The Kinshield Legacy (an epic/heroic fantasy adventure) (The Kinshield Saga)

by K. C. May

  As she met passersby, she paused to ask whether they remembered seeing a black and silver coach in the last few days. A woman propositioning everyone on a corner near the northern edge of the city said she had seen such a carriage early one morning just a day or two ago.

  “He was in a awful hurry,” she said. “Headed north out o’Ambryce like the lordover’s men-at-arms was after ‘im.”

  “Thanks very much.” Daia put a pielar in the woman’s palm.

  “You sure you don’t want none o’ this, honey?” the woman asked, lifting her blouse. “I’ll take you an’ your battler friend there for a kion.”

  Daia put her hand up and started to walk back to join Gavin. “No.”

  “Twenty pielars, then,” the streetwalker said. “Awright, fifteen. Come on, Sister, let me show you an’ your man a good time.”

  “He’s not my man,” Daia retorted. She glanced at Gavin and saw the sloppy grin on his face. “Don’t say it.”

  “Might be fun,” he sang. He started to put an arm around her shoulders, but she knocked it away with a hard forearm parry.

  “Not if you were the only man in Thendylath.”

  His grin fell away. “What were you asking the townsfolk?”

  Daia smiled sweetly up at him. “I believe it’s still my question. Ask me again when it’s your turn.”

  When they reached the edge of the city, Gavin tossed the clean bone of the turkey leg into the bushes and wiped his hands down the legs of his trousers. There they mounted their horses. Once they crossed the newly repaired bridge over the Flint River and had a long stretch of empty road ahead of them, Gavin looked back. Daia also turned and saw no one behind them.

  “All right, Kinshield. Tell me about the gems in the sword.”

  He took a deep breath before answering, “They’re the Rune Stones.”

  His words hit her like a low-hanging branch. “Risan gave them to you for saving his—?” A chill swept over her. She took in a sharp breath, and a breeze ruffled his hair.

  His eyes darkened as he turned toward her and gazed at her. “No. He didn’t,” Gavin said, his voice raspy like autumn leaves in the wind.

  Daia breathed out in a long sigh. Of course not, she thought. Because Risan Stronghammer is just a blacksmith.

  Chapter 27

  “Ain’t you going to ask how I got ‘em?” Gavin asked. He shouldn't have told her. Judging by the look on her face, the thought of Gavin being king disturbed her, probably as much as it did him.

  Daia cleared her throat. “I believe I already know the answer to that.” She looked straight ahead while the muscles in her jaw bunched under her skin. Chewing on it like rotten meat she didn’t want to swallow.

  “Your question," he said.

  She turned to him with a quizzical expression. “It’s your turn. You just answered my question.”

  “Then I asked if you were going to ask how I got ‘em. It’s your question.”

  Daia smiled. “Are you trying to drive me mad?”

  “Not trying to,” he said with a chuckle. “What were you asking the townsfolk about?”

  “I asked if they’d seen a black and silver carriage in the last few days. Two of them said—”

  “Wait. Fancy one driven by four black horses?” Gavin asked.

  “You know it?”

  “Shit, I passed it. Heading north. You saying Risan was in it?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Damn it to hell and back! How’d you find that out?”

  “An innkeeper in Ambryce told me that’s the coach Sithral Tyr rides in.”

  “Tyr?”

  “Yes, the kidnapper’s name is Sithral Tyr.”

  “You sure that’s our man?” Gavin asked.

  “Yes, actually, I am." She related the information she had collected so far that led to her conclusion. "There was someone else,” she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “A warrant knight at the Lucky Inn got up and followed Tyr outside. When he came back in, I asked him who the Nilmarion was, but he claimed not to know.”

  “Prob’ly he didn’t, then,” Gavin said. “Warrant knights live by a code of honor, you know. We don’t lie.”

  “Then he was no warrant knight.”

  * * * * *

  Daia and Gavin arrived at the Lucky Inn late in the evening after a long and hard day's travel. They paid for a pair of rooms, set their belongings down, then agreed to question the tavern patrons about the coach. As they walked across the circular drive between the inn and the tavern, only their boots crunching the dirt broke the silence. The sooner they got their next clue, the sooner they could find their pillows, though Daia knew she would be too agitated to sleep.

