by K. C. May
Rogan cried out and stepped back as he threw an arm across Gavin’s chest in a protective gesture. “Seven hells!”
The face, spattered with blood, was frozen in a look of surprise with its brown eyes wide and mouth dropped open. A small gem teetered on the lip. Frosty air swirled around it, radiating cold.
Rogan stumbled to a corner and retched. He stood bent over in the corner for a few moments, then made his way back to the bench with heavy steps. “What kind o’sick monster would do somethin’ like this?”
Gavin studied the face. He recognized the family resemblance in her deeply set dark eyes and wavy, brown hair, but he couldn’t place her. “Who was she?” he croaked.
With an expression of mixed horror and disgust, Rogan ventured a closer look. “Looks kind o’like Uncle Corrick’s daughter Winna. But I ha’n’t seen her in ten years at least.”
“She lived in Calsojourn, didn’t she?”
“Last I heard. Why, Little Brother? Why would someone do this to her and send her... her head here? To you?”
Now Gavin was certain Ravenkind was hiding in the farmhouse near Calsojourn. He hoped to get a report from the Sisterhood that he’d been slain. He draped the cloth back over his cousin’s face. “Rogan, you got to take Liera and the boys away from here. I have a place in Tern where you’ll be safe until—”
“Oh, hell. This is Ravenkind’s doin’, ain’t it? What’d you do to him this time?” He clenched Gavin’s shirt in his fists and hauled his brother up close. “What the hell did you do?”
Gavin looked steadily into Rogan’s eyes, knowing his brother didn’t want to hear what he had to say any more than he wanted to say it. “I kept him from claiming the King’s Blood-stone.”
Rogan’s expression changed from anger to shock. He released Gavin’s shirt and staggered backward until he hit the wall. “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me you’re the king?”
Footsteps announced someone entering the barn, and Daia stepped into the tack room. “What’s going on?”
“Are you tellin’ me you’re the bloody king?” Rogan shouted.
“Shhhh! Yes, now keep your voice down.”
Rogan stumbled to a stool and sat heavily on it. He buried his head in his hands.
Gavin showed Daia the severed head. After her initial shock and disgust, she looked at him with a lowered brow. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”
“Remember when I told you Ravenkind murdered my family?”
Daia nodded.
“Last thing he said to me was, ‘Cross me again and I’ll kill every Kinshield in Thendylath and deliver their heads to you.’” To his brother, Gavin said, “He knows where you live. You aren’t safe here.”
“To hell with him!” Rogan hollered. “I won’t be intimidated by that bastard. I dare him to try—”
“Rogan,” Gavin said firmly. “What makes you think you can protect your family better than I could mine? I knew the son of a bitch too. You don’t.”
“Gavin’s right, Rogan,” Daia said. “He can easily render even the strongest fighter useless with magic then kill your wife and children at his leisure while you watch. Let us protect your family until we can find him and kill him.”
“You’re goin’ after him then?” Rogan asked.
Gavin and Daia looked at each other. “Not right away,” Gavin replied. “But yeh. We got to. We got to stop him.”
“Well, I’ll be goin’ with you, then,” Rogan said.
“Rogan, no,” Gavin said. “I couldn’t do to your sons what I did to—” He stopped, realizing he was about to reveal the secret he’d kept from Rogan for fourteen years.
“What you did to who?”
Gavin needed to tell his brother. He should have done it years ago. Rogan deserved to know the truth. “What I did to you and me. Papa’s death. It was my fault.”
“Little Brother, I know you been full o’guilt over it for half your life, but lay it to rest. Papa was killed by a bear. You got bigger problems now.”
“Shut up, Rogan. I got to tell you this. It’s been on my shoulders since I was twelve. You need to know the truth as much as I need to tell you.” He couldn’t look his brother in the eye. As he began to tell the tale, the memory of it was as clear as though it had happened the day before.
The arrow hit the tree stump squarely in the center of the rag nailed to it and quivered with the shock. Gavin turned to Papa, excited. “I hit it!”
