The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  “Did you make these weapons?” Gavin called out.

  “Some,” Risan replied. He returned with a steaming kettle and three cups stacked precariously, and set them on a table. He pointed to the broadsword mounted over the window and the axes beside the fireplace. “Those I made many years ago. Lots of good memory in them. My father made that halberd and those knives. My grandfather made that sword there. He served as blacksmith to emperor of Fartha, you know.” Risan stroked his long black beard and rocked back on his heels.

  “Is that so?” Gavin asked. “That’s a fantastic weapon.” As Gavin’s gaze caressed each of the blades, his respect for Risan’s skill swelled, and he longed to feel the solid weight of the weapons in his hand.

  “Smaller than you are use to,” Risan said, “but not so unwieldy for Farthan warriors.”

  “Your skill’s admirable. I ‘specially like the design of this one,” Gavin returned, pointing to a longsword.

  Arlet came out of the bedroom dressed in dry clothes and bundled in a blanket. She’d combed out her wet hair and tied it back. Risan smiled and went to her, brushing his hand over her face.

  “Please, let us sit and have warm tea,” Risan said. “I am eager to hear of rescue.”

  Gavin sat on the couch across from the fireplace so that Arlet could sit closer to its warmth. Risan settled beside his wife on the couch and pulled her close with an arm around her shoulders while she told him about her ordeal. Although she exaggerated Gavin’s heroics, he kept quiet and let her tell it.

  “Then come black spots and I know here is my end. I think I soon will be in Afterworld. I wonder what it will be like. For first time in fifteen years, I pray. I ask Yrys to keep Risan safe, and with my last thought in my heart, I die.

  “Then I am coughing. I see man kneel next to me and he help me to sit up. He is so big I think he must be god, mayhap even Yrys Himself.” Arlet smiled at Gavin. “Does he not look like god from myths of old?”

  Gavin felt heat spread across his face. “There now--”

  “So big and strong, with dark curls and deep eyes. I think his gaze so intense, he must see through my mind to back of my head.”

  Risan and Arlet laughed in a gentle, teasing manner, and Gavin forced a smile.

  “Then he brings donkey back, and I know he is real man and I am still in realm of living. I see he has blood on his head. My hero is injure to save my life. I am not surprise to learn he is great-kin of Ronor Kinshield.”

  Gavin prepared to divert the conversation away from Ronor Kinshield’s false heroism, but Arlet said no more. Risan drew her into his arms, kissing her soundly on her forehead and cheeks, nose and lips. Then he hugged her and rocked back and forth.

  Looking away, Gavin tried to give them as much privacy as the circumstances allowed, but still he could hear Risan whispering his love to her. He thought of the last time he’d held Talisha in his arms and told her he loved her. Tell her now, Risan. While she’s still alive to hear it.

  Then, Risan stood and offered his hand, and Gavin stood also. “There are no words for expressing how deep is my gratitude.” He grasped Gavin’s forearm with his free hand and pumped hard. “I will give you special reward to match value of your deed. Warrant knights call it valour-gild, yes? We Farthans call it fël. Let me see your sword.”

  Gavin handed him the sword, and Risan looked it over. It had belonged to Gavin’s father, and while it had served them both well, it was in grave need of repair: the blade was pitted, the guard rattled on the hilt, and it no longer held an edge very well. Impaling a foe on this blade felt like ramming a pointed wooden plank through him.

  “Let me see you hold it.” Risan handed it back to Gavin. “Ah, you are left-hander. I am too.” Risan laughed and said, “I can see by size of your arms being same to my thighs that you are use to using weapon one-hand. I will make for you new sword. So fine will be your new one that you never will want another.” He stood straight and proud as he announced the gift. Arlet stood beside him, and he put an arm around her shoulders, both of them smiling.

  “Aw, that’s too much,” Gavin said. “Just sharpen my blade. That’ll be reward enough.”

  Risan’s mouth dropped open, and beside him Arlet’s did also. “I cannot believe you would refuse a fël. Too much, you say. Too much! Verily do you consider Arlet’s life to be worth less than sword?” Spittle flew with the increasing volume of his voice.

