Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4)

by K. C. May

  “The queen volunteered herself for the Mark of Zuhlis Fahn. Will you offer her for this great honor and begin to build a peace between our nations?”

  “No!” Edan said, his voice quiet but urgent. “That ceremony will kill her.”

  Gavin narrowed his eyes and renewed his grip on Aldras Gar’s hilt. “No. She wasn’t in her right mind and had no authority to make any offers.”

  “Then you’ll answer for the crimes of your predecessors,” the Lord Orator said.

  “These people aren’t responsible for any o’that. It’s me you want. Let everyone else go.”

  “Gavin, no,” Edan said. “They want retribution, not peace.”

  With a nod, the Lord Orator issued the command to seize him. As several warriors stepped forward, their armor snapped open. A series of silver plates shuffled out to cover the men’s torsos. Gavin watched with fascination, though when Aldras Gar whispered its warning in his mind, he readied his sword. “Look,” he said to the Lord Orator, “I understand you have a quarrel with my distant relative, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Our ally, the High Shaman Aciralle Vide of Nilmaria, was among those taken and slain by the otherworld beings from whom you escaped. His death was the direct result of your actions and your failure to return the Nal Disi crystal to its own realm. It is clear that in four hundred years, your people have learned nothing. Drop your weapon and step forward, King.”

  A flood of heat filled Gavin’s muscles when he realized they meant to execute him on the spot. There were more than a dozen abductees left, and so he couldn’t simply escape with them to the green realm without leaving at least a handful behind—people who might be slain in Gavin’s stead. He hadn’t the strength to fight off the entire battalion, but maybe they would think twice. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, he pushed hard from his gut.

  A blast of wind-like power hit the Cyprindians from the front. Men flew into the men behind them, clearing the area in front of Gavin. Only the Lord Orator was unaffected, shielded from the blast by some kind of magic. At first, the warriors on the sides were shocked stiff, but then their armor opened. With a sound like a hundred geese clapping their beaks, all the bare-chested guards became armor-covered warriors.

  Pain pounded the inside of Gavin’s head. Blood trickled from his nose, across his mouth, and dripped from his chin. More of it dribbled down the sides of his neck.

  He hit the Cyprindians again, this time directing his blast to the east to clear an exit path. Men flew into each other and tumbled across the grass.

  His skull felt like it was being crushed in a giant fist. He cried out, clutching his head. Blood poured from his nose, filling his mouth with its salty tang. Two strong arms caught him under each arm, barely keeping him from going to his knees. That was stupid, he told himself as he struggled to regain his feet. He was unable to stand unassisted, let alone flee. Once the warriors recovered, they would bleed him with their lances, and he had no more strength.

  Aldras Gar.

  “Guardians,” he croaked, “help us.”

  Chapter 60

  The Guardians faded into view, and the Lord Orator’s mouth dropped open. “Spirits be good,” he muttered as he made a gesture over his heart.

  He can see them? Gavin’s heart pounded as he waited to see what would happen. The pain in his head was fading, but he was still too weak to stand without help.

  As the warriors got to their feet, their expressions changed from anger to surprise, but they didn’t flee. Their gaze was directed at something above Gavin’s head.

  One of the warriors screamed and began to thrash. He fought an invisible foe, jabbing with his pole-arm and flailing with his fists. Then he went down onto his back, screaming and kicking like he was trying to get away.

  “Close your eyes,” the Lord Orator commanded. “Don’t look at it.”

  Nobody seemed to hear him. A dozen other warriors thrust their weapons at the invisible enemy, but they instead stabbed their comrade again and again, gradually denting and breaking through his strange, magical armor. Blood spurted in every direction, covering their armor, faces, and hands. The downed warrior’s screams only intensified their attack.

  “Stop!” the Lord Orator cried. “It isn’t real. The demon is an illusion.”

  “Arms down,” another warrior commanded. “There is no demon. Arms down.”

  The warriors stopped fighting, and many blinked hard like they were clearing the vision from their eyes.

  Oh hell, Gavin thought. “Guardians, do you have any other ideas?”

  “You won’t approve,” they said, “but we can slay them.”