  This man, this peasant could not possibly be the rune solver. While she was frequently impressed with his knowledge of the land and the politics of the lordovers, he was far too crude to take seriously. A king wouldn’t hawk and spit every other sentence, wouldn’t publicly scratch himself in private places or belch without making any attempt to silence it or excuse himself. No. He couldn’t possibly be the rune solver. He had to have been playing a joke on her.

  She cast a sideways look at the tall battler and chewed the inside of her cheek. Now he seemed taller, squarer of shoulder, probably trying to seem more kingly in order to lend credence to his joke. Still, Daia wondered.

  He yanked open the door and gestured for her to enter before him. Inside, dozens of swordsmen, farmers, merchants, and tradesmen gathered at the tables and in the pit, talking, laughing and shouting to be heard. When they stepped into the tavern, heads turned toward them. Daia had grown used to being gawked at since joining the Sisterhood, but now the eyes were on the tall warrant knight by her side. What was it about him that drew their eyes? Did the people see something significant in him as she had?

  “Why don’t you start on the right side, I’ll start on the left?” he asked.

  With a nod, Daia worked her way around the tavern, asking at each table about the black coach and the Nilmarion riding within. She asked the barmaids as they scurried past. With every shake of a head, she grew more discouraged.

  “‘Scuse me, Lady Sister,” said a man in a dirty waistcoat and smelling of fish. “I heard you askin’ them folks about a black coach. I seen one a couple days ago headin' north, pulled by four black horses. That the one you’re lookin’ fer?”

  “Yes. Hold on. Kinshield,” she shouted. The hum of conversation and whoops of excitement from the pit muted her voice. She put her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. When Gavin looked up, she waved him over.

  “You seen the coach?” Gavin asked the man, joining them.

  “Yeh, halfway between here and Pleasantown. I was comin’ back from fishin’ and saw the coach headin’ north. I didn’t think nothin’ ‘bout it ‘til it stopped. Right there in the road.”

  “Was it under attack?” Daia asked.

  “That’s what I wondered, too, so I dropped my catch and gear - ‘cept fer my knife o’ course - and started runnin’ toward it to see if they needed help. Well, from behind an old shack come a battler. He tied the reins of his horse to the back o’the coach and climbed in. Then they started off again.”

  Daia and Gavin shared a look. “The battler -- what’d he look like?” Gavin asked.

  “Only saw him from the back at a distance. Medium height, towheaded, wore a blue waistcoat -- fancier than I'd expect on a 'ranter.”

  Gavin’s face turned red. Daia remembered that the term “‘ranter” had offended him. “They continued north, then?” Daia asked the man.

  “Yeh. I seen two folks aside from the battler in the coach. One was smaller, a child, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you more’n that.”

  “Thank you,” Daia said, dropping a pair of pielars into the man’s hand. “You’ve been most helpful.” She clutched Gavin’s arm and ushered him outside. “What’s wrong?”

  For several minutes Gavin paced, cursing and spitting onto the ground. Every muscle seemed
on the verge of ripping through his skin. His penetrating gaze burned as though he could set fire to anything simply by glaring at it.

  Daia didn’t know whether to wait out his mood or try to calm him down. She decided to ignore it and try to get him to focus on the matter at hand. “His description of the battler sounds like the one who claimed not to know Tyr -- Toren Meobryn.”

  “He’s also the bastard who stole the damned pendant.”

  “What pendant?” she asked.

  “Calewen’s Pendant. It was stolen from her shrine, and I was hired to recover it.”

  “Meobryn raided the Grand Mausoleum?”

  “No, he hired a woman... never mind. It’s a long story. Let’s just say I owe him a brand on his forearm. Come on. I need a drink.”

  Daia followed Gavin back into the tavern, and they sat at an empty table in the back.

  The barmaid brought two tankards. Daia paid for them both. Gavin was so busy brooding, he seemed not to notice the drink until she tapped his sleeve and pushed one toward him.

