hands to his ears. “Shut up. Shut the hell up,” he shouted while he struggled to untangle himself from the toy.
The little girl cried out, “Papa!” In that brief moment, Gavin saw a copper-haired girl, her wide eyes pleading for his help, her arms reaching for him.
Without a second thought, Gavin scooped up the child, sinking at the same time to one knee. He set her on his other leg bent in front of him like a bench. His finger was huge and rough against the perfect silk of her skin as he wiped away a tear. “There now, leave off with your hollering. You’re not killed, are you?” he asked in a soft voice.
The little girl hesitated, then shook her head, quieting her sobs to sniffles.
“Awright then, what say you? Shall I let him live, the rogue that offended Your Ladyship, or not?”
She wrinkled her brow for a moment as though giving the matter serious consideration. At last she raised her eyes to those of her knight and declared, “Let him live.”
Gavin fought to keep a straight face as he gazed into such solemn blue eyes. He nodded once. “Well, if he bothers you again just let me know. I’m at your service, m’lady.” With gentle hands, though scarred and calloused, he set her down and patted her back while he rose to his feet. When she gazed up at him with eyes now so innocent and trusting, he felt a pang of grief and joy. He would have given anything to bring the sweet look of his own little girl back into his life.
The child’s father rushed up to them with an expression that went from anger to confusion to understanding. He gave Gavin a tenuous smile and nod as he bent to tend his daughter’s scrapes.
Daia stood at the entrance of the tavern with her arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. As Gavin neared, she gifted him with a devilish grin. “Imagine that. A warrant knight possessed of a tender heart.”
“What would you say about the one who stood by and did nothing?” he asked as he stopped and stood before her.
Her gaze held his. Never had he seen eyes so light a shade of blue. Strands of her dark auburn hair escaped from their long braid and fluttered across her face. Damn, she was beautiful. He imagined what that face might look like contorted in ecstasy beneath him, the dark hair flowing across a pillow. Gavin tossed his head in the direction of the tavern, inviting her to sit with him for a drink, and went in.
“Hail Kinshield,” several of the alehouse patrons sang. They lifted their tankards.
“I see she caught up with ya, eh Gavin?” “Someone’s goin’ to get somethin’ tonight.” “Tell us about it t’morrow.” The other men hooted and whistled.
Gavin and Daia made their way through the stares and suggestive remarks to a table in the back corner. The barkeep came over, drying his hands on a dirty towel.
“Ale?” Gavin asked Daia. When she nodded, he said, “Two tankards.”
“Four pielars in advance.”
Gavin leaned back in his chair, tilting it up onto two legs while he dug into his pocket for the coins. To his surprise and delight, the swordswoman opened her purse first and gave the barkeep a kion.
“Keep them coming until this is gone,” she said. “Bring some food, too.”
Gavin smiled and inclined his head. “Awright, you got my ear. What is it you wanted?” He rocked the chair back and forth, balanced on its rear legs.
“I’m looking for a man—”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Back
to my room, then. I’m all the man you’ll ever want.” He let his eyes caress her, taking note of her delicate nose and smooth complexion. Under a thin upper lip, her plump red lower lip jutted out in a perpetual pout. She wore a sleeveless dark blue tunic, showing off muscles so large and well-defined, his eyes went to her chest to be sure she really was a woman. And she was, he accepted with certainty. No man, no matter how heavy, could sport breasts so perfectly shaped. His eyes lingered there a moment too long, for she cleared her throat. He raised his eyes to meet hers and grinned.
“A kidnap victim, Kinshield.” Her voice held more than a hint of exasperation. “He was abducted from his home during the night.”
“How much is the family paying?”
“Nothing.”
“So he’s a friend of yours.”
“Actually, he’s a friend of yours.”
Gavin raised his brows. “Who?”
“Risan Stronghammer.”
The front two legs of Gavin’s chair banged on the floor. “The blacksmith?”
“That’s right. His wife told me I should find you. Do you know who might have kidnapped him?”
Gavin groaned and buried his face in his hands. Of all the rotten luck. Who indeed? And why? If he was into some illicit business... but that was unlike Risan Stronghammer. He seemed an honorable man.
“Kinshield?”
Gavin looked up. “No,” he said quietly, rubbing his palms down his stubbly face.
“The kidnapper also stole the sword Risan made for you.”
“Bloody hell,” he spat and pounded his fist on the table.
“What kind of enchantment did it have on it?”
Gavin scowled. “Enchantment? It ain’t enchanted.”
The swordswoman blinked at him. “Stronghammer had a mage put an ancient Farthan enchantment on it.”
“Why would he do a fool thing like that?”
“Something about a repayment? I understand you saved his wife from--”
“Yeh, but the sword would’ve been more than enough reward. Hell. So the Sisterhood is on this mission?” he asked. It wouldn’t matter; he would set out on his own if need be. The pendant could wait. He hoped.
“I am on this mission. Hopefully you are, too. I’ve never met Stronghammer but you have.”
If she had never met him, how did she know more about the situation than Gavin did? He wondered if she already knew about the gems in the sword and was just baiting him to see how much he would tell her.
Gavin relaxed his gaze until he saw the haze hovering around her body, egg-shaped and colorful. Most of her haze was clear blue with a yellow ring near the top. A swirling cloud of orange swept outward from her abdomen. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but his gut told him she had no ill intent.
“My, my,” she said with a grin. “A warrant knight, tender heart and a shadow reader.”
“Shhhh!” he hissed, looking around to see if anyone had overheard. No one knew about his new skills and he preferred to keep it that way. “How’d you know that?” he whispered.
Daia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not without my own talents. And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you didn’t invade my privacy by looking at me that way.”
