Table of Contents

- The Kinshield Legacy

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- Chapter 18

- Chapter 19

- Chapter 20

- Chapter 21

- Chapter 22

- Chapter 23

- Chapter 24

- Chapter 25

- Chapter 26

- Chapter 27

- Chapter 28

- Chapter 29

- Chapter 30

- Chapter 31

- Chapter 32

- Chapter 33

- Chapter 34

- Chapter 35

- Chapter 36

- Chapter 37

- Chapter 38

- Chapter 39

- Chapter 40

- Chapter 41

- Chapter 42

- Chapter 43

- Chapter 44

- Chapter 45

- Chapter 46

- Chapter 47

- Chapter 48

- Chapter 49

- Chapter 50

- Chapter 51

- Chapter 52

- Chapter 53

- Chapter 54

- Chapter 55

- Chapter 56

- Chapter 57

- Chapter 58

- Chapter 59

- Chapter 60

- Chapter 61

- Chapter 62

- Chapter 63

- Epilogue

- About the author

- Dedication

- Acknowledgements

- Sole Sacrifice

- The Venom of Vipers

The Kinshield Legacy

Book one of the Kinshield Saga

by K.C. May

The Kinshield Legacy

Copyright 2010 by K.C. May

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Cover art by Ronnell D. Porter: http://www.wix.com/ronnelldporter/design

Chapter 1

Any doubt Gavin Kinshield had that he was in the right place vanished the moment he dismounted. The poplars and sweetgums, the shape of the cave mouth, the dirge-like song of a lone hermit thrush echoing through the trees -- these things were as familiar as the boots on his feet. He gave Golam’s flank an absent pat, and the horse ambled away to nibble a nearby bush. The only thing missing from Gavin’s recurring dream was the ghostly figure of his daughter waving him on. Even the woodenness of his legs felt familiar as he approached the cave.

He stopped at its mouth and peered inside. The fluttering in his gut warned him to turn back. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not a king. He scanned the trees for movement and listened for voices and hoof-steps. Satisfied he wouldn't be discovered, he drew a deep breath and stepped into the darkness.

In a burst of leathery flapping, several bats darted past his ear and vanished into the daylight behind him. The stench of guano hung in the air.

A shudder rippled through him. This is where Calewen died, Gavin thought. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked around, expecting to see the queen’s blood spattered on the floor and walls. But he saw none. Not now, two hundred years later.

His eyes focused on the far wall, about ten paces back. On a shelf of jutting rock rested a stone tablet. It drew him, like a starving man standing before a feast, deeper into the cave. His feet grew heavier with every step. “I must be mad.” Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. The word echoed in his mind after it faded from earshot. “Damn caves.” Caves. Caves. Caves. He wiped his palms on his trousers, then rubbed his hands together as he stepped up to the tablet.

Roughly a foot and a half in diameter and three inches thick, it sat on edge. Gavin examined the tablet top to bottom. It didn’t look two hundred years old. Didn’t even have any dust on it. In the tablet’s surface a gemstone was nestled within each of five thumbnail-sized holes. Scrapes marred the edges of the holes, as though would-be thieves had tried to work the gems free with their knives. Beside each gem, a symbol was deeply chiseled into the tablet’s flat surface: the King’s Runes.

Gavin slid his finger to the surface of the gemstone in the outermost position of the spiral shape they formed. It felt as smooth as the surface of a still pool. In the center of the tablet sat the most prized of them all: the King's Blood-stone.

‘He who claims the King's Blood-stone shall reign as king,’ said law and legend.

But why was the tablet in a cave? Why hadn’t someone simply walked off with the thing? It couldn’t be that heavy, maybe twenty stones or so. To test his hunch, Gavin tried to lift it from the shelf. It wouldn’t budge. He planted his feet and set his hip against the rock wall for leverage, gritting his teeth as he pulled. Still the tablet didn’t move. Hm. Maybe the same magic that locked the gems in the tablet weighted it down. There had to be more -- artifacts, letters -- something left behind from King Arek's reign, something explaining the purpose for the gems and the tablet -- and why the palace had been sealed. Someone somewhere had an accounting of how the king had died. And Gavin would find him.

Aw right, might as well try it. No harm in that. Probably won’t work anyway.

He cracked his knuckles and gripped the tablet in his calloused hands, flexing his fingers against the cool, rough surface. He licked his lips and wished he had a tankard of ale.

Gavin focused on the first rune, and as he stared, its image blurred. “Faroryn,” he whispered. The symbol represented strength, dependability, a sense of purpose. He had no idea how he knew this; it had come to him as though he had simply remembered.

Suddenly the cave seemed to tilt. He rocked back on his heels, then forward again trying to compensate and regain his balance. He clenched the stone tablet. The cave around him twisted, its rough walls warping into the tablet with its five gems, into his arms stretched before him, into the rock floor. He fell to his hands and knees. A cottony feeling filled his mouth.

When the cave righted itself, Gavin lifted his head to look upon the tablet once again. The first gemstone dropped to the ground, clinking as it struck the rock and bounced to land under his nose. He blinked hard to be sure he saw what he thought he saw: one of the Rune Stones. His destiny.

No. It couldn't be. Deciphering one rune meant nothing. Anyone could have done it. Anyone but a peasant who could barely read. Gavin snorted a half-laugh and shoved the notion from his mind. He didn’t believe in fate or ghosts or any other superstitious crap. He'd come here by choice, after all. And now, he chose to take what he’d earned.

As he wrapped his hand around the gem, the image of a man sparked in his mind: King Arek -- the last man who had ever held that gem in his hand.

An icy feeling of dread swept through Gavin's body. He had just made the biggest mistake of his life; the throne would soon be his.

“It's about time,” a voice said.

Gavin shot to his feet and whirled about.

“It’s not so far from Sohan,” another said. It came from outside.

“I'm not accustomed to traveling astride, Sage Marckys. My backside is utterly chafed.”

Scholars. Damn it. Gavin looked around but saw no place to hide. He shoved the gem into his pocket and ran.

“Mark my words. Once you feast your eyes upon the magnificence of the King's Blood-stone, you will forget all about your—”

Blinded by the brilliance of daylight, Gavin stumbled onto the trail. Through squinting eyes, he saw two men dressed in long, colorful robes standing beside a pair of horses.

“Goodness me! Who are you?” asked one of the scholars.

“Check the tablet,” said the other.

Gavin spotted his mount waiting in the trees. With a running leap, he pulled himself up and into the saddle. He pounded the gray’s sides with his heels.

"The first gem is gone," a scholar cried.

“He’ll be the king. Wait, my lord, come back!” The voices faded into the growing distance behind him.

* * * * *

Plagued by recurring dreams and images of the King’s Runes, Gavin returned to the cave twice more over the next nine months. Each time, he hoped the nonsensical word whispering through his mind portended madness. Each time, the word instead unlocked the rune, whose gem fell to the cave floor with a delicate clink. And with each gem, Gavin took another hesitant step closer to the throne of Thendylath.

After arriving in Ambryce, the third gem newly added to his coin purse, Gavin bartered his labor for a room at the Good Knight Inn and went to find a drink and meal. He stepped into a tavern and paused at the door while his eyes adapted. A couple dozen men, clustered around rickety tables, talked and laughed and hoisted mugs of foaming ale. The barmaid waved a finger at him as she carried a tray overhead, and he lifted a hand in return.

“Kinshield!” someone shouted.

Nearly every face turned toward him, which made finding his pals, Tonn and Vonn, much easier. Gavin had never learned to tell the twins apart. They shared a long, angular face and stringy, dark blond hair with a single eyebrow snaking from temple to temple. To Gavin’s eye, they looked like the same man. He had to rely on some distinguishing characteristic such as a shaving cut or bruise to help him identify which was which. Today, one wore a gray shirt and the other white. That would make conversation a lot easier once one brother named the other. He made his way to their table, greeted them with a handshake and some good-natured heckling, and sat. After his long ride, he wanted nothing more than a tankard of ale and warm food, though he would have preferred to sit alone to sort out his thoughts.

The barmaid bumped her hip against him. “Where’ve y’been, love?” she asked.

The Rune Cave, where else?  “Killing and maiming as usual,” he replied. “How ‘bout a full tankard and some stew?”

“Sure, but you got to pay first.” At Gavin’s scowl, she jerked her chin toward the barkeep, who held up eight fingers. “His rules, not mine. I’d give you anything you wanted, no charge.”

“Hooo, Gavin,” Gray Shirt said. “You ain’t goin’ to pass that up, are you?”

She winked and held out her hand. “Thirteen pielars.”

"Thirteen?!" Gavin asked.

"The boss says you owe eight from time-ago."

“Oh.” Gavin gave her an embarrassed grin and dug into his coin purse, fishing past the three Rune Stones that shared the pouch with his meager funds. He counted the copper coins into her palm. She blew him a kiss before spinning around and wiggling her way to the kitchen.

“Say, you bucks know Domach Demonshredder, don’t you?” Gray Shirt asked. Gavin and White Shirt both nodded. “He thinks he saw the Rune Solver.”

Gavin raised his brows. “Is that so?” He sure hoped not.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement near his hip. He turned to look. Nothing there.

White Shirt chuckled. “I’ll bet five pielars he’s lip-shinin’ the man’s boots right now.”

“He says it’s a woman,” Gray Shirt said with a laugh.

“Well, some people say it’s a battler. Maybe it’s a Viragon Sister,” White Shirt said. The brothers guffawed.

Gavin didn’t share most men’s disdain of the women battlers, nor did he see any reason why a woman couldn’t solve the runes. His wife had been cleverer and more perceptive than he. “Well, whoever it is might surprise you.” And it certainly wasn’t a woman.

He felt a tug on his trouser leg. He shot his hand down and caught a small wrist, his coin purse clutched in the little hand. “No you don’t,” he said, taking the pouch back. He massaged the bag quickly, hunting for the three gemstones. Still there. Thank Arek.

He pulled the hand up and around him, dragging with it a girl with copper-colored hair.

Caevyan!

For an instant, he saw only his daughter, her blue eyes wide with terror and pain, her copper-colored hair and yellow dress drenched in blood. He watched again, as he had in so many nightmares over the last five years, while she stumbled toward him, arms outstretched and reaching for the safety and comfort of his arms. “Papa!” Her voice rang in his ears and echoed in the cavernous hole in his heart.

Gavin swallowed hard and looked at the pickpocket’s face. Golden brown eyes, not blue. Two front teeth were missing from her smile. Not Caevyan’s cherubic smile, but the sly smile of a thief. Not Caevyan, he told himself. Caevyan’s dead.

“Get out o’here afore I brand you as a criminal,” he snarled.

“I’m awful hungry,” she said.

“See this?” Gavin pointed to the gap between his teeth. “Broke it while biting off the hands of a thief. Go on now afore I bite yours.”

The twins snickered.

“Please, just one pielar?” She met his eyes without recoiling, holding out a grimy palm.

Gavin found himself annoyingly charmed by her spunk. “Aww, hell,” he muttered. “Where’s your pa?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, but my mama’ll fumble ya for ten pielars.”

“You hear the mouth on that dirty waif?” White Shirt murmured to his brother.

Gavin scowled. “How old are you?”

“Seven.”

Caevyan would’ve been seven now. “And where’d you learn to talk like that?”

“That’s what Mama tol’ me to say. She’s outside settin’ on the corner if ya want to—”

“You go tell your mama…” Gavin sighed and took a small silver coin from his purse. “Tell her to buy you somethin’ to eat.” He pressed the kion into the girl’s hand and watched as she bolted from the tavern.

His life would have been different now had he been a better father, a better husband, had he thought about the consequences of his actions and broken promises. His wife and his little girl would still be alive. And Dasurien. His son’s name would have been Dasurien, had he lived long enough to be born.

“I’d’ve branded her for certain,” Gray Shirt said. “Teach the guttersnipe a lesson.”

“Someone should’ve helped her. I was there,” Gavin muttered.

White Shirt smirked. “Well, ain’t you the noble one?”

“Let her papa feed her,” Gray Shirt said. “She ain’t your responsibility.”

Not his responsibility. Gavin snorted. Everyone in the entire country was his responsibility, or would be soon. Only two more runes stood between Gavin and the throne. If the people knew what kind of king they were getting, they wouldn’t be so excited about it. Who the hell was he fooling? He couldn’t keep his own family safe, let alone an entire country. But how was he going to avoid it? The question had started wearing a groove in his mind, and he was no closer to an answer now than nine months ago.

“Maybe Gavin’s the Rune Solver,” White Shirt said. The twins laughed identical laughs.

The barmaid came and set down a pewter tankard, bowl of steaming stew and a fist-sized chunk of bread. “Are you the Rune Solver, Gavin?” she asked with a grin. He scrunched the scarred side of his face as an admonition for being saucy. “Let me know if there’s somethin’ else you want,” she said, winding a lock of hair around a finger. She set her teeth over her bottom lip and smiled before wagging off to see to her other customers.

“My brother thinks the Rune Solver’s a noble,” White Shirt said. “I think he’s a scholar. What do you think?”

Couldn’t they find something else to talk about? “If it’s not a nobleman, it should be.”

“Why’d you say that? Someone clever enough to solve the runes is clever enough to be king,” White Shirt said.

Gavin lifted his tankard for a long draw. Arguing with these two was pointless. It wouldn’t change anything. He was a commoner who could barely read. What business did he have becoming king?

“Nobles are learned -- and well-spoken,” Gray Shirt said. “What about land holdin’s and rents and such? A king’s got to know all that crap.”

Gavin belched loudly and said, “And he should have good manners.”

He tongued the gap where his right eyetooth used to be. Gray Shirt was right. Gavin considered simply not solving any more runes. So what if they taunted him, whispering in his head all day and night? Eventually he would learn to ignore them and be done with it. But he was fooling himself if he thought the problem would simply go away. For most of his life, he’d resisted the allure of the cave, ignored the call to duty that haunted his dreams. The runes had troubled him since he was a boy. No longer could a day go by without the damned things ruling his thoughts.

Besides, Thendylath needed a king. Highwaymen and monsters made the lands between the cities unsafe for anyone unescorted by a hired sword. Last week, a beyonder entered the realm of men in plain view -- in the middle of the market.

And the people. In every city he’d visited, townsfolk gathered and gossiped and wondered about the Rune Solver. They wanted a king. Soon, news that the third rune had been solved would spread like blush across a virgin’s face. Gavin couldn’t take that away from them.

But even if he took the throne, he didn’t have a king’s elegance or air of authority. He knew nothing about taxes or land holdings or negotiating with dignitaries. Hell, he’d never even eaten with a fork. The king needed to be someone like... He took in a sharp breath. “Edan!” He snapped his fingers. Yes! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Who's Edan?” Gray Shirt asked. Both men watched him curiously.

“Uh, just a friend,” he muttered. Just a friend who happened to be the Lordover Lalorian's son. Edan had the upbringing and the noble bloodline a king needed. Good, kind person, generous nature, dashing and all that. Edan Dawnpiper would make an excellent king for Thendylath. The people would rejoice. Yes, Edan should be the king.

“’Just a friend’ he says,” White Shirt said with a laugh. “Judgin’ from that smile on your face, I’m thinkin’ she’s more than a friend.”

“Hey, Gavin. Invite the barmaid and have both at the same time,” Gray Shirt suggested.

Gavin relaxed in his chair, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. Now he just needed to decide how to approach his friend about claiming the King's Blood-stone. About becoming Thendylath's new king.

He should leave for Lalorian at first light. Edan would be shocked to learn that Gavin was the Rune Solver, but by the time Gavin figured out the answers to the fourth and fifth runes, Edan would have had time to chew on the idea. Intelligent and practical, he would see the wisdom of it. Gavin imagined them traveling to the Rune Cave together so that Edan could emerge, King's Blood-stone in hand, and claim his right to rule. And Gavin would serve the new king as his champion.

Just like Ronor Kinshield had served King Arek.

He shook the thought away. He was nothing like Ronor Kinshield.

“Listen, we got to get goin’,” White Shirt said. “Good seein’ you, Gavin.”

Gavin shook hands with the brothers and bid them a distracted good-bye. When they were gone, he drew his dagger and started scratching a vertical line into the tabletop. Edan Dawnpiper as king. Hell yeh. He lifted his tankard for a long draw.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach his table and stop.

“Begging your pardon, but I need your help.”

Chapter 2

Brodas Ravenkind bent down to the scrawny, ill-kept child. “You must be Dwaeth,” he said, forcing a smile.

The boy nodded but did not open the door any farther.

“My name is Brodas. I’m a friend of your mother's. I heard she was ill and came to offer my assistance.”

Dwaeth cast a quick glance into the interior of the manor behind him. “Are you a healer?” he asked.

“I am at that. May I see her?”

The boy hesitated, biting his lip. “The others couldn’t help her.” His small voice trembled, and his lip quivered.

“I can, Dwaeth,” Brodas said. “I am a very good healer. I can help your mother.” It was no lie, but he preferred to help himself instead.

The young boy opened the door and stepped back.

“Good boy,” Brodas said, running a gentle hand over the soft blond hair as he entered. He closed the door behind him.

The high ceiling of the great hall gave the manor an open, airy feel. Through beveled glass windows set high on the walls, sunlight cast diminutive rainbows on the white marble floors. A thin layer of dust covered nearly everything. He glanced to his right into a room with a harpsichord centered on a small rug. On the left through the anteroom, was a greatroom with a wide, deep fireplace and upholstered furniture atop a vast rug stretching wall to wall. Ahead, a wooden staircase reached up to the second floor. To the left of the staircase dried food and shards of broken porcelain marked a path down the hall. This young boy had been caring for his ailing mother for some time. Brodas could only imagine the mess he’d find in the kitchen and dared not wonder what had been done with the chamber pots.

“Where is she?” he asked. “We've no time to waste.”

Dwaeth led the way up the wooden staircase. A stair halfway up creaked softly when Dwaeth stepped on it and groaned under Brodas's weight. Brodas followed the boy along a running carpet down the hall past several bedroom doors. He counted six bedrooms upstairs, and imagined there might be one or two servants’ rooms downstairs.

Dwaeth paused in front of a closed door at the end of the corridor. “I better go ask first.”

“That's fine,” Brodas said. He put on a practiced smile. “Go on, I'll wait here.”

The boy slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Brodas listened at the door. He heard two voices but could not make out what they were saying.

From his research, he knew the boy’s mother had been widowed. Despite her extravagant home, she had lost most of her wealth and employed no servants. Merchants in the market district recognized her surname, but said they had never met her. Her neighbors didn't know much about her. Even while her husband had been alive, they said she stayed at home, secluded, while he attended to his business and family matters.

She was perfect.

Dwaeth opened the door and beckoned him in.

The smell of vomit mixed with urine assaulted him, and he resisted the urge to cup a hand over his nose. She lay in the darkened room sprawled across a bed covered with soiled, rumpled bedclothes. Dirty dishes and glasses littered the table beside the bed, as well as the floor surrounding it. A painting hung crookedly on the wall above the bed. Brodas absently straightened it.

“My dear,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Brodas pushed some of the dishes aside with his foot. “You don't look well at all.” He put on a deep frown and cocked his head. “I've come to ease your suffering. Worry no more.” He said to the boy standing beside him, “Run and fetch me a glass of water, will you?”

Dwaeth glanced at his mother, then nodded and left.

The dark circles beneath the woman’s blue eyes gave them a sunken look. Her long brown hair was a rat’s nest. “I don't...” she began. Her voice was hoarse, raspy, her lips dry. She hacked a few times and fell silent.

Brodas withdrew a gemstone from a pocket in his cloak and kept it hidden in his fist. “You do remember me, don't you?” he asked. He formed the words Sola memor with his lips, but did not speak them. The stone cracked, and he let the pieces fall to the floor.

Her brow wrinkled. “I... think I do.”

He removed another gem from his pocket. “That's right. We've known each other a long time.” Sola familula, he mouthed. She could not see the small stone split apart in his hand. She did not need to.

“Yes,” she said. “I remember now. You're–”

“Brodas Ravenkind. Your very good friend. We were in love, remember? We are in love.”

She nodded slowly as the crease in her brow relaxed. Her eyes welled with tears. “Where have you been?” she whispered.

Brodas smiled and took her hand. “I've come to fulfill my promise. Our promise. We were betrothed. I just had some business to take care of first. Now I will take care of you.”

The woman wept, reaching for him. He took her into his arms and held her, stroking her hair, smiling. He had brought along six gemstones to focus his spells, in case she had the strength to resist.

“Shhhhh!” he said. “It's all right now. You must sleep. I will take care of Dwaeth.”

“Sleep, yes,” she said. “I've been so tired.”

The door opened, and Dwaeth returned with the glass of water. He gave it to Brodas.

Brodas produced a small vial of purplish liquid, which swirled endlessly within the container. He poured it into the water and handed it to her. “Drink now, and you will start to feel better very soon.”

“What's that?” Dwaeth asked.

“This is a powerful healing potion. It will help your mother to get better. We must leave her now so that she can sleep and heal.”

The boy nodded. A tiny smile lifted his lips.

“Run along then. I'll be right behind you.”

When Dwaeth was gone, Brodas leaned forward and kissed her burning forehead. After handing him the empty glass, she settled back against the pillows. He brought the blanket up to her chin. “I've just one thing I need you to do before I let you sleep.” He drew a scroll from the pocket in his cloak and unrolled it. “Just sign your name here so that I can take care of your affairs while you rest. The lordover has been demanding his tax payments, but I don't want you to worry about any of that. You need all your strength to get well.”

She nodded. Her eyelids hung low over her eyes. He dabbed the tip of his quill into a small inkpot and put it into her hand. She would begin to lose control of her muscles very soon. “Right here,” he urged, placing her hand on the parchment. She signed her name in a shaky script.

Ah, splendid, Brodas thought, fanning the ink dry. He now owned this quaint manor. He stood, went to the door and reached for the handle, then paused and turned around. She looked so peaceful there. Helpless. He returned to her bedside.

Bending over, he whispered into her ear, “Your death will be slow but painless.” Her eyelids flew open. A look of terror contorted her face. “You will soon lose control of your mouth and tongue, your muscles, your bowels and bladder. Then your lungs will fail to inflate, and you will suffocate. That is, if you don’t drown in your own vomit first. But worry not about your son. I have a friend who’s quite fond of little boys.” He gave her a wink.

She opened her mouth as if to scream, but only a pitiful squeak came out.

Brodas smiled as he left.

* * * * *

When the manservant cleared his throat, Brodas looked up from his writing. “I've brought you some tea, my lord.”

“Good,” Brodas replied. “Now find Warrick and send him in.” He signed his name with a flourish and set the parchment aside to give the ink time to dry.