Papa laughed and patted Gavin’s shoulder as he readied another arrow. “Hell, Gavin! I couldn’t’ve done as well myself. You’ve a fine eye. Remember to focus on your bow arm. Loosen your fingers a bit. There you go.”
Gavin released and watched the arrow strike the rag again. He couldn’t have wiped the smile from his face if he’d had a knife to his throat.
“Well done, son. You’ve a natural talent.”
He’d practice all day if he could, but there were more chores to be done now that Rogan had taken a wife and left home. It also meant that Papa would bring Gavin along on his hunting trips, rather than make him stay at home. With the two of them hunting, Papa would have more skins to tan and that would mean more money coming in.
“Why don’t you keep practicin’,” Papa said. “I’m goin’ to take a nap. Wake me when the sun dips below that branch there, will you? Then we’ll get us a couple o’squirrels for supper.”
“Awright.”
“Don’t go nowhere, Gavin.”
“I won’t.” Gavin eyed his target. With a fluid motion, he lifted the bow, pulled the string, sighted down the arrow and released. The bow string snapped his right forearm, reddening his skin, and the arrow sailed past the tree stump. “Ow.”
Rubbing his arm, he trudged after it and pulled his other three arrows from the trunk to try again. Papa had settled against a tree behind him, pulled his hat over his eyes, and crossed his arms.
Of the next twenty shots, Gavin only missed the rag twice. He was damned good at this. His natural talent made up for his inexperience. He checked the position of the sun and estimated he had time to go into the woods a little ways, perhaps kill a couple of squirrels himself. Papa would be proud of him for getting supper by himself.
He checked to be sure Papa was still asleep, made sure their horses were tied up good, then tiptoed off. Plenty of squirrels and chipmunks darted everywhere at the sound of his approach, but they always wound their way up a tree, never straight up. He had no time to aim and release before they were out of sight, only to come around, much farther up, a few seconds later.
The sound of something rustling to his left made him stop and listen. It moved slowly, whatever it was, without making much noise. It was too early in the day to be a raccoon, too big to be a rabbit. He crept forward with an arrow nocked, peering through the trees and underbrush. There, behind a thicket, was something dark and shiny. It made a sound like... a turkey! Gavin’s heart fluttered. A turkey would make a fine supper, and the feathers could be sold for arrows or quills. He raised the bow, pulled, sighted, and released.
A terrible squeal echoed through the trees. A hit! He bounded after it, nocking another arrow in case he’d only nicked it. It was running away. He gave chase. Then horror gripped him when he got a good look at what he’d shot.
A bear cub.
The brown cub limped though the woods, screeching in pain and fear. A deep grumble answered.
Shit! Gavin turned and ran as fast as he could toward camp. “Papa!” he shouted, needing to wake his father before the bear sow gave chase. “Papa!”
Through the trees, he saw his father leap up and look around. “Gavin?”
“Papa,” Gavin cried breathlessly. “A bear.”
A roar echoed through the woods with the snapping of branches and four feet pounding toward him. He felt every one of its thundering steps in his spine. Gavin had an early lead, but the bear was faster. Sticks and roots and plants caught his feet and slowed him.
Papa began to untie the horses. “Gavin, run!�
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Behind him, the sow roared. He would swear he felt its breath on his neck. He wasn’t going to make it to the horses.
“The tree,” Papa shouted. “Climb.”
Ahead, he saw a tree with a trunk split low and ran to it. He put his foot in the split and hauled himself up.
He’d made it four feet up when the bear’s claws raked across his face, knocking his grip loose. He fell to the ground.
“Yah!” Papa shouted. He stabbed the bear in the back with his knife. It roared and swiped him. He went tumbling.
Gavin scrambled to his feet and ran to the next tree. He climbed as fast as he could. His feet scrabbled for purchase, slipped, and caught. Eight feet up... Ten feet up... Bear claws raked bark from the tree only inches below his foot. Twelve feet... Fifteen... He stopped about twenty feet above the ground.
The bear sow, unable to reach him, turned on Papa, who was limping toward a tree. “Papa, run!” Gavin shouted.