  If they didn’t do something, Gavin was going to be executed, and someone, possibly this fake Lord Orator or maybe the warrior whose weapon finished him, was going to inherit King Arek’s magic and become Wayfarer. “Do it,” he said. “Slay only enough to negotiate our release.”

  An icy feeling shot up Gavin’s spine and raised the hair on his arms. Instinct told him he’d made another mistake, one that might end them all. “Wait,” he shouted. “Don’t—”

  The clamminess of dread flooded his face when he heard the Guardian’s command: Whemorard.

  A black line split the air in front of Gavin and widened. Shock froze him in place as he watched a black, clawed hand reach through the void, followed by a foot as the Guardians’ chosen champion stepped into the world.

  Ritol.

  Its body, shiny and black as a cave in the mirknight, towered over the tallest Cyprindian by two feet. It opened its arms and hands, splaying the fingers. Six-inch claws curved to a fine point. Then it tipped back its triangular head and roared with a mouth that opened impossibly wide, showing serrated gray teeth and three ashen tongues. Nearly everyone clutched their ears, trying to lessen the pain of its horrible voice.

  This can’t be happening. Gavin staggered backwards away from it and stumbled, too weak to catch himself. Hands caught him under the arms and helped him regain his footing.

  “What is that?” a warrior behind him asked.

  The monster wasted no time. It seized the two nearest Cyprindian warriors and picked them up by the necks, one in each hand. With a powerful shake, it ripped their heads from their bodies and sucked in its breath before tossing the corpses aside.

  Behind him, a few people began to scream.

  “Ah, yes,” Ritol said, its tritonal voice painful to the ears. “I shall feast this day.”

  The warriors hesitated as if they were uncertain whether it was illusion or real. Several attacked it, but their weapons glanced harmlessly off Ritol’s black diamond skin. It picked up one man in both hands. Bits of armor flew in every direction as Ritol crushed it like the shell of a nut. The warrior screamed as its claws dug into him, but that scream was cut short when the demon twisted him so hard that his chest faced backwards. Ritol took a breath and shuddered with pleasure.

  “Flee!” cried the Lord Orator. “The Demon Lord has called his champion!”

  The warriors began to run. Ritol reached with first one arm and then the other, and warrior after warrior flew backwards through the air as they fled. Each met his death at the demon’s claws. Many struck trees as their bodies hurtled backwards through the air, breaking bones or knocking them mercifully unconscious.

  “Guardians, stop,” Gavin shouted. “They’re retreating. Send the demon back.”

  “Your enemy will turn on you once again, Emtor. We must ensure your safety.”

  Gavin couldn’t bear to watch the carnage, but neither could he turn away. He had to do something, but as weak as he was, opening a portal to the red realm to summon the demon back would surely result in his death—and Ritol becoming Wayfarer. If Gavin was strong enough to defend himself, the Guardians would halt their attack. He needed to recover his essence, and he needed to do it quickly.

  Then an idea struck him: If he took control of Ritol himself, he could command it to stop. He connected with Daia’s conduit, saw the Nal
Disi’s haze, and began to pull the Guardians’ essence into himself.

  “Emtor, no,” they said. “You mustn’t.”

  He felt the power filling him, strengthening his muscles and his resolve. The feeling was both pleasurable and lofty, like awakening after a long sleep. He pulled harder, encouraged by the screams of dying Cyprindians, desperate to save them.

  “Stop!” the Guardians yelled. “You must stop this instant. We’ll defend ourselves.”

  The voice of the zhi-pure Guardian cried, “Emtor, please. I cannot restrain him.”

  Gavin ignored their pleas, instead filling himself with their essence. Every passing moment strengthened him.

  The kho-pure voice of the Guardian growled. “You were warned, Uckod.”

  Ritol stopped pulling warriors. Behind Gavin, the screams faded to stunned silence.

  The demon grabbed him, trapping his sword arm against his side. Its five razor-like claws seared the side of his body, two in his chest, and three in his back. His eyes met the glittering black gaze of the demon.

  Empowered by the essence flowing into him, Gavin let loose a blast of lightning-magic that should have blown Ritol’s foul head from its shoulders. Instead, the demon opened its mouth and breathed the spell in. Sparks crackled in its black eyes before fading away, and it tossed its head back and laughed.

  Oh, shit.