While Brodas arranged the books on the shelves of his new library, aligning the spines along a straight edge, he hummed a tune. The acquisition of his new residence had gone smoothly and positioned him well to begin the next phase of his plan: to capture the Rune Solver and seize the throne. For that, he needed an army.

He pulled a book from the shelf and caressed its buttery surface. His name, B. Ravenkind, had been burned into the leather cover, and below it, the numeral two. A length of blue silk ribbon marked his current page, and he turned to it.

Penned in his own exquisite script was the personal information of his newest armsman, Domach Demonshredder. Both parents were deceased, but the young man had a sister. From the way he had gone on and on about the wench, Brodas knew she would be a valuable asset if ever Domach needed some incentive. Yet, Brodas doubted he would ever have need of her. Domach laughed too loudly at Brodas’s jokes, was over-eager to shake Brodas’s hand. He was drawn to power like leeches to a fat man in a bog.

Brodas dipped a quill into an inkpot and began to write. A strong, enthusiastic young man, Domach has a hungry look in his eyes. I have no doubt that he will do whatever is asked of him, given the right incentive.

An ambitious man was an asset. Men who hungered for nothing eventually became dangerous, as they could not be easily coerced. Brodas had learned that lesson nearly five years ago at the hands of Gavin Kinshield. But Kinshield had learned his own lesson.

Brodas bent back to the page. I need more battlers like Domach: well-armed mercenaries ready to defend my rights when the time comes, willing to fight for my destiny by way of their own security. An army of them, with a commander who would follow my every command.

Someone knocked on the doorframe. “You wanted to see me?”

Brodas looked up at his cousin and wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of sweat. While he admired Warrick’s height and broad shoulders, Brodas considered himself the more handsome of the two. They both shared their mothers' black hair and brilliant blue eyes, and each had his own version of what Brodas thought to be a dashing smile. But Warrick tended toward impulsive behavior at times, as evidenced by a slightly crooked nose, which spoiled an otherwise handsome face. His thick mustache did not conceal the scar on his upper lip, one he’d gotten from brawling. Although Warrick had no magic ability, he was strong and capable with a sword and, when the need arose, a hammer.

“How are the repairs coming?” Brodas asked. He wiped ink off the quill and set it on a wooden platter.

“Slowly. The back steps are nearly finished, and Red has fixed the stalls in the stable. He's working on the door now and should be finished by evening.”

Brodas scowled. “Urge him to work harder. There's much to do. And see if you can fix that creaking stair, will you? Where is the boy?”

“Under foot,” Warrick replied with an exasperated tone.

“Is he asking questions?”

“Are you jesting? He won’t shut up.”

“Is he asking about his mother?” Brodas asked dryly.

“Of course. I repeated your story about going to her aunt’s house. He’s asked why he couldn’t go with her at least three dozen times. Brodas, I don’t have the patience to play nursemaid.”

“Put him in the cellar if he’s in your way, then. I’ll have the steward deal with him until we can make other arrangements.”

“Why not just put him on the street? Isn’t that where orphans end up anyway?”

“Warrick, I’m surprised at you,” Brodas said. “He’s six years old. If we sell him to the slavers, everyone wins.”

“Yes, but until then, I have to put up with him. Did you want something else?”

“Yes. I need you to take this letter to the guild mistress of the Viragon Sisterhood. Don't allow her underlings to take it to her; insist that you be allowed to deliver it yourself. Wait for a reply.”

“What is it?”

“We are inviting the guild mistress and her captain to dinner tomorrow. Be sure you are available.”

With a knowing smile, Warrick took the scroll and left.

Chapter 3

Gavin set his tankard on the table, wiped his mouth with a stained gray sleeve, and looked up. In his left hand, he rolled the hilt of his battered dagger between his fingers.

A hollow-faced man stood at a polite distance, dressed in the blue and white robe of a scholar with a velvety black scarf draped across his shoulders. When Gavin looked up, he took a step backward and gasped. His blue eyes blinked owl-like behind thick spectacles. Gavin didn’t know whether his gaze or his scars inspired the man’s misgiving, but the reaction disturbed him all the same.

“I’m Laemyr Surraent,” the man said in a cracking voice, “curator of the Gwanry Museum of History here in Ambryce.” He hesitated before stepping forward and extending a hand.

Gavin wrapped his paw around the man’s moist hand and gave it a squeeze. It felt like a woman’s. “Gavin Kinshield,” he said. He pushed a chair away from the table with his foot as an invitation to sit.

“Kinshield, did you say?” Laemyr asked as he eased himself into the chair.

“That’s what I said.” Bending close to the table, Gavin blew away the tiny chips of wood speckling the top, then wiped a hand over its rough surface.

“You must be proud to share a name with—”

“What’s the job, and what are you paying?” With his knife, he started scratching a vertical line into the wood, parallel to the one he'd carved moments earlier.

The barmaid approached and asked Laemyr, "Get you somethin'?"

Laemyr held up a hand and shook his head, and the girl left. He turned back to Gavin and leaned forward. “I need someone to recover a stolen necklace.”

“Thief hunt, eh? Not interested.” Gavin brushed aside the bits of wood and scraped harder with his knife to widen the line.

“The lordover’s men-at-arms have captured the thief," Laemyr went on, "but he did not have the necklace. He claims someone stole it from him.”

Right. Thieves were pitiful foes and rarely presented the kind of challenge Gavin looked for in his work. He had enough money to live on while he waited for a more exciting offer. “See that buck over there?” He pointed his knife toward a slender youth sitting several tables away. “He’s your man.” Between the two lines, Gavin carved another, diagonal this time, from top right to bottom left.

“I need someone more experienced. It’s not just a necklace, you see. It’s an artifact from the reign of King Arek,” Laemyr said.

Gavin raised his eyes to the curator’s face. “What artifact?”

“Queen Calewen’s Pendant.” Laemyr took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Someone broke into the Grand Mausoleum and desecrated her shrine, stealing the necklace and … urinating on the sarcophagus.” Laemyr scrunched his face into an expression of disgust. “The lordover has agreed to let me preserve the pendant with our other artifacts -- if I can get it back. We are not a wealthy institution, but I would make it well worth your while.”

Feigning indifference, Gavin bent back to the table and started again: another diagonal line crossing the first. “How well?” he asked, although it wouldn't matter. He imagined holding in his own hand the pendant that King Arek had given to Queen Calewen two hundred years ago and grew edgy.

“I can pay you four dyclen.”

Gavin snorted. “If you consider that ‘worth my while,’ then you don’t value my time or my life much. Look, I have to eat.”

“As a piece of our history, it belongs in a museum,” Laemyr said. “It’s more than just a pretty bauble.”

Gavin blew the last bits of wood from the tabletop and inspected his artwork. Amidst the many names, declarations of love and occasional vulgar word or image, he had carved a symbol.

“The fourth King’s Rune,” Laemyr said.

Gavin snapped his head up and met the curator’s eyes. “What?”

“Y-You carved the fourth rune into the table.”

Damn, Gavin thought, licking his lips. What had he been thinking? Of course the man would recognize the rune; he was a scholar. And he might be clever enough to guess Gavin’s secret. “This is an hourglass,” he said. “And it’s time to go.” He started to rise.

“Wait, please. We haven’t much money in the coffer, but there is something else I can give you.” Laemyr gestured for Gavin to sit back down. “Please.”

Gavin sat and tilted his chair back, balancing on its rear legs. He laid his knife on the table atop the rune he had just carved. Not many people this far south knew that the third rune had been deciphered. The fact that he had carved the fourth rune, not the third, might have told the scholar more than Gavin wanted to tell.

“You’re a descendant of Ronor Kinshield, are you not?” the curator asked.

Gavin sighed. “So?” If he heard one more comment about what a hero Ronor Kinshield had been, he thought he would vomit. Heroes didn’t let kings die.

Laemyr leaned forward. “In addition to the silver, I’ll give you something you will find of great interest.”

Gavin crossed his arms. “Go on.”

“I will have a scribe copy for you, word for word, the letter that Ronor Kinshield wrote to the Lordover Tern following King Arek’s death.”

The front two legs of Gavin’s chair slammed down on the wooden floor. “You have it?”

“It was just recently located,” Laemyr said.

Gavin hadn’t been sure the letter still existed. Scholars had long speculated that it had burned in a fire at the Lordover Tern’s manor a century ago. Surely it contained a detailed – and accurate – accounting of King Arek’s demise. “What does it say?”

Laemyr laced his fingers together and put his hands on the table. “It’s a fascinating read for both scholars and laity interested in the lore of King Arek.”

“Does it say what happened to the king and queen? Why King Arek put the gems in the tablet?”

Laemyr nodded tentatively. “It does.”

Gavin ran his tongue over the gap between his teeth. Many tales of King Arek's death abounded. One version said he had traveled to another realm to fight a demon that had plagued Thendylath and never returned. Another claimed that upon the death of his wife and unborn child, he had escaped to a more tranquil realm. In his heart, Gavin believed that Ronor Kinshield, the king’s champion, owned responsibility for King Arek’s death, but he had no proof. If that letter contained the truth about what had happened to King Arek, Gavin had to have it. He had to know.

“Of course, the scholars are busy studying the letter,” Laemyr said. “It won’t be available for public viewing for quite some time, but you could have your own copy without disturbing our research. Do we have an agreement?”

The curator had a point. The pendant was a piece of history after all. If Gavin recovered it for the museum, they could keep it safe from thieves. And he would have the letter. Gavin tapped the table with his dagger. He did not think he could wait for the scholars to finish their study, knowing the letter held the answers he had been searching for his entire life. “All right,” he grumbled. “I’ll recover the pendant in exchange for the letter, and four dyclen.”

Laemyr let out a breath. “A copy of the letter,” he corrected. “I will have one of our scribes copy it after you bring the pendant.”

“Word for word,” Gavin said. “You’ve got to copy it exactly.”

“Of course.” Laemyr gave Gavin a description of the man last seen with the pendant. “His name is Sithral Tyr, and he’s from Nilmaria, so he wears the customary tattoos of his people. Come see me when you return. The museum is located on Granite Road--”

“I know where it is,” Gavin said. Since solving the first King’s Rune nine months earlier, he had been in the museum many times.

“Ah, may I see your tag?” Laemyr squeaked. “If you don’t mind terribly.”

Gavin wished he knew what he did to intimidate people so. Asking a battler to see his tag was a perfectly reasonable request and sometimes the only way to differentiate swindlers from law-upholding warrant knights. Gavin fished in his tunic and drew the wooden tag up by the thong from which it dangled around his neck. He showed Laemyr first the side showing the carved image of a wolf, representing mercy and benevolence, and then the other, displaying his name, with the emblem of the Lordover Lalorian burned into the wood below it.

“Very well,” Laemyr said, breathing a sigh. “I’ll wish you a good day and good luck.”

Gavin stopped him with a raised hand. “Ah, I’ll want half payment now, the other half on delivery.”

Despite the dim light in the tavern, Gavin saw Laemyr blush. “Of course. I beg your pardon. I’ve never hired a warrant knight before.” Laemyr drew back the opening of his robe and withdrew a small pouch from his pocket. Loosening the drawstring, he poured one large and five small silver coins into his palm and gave them to Gavin.

"Very well." Gavin pushed his chair back from the table and stood, unfolding himself to his full height of nearly six and a half feet.

Laemyr stumbled backward. “Good day, then.” He rushed out before Gavin could respond.

Gavin drained his tankard in one long draw and set it on the table with a bang, then picked up his sword, slipped the strap of the scabbard over his right arm and head, and adjusted it on his back. As he walked to the door, his steps elicited groans from the planks under his feet.

Ronor Kinshield’s letter. At long last, Gavin would know the truth of what had happened to King Arek.

Chapter 4

Under a cloudless afternoon sky, several women sparred with each other on the grass. The clacking of their wooden practice swords echoed across the courtyard.

As she practiced alone, Daia Saberheart used a real sword and fully executed her thrusts and chops, following through as though her life depended on it. Sweat ran down her face and soaked her neck and armpits.

From the corner of her eye, Daia saw Lilalian approach and paused her practice to wait. Everything about Lilalian screamed authority: her purposeful stride, the tight braid in her long blonde hair, her cool, humorless eyes.

“Aminda wants to see you in her office.” Lilalian continued toward the barracks before Daia had a chance to respond.

“Yes, m’lady,” Daia replied to the captain’s back. She sheathed her weapon and performed the ritual series of gestures that properly concluded each practice session.

I stand before the Spirit and all of humanity and offer these, my vows.

I seek the wisdom of the three treasures, the five senses and the power of the earth.

I seek to earn the love and respect of every man, woman and child.

I seek to subdue my enemy without bloodshed, and to show mercy to all living things.

I bow down not in submission but in respect.

She ended the salutation on one knee, her head bowed and her right fist cupped in her left palm. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and rose to her feet.

The door to the guild mistress’s office stood open when Daia arrived. At the window, Aminda looked down at the activity in the courtyard. Daia cleared her throat.

“Daia, come in,” Aminda said. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. Her lips were redder than most women’s. Many of the Sisters, in their idle gossip, speculated that the guild mistress stained them with concentrated berry juice. Daia found it hard to believe. The Sisterhood had a rule against adorning oneself for vanity’s sake; Aminda was no hypocrite.

“You wanted to see me, m'lady?”

“Please sit,” the guild leader said, motioning to a plain wooden chair. She sat in the leather chair behind the desk. “Lilalian will be here shortly. First, I wanted to talk privately.”

Daia nodded as she sat down, hoping Aminda wouldn't reprimand her for the drinking game she'd hosted in the garrison the night before. She knew that the Sisterhood forbade drinking spirits in the barracks, but sometimes bonding with her peers mattered more than obeying arbitrary rules.

“I've been watching you practice your patterns in the courtyard,” Aminda said. “Your form is exquisite, and your speed impressive. You've been completing missions for the Sisterhood for a couple of years now, and you have battled fierce opponents against terrible odds, yet you are remarkably unscarred.”

Daia thought immediately of the nine-inch scar across her midsection, a gash so deep she'd had to stitch it herself in the wilds. Aside from that, however, Aminda was right. Her arms and hands were lightly scarred, as were most battlers’, but her injuries had been mostly inconsequential.

“I had my doubts about you in the beginning," Aminda continued. "You weren’t the first noble-born girl to come here trying to escape the lifestyle of your upbringing, but you are the only one who excelled in the training to become a true battler. Your competence is a measure of your value to the guild, and you serve as an outstanding example to others, particularly the younger women. I have given some thought to promoting you to lieutenant.”

Daia fought to hide a grin. Finally, recognition for her work in the guild.

“But,” Aminda said, “there's one barrier that we must address. You have not sufficiently displayed a certain quality I believe is important in my officers. I want to see whether it is within you.”

Daia’s heart sank. “What quality?”

“My officers act in anticipation of problems whereas you act in response to them. Rather than seek out ways to demonstrate your value, you wait until you receive an assignment. On those assignments, you always surpass expectations, but I’d like to see you display more initiative. Act, don't react.”

Daia nodded slowly, but wondered what more Aminda was asking her to do. She already helped many of the newer girls without being assigned the task.

“If you see the weapons in the training hall need repair, take them to the smithy. If you’re returning from a mission and someone is waiting at the city gate for an escort, offer to accompany them. You know our rates; you can negotiate for the work. Take the initiative. Once I see sufficient evidence of this, I will inform Lilalian of my decision and have her arrange the promotion ceremony.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Daia said. “I won't disappoint.” She started to stand.

“There is one more thing.”

Daia lowered herself back into the chair.

“I’ve got a mission for you,” Aminda said. “You will go with Cirang and… Ah, here they are.”

Cirang and JNese followed Lilalian in. Cirang rolled her eyes and let out an impatient sigh when she saw Daia, but said nothing.

“A merchant and his daughter are traveling this week from Sohan to Tern with a wagon full of valuable gems. The three of you will accompany him.”

They discussed the details of the mission: once they arrived in Tern, Daia would accept the merchant’s payment, meet with a Sister posted there to receive the fees she had been collecting, and return to Sohan with the money. The other two women would stay to negotiate with the Lordover Tern for a permanent outpost for the Viragon Sisterhood at the city gate. Thankfully, Daia hadn’t been asked to participate in those meetings; she did not think her father would negotiate anything with her there.

After Aminda dismissed them, the three women jogged down the stairs. At the bottom landing, they met one of their guild sisters escorting a raven-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache. Daia turned and walked backward, watching him as he climbed the stairs toward Aminda’s office.

“Who’s he?” JNese breathed.

Cirang snorted. “Does it matter? With Aminda’s power and charm, she can have any man she chooses. That one isn’t so ugly. I would take him for an hour or two.”

“I’d be happy with fifteen minutes,” JNese said with a laugh.

Daia smiled and shook her head. To risk a pregnancy for a tryst with a stranger held no appeal, and she did not put stock in prevention spells. Too many women ended up pregnant in spite of them, putting an end to a battler’s lifestyle.

“I wonder why Aminda’s sending three battlers on this mission?” JNese asked as they walked across the courtyard to the barracks. “The journey to Tern is not so dangerous. Cirang and I could return with the money in another week’s time.”

Cirang said, “Our coffer is nearly empty. We need the money now. Besides, one of the Sisters  accompanying a priest from Keayes met three separate groups of highwaymen on the North Road.”

“Now that a monarch is imminent,” Daia said, “brigands are scurrying to earn what livelihood they can before a new royal army puts a stop to them. Not to mention beyonders popping out of their realm at every turn. Why do you think we’re trying to establish guild posts in other cities?”

“For recruiting more girls,” JNese replied.

Daia nodded. “Sure, recruitment is important, but peace in the lands between the cities is more so. The lordovers can only do so much.”

Cirang hung an arm around Daia’s shoulders. “Speaking of lordovers, Daia, what advice can you offer for making an impression with the Lordover Tern?”

Daia shot her an annoyed look. “Put on a dress.”

Chapter 5

“It’s time,” someone whispered.

Brawna Beliril took a slow, deep breath before opening her eyes. She looked around the room at the soft lighting, the practice weapons in the rack along the east wall, the padded suits heaped in a far corner. She might never see this room again. Rising to her feet, Brawna went to the door and stopped to take one last look. She’d spent most of her time here over the last two years. The room felt like an old friend. She bowed to it, paying her respects to the lessons and philosophies it represented.

Brawna entered the anteroom outside the training hall where seven women were gathered, each wearing a black sash around her waist. Lilalian's sash bore the gray strip that showed she was a ranking member of the guild. All conversation stopped when Brawna entered. They regarded her with somber expressions. They thought she would fail.

Lilalian looked her over. Brawna lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

"Are you ready for this trial?" Lilalian asked. Her voice sounded harsh, accusatory.

Brawna nodded. She started to answer, but her voice caught and she cleared her throat. "Yes, m'lady. I think so." She pressed her hands against her legs to stop them from trembling, and she resisted the urge to chew her lower lip.

"You think so? Brawna, that’s not good enough," Lilalian said. “Your foe is ready and eager for battle.” She jerked her head toward the courtyard.

A small cart waited near the door and on it, a gray beast paced inside an iron cage. Now and then, it stopped and looked about, its claws curled like fingers around the bars. The beyonder's black eyes looked like glass beads, unmoving in its head. Without fur, its skin rippled like a coat made of tiny worms and smelled faintly of sulfur. It pressed its dark gray snout through the space between two bars, mouth open baring pointed teeth and a long pink tongue. The beyonder looked as benign as a dog panting in the warm spring air.

Brawna felt her lip curl involuntarily at the sight of the thing. That abomination was far from a dog. One of the instructors snorted softly. Brawna steeled herself against her revulsion, clenching her teeth, and strode toward the cage, determined to show the other women that she did not fear it. A shiver ran up Brawna’s arms and down her spine. She wanted to kill it right then, and to hell with pomp or process.

"Brawna, you are ready for this," her instructor said. "You’ve passed every waypoint exam with strength, skill and grace. Don't let the ceremony or the beast intimidate you into losing confidence. We wouldn't let you do this if you weren't ready."

Brawna shot a glance at Lilalian and found that the captain’s expression had softened. As she looked around at the instructors that were to serve on her panel, she now saw compassion in their eyes. Compassion and maybe, possibly, faith. “Yes. I’m ready,” she said, the strength in her own voice surprising.

"Let's begin," Lilalian said, and walked out.

The black sashes exited the building in a line behind the captain, marching across the grass. Brawna followed in her white trousers and tunic and blue sash, pulling the cart behind her. As Lilalian approached the center of the courtyard, she called, “Clear the grounds.” She waved her arms to the warriors who were practicing their moves. They obeyed without hesitation.

Women gathered to watch, leaning against the walls of the surrounding buildings or squatting in the patch of shade under the oak tree in the corner of the compound. Most were very young and inexperienced. Some had not yet faced their first trial as evidenced by the white sashes around their waists. One day many of them would be facing this trial themselves. Brawna knew they were there to watch as much for their own mental preparation as in support of her. Among them, the older warriors stood out.

They moved with a rare grace born of narrow misses, years of swinging heavy weapons and the quick instincts that kept battlers alive. The gray in their hair and the lines on their faces were not signs of growing weakness, but of incredible strength and wisdom. Brawna knew in her heart that one day she, too, would be as distinguished.

From the center of the courtyard, Brawna searched the audience and when she saw Daia she smiled, relieved. Everything would be all right.

Daia held up two fingers in the popular “V” salute of the Viragon Sisterhood, and nodded at Brawna.

As the instructors and judges in the courtyard inspected Brawna’s sword and the cage, Brawna walked about, head bowed, shaking her hands. “I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “I am strong; I am prepared; I am a battler.”

The last judge handed Brawna her sword. She slid it into the scabbard on her belt while the warriors walked away from her to stand at their places. Once the women had formed a wide circle around Brawna and her foe, they readied their weapons; three notched an arrow into their short bows and four drew swords. One of those was intended for Brawna should she be mortally wounded during her trial. Lilalian was charged with dispensing a merciful death to end a student's suffering if it came to that.

Lilalian raised her arm, calling for silence among the spectators. When the chatter died away and only the ryna’s steady growling remained, she called to Brawna, “Are you ready to face your foe?”

Brawna took a deep breath and nodded.

“Let the Trial of Fortitude begin,” Lilalian declared.

Brawna bowed to each of the judges in the circle around her, and each bowed in return. She shook her hands out once more and checked the short sword at her hip. If only she could flip open the latch with her sword. But doing so would mean her dismissal.

Stepping up to the cage, she reached gingerly toward the latch. The ryna lunged. She jerked her hand away and retreated so quickly that she stumbled and landed on her backside.

The spectators laughed. Brawna felt a rush of heat spread across her face.

Lilalian turned around and glared at the audience. The laughter died away.

Brawna got up, brushed off the seat of her pants and shook out her hands. Once again, she stepped forward and reached for the latch, confidently this time. With a click, the door swung open. The ryna leapt toward her, its mouth wide.

