The Kinshield Legacy

by K. C. May

  “What is it?” the man yelled.

  “Calewen’s Pendant.”

  The eye disappeared and the curtain fell back to hang straight. Gavin heard a bolt slide across, and the door creaked opened a hand’s width. The eye appeared once again and measured him with a glance.

  “You have Queen Calewen’s Pendant?” the scholar asked.

  “I do,” Gavin said. “Laemyr Surraent in Ambryce hired me to retrieve it from a thief. He said you have Ronor Kinshield’s letter. I’m here to make a trade.”

  The door opened wide enough to admit him. Gavin stepped into the dimly lit great hall.

  The scholar shut the door, stepped back, and held the lamp up. “My! Big fellow, aren’t you?” he asked. Beneath a sparse tuft of gray hair, a single eyebrow stretched across his wrinkled forehead. A pair of spectacles slid from the end of his narrow nose to the bridge as he peered up at Gavin. “You’re a warrant knight, no doubt. I’m Sage Wikham Marckys,” he said. “You look familiar. Have you been here before?”

  Gavin shook his head. The name sounded familiar, but he didn’t recognize the face. “Do you have Kinshield’s letter or not?”

  “We have what appears to be a copy of Ronor Kinshield’s letter to the Lordover Tern, if that’s what you mean,” Sage Marckys said. “But I can’t give it to you. It’s a piece of history and must be studied. Validated.”

  “Then make a copy of it,” Gavin said. “I only need to know what it says.”

  The scholar studied him for a moment, then beckoned him. “Come with me.” Gavin followed him down a narrow hallway to a modest dining room. “Please, sit. I will bring tea.” Sage Marckys set the lamp on the table and waddled from the room.

  Gavin didn’t have time to socialize. He stood behind a chair and waited. When Sage Marckys returned carrying a pair of tea cups, Gavin said, “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m in a hurry. I need the letter. If you’ll copy it for me, I’ll give you the pendant and be on my way.”

  Sage Marckys peered up at him, squinting through his spectacles. “Let me explain,” he said as he set the cups down. “The letter Ronor Kinshield wrote was intended for the lordovers, not for the public. It contains disturbing information about King Arek’s death. If this information were to... get out,“ he said with a wave of his hand, ”it would cause our citizens undue distress. It would be best if the letter stayed lost.”

  Gavin hated what he was about to do, but it seemed the only way. “I understand,” he said, “but there’s somethin’ you should know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue moonstone, keeping it hidden in his fist. “You said I look familiar. Maybe you have seen me before.” He opened his palm, revealing the gem, and watched the scholar’s face.

  Sage Marckys’s eyebrows shot up. “Remarkable. This looks like the fourth...” He raised his eyes to Gavin’s, his mouth dropping open.

  Gavin pulled the scabbard off his back and tilted the hilt of his sword toward the scholar to show him the three gems embedded there.

  Sage Marckys stumbled and gripped a chair back. “Oh glory be to the seven realms,” he breathed. “I believe I understand now, my liege.” He went to one knee and bowed his head.

  Gavin felt the blood rush to his face. What man was so ignoble to genuflect to a warrant knight? He touched the scholar’s shoulder. “Please don’t do that.”

  When Sage Marckys raised his eyes to Gavin’s, he stammered an apology as he rose. “I should have recognized you from the cave the day the first rune was solved. Forgive me, my liege.”

  “Never mind that,” Gavin said. Having people socially superior to him suddenly treat him with reverence disturbed him. He removed the black velvet pouch from his pocket and pulled apart the drawstring top. Careful not to touch the diamond, he withdrew Calewen’s Pendant and let it dangle from its chain in front of Sage Marckys’s face.

  The scholar gasped. His eyes followed the diamond’s gentle swing until Gavin laid the pendant on the table.

  “The letter?” Gavin asked.

  “Of course, my liege. Our regular scribe’s away, but if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll copy it myself.”