  “What?” Gavin asked. “No!”

  Risan clenched his fists. “Hero or not, this is outrage. How do you dare to insult my wife, my family name? And in my home, no less.”

  “Ho!” Gavin said, putting his palms up. “Wait a minute. What are you so red about?”

  Arlet said something to Risan in their native tongue. Although Gavin did not understand what she said, he heard her voice waver with emotion.

  Had he insulted Risan’s swordsmithing skills by refusing? “Whatever I said wrong, I apologize. The quality o’your blades is unmatched. I just meant the value o’your gift is more than what I earn in a year.”

  Risan wrenched his glare from Gavin’s face and looked into his wife’s eyes, welled with tears. He shifted forward, and Gavin knew he was about to kiss Risan’s fists.

  Arlet stayed him with her hand on his arm. Her bottom lip quivered and her chin puckered. “Where we came from, reward is like mirror for value of deed. You saved my life.”

  Gavin had no idea Farthans took their valour-gild payments so seriously. “In that case, I gladly accept your offer,” he said. “A new weapon would be a blessing to me.”

  Risan continued to glare, saying nothing, but at least his hands were no longer balled into fists.

  “It is settle, then,” Arlet said, nudging her husband.

  “I meant no offense. My job’s to help people.” He lifted the wooden tag hanging around his neck. “See? Knowing Arlet’s safe at home is the only reward I need.”

  Risan exhaled heavily and visibly relaxed his stance. “Then you are truly noble man. Come with me to foundry. For now, I will sharpen your old blade.”

  Gavin followed him out, echoing the relief in his own sigh. He listened to sword-making tales and lessons while Risan clamped down the sword and began to run a whetstone across its edges.

  When Risan handed him the sharpened sword, it occurred to Gavin that the three gems he carried would make a nice decoration for the hilt of his new weapon. Those expertly cut gems would put a lot of gold in his purse if he sold them. But their value in gold was not as great as what they represented to him: a meeting of minds between himself and King Arek across the two centuries that separated them.

  “I’ve been carrying around a few gems,” he told Risan, “always afraid I’ll lose them. Would you put them in the hilt o’the new sword?”

  “Of course. I would be glad.” Risan patted Gavin’s back as he gestured toward the door. They returned to the Stronghammer’s home. “Leave them with me and I will set them. No need worry they will come loose – I will set them tight.”

  The scent of food filled the house as Arlet prepared a meal for them. Gavin’s stomach rumbled like rocks in a rolling barrel; he wouldn’t refuse their offer of food. He went to his trousers drying on the hearth and removed the leather pouch. He fished for the three gemstones, then dropped them into Risan’s outstretched palm: a black onyx, red-brown sard, and brown jasper.

  Risan glanced at them nonchalantly, then snapped his head back for a longer look.

  Oh hell. Gavin saw both recognition and understanding in Risan’s widening eyes, his chin dropping into a gape of disbelief, and the forming of a tear in the corner of one eye.

  “You,” Risan whispered.

  Gavin was trapped. He couldn’t deny it, but neither could he admit it, so he stood dumbly, unsure what to say.

  The blacksmith laughed long and loudly while Gavin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Finally, Risan said, “For almost one year, you keep secret about solving runes. We all in Thendylath gather in taverns and wonder, �
��Who is mysterious rune solver?’ Some think he is sage, some think he is scholar. Some heard rumor he is battler. Now he is standing in my home. My home.” This last he said quietly, his voice fading to a whisper. “I am glad it is you. Thendylath needs hero sitting on her throne.”

  Gavin started to protest, but thought better of it. He had no intention of exercising his right to the throne, but he couldn’t tell the Stronghammers that. Not yet. It would be Edan Dawnpiper that the people of Thendylath would someday call ‘king.’ Just as soon as Gavin went north to Lalorian and convinced him.

  As they gathered around the table for supper, Risan and Arlet spoke over each other, their eyes twinkling. “When did you get them?” “When will you solve two last runes?” “What will you do with King’s Blood-stone?” “I will put it in your new sword for you.”

  Desperate to avoid answering their questions, Gavin thought to try his hand at small talk. “I take it Stronghammer’s an epithet. What’s your family name?”