Brawna jumped to one side. The beast charged out of the cage. Her weapon slid from its sheath with a ring. The ryna turned and rushed her, clawed at her again and again. She retreated, running backward across the lawn.

The ryna slashed at her. It ripped through her pants and gouged her shin. It burned, oh Yrys how it burned. The beast was fast like lightning. Brawna couldn’t get her footing. She swung the sword like a scythe.

The beast lashed out with first one claw and then the other. Brawna turned her sword and swung. She missed, swung again and again. Her sword severed the ryna’s paw and flung it into the grass. The beast roared.

The ryna fought harder. It came at her with the claws of its remaining paw, teeth snapping. It leapt forward. Claws flayed open her thigh.

Brawna chopped her sword at the elusive beast. Her mind screamed, “Kill it! Kill it!” Her body groped for the battling instinct honed through training. The thing slashed repeatedly with its claws. It sliced open the outside of her thumb, then her forearm, then her wrist.

Brawna’s foot slipped in the grass. She went down. At once, the beast leapt upon her. She brought her left arm up to protect her face. It took her forearm in its jaws and whipped its head from side to side. Her arm was on fire. She could not get her sword up. She was going to die. From the corner of her eye, she saw the judges running toward her, raising their short bows to fire on the ryna and end the trial.

Daia! Help me!

A fluttery sensation started in her gut, then flowed into her like someone pouring warm water into a cup. Suddenly she felt more powerful than she had ever felt in her life. She let go of her sword, and with her fist she struck the beyonder as hard as she could.

The ryna squealed. Its gray form flew through the air and landed hard. While it twisted around and scrambled to its feet, Brawna did the same, snatching up her sword again. It rushed her.

Brawna turned her blade and stepped in. She swung. The ryna screeched. Black blood sprayed from the wound in its neck. With one strong thrust, Brawna drove her blade into its chest so deeply that it went through the creature’s body and emerged from its belly. It collapsed to the ground and lay still.

The audience cheered. Brawna's chest heaved as she gasped for breath. Her left arm hung, shredded, by her side while blood dripped from her fingertips into the grass. She staggered to one knee and bowed her head.

Two of the judges converged on the battler. One bent to ensure the ryna was dead while the other sent a surge of warm healing magic into Brawna’s body, sealing the wounds. Her clothes, white only minutes before, were now drenched with blood. Brawna remained in a reverential bow while the judges huddled to confer.

She trembled with weariness and remorse. The ryna had beaten her horribly. She failed her trial. She just knew it. They were going to dismiss her and she would have to earn her living as a bar maid or washerwoman, her lifelong dream of being a Viragon Sister stamped out forever.

At last, Lilalian strode forward. Brawna climbed to her feet with her head hung low. This was it. Time to say good-bye.

“We all thought you were finished,” Lilalian said softly. “But Yrys must have had His hand on your shoulder. Congratulations.”

Brawna’s head snapped up. “I didn’t fail?”

Lilalian smiled. “Raise your arms.”

Exhilaration streaked through Brawna like lightning, energizing her entire body. She wanted to jump up and down in joy, but she stood with her arms out while Lilalian untied the blue sash at her waist and dropped it onto the grass. From within her tunic, Lilalian drew a new green sash and wrapped it around Brawna’s waist, then knotted it. She bowed.

Smiling broadly, Brawna bowed in return, then bowed to the other battlers on her panel. The captain of the Viragon Sisterhood turned to the audience and shouted, “Offer your congratulations to our newest green sash battler.”

Most of the women in the audience gathered in the center to shake Brawna’s hand. “Brawna the Blade,” someone called her. The women laughed and patted her back and shoulders and ruffled her wet hair.

“Your new nickname.” “That’s what we’ll call you from now on.” “How fitting.”

When Daia stepped forward, Brawna dipped one knee slightly. “Thanks to you, m’lady,” she said.

Daia shook her hand. “You did splendidly. I knew you would.” They shared a knowing smile and Daia backed away. The other girls swarmed in to offer their congratulations.

“Daia, wait.” Brawna rose onto her toes to look over the heads of the other women. “I want to go on your...” She tried to spot her friend, but Daia had gone. “...next mission,” she finished to herself. She would just have to find Daia tomorrow and ask.

Chapter 6

After a fitful night’s sleep at the Good Knight Inn, Gavin rose early and called for the stable-hand to bring his horse and gear. While he waited, he gathered his belongings and stuffed them into his leather satchel, and filled two flasks at the inn’s well. By the time he finished, his warhorse stood in the road dressed in leather armor, while the stable-hand tightened the straps of the saddle under the gelding’s dappled gray belly.

“How now, Golam,” Gavin said, stroking the horse’s huge face. He cast a glance toward the lobby, hoping the innkeeper wouldn't notice him leaving. He'd promised to fix the door in exchange for board, but that could wait. Calewen's Pendant could not. The longer he delayed, the farther away it would get.

"Listen," Gavin told the stable-hand. "Tell Trayev I got to go somewhere. I'll be back in a week, and I'll fix the door then." After tying his gear to the saddle with a few leather thongs, he tucked his leather glove under the front of the saddle and mounted. With a click of his tongue, he leaned forward, and Golam started off. From the corner of his eye, Gavin saw Trayev come out of the inn, calling and waving his only hand. He pretended not to notice, and nudged Golam a little faster. He felt badly about breaking his promise, but he would make up for it. As soon as he returned with the pendant.

He walked Golam through Ambryce, stopping just long enough to buy a small loaf of bread and a few boiled eggs. He ate as he rode, not wanting to waste time sitting for a meal. As he neared the bridge crossing the Flint River north of the city, the rushing of water grew louder. A uniformed man-at-arms in service to the Lordover Ambryce stood on the narrow road and signaled Gavin to stop.

“The bridge is out,” the armsman said. “You can circle to the west and cross there.”

“I don’t mind a swim.” Gavin started to guide Golam through the trees toward the river.

“I wouldn’t advise it. The water’s icy, and the current’s strong. We’ve got a lot of run-off from the Superstitions.”

“We’ll manage,” Gavin called back.

The warhorse picked his way down the rocky bank, but balked at the water’s edge, reluctant to go forward.

“We have to cross this way, Golam.”

Golam tossed his huge gray head and refused to take another step.

“Mule,” Gavin muttered, jamming his heels harder into the horse’s sides.

Golam took a couple steps into the water and neighed his protest.

“Quit whining.” Gavin kicked again, and the horse started across.

As Golam waded deeper, the water soaked into Gavin’s boots and wet his trousers to his knees. It was damned cold. The current pressed hard against his calf, and he thanked Golam with a pat for being so large and strong.

A whoop, faint over the loud rushing of the river, caught his attention. That didn’t sound like any bird he knew. Gavin turned in the saddle. A girl tumbled end over end as the water swept her downstream toward him.

“Seven hells!”

Gavin eyed the girl in the water to judge her speed and route. He aligned Golam’s path with hers, bent over, reached for her pink dress. His grip was unsure. The current ripped the fabric from his grasp. Damn it!

Gavin urged Golam downstream after her. He hung his scabbard and cuirass on the saddle and dived into the water.

The icy water made him gasp when he surfaced. He flung the dripping hair from his eyes. There! Pink fabric peeked over the surface. He swam after her. The water’s temperature numbed his muscles, and he swam barely faster than the current. No one could last long in this cold. As he neared the girl, he reached out, caught her dress. Got her.

His head slammed into a rock. The pain was dizzying. Then he was under the water, his voice gurgling and bubbles flittering past his eyes. Something was bunched in his hand and tugged at his grasp in the strong current, struggling to be freed. He found the surface and gasped for a breath, then looked down at what he held in his hand. Pink cloth. The girl! He wrapped an arm around her waist, clutched her body to him. He tilted her head back against his shoulder, out of the water. Kicking toward the eastern bank, he whistled to his horse. Golam came quickly, now unmindful of the cold. With his free hand, Gavin grabbed the reins. The mighty gray surged up the bank. Gavin hauled himself and the girl out of the river.

Climbing up the embankment, Gavin saw that she was not a child but a full grown Farthan woman, whose people lived in the lands far beyond the Superstition Mountains to the east. She could not have weighed more than seventy pounds, even soaked. Standing, she would be no taller than an eight-year-old girl. But now she lay completely still in his arms.

Her skin felt cold, but she had a pulse. He laid her on her stomach in the grass and pressed on her back to drain the water out of her lungs. He turned her over, but she did not move. He put an ear to her mouth. No breath. He tried pushing on her abdomen. Still she did not breathe. “Come on,” he whispered. His heart pounded, and he shivered so violently that his hands shook and his teeth chattered. He covered her mouth with his own and breathed life in. Her chest rose and fell. Her body jerked as she gasped.

“There now,” Gavin said, raising her head with a cupped hand. “You’ll be all right. Just sit up a bit.” He hoped she knew his language.

She sat up, coughing violently, and vomited water. For a few minutes, she could do no more than cough and gasp. He saw terror in her eyes as she looked around, no doubt realizing she’d nearly died. “My...” she choked.

“Don’t try to talk yet. Just let your body work the water out of your lungs.” Gavin patted her back to help her regain her breath.

She pushed her black hair back with a tiny hand. Droplets streamed from dark brown, almond-shaped eyes as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her coughing spasms grew further apart, and she began to shiver. The pale pink dress clung to her legs and dripped, forming a puddle around her.

“How’d you end up in the river?” he asked as he untied his bedroll.

“Slipped,” she said shyly, averting her eyes.

Gavin pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he knew from the way she leaned away that his appearance frightened her. "Here. Let's wrap you up in this." He flapped open the bedroll and draped it around her shoulders. She pulled it tightly around her.

Something rustled in the brush upstream. Gavin put a finger to his lips, then motioned the woman to stay there. He yanked the leather glove tucked under Golam’s saddle and pulled it onto his left hand. Quietly, he drew the sword from its scabbard. He crept as silently as he could through the thicket.

A brown donkey stopped short, its eyes widening in fear. Its lead rope dragged the ground, and a leather pack straddled its back. It snorted and stepped away from him. "Easy, fellah." Gavin approached slowly and reached for the lead rope, then led the animal back to where the woman waited with Golam.

“Is this yours?” he asked the Farthan woman.

“Oh! Yes.” She began to laugh. “Yes, yes! It is my donkey. Then I am not dead and you are not angel of Yrys?” She looked up at him.

“Hardly,” Gavin said as he tied the donkey’s lead to a nearby tree.

“Oh, your head.” Concern wrinkled her forehead. “You are injure.”

Gavin reached up and touched his head, realizing then that it hurt like hell. His hand came away bloody.

“You need healer.”

“I don’t need a healer. It’s only a scratch.”

“You are injure because of saving me, so now I can help you,” she said. “Bend down so I will reach you.”

“No need.” He peeled off his cold, wet shirt, wrung the water out, then dabbed his forehead with it. Soon, no more blood seeped from the wound. He scowled, bewildered yet not terribly surprised. A week ago, he’d cut himself while sharpening his dagger, and the wound had closed almost as he watched it.

“Magic healing, that is,” she said.

No, that wasn’t possible. He had no magic ability. There must have been some other explanation for it. Healthy food, too little ale. Something.

Gavin considered what to do next. Putting the woman on the jackass and sending her off was out of the question. She had nearly died in that river. He needed to see her home to make sure she didn’t faint on the way. Besides, a few more coins in his purse as valour-gild wouldn't be unwelcome.

“Can you stand?” he asked, offering her his arm. “I’ll take you home.”

“Yes.” She gripped Gavin’s forearm, her hand small against the vast width of his arm. He lifted her onto Golam’s back and, after tying the donkey’s lead rope to his saddle, climbed up behind her. He wrapped the bedroll around them both. She leaned into the warmth of his body and dozed while they rode back to the city.

The gems! They might have fallen into the river. He reached to pat his pocket, careful not to wake the woman with a touch she might misinterpret. His fingers felt the shapes within the pouch and he breathed his relief. He needed to find a safe place to keep them. Soon.

As they rode, he wondered about his instantaneous healing. Something unnatural had happened, but what? And why? Maybe after he returned with the pendant, he would visit a mystic to find out what it was about.

When they reached the northern border of the city, Gavin roused the Farthan for directions to her home. She directed him to the nearest market district, only another mile away.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“I am Arlet Stronghammer. My husband is blacksmith, Risan. Of Stronghammer Blades.” She broke into tears. “…almost die… never see him again… owe you everything…”

“There now, you’re all right,” he said, clumsily patting her shoulder. Despite years of saving people from death and terror, he felt awkward comforting the distraught. Children were easier – his three years as a father had awakened an instinct within him for that.

Arlet took a moment to compose herself and dabbed her tears with her wet sleeve. “I never met hero before,” she said. “What you are call?”

“Gavin Kinshield,” he said. He knew what her next question would be.

“Oh! You are relation to champion of King Arek?” she asked.

“My great, great grandfather’s great, great grandfather.”

Arlet tilted her head to look up at him. “Now I see. You have blood of hero.”

Gavin sighed. Why did people forget that Ronor Kinshield had failed to protect the king? That had hardly made him a hero.

She directed him through the market and down a side street, then pointed to a short but sturdy man kneeling on the front stoop of a clean, white cottage. "There is Risan on front of our house."

Riding up with the man's wife in his arms wouldn't be the best start to a new friendship. Gavin had received more than one bloodied nose from misunderstandings and hasty conclusions. He started to dismount so that he could lead Golam by the reins, but then Risan turned his head toward them. Oh hell. Too late.

* * * * *

As Golam approached the house and stopped, the Farthan man rose to his feet and shielded the sun from his eyes with the flat of his hand. He spit out the nails he was holding in his mouth. "What is going on?"

Gavin couldn't tell whether Risan was angry or concerned. "Hail, good sir," he called, dismounting. He wished he didn't have to handle the man's wife while he looked on, but Golam was too tall for her to climb down unassisted. Gavin made sure to lift her down in the most gentlemanly way possible.

“What hell is it? What is wrong?” Risan asked, stepping forward.

Arlet went to her husband’s side, and he put his arm around her and held her protectively, maybe possessively. “This is Hero Kinshield,” she said through chattering teeth. “He saved my life.”

Gavin offered his hand. “It’s Gavin.”

“Saved…?” Risan took Gavin's hand absently. “By Yrys! How? What happened?”

“I almost drowned in river,” Arlet said. “Let us go inside and warm up with tea by fire, and I will tell you story of rescue.” She went into the house.

“You have my deep gratitude, Gavin Kinshield,” Risan said, gripping Gavin's hand more firmly. “I am Risan Stronghammer. Welcome to my home. Let me take your horse to backyard while both you put on some dry and warm things.”

Gavin inclined his head. “I just wanted to make sure Arlet arrived home safely. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Nonsense,” Risan said. He pulled Golam’s reins down and looped them around the tree in the front yard. “You saved my wife. At least let me offer you warm drink and meal. You would not do less if you wear my boots.” He gestured to the door to show Gavin inside.

The home smelled of fresh mint, prompting a memory so strong, Gavin expected his grandmother to walk through the kitchen door with tray of warm tarts and homemade jelly. A squat table and two small couches, their covers patched with mismatched cloth, took up most of the greatroom. An assortment of bladed weapons covered the walls, their edges and surfaces stained with evidence of heavy use. Ahead sat a round dining table with three chairs, and to its left, a doorway to what Gavin assumed was the kitchen. Behind a closed door on the right, Arlet's voice called, "Risan, get blanket for Gavin from other room."

"Of course," Risan said. He ducked into a small room beside the closed door and emerged with a patchwork quilt, which he handed to Gavin. "You can take off wet clothes in there. I will see to your horse while you get dry."

Gavin slipped into the room and peeled off his wet clothes, then wrapped the blanket around his waist. He was setting his boots on the hearth and laying his wet clothes in front of the dying embers when Risan came in.

Risan put a log in the fireplace, arranged it in the coals, and encouraged it to light with a pair of bellows. The log began to smoke and a fire rose on one end. Then he knocked on the closed door. "Do you need help, chishen?"

"No, I am fine," Arlet called. "Would you bring us some tea?"

“Please have seat," Risan said to Gavin. "I have hot water on stove.” He scurried to the kitchen.

“Did you make these weapons?” Gavin called out.

"Some," Risan replied. He returned with a steaming kettle and three cups stacked precariously, and set them on a table. He pointed to the broadsword mounted over the window and the axes beside the fireplace. “Those I made many years ago. Lots of good memory in them. My father made that halberd and those knives. My grandfather made that sword there. He served as blacksmith to emperor of Fartha, you know.” Risan stroked his long black beard and rocked back on his heels.

“Is that so?” Gavin asked. “That’s a fantastic weapon.” As Gavin’s gaze caressed each of the blades, his respect for Risan’s skill swelled, and he longed to feel the solid weight of the weapons in his hand.

“Smaller than you are use to,” Risan said, “but not so unwieldy for Farthan warriors.”

“Your skill is admirable. I ‘specially like the design of this one,” Gavin returned, pointing to a longsword.

Arlet came out of the bedroom dressed in dry clothes and bundled in a blanket. She had combed out her wet hair and tied it back. Risan smiled and went to her, brushing his hand over her face.

"Please, let us sit and have warm tea," Risan said. "I am eager to hear of rescue."

Gavin sat on the couch across from the fireplace so that Arlet could sit closer to its warmth. Risan settled beside his wife on the couch and pulled her close with an arm around her shoulders while she told him about her ordeal. Although she exaggerated Gavin's heroics, he kept quiet and let her tell it.

"Then come black spots and I know here is my end. I think I soon will be in Afterworld. I wonder what it will be like. For first time in fifteen years, I pray. I ask Yrys to keep Risan safe, and with my last thought in my heart, I die.

"Then I am coughing. I see man kneel next to me and he help me to sit up. He is so big I think he must be god, mayhap even Yrys Himself." Arlet smiled at Gavin. "Does he not look like god from myths of old?"

Gavin felt heat spread across his face. "There now--"

"So big and strong, with dark curls and deep eyes. I think his gaze so intense, he must see through my mind to back of my head."

Risan and Arlet laughed in a gentle, teasing manner, and Gavin forced a smile.

"Then he brings donkey back, and I know he is real man and I am still in realm of living. I see he has blood on his head. My hero is injure to save my life. I am not surprise to learn he is great-kin of Ronor Kinshield.”

Gavin prepared to divert the conversation away from Ronor Kinshield’s false heroism, but Arlet said no more. Risan drew her into his arms, kissing her soundly on her forehead and cheeks, nose and lips. Then he hugged her and rocked back and forth.

Looking away, Gavin tried to give them as much privacy as the circumstances allowed, but still he could hear Risan whispering his love to her. He thought of the last time he’d held Talisha in his arms and told her he loved her. Tell her now, Risan. While she’s still alive to hear it.

Then, Risan stood and offered his hand, and Gavin rose to his feet also. “There are no words for expressing how deep is my gratitude.” He grasped Gavin’s forearm with his free hand and pumped hard. “I will give you special reward to match value of your deed. Warrant knights call it valour-gild, yes? We Farthans call it fël. Let me see your sword.”

Gavin handed him the sword, and Risan looked it over. It had belonged to Gavin's father, and while it had served them both well, it was in grave need of repair: the blade was pitted, the guard rattled on the hilt, and it no longer held an edge very well. Impaling a foe on this blade felt like ramming a pointed wooden plank through him.

“Let me see you hold it.” Risan handed it back to Gavin. “Ah, you are left-hander. I am, too.” Risan laughed and said, “I can see by size of your arms being same to my thighs that you are use to using weapon one-hand. I will make for you new sword. So fine will be your new one that you never will want another.” He stood straight and proud as he announced the gift. Arlet stood beside him, and he put an arm around her shoulders, both of them smiling.

“Aw, that’s too much,” Gavin said. “Just sharpen my blade. That’ll be reward enough.”

Risan’s mouth dropped open, and beside him Arlet’s did also. "I cannot believe you would refuse a fël. Too much, you say. Too much! Verily do you consider Arlet’s life to be worth less than sword?" Spittle flew with the increasing volume of his voice.

"What?" Gavin asked. "No!"

Risan clenched his fists. "Hero or not, this is outrage. How do you dare to insult my wife, my family name? And in my home, no less."

"Ho!" Gavin said, putting his palms up. "Wait a minute. What are you so red about?"

Arlet said something to Risan in their native tongue. Although Gavin did not understand what she said, he heard her voice waver with emotion.

Had he insulted Risan's swordsmithing skills by refusing? "Whatever I said wrong, I apologize. The quality of your blades is unmatched. I just meant the value of your gift is more than what I earn in a year."

Risan wrenched his glare from Gavin’s face and looked into his wife’s eyes, welled with tears. He shifted forward, and Gavin knew he was about to kiss Risan's fists.

Arlet stayed him with her hand on his arm. Her bottom lip quivered and her chin puckered. “Where we came from, reward is like mirror for value of deed. You saved my life.”

Gavin had no idea Farthans took their valour-gild payments so seriously. “In that case, I gladly accept your offer,” he said. “A new weapon would be a blessing to me.”

Risan continued to glare, saying nothing, but at least his hands were no longer balled into fists.

"It is settle, then," Arlet said, nudging her husband.

"I meant no offense. My job is to help people." He lifted the wooden tag hanging around his neck. “See? Knowing Arlet is safe at home is the only reward I need.”

Risan exhaled heavily and visibly relaxed his stance. “Then you are truly noble man. Come with me to foundry. For now, I will sharpen your old blade.”

Gavin followed him out, echoing the relief in his own sigh. He listened to sword-making tales and lessons while Risan clamped down the sword and began to run a whetstone across its edges.

When Risan handed him the sharpened sword, it occurred to Gavin that the three gems he carried would make a nice decoration for the hilt of his new weapon. Those expertly cut gems would put a lot of gold in his purse if he sold them. But their value in gold was not as great as what they represented to him: a meeting of minds between himself and King Arek across the two centuries that separated them.

“I’ve been carrying around a few gems,” he told Risan, “always afraid I’ll lose them. Would you put them in the hilt of the new sword?”

“Of course. I would be glad.” Risan patted Gavin’s back as he gestured toward the door. They returned to the Stronghammer’s home. “Leave them with me and I will set them. No need worry they will come loose – I will set them tight.”

* * * * *

The scent of food filled the house as Arlet prepared a meal for them. Gavin’s stomach rumbled like rocks in a rolling barrel; he wouldn't refuse their offer of food. He went to his trousers drying on the hearth and removed the leather pouch. He fished for the three gemstones, then dropped them into Risan’s outstretched palm: a black onyx, red-brown sard, and brown jasper.

Risan glanced at them nonchalantly, then snapped his head back for a longer look.