  “At last,” it said, its booming voice shredding Gavin’s eardrums. “I’ve waited long for this moment. Give the command, masters. Let me consume the power within this wretched vessel. Let me become Wayfarer.”

  Hot blood flowed down Gavin’s body, already burning from the inside by the healing magic as it tried to repair the wounds even while Ritol’s claws were still gouging his flesh. Would the Guardians command Ritol to kill him, knowing it would become Wayfarer? He couldn’t let that happen.

  He groped for his son’s tiny haze, faint though it was. He found it, reached for it with a tendril of his own, and encircled it. If the demon killed him, then he had to make sure his son would be the first to inherit his magic. Feanna was no threat to the Guardians. They would let her go.

  “No,” he whispered. With Daia’s conduit strengthening him ever more, he pulled the Guardians’ essence with all his might. If he absorbed enough to control Ritol, he could send it back to the hell it came from.

  “Stop!” the Guardians cried.

  The lone zhi-pure voice said, “He’ll let the demon slay you. Emtor, please. You must stop.”

  A warning tickled Gavin’s mind. He’d made so many bad decisions, so many mistakes. Was this yet another? Should he relent and give the Guardians back the essence he’d stolen, and hope that his unborn son inherited his magic when he died?

  Time seemed to slow as he realized he was never meant to survive the encounter with Ritol. King Arek’s original plan was to take Ronor with him to the red realm and summon Ritol back there. Ronor’s presence, drawing the demon’s attention, would have given him time to open the vortex and return home. Instead, a visit from a mysterious stranger had changed King Arek’s mind. Gavin had been that mysterious stranger. He knew now how ultimately self-serving that had been. The ensuing two hundred years had passed with him reliving Ronor’s life—letting his father die the way King Arek had, his wife and child the way Queen Calewen had—all because of that visit. A visit that had, indeed, changed the course of history.

  Ronor should have died that day, not the king. But now he had a chance to set things right. This might be the last decision he would ever make, his final opportunity to fix all that had gone wrong. He would save the king this time—the unborn king in Feanna’s womb. This was his chance at redemption.

  Gavin, no! the voice in his head thought. Daia? How did she—?

  The hand squeezed harder, the claws dug deeper, renewing the flow of blood. Gavin felt his ribcage crack under the pressure, and he groaned in pain. He stopped pulling the essence. “Please,” he whispered, needing to buy another moment’s time. “Release... me.” With his free hand, he reached behind his back and felt for the waterskin.

  “You’ll return our essence to the Nal Disi,” the Guardians said together.

  “Yes,” he lied, pulling the water skin free. “Tell it... to stop.” With his thumb, he pushed the cork out and lifted the skin to his lips.

  “Gavin, no!” Edan cried. He rushed forward, reaching for Gavin’s arm. Ritol back-handed him with barely an effort. He flew a good twenty feet through the air, slammed into a tree, and then fell to the ground with a thud.

  Gavin let the cool water fill his mouth.

  Ritol’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “Masters, let me drink—”

  With the deepest breath he could manage, Gavin spat the water into Ritol’s open mouth.

  The demon choked and sputtered.

  Little by little, the claws loosened and with them, the pain. Ritol’s eyes dulled and softened. Its grand bearing withered, and it set him down gently and released him.

  Gavin clutched his side while his healing magic burned hotter.

  “What have you done?” the Guardians asked in disbelief, their voices small.

  People stopped screaming. The Cyprindian warriors crept back towards the clearing, wary yet curious.

  Ritol looked at its bloody hands and at the dead bodies strewn about. “I... did this.” Its tritonal voice was strangely melodic. It rubbed its chest with one huge hand. “What is this pain inside me? I don’t like it. I cannot bear it.” It lay on the ground, curled into itself, and wailed.

  Gavin wasn’t sure if it was in pain or merely remorseful. He wished he felt triumphant for having defeated it again, but he only managed pity. “Send it back,” he said.

  “You’ve changed its essence,” the Guardians said. “It is pure zhi now. Its own kind will slay and devour it.”

