The Wayfarer King

by K. C. May

  Just as Daia returned on her horse, riding it directly into the barn, Gavin came out with his huge, gray warhorse in tow. The animal had been handsome dressed in its leather armor, but now, bareback with mane flowing free, he was magnificent. Leading the animal into the fenced pasture, Gavin called, “Jaesh,” and waved. His deep voice carried easily across the distance.

  Jaesh, who’d been kneeling with Trevick and Asiawyth beside a tub while they scrubbed the pig skin, stood and waved back. “Can I, Papa?” Jaesh asked.

  “Go on,” Rogan said. “You been waiting long enough for this.”

  Jaesh wiped his hands, ducked between the wooden fence rails and ran to where his uncle stood waiting. In his hand, Gavin carried a pair of toy swords. They talked for a moment before he gave Jaesh a boost onto the gray’s back.

  She watched them practicing in the pasture. Now and then, the warhorse tossed his head to loosen the reins and bent to nibble the grass. Gavin patiently took him by the bridle and lifted his head, but as soon as the horse quit chewing, down he would go for another mouthful.

  Daia came over and sat beside her. There must have been something different about her that stimulated Feanna’s skill, for immediately, Feanna felt her emotions without touching her or shifting. Daia watched Gavin with a mixture of concern, affection and admiration. “Is there something I can help with?” she asked.

  “Thank you for offering, but I think we have it in hand.” Feanna stole glances at the swordswoman, unable to get over how muscular she was. If not for her breasts and the sparsity of hair on her arms, she might have been taken for a man. Feanna wondered how Daia managed to ride for hours on a horse. Didn’t her breasts get awfully tender from all the bumping? With a bolder look, Feanna saw the outline of corset laces in the front of Daia’s tunic.

  “Do you live nearby?” Daia asked her.

  “Yes, just down the road.”

  “Are you married?”

  Feanna hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “No,” she said. She watched Gavin teach his nephew how to steer the warhorse by using body movements. He leaned one way, then the opposite, and Jaesh imitated him. The horse responded by turning or sidestepping.

  “Never had the inclination?” Daia asked after a moment.

  Feanna bowed her head. “I’m widowed.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How long ago did your husband pass?”

  Why all the questions? “A year ago. He died last winter of the lung blight.”

  Gavin handed one of the toy swords to Jaesh and held the other in his left hand.

  “You have only the four children?”

  Feanna thought Daia’s questions were more probing than conversational. Perhaps as a battler, she was more accustomed to bluntness than she was polite conversation. “They’re all orphans, but I think of them as my own.”

  Daia looked at her, surprise plain on her face. “Why?”

  “Someone needs to look after them. It gives me joy to do it.”

  “Were you unable to conceive?”

  The image of Henrik caught in an intimate embrace with a man came unbidden to her mind. “That’s a private question and certainly none of your business.“

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was rude. Please forgive me.”

  A minute passed in silence. Daia’s embarrassment hung like a cloud around her, and soon Feanna felt ashamed for having chastised her for a legitimate, if personal, question. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she said softly. “There’s no reason I wouldn’t be able to conceive.” Assuming, of course, she married a man inclined to have relations with his wife.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but since you’ve caught his eye, I’d like to know you better.”

  Was that jealousy she felt emanating from the swordswoman? “I wouldn’t want to come between you,” Feanna said.

  “No,” Daia said quickly. “My intentions are pure. I want what’s best for him, and I’ve no interest in a husband for myself. I’m married to my sword.”

  While Feanna sensed that was the truth, she also felt Daia was holding something back, perhaps some feelings for Gavin that he either didn’t return or that she kept closely guarded. “I see. Doesn’t that life get lonely?”

  Daia studied her feet. “At times, but the decision is entirely my own, which is better than any life chosen for me.”

  “Yes,” Feanna agreed. Not all her decisions had been wise, but they had been hers.

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  An hour ago, Feanna would have said no. Looking at Gavin Kinshield, she wasn’t so sure. “There’s a lot I don’t understand about the world. I’d like to think we have free choice in all things, but I don’t honestly know.”