Oh hell. Gavin saw both recognition and understanding in Risan’s widening eyes, his chin dropping into a gape of disbelief, and the forming of a tear in the corner of one eye.

“You,” Risan whispered.

Gavin was trapped. He couldn’t deny it, but neither could he admit it, so he stood dumbly, unsure what to say.

The blacksmith laughed long and loudly while Gavin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Finally, Risan said, "For almost one year, you keep secret about solving runes. We all in Thendylath gather in taverns and wonder, ‘Who is mysterious rune solver?’ Some think he is sage, some think he is scholar. Some heard rumor he is battler. Now he is standing in my home. My home." This last he said quietly, his voice fading to a whisper. “I am glad it is you. Thendylath needs hero sitting on her throne.”

Gavin started to protest, but thought better of it. He had no intention of exercising his right to the throne, but he could not tell the Stronghammers that. Not yet. It would be Edan Dawnpiper that the people of Thendylath would someday call ‘king.’ Just as soon as Gavin went north to Lalorian and convinced him.

As they gathered around the table for supper, Risan and Arlet spoke over each other, their eyes twinkling. “When did you get them?” “When will you solve two last runes?” “What will you do with King's Blood-stone?” “I will put it in your new sword for you.”

Desperate to avoid answering their questions, Gavin thought to try his hand at small talk. “I take it Stronghammer’s an epithet. What’s your family name?”

“My birth name is Risanipak...” The rest of his name sounded like a slur of alien sounds to Gavin’s ear. “My family name means ‘hammer of godly strength.’ Stronghammer is not epithet. It is... tran-language?”

“Translation,” Gavin offered. “So then how long have you lived in Thendylath?”

“Twelve years now.”

“I hear Farthans pray to a different god. Yrys, isn’t it?”

Risan and Arlet looked at each other and a few moments of silence crept by. “We lost faith when our son died of plague,” Risan said quietly. “We pray to no god.”

“Except only when we are drowning,” Arlet said.

The three of them looked at each other and broke into laughter.

“Enough of us,” Risan said. “We want to hear about runes.”

“Yes, please tell us,” Arlet begged, spooning piles of meat and vegetables into his bowl.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Gavin replied. Rarely did someone press him so hard, and he didn’t know how to politely evade their questions. While they asked more questions, he kept his mouth full of food so that he would have an excuse not to answer, but when Arlet heaped the last of the meat into his bowl, he knew he would have to give them something soon.

“You do not want to talk about runes? Then tell us, Gavin Kinshield,” she said. “How did you get scars?” She ran her finger down her cheek.

He swallowed the last bits of food and washed them down with water. “Brown bear,” he said. “But that happened a long time ago.” And he wouldn't share that story with them -- or with anyone.

Risan whistled. “Brown bear. You are lucky be alive.”

“How do you know answer to runes?" Arlet asked. "You study many books?”

Gavin drew a mental picture of himself with a pair of spectacles on his nose, bent over piles of dusty books, and snorted a laugh at the absurdity of it. “They just come to me,” he said. “I can’t explain how. It just happens.”

“What you will do first when you are king?” Risan asked. His eyes glittered and his teeth shone whitely against the blackness of his beard.

Gavin had no idea how he would explain to them that, while he had solved the runes, he wouldn't be king. That honor was better suited to a man of noble birth. “I don’t honestly know.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "My thanks for the meal. It was delicious. But it’s time I was on my way.”

By then his clothes were mostly dry and while he put them on, Risan brought Golam around to the front of the house. Gavin took his old sword and said his farewells.

“Do not forget,” Risan reminded Gavin. “Return in one week time for your new weapon.”

“I will, I promise.” Gavin checked Golam’s saddle and prepared to mount. Arlet beckoned him to bend down. Gavin went patiently to one knee and patted her back while she hugged his neck tightly.

She kissed his cheeks with several loud and enthusiastic smacks and brushed the hair back from his eyes. “You will be in my thoughts and heart always, Gavin Kinshield,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat and a pair of tears dribbled down her cheeks.

“And in mine,” Risan said. The blacksmith offered his hand one last time, and as Gavin rose to his feet, he took it and held it firmly, a moment longer than customary.

“Will you do me a favor, good sir?” he asked Risan. “Say nothing to no one about those damned stones. I don’t want or need that kind of attention.”

"What? Why I cannot tell--?"

“We promise to keep your secret," Arlet said, casting a hard glance at Risan. "You can trust us.”

"Yes, of course," Risan agreed. "You can trust us."

Gavin waved as he rode away, relieved to be away from the questions. Now that they knew the truth of the gems and the identity of the Rune Solver, he could only hope they kept their word.

Chapter 7

Daia and her two companions stood at the gatehouse of the guild compound. Their horses shuffled their feet and tossed their heads.

“Where the hell are they?” Cirang muttered. “It's well past sunrise.”

Two other women, mounted and dressed in mail shirts, rode past. “Safe journeys,” they said with a wave.

Daia, Cirang and JNese returned the greeting.

“We'll have to ride hard if we want to reach the inn at Lake Pleasant by nightfall,” Daia said. “Rheodry has only one inn, and it’s not worth the price they charge.”

Cirang snorted. “I'm sure Your Ladyship has much higher standards for sleeping quarters than JNese and I do. I find the inn at Rheodry to be more than adequate.”

Daia narrowed her eyes at the jab. “I never said it was inadequate. I said they charged too much.”

Cirang scrunched her face and made as though to mock Daia when the merchant arrived driving four draft horses. A rotund man, he wore a brilliant tunic of red and blue, trimmed in gold, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Hail, I'm Yardof, and my daughter, Naylen, is in the wagon. So sorry for the delay,” he said. Yardof gestured as he spoke, with short, plump arms and hands. He looked as though someone hiding behind him waved giant sausages in front of his body as in a comedy. “My daughter slept too late.”

“That's not true,” came a shrill voice from the wagon. “I was ready before daybreak. You took too long in the privy.”

“Let's just get going, shall we?” Cirang said.

As Daia mounted, she felt a tugging sensation in her gut, like someone trying to make a connection with her and use her gift as Brawna had done. But this time it felt different -- tacky and vile. She pushed back against it, refusing. Then it dissipated. She looked around to spot who might have done that.

Roughly fifty paces away, a man stood underneath the eave of a gemsmith’s shop, watching her. He wore his black hair cropped short, and the long brown robe and liripipe of a cleric. Somehow, Daia knew he was no cleric. She shuddered and nudged Calie to a trot, eager to distance herself from the robed man. When she returned, she would ask around, learn his identity.

Yardof sat atop the wagon driving the horses while Naylen rode under the cover of its canvas roof.

“What do you sell?” JNese asked Yardof once they were outside the city.

“Gargoyles,” he said proudly with a wave of his hand. “The most exquisitely crafted wooden gargoyles you've ever set eyes upon.”

“Wooden gargoyles?” Daia asked. “Gargoyles are supposed to be carved of stone. Why would anyone want a wooden one?”

“Naylen, show the ladies our goods.”

All three of the swordswomen slowed their horses to align with the back of the cart so they could see the items the merchant had for sale.

Naylen looked at them with large brown eyes. A lanky girl, she had her father's dark brown hair and thick eyebrows. With a sigh, she muttered to herself as she stood to open the chest she had been sitting on. Inside lay a jumble of perhaps fifty small figurines, intricately carved of various types of wood. They varied in color from almost white to deep brown and red, and ranged in size from two to eight inches. Each one had tiny jet-black onyxes set into its eye sockets.

“What are the gems for?” Daia asked.

“Protection,” Naylen replied with a bored tone as though she had answered this question a thousand times already.

“Naylen, show them how the gargoyles work,” Yardof called.

The girl sighed again and grabbed one of the carvings from the box, then shut the lid. She set the gargoyle atop the chest and released her hand.

The figurine rose and fell as though it had taken a breath. Its carved claws flexed, then melded into the chest. At once the gargoyle and its perch were of a single piece of wood. Daia saw no line to divide them.

“That's beautiful,” JNese exclaimed.

“Nice trickery. But what good is it?” Cirang asked.

“Try to open the chest,” Naylen challenged, pushing it to the end of the wagon.

Cirang snorted and urged her horse closer. She leaned over, careful not to fall out of the saddle, and reached for the box. She hissed and jerked her hand back. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” JNese asked.

“It burnt the hell out of me,” Cirang said. She put two fingers into her mouth.

Naylen reached for the lid of the chest and opened it with ease. “Whoever places the gargoyle can open the chest, and no other.” She lifted the gargoyle from the box and placed it back inside.

“Oooh!” JNese said. “That’s really something.”

“What happens when the person who places the gargoyle dies before unlocking the chest?” Daia asked. “Is the chest then locked forever?”

Naylen’s face went blank. “Um… Papa?”

“The gargoyle will remain until a second gargoyle unlocks the chest,” Yardof said. “But only if the person who placed the first one has passed on. Then the original gargoyle can be removed and reused.”

“Does it work on other things?” Daia asked.

“Absolutely. They work wonderfully on doors. You can even put one on a chair if you don’t want anyone else to sit on it. Our gargoyle locks are unique and secure; even the most powerful mage in the world could not defeat it.”

Never would Daia have imagined that something so nonsensical could be so ingenious.  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said. “How much do you sell them for?”

“For you, a special price,” Yardof called back. “Only one dycla for the small one.”

Naylen placed a finger to her lips. “He usually sells them for three kions,” she whispered. “Offer him two and he might take it.”

Chapter 8

Brodas put on the liripipe he’d taken from a dead cleric a month earlier and smoothed it across his shoulders. At the time, he’d had no idea how useful it would be. He waited out of sight while the manservant admitted his guests and Warrick issued the first welcome.  Then, he strode into the great hall with his hands open before him.

“Thank you so much for accepting my invitation on such short notice,” he said with a warm smile.

Guild mistress Aminda Battlehard and her captain, Lilalian, turned to greet their host. Their jaws dropped, and they dipped hastily to one knee with heads bowed.

Brodas touched their shoulders with a satisfied grin. “Please, no such formalities are required. You are my guests.” When they rose, he offered his hand to each of them intending to give a gentle, aristocratic handshake. Both women clasped his hand with surprising strength. “I understand you must be very busy,” he said. “Warrick and I appreciate the time you took to visit, and we’ve got a wonderful meal prepared.”

Aminda inclined her head. “We always enjoy meeting members of the community we serve, but forgive my surprise. Had I known you were a cleric we would have brought an offering. If there’s something the Sisterhood can do for you, by all means let us know. We are at your service.”

Brodas caught Warrick eyeing Lilalian with a lusty half-smile and clapped him hard on the shoulder. “I believe dinner is nearly ready to serve. Why don’t we go right to the dining room and have some wine while the kitchen staff finishes their preparations?”

He led the way to the dining hall and stood at the doorway to usher the ladies in. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. You may lean your weapons against the wall behind you.” The women unstrapped their short swords and set them in the corner.

Brodas sat at the head of the dining table, with Warrick on his right. Aminda sat on Brodas’s left and Lilalian beside her. Aminda smoothed her hands across the embroidered ivy that crept along the tablecloth, while Lilalian's eyes scanned the plaster-patched walls in the soft light emanating from the new sconces. As the manservant poured wine and water for them, Brodas gestured to the room with a sweep of his arm.

“You wouldn't believe the condition of this home when I acquired it,” he said. “Doors hung off their hinges, paint peeled from the walls, and one of the sconces had torn loose. Who knows how long it had lain on the floor.”

“Did you inherit it?” Lilalian asked.

Brodas considered lying about the previous owner, but did not want to arouse suspicion with different versions of the story. The last thing he needed was a visit from the Lordover Sohan regarding his acquisition of this fine manor. “No, she was a young widow and had fallen ill. None of the healers she summoned had been able to help her. I believe she had the yellow lung blight.” Brodas took a sip of wine. “I was very fortunate to have inquired when I did, as the home was about to go to auction.”

Aminda asked, “Aren’t you worried that the vapors which caused her death are floating in the air above your own bed?”

“No, not at all. We have cleansed the manor top to bottom and smudged with all manner of spices and herbs. Most unfortunate for a woman so young.”

Lilalian cocked her head. “You knew her, then?”

“Oh, no,” Brodas said quickly. “I didn’t know her, but I asked my new neighbors about her. Had the timing of my arrival been better for the poor woman, I might have cured her.”

“Your healing skill must be powerful, indeed,” Aminda said.

“The healing skill of Asti-nayas is powerful,” Brodas said as he made the practiced gesture of subservience over his heart. “I am but His humble servant. In fact, I have a gift for you both. If you’ll excuse me for a short moment.” He stood and bowed slightly, then went to his library for the two amulets he had purchased from a jeweler that morning. He’d paid only a few copper coins for each and replaced the worthless jewelry-grade gems with high-quality magic-grade gems.

“...allow men to visit the compound?” Warrick was saying when Brodas returned. The man had only one thing on his mind when women were present.

Guiding the conversation back on its intended path, Brodas said, “Here we are. Each of these amulets bears a high quality onyx blessed with water from the Holy Temple Argatha. They will protect you from harm by magic and by steel. I would like each of you to have one as a token of my respect and admiration for what you do.”

Aminda and Lilalian looked at each other and shifted in their seats. “We appreciate the spirit in which you offer these gifts,” Aminda said, “but I’m afraid we cannot accept. The Viragon Sisterhood has a strict rule prohibiting adornment. We believe that vanity undermines the warrior spirit.”

Brodas put on a disappointed frown. “These are not gifts of adornment but of protection. In fact, they should be worn underneath the clothing, not outside it. Consider them part of your armor.”

Lilalian turned to Aminda and said softly, “Such an amulet might have saved Riina and Hathien from the Renegade.”

Aminda gave him a polite smile, and both women took the offered amulets with thanks. Lilalian slipped the chain over her head and caressed the deep black stone against her skin. Aminda hesitated. At first, Brodas thought he might have to coax her, but after a short pause, she hooked the chain behind her neck. They were like whores, selling themselves for the price of a mere trinket.

The servant began bringing in plates of food: lamb and duck, potatoes and bread, beans and stewed tomatoes. The two swordswomen wasted no time digging into their meals. These were not dainty women who pushed more food around their plates than they swallowed. They ate with the same fervor as the men of their ranks. While Brodas was taken aback by their lack of modesty in shoveling food into their mouths, Warrick apparently enjoyed it. He could not seem to keep his eyes off Lilalian.

Her blonde hair hung in a long braid behind her head, but a few strands in front that had worked themselves loose found their way into her mouth with a bite of food. She pulled them back out with her little finger and tucked them behind her ear. With hands that looked calloused and scarred, she reached for her wine glass, gripping it more as she would a tankard of ale than fine crystal. Tossing her head back, she downed at least a half dozen civilized sips in one swallow.

Warrick smiled at that. Perhaps he found her as amusing as Brodas found her disgusting.

Aminda’s manners were not quite so barbaric. While she did not clench the fork in her fist the way Lilalian did, she did not have the refined elegance of a lady either. At least she had the decency to swallow one mouthful before opening her mouth for the next.

They made light conversation during the meal, but Brodas imagined Aminda shared his eagerness to get to business. Once the food and plates were cleared away, and another bottle of wine brought and poured, he set his napkin on the table.

“Now then. I’m sure you’re wondering why I invited the two of you to dine with us today. While Warrick and I always appreciate the company of ladies as lovely as you both are--“ Lilalian’s brows dipped. “--there is a purpose for your visit. I am in need of an army, and yours is the largest guild of battlers in the realm. I’ve seen your women train, I’ve seen them in the wilds, and I know that your battlers are as tough, as clever, and as dedicated as any group of men.”

Aminda inclined her head. “What need have you of an army?”

Brodas settled back in his chair. “To defend my right to rule Thendylath,” he said, and raised his wineglass to drink. Over its lip, he watched her face. Yes, she was surprised. And she was interested.

“You’re the one solving the King’s Runes?” she asked in a low voice.

“No need for secrecy. No one in this manor doubts my fitness for the throne.”

Aminda smiled. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I have not solved the runes,” he said, “but Thendylath has long suffered without the benefit of a ruler and has fallen into chaos. Our children beg in the streets for their meals, our land is overrun with abominations from the basest of the seven realms, and our cities have crumbled into desolate wastelands. We have a crisis of the utmost magnitude, and it will take a person of spiritual fortitude to raise it from this wretched state. Asti-nayas has directed me to cast off my own personal aspirations and rise to meet this challenge for the good of the people.” He thought his improvisation ingenious and gave them a slight smile.

“Whoever solves the runes and claims the King's Blood-stone has the right to rule and no one else,” Aminda said.

“Where is it written that one must solve the runes in order to rule? The law is vague. It says only that whoever claims the King's Blood-stone has the right to sit on the throne. I intend to claim the Blood-stone.”

“What is it you want from the Sisterhood?” Lilalian asked.

“Merely your support and assistance. First, I need to know who is solving the runes so I can forge a relationship with him. He, with his understanding of the Runes of Carthis, and I, with my god-given directive, will journey together to the cave and take back our country from the monsters and the chaos. Then, once I have the King's Blood-stone, I’ll need your soldiers to defend my right to rule.”

“What if he refuses to give you the gem?” Aminda asked.

“The directive from Asti-nayas was clear; I am to rule Thendylath. I know what I must do.”

“Kill him when he solves the last rune?” she snapped.

“I see you are not one for polite innuendo. Very well, then. Might is right,” Brodas said. “If he is strong enough to kill me first, then perhaps he is truly deserving of the throne and Thendylath’s future would be in capable hands. However, unless he has an army stronger than yours...” He shrugged with palms up.

“What makes you think we will agree to this-- this outrageous alliance?”

Brodas put his index fingertips together at his lips and smiled behind them in his confidence. “Because we are alike, you and I. Self-preservation is our primary instinct. First we will fight to save ourselves and those closest to us. Then we will fight for what we believe in. I believe in my right to rule this country, and you believe the guild you have worked so hard to build is worth preserving.”

“What will the Sisterhood get in return?” Lilalian asked.

Aminda shot her a look of such disbelief it was comical. Brodas held back a chuckle, but Warrick snorted a short laugh.

“When I am king, the Viragon Sisterhood will be the royal guard.” He paused to let them consider the significance of his words. “You will be my most trusted protectors, and be given reign to expand your ranks and build an army as you see fit with the financial backing of the crown.”

Despite her crossed arms and rigid countenance, Aminda’s eyebrow jerked in response. “And if we do not agree?”

Brodas shrugged. “I will remember that you turned your back on me when I needed you. My favor will fall to another. An all-male guard, most likely. Opportunities for women will suffer for it, and I will see to it that the Viragon Sisterhood fades to obscurity.”

The two women sat silently. Aminda glared hard at Brodas, while Lilalian watched her guild mistress, her brows raised as though urging her toward acquiescence.

“I will be king,” Brodas assured them. “You can join with me now and reap the rewards, or try to oppose me and fail.” When Aminda said nothing, Brodas added, “You need not give me your answer immediately. Take a few days to consider, if you wish.”

“There is no need for further consideration,” Aminda said, finally. “I’ll not have our guild—”

“Aminda,” Lilalian said quietly, placing a hand on the guild mistress’s arm, “may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Warrick, would you see the ladies to the music room? When you return, I will have the servant serve brandy as a toast.” Brodas stood when they rose.

Brodas waited patiently for them to return. He was unconcerned; if they left this evening after declining the alliance, they would be back the following day with a change of heart. The amulets guaranteed it.

Warrick returned to the dining room and sat back down. “What do you think they’ll say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brodas replied, swirling the wine in his glass.

“What? I thought you said we need their help.”

“We do. But, Warrick, you forget that I always get what I want. One way or another.”

Warrick grinned and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t forget. I’m just eager to see how you accomplish it.”

The dining room door opened and the two women entered with Aminda leading. Brodas and Warrick stood. Aminda went directly to the corner where they had left their swords and picked them up, handing one to Lilalian. “We have decided that an alliance with you is not in line with the goals and philosophies of our guild.” Aminda held her head high and made direct eye contact with Brodas while Lilalian busied herself by strapping her sword to her waist. “We thank you for the meal.”

“I am disappointed,” Brodas said. He clasped his hands together in front of him. Warrick came around the table to flank the two women.

Aminda unhooked the necklace and handed it to Brodas. “I wouldn't feel right accepting your gift under the circumstances.”

He inclined his head. “I understand.”

Aminda looked at Lilalian and raised her brows. The blonde captain touched her hand to the amulet before she reached slowly to unfasten the clasp.

Brodas stopped her with a gentle hand on her forearm. “Why don’t you keep it, Lilalian? It was a gift, given in the spirit of friendship without expectations.”

“No,” Aminda said, as though cautioning a child. She cleared her throat. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“First, may I ask why both of you decided to reject our proposal?” Brodas needed to buy time. He sensed that Lilalian did not agree with Aminda on the matter.

Aminda cleared her throat again. “The throne belongs to the man or woman who earns it by solving the runes. It is he, or she, we will supp-- support.” Her voice broke apart toward the end of her sentence, and she put her fist to her mouth and coughed.

Brodas handed her a glass of water, which she accepted and drank.

“We did not agree to reject your proposal,” Lilalian said. “Aminda is the guild mistress and it is her right to make or reject policies and agreements. She does not need my consent, but she has my loyalty.”

Aminda began to speak, but before she could utter a word, fell into a fit of coughing.

“My dear, are you all right?” Brodas wrinkled his brow in a display of concern.

Aminda’s face turned red as she struggled to breathe between coughs. She hunched over, coughing violently.

“You’re a cleric,” Lilalian said, placing a hand on Aminda’s back and patting gently. “Can’t you do something?” She pulled Aminda’s hair back, holding it out of her face as the guild mistress gasped and choked.

“Yes, I can. But doing so wouldn't be in line with my beliefs and philosophies. You see, I don't help my enemies.”

Lilalian shot him a startled look.

Aminda dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach. Blood sprayed from her mouth with a hard cough, spattering droplets onto the white marble floor. With every breath her lungs rattled. With every cough came more blood. She fell onto her side and drew her knees up, tucking into a ball, and began to vomit blood and bile.

“Do something,” Lilalian shouted. “Please.” She went to her knees beside Aminda and continued to brush the hair away from her wet face and rub her arm and back.

Brodas felt somewhat sorry for the captain, so distraught over her inability to help her lady. The way she fretted and patted the dying woman was rather touching.

At long last, Aminda’s coughing weakened and stopped, as did her struggle to breathe, and she lay still and quiet. Lilalian shook her head, whispering, “No, this can’t be. How could this happen?”

“You see, that's why I wanted you to keep the amulet. As long as you wear it, you will be safe. Take it off and...” Brodas gestured to the woman lying in a pool of her own blood.

Drenched in Aminda’s blood, Lilalian shot to her feet with a gaping expression. “You did this--?” She straightened and looked boldly into Brodas’s eyes. “I will not serve you.”

