Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1]

by Michelle L. Levigne

  The ruffian brought his sword down hard. Andrixine sidestepped easily. Her strengths were in agility and tricky slashes, not brute muscle. She caught the last of the swing with her guard and twisted, guiding the stroke back to him. He stumbled, eyes wide and choked. Andrixine grinned. Good—her moves and skill frightened him.

  She slashed upwards, letting herself go down almost to one knee, aiming for his belly. Bleating, the ruffian backed up, tripping in a deep rut. Andrixine followed through, slashing his arm just above the elbow before he could bring up his sword.

  The scene repeated: Andrixine attacking, the man retreating, taking another cut, then managing to defend against worse injury.

  Something was wrong. Andrixine wiped sweaty hair from her face and glanced over her shoulder. Listening for the gasps of her opponent to track him, she scanned the clearing.

  Cedes’ white body was a violation of the shadows. White, and red with blood glistening bright at her throat.

  The scarred man had slaughtered Cedes and fled.

  A pebble crunched in the dry mud under a boot. Andrixine felt the breeze from an arm swinging up in attack.

  Her fever-scarred throat burned as she snarled and spun on her bare heel. Scooping low, putting all her anger into her arm, she slashed low and lunged up.

  Everything stopped. Even the background crackling of the fire seemed to halt for three eternal heartbeats. The ruffian's sword clattered to the ground. Eyes wide, face pale, he dropped his head to stare at Andrixine's sword one-third buried in his chest, caught where ribs met breastbone. Below the catching point, his belly slowly spilled opened, gutted like a pig.

  Gagging, Andrixine pulled back her sword and fled. The smell of his blood was bitter, and the spatters scorched her sword hand. Her legs trembled. She didn't hear him clatter to the ground, didn't feel the rough ground tearing her feet as she ran for the burning inn and darted inside.

  Thick, choking, blinding smoke hung from the ceiling, dropping lower with every step she took. Andrixine crouched low as she approached the stairs.

  Flames danced down from the ceiling, reaching for her as she gained the upper floor. She paused, listening. No sound came from her mother's room but the harsh crackle as the fire ate its way down the walls.

  She pushed the door open with the point of the sword, praying to see her mother crouched in the corner, sword raised and ready. Clothes were strewn on the floor, the trunk overturned and slashed. The beds were toppled, the frames smashed and the webbing cut. No sign of her mother.

  In the next room, Andrixine found the same. She stepped further inside and beyond one bed found another maid; Lily, with her head nearly separated from her body. Her body was naked and bruised and bleeding, like Cedes. If Lady Arriena wasn't there, was she unharmed? Why rape two young women, and carry away an older woman ... unless they knew she was noble? Would they leave her mother unharmed, for the sake of ransom? If they caught Andrixine, would they spare her for the sake of ransom?

  Dream fragments told Andrixine that would not happen, if these men caught her. She refused to follow through on that thought, which stabbed with nausea as bad as what she had suffered that winter past. Quickly, she snatched at her braid and held it off her neck as she pulled out her knife. Her hair sliced off easily and fell in silence. She refused to look at the gleaming new carpet on the filthy floor. The hair left on her head hung in a ragged fringe to her shoulders. Her warrior braids felt unnaturally long.

  With one last look around, she hurried down the stairs. Despite the smoke billowing past her, the flames threatening just yards away, she paused in the doorway to the inn yard and searched the clearing. No one else moved within sight. Why had the ruffians come and gone so quickly? All the tales she had heard from traveling swordmasters and Kangan, Captain of the Guard at Faxinor Castle, told her those men had come for a specific purpose, found what they wanted and fled. But what? Not just a noblewoman to ransom?

  Then there was no more time. Cold prickles of warning touched her back, making her dart from the doorway. Scant seconds later, the roof fell in with a roar and a shower of sparks.

  Her mother was gone. Where were Tamas and Jasper? Had the fight moved down the cart trail while she fought Cedes’ rapist?

  Andrixine knew she couldn't catch up with them, even if she could find the trail in the dark and smoke. Her eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them angrily away. Alysyn was her sole responsibility now. Fighting her churning stomach, she headed into the woods to find her sister.