  “My birth name is Risanipak...” The rest of his name sounded like a slur of alien sounds to Gavin’s ear. “My family name means ‘hammer of godly strength.’ Stronghammer is not epithet. It is... tran-language?”

  “Translation,” Gavin offered. “So then how long have you lived in Thendylath?”

  “Twelve years now.”

  “I hear Farthans pray to a different god. Yrys, isn’t it?”

  Risan and Arlet looked at each other and a few moments of silence crept by. “We lost faith when our son died of plague,” Risan said quietly. “We pray to no god.”

  “Except only when we are drowning,” Arlet said.

  The three of them looked at each other and broke into laughter.

  “Enough of us,” Risan said. “We want to hear about runes.”

  “Yes, please tell us,” Arlet begged, spooning piles of meat and vegetables into his bowl.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” Gavin replied. Rarely did someone press him so hard, and he didn’t know how to politely evade their questions. While they asked more questions, he kept his mouth full of food so that he would have an excuse not to answer, but when Arlet heaped the last of the meat into his bowl, he knew he would have to give them something soon.

  “You do not want to talk about runes? Then tell us, Gavin Kinshield,” she said. “How did you get scars?” She ran her finger down her cheek.

  He swallowed the last bits of food and washed them down with water. “Brown bear,” he said. “But that happened a long time ago.” And he wouldn’t share that story with them -- or with anyone.

  Risan whistled. “Brown bear. You are lucky be alive.”

  “How do you know answer to runes?“ Arlet asked. ”You study many books?”

  Gavin drew a mental picture of himself with a pair of spectacles on his nose, bent over piles of dusty books, and snorted a laugh at the absurdity of it. “They just come to me,” he said. “I can’t explain how. It just happens.”

  “What you will do first when you are king?” Risan asked. His eyes glittered and his teeth shone whitely against the blackness of his beard.

  Gavin had no idea how he would explain to them that, while he’d solved the runes, he wouldn’t be king. That honor was better suited to a man of noble birth. “I don’t honestly know.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “My thanks for the meal. It was delicious. But it’s time I was on my way.”

  By then his clothes were mostly dry and while he put them on, Risan brought Golam around to the front of the house. Gavin took his old sword and said his farewells.

  “Do not forget,” Risan reminded Gavin. “Return in one week time for your new weapon.”

  “I will, I promise.” Gavin checked Golam’s saddle and prepared to mount. Arlet beckoned him to bend down. Gavin went patiently to one knee and patted her back while she hugged his neck tightly.

  She kissed his cheeks with several loud and enthusiastic smacks and brushed the hair back from his eyes. “You will be in my thoughts and heart always, Gavin Kinshield,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat and a pair of tears dribbled down her cheeks.

  “And in mine,” Risan said. The blacksmith offered his hand one last time, and as Gavin rose, he took it and held it firmly, a moment longer than customary.

  “Will you do me a favor, good sir?” he asked Risan. “Say nothing to no one about those damned stones. I don’t want or need that kind of attention.”

  “What? Why I cannot tell--?”

  “We promise to keep your secret,“ Arlet said, casting a hard glance at Risan. ”You can trust us.”

  “Yes, of course,” Risan agreed. “You can trust us.”

  Gavin waved as he rode away, relieved to be away from the questions. Now that they knew the truth of the gems and the identity of the rune solver, he could only hope they kept their word.

  Chapter 7

  Daia and her two companions stood at the gatehouse of the guild compound. Their horses shuffled their feet and tossed their heads.

  “Where the hell are they?” Cirang muttered. “It’s well past sunrise.”

  Two other women, mounted and dressed in mail shirts, rode past. “Safe journeys,” they said, waving.

  Daia, Cirang and JiNese returned the greeting.

  “We’ll have to ride hard if we want to reach the inn at LakePleasant by nightfall,” Daia said. “Rheodry has only one inn, and it’s not worth the price they charge.”

  Cirang snorted. “I’m sure Your Ladyship has much higher standards for sleeping quarters than JiNese and I do. I find the inn at Rheodry to be more than adequate.”