“Oh, but you’re mistaken. Here,” he said, showing her a ring on his finger. “You see, this gem is a piece of the same stone as the one in your amulet. They were magically bound together and now spelled as one.”

Lilalian blanched.

“That’s right,” he said. The expression on her face made it plain she had some understanding of how gems worked, but he could not resist hammering the point home. “Any spell I cast through this ring will affect you for better or for worse, no matter where you are.”

“No! I won’t let you poison the Sisterhood,” Lilalian shouted. Her eyes darted around as though trying to decide what to do. Then she reached for the amulet at her breast. She was going to commit suicide.

Warrick grabbed her wrists and wrestled them behind her back.

“Listen to me, Lilalian,” Brodas said. “Take that amulet off and you will die. Of that you have no doubt. Your death may delay our partnership with the Viragon Sisterhood, but it’s only a matter of time before I find someone who sees things my way. I'll go through them one after another until I do.”

Lilalian threw her head back to slam into Warrick's lip. She stomped his foot and twisted in his grasp, freeing herself. Suddenly, she had her sword in her hand.

“Warrick!” Brodas shouted, but Warrick was unarmed. She lunged at Brodas. He barely had enough warning to put up a protection spell. The point of her sword stopped an inch shy of his chest. White haze raced down the length of her blade and washed over her hand and arm, up to her chest and engulfed her body. She fell, limp, to the floor, her weapon clattering beside her. Warrick wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, then bent and picked up the sword.

Brodas squatted and cocked his head to look into her eyes. He knew she could hear and see him, and in a few hours, she would be able to stand up. “I would have preferred your cooperation. Doing it this way is not without its price. The strong-willed tend to go ranting after a few weeks. By then, I should have what I need, and a new guild mistress will take your place just as you have taken Aminda’s today.” He brought the ring up to his chin and closed his eyes. He pulled from deep within his center enough strength and will to turn her. As pressure around his chest and at the base of his throat began to build, he shoved the mounting power toward the stone as his lips formed the words, Sola Allien.

Lilalian's eyes softened into round puppy's eyes. Brodas put a hand on her shoulder and healed her, removing the spell of paralysis. Little by little, she moved her hands, feet, arms and legs. “You should be starting to regain feeling now,” Brodas said, rubbing his temples. The pressure was building like the rumblings after an earthquake.

“I don't know what came over me,” Lilalian said as she started to rise. “Forgive me, my lord.”

Warrick shot an appreciative glance at Brodas. He extended a hand to help her up, and she grasped it and stood. She wobbled on unsteady legs and he caught her with an arm around her waist. “Whoa there.”

She steadied herself against him and smiled. “Could you help me put Aminda on her horse?”

Warrick nodded with a somber expression. “Of course. But we’ll want to clean her up first.”

Brodas rubbed his pounding temples.

“Are you ill, Seer Ravenkind?” Lilalian asked.

The volume of her voice exploded in his head and he grimaced. “I'll be fine,” he said quietly. “Just a bit overwhelmed by the tragedy that has befallen us this evening.” The pain began to diminish as his healing powers did their work.

She eyed the guild mistress’s corpse. “What will I tell the other women?” she asked.

“Why, the truth, of course,” Brodas answered. He smiled gently, the pain nearly gone.

She looked at him with a confused expression.

“My dear,” Brodas said, “you will soon learn, as I did, that everyone has their own truth. To Aminda, an agreement with me would have been bad for the guild. Your truth is different, is it not?”

Lilalian nodded slowly.

“What you tell them is not as important as the effect your words have. You simply need to find the truth that is right for the Sisterhood.”

Chapter 9

Risan set his quill down and fanned the parchment. Yes, he thought with an appreciative nod. It was a good design, suitable for the man who would wield the finished weapon. Within the hilt, the tang would be the full width of the blade, and the full length of the grip. The hilt itself would be wide -- wide enough for Gavin’s large hand -- and resemble a pair of writhing snakes, which, to his people, represented wisdom and prosperity. The head of one snake formed the pommel, and the head of the other lay just below the guard, the blade extending from its open mouth like a tongue. It would be more than a weapon; it would be a work of art.

Through the walls of his forge, the shouts of merchants crying their wares and accusations of swindling by their customers eased into Risan’s consciousness. The jingle and slap of a tambourine grew louder as a band approached the market. The elusive, dreamy prose of a bard wove a spell through Risan's thoughts, and died away as the bard moved farther down the street.

Risan looked up from his sketch and drew his eyebrows together. This moment felt familiar to him, as though he had lived it before. No, not lived it - dreamt it. He felt light-headed as the images from the dream flooded his mind. It had been a dream so lucid, he'd thought it to be a vision of some kind, like the ones his grandfather used to have. Five or six years ago, he dreamed a hero had saved Arlet, and Risan had vowed to make the hero a sword. “A sword worthy of a king,” his dream self had said. The jingling of the tambourine faded away like a wistful summer breeze.

The sky rocks. He had all but forgotten the bits he had collected over the years, inspired by that dream. Mixed with iron, they would make a strong alloy perfect for Gavin's new sword.

Risan moved a drum of tools and a heavy workbench to open a hatch in the floor of his foundry. Inside the storage pit sat a large chest. He jumped down into the pit and opened the chest. There inside lay five burlap bags. He removed the bags, closed the chest and hatch, then took his design into the house.

Arlet kneaded dough in the kitchen.

"It is finished," he announced in their native language. "The design of Gavin’s new sword."

"Let me see it," she said. A bit of flour dotted her nose and she tried to blow it off.

Risan reached up and gently brushed it from her nose, then planted a kiss where the flour had been. "I’ll make it with sky rocks, so it’ll be strong and hold an edge like a razor."

"You still have the sky rocks? I thought you used them years ago to make an axe for that fellow from Tern."

"No, I didn’t. Didn’t seem right at the time. I can’t say why."

"My hero’s sword will be special."

"It’ll be the finest sword I’ve ever made. He has the Rune Stones. You know what that means."

"Yes, of course. He deserves an extraordinary weapon."

Risan paced the floor. "Yes. He deserves the best blacksmith, the best weapon. But Arlet, somehow a sword - even though I’m making it with the sky rocks - doesn’t seem like enough fël for his deed. I’ll make the best weapon I can, but something is missing."

He twisted his beard. Gavin Kinshield had the Rune Stones. Of course, he didn’t actually admit he had been the one to solve the King's Runes, but neither did he deny it. A man who would risk his own life to save a stranger in icy water would not be a thief or a liar. Such compassion. Yes, Gavin Kinshield had solved those runes. The realm would soon have a new king, and that man had saved Risan's wife.

"Don’t fret. It’ll be a fine sword," Arlet said. She put the dough in a bowl and covered it with a towel, then moved it to a sunny windowsill. "He’ll be pleased. Go wash, and you can help me cook."

As they sat for supper that evening, Arlet chattered about some nonsense with the neighbor's milk-goat while Risan pondered the gems and the battler. "Do you think anyone else knows?" he asked.

"About the neighbor mixing mare milk with goat?" Arlet asked.

"No! About Gavin Kinshield and the gems. Why should I care what the neighbors do with their milk?"

Arlet put her spoon down and leaned forward to look her husband square in the eye. "You promised him you would tell no one about the gems. If you want to show loyalty to Gavin Kinshield, you will keep your word."

"I won’t tell anyone. I’m only wondering." Risan sat in silence, chewing his food slowly as he thought about the brave knight. He had been there in Risan's home, sitting in front of the fire like any other man might. Tall and muscular with square shoulders and an intense, intelligent gaze, he had radiated strength unlike any person Risan had ever met.

"Actually, I think everyone must know by now," Arlet said. "The 'goat' milk they sell tastes sweeter than most..."

Admittedly Risan had been somewhat taken aback by Gavin at first, not so much by the size of the man or the jagged scars that ran down his face, nor by his missing tooth or his dark, hooded eyes. It was his air. His commanding presence. The majestic power of him as he climbed down from the saddle. The gentle strength with which he lifted Arlet from the warhorse and set her on the ground. Attention had focused and settled on him, even during the moments they sat silently in front of the fire. In Risan's eyes, Gavin Kinshield was already king.

"...wonder how cheese tastes made with part goat milk and part mare," Arlet said.

He helped Arlet clear the table and wash the dishes, then took his coat from the hook on the door. "I’m going to down a few ales with my pals"

She pointed a finger at him and shook it a few times. “Risan, don’t you dare tell anyone about Gavin being the Rune Solver.”

“I’m not going to tell,” he argued. “Trust me.”

“I trust your intentions, but I don’t trust your long tongue. You made a promise to a king.” She did not need to remind him of the Farthan proverb warning of the eternal obligation of such a vow. She kissed his cheek then patted it. "Remember that."

Risan rolled his eyes and sighed as he walked out the door.

An hour later, Risan sat with his friends at the Red Eye Tavern toasting Lurin's new baby, Goisil's newly built home, Sebur's father-in-law finally returning to his own home, and Risan's full belly. Any accomplishment, large or small, was worthy of a toast at the Red Eye. They toasted the day of the week and toasted another toast.

Risan, like his friends, prided himself on his ability to consume vast quantities of ale and still walk home, though the definition of walking in that context was a matter of debate. They toasted crawling home as well, since the accomplishment was in the arrival not in the means.

"I would like to toast," Risan said, "to my wife."

"To Arlet," the others sang. They lifted their tankards and guzzled their drink.

"May her loveliness grace your home for a hundred years," Goisil cheered.

"A hundred years," the men shouted, drinking once more.

"And toast to brave man that saved her," Risan added, lifting his mug.

"To the man that saved her," came the chorus of voices.

Lurin scowled and paused, his tankard lifted partway to his lips. "What man? What're ya talkin' about?"

Risan broke into a wide smile. He had promised Gavin Kinshield he would not tell anyone about the gems. But if he told only about Arlet's near-drowning in the Flint River, that would be all right. "He would cuff me for certain if I told this tale," Risan said with a teasing grin. His heart pounded with his excitement. He wanted so badly to tell this story, to share his secret, but he could not. What he could do, however, was paint a picture of their soon-to-be-king as a hero. He would just need to be very careful not to get carried away and reveal more than he should. His friends took the bait and begged for the story, sending for a round of full tankards for everyone.

Risan settled into his seat and repeated the tale as Arlet had told him, adding his own embellishments where appropriate to heighten the suspense and emphasize the heroism of her rescuer. Whether it was the ale catching up to him or his excitement in telling the tale that made him slur his words, he wasn't sure, and so he slowed down and concentrated on telling only about Arlet's rescue and nothing more.

"Where'd he come from?" asked Sebur, eldest of the four. "Was he fishin' in the river? Who was he?"

"Not fisherman,” Risan said. “Warrant knight. Crossing river because of bridge was out. This stranger brought Arlet back home - even brought her jackass, if you can believe it." He pounded his fist on the tabletop for emphasis, making tankards jump.

"Warrant knight? Bah! What kind o'valour-gild he ask for?" Lurin asked.

"Nothing," Risan said. "That is amazing part. Hero did not ask for anything - and even he tried to refuse my offer at first. Tried to refuse a fël."

"Come on," Sebur said. "He had to've wanted somethin' for his trouble. Didn't he casually put his hand out..." Sebur extended his hand. "...waitin' for you to drop some coins in it?"

The other men laughed.

Risan leaned forward and looked them each square in the eye. "You see, this is kind of man he is. I am making sword for him -- finest war sword ever made by Farthan hands. Sword worthy of king. --er, hero."

"Ah, see there?" Lurin asked. "Sure he saved yer girl, an' ya feel indebted an' want to reward him fer it, but don't ya doubt for a minute he'll be 'round askin' fer somethin' more. Gold, jewels - somethin'."

Sebur poked the table with a gnarled finger. "You tellin' us that fine war sword ha’nt got no jewels in it, no fancy gold trimmin' on the hilt?"

"Well, I am putting gems in hilt for him," Risan said, "but--"

"Ah ha! You see?" Sebur said. "That's wot them greedy warrant knights are about, ya know. Valour-gild. They don't do nothin' fer nobody unless they think they'll get somethin' from it. They ain't called 'ranters fer nothin'."

"And if you don't pay, they'll take what they want," Goisil chimed in.

"Yeh." "That's right," Sebur and Lurin agreed.

"No! He is not like that," Risan argued, slamming his fist on the table. "Gems are his, not mine. He got them honestly."

"One of them gems weren't a diamond, eh?" Sebur asked. "I heard Calewen's Pendant was snatched from her tomb."

"Noooo," Risan drawled as his patience thinned. They were maligning the king and didn't even know it. "Gems are not diamonds."

"Anythin' missin' from yer shop, Risan?" Lurin asked, nudging him with an elbow. "Bet yer so-called warrant knight got his self a bright new dagger while you wasn't lookin'."

Goisil wagged his brows suggestively. "Or maybe he wants a tumble with your wife."

Sebur cackled and slapped Goisil's shoulder. "Yeh, good one. Better bolt your doors at night, Risan. He'll prob'ly sneak in while you’re sleepin’--"

"Damn it, he is not thief," Risan shouted. "No one can steal Rune Stones." The tavern fell silent. Immediately he realized his mistake. He shut his eyes and cursed himself for opening his big mouth. Maybe they hadn't heard him. Yet, when he opened his eyes again, everyone in the tavern was watching him.

"The man that saved yer girl solved the King's Runes?" Lurin asked.

A wave of whispers swept across the tavern, and people shifted toward them to hear more.

"Shhhh!" Risan hissed. "Keep your voice down."

Goisil leaned forward. "Who is he?" he whispered. Sebur and Lurin leaned in to hear.

"I am not telling his name," Risan said in a low voice. "I already told too much. But know this - our new king is true hero."

Chapter 10

After two days of travel, Gavin arrived at the Lucky Inn as night deepened. Smoke rose from every chimney, sending the cozy smell of burning wood into the air and snuffing the stench of manure that usually haunted the village. As the lights in the windows blinked out one by one, the air felt a little colder, the night a little lonelier. Gavin dismounted and blew into his hands, then rubbed them together.

He woke the stable hand and gave him two pielars for Golam’s board. With a pat for his horse, he gathered his gear, and paid for a room at the inn. After a quick sponge bath, he made his way to the only tavern in Thendylath that never closed.

Directly ahead of the entrance was a betting table in what everyone called the pit. Three stairs to the right and to the left led up to a wooden deck which wrapped around the pit, lined on the inside edge with a railing to keep the inebriated from falling in.

Inside the pit raged a storm. Coins rained down on the table, tossed by eager gamblers at the front of the crowd. Dozens of people swarmed around the betting table, each waving a coin in the air, ready to be the next victim. Some of the shorter people standing at the back of the crowd jumped into the air or stood on their toes, hoping to steal a glance at the action on the table.

On the deck circling the pit, men and women gathered at the jumble of tables, toasting each other and telling tales. Some leaned over the railing, watching the betting from above. A few heads turned toward the swordsman as he made his way through the crowded room to an empty table in the corner.

"Who's next?" a tall red-haired woman shouted. "Try your luck. Win big tonight." She walked around the outside edge of the pit, encouraging the patrons with a bright smile to join the excitement.

Gavin ordered ale and a basket of roasted chicken from the barmaid. While he waited for his meal, he surveyed the room.

The redhead in the pit caught his eye and smiled, acknowledging him with a lifted chin. Mina. Mina? Mida, that was it. Gavin gave her a nod and courteous smile, then turned his gaze away so she wouldn't take his smile as encouragement. He'd bedded her once before, but once she'd had her pleasure, she spent the rest of the time telling him to hurry up, too eager to return to the betting table. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Here y'are," the barmaid said in tone of forced cheerfulness. On the table she set a basket of greasy chicken and a tankard, filled to the brim with warm, dark ale. "Seven pielars." She held out her hand.

Gavin dug in his coin purse and asked, "Have you heard any talk lately about a pendant with a diamond in it?"

"No," she said with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. She shifted her weight to the other foot and tapped her toe.

Gavin dropped a single pielar in her palm, and she snapped a scowl at him. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She put the coin into the pocket of her apron and held her hand out again. "See the wench there, with the black hair? Said she overheard somethin' a few days ago 'bout a diamond necklace. You should ask her."

Gavin paid her seven more copper coins with his thanks. He watched while she made her way to the raven-haired barmaid and spoke, then pointed at him. The other woman nodded and headed to his table.

"I hear you're lookin' for a necklace." She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear and looked him over with her large brown eyes. Her teeth were crooked and yellowed, but she had deliciously full lips.

"Yeh. A diamond pendant."

The barmaid held out a hand, and Gavin dropped a pielar into her palm.

"Fella in here a few days ago was showin' it off. Might not be what you're lookin' for, but I seen it -- a big diamond."

Gavin nodded slowly. "What'd this man look like?"

She held out her hand again, and Gavin put another copper coin into her palm. "Nilmarion, tattooed like any other. What more can I say? I remember him 'cause he ordered wine. Not many comes here to drink wine. He was with two other bucks, one was skinny with dark hair and a scraggly beard. The other was blond."

"Did you happen to hear where he was going?"

She held out her hand once more, and received another pielar. "He paid the skinny buck a bunch of money and said he was goin' to Saliria to arrange somethin' afore he went back. I didn't hear the rest of it."

"My thanks." Gavin handed her another copper coin and watched her walk away. He took a long drink of ale, then took out his knife and started scratching a vertical line into the surface of the table.

* * * * *

Gavin had left the Lucky Inn in the chilly dawn and arrived in Saliria that afternoon under a warm sun. He looked forward to finishing his business so he could make his way to his brother's farm where he always had a place to lay his head. He did not need an inn, but he went through the streets trying to remember where Saliria kept its only tavern. Someone there might know where he could find the Nilmarion.

Gavin guided Golam around the holes pitting the wide dirt streets. Haggard buildings lined the roadway, their dirty walls stained from ill-draining or absent gutters. Windows that were not boarded up were broken and jagged like grinning skulls. If Gavin didn't know better, he'd have thought the town was deserted. Golam clomped through the gray streets. Bits of trash tumbled across his path in the gritty breeze.

The layout of the town started to come back to him now, and he turned west down a side street, certain the tavern was in this direction. Not far down the road, a sign hung from a wooden frame beside the road and swayed in the breeze. "Ilfin's Spirits," it read. Gavin dismounted and tied Golam's reins to the hitching post on the side of the building. Just as he reached for the door handle, a man pushed it open from the other side, an olive-skinned man with black swirling lines sewn into the skin around his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and on the backs of his hands. Nilmarion. His dark brown eyes had an unsettling appearance, empty like the eyes of a dead man. The two men gaped at each other in surprise, then the Nilmarion smiled. "Pardon me," he said in a lilting voice. He slipped past Gavin and started down the street.

"Sithral Tyr?" Gavin asked to his back.

The Nilmarion stopped and turned. "Have we met?"

Gavin assessed him with a glance; Tyr was unarmed except for a knife in his hip sheath. Gavin approached, moving around the man so he could see the tavern door over Tyr’s shoulder, and pulled the warrant tag from under his shirt to show to Tyr. "You have Queen Calewen's Pendant. I'm here to retrieve it."

Tyr cocked his head. "What makes you think I have it?"

"The thief you hired to steal it gave up your name."

Sithral Tyr shrugged. "I gave it to the man who hired me."

Gavin suddenly thought of a cloud hovering at the level of the Nilmarion's head. Tyr was lying. How Gavin knew this, he could not say, but he was as certain as he was baffled. "You're lying."

Tyr’s left brow went up, warping the tattoo around his eye. "A shadow reading 'ranter? There's a surprise."

Despite his amusement at being called a shadow reader, the hairs on Gavin's neck prickled. He knew warrant knights weren't well-regarded in all circles, but most people weren't so bold as to call him a 'ranter to his face.

"Who hired you to come after it?"

"Does it matter?"

The tavern door opened, but closed again before anyone came out. It remained open a crack, and Gavin made out the dark form of someone standing behind it, and an eye peering out.

"It matters to me. Was it the lordover?"

Gavin squinted, trying to see who was watching them. One of Tyr's friends, no doubt. He put a hand on the hilt of his knife, ready to draw and throw if it appeared an attack was imminent. "Give it to me, and I'll spare you a brand." Because the black sleeves of Tyr's tunic covered his forearms, Gavin could not see if the Nilmarion had any brands yet.

As a warrant knight, Gavin had the authority to dispense justice by bargaining for compliance, issuing a brand in the form of his initials carved into the forearm, or turning the criminal over to the nearest lordover. Gavin had killed more criminals than he cared to, simply because they'd refused to yield to his authority. Usually those were men with two brands who preferred to chance dying in a swordfight than accept certain imprisonment. He hoped that wouldn't be the case today.

"And if I don't?"

Gavin stepped closer, emphasizing the difference in their heights. "I search you. If I find it, you get a brand on your arm and I take it."

Tyr sighed and withdrew a black velvet pouch from his pocket. He pulled open the drawstring at its top and fished inside, then withdrew a gold chain. Dangling from the chain was a diamond roughly a half-inch wide, held fast in a delicate gold setting. The stone radiated a rosy glow, not so much seen as sensed. Gavin felt as though a missing note from a chord in his heart had finally been played. He reached for the pendant.

The moment Gavin's fingers touched the diamond, his knees weakened and he gasped for breath. King Arek!

Suddenly he felt as though the king was right there with him, standing so close Gavin could almost feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. But King Arek was lost, abandoned long ago to die somewhere unknown, never to be found. Feelings of shame and grief welled inside Gavin. Not since burying his wife and daughter had his heart felt so heavy. Images inexplicably flooded his mind of all the people he had let down over the years. People whose lives were cut short because of Gavin's failings: his wife, his daughter, his father. No, he could not think about this now. It was too much. He had to get out of there.

"Put it in the bag," he said, his voice catching in his throat. Tyr eyed Gavin curiously, and then lowered the pendant into the velvet bag and tightened the string. Without another word, Gavin took the pouch and hurried to his waiting horse.

He mounted and pulled hard on the rein. Golam responded with a quick turn, and bolted. Pounding Golam's sides, Gavin raced down the quiet streets of Saliria. An inexplicable wetness surfaced on his cheeks. He rode to a large grassy field and turned Golam into it.

For an hour he paced, contemplating the pendant while his horse grazed in the sunshine. The diamond must have been spelled; that was the only explanation he could think of for the rosy glow and the intensity of his reaction. Why it would make him feel King Arek's presence was odd, to say the least, but it had. Gavin cursed Ronor Kinshield aloud, and not for the first time. The fool was supposed to guard King Arek's life with his own. What the hell had he been doing while the king was dying?

"You should have been there," Gavin shouted to the sky. "You should have been there no matter what."