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  Chapter Two

  MORNING BROUGHT NEW pain. Her back ached from crouching in the damp shadows. Her eyes burned from smoke and staring into the darkness. Her chest ached, echoes of days struggling to breathe that winter past. Andrixine had stayed awake and flinched at the slightest sound all night. Alysyn slept through the commotion with only a few murmurs and twitches, and Andrixine feared when day came she would look at the child and see she was ill or dead. The only warmth she had all night had come from Alysyn cuddled close against her, but to her sleep-deprived mind, that was no comfort.

  She crouched in the shelter of thick bushes as growing light cut through the smoke and morning mist, showing them truly alone as far as the eye could see. The quiet unraveled beneath the normal sounds of life in the forest. Animals chirped and clicked and sang, oblivious to the smoking ruin in their midst. Andrixine took that as a good sign.

  "Rixy.” Alysyn stirred and rubbed at her eyes with both fists, as she did every morning. “Hungry. Where Mamma?"

  "Mamma—” Andrixine choked. Her throat burned from more than smoke. “Mamma had to go on ahead of us, poppet.” She shifted the child on her lap. “We'll catch up with her in a few days, all right?"

  "Hungry,” Alysyn repeated. Andrixine hoped that was a sign of acceptance. “Cold, too."

  "I know.” She closed her eyes. Now that she knew they truly were alone, fatigue battered her defenses. A scant second later, she stiffened.

  Were those hoof beats? Andrixine clutched Alysyn closer, slipping her hand over the child's mouth before she could protest. Yes, definitely hoof beats coming down the trail.

  The soldiers coming from Faxinor to meet them were still three days away, at the earliest. So who approached now?

  She had dropped her sword. That realization panicked her more than the approach of riders. Andrixine dragged her hands through the forest litter, nearly crying out in relief when her hands touched cold metal and rawhide strips. She gripped it tight, lifting it to test the strength in her arm. It wasn't her grandfather's sword, her inheritance, but it would have to do.

  One horse. It stopped when it reached the clearing and snorted, loud in the silence surrounding the smoking ruins. Then, it moved into the trees toward her.

  "Gwenny!” Alysyn crowed, twisting around in her sister's arms as the horse reached their hiding place.

  "Grennel?” Andrixine whispered, afraid to trust her eyes. Her own horse, singed by fire, bare of all tack. Through blurring eyes, she saw a dark shape reach from the shadows. A soft muzzle and oat-scented breath touched her face. Grennel snorted and nudged her shoulder.

  "He hungry too, Rixy,” Alysyn announced.

  "Well, he'll just have to scavenge with us, that's all,” she sputtered through a few tears. Andrixine knew crying was a waste, but she felt better for it. She scrambled to her feet, clutching Alysyn close. Grennel stepped back, eyes fastened on her in loyal waiting and obedience. She had never loved him more than now. With Grennel as sentry, Andrixine could search for supplies and not worry about her back.

  She had kept herself awake thinking over her situation. The first task was to scavenge the ruins to outfit herself and Alysyn, then look for help. She couldn't wait for the Faxinor soldiers to appear. Snowy Mount was the closest haven—Andrixine didn't trust Maysford, a half day's ride closer. Walking, with Alysyn to slow her, she had estimated a week. Grennel's wide back and strong legs would cut the travel to less than a day.


  She would go to Snowy Mount, leave Alysyn where she would be safe, get help, return to meet her father's soldiers and lead them in rescue of her mother.

  She hoped. She prayed.

  Andrixine moved to the stable, sending up yet another prayer she would find supplies in the unburned building. If the marauders hadn't been as intent on pillage as on rape, she might find a saddle. Grain, saddlebags and water skins were too much to hope for, but she let herself hope.

  "Alysyn, stay here and watch Grennel for me.” Andrixine saw the first sign of pouting. “It's a game. We're playing soldiers. You have to be my guard while I search the stables."

  "Play guard?” The child's eyes lit. She nearly kicked Andrixine in the thigh in her eagerness to be put down and stand at the foot of a tree on the edge of the clearing.

