Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1]

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Why were the horses still stamping and neighing? Not as loud as in his dreams, but enough to wake him.

  Kenden hadn't even moved on his side of the bed. The two men snoring softly in the other bed in the room showed no signs of waking. Kalsan sat up, grumbling silently. Why should the other men wake? The horses were his responsibility.

  He was awake enough and sensible enough not to let his boots make any stomping echoes as he slid into them and left the room. Kalsan crept down the stairs and out into the inn yard.

  The tang of cooling metal from the nearby forge gave a pleasant bite to the air. The blacksmith had re-shod two horses that afternoon when they stopped early, and put new edges on their swords and knives. This stop would have been more pleasant if the village were larger, with more pretty girls to flirt with. The inn connected to the blacksmith's shop and stables wasn't big enough for dancing, only large enough to let villagers gather to talk.

  Kalsan stopped his grumbling when several horses let out squeals as though someone were hitting them in the confines of their stalls.

  The warriors were the only ones in the inn that night. Kalsan wondered about that, and wondered if a trap had been laid for travelers. He considered going back into the inn for a sword or to awaken someone to accompany him.

  Two shadows crept through the dark slash between stable door and wall. Kalsan stepped into shadows and held still. His lungs were formidable. Even if the warriors ignored the stomps and snorts of the horses, they wouldn't sleep through his shout.

  After a few seconds, the shadows moved out into the moonlight, resolving into two dirty young men creeping around the back of the stables with their backs to him. Kalsan watched, waiting, holding his breath until they left his sight. He counted to twenty. The horses fell silent.

  Kalsan slowly crossed the yard of packed dirt, straining his senses for the first sign of the horses’ tormentors returning. The night was quiet but for gusts of wind picking up bits of straw or leaves and rustling tree branches beyond the stables. At the stable door he paused and looked back at the shadow-black and moon-white yard. Nothing moved but him. He shivered once and wished he had put on his shirt.

  The horses nickered, sensing his presence. Kalsan found flint and steel and lit the stable lantern. It was better he lose another half hour of sleep than to come down in the morning and find something had been stolen or the horses harmed. Better to know now, with some chance of finding the culprits.

  He checked Jultar's gray warhorse first. Nothing wrong. No lather of upset on the horse's flanks. All the gear was in place, hanging on its pegs where Kalsan had left it.

  Kalsan went down the line, checking each horse and its gear, giving one a few reassuring strokes or murmuring to another, or putting more water in a trough for another. He saved Fala, his honey-colored mare for last. She just looked at him with big, dark eyes and snorted when he asked her if she was all right.

  "I'm a nervous fool, is that it?” he murmured and leaned against the mare's warm side. She snorted and turned her head back far enough to lip his shoulder, then nudge him away. “Oh, am I disturbing my lady's sleep?” Kalsan asked with a chuckle. He gave her an affectionate slap and stepped away. “I'll see you in the morning, you thankless wench."

  He was still chuckling when he stepped through the stable door. Kalsan turned to push it closed, then realized he still held the lantern. He stepped around the door to put it back on its shelf and blow it out when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Black shadows leaped on him from the darkness.

  "Alert!” he shouted, emptying his lungs to the night.

  Turning, he swung the lit lantern at his attackers. The shadows weren't there. Cold prickled up his bare back, and Kalsan turned, recognizing the decoy too late. He glimpsed a hand, a rock, and another hand clenched in a fist coming up fast against his face.

  His head echoed, dull and loud inside and the stars in the night sky multiplied ten-fold. Kalsan shouted again and swung the lantern, trying to catch someone as his knees buckled. The stone hit the back of his head. He felt the skin split, the blood gush hot on his chill, bare skin. The world tilted up around him and swallowed him into blackness.

  * * * *

  "HE'S WAKING, SIR,” a soft, creaking, old woman's voice said.

  It sent sharp-edged echoes bouncing around inside Kalsan's head, breaking the blackness into blinding white streaks. He moaned, and the sound reverberated inside his head and moved down into his stomach.