  Daia smiled, evidently pleased with the answer. She exuded approval, acceptance and eagerness as she turned her gaze back to Gavin and Jaesh. “What do you think?”

  Feanna looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Of fate?”

  Daia tossed her head in Gavin’s direction. “Of Gavin.”

  “He seems nice.”

  Gavin backed twenty or so paces away from the horse and rider then beckoned them with a hand motion, holding his wooden sword at ready. The horse started forward.

  “He’s an honorable, decent person,” Daia said, “and fond of children. That says something about a man, don’t you think?” The horse cantered toward Gavin. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker, but he’s seeking a wife. If you’ve an inclination to remarry—”

  “Golam!” Gavin yelled. He started to sidestep, but Golam struck him hard with his shoulder and sent the big man tumbling. He lay still, face down in the grass.

  “Gavin!” Daia cried as she shot to her feet and took a few steps toward him. Feanna found herself on her feet as well.

  GJ, sitting on the wooden fence rail, leapt off. “Uncle Gavin!” Jaesh slid from Golam’s back and rushed to his uncle’s aid.

  Instinctively, Feanna reached for him empathically, but he was too far away. Then something extraordinary happened; a rush of clarity enveloped her mind, enabling her to extend her range and touch Gavin with her skill. He was annoyed but uninjured. “He’s not hurt, just a bit nettled.” She looked at Daia, who gave her that knowing smile again as she returned to the log and sat. “Was that...? Did you...?”

  “The Farthans call me a vusar — a mystical conduit. My special power is enhancing the abilities of others. I presume yours is some kind of communication?”

  The two boys rolled Gavin onto his back then squealed as he suddenly grabbed both boys, pulling them down with him. Their laughter carried across the field.

  Feanna laughed too, sharing Gavin’s moment of carefree joy. “No, it’s empathy.”

  Chapter 18

  Brodas pored over Sevae’s journal day and night, hunting for any mention of the rune. When his eyes crossed from exhaustion and the headache became unbearable, he put away the book and went for a ride with Red into Calsojourn to have a meal and contemplate what he’d read. He wondered why Sevae had wanted the Rune of Summoning. He gathered from earlier journal entries that the wizard had no aspirations to rule. Late one evening, with his back aching from days sitting on the hard stool, he found an entry in the journal that began to clarify.

  Again I tried to persuade Arek to use the rune to summon the champion he had met from the realm of discord. With such a powerful ally, we could wrest control of the Wellspring of Enlightenment from the Osgani and ensure our people a life free from ignorance and suffering. He turns a deaf ear to my arguments, refusing even to hear me. Still I persist. It’s the right thing to do.

  The next several weeks’ entries mentioned little about the rune, but buried within a discussion of the harvesting and crushing of iridacea leaves for the treatment of fever, Brodas found what he was looking for.

  Finally, I obtained the name of the summoning rune. It has proven a much greater challenge, for not only did I have to prepare the deliriant potent enough to loosen King Arek’s tongue without inducing a coma but to slip it
to him before he napped without arousing suspicion. After one particularly close call in which the queen walked in as I was questioning my liege lord in his state of delirium, I managed to wrest from him the name of the rune Whemorard, and he was none the wiser.

  Brodas blinked. That was it. The name of the rune. The handwriting was such that he wasn’t sure whether it was Whemonand or Whemorard, but it was something to work with. He skimmed ahead, hoping for instructions on the rune’s use. For the next hour, he flipped pages, his eyes burning with exhaustion. He came to the entries describing the beyonder prince and concluded that Sevae had not written down the summoning process. There was only one thing to do. Try it.

  He retrieved the Rune of Summoning from his satchel and selected a smooth, dark amethyst from the box of gems before taking his seat on the stool. With the rune in one hand and the gem in the other, he took a breath to calm his thundering heart. This would be the defining moment of his rise to power.

  “Ritol, I summon you to me by the power of the rune Whemonand.”