“It isn’t shadows,” he said. “It’s hazes. And I’ll leave yours alone if you don’t bring up the subject in public.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled secretively. “I am surprised, though. You seem like such a... ‘ranter.” She wrinkled her nose as though she had smelled something foul.
Gavin felt the hairs on his neck stand up. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“You sound like a peasant.”
“I’m not ashamed of where I come from. Are you?”
She looked him over and shrugged. “Now, about this sword of yours: if I’m not mistaken, it’s rather important.”
“Sure. Important to me.”
“Important to Lady Arlet, too. She’s nearly as concerned about getting it back as she is for her husband’s safety. Why would that be?”
Gavin took a long draw of his ale while he considered his reply. If Daia didn’t already know about the gems, he’d prefer to keep it that way. After letting out a long, loud belch, he said, “I’m thinking the Farthans take their debt repayment seriously. I tried to refuse the offer and almost kissed Risan’s fists. So you’re telling me you don’t have any idea who we’re after.”
Daia leaned back in her chair and studied him a moment before answering. “I have only a description. He received the same information about Risan that I did,” Daia replied at last. “I wasn’t sure at the time that he’d try to find Lord Stronghammer, but since Stronghammer’s missing, I must list him as the principal suspect.”
“Just so we’re duelin’ with the same weapons, what information are you talkin’ --”
A crack of thunder cut him off. The pelting of the rain on the roof grew suddenly louder and harder.
“Oh, callibisters,” Daia said. “I need to question a few more innkeepers before it gets too late.” She stood and drained her ale. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. The kidnapper has already left town, heading north. Be ready at daybreak. I’ll find out what I can tonight, and at the very least we can ask around at the Lucky Inn.”
As she walked through the tavern to the door, one man reached out and patted her backside. Daia grabbed the man by the hair with one hand and yanked him backward so far that he teetered on the rear legs of his chair. She slammed her other fist into his face. The fool crashed to the floor, tumbled over backward with sprawling legs, and knocked into the table behind him, spilling ale everywhere.
“Anyone else care to try that?” she asked, looking around.
The tavern was as quiet as a tomb except for Gavin’s amused chuckle. He lifted his mug to her in a gesture of respect and agreement. He might actually enjoy this mission.
Chapter 24
Drenched to the skin, Daia trudged through the downpour from one inn to the next, describing the Nilmarion to everyone who would listen. In her palm, she carried a kion, ready to offer anyone who could give her some useful information. But no one reported seeing her quarry.
As glad as she was that Gavin would help her on this mission, she felt uneasy about traveling with him. The prospect of bearing his lecherous grin or brutish manners didn't concern her. She felt, inexplicably, that she had to protect him. That notion was absurd, of course. A one-eyed blind man could see he could fend for himself and a dozen of her. Yet there was something unusual about him. Something significant. He reminded her of quicksand: seemingly ordinary on the surface, but with a hidden depth dangerous to the unwary. Well, she wouldn't be caught off her guard. She would discover the secret Arlet tried to protect.
Pulling open the door of another inn, Daia thought she could not be any colder or wetter. The warmth of the air inside the inn’s lobby sent a shudder of pleasure through her.
Across the floor lay a beautiful plush rug of red, burgundy and gold, and she didn’t have the heart to walk across it, dripping as she was. When she stopped at its edge, she caught the thankful expression on the face of the innkeeper as he hurried over, his round belly jiggling.
“Do you need a room, Lady Sister?” he asked.
“I’m looking for someone; I hoped he’d be staying here. Nilmarion man...”
“If you’re speaking of Lord Tyr, I’m afraid he’s already left.”
“Tyr, that must be him,” Daia said. “What is his first name?”
The innkeeper regarded her with narrowed eyes. “You’re not a friend of Lord Tyr?”
“I won’t lie to you -- I don’t know him. But a serious crime has been committed, and I think he may have some information that could help me capture the perpetrator.” Not quite a lie.
“Oh, I hope he’s not in any danger,” the innkeeper said with a hand to his heart.
“No, I don’t think so. Was he traveling with a swordsman, perchance? Blond, with a thin beard?”
D
aia flashed the silver coin in her hand. The innkeeper smiled as he accepted it. “None that I saw.”
“Can you describe his mount?”
“Oh, a gentleman like Sithral Tyr does not sit astride. He had a coach. Quite a lovely one too -- black with the most exquisite silver trim. Looks like ivy creeping around the edges of the coach and down the corners. Four horses, I think. Yes, four. All black.”
Good. This confirmed he was the same Nilmarion she’d seen at the Lucky Inn. “Do you have any idea where he might have been going?” Daia asked.
The innkeeper rubbed his chin. “Mmmm, no, I don’t think he mentioned it. Do you need a room for the night, Lady Sister? I’m sure you’d like to get into some dry clothes.”
Daia smiled. “Thanks, but no. I’ve made other arrangements. You have been most helpful. If you happen to remember anything else about him before morning, would you please send word to me at the Princess Inn? I’m Daia Saberheart.”
“Most assuredly. I hope you find the criminal quickly and will pray that no harm comes to Lord Tyr.”
* * * * *
What had Arlet told the swordswoman about the sword? The question ran repeatedly through Gavin’s mind as he walked, head bowed and shoulders hunched, through the rain. By the time he arrived at the Stronghammers’ home, his teeth chattered as loudly as his knuckles rapped on the door.
“Oh, Gavin, it is you,” Arlet squealed when she opened the door. “Thanks to Yrys.”
Gavin was prepared to stand on the stoop so as not to track water across her floor, but she took him by the hand and tugged on his arm.
“Come inside,” she told him. “I have much to tell you. Terrible thing happened.”
“So I heard.” Gavin stepped into the greatroom.
Arlet shut the door behind him. “You are so cold. Let me get blanket for you.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I just came to ask about Risan.”
“Miss Daia found you?”