When he realized he was clutching the pendant in his fist, crushing it within the velvet pouch, he unclenched his fingers. Calewen's Pendant. His hand trembled as he spread apart the drawstring top and dipped his thick fingers inside to draw out the gold chain. The pendant dangled before his eyes, its diamond sparkling in every color imaginable. He took a deep breath and laid the pendant on his palm. The wind whispered King Arek's breath into his ear. The diamond's hues winked at him like eyes sharing a secret, while a voice from a dream brushed across his mind.

He poked the pendant with a finger. Its fleeing colors and the rosy glow that hovered around it entranced him. On the underside of the gold setting was an oddly shaped indentation. What was this? He turned the pendant upside down and moved it into the sunlight. He squinted, bringing it closer to his face. Engraved in the gold was the smallest writing he had ever seen. It took several minutes to make out, letter by letter: 'A promise to transcend death: forever yours.'

A shiver ran down Gavin's spine. Sometime, somewhere, he had read this before.

Chapter 11

The eerie calm of the forest suggested an unseen presence watching the travelers from the shadows. The hair on the back of Daia's neck stood up.

The journey from Sohan had been going more smoothly than she had anticipated. With three swordswomen to protect the merchant's wagon, no highwaymen were bold enough or stupid enough to attempt a robbery. The first three days had passed without incident.

Now, on the fourth day, half-way between the Lucky Inn and Saliria, the bushes alongside the road began to rustle. Something kept pace with them, out of sight but not out of earshot. The road wound slowly uphill toward the valley between Mount Glory and Twin Peaks. With every turn came a place for robbers to hide. Daia rode with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Her companion Sisters did the same.

"I don't like this," Cirang said in a low voice.

Daia and Cirang flanked Yardof's four draft horses while JNese took up the rear. They rode in silence; no one had to remind the talkative merchant to remain quiet. Even he must have sensed someone was watching them. Or something.

The road was little more than a pair of dirt tracks where wagon wheels and horse hooves had killed the wild grass. Daia scanned the forest on each side of the road, looking for motion. No birds twittered from the branches around them. Not a bee, not even a butterfly hovered around the wild flowers that sprinkled the grass.

A streak of white darted across their path ahead.

"Beyonder," Daia shouted. From the glimpse she had gotten of it, it looked fairly small, but no beyonder was harmless. She signaled Yardof to stop his horses. She drew her sword, and Cirang did the same.

The beyonder ran into the road again, this time stopping about forty feet from them. Enormous in comparison with the body, its white head was like a giant mouth filled with row after row of pointed teeth. It had iridescent gray eyes set so far back they looked to be an afterthought of whatever vile god had created it. As it neared, Daia saw its skin wasn't actually skin or fur or feathers, but armor. Rows and rows of white plates shifted with its every movement. Teeth. The beast was born to rip and crush.

"Watch the horses' feet," Daia called out. "Don't let your mount get too close to it." JNese would hang back to guard the girl in the wagon, but Daia and Cirang should have no trouble defeating the beyonder.

As the ranking swordswoman, the strategy of their assault was Cirang's call to make. Just as Daia started to ask what the plan would be, Cirang raised her sword and let out a wild "Eeeeeai!" as she raced toward the beast.

"Blast her," Daia muttered. She drove her heels into Calie's sides and bolted forward to join the battle.

The thing before them went from the size of a coyote to that of a cow. Its armored skin rippled and the plates snapped together, biting the air as viciously as its mouth snapped at Cirang's sword.

Taking advantage of its preoccupation with Cirang at its mouth end, Daia raced past on the left. She drove her sword into its flank. Its armored plates came down on her blade with a loud clack. Several of the teeth snapped off. A greenish gray fluid leaked out between the gaps and smoked where it dripped onto the ground. Daia turned her mount and sprinted toward it again for a second pass.

She bore down on the creature. It turned away from Cirang and leapt at Calie's shoulder. Every inch of it clacked like dozens of mouths snapping their teeth. Daia yanked the reins to the right. The horse veered and pranced, barely escaping the attack. Calie's mane bristled.

Cirang drove her blade into the monster's body. It shrieked an unearthly cry. The ears of both horses went flat. Daia was sure Calie would bolt, but instead she pranced, turning. Daia twisted in her saddle in time to see the beyonder run limping into the woods.

Take the initiative. Daia heard Aminda's voice in her head and knew what she had to do. She heeled Calie and went in pursuit.

"Daia, leave it," Cirang shouted.

Daia heard the command, but she was determined to finish the thing off. It wouldn't live to attack someone else. She rode after the beast, surprised at how swiftly it moved despite its injuries. Calie's labored breath sounded loud in the eerie quiet of the forest, punctuated by her hooves pounding the ground.

The beyonder pulled up short and turned. Its teeth and armor plating snapped in the air.

Daia reined hard, bringing Calie to a quick stop less than ten feet from the beyonder. Her own chest heaved, and she turned her mount to an angle and awaited its attack.

It stood and watched her, teeth and armor clacking. Was it truly injured, perhaps unable to run further? Why didn't it attack her?

A girl's scream echoed through the trees. Daia's blood stilled in her veins.

The beyonder before her opened its mouth wide. The skin inside its mouth oozed gray-green liquid that coated the teeth, and a thin strand of the saliva stretched from a top tooth to a bottom. It leapt.

Daia drove her sword deep into the thing's mouth, past the six rows of teeth and into the fleshy gullet. A flood of the gray-green liquid spurted from the wound and coated her blade as she drew it out and thrust it back in. Steam rose from the creature's mouth as though it had swallowed fire. The beyonder went limp on the ground. The plates of its skin rolled downward and lay at rest.

Daia pulled her sword out once more and turned her mount, digging in her heels and urging Calie to a gallop. The sounds of battle grew louder as she neared the road. Ahead, through the trees, Daia saw Cirang battling furiously from her horse. JNese was on foot fighting with everything she had. Beyonders. At least four of them, and two more bodies lying still on the ground. JNese's horse lay on its side, neighing and trying to get up. A reddish beyonder leapt onto the horse's neck and a spray of blood arched into the air.

Daia burst through the trees and identified her first target: a slithering snake-like thing with smooth orange fur coiling to strike at JNese's back. Daia leaned so low to the side she risked falling out of the saddle. With a sweep of her sword, Daia took its head off as she thundered past. Calie circled around the wagon toward the rear. A ryna was trying to leap into the back with Naylen. A wooden gargoyle flew out of the wagon, hit the ryna square on the head and bounced away. Another followed it, and another. The beast turned toward the horse and rider and sprang at the prancing hooves. While Calie danced to avoid it, Daia leaned first to one side, then the other trying to stab at it. Her horse started to buck in desperation. Daia leapt from Calie's back and into the wagon. The ryna turned its attention to her.

Daia thrust her sword deep into the ryna's chest and gave it a twist. The smell of sulfur assailed her as the beast collapsed onto the ground. She jumped down and ran around the wagon's right side just in time to see Cirang and JNese take the last beyonder out of the battle with a pair of sword thrusts to its black body.

Daia circled the wagon, looking for signs of more beyonders, but saw none. "Is anyone hurt?" she asked.

JNese bent over, her hands propped on her thighs. She shook her head, chest heaving.

"Naylen!" Yardof cried. He climbed down from his seat.

"I'm all right," the girl called back. She jumped down from the back of the wagon and began to pick up the gargoyles lying on the ground. Yardof ran to his daughter, took her in his fleshy arms and squeezed her tight. "Father, I said I'm all right," she said, squirming free.

JNese went to her horse and knelt, running her hand over the huge blood-spattered face. Her shoulders began to shake and she bowed her head.

"Arek was smiling on us this time," Cirang said. "We lost JNese's horse, but at least we are uninjured."

"They coordinated the attack," Daia said. Such behavior was unprecedented. This could only mean the beyonders had some measure of intelligence -- and the ability to communicate with one another. "The one with the teeth - it meant to separate us so the others could attack."

"Which was why I gave you a direct order not to pursue it," Cirang shot back.

Daia drew back, shocked. "You knew what it was doing?"

"Doesn't matter whether I did or didn't. I gave you an order and you disobeyed it, putting our charges and your fellow Sisters in jeopardy."

"How was I to know? The danger appeared to be gone. What if the thing survived and attacked others?"

"Others are not our responsibility," Cirang said. "These people and this cargo are. Our duty is to deliver them safely to Tern, and once this mission is finished, then we can worry about the others who hire us to protect them."

Daia closed in on Cirang and looked down into her angry dark eyes. "You mean to tell me," she said in a low voice, "you care only about those we are paid to protect?"

Cirang stood her ground. "My personal feelings are beside the point and so are yours. I have no choice but to report this incident to Aminda and Lilalian when we return." The two women stood nose to nose, neither speaking. Daia was unwilling to risk disciplinary action for what she wanted to do right now, but slamming her fist into Cirang's face would feel so good.

JNese stood and walked toward them. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Daia did what she thought was right, Cirang. I would've gone after it, too."

"Then it would have been your ass in the stockade instead."

The rest of the journey was quiet. JNese and Naylen rode in the wagon while Daia and Cirang flanked it. No one spoke until they were almost to Tern. Daia tried again to convince Cirang she had done nothing wrong.

"We lost a horse because of you," Cirang snapped.

"I did not kill the horse, Cirang. I wasn't even there."

"Exactly my point."

"The horse might have been killed anyway. You have no way of knowing my absence had anything to do with it."

"You acted rashly and against my direct order."

Daia gaped at her across the backs of the draft horses between them. "Rashly? What do you call what you did, then? Screaming like a madwoman and going after the first beyonder without even discussing our plan first?"

"Talk, talk, talk," Cirang said, wagging her head side to side. "I'm about action. While you stood around wanting to talk, I was trying to kill the thing."

"And when you failed," Daia said, "I took the initiative and finished the job while you sat there, talking." She could not contain her anger or her contempt any longer. If the merchant and his daughter had not been there, Daia would have pulled Cirang off her horse and pounded some sense into her.

"My actions didn't result in the loss of a horse and the possible loss of human lives--"

"Stop, please," Yardof broke in with an embarrassed laugh. "We did not get hurt, we lost none of our goods. Our journey was merely delayed a short while. I don't see any fault in Miss Daia's actions, and she did return in time to save Miss JNese."

"Shut up. This is none of your business," Cirang said.

"Cirang," Daia warned.

"Enough. The matter is closed."

Chapter 12

While Brodas sat at his desk, writing in his journal, Warrick fidgeted in the chair beside him. Brodas wrote, The guild mistress suffered an unfortunate accident, which left the Viragon Sisterhood in the capable hands of the former captain, Lilalian. Thankfully, Lilalian and I have mutual respect for one another and see eye-to-eye on the most important matters. The amulet she wears close to her heart proves her devotion to me.

Warrick tapped on the desk, drawing a crease between Brodas' lowering brows.

I am eager to learn how the women of the Sisterhood took the news of Aminda's death. Their reactions could well divide them as a group and

"Brodas."

"What is it?" he replied, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. He had wanted to finish his journal entry before their guest arrived.

Warrick cleared his throat. "I'm not in the habit of asking you for anything I can get myself," he said. "But if you would use your, ah, influence to--"

"You want the captain? Pardon me -- the guild mistress?" Brodas asked. He blotted the quill and set it on an oblong wooden plate before looking up, his index fingers tip to tip against his mouth to hide a slight grin. The man was so predictable.

"That is, if you don't want her for yourself."

Brodas put his hands up. "No, no. Not that one. I prefer a more refined lady, one who doesn't stomp around like a man. A lady who was well-brought up and knows how to curtsey in the presence of her lord." Warrick's relieved smile was not lost on Brodas. "Give it time, Warrick," he said. "She has a lot to cope with right now after what has happened, not to mention what I am about to ask of her."

"I know, but... Brodas have you truly looked upon her? She is beautiful beyond comparison. Her eyes are brown like fertile dirt, her mouth looks like fruit ripe enough to pluck; her hair is like the color of... of... fresh straw, and her bosom. So firm and round -- the perfect size for each of my hands. I hunger for her like no man has ever hungered for a woman."

Brodas chuckled. He hoped Warrick did not consider his description poetic enough to share with the lady. "And you shall have her. Right now, we need her for our larger plans, and when all is settled and in place, you may bed her or wed her or anything you like. Too soon and people who are close to her might suspect something is amiss. I urge you to find patience, and she will be my gift to you. Now, what is the time?"

Warrick stood. "The tenth hour is near. She will be here soon. How is my hair?"

Brodas laughed as he stood and clapped Warrick's arm. "Your hair looks fine."

"What about her resistance?"

"Resistance to what?" Brodas asked, cocking his head.

"You did murder her guild mistress in front of her."

Brodas chuckled and raised his ring to his mouth, then huffed a warm breath onto the stone and buffed it with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm guessing she won't remember it quite that way."

When Lilalian arrived at the manor a short time later, Brodas welcomed her as he would an old friend, with a quick embrace and light kiss on her cheek. Her smile seemed genuine, and her eyes twinkled with her laugh. Warrick likewise greeted her, and she gifted him with a kiss of her own on the corner of his mouth. Warrick winked at Brodas, but he would be pleased to know Brodas had done nothing to encourage her.

"Come into the sitting room and let us talk about our plans," Brodas said. He gestured to the left and followed her in, then signaled to the manservant to bring refreshments.

"How have you been?" Warrick asked. He sat on the sofa beside her, draping his arm across its back. "How did the women of the Sisterhood take the tragic news about Aminda?"

Lilalian bowed her head. "Of course, everyone was saddened to learn she had choked on her food. We held a memorial, and many of the women made offerings to Yrys to guide her to the next plane, in the Afterlife."

"Yrys, yes," Brodas said. "I had heard many of the Sisters revere the Farthan god. I'd like to know more of that someday, but we'll leave that conversation for another time. Did anyone challenge your story?"

Lilalian cocked her head. "No, why would they?"

"Well, because you both were wearing different clothes when you returned than when you had left earlier in the evening," Brodas said. Admittedly, he had been eager to test her, to test the amulet. Make sure his control was solid.

"It's the truth," she insisted. "You were here -- you tried to save her."

Brodas smiled and shot Warrick a look that said 'Didn't I tell you?' "It occurred to me some might think it was a story you concocted to usurp Aminda's position."

One corner of Lilalian's mouth went up. "If some think that, they wouldn't be foolish enough to suggest it aloud. It was an unfortunate way for such an excellent warrior to meet her end. We all hope for a glorious death in battle, but these things happen."

"Indeed," Brodas said. "I am certain your women are all strong and capable, and receive excellent instruction in swordplay. But perhaps you can clarify something I have been wondering about."

"Certainly."

"I heard rumor the eldest daughter of the Lordover Tern is a member of your guild. Is that true?"

Lilalian nodded. "She was formerly known as Dashielle Celònd. Her battler name is Daia Saberheart."

"Is she the lovely lady with the magnificent gift?"

Lilalian cocked her head. "Gift? She's a gifted battler, if that's what you mean."

"No, I mean her gift of channeling..." Perhaps Lilalian did not know about the woman's unique talent. He let a smile turn his lips. "Never mind. I must have been mistaken. I have no doubt that, as a Viragon Sister, she's a woman of strength, courage and integrity, but as a noble, I expect she also has the grace of a lady - an intriguing combination. I would like to meet her." As Dashielle Celònd, she would be an ideal candidate for his queen. As Daia Saberheart, she would undoubtedly be resistant to the demands of her master and would need a heavy hand to keep her in line. Yes. Brodas would like very much to meet her.

Lilalian raised an eyebrow. "She is away on a mission, but once she returns I could arrange an introduction."

"Thank you. Now that you are guild mistress," Brodas said, "I hope you can help me with my own plans. As I mentioned last time you were here, I will become Thendylath's next king, and I'd like to take the throne with you standing strong by my side. You and the Viragon Sisterhood. Will you aid me in my pursuit?"

As Brodas had instructed, the manservant entered then with three glasses of wine on a silver tray. Lilalian took one of them and raised it toward her host. "It would give me great pleasure to do so. The collective swords of the Sisterhood are at your beck and call."

"Wonderful." Brodas held up his own wine glass and waited while Warrick took his. "To our new alliance."

While Brodas and Warrick sipped the toast, Lilalian tossed her entire glassful back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You always have the best wine," she said, holding out her glass to the manservant.

"I shall fetch the bottle," the servant replied as he bowed out of the room.

Brodas pasted a smile onto his face. She was utterly without refinement, but that mattered little. Being head of the largest battler's guild in the country gave her as much charm as she needed.

"Now then," he said. "The first thing I'd ask of you and your lady battlers is to put a watch on the Rune Cave. Position a few of your battlers near the entrance at all times and keep a constant vigil."

"You don't want anyone to enter? How will the rune solver get the King's Blood-stone then?"

"Oh, I don't want you to keep him out of the cave. I simply want you to watch it from a safe - and hidden - distance. Once he solves the fourth rune, apprehend him and bring him to me. When he deciphers the final rune and reveals its secrets to me, I will go myself to the cave and claim the King's Blood-stone."

Lilalian nodded. "I see. But what if he won't talk?"

"He'll talk," Warrick said with a snort.

Brodas smiled. "I can be very persuasive. Just find him and bring him to me, unharmed, and I'll do the rest."

Chapter 13

Through the trees, Gavin strained to see the pair of boys in the clearing ahead. They appeared to be engaged in a bizarre dance – first stretching, then jumping, ducking and turning. As Gavin and his mount drew closer, he saw that the boys, Jaesh and Asiawyth, were tossing a ball back and forth while trying to keep one foot anchored in place on the ground.

They were so wrapped up in their game that Gavin’s approach went unnoticed. He climbed down from the saddle and looped the reins of Golam’s bridle around a branch. Slowly, so as not to make a sound – and hoping Golam wouldn’t give him away with a snort or whinny – Gavin crept toward them. He sneaked from tree to tree until he was about twenty feet behind Asiawyth. Jaesh saw him then, and threw the ball high over Asiawyth’s head to his new target. The younger boy turned with surprise.

“Uncle Gavin! It's Uncle Gavin!”

The boys broke into a run toward him. Gavin opened his arms to brace for the impact. When they rammed him with a rough embrace, he let out a hearty “Ooof!” to give his nephews a giggle.

While ten-year-old Asiawyth fired questions about where he'd been and what killers and monsters he'd slain and how gruesome their deaths had been, his elder brother, Jaesh, led Golam by the reins, stroking the thick neck as they walked to the house.

Rogan and Gavin, with the boys’ help, had built it three years ago when Rogan claimed and cleared this land and moved his family from Lalorian. Living in a heavily forested rural community, Rogan had ready access to all the wood he needed, and his reputation as a fletcher followed. They'd built the home of stacked logs, like one his wife had fallen in love with near Paradise City, and large enough to have separate kitchen and greatroom, a private-room for bathing, and three bedrooms. All along, Rogan and Liera had intended the third bedroom for Gavin to sleep in, hoping to persuade him to stay permanently. They didn’t understand Gavin’s life was helping others. His refusal had left them hurt and disappointed, but he visited more often now than when they’d lived in Lalorian, a city that reminded him too well of his loss.

Asiawyth burst through the door to announce Gavin's arrival. Gavin followed and breathed in the delicious scent of roasting mutton. Rogan's log home, with its wood-beamed sloping ceilings and stone fireplace that yawned and stretched to the roof, and the frayed blue and gold rug on the wood floor, felt like the warm arms of a mother embracing her children.

“Uncle Gavin,” a small voice cried.

On the sofa lay Rogan's youngest son. His right leg, splinted and bandaged, rested on pillows.

Gavin went to one knee beside the couch and returned his nephew's fierce hug. “GJ, what'd you do to yourself?”

“I fell out of the loft. Me and Asiawyth were playing, and I lost my balance. It hurts terrible, Uncle Gavin.”

“I don't doubt it. But you've always been tough. You'll get through this. Have you seen a healer?”

GJ nodded. “She couldn't fix the bone, though, just the in-fleck-shin.”

Gavin leaned forward and kissed the eight-year-old's head. “Infection? You'll be all right then. Drink plenty of pain tea.” GJ made a sour face and Gavin laughed. “Yeh, I know.”

Rogan's wife, Liera, came in through the back door and set a bucket of water on the table. A kerchief held back her curly brown hair to reveal a freckled forehead and blue eyes. “Gavin, you're home,” she said, her arms extended. He lifted her from her feet and gave her a twirl and a kiss on the cheek. She made her usual comments about his being too lean, his clothes too threadbare, and his face unshaven. “But your timing is perfect,” she said. “I was just about to call Rogan in for supper.” She beckoned him to follow her to the kitchen.

Gavin rubbed his palms together. “I have an instinct for arriving at meal time.” He set his sword and cuirass in a corner of the great room before joining her in the kitchen. His two older nephews trailed behind. “Where's the old man?”

Jaesh pointed toward the back window. “Out back, working. We aren't allowed back there.” His voice cracked on the edge of an early manhood.

Gavin squeezed the back of Jaesh's neck. The soft fuzz on his lip grew in dark. It wasn't so long ago Liera was puking every ten minutes, and now the babe in her womb was becoming a man. Gavin could hardly believe thirteen years had passed. “Are you shaving yet?”

Jaesh giggled. “No,” he said shyly.

“Won't be long.” Gavin bent down and peered out the tiny back window. He did not see his brother, only a hill of dirt. Rogan's head bobbed up from the ground and a spray of dirt shot up toward the growing mound. “What's the hole for?”

Liera took some tomatoes from a basket and began slicing them. “You know Rogan. Always working on this or that. Why don't you go out and tell him supper's ready.”

Gavin walked across the backyard toward the treeline where Rogan worked. One of the three hogs, its sparse, wiry hair crusted with mud, approached the fencing as he neared, snuffling and snorting for food. Two chickens fluttered out of his path and squawked indignantly. The hole was roughly six feet deep and about as wide. Gavin squatted at the edge and looked down at his brother, dirty, shirtless and sweaty, wrestling to dislodge a big rock from the bottom. “You need a hand with that?”

Rogan snapped his head up, his dark curly locks flinging sweat. His wide mouth, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, opened into a smile to reveal straight white teeth. “Little Brother,” he said, standing. “You've been gone too damned long this time. Help me out o'this hole, will you?”

Gavin gripped his hand and helped Rogan clamber out of the hole, then pulled him into a tight embrace with much back-pounding and laughter. He patted Rogan's belly. “Getting an early start on winter?”

Rogan grabbed him and made as though to punch him, but Gavin anticipated the move and twisted out of his grasp, tapping the side of Rogan's head as he danced out of reach. “You're slowing down, old man.”

“Not too old to take you over my knee, boy,” Rogan said with a wry smile.