  Nothing happened. Perhaps Sevae had written Whemorard.

  “Ritol, I summon you to me by the power of the rune Whemorard.”

  The gem in his hand cracked into shards and bit into his flesh. He flinched in surprise, flinging the bits across the floor. Hell’s bones! A dull pain trickled up the back of his head, but his healing magic immediately began to ease it. Wetness seeped from his nose across his upper lip, and he swiped it with his knuckle. Blood. He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and used it to clean himself. With his head tilted back, he managed to stop the nosebleed within a few minutes.

  Perhaps he needed more than one gem. He wrapped his cut hand with the cloth, then picked two more gems — harder ones this time, a pair of topazes — and held them more loosely.

  “I summon Ritol by the power of the rune Whemorard.”

  Both gems cracked apart. A headache gripped his skull from the back of his neck to his eyes. He clutched his head, aware that his nose had begun bleeding again, but he let it drip onto the wood floor between his feet. The drip became a stream. He leaned back, resting his pounding head against the wall while he tried to relax with the handkerchief pressed to his nose. The fluttering white magic gradually eased the pain and stopped the flow of blood. After that last attempt, he was disinclined to try the summoning again that evening.

  The following day, Brodas sat at the table going through Sevae’s notes again, searching for some bit of information he may have overlooked on his previous three dozen readings. One of the things he prized most was his intellect. That he couldn’t make the Rune of Summoning work not only frustrated him but perplexed him as well. He had the rune, he knew its name, and he knew the name of the being he wanted to summon. It should have worked. A piece of the puzzle was missing, and nothing in Sevae’s journal had given him a clue what that was. The only explanation that came to mind, though Brodas was loath to entertain the notion, was that his skill with magic simply wasn’t as strong as it needed to be. There was a remedy for that, however, and her name was Daia Saberheart.

  He heard the rhythmic beating of horse’s hooves approaching. “Is that Cirang returning?” he called to Red.

  “No, sire,” Red said. “Looks like a messenger.” After a few minutes, he entered the shack. “He said it’s from Cirang.”

  Brodas took the proffered paper, broke the seal, and opened it. “I hope she has a good explanation for why she’s not back yet.”

  The handwriting was barely legible, like something one might see scratched into the dirt by some ancient barbarian, and the spelling was atrocious, but he managed to make sense of it.

  Your Majesty,

  I was on my way back from Saliria when I caught sight of Daia Saberheart and Gavin Kinshield riding into town with two Viragon Sisters. I made sure they didn’t see me and followed them to his brother’s house. I couldn’t get close enough to see or hear them, but I know Kinshield found the head because Daia went into town to send a message. Of course I stopped the messenger and disposed of his corpse. The message was addressed to Lilalian asking for more battlers to guard Kinshield’s relatives. It also said they’re using the Elegance Inn in Tern as their temporary palace, so I went to Tern to investigate. They have about a dozen Sisters guarding the place, but they’re usually in easily manageable pairs. Please send instructions to me at Swift Flight Messaging to return or stay.

  Yours to command,

  Cirang

  Too excited to sit, he paced across the floor, traversing its length in only seven steps. This news could not have come at a better time. Knowing where Kinshield was hiding simplified everything. Not only could he capture Daia and use her rare and precious gift to summon Ritol, he could deliver on his promise to Kinshield more directly. He didn’t need Rogan Kinshield alive any longer.

  “Get our horses ready to ride, Red.” Brodas started to pack his books for the journey. “We have a journey ahead.”

  Red sucked his teeth. “Where to, sire?”

  “We’re going to Tern, but we’ll stop in Saliria on the way. We’re going to meet Gavin Kinshield’s brother.”

  Chapter 19

  The Kinshields’ dining table wasn’t large enough to seat the seven adults and as many children. The five youngest children sat at the table, which had been carried outside, while Jaesh, Trevick and the adults gathered around the smoldering cookfire on stools and overturned crates and buckets, balancing their plates on their knees.