  Daia paced the length of the dining room, her stomach knotted, her hands flexing and unflexing. Brawna sat quietly, and Edan babbled some nonsense about Gavin’s ability to fend for himself. Daia barely heard him. Gavin could be dead, lying in an alley somewhere, or unconscious and bound, being whisked away to Ravenkind’s hideaway to be tortured. When the door opened and Gavin walked in, she let out a cry of relief. “Where the hell have you been? You can’t just sneak out while everyone’s asleep.”

  Gavin’s brow dipped. “You’re hollering at me for sneaking out, after the stunt you pulled with Cirang’s knife?”

  “My life isn’t as valuable as yours is. All it takes-- wait. How did you know about that?”

  Gavin grinned. “That connection you made with me? On the stairs? Went both ways.”

  Daia felt her cheeks tingle. What else had he gleaned from poking around in her mind? “Gavin, all it takes is one hot-handed brigand with a death wish to do you in, and there goes another two hundred years of our history.” She paced around the table. “We’ve waited a long time for this. The people deserve a king. I’m not about to let you go wandering off unescorted into Yrys-knows-what dangers without a defender at your back. You owe it to Thendylath to exercise caution.”

  She expected an angry retort, but he sat down quietly at the table with a smile on his face and reached for a piece of bread.

  “I want to go with you,” she continued, “no matter how benign the situation appears to be. Brodas Ravenkind’s still at large. If I can’t accompany you for whatever reason, take Edan or Brawna.”

  Gavin chuckled.

  His humor ignited her fury. He obviously didn’t take the situation -- or her concern -- seriously. “What do you find so amusing, Kinshield?” she hollered. “The fact that you worried us all with your inexplicable disappearance, or that you could’ve been killed?”

  “No. I’m just trying to imagine the scholars at the institute trying to slay me with their mighty quills.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew a scroll. Edan, Daia and Brawna watched him silently as he unrolled it. He handed it to Daia. “Read this.”

  Daia took it, holding Gavin’s gaze. Was this what she thought it was? She scanned it, reading silently. It was. The letter to the Lordover Tern from Ronor Kinshield -- a copy, judging from the clean parchment and fresh smell of ink. Had he read it yet? Could he read?

  “Out loud,” Gavin said.

  Risan walked in. “Dwaeth is still asleep.” He looked around the table. “I am interrupting?”

  “Risan, take a seat,” Gavin said. “You should hear this too.”

  Casting her eyes back down at the page, Daia began to read the letter aloud.

  To Portulus Celònd, Lordover Tern

  From Ronor Kinshield, Champion to King Arek of Thendylath

  This fifteenth day of Nevebria in the second year, fourth decade, fifteenth century of the Sacrifice

  It is with a heavy heart and head hanged in shame that I take pen in hand to give an accounting of the events that transpired at the palace on a day that shall forever be mourned as one of ultimate defeat. I ask you to please relay the information to the other lordovers of Thendylath. On the matter of how widely to distribute this knowledge, I leave to your better judgment.

  The wizard Crigoth Sevae, in his foul attempt to usurp the throne, has unleashed upon the world a monster horrific in appearance and so vastly powerful that three thousand of the king’s men-at-arms joined in a single force could not defeat it. This monster is called Ritol and it feeds on the life force of the dying. Not only has it acquired an insatiable lust for the human spirit, but it acquires the spirit-bound attributes of those it consumes. It has thusly gained immense magical powers in the few days since it crossed into this realm. It was at the claws of this wretched beast that the queen has perished.

  My most solemn v
ow was to protect King Arek, with my own life if need be. I left his side in order to ensure the safety of the queen and the unborn heir, and in doing so, I failed that vow. Had I known she was already deceased with the heir lying still within her womb, I would have disobeyed King Arek’s final command and delivered him safely from the palace at all costs.

  Yet, on the brink of King Arek’s death, even as I was about to surrender him to the monster Ritol, I made another vow. I swore that in the event of Queen Calewen’s death and that of their child, I would not leave the kingdom without a ruler. King Arek entreated me to speak the names of the five runes he’d carved into the tablet, claim the gems they protected and his magic contained therein, and rule Thendylath. With this new vow fresh upon my lips, I abandoned our king to a torturous death at the claws of the demon Ritol. King Arek’s demise, and the manner of it, sits heavily upon my shoulders.