  Daia narrowed her eyes at the jab. “I never said it was inadequate. I said they charged too much.”

  Cirang scrunched her face and made as though to mock Daia when the merchant arrived driving four draft horses. A rotund man, he wore a brilliant tunic of red and blue, trimmed in gold, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

  “Hail, I’m Yardof, and my daughter, Naylen, is in the wagon. So sorry for the delay,” he said. Yardof gestured as he spoke, with short, plump arms and hands. He looked as though someone hiding behind him waved giant sausages in front of his body as in a comedy. “My daughter slept too late.”

  “That’s not true,” came a shrill voice from the wagon. “I was ready before daybreak. You took too long in the privy.”

  “Let’s just get going, shall we?” Cirang said.

  As Daia mounted, she felt a tugging sensation in her gut, like someone trying to make a connection with her and use her gift as Brawna had done. But this time it felt different -- tacky and vile. She pushed back against it, refusing. Then it dissipated. She looked around to spot who might have done that.

  Roughly fifty paces away, a man stood underneath the eaves of a gemsmith’s shop, watching her. He wore his black hair cropped short, and the long brown robe and liripipe of a cleric. Somehow, Daia knew he was no cleric. She shuddered and nudged Calie to a trot, eager to distance herself from the robed man. When she returned, she would ask around, learn his identity.

  Yardof sat atop the wagon driving the horses while Naylen rode under the cover of its canvas roof.

  “What do you sell?” JiNese asked Yardof once they were outside the city.

  “Gargoyles,” he said proudly with a wave of his hand. “The most exquisitely crafted wooden gargoyles you’ve ever set eyes upon.”

  “Wooden gargoyles?” Daia asked. “Gargoyles are supposed to be carved of stone. Why would anyone want a wooden one?”

  “Naylen, show the ladies our goods.”

  All three of the swordswomen slowed their horses to align with the back of the cart so they could see the items the merchant had for sale.

  Naylen looked at them with large brown eyes. A lanky girl, she had her father’s dark brown hair and thick eyebrows. With a sigh, she muttered to herself as she stood to open the chest she’d been sitting on. Inside lay a jumble of perhaps fifty small figurines, intricately carved of various types of wood. They varied in color from almost whit
e to deep brown and red, and ranged in size from two to eight inches. Each one had tiny jet-black onyxes set into its eye sockets.

  “What are the gems for?” Daia asked.

  “Protection,” Naylen replied with a bored tone as though she’d answered this question a thousand times already.

  “Naylen, show them how the gargoyles work,” Yardof called.

  The girl sighed again and grabbed one of the carvings from the box, then shut the lid. She set the gargoyle atop the chest and released her hand.

  The figurine rose and fell as though it had taken a breath. Its carved claws flexed, then melded into the chest. At once the gargoyle and its perch were of a single piece of wood. Daia saw no line to divide them.

  “That’s beautiful,” JiNese exclaimed.

  “Nice trickery. But what good is it?” Cirang asked.

  “Try to open the chest,” Naylen challenged, pushing it to the end of the wagon.

  Cirang snorted and urged her horse closer. She leaned over, careful not to fall out of the saddle, and reached for the box. She hissed and jerked her hand back. “Damn!”

  “What’s wrong?” JiNese asked.

  “It burnt the hell out of me,” Cirang said. She put two fingers into her mouth.

  Naylen reached for the lid of the chest and opened it with ease. “Whoever places the gargoyle can open the chest, and no other.” She lifted the gargoyle from the box and placed it back inside.

  “Oooh!” JiNese said. “That’s really something.”

  “What happens when the person who places the gargoyle dies before unlocking the chest?” Daia asked. “Is the chest then locked forever?”

  Naylen’s face went blank. “Um… Papa?”

  “The gargoyle will remain until a second gargoyle unlocks the chest,” Yardof said. “But only if the person who placed the first one has passed on. Then the original gargoyle can be removed and reused.”

  “Does it work on other things?” Daia asked.

  “Absolutely. They work wonderfully on doors. You can even put one on a chair if you don’t want anyone else to sit on it. Our gargoyle locks are unique and secure; even the most powerful mage in the world couldn’t defeat it.”