Gavin grinned at his brother’s jest, reminded of a time long ago when Rogan had tried to discipline the twelve-year-old Gavin for his mischief. With Cuttor Kinshield only three months in his grave, Gavin had frequently acted up out of frustration, guilt, and the pain of missing his papa. Rogan, five years older and newly married, had tried at first to act as a father to his young brother. They’d fought that day, not as boys in rough play, but as men. Rogan had learned he would never replace Cuttor as Gavin’s father, and Gavin learned he had to grow up a little earlier than he’d have liked.

Rogan wiped the sweat from his brow and clapped Gavin's arm. “So how the hell've you been?” The brothers spent a few minutes catching up on the recent events of their lives. Rogan's life was nine parts hard work and one part play, but he had what Gavin missed most: a close-knit family that warmed the heart even on the coldest winter nights.

“So what's this... hole you're digging?” Gavin asked.

“I need to move the out-building. Old one's about full.”

“So what're we standing around for, gabbing like a couple of old ladies?” Gavin asked, stripping off his shirt. “You got another shovel?”

Liera stuck her head out from the open back door. “Don't you get in that hole, Gavin Kinshield,” she hollered. “It's time for supper. Come in now and wash up.”

During supper, Gavin entertained the family with stories of his adventures. Afterward, he helped Liera wash and dry the dishes while Rogan ushered the boys to their baths. After his two older nephews had gone to bed, Gavin sat on the couch with GJ.

“Tell me a story, Uncle Gavin?” GJ asked. His little voice shook. His leg must have hurt terribly. Liera handed her son a cup of warm gray water. It looked horrible and smelled worse, but the herbs in it were well-known for their pain-relieving properties. “I don't want to drink it, Mama. It tastes awful.”

“Do I need to get the drenching horn?” Liera asked, eyeing him sideways.

GJ downed the liquid without further complaint, handed the cup back to his mother, and laid his head on Gavin's thigh. Liera and Rogan bid them goodnight and ambled toward their bedroom. Gavin blew out the lamp and stroked GJ's soft hair, disturbed at how warm his forehead felt. He whispered the stories he used to tell his daughter of bards in colorful costumes and ladies in long flowing gowns; of lordovers and men-at-arms and challenges of honor. Gradually, his nephew drifted to sleep.

If his own son had not died in his mother's womb, Gavin imagined he would have been much like this young boy who reminded Gavin more of himself than of Rogan - overly active, daring and fearless.

He gently lifted GJ's head from his leg and stood. He crept to the bedroom Jaesh had given up for him, and undressed. While he lay on the bed waiting for sleep to overtake him, the soft moans and rhythmic creaking from the next bedroom made him smile. His brother had a happy life.

* * * * *

The leaves whispered of promises unkept as they shivered in the trees and tumbled across the forest floor. A copper-haired girl with tiny freckles on her nose beckoned him. She was Caevyan, yet he called out “Dagaz!” as he ran after her. His legs were wooden and unbending, the ground soft like sand. “Papa!” she called, then ran away. Always elusive, staying ahead of him. She turned and waited, beckoning.

Her eyes were the color of the sky.

Gavin awoke with a gasp and sat upright in bed. The dream. He had that damned dream again, like an itch in his mind.

The first time he'd had the dream, with Mama leading him to the cave, was the night the baby chicks died. He'd awoken to the sound of Papa shouting his name in the early dawn and cursing in anger. Gavin had promised to light the heater in the coop before he went to bed, but he forgot, and the baby chicks - nearly three dozen of them - froze to death that night.

The chicks were long gone, as was his father. But the dream always reminded him of fuzzy yellow chicks, stiff with cold, dead because of Gavin's broken promise. He couldn't shake the notion he was forgetting something. He just didn't know what.

The covers lay on the floor, jumbled in a heap. He rose and pulled on his trousers, then headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.

As he made his way through the great room, his eyes open barely wide enough to navigate the house, he glimpsed a huge yellow egg glowing on the couch, with a spot of red near the center. Blood. Gavin snapped his eyes open. No egg, just his nephew.

GJ whimpered. The blanket lay halfway off the couch, the pillows for his leg scattered on the floor.

The poor boy. Gavin was no stranger to pain, but he couldn’t imagine the agony of a broken thigh-bone. No child should have to endure that. He knelt beside the couch and lifted GJ's splinted leg to replace the pillows beneath it. A warm tingling sensation spread from his palm to his wrist and up his forearm, heating as his hand lingered. He pulled his hand away and it cooled to normal.

What's this? Gavin let his hand rest over the bandage on GJ's thigh where the skin had been stitched back together. The longer he held it over the wound, the hotter it felt. Any second, he would see flames licking his skin. A gurgling sound rose in his throat as he gritted his teeth and endured the burning. Just when he thought he couldn't take it any more, he pushed into an odd white calmness that fluttered in his mind. There he became aware of a current flowing within him - not from the wound, but to it. Around him, the room was oddly quiet, as though his ears were stuffed with cotton. He heard the thumping of his own heart and the whisper of his lungs as he breathed. Finally, the tingling slowed and his hand cooled.

His arm trembled with exhaustion and he turned and sat on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. Sweat covered his skin. He felt suddenly chilled. What had just happened? Examining his hand, an alien thing, Gavin felt the room start to spin. His mouth watered. The sharp taste of vomit rose in his throat. He lowered his head and concentrated on calming his stomach. Black spots clouded his vision, narrowing his field of view until he saw nothing at all.

* * * * *

A cool, wet cloth bathed Gavin's face. He opened his eyes. In the dim glow of a lamp, Rogan's face leaned over him.

“Morning.” Rogan grinned and offered a hand. Gavin grasped it and pulled himself upright. “Somethin' wrong with Jaesh's bed?”

“What happened?” Gavin croaked, looking around. How did he get there? He remembered some kind of tingling. Heat. Pain.

“I'm guessing you fainted.” Rogan handed Gavin a glass of water, which he took gratefully and drained. “Puked all over yourself.”

“Aw hell, did I?” Gavin looked down at his chest and stomach, but his skin looked clean and dry.

“Cleaned you up.”

“My thanks.”

“I should be the one thanking you.”

“Huh?”

Rogan nodded toward GJ sleeping quietly on the couch. “This is the first night he's rested so well. What were you doing?”

“I went to get some water and noticed him fretting in his sleep, so I put the pillows back under his leg.”

Rogan smiled. “You must have a magic touch.”

Arlet Stronghammer's words came back to Gavin: Magic healing that is. Could he have somehow received magic powers? “The Rune Stones,” he whispered. The hazes he saw around GJ and Sithral Tyr. The quick healing. Maybe King Arek had used the gems to store his magic power for his heir. If the gems had been meant for the king's heir, then whoever ascended to the throne was supposed to receive the magic.

Bloody hell! He would need to give the magic to Edan once he claimed the King's Blood-stone, but how? To keep the power and not accept the throne would be like stealing from the king. There had to be a way to transfer the magic.

Rogan was staring at him.

Gavin let out an embarrassed chuckle. “The world's a strange place sometimes, ain't it?”

“Come on,” Rogan said. “Let's go outside and cut some logs for the stove.”

Rogan led the way outside where the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. He picked up an axe and handed a second to Gavin. The two of them split wood side by side. Gavin missed times like this, working beside his brother in the comfortable silence of togetherness.

“So, the third rune is solved,” Rogan said. A rooster from a neighboring farm announced the dawn.

“Yeh.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute.

“Won’t be long now afore we have a king.” Rogan put a log on the stump and split it with a single blow.

“Not long at all,” Gavin replied, splitting a log. He wondered whether his brother suspected him.

They chopped for a few minutes longer.

“Think he realizes what the hell he’s getting his self into?” Rogan buried the axe in the stump and turned to Gavin with hands on hips.

Gavin searched his brother’s eyes. Rogan knew. “Yeh. He knows full well.”

Rogan paced, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. You don’t want another family, you don’t want to live tied down to anyone. Do you want to be king?”

“No. Hell no.”

“So why are you pursuing this thing?”

“I can’t help it. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve been having dreams. They’ve changed over the years, but someone’s always waving at me to follow them: first Mama, then for years it was Papa. Now it’s Caevyan. They’re leading me to the cave.”

“People whose death you took the blame for,” Rogan noted.

“I never blamed myself for Mama’s death.”

“Yeh, you did. You were so young then, but you kept asking if she died because you were bad. But they’re still just dreams. When you wake up, you can choose to go or not, and you keep going.”

“Rogan, when the answers to the runes come to me, they whisper in my head all day and night. I have to solve them or I’d go mad.”

Rogan gave him a sideways look. “You sure you haven’t already gone mad?”

“Heh, probably been there and back.”

“You’re on a road you don’t want to be traveling and you got no map. It worries me, Little Brother.” Rogan put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder.

“Look, here’s what I’m thinking. If I don’t solve the last rune, if someone else does--”

“Gavin!” His name sounded strange coming from Rogan’s lips. “Nobody else has solved the damned things in two hundred years. What makes you think someone is going to wander up to that final rune, figure it out and save your bony ass at the last minute?”

“I could give the King's Blood-stone to someone else. Someone more fit to run the country than me.”

“If you’re not fit to rule Thendylath, what makes you think you’re fit to select her king? What makes you think that any man not capable of solving the runes his self would be wise enough to sit on the throne?”

“Edan could do it. He's learned, wise and has good judgment. He'd make an excellent king.”

Rogan laughed. “If you think Edan would take the reign off your shoulders, then I'm betting you don't know him as well as you think you do.”

“He will,” Gavin grumbled. He had to.

“Little Brother, King Arek put those gems into the tablet for a reason. The fact that you’re solving the runes when the realm’s loftiest scholars could not -- don’t that tell you somethin'? I like Edan. He's an honest, respectable man. But there’s more to being king than reading books, talking good and wearing fancy clothes. It takes somethin' you’ve got that nobody else has.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Gavin insisted. “One way or the other.”

Rogan sighed deeply. “Papa was right.”

Gavin’s blood went cold. “What?” Talking about their father with Rogan always made him uneasy. Rogan didn’t know the whole truth surrounding their father’s death. So many times, Gavin had started to tell him, to confess how he’d disobeyed their father and went off with his bow, alone, how he’d shot the bear cub, thinking it was a turkey dinner waiting to happen. Even now, he heard Papa’s screams when the wind kicked up. Sometimes in the fragile moments between sleep and wakefulness, he jerked upright at the image of Papa trying to climb the tree, the bear sow catching him, the claws, the blood... When Gavin wasn’t dreaming of Caevyan and the cave, he often dreamed of picking up body parts strewn across the forest floor, and a twelve year old boy sobbing as he dragged them home, mile after mile, wrapped in a blanket.

No. Gavin dared not confess his error. He prized Rogan’s love too much to risk it.

“He worried about you,” Rogan said. “Said you don’t understand responsibility. You either run away from it, or you take what’s not even yours. Said one day you’d find yourself overburdened with the weight of your broken promises, failing to see how they got you where you are.”

A chill ran across Gavin's neck. How could Papa have known? Gavin’s broken promise had ultimately caused Cuttor Kinshield’s death. How could he have known far enough in advance to have voiced his concerns to Rogan?

“Listen to me, Little Brother. I hate what I’m about to say, but I got to say it. I know you better than anyone else. I know your strengths and your flaws. You ain’t a refined gentleman or a poet or a scholar, but you’re a decent human being. You got a head for fairness, and your honor is solid -- you can’t be corrupted. You work hard, you help others, and you never ask nobody for nothin'.”

Gavin listened quietly, his head hung.

“I know you don’t want to hear this any more than I want to say it,” Rogan went on, “but if you’re the one solving the runes, then this is your destiny. You’re the one that King Arek meant to take the--”

“No!” Gavin barked. “Don’t say it, Rogan.”

The two brothers stood face to face, their eyes locked onto one another’s. Rogan’s were soft with sympathy. “All right,” Rogan said. “I’ll speak of it nevermore.”

* * * * *

The men stepped into the kitchen just as Liera walked in the front door. She balanced a basket of eggs on her hip and clutched a pail of milk in her hand. Gavin set down the armload of wood he carried, went to her, and took the pail.

“Gavin,” she said, “I set out some shirts I made for you, and some of Rogan’s trousers.”

“Hold a minute,” Rogan said, setting his load of wood on the floor. “Every time he borrows my clothes they come back shredded or not at all.”

“Oh, stop,” Liera chided him as she carried the eggs to the kitchen. “They’re too small for you.”

“They keep shrinking in the waist,” Rogan complained with a grin. “You’ve been to Feanna’s?”

“Yes, she’ll be over this afternoon.” Liera gave Gavin a mischievous grin.

Gavin set the pail of milk on the table. “Who’s this now?”

“Feanna’s our neighbor,” Liera said. “I invited her for supper. She lost her husband last year to the lung blight. The fool waited too long afore calling the healer, then slipped into the lasting sleep and never awoke. Tragic, just tragic. She cooks meals for orphaned children and collects outgrown clothes from the neighbors to dress them in. A real sweet lady.” She threw a smile over her shoulder at Gavin as she started preparing breakfast. “You’ll like her.”

“I’ve got to leave for Ambryce this morning,” Gavin said. “Your match-making will have to wait.”

“Gavin, you can’t leave yet -- you just got here. Besides, I told her I’d introduce you.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I need to be on my way,” Gavin said. He didn’t want to suffer through the company of a poor lonely widow who talked incessantly about her dead husband and tearfully knitted booties for the babe she would never bear.

“What’s your hurry, Little Brother?” Rogan asked as he fed wood into the stove. “We've barely had a chance to catch up.”

“After I take care of my business in Ambryce, I promise I’ll come back. But don’t think you’re going to marry me off to your widow friend.”

“Gavin, don’t be a curmudgeon,” Liera said. “She’s a lovely lady.”

“Does she tumble easy?” Gavin asked with a grin.

“Gavin Kinshield!”

Jaesh walked into the kitchen, his red hair standing on end. Gavin rubbed Jaesh’s head. “Morning, Bed Head.”

Jaesh batted away his uncle’s hand, laughing. “Uncle Gavin, are you going to teach me to ride your battle horse this time?”

Gavin lost his smile. “Sorry, Jaesh. I got to leave for Ambryce this morning.”

Jaesh hung his head. “Oh.”

“Look, I’ll be back soon and then I’ll teach you, I pro—”

“Promise. I know. I heard you last time you said that. And the time before that.” Jaesh pushed past Gavin and went outside, letting the door slam behind him.

“I feel terrible,” Gavin said quietly. “But what can I do? I got to go.”

“You’ve been telling him that for two years, Little Brother,” Rogan said. “Have you ever kept a promise you made?” He lit the stove and shut the wood box.

“It hasn’t been two years,” Gavin said. “Has it?”

Liera nodded with a defeated smile. “Just about.”

Then it struck him. Papa knew because Gavin had been making and breaking promises all his life, even as a boy. Afraid to be pinned down to what he feared he couldn’t live up to. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Damn it all to hell and back.”

This wouldn't do. Jaesh was growing into manhood and Gavin visited too rarely to share in any of it. Jaesh had been the first baby he’d ever held, the first person ever to look up to Gavin as a man, and now look at what a disappointment his uncle had become to him. Gavin made a silent promise – to himself – that he would come back as soon as he delivered Calewen’s Pendant and got his new sword.

“Papa?” GJ sat up on the couch with a confused expression.

“I’m here, Son,” Rogan said. He went to sit by GJ’s side.

“I dreamed a little girl put white butterflies on my leg and made it all better.”

Gavin’s daughter had been especially fond of butterflies. The blood drained from his head and he reached for the table to steady himself. He did not need to ask whether the little girl in GJ’s dream had copper colored hair or blue eyes or freckles on her nose.

“Well, how’s it feel?” Rogan asked his son. He winked at Gavin.

GJ thought for a moment. “It doesn’t hurt. Mama, my leg doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m so glad, love. Maybe the pain tea is finally working,” Liera replied. “Let’s get ready to eat, and I’ll fix you some more.”

GJ started to get up from the couch.

“Take it easy, Son,” Rogan said with a hand on the boy’s chest. “Don’t try to get up just yet.”

“But Papa--”

Rogan’s stern look stopped the argument. “Just because it’s feeling better doesn’t mean it’s healed.”

But it was healed, and Gavin knew it.

Chapter 14

Trader’s Square sat just inside Tern’s gate. Canopies and carts lined the streets in front of the shops and attracted shoppers and merchants, beggars and cutpurses, leaving little room for travelers to squeeze past them to get into the city proper.

Daia looked in awe at the vast city rolling out before her. She’d grown up within its familiar and comfortable walls, but knowing she could run into a disapproving relative or one of her father’s business associates made her neck itch.

The merchant Yardof stopped his wagon, and Daia collected the rest of the payment for their escort before striking a deal for one of his gargoyles. She selected one of the light-colored wooden figurines, shoved it into her leather pack, and shook hands with Yardof and his daughter. Naylen waved mournfully from the wagon’s bed as it headed into the belly of the city, slowly devoured by the crowd.

Daia turned to JNese. “Where’s our outpost? I need to get the money Tennara's been collecting before I return to Sohan.”

“Come on, I'll show you,” JNese said.

Daia dismounted to walk beside JNese toward the southwest. Cirang led the way atop her horse.

“Are you going to get a new horse before you return?” Daia asked.

“I doubt it,” JNese replied. “I haven't the money, and besides, Aminda has agreements with local horse breeders. I can walk back or ride double with Cirang.”

“No thanks to Daia,” Cirang shot. “You should give JNese your horse to ride, and walk back yourself.”

“Cirang,” Daia said with an exasperated sigh. “Just shut up.”

“Don’t worry,” JNese said. “I’ll stand beside you when we tell Aminda.”

“My thanks.”

Cirang turned and glared at JNese.

The lordover had always made an effort to keep the city’s entry point, Trader’s Square and main thoroughfares clean and attractive. But here, every house, every shop they passed looked like a sick dog that had crawled off to die. Flies swarmed everywhere, and the smell made Daia long for a bath. Children grew up in this filth. The Lordover should do something about it.

A barefoot and dirty-faced child dressed in rags jostled Daia's coin purse as he ran past, and Daia clutched it to her hip. Little urchins could snatch her purse and be gone before she had a chance to react. “Where’s our outpost? I expected it to be closer to the city gate.”

“Watch out,” JNese said. She grabbed Daia's arm and pulled her away just as someone threw the contents of a chamber pot onto the dirt road.

“Ugh! That's disgusting,” Daia said.

“What, highbrows don't piss?” Cirang said.

JNese made a rude gesture. “Did you see the guard post far just inside the city gate? The lordover’s not using it. We want to lease it. It has a room big enough for a couple of beds, so we could save money on lodging.”

“And be readily available for escorts,” Daia said. “It sounds ideal.”

“That's our current outpost.” JNese pointed to a tiny shack.

Its rudimentary door hung lower on one side than on the other and left gaps on the sides. Only a stick on a nail latched it shut. The rusted and dented tin roof sat so lightly upon the walls that a good sneeze might have sent it sailing into the sky. On an overturned crate in front of the shack, sat a woman sharpening a knife. Cirang dismounted, and she and Daia hitched their horses to the post beside the shack.

“Hail, Tennara,” Daia said.

Tennara climbed to her feet and extended a hand to each of her fellow Sisters. Gentle lines framed her smile. She had an angular, freckled face with deep-set laugh lines beside her eyes that belied the stern expression she wore. Daia knew no one as agreeable as this battler, nor as deadly. She served as a model for the principles upon which the Sisterhood was founded.

“Which one of you is returning to Sohan first?” she asked.

“I am,” Daia said. “I’m supposed to collect something from you.”

Tennara looked her over. “Not my knife, I hope. You should be carrying a second blade.”

“What are you talking about?” Daia asked as she looked down at herself. Her sword hung ready at her left hip, but the sheath on her right was empty. “Callibisters! I must have lost my dagger in the beyonder fight. I’ll look for it on my way back.”

“Callibisters?” Cirang laughed. “Is that the best you can do? Oh, I forgot. Highbrows don’t curse. That would be unladylike.”

“Unlike yours, Cirang, my mouth and my ass have different functions,” Daia shot back.

Tennara turned to Cirang. “Don’t tell me Aminda sent you to negotiate with the lordover.”

Cirang sneered. “I can be diplomatic when I need to be.”

“You mean, you can hand him cow shit and make him think it’s rose petals,” Tennara said.

“You call it cow shit; I call it ‘a rich, fragrant material to encourage growth.’”

They all laughed.

“Listen,” Tennara said. “The lordover passed a law a few days ago forbidding women to carry blades longer than ten inches in the city. We all need to--”

“What?!” Daia shrieked.

“--try to avoid the men-at-arms. I doubt you’re going to have success convincing him to repeal it, and I suspect that you traveled all this way for naught. From what I hear, he’s calling for your return,” Tennara said, turning her eyes to Daia. “If you renounced your affiliation to the Sisterhood and reclaimed your place as his heiress, supposedly he’d repeal the law.”

“What a grand idea,” Cirang said, slapping Daia’s back. “You should do it – for the good of the Sisterhood. Show us what a noble woman you are.”

“To hell with you,” JNese said, shoving Cirang’s shoulder. “Daia’s a better battler than you’ll ever be.”

“Ladies, please,” Tennara said. “I’m sure you two will present an argument so compelling that he will gladly repeal the law without such a ridiculous stipulation. If not, he can arrest us and have the entire Sisterhood pounding fists on his door.”

This was insane. Daia could not believe her father would be so vindictive. Yes, he was a jackass, but this law was beyond ludicrous. Her fists trembled, and she clenched her jaw. She had more than a few words to say about it, and say them she would. Loudly. As Daia started toward her horse, Tennara seized her arm.

“Do you think you’re in the right frame of mind to talk to him now?” the elder battler asked.

“No, I’m not,” she said. “But he’s gone too far this time. He--” Daia stiffened. He was baiting her. He wanted her to go storming into his office so he could detain her. This was just another attempt at controlling the daughter with whom he’d always been at odds. The better plan would be to find out what Cirang and JNese had to say after their meeting, and perhaps confront the lordover later. Daia breathed a sigh. “You’re right.”

“Let JNese and Cirang have a chance with him first. We might be surprised. Are you returning to Sohan right away?”

At Daia’s nod, Tennara gave her the money she had been collecting for her services in Tern. Daia added it to the money she’d received from the merchant.

“I’m going to find lodging near the edge of the city,” she told JNese and Tennara, avoiding eye contact with Cirang. “That way I can rise early and be on my way without having to travel through the market during the morning frenzy.”

Chapter 15

Risan Stronghammer’s skin glistened in the red glow of the furnace. After melting the iron ore, he poured it into a mold to create a long strip, then heated and hammered it flat. He heated it twice more to infuse it with the power of fire. Satisfied that it was the best quality steel he could forge, he mixed iron ore with the sky rocks he’d saved. While he had no name for this metal, he knew its strength by the way it felt when he hammered it, and by the color and intensity of its glow when heated. When he turned the metal bar over and began to pound it again, the dreamlike sensation that he had done this before told him he was on the right path.