  "Easy, lad,” Jultar said. His wide, calloused hand rested warm and heavy on Kalsan's shoulder. “You've taken quite a blow. No, don't sit,” he ordered, when Kalsan tried to sit up before he had even opened his eyes.

  "Horses?” Kalsan asked. He nearly smiled when the sound didn't aggravate the throbbing spears behind his eyes.

  He opened his eyes and found himself in his room. His face warmed when he realized the shadows behind his master were the other warriors, all watching him.

  "The horses are fine, lad.” Jultar stepped back and seemed to notice the other men for the first time. “He's not dead yet, you vultures. Get you back to your sleep."

  Kalsan turned his head to find the woman as the men chuckled or murmured comments and began to disperse. He recognized the innkeeper's mother, a tiny woman all in gray and faded brown, hair and eyes and clothes. She smiled at him and stepped back to fill a pottery cup for him from a copper pitcher.

  "You drink this slowly,” she cautioned, handing it to him. “Blows like you took can make your stomach unfriendly."

  "Here lad, let me help,” Kenden said, stepping from the shadows at the end of the bed. He moved around behind the woman and helped Kalsan sit up.

  Kalsan's head swam, but the dizziness didn't move down into his stomach as he had feared. He had taken a nasty fall when he was only fourteen, trying to break one of his uncle's stallions. He had been unable to eat for two days, and his vision had been doubled for nearly that long. This injury wouldn't keep him out of the saddle, and he was grateful.

  The cup held watered wine. Kalsan found his mouth dry, and his stomach clamored for the weak bitterness. He sipped the first half of the cup, then drained the rest in two gulps.

  "I guess you're feeling better,” Kenden said with a chuckle. He squeezed Kalsan's shoulder.

  "Can you tell us what happened?” Jultar said. He and the other two occupants of the room had stayed.

  "The horses were upset. I went down to check on them and saw someone—no, two people, leaving the stable. When I went in and checked the horses, they were fine.” Kalsan smiled his thanks when the woman filled his cup again. “Nothing stolen, none hurt. They attacked when I came out. Punched me in the face and then a rock to my head.” He reached up gingerly and touched the back of his head. A thick poultice covered in linen didn't stop the sharp pain when he probed the wound.

  "That's not all the damage,” the warlord said. He ran one hand down a braid and slowly shook his head.

  "My—” Kalsan looked down at his own warrior braids. They were his greatest pride since he had been permitted to use the green cord of apprenticeship.

  Someone had cut off the right braid just below shoulder length. His quill-thin braids used to hang to his elbows. He checked, and the left braid was still long, though a few rough, frayed spots showed where someone had hacked at it.

  "We were going to cut it to match,” Kenden said, “but thought you'd want to know, first."

  "Why?” Kalsan said, a rasp in his voice.

  "It's a childish prank,” Jultar said.

  "They nearly took my head off!"

  "Aye, but see it as a compliment.” The warlord stepped toward the door. “They were afraid to face you in a fair fight, so they took the coward's way. Now, get you some rest, lad. We're here for another day while I seek out some news. Use the time wisely and rest your head.” Nodding to the other men in the room, he stepped through the door and vanished down the hall.

  "What news can there be?” Kalsan grumbled. “Tha
nk you, Aunt,” he hurried to say as the innkeeper's mother gathered up her bandages and herbs and stepped toward the door.

  "Worland's Forge is home to Hernon the Horseman,” Xandar said as he stretched out on the other bed and crossed his arms under his head. “People say Hernon knows everything because his horses tell him. He's due back tomorrow."

  "So we just sit here?” Kalsan fingered his longer braid. The ripple of fury spreading through him wiped away the ache.

  "We look for an idiot sporting a trophy of black hair and green cord,” Kenden suggested. Removing his knife from the sheath on his belt, he offered it to Kalsan with a bow.

  "Cowards,” he grumbled and took the knife. Kalsan closed his eyes as he started sawing at the longer braid. It galled him to have to cut it, but having shorter braids would be easier than having two of disparate lengths. Someone would ask the story behind the differences. He couldn't take that.