  Feanna couldn’t help but be aware of Gavin, whose presence loomed large within the circle. Attention seemed to focus and settle on him, even during the quiet moments while everyone ate. Despite the jovial atmosphere and occasional jest, his mood was subdued. In fact, since he’d left the barn, he seemed more somber than before. Every time she glanced his way, she caught him looking at her. Most of the time he offered a smile, and once he winked at her, which sent a tingle up her neck and across her face. Twice she had to ask Liera to repeat herself, as she’d gotten carried away trying to figure out what it was about Gavin that had her heart thumping so. All conversation came to a stiff halt when Rogan asked his brother what his plans were. Everyone turned to Gavin.

  For a moment, Gavin stared into his plate with a somber expression. Then he grinned. “I’m planning to have another helping o’bread ‘n’ gravy.” As he stood, he let out a long belch timed perfectly with his rising, which had Feanna, Daia and Liera cringing and the children laughing uproariously. “Pardon me,” he said with a sly grin.

  Before he sat back down, he moved his sitting stump closer to her. “Can I bring you something while I’m up?”

  “No, but thank you for asking. How long will you and your companions be staying?” she asked.

  “Daia and I need to be back on the road tomorrow or the day after, but Dona and Nasharla are staying on for a bit.”

  “Oh?” Feanna asked. “Why aren’t they going with you?”

  He leaned close, almost close enough to whisper into her ear. In a quiet voice, he said, “I did something to anger a vengeful man. It’s a precaution is all.”

  She remembered Rogan’s warning to make sure Gavin was forthcoming with information about his so-called complicated life, but she didn’t want to put her nose where it didn’t belong. She certainly didn’t appreciate her neighbors doing the same to her. “You’re stirring my curiosity, but I don’t want to be meddlesome.”

  “I’ll tell you about it but not now.” The warmth of his gap-toothed smile utterly charmed her. With him so close, she truly got a sense of how large he was. His hands were nearly twice the size of hers, and his forearms were larger than her calves.

  After the meal, everyone gathered in the great room except Dona and Nasharla, who stayed outside to patrol the property. The adults drank wine and laughed at tales Gavin and Daia told of their adventures. The children sat cross-legged on the floor, listening with rapt attention and wide eyes. She soon realized that not only was there not a romantic connection between the
m, they had not known each other very long, either.

  “How did the two of you meet?” Feanna asked.

  Gavin and Daia looked at each other with speechless hesitance on their faces. “You tell it,” Daia said.

  “Daia found out a friend o’mine was kidnapped,” Gavin said. “She was trying to get information about him so she could track down his kidnapper. She asked me to help find him, and that’s how we met. She won’t admit it, but I think she suspected me at first.”

  “No, I won’t admit it,” Daia said with a grin.

  “Did you find him?” Iriel asked, clearly more impressed with Daia than with Gavin.

  “Yes, we did,” Daia said. “He’s back home with his wife and son now.”

  “And the kidnapper is dead?”

  “One of the kidnappers got away,” Gavin said, “but Daia killed the other. Tell ’em about that time in the alley.”

  Now and then, as Daia told her tale, Iriel touched part of Daia’s clothing as if trying to determine whether the battler’s clothes were different somehow. Daia accepted it with good grace and didn’t chastise the child for being too bold or curious.

  Tansa inched closer to Gavin and bravely touched his scarred face with a finger. “You got a prickly face,” she said, making conversation in the clumsy way five-year-olds did by stating the obvious.

  He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, to which she nodded. Moments later, she was sitting on his lap, snuggled against his chest. Gavin didn’t appear to mind in the least, and in fact, at one point in the evening Feanna saw him press a kiss onto her head.

  Jilly followed Tansa’s lead by curling up in Feanna’s lap. Eventually, Feanna felt herself stifling a yawn and knew it was time to go. She hated leaving Gavin’s company and hoped she would see him again soon. “We’ve all thoroughly enjoyed this visit,” Feanna said, “but we need to go home. It’s time the little ones were in bed.” Tansa was fast asleep in Gavin’s arms.