  The straight, hard line of Andrixine's mouth relaxed a bit as she walked across the littered yard to the stable. Some aching tension left her shoulders.

  A dark shape filling the stable doorway transformed when she came closer, becoming Jasper and Tamas sprawled in a bloody heap. Flies buzzed over the dried, sticky black puddles around the bodies. Jasper had fallen first, his throat slashed, his sword hand lopped off. Tamas had fallen face down on top of him.

  Andrixine retreated into details to keep from feeling. A wandering armsmaster had told her about the sensation when he stayed at Faxinor Castle during a winter storm. The man was wizened and bent, hair silver against his ebony skin. His eyes held the power of a long life lived well. He told her how in stress, a man's mind could divide, concentrating on details, steps and plans, leaving the hate, fear and sorrow for later, for safer times. Andrixine understood now.

  "Wait a little,” she whispered to the faithful servants. Andrixine looked away and stepped past their bodies.

  She searched the stalls. After what she had seen, the unexpected bounty of full grain sacks and Grennel's own tack didn't delight her. Jasper's coat fit her, but his boots were too big. She stuffed rags into them. She appropriated the extra clothes of both men. Thinking of Cedes and Lily, Andrixine shuddered and knew she didn't dare dress as a woman until she was safely home.

  There was a wine skin, half full; a satchel full of dried fruit and nuts; another with half a loaf of bread and a hunk of orange-gold cheese large enough for breakfast and lunch. These she took outside immediately, with the clothes.

  "Watch these for me,” she ordered Alysyn, setting down the first bundles. “This is breakfast,” she added, before the child could ask the question that had to be uppermost on her stomach.

  Andrixine gave her a handful of raisins and tore off a piece of bread. Poised between tears and laughter, she watched Alysyn stuff the food into her mouth like a starving puppy. Alysyn would have refused dry bread and raisins at home.

  "It's only the beginning of changes, poppet,” she whispered and turned back to the stable.

  When she had removed everything usable, she battered at the creaky supports until the roof fell. Andrixine dug in the pouch that Tamas once carried, flint and steel mixed with tobacco and pipe. She struck sparks against the rotten, dried thatch until it caught fire. There had been too much fire already, but she refused to leave the bodies for forest animals to devour and could spare no time to bury them.

  Alysyn was too busy playing with the clothes to notice the fire until it had crawled over the whole of the fallen stable. She toddled over to investigate, but Andrixine was ready and caught her.

  "You're still the guard, remember? You have to watch and make sure no one comes when they see our fire, understand?” She used as calm a tone as she could manage, shaking her finger in the child's face as their father did to make a point. Alysyn laughed and tried to snatch at Andrixine's finger and nodded.

  While the fire burned, Andrixine made a quick inspection of the premises. The Sword Sisters had taught her to read the ground but she had never tested her training before. She had also never seen a real, life-or-death attack until now. The dull blade of a practice sword could break bones and leave bruises, but she had not been prepared for the blood and the stinking gush of innards.

  She found wagon tracks and the prints of the horses used to draw it. Her father's signet, three crosses connected at their base, was plain in the prints of the horseshoes. Someone had taken the time to get into the stable and harness the horses to the wagon. That bespoke a plan. The marauders had taken all the horses, but only Grennel had escaped.

  Cedes lay where the men had used and killed her, untouched by the fire. Andrixine turned her eyes away and fought a wave of sickness. A few deep breaths helped her regain the calculating, unfeeling state of mind that let her function. She gathered up the body and carried it to the funeral pyre. The flesh was cold and slack and lighter than she imagined Cedes had been in life. Andrixine turned away quickly once the body touched the flames.

  After a moment of thought, fighting her need for revenge no matter how petty, Andrixine brought over the body of the man she had killed. She dragged him to the fire, letting Commander Jeshra's voice fill her mind.

  We serve Yomnian, children, and must be greater than our own desires and emotions. Show mercy to your enemies, and grace. Remember, it is Yomnian's honor we protect and not our own.

  She found no other bodies. The innkeeper and his wife had escaped. Her mother and the maid Glynnys were captives. Lily had been consumed in the flames last night.