Papa was injured, clutching his arm to his body. He reached a tree and started to climb. The bear gave chase. Then it was upon him with teeth and claws. Papa screamed. Blood sprayed everywhere.
No, no, no, no. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the tree as if by thinking hard enough he could stop what was happening. He would wake up. This was just a dream. It wasn’t real.
At last Papa’s screams stopped, and all Gavin heard was the bear’s angry growls. He couldn’t bring himself to look. Let Papa be knocked out. Gavin stood on the branch for what felt like hours, waiting for the bear to leave. When he realized the sound he heard was the flapping of scavenger wings, he dared to open his eyes. What he saw would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life — a red blanket of forest litter and body parts strewn across it like a devil’s picnic.
Gavin’s voice was quiet, stripped bare like his soul laid out for Rogan and Daia to see.
“I don’t need to know the rest,” Rogan said. “You got him home. I can imagine what you went through to do it. You were a boy. No child should ever have to see what you saw or do what you did.”
“Don’t you see, Rogan?” Gavin said. “I killed Papa as surely as that bear did.”
Rogan shook his head slowly. “I see. I also got a son the same age you were then, and I know the foolishness of boys and the trouble it can cause. Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough for it?”
“But—”
“No,” Rogan said. “If it helps any, I forgive you. Now focus on the things you can do and the problems you can solve. Find the whoreson who done this.” Rogan pointed to the crate. “And kill him. Kill Ravenkind afore he can do more damage.”
“Gavin,” Daia said, “if you and Rogan list all the Kinshields you can think of, I’ll dispatch a request to send Viragon Sisters to guard their homes. We may not be able to protect them all, but if Ravenkind tries something like this again, at least we’ll have a chance at stopping him.”
Rogan put his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Whatever you need me to do, just ask.”
“For now, keep it quiet,” Gavin said. “Don’t tell anyone who the king is. Anyone.”
“Don’t you think your family deserves to know?” Rogan asked, scowling. “Don’t you think you ought to tell that lady out there whose life you’re thinkin’ o’turnin’ upside down?”
Gavin blinked at his brother. He felt an unfamiliar heat fill his face.
“Don’t try to convince yourself nobody sees it. She’s a fine lady and a friend o’mine and Liera’s. You owe her the truth, Little Brother. Before you capture her heart, not after.”
Chapter 16
Calie was already moving before Daia was fully in the saddle, no doubt sensing her rider’s urgency. Daia heeled her mount and rode at a gallop to Saliria, not slowing until she reached the main street. She trotted when she could, walked when too many people made it necessary. The streets were busy for a city its size, though nothing like the streets of Tern or even Ambryce. Many gaped at her, pausing to watch the swordswoman go by.
“Lordover Saliria should follow in the Lordover Tern’s footsteps and make a law against women carrying weapons,” someone said. “Go back to the kitchen where you belong, young lady.”
“Shut up, you old coot,” a woman spat. “She might beat the pulp out o’you, and I’d pay her a handsome valour-gild for it too.”
A few people laughed.
Daia stopped. “Would you tell me where I can find the messenger service?”
People quieted and stared, no one answering.
“Please, this is an urgent matter,” she said.
“Two streets to the north,” said the woman who’d spoken earlier. “Sign in front shows an arrow with a scroll wound around its shaft.”
“I got a shaft you can wind around,” someone muttered. Nervous laughter broke out.
“My thanks.” Daia nudged Calie and continued on. By now she’d grown used to the rude comments, though she’d never found humor in them. An unwelcome touch, on the other hand, was an invitation for a bloody nose.
She located the messenger service building, a tiny shack with a creaking floor, but no one was inside. She went through the back door and found a heavyset man, shirtless and sweaty, tending to the hooves of a horse. “Pardon me,” she said. He jumped and startled the horse, making it neigh and sidestep. “I need an urgent message sent right away.”
He measured her with a glance then wiped his hands on a rag. “Come inside. I have a messenger available. It may be a while, though. He’s sleeping after a long ride.”
“I’d appreciate haste. This message is important.”