  Gavin banged his fist on the table and sent it wobbling. Daia caught it before it toppled over. “That a warrant knight could befoul the code by involving his self in such corruption makes my sweat steam. He’s soiling the reputations of us all, shitting on the only thing I got left in the world. Can’t wait ‘til the day I catch up with that filthy whoreson. Toren Meobryn.” Gavin spat the name as a curse. “Branding a fellow warrant knight’s unheard of, but that piece of foreskin's unworthy. I’ll bet he got his tag and warrant from a forger. I hope he resists getting branded so I can kill the bastard.”

  Daia nodded. He needed to vent and she was happy to be able to support him as a friend. He would be the king.

  She shook the thought away. It was a joke, after all. “How do you know Meobryn has Calewen’s Pendant?”

  “You said Meobryn followed Tyr but claimed he didn’t know him, right?” Gavin asked.

  Daia nodded.

  “I met Meobryn there, too, a few nights ago.” Gavin continued his story about the pendant’s theft and his conversation with the curator in Ambryce. “He happened to’ve left before I could ask him to watch for the pendant thief. Then, the description of the swordsman getting into Tyr’s coach was awfully damned close to Meobryn. Too close for coincidence.”

  Daia was impressed not only with his memory of detail, but his deductive reasoning. The man had taken her by surprise in so many ways, she found it difficult to look at him without wondering what else she was missing. “Can you remember anything he said that might help us find him?” When the barmaid hurried by, Daia stopped her and ordered some food for Gavin.

  “He said he was going to Saliria, but that was a lie, too. He knew he’d be heading north to meet his friend, the Farthan-napping sword stealer. The bastard set that whore on me to steal the pendant. What kind o’scum does that?”

  “Dishonest to the bone,” Daia said.

  “What kind o’parents could've raised such a twisted son of a bitch?”

  “I understand your anger, but we need to focus on where we’re going and how we’re going to find Risan.”

  “Maybe he was evil even as a child, and his parents couldn’t bring themselves to kill him—”

  “Kinshield.”

  He looked up with bloodshot eyes.

  “Let it go for now. Save the anger for battle. Right now, we need to talk about how to find Risan,” she said. “The coach was heading north, possibly to Lalorian.”

  He nodded and sighed. “Or Sohan or Paradise City.” Gavin drew his knife and began scratching a line into the top of the table. “Look, Tyr’s planning to give Calewen’s Pendant to a wizard named Ravenkind. Since he kidnapped Stronghammer thinking he was the Rune Solver, then I figure either Tyr or Ravenkind is after the King's Blood-stone.”

  Daia raised her brows. She saw where he was going with this and, again, his reasoning impressed her.

  Gavin continued carving something into the table. It looked like a symbol of some kind: an hourglass, like the one she'd seen on another table here a few nights ago. “I’m betting it’s Ravenkind," he said. "Could be he's in Sohan -- it’s the closest city to the Rune Cave.”

  The barmaid set down a basket of chicken. “Seven pielars.” Gavin took out his coin purse and paid for the meal.

  “What makes you think Ravenkind is after the King's Blood-stone?” Daia asked.

  “I know him. He’s hungry for power and wealth, and he’s got no morals.”

  Daia thought about it for a moment. If he knew Ravenkind as well as he claimed, his conclusion was plausible. “Then let's go to Sohan. I can recruit a few Sisters to help us search.”

  “Good. We'll need all the help we can get. But first things out o’the way first.” Gavin set down his knife and reached for the basket of chicken. “Ain’t you going to have some of this?”

  “No, thank you. I have some dried meat in my satchel.” Daia tried to avoid the sight of his eating and looked around the room at the other patrons.

  While Gavin Kinshield wasn’t the most refined man she’d ever met, he was a decent sort. He had scruples, he cared about the people of Thendylath, and he took the warrant knight code of honor seriously. She looked again at the symbol he had carved on the tabletop. Was that one of the King's Runes?

  She felt a tingle race across her face as reality slapped her. Gavin Kinshield would be the king, like it or not.

  Hell’s bones! She hadn’t believed him. Not only that, but during their travel, she’d slung backhanded comments about his clothing, manners, habits of speech, and the disgusting way he scratched himself and spat on the ground. She’d insulted him gravely. She’d insulted the king. “Listen, Gavin,” she started.