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  Chapter Five

  "ME GO!” ALYSYN wailed, struggling against Brother Alpen's grasp. It was hard for such a tall man to hold such a small, wriggling child.

  Andrixine understood his difficulty and sympathized. She had often fought to keep Alysyn from trotting into dangerous or dirty places. The trouble was that Alysyn moved like a hummingbird.

  "Poppet, be still!” Andrixine called across the stone courtyard. She sighed and straightened up from adjusting Grennel's stirrups and strode across the paving stones. Alysyn broke free and raced to meet her.

  "Me go, too!” she repeated, tears threatening. When Andrixine caught her up in her arms, she clung to her older sister's shirt with both fists, tight enough to nearly dig holes in the thick material.

  "I thought you liked Brother Alpen and Sister Trinian and High Scholar Lucius and watching the birds,” Andrixine said, trying to put a soft, sad note in her voice. It was hard when she felt only frustration.

  "Do, but—"

  "If you don't play the game the right way, how can I let you play some other time?"

  "Still the game?” The disbelief in her voice nearly brought a smile to her sister's lips.

  "It's still the game. You were a very good guard, remember? You have to stay here and help guard against the enemy, just like you did when we were in the forest. I'm going to ask Father for a pony for you, remember?"

  "Painted black, like Gwenny?"

  "No, not painted black,” Andrixine said with a sigh. That had perhaps been the most painful part of the masquerade.

  Nearly as hard as cutting her hair, but just as expedient, had been the task of dying Grennel's beautiful red coat a dull black and hacking at his silken mane to change his silhouette. Andrixine had nearly cried as she watched Brother Tabor daub the black, sticky stain to his white blaze and stockings. She felt betrayed when Grennel gave no sign that he minded.

  "What color?” Alysyn demanded, tears drying before they fell.

  "I remember a white baby born to Klarinda Endring's pony last spring. I'll ask to buy it from her. If you do your job well. Understand?” she added, setting Alysyn down again.

  "Keep guard, like in the forest.” She nodded twice, then bestowed her sunny smile on her sister.

  "Give me a kiss for luck, poppet?” Andrixine said, kneeling and opening her arms. She stayed there ten heartbeats after tiny lips pressed against her cheek and little feet dashed away.

  High Scholar Lucius appeared at the gate as Andrixine swung up into her saddle. She followed Brother Klee to the gate and stopped a little behind him.

  "At each chiming of the bells for services, we shall pray for you,” Lucius said. He raised his hands, fingers spread as if he could catch the sunlight pouring across the valley. “Blessings of strength, wisdom and peace upon you, Bearers both."

  Andrixine bowed her head for the prayer that followed. When she raised her head again, she caught the gleam of tears in the old man's eyes. He had never looked so frail before, yet so full of peace. She wondered what kind of burden it had been to him, to have Bearer and Spirit Sword hidden here under his charge.

  "Peace to you, Sir. Thank you for everything. If all goes well, we will send for Alysyn before mid-summer,” she said, and nudged Grennel to get him moving again.

  "All will go well, Lady Andrixine."

  "Ah, but she is not Andrixine,” Brother Klee corrected, humor gleaming in his eyes. “She is he, and he is Drixus, my brother's grandson, and I am taking him to train with Malgreer, the king's chief warlord.” He flung back his hood and stood in the stirrups, head tilted back as he sniffed the morning air. “Come, nephew. A long journey awaits us."

  "Yes, Uncle.” Andrixine nodded once more to Lucius and nudged Grennel to a trot. Brother Klee was already four lengths ahead and gaining distance with each second.

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  PART TWO

  The King's Highway

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  Chapter Six

  "WE'LL STOP FOR nooning,” Brother Klee said three hours later, raising his voice to be heard above the pounding of their horses’ hooves. They approached Maysford. “A swifter journey than you had coming, yes?"

  "Between Alysyn and my own problems?” Andrixine nodded, grinning.

  It was a glorious feeling of freedom to fly down the forest trail, knowing she moved closer to catching her mother's kidnappers. Then home. It would be a journey of weeks, but each step brought her closer to Faxinor and the truth. Revenge and her mother's rescue were uppermost in her mind, no matter how she tried to concentrate on her new duties.