  Alas, I cannot fulfill my vow. I have neither the strength of will nor the clarity of conscience to do so.

  Responsibility for the king’s death is mine. I fully expect that my punishment for disobedience and regicide will be death, and I would welcome it as a reprieve from the shame in which I now live. My greatest fear is that I will live on in the Afterlife to face my king and be required to answer for my failed vows. My only salvation would be by the grace of an enlightened man who would meditate upon the runes and learn their names, thus claiming the throne in my stead. Yet, it is not within my right to tutor such a man in order to relieve me of my burden, and so I live on, ever hopeful that my savior will present himself.

  To him I would offer this counsel: beware Ritol. Find a way to vanquish the demon imprisoned within the palace. On passing through the gate with all five gems in your possession, you will open the demon’s prison and make vulnerable to its horrors every man, woman and child of Thendylath and, verily, the world. It is now up to you to seal the rift and end the onslaught of beyonders from the underworld, but save yourself at all costs, lest the power of Wayfarer become Ritol’s.

  Finally, should you miraculously survive this challenge, I implore you to find King Arek’s bones entombed within the palace and give him the burial he deserves.

  Yours,

  Ronor Kinshield

  Chapter 62

  Gavin’s heart pounded so furiously, he had a fleeting thought that he would die of heart tremors right there at the table. His gaze locked onto Daia’s ice blue eyes. Ronor Kinshield’s words could have been Gavin’s; they’d both rested their hopes on a savior, someone else to claim the King’s Blood-stone and ascend to the throne.

  As Daia read the letter, it all started to make sense. He still believed there was no destiny, yet neither did he truly have free choice in this matter; he was there because of Ronor’s failed vow. No. He could no longer blame his failings on a long dead ancestor.

  It was my own vow.

  The thought startled him and he shoved it from his mind. Ronor Kinshield had spent years ignoring his vow to the king, wishing for a scholar to take his place, and now Gavin was repeating the mistake. But Gavin’s mistake was not limited to one vow; he’d been making promises in every aspect of his life and failing to keep them.

  I swear, the voice from his dream whispered in his mind. More than a voice -- a feeling. A hand gripping his arm. The sight of azure eyes boring into his own. The image started to fade. Gavin clutched for it, felt it slip away.

  “Daia,” he whispered.

  She knew what he wanted, for he felt her presence take hold of him, anchoring him while he rappelled into a swirl of forms and sounds inside his mind, a memory he’d always known he had, but could never find.

  In the span of a single heartbeat, two hundred fourteen years disappeared like the wisp of smoke from a candle being extinguished. Gavin saw walls stretching to a high-domed ceiling, musty volumes scattered desperately across the white marble floor. He pictured a familiar figure bent over a huge round table as clearly as though it was happening all over again.

  Ronor burst into the library, ready to announce the completion of his task. When he saw the king, hunched over the wide oak table before him, he held his tongue.

  Sweat soaked the rounded collar of King Arek’s tan tunic. His hands shook as he chiseled a rune into the surface of a stone tablet; four gems had been embedded into its surface with four runes etched beside them. King Arek blew the dust from the tablet, and placed a green and red-speckled bloodstone into the last remaining hole. With a shaking hand, he began to chisel another rune into the stone beside it, chanting softly as he worked.

  Ronor paced to calm his anxiety and impatience. What the tablet was for, he did not know. King Arek had not mentioned it before. The time required to set the gems and carve the runes was time they should have been using to prepare for the demon’s arrival. But if King Arek thought it important enough to do now, Ronor would not argue. His inclination was to urge the king to hurry, but to infuse magic into the carved symbols, King Arek needed to concentrate. Ronor supposed his footsteps echoing on the marble floor did not help, and he went to the window to look out.

  From his vantage point in the palace, he saw most of Tern. The streets were deserted except for a few foolish individuals scurrying to their destinations. They had been warned; they knew the danger. Ronor’s hand went reflexively to the hilt of his sword.