“Where’s it going?”
“To the Viragon Sisterhood compound in Sohan.”
“My penmanship is excellent. Would you like me to write it for you? No extra charge.”
Daia shook her head. Surely he offered the service for the illiterate customers who couldn’t pen their own messages. “I’ve already written it, though I could use some sealing wax.”
“Very well. Help yourself.” He produced a basket and excused himself to rouse the rider. Daia selected a ribbon with which to tie the rolled paper. She used the flame from a nearby lamp to drip wax on the seam, let it cool a few seconds then pressed her thumb onto the warm blob to seal the letter shut.
The dispatcher returned, breathing heavily. “He’s coming. Getting his boots on. Should be here in a moment. My son is saddling his horse now. We’ll have your message off in a hop-skip.”
“And what is the charge?”
“The normal rate is four kions, but urgent delivery is seven.”
Daia opened her satchel and dug into it for her coin pouch. She counted seven small silver coins into his palm. “Posthaste?”
“Absolutely. Thank you for placing your trust in Arrow Messaging Service.”
Daia left the musty shack and untied Calie’s reins. As she led the horse though the town’s streets, people stopped again to stare.
“You find your friend, Lady Sister?” a man asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Another Sister asked which way you went. I seen you go into the Arrow. She didn’t find you?”
Daia’s throat tightened. “What did this Sister look like?”
“Oh you know, typical Viragon Sister: ugly, board-chested wench with a sword.” He laughed at his own joke. When he saw Daia didn’t join him, he said, “Dark hair, full lips. She had a deep voice for a woman.”
The description sounded like Cirang, the woman who’d framed Daia for another Sister’s murder, the woman who’d given her loyalty to Brodas Ravenkind instead of to the rightful king. Daia returned to the Arrow. The dispatcher looked at her in surprise.
“Lady Sister?”
“Have you seen a Viragon Sister with dark hair? Speaks with a deep voice?”
“No, Lady. Only you.”
“Tell your messenger to watch out for her and do not under any circumstances give the message to anyone other than Lilalian Whisperblade in Sohan.”
> “Ah, he’s already left, m’lady. You said it was urgent, so he mounted and rode off with it only a moment after you left here. Never fear, he’s a professional. He wouldn’t let your message fall into the wrong hands.”
“You’d better hope not.”
Chapter 17
After Feanna peeled the eggplants, she set them near the fire to cook. Her knees started to ache, and she pulled over a crate and sat on it. Rogan returned from the barn alone carrying Gavin’s sword, studying it as he walked. “It looks like a fine weapon,” she said.
“Yeh. I’ve never seen the like before. Makes me yearn to be ten years younger and twenty stones lighter.” Rogan patted his belly with a grin. He squatted beside her. “Listen, I know Liera’s been harpin’ on you to meet my brother,” he said in a low voice, “and she means well — for both o’you.” He cast a glance at his wife, perhaps to make sure she was occupied and outside of his hearing. “I thought she was bein’ meddlesome, but this time, she might be right. Don’t tell her I said so.”
Feanna felt a familiar warmth spread across her face. “Rogan, not you too!”
“I got a buzz in my ear sayin’ Gavin wants to court you. His life is complicated, though. Make sure he tells you everything afore you accept. Unless you ain’t interested. If that’s the case, let him down easy, eh? He may look big and tough, but he’s got a tender heart.” Rogan chuckled, patted Feanna’s shoulder and continued toward the house.
Watching Rogan walk away, Feanna considered his words. She’d always liked Rogan, perhaps once or twice wished her husband had been more like him. She’d known the Kinshields for all the seven years she’d lived in her home and thought them lovely people, good, hardworking, honest and caring. Their boys were well-mannered and obedient, and last spring helped sow her field. If Gavin was anything like his brother, she could do worse. Much worse. Still, she wondered how interested a warrant knight would be in taking vows and raising a family. Liera had told her about Gavin’s murdered wife and daughter. With those sorts of memories in his head, how could he forfeit a nomadic life free of responsibilities to start fresh?