  The silence around the inn woke Andrixine to her exposed position. Even if no one had come for the flames last night, someone would see the smoke now. Until she and her sister were safe at Snowy Mount, Andrixine had no idea who would be friend or foe.

  "Alysyn, we're leaving,” Andrixine said, after shaking herself back into action. She picked up Jasper's coat and put it on. “Ready?"

  "Game all done?” The little girl frowned. She was a strange picture, wearing only her white shift stained with grass and ashes, her golden-red curls tangled, face dirty and smeared with raisins and dry crumbs. Where, Andrixine wondered, had Lady Arriena's pretty baby gone?

  "No, not for many days I think.” She hunkered down on her haunches, letting her aching eyes close a few seconds. “It's changing, though. See how my hair is all gone?” She waited until Alysyn nodded. “I'm going to pretend to be a boy. You have to tell anybody who asks that I'm your brother, Drixus. Understand?"

  "Drixus,” the child chirped. She laughed, reaching out for her sister's warrior braids.

  "We're playing make-believe that I'm a boy and we're on a pilgrimage to Snowy Mount."

  "Birds there?"

  "Yes, the birds will still be there—if you're good, all the trip back.” She smiled wearily; Alysyn had loved to watch the birds flying around the bell tower. Andrixine longed for the peace and safety of the scholar's retreat more for her soul's sake than for her body's ease. “Now, you gather up all those clothes while I saddle Grennel."

  When she bent to lift the saddle onto the stallion's back, she saw the blood dried on her hand and arm. The inn's well was filled with ash and rubble from the fire. She would have to find a stream or spring to wash in along the trail. When they met up with people, Andrixine didn't want uncomfortable questions about the blood on her hands and clothes.

  "Alysyn, time to go!” she called, to stop her thoughts.

  Andrixine took a torn shirt, wrapping its body between the child's legs and around, like a diaper, using the arms to tie Alysyn to her. She could ride astride and hold onto the pommel, and Andrixine wouldn't have to worry about her falling off if they had to gallop. She wrapped the shawl over and around Alysyn's legs, for modesty. Andrixine hoped she would hear her mother scold about modesty again.

  * * * *

  KALSAN JERKED BACKWARDS, painfully aware of his twisting ankle. He bit his lip to fight the ache and brought his arm up, blocking Brenden's downward blow.

  The forest clearing rang with swords clashing, sweet in the cool morning air. A roar rose from the other warriors. Sweat dripping in his eyes, Kalsan grinned and leaped
forward in attack. Brenden's dusky skin and startling green eyes glowed.

  "Enough!” Jultar slammed a staff down between them, managing to smack both men across their bare, sweating shoulders.

  Laughter replaced grunts and gasps and clashing swords. Kalsan stepped back, letting his sword arm hang limp. Four paces away, Brenden met his gaze and broke out in a wide grin.

  "Better and better,” he said, bowing, letting his silver hair flop. “Master, we'd best leave the boy behind when we report to the king. Every warlord will clamor to take him. All our hard work will be wasted. He's earned his beard, but he won't grow it among us."

  "Perhaps,” Jultar said. His smile was serene, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

  "Word, Master?” Kalsan asked. He wiped his face and reached for his shirt hanging on a branch.

  "We will warn our king in time. No more than that,” the warlord said, raising his hands to silence the questions spilling from his men's lips. Jultar had risen before dawn to ride to Snowy Mount and inquire of the seers among the holy scholars.

  "Do we have time to stop at Maysford for the night?” Rogan asked, his voice a mocking whine of complaint.

  "Yes, we do. Real baths and hot food,” Jultar said, as his warriors laughed. “And pretty girls,” he added, looking at Kalsan.

  "Which one is it this time?” Brenden called, his voice muffled as he pulled on his shirt. “Not the tavern keeper's daughter, I hope. She was nearly betrothed to Brick, the smith. It's bad luck to anger a man who makes swords."

  "I promise you,” Kalsan said, feeling his face warm at the teasing. “I will leave Vinya alone. There are plenty of other pretty girls to dance with in Maysford."

  Jultar's words had stilled many questions and worries in his mind. Kalsan could think about stolen kisses and pretty girls again.