  After Maysford the road split, one arm going south through the Blue Shadows Forest and the other turning east, merging with the King's Highway. It led eventually to Cereston, the capital, where she would present herself to King Rafnar. More important, the King's Highway would take her to the road where the vision placed her mother and the kidnappers. There was no way possible they could have traveled so far in such a short time, so it was a vision of where they would be in the future. Perhaps if Yomnian blessed them, they would reach that point before the kidnappers did, before the wagon wheel broke off.

  "Remember Drixus, you are a boy now. Perhaps it is all to the better that your voice was harmed. You sound like a boy caught between child and man."

  "Is that good or bad?” She reined in as the man slowed his horse. Grennel tossed his head, snorting a few times as he adjusted to the new pace.

  "Hindsight, nephew, is clearer, but not as beneficial. Look for the bad as well as the good in everything. Strive for the good, but expect the evil. That way, no matter what happens, you will not be surprised or disappointed."

  "Brother—"

  "Uncle,” he corrected, waving an admonishing finger. “Yes, I know it is a sad way of looking at the world. You cannot afford to give anyone or anything a chance to steal your strength. Be always on your guard."

  "Then this subterfuge of ours is a blessing?” She shook her head. Despite the slant of the conversation, she felt something good, almost cheerful stirring inside her. “Yomnian prepares me with everything that happens, then, good and bad?"

  "Simplified, yes.” He lifted his chin, gesturing at the village as it became visible through the trees. “Hungry?"

  "Starving. My body is punishing me for passing by before."

  "Next lesson. Care for your body as if you protected the king's heir and the Fire Jewels together. That is what you do, as Sword Bearer."

  Fifteen minutes later, they rode into the town square of Maysford. The well was the focal point. Two taverns competed for business from opposite corners. Their banners proclaimed them the Lamb & Rose, and the Hawk & Lion. Shops sat on either side of the taverns, with the inn and its stables far down the street, near the village pond. The townspeople moved about slowly in the warmth, carrying bundles, leading horses and mules.

  Dust rose up under their horses’ feet, and the sun beat down warm and bright on her shoulders. Brother Klee led her to the Lamb & Rose, across the square from the smith.
Dismounting, Andrixine glanced over her shoulder at the inn where her mother's party had stayed. She couldn't go there; someone might recognize her.

  The tavern was relatively empty, the noon hour crowd still to come. Andrixine breathed a prayer of thanks for that. She trusted Brother Klee's judgment that her disguise was strong, but preferred to avoid tests so soon into the journey. He had lectured her earlier on her wish to avoid testing and trouble altogether.

  "You asked why the first scholars built Snowy Mount so close to the Sendorland border, so close to danger,” Brother Klee said as they rode through the forest hours earlier. “They knew that the best way to learn to trust Yomnian is to face danger. Not to rush into it, mind, but rather to not flee it. Do you understand the difference?"

  Andrixine thought she did, but that still didn't help her feel any more comfortable with the first test of her disguise.

  They took a table in a shadowy corner of the cool room smelling of wine, candles and a spicy stew almost ready for the nooning. Brother Klee ordered, letting Andrixine stay silent. The serving maid never even gave her a passing glance.

  The bread was fresh and warm, the cheese sharp and the beer icy cold and well-watered. Andrixine sat back in the dim shadows of the corner table and closed her eyes. It felt good to sit and be quiet, to let others serve her and enjoy privacy from most staring eyes. Brother Klee handled everything from ordering their lunch to gossiping with the tavern man and the girl who brought their food. Andrixine suspected from the resemblance that the girl had to be the man's daughter or a close relative. They had the same midnight eyes and dark, curly hair, the same round faces and rosy complexions.

  "Is there an armorer hereabouts?” Brother Klee asked when the girl came back to refill their mugs.

  "Smith's the best, three day's journey any direction,” she said with just enough pride Andrixine suspected some tie between the two. She looked closer and found a blue lover's knot braided into the tavern girl's hair over her left ear. She was promised to someone. Hopefully, the smith.