  Ordinarily, he did not worry about the occasional madman threatening to usurp the throne. They heard such ramblings from time to time. What danger he could not vanquish with his sword, King Arek eradicated with magic. But Crigoth Sevae had been more determined than mad. If only Ronor had killed him before the mage had summoned the demon. Now, with the life force of so many armsmen and countless civilians, the demon Ritol was more than a match for King Arek. Soon the demon would seek out the king here, hungry for King Arek’s magic.

  “Finished,” King Arek said at last. “Did you place all six rune stones?” His shoulders slumped and he reached for the glass of water on the table with a quivering hand.

  “Yes, my liege, as you instructed,” Ronor said, going to his king. “You need rest.”

  “We haven’t time to rest,” King Arek said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Ronor, if the demon kills me and gets my magic, it will become Wayfarer and have free access to all of the realms in existence, not just our own.”

  Ronor nodded with a questioning scowl. Why was King Arek telling him what he already knew?

  “It is my magic, not my life, that you must protect now,” King Arek continued. “This tablet is like a key. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to argue with you. I’ve bound my magic to the gems within it. When I die--”

  “My lord, no,” Ronor said. “You won’t die. I will protect--”

  “Ronor, listen to me. When I die, my magic will fill these gems and the realms will be safe. For a time. You must take the tablet beyond the boundary of the palace. When you do, the runes you placed around the grounds will form a barrier, giving me time to reach the vortex and enter the demon’s realm.”

  “My liege, that was not our plan. I’m going with you.”

  “I’ve come to realize that our plan is flawed,” King Arek said, shaking his head. “If we don’t seal the rift, our efforts will be for naught.”

  “My lord, we’ve discussed this a dozen times. My presence there will buy you time to cross back.”

  “You can’t know what your willingness to sacrifice yourself means to me. But the risk is too great. What if your presence there does not seal the rift? What if the demon kills us both? We must ensure the tablet’s safety above all else, for the sake of the other realms and the innocent beings who inhabit them. This is the only way. Now, go. Take the tablet to the stronghold. Calewen should be there by now.” King Arek paused and his eyes softened. “Do you think she’s safe?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ronor replied with certainty. “She has Galomand and the rest of the men to protect her, plus the barrier spell on the cave entrance.” He had to believe the queen was safe. Th
e alternative was too dire to speculate about, for she carried the king’s heir in her womb. The time for doubt had long passed.

  “I have been proud to call you a friend, Ronor.”

  Sunlight gleaming through the tall windows lit up King Arek’s azure eyes, and at last, Ronor understood; King Arek knew he would not be returning.

  “As have I, my liege,” Ronor replied. His voice grated through his constricted throat.

  The king made a quick movement, then offered his hand. Ronor shook it, feeling something pressed into his palm.

  “Give this to Calewen,” King Arek said. “For my son.”

  Ronor looked down at King Arek’s signet ring in his palm. He curled his fingers around it and clenched his jaw. Perhaps the king had accepted his fate, but Ronor refused to do the same. King Arek would return to claim his ring. “You will be back, my liege.”

  “We’ve taken every precaution to protect Calewen, but nothing in life is certain. Should you survive us all, promise me you won’t leave the country without a ruler.”

  Ronor jerked back as though he had been slapped. “My lord! No!”

  “You mustn’t let Thendylath fall into chaos. You have been at my side for thirteen years. Promise me you’ll pick up where I left off, if it comes to that.”

  “Your majesty, we won’t fail. We will prevail—”

  King Arek gripped Ronor’s arm. “Swear it. Swear it on your immortal soul!”

  Ronor searched King Arek’s eyes, burning with apprehension. It was a moot point, but the king needed reassurance. “I swear.”

  King Arek held his gaze for a moment, and Ronor felt a chill sweep over him.

  In the distance, a scream pierced the silence. Ronor rushed to the window. A dark hunched form raced through the streets of Tern. “It’s coming! My lord, we must hurry.” He drew the leather gauntlet from his rear pocket and put it on his sword hand. He stood no chance of surviving a battle with the demon, but he wanted to be ready.