  “Well, we can’t let it stay here,” he replied. “It’ll cause another rift in the barriers between the realms, and the beyonder invasion will start over again.” Besides, knowing that Ritol was truly dead, never to be summoned again, would fill him with a good measure of relief. “If you make me go to the red realm to summon it there, I might leave the Nal Disi behind and let the beyonders feed on what’s left o’your essence.”

  “No!” the Guardians said. “Ritol is released.”

  “Spare me, please!” The demon cried pitifully as it was pulled back into its own realm, leaving only its stench behind.

  Gavin shuddered with relief. Ritol would be dead in a matter of minutes, and he would never have to worry about it again.

  “You summoned the demon and then tamed it?” Kaoque asked, stepping forward.

  “Not exactly,” Gavin replied. With the Guardians’ essence inside him and most of his strength recovered, he was confident he could defeat the remaining Cyprindians, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. Ritol’s claws had broken quite a few links in his mail, providing gaping targets for an enemy blade. “The Guardians—the spirits within the Nal Disi—summoned it. They were trying to protect me from your warriors. When you retreated, I told them to call off the attack, but they refused, and so I tried to take control of the demon, to stop it. That was when they turned on me.”

  “Yes, I saw these spirits,” the Lord Orator said pensively. “The Guardians, as you call them, created the illusion, not you.”

  Gavin nodded. “When you saw through it, they made it real. They summoned it from the red realm.”

  “But it wasn’t attacking your people,” Kaoque said. “Only us.”

  “Even after I sentenced you to death, you risked your life to save us,” the Lord Orator said.

  “He risked far more than his life,” Edan said, stumbling forward with the help of Calinor’s and Tennara’s arms around him.

  Kaoque pressed his palms together and bowed deeply, pausing there for a long moment. When he straightened again, his eyes were filled with tears. “You risked everything to save us—your life, your wife’s life, your magic, your soul. Why?”

  �
��Because I’m not the Demon Lord,” Gavin answered.

  The Lord Orator came forward and bowed as Kaoque had, and the warriors followed suit. “I believe this is your way.” He offered his hand, which Gavin shook. “That’s right. You’re not the Demon Lord. Only a noble man, a man of honor would risk himself to save lives, even those who were once his enemy. The Beresfards of Thendylath have been redeemed. Perhaps sometime soon, you would be willing to meet our Lord Ruler on neutral ground to discuss mutually beneficial trade between our two countries.”

  Gavin nodded. “I would. Most definitely.”

  Tokpah opened his hand. In his palm lay the amulet Gavin had removed from Feanna’s neck. “I took this, but it was a gift to your wife.” Gavin accepted the offered amulet and put it into his coin purse with thanks. It was a valuable tool that would undoubtedly come in handy.

  “We have horses not far from here,” the Lord Orator said. “We’ll gladly see you all safely to the port city of Gotnok.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I got a faster way.” Gavin summoned the Baron Hexx one last time, and with the Cyprindian warriors holding him hostage, he negotiated transport home to Thendylath for his companions and the remaining abductees.

  Chapter 61

  Gavin had no choice. Arguing back and forth with the Guardians over his use of their essence was wasting time. His wife’s and son’s lives were at stake. If Feanna’s essence wasn’t restored from the Nal Disi, it would be restored from her body, and what would that do to their son growing in her womb? Images in his mind of an elderly and frail Feanna trying to give birth to an infant already wrinkled with age disturbed him. He had to do it, and with Ritol now zhi-pure, they had no defense against him.

  He shut the door to his library and settled on the floor with Feanna slumped in his arms, her back against his chest. The Nal Disi sat on the floor between her knees and, focused on the Guardians’ essence, he began to pull.

  “No, Emtor!” they cried. Their pleas became demands, and their demands became threats. They tried to frighten him with images of his past—his father’s dismembered corpse begging for help, his brother’s severed head screaming at him to stop, his first wife, Talisha, choking on her own blood, and his three-year-old daughter, Caevyan, reaching with one bloody finger towards him as she lay dying on the floor. Jennalia’s words came back to him: refuse the illusion. Gavin gritted his teeth and kept pulling, unwilling to let his past mistakes defeat him again. A spot of blood appeared on Feanna’s dress and spread. Refuse it. When a limp, blue-faced baby boy slid out between her thighs, choked to death by his own umbilical cord, Gavin nearly stopped, his stomach convulsing.