  He paused his eating with raised brows. “So, you’re calling me ‘Gavin’ now. Does this mean you’ll be sharing my room later?”

  “Would you mind using a napkin?”

  He picked up the hem of his shirt and wiped it across his face. “Sorry. I wasn’t raised as a noble like you were,” he said. "Who're your parents, anyway?"

  Daia felt the blood rush to her face. Was it that obvious? “The Lordover Tern is my father," she said quietly.

  Gavin whistled. "Lordover Tern. Guess I ain't surprised. Hey, is it true noblewomen shave their legs?"

  She gave him an impatient look. "Never mind that. If you’re going to be king, you should probably try to learn some basic manners.”

  “I ain’t going to be king.”

  “You mean, ‘I’m not going to be king.’”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Daia smiled. “No, you said ‘I ain’t going to be king.’ If you’re going to be king, you should also learn to speak like one.”

  “I ain’t going to be king.”

  “Why do you say that?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did you or did you not solve the King’s Runes?”

  Gavin gave a non-committal shrug, tossed a clean bone into the basket and picked up another piece of chicken.

  “Do you know the meaning of the third rune?”

  “Fourth,” he said as he resumed eating. “The third one's solved. The fourth is next.”

  Daia raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t heard. She looked again at the symbol he had carved so casually. “All right. The fourth, then. Do you know the meaning?”

  “No,” he said, looking away.

  “Why do you keep it a secret?” she asked him. “Why not let people know it’s you?”

  He said nothing. She followed his gaze to a table where a barmaid was trying to wrench her arm out of the grasp of a burly patron.

  “Do you know what kind of wealth and fame you could have--”

  “Stop it,” the barmaid shouted. Several patrons looked at her, then returned to their conversations.

  Gavin tossed a half-eaten chicken wing into the basket and stood. “Pard’n me,” he said, wiping his face with his shirt tail. He walked over to the building commotion.

  The customer had his
arms around the barmaid, groping her in plain view. She slapped him, screaming, “Stop it. Let me go.” He just laughed and continued fondling her, reaching for her ear with his flicking tongue.

  Gavin drew a glove from his waistband and pulled it onto his left hand. Daia couldn’t hear what he said, but the patron released the woman immediately and held up his hands. He hung his head and turned in his chair to face forward, then nodded and folded his hands on the table.

  The barmaid dipped Gavin a curtsey. He pointed toward Daia, then walked back over, removing his glove and tucking it away behind him, and sat down.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asked before draining his ale.

  Daia smiled. He was crude and scraggly, but she had to admire a man who stood up for others so readily. Perhaps with some lessons in social grace, the idea of him sitting on the throne wouldn't be so horrid.

  Gavin let out a loud belch, and Daia shook her head in resignation.

  * * * * *

  The barmaid thanked Gavin with a full tankard, free of charge. He kept his eye on the boorish patron, partly so that the barmaids wouldn’t have to put up with the man’s intolerable behavior, and partly because Toren Meobryn's deception had put him in the mood to fight someone. Unfortunately, the obnoxious patron had been too willing to cooperate. Besides, if Gavin got into a brawl, he could impress his lovely companion with his prowess.

  She intrigued him, this brawny woman sitting across the table with her unbelievably light blue eyes. The more time he spent looking into them, the more he wanted to know what was behind them. He wished the swordswoman desired him, but more than that, he wanted Daia to like him. She exuded competence and strength, but she still had a distinctly feminine quality that made her more than just a battler with tits. His sense of humor was mostly lost on her, but a few times, he’d caught her trying to hide a smile. If he could capture her interest with his personality and charm, then he would stand a better chance winning her affections later, when she accepted the fact that he wouldn't be Thendylath’s king.

  All right, maybe his strengths didn’t include a charismatic personality, and he certainly didn’t have the cultivated charm she’d grown up around. But what did a man like him have to offer a woman so high-bred? Surely, she would be unimpressed with how many tankards he could down in five minutes’ time or whether he could belch nursery rhymes to amuse small children. As a battler, she had to respect a man’s fighting skill.