Once he had the metal forged, he folded the steel with the sky rock alloy. Never had he tried this pattern welding in waking life, and he questioned the wisdom of using a new technique on a sword so important. The king’s sword. But Risan had to follow his dream -- his premonition -- and his dream-self had folded the metals this way.

He pounded it for hours, heating, folding and shaping it until it was exactly the sword he had envisioned. Finally, he plunged it into a vat of snake blood to harden it, knowing its viscosity would cool the metal at just the right rate.

When, at last, he had tempered, sharpened and polished the sword and bolted its hilt to the tang, Risan took it outside and held it in the sunlight. The pattern created by his folding technique, along with colors the sky rock alloy reflected, gave the surface of the blade the appearance of snake scales. He smiled, pleased with his work.

No, he told himself. I must look at it objectively. Was it good enough to present to the king? He took it back into his forge and held the flat of the blade on the top of his work bench, bearing down on the hilt to test its flex. The blade was stiff, but bowed a good four inches. Perfect.

Risan plucked a wiry hair from his beard. He leaned down and shut one eye, then pushed the hair’s end against the sword’s edge. The hair split in two. Hoo! That will do.

He had sculpted the snakes on the hilt in the style common to artisans of Fartha, but would people of Thendylath find Farthan artwork beautiful? Would Gavin be disappointed in his new weapon? Risan looked it over. No. He could not do better. Here, in his hands, was his life’s best work.

It was time.

He set the sword on his workbench and went into the house, pausing to wash and dry his hands. In his bedroom, buried in a chest with sweaters and bedding, the three gems lay twisted within one of his wife’s handkerchiefs. He took them to his forge.

Risan carefully placed the gems in the hilt, setting them into small holes the mold had created. The snake’s head that formed the pommel received two gems for the eyes; the head at the weapon’s shoulder received the third. His hand trembled, and he shook out his nervousness and bent down again. With a soldering iron, he melted a length of wire around each gem to hold them securely in place, then gilded the setting with gold.

He took the sword into the shop, holding it carefully so that the blade did not strike anything as he walked. Arlet sat stitching a leather sheath for a small dagger.

“Arlet, examine this blade for me. Tell me honestly what you think.”

She set down the sheath and looked up. “This is it?” she asked. Her eyes shone with the same excitement Risan himself felt every time he looked upon it.

“This is it. Is it enough? Do you think Gavin will like it?”

The sword was so long that standing it on its point would have brought the pommel to Risan’s chin. He held it first one way and then the other so Arlet could inspect it.

“Risan,” she breathed. “This sword is more beautiful than words can say. You did a fine job. Gavin will be overjoyed. The hilt is finished, gems are set, blade is sharpened and polished. It is ready.”

Risan could not hold back a grin. His wife had a critical eye for weapons, and rarely had nothing to suggest in the way of improvements.

“Let me measure it,” Arlet said. “I’ll start making a scabbard.” She opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a long strip of cotton and held it to the blade first lengthwise, then widthwise, marking the dimensions on the cloth with a piece of charcoal. “I’ll tool it with a beautiful drawing. The tanner down the road should have some new skins to choose from.”

“Remember, Gavin likes to wear his weapon on his back.”

“I know, I know.”

“Snakes. Put snakes in the design. And a cougar. I think it should have a cougar. Mayhap a bat.”

“Or mayhap you can trust the design to me,” Arlet said.

“Arlet, I want to make this a sword like no other, truly worthy of our king.” Risan took Arlet by the shoulders, prompting her to look into his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I want to take it to Jennalia.”

“What?” Arlet clapped a hand to her breast. “Jennalia? No, you cannot. She doesn’t use her skill for such things, Risan.”

“We can ask her. Where’s the harm in asking?”

“She might think I am trying to get a favor from her because I am her student.”

“Mayhap she’ll do it because the sword is for our new king.”

“King or not, she will say no. And she will feel insulted if I ask.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t ask. If Jennalia was going to say no, Risan preferred to let her say it herself. “This is important to me. I’ll take it to her myself then. You don’t need to come.”

“Don’t you dare go without me.” Arlet bolted the door and propped the Closed sign in the window. On the table, she laid down a sheet of leather and wrapped Gavin’s sword in it while Risan pinched his lips to hide a smile. Ah, he loved this paradoxical woman.

* * * * *

Risan clutched the blade in both hands, and Arlet walked beside him through the street. She carried a coin purse, bulging with their savings, cradled against her breast. It had taken years to save that money, but now that mattered little to Risan.

They hurried through the streets of Ambryce south through the market district, their boots whispering along the stone and brick pavement with their mismatched strides. Risan barely noticed the stares he and Arlet usually received when walking among the taller, rounder-of-eye and larger-of-nose Thendylathians. The loud enticements of merchants gave way to children’s singing games and barking dogs as they left the market and entered the poor residential district. Even the blooming magnolias could not cover the stench of human waste. At last, they turned down the row and stopped in front of a shack with a thatch roof and yellow window shutters.

Risan and Arlet looked at each other. Her eyes sparkled. She gave him her most beautiful smile, and he realized it was just like all of her smiles.

“Here we are,” she whispered.

Risan nodded and kissed her forehead. He raised his fist to knock on the door, but just as his knuckles tipped forward, the door swung open.

A Farthan woman stood at the door. Her hunched posture made her shorter than Arlet by several inches. She smiled broadly, showing her brown, unevenly worn teeth. A blue-white film covered her eyes. White hair trailed down her back like a horse’s tail.

“Arlet, what a surprise,” Jennalia said in their native language. “And you brought someone with you. Come in.”

Risan gave Arlet a wink as she stepped before him into the woman’s home.

“This is my husband, Risan,” Arlet replied.

“Well met,” Risan said. “I have heard many wonderful things about you.”

“It’s always good to meet my students’ loved ones,” Jennalia said. “How can I help you?”

“We have a sword,” Risan said, “for a very special man.”

Jennalia closed the door and walked past them to a dresser, opened a ceramic jar and pulled from it a black gem like the one Risan had put in the lower snake’s eye. “And you want an enchantment for this sword.”

“I told Risan that you don’t use your skill for such things,” Arlet said. “But this man saved my life. He’s a true hero.”

Jennalia’s eyebrows went up. “Have you touched him?”

“Yes,” Arlet said. “He saved me in the river.”

“I did also,” Risan said. “I shook his hand.”

“Good,” Jennalia said. “Your spirit knows him more deeply than your mind does.” She shuffled up to Arlet and held one hand in front of her, palm facing outward. “He has some magic that is not his own. Powerful magic, but untrained. He left something undone.” She turned and went to Risan. “Oh dear. This man has a terrible burden to bear, far greater than the promise he made. He will need help. You have something of his.”

“Yes,” Risan said. “The sword I made for him has his gems in the hilt. They are the Rune Stones. He’ll be the next king of Thendylath.”

“Ahhh,” Jennalia said, nodding and grinning. Her eyes stared past him. “Rune Stones. I understand now. A ribbon will finally be burned.”

Risan looked at Arlet with wide eyes. A ribbon will be burned. Gavin was fulfilling his destiny. A shiver swept through him. No wonder his dream had been so powerful.

“We want to buy a special enchantment for his new sword,” Arlet told Jennalia. “We have gold.”

Jennalia chuckled and went to the dresser again. “You need no gold here, my dear.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a piece of parchment. “Enchantments such as this cannot be bought for any amount of money.” She shut the drawer and motioned Risan to follow her to a table. “Put it there.”

Risan removed the leather wrap, set the sword on the table, and stepped back.

Jennalia laid the parchment on the table and ran her hands lightly over the sword. “The enchantment I will put on this weapon is very strong. It will bind to whoever claims the sword.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” he said.

“You must not let anyone take up this weapon before the king does. It will speak to anyone with a warrior’s spirit. No one but the king must utter its name else the weapon will bind itself to the wrong person.”

“No one must handle the sword.”

“Whoever speaks its name owns the sword. Only the owner’s death can unbind the enchantment, which weakens every time it is unbound.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Jennalia opened another drawer in the dresser and withdrew an inkpot and a brush. She set them on the table and opened the inkpot. She dipped the brush into it. Risan watched the brush as she drew it across the parchment, first a horizontal line, then slightly curved line to the left, and then another at a downward angle to the right. She drew in the ancient script of Fartha, but he did not recognize the symbols. When at last she lifted the brush and wrapped it in a piece of paper, Risan studied the drawing, cocking his head. On the parchment were three symbols, one atop the other.

“Strength in battle,” Arlet whispered, pointing to the top symbol. “But written backward.”

“Yes, backward,” Jennalia said. “The other two are for sharpness, so the blade will never dull, and Warrior’s Wisdom. With the Rune Stones in the sword, the enchantments will become even more powerful.” She placed three deep brown gems on the parchment around the three symbols and waved her hand in the air over them. Her lips moved silently.

As Risan watched the parchment and the symbols upon it, the ink flared up suddenly in a sparkling gold color, and then faded to black once more.

Jennalia laid the parchment on the blade, ink against metal, at the sword’s shoulder. After a moment, a wisp of smoke wove its way skyward. The three characters faded into view on the reverse side of the parchment. Their color went from pale pink to blood red to dark brown and then to black. When the three characters stopped smoking, she lifted the parchment.

The symbols were burned into the metal, black and dull against the silver blade.

“It is done,” Jennalia said in a shaking voice. She moved stiffly, raising a hand to her head, and fumbled for a chair before collapsing onto it. “Take it to our king, but remember my warning.”

“Yes,” Arlet whispered. “We’ll remember.”

Risan ran a finger over the three symbols in awe. He picked up the sword and gripped it, feeling the strength of the enchantment coursing through it. It hummed, vibrated with a life of its own. Oh, yes. It was a special sword, indeed.

Aldras Gar, a voice whispered in his mind. Its name was Aldras Gar.

Chapter 16

While Daia typically enjoyed traveling with a companion, she appreciated the opportunity to ride in silence. The conversation with Tennara and the incident with the beyonders weighed heavily on her mind. Upon her return to Sohan, she planned to talk to Aminda at once. By the time Cirang arrived to tell her twisted version of the tale of the battle, Aminda would already have heard it.

The glow of the village at the Lucky Inn grew brighter as Daia neared, and the drone of distant conversation punctuated by laughter and shouting coaxed her out of her long reverie. A knotted rope passed through a hole in the stone wall beside the gate, and she leaned over in the saddle and yanked it, clanging a bell on the other side.

The crisp and cool night air raised bumps on her skin. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms while she waited for someone to let her in. At last, the heavy gate swung open and she clicked her tongue to urge her mare through.

The Lucky Inn had expanded considerably since Daia's first stay a dozen years ago when she and her family had traveled to Calsojourn. Now the sleeping rooms were in a separate building to the left of the circular roadway, and the tavern and betting hall filled the entire building to the right. Homes and small farms huddled around the inn and tavern, their residents supplying food, drink and other goods to the travelers.

Daia gave the stable hand two pielars to tend her horse for the night, and pulled her leather bag from the saddle. She paid five more coppers for lodging and took her bag up the creaking stairs to her room, dark except for the soft glow of moonlight through the tiny window. Without bothering to light the lamp beside the bed, she sat down to remove her boots.

Even with the door shut, the noise from the tavern made its way across the roadway and through the walls and doors of the inn. Daia did not see how she would be able to sleep through the racket. With a sigh, she laced her boots back up and went downstairs to relax with a drink.

Pulling open the tavern door, she squinted in the relative brightness. Voices rose in the pit starting with an accusation of cheating. A scuffle ensued, ending when one man hefted another over-shoulder and tossed him out the door.

Daia made her way to the back of the room and sat alone. The tabletop was rough with carved names, words and pictures, their lines black with grime. One carving, recently etched, resembled an hourglass. Daia traced it with a finger, wondering who had carved it and why.

When the serving wench came around, Daia ordered a full tankard of ale and sat back to observe the other patrons. Every few minutes, someone made his way from the pit wearing a predictably dispirited expression. The game of chance going on in the center of the room attracted most of the attention, but Daia found the other patrons equally interesting.

Across the room sat a small dark-haired woman. Judging from the almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones she was probably half Farthan. And judging from the way she sat on a chair with her gray skirt hiked up to the middle of her thighs, baring her hairy legs, she was quite drunk. Over the talking and laughter, Daia heard her belches clear across the room. Every now and then, the woman bellowed a string of obscenities to someone at the betting table.

A trio of battlers sat at a table near the door, guzzling ale and arm wrestling each other. Daia couldn't help grinning at the men, as she and her friends had similar contests to determine who paid for the next round. One of them, a dark-haired fellow, met her eye and lifted his tankard to her before taking a long swig.

“Somethin' to eat?” the serving girl asked as she set down a tankard.

Daia dropped two copper coins in the barmaid’s outstretched palm and curled her lip at the thought of eating in this filthy place. “No,” she replied. The leathery meat she had in her satchel was kings’ fare compared to the slop they served in places like this.

Directly across from Daia sat a man dressed in black. A Nilmarion man, lean and wiry, he wore his long black hair tied behind his head. His eyes, nose, mouth and ears were decorated with swirling black lines sewn into his olive skin. While he wore no sword at his hip, he had a dangerous air. He sat somberly, his small, dark eyes darting about the room as though trying to identify potential adversaries. Or perhaps victims. A nearly full glass of red liquid sat before him, undoubtedly vinegar passed off as wine. His hands, tattooed like his face, caressed the glass as though it were a fine crystal goblet.

Three men and a woman sat at Daia's left. Their clothing, bland of color and style, and lack of weapons identified them as merchants or farmers.

“...and that magic light sucked him up into the sky ship – plucked him right out of his corn field,” a man said. “Never heard from again.” The patrons around the table groaned. Daia smiled into her tankard.

“That’s horse dung. Ain’t no one goin’ to believe a story ‘bout flyin’ ships,” the woman said.

“I got one. Listen to this,” the older man among them said. “This story’s true to the word. Do you know the blacksmith Risan Stronghammer in Ambryce?” he asked, turning to the man beside him.

“No, can't say I do,” his companion replied.

“Well, he's a Farthan, like yourself,” the older man replied obstinately.

The Farthan set down his tankard and turned to look at the gray-haired man with an impatient expression. “Do you think all Farthans know each other? I suppose you think we all look alike, too, don't you? Tell your story or shut up.”

The man took a swallow of ale and wiped his mouth with a hand. “I happen to know that he's the one that’s been solvin’ the King’s Runes.”

Daia looked up over her tankard. She turned her head so she could hear the tale better.

“How d’you know that?” the Farthan asked.

“Friend of mine heard it from a friend of his just the other night. Said Stronghammer was gettin' bashed in a tavern in Ambryce and told the whole story. Risked his own life to save a girl from drownin’ in the river, too, that’s what kind o'man he is.”

“Now that’s a story for the crows to laugh at,” the Farthan said. “Whoever figured out the runes has been keeping his self secret. Why would he decide to start telling folks now -- in taverns, no less?”

The older man pulled himself up indignantly. “It’s true. He was drunk, why else would he tell his secret? My friend says Stronghammer has the gems from the rune tablet – that’s proof right there.”

Daia stared into her tankard, pretending not to hear, while her mind raced. If this was true, then Risan Stronghammer would become Thendylath’s new king. This was big news. Big for the country, big for the Sisterhood.

She needed to get this news back to Aminda right away. The guild mistress would surely want to send some of her officers to Ambryce to establish a relationship with this man. When he claimed his right to the throne, he would need an army to defend that right.

The Nilmarion across from her sat with his head cocked also. Daia caught his eye and a shudder swept through her. He has no soul, she thought. No, how absurd. It must have been the poor lighting in the tavern that made his eyes look empty.

With a smirk, he drained his wineglass with one long swallow, and stood.

Daia watched him walk to the door. Would he travel to Ambryce to find the blacksmith? Two of the three battlers at the table near the door stood. One of them followed the Nilmarion out, and the other, the dark-haired man who had acknowledged her earlier, approached.

“May I join you?” the battler asked Daia, pulling out a chair. He sat without waiting for her reply and signaled for the barmaid to bring two more tankards. “I'm Domach Demonshredder,” he said, extending his hand.

She shook it but kept her eyes on the open door, trying to spot the Nilmarion in black. “Daia Saberheart.” She was in no mood to fend off male advances and would rather sit and contemplate the story she’d overheard.

“My younger sister joined the Viragon Sisterhood a couple of years ago. Perhaps you know her?”

“What’s her name?” Daia asked, surprised. She turned her attention to him. He was not bad looking: brown hair, blue eyes, neatly trimmed mustache and a handsome cleft in his chin. Still, he had a gleam in his eye that she knew very well – the look of a man on the prowl.

“Brawna Beliril, though I guess she would've chosen an epithet by now.”

Daia smiled. She could see the resemblance now. The sharp nose, sparkling eyes, wide mouth. “I know her well. She has yet to choose an epithet because she has not earned her brown sash – rules of the Sisterhood – but she has earned a nickname: Brawna the Blade. Your sister fares well.”

Domach let out a long sigh. “I've worried about her. She's still so young - only seventeen years.” When the two tankards were delivered and paid for, he downed half of one in a single gulp, then contorted his face, silencing a belch. “I couldn’t get into the compound to see her. Thank you for your reassurance. Brawna the Blade, did you say?”

“Yes, she's becoming an excellent battler. I help her train sometimes. You needn't worry about your sister.”

Movement near the door drew Daia’s eye. The blond battler from Domach’s table walked back into the tavern and sat down, but the Nilmarion did not return.

Domach reached with a finger and stroked Daia's hand. “Would you give her a message when you see her next?”

“Certainly.” Daia pulled her hand away, giving him a message, too.

Domach leaned back in his chair with a resigned smile. “Just let her know you've seen me, that I am well and thinking of her.”

“Gladly,” Daia said. She lifted her chin toward the table where his two drinking companions sat. “The blond battler in the blue coat -- do you know him well? Is he a warrant knight?”

Domach turned in his chair, then faced forward again. “Yes. Do you want an introduction?”

Daia gave him an impatient look. “I’m just curious. He looks familiar,” she lied. “Would his name happen to be, ah, Silard Sharp-something? Sharpblade? Sharpwit?”

Domach shook his head, smiling. “Toren Meobryn. I’ll introduce you if you’d like.”

“No, but thank you. I'll bid you good-night, then, and safe journeys.” She stood and headed toward the door.

As she passed the blond’s table, she paused, considering whether to approach him. He looked up, smiled and pulled out a chair beside him. She walked over and leaned on the table, sizing him as she approached.

A thin, light brown beard emphasized the contour of his square jaw. A leather thong disappeared under his white shirt, implying that a warrant tag hung ready to display on request. His eyes were like steel beads, and the lines on his face mapped a life of frowns. He reminded Daia of a man who had given up all hope of happiness and would take to hell with him anyone who caused him insult.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, she asked, “May I speak with you in private for a moment?”

His eyebrows went up and a look crossed his face that said, ‘Why not?’ Toren rose and followed her outside.

“Sorry to interrupt your recreation,” she said, looking around for the Nilmarion, “but could you tell me how to find the man in black?”

Toren cocked his head. “I don’t know which man you mean.”

“He left just a few minutes ago. You followed him out of the tavern.”

“Sorry, I didn’t notice him. I just stepped out to piss.”

A battler who paid so little attention to his surroundings wouldn’t likely live a long life, which made him either a fool or a liar. She searched his gray eyes, mindful that many people found her stare to be unnerving. Sometimes, she found silence to be an excellent tool to draw information out of people, but Toren stood quietly in front of her, his expression calm and his eyes steadily holding hers.

A long moment passed, and still she said nothing. The corners of his mouth twitched toward a smile. “Why not sit and have an ale with me?” he asked. “My treat.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m ready for sleep,” she said. “If you happen to see him return, would you send a message to my room? Number fourteen.”

Toren inclined his head. “And you are?”

“Daia Saberheart.”

“All right, Daia Saberheart. If I see this Nilmarion in black, I’ll send a message.”

She smiled. She hadn't specified a Nilmarion man. “Thank you, Toren Meobryn.”

She walked across the gravel drive toward the stable. Stable hands sometimes knew the most interesting things. For the cost of a smile, the pimple-faced young man gave her a description of the Nilmarion’s carriage: black with silver trim, drawn by four black horses. But even the offer of a few silver coins did not persuade him to let her search inside.

Daia slept fitfully that night and awoke early. As she readied her horse to return to Sohan, she considered the story she'd heard. Perhaps Aminda would allow her to initiate a relationship with Risan Stronghammer. Daia was, after all, the Lordover Tern's daughter. She knew how to court a dignitary.

She started north toward Sohan as the sun cast an eager orange glow across the sky. Take the initiative, Aminda had said. Daia pulled the reins and turned around, yet she paused. On one hand, she had been ordered to return to Sohan with the merchant's payment and Tennara's collection of fees. And she needed to talk to Aminda about the beyonder battle before Cirang did. On the other, this might be the most important mission she could ever take. If the Nilmarion in black had ill intentions, she might still have time to reach Ambryce and find the blacksmith before any harm befell him. In fact, if she returned to Sohan and told Aminda what she knew, she might be castigated for not having taken action to safeguard the next king. Consider all factors. Take the initiative. If Aminda wanted proof of Daia’s leadership, proof she would receive.

Daia returned to the Lucky Inn and found the stable boy saddling a horse in the drive. “The Nilmarion's coach,” she said, “has it left yet?” Her mount pranced and side-stepped, eager to be off.

The boy squinted up at Daia, the morning sun on his face. “Yes, m'lady. It left afore sun up.”

Damn it. “Which way did it go?”

“To the south, I think.”

With a hard pull on the rein, she spun Calie about and kicked her into a gallop toward Ambryce. Daia would earn more than just a promotion for herself. She would earn a place in the king's guard for the entire Sisterhood.

If the story was true.

Chapter 17

Gavin walked into the tavern and looked around. Usually the Lucky Inn swarmed with activity, but this evening more travelers sat on the deck surrounding the pit than wagered their coin at the table below. A hush settled over the room. Heads turned toward him.

Gavin looked around at the faces until he saw a pair he recognized. One of the men waved a hand in hail. Gavin made his way to their table, ignoring the staring patrons. Gradually the hum of casual conversation resumed. He nodded at his friends and extended a hand toward the older one first. “Calinor.”

“Gavin, good to see you’re still alive,” Calinor said. He gave Gavin a crushing handshake. “Someone’s angry husband ha’nt caught up to you yet?”

“No, but if he comes here looking for me…” Gavin said with a crooked grin.

“I ha’nt seen you,” Calinor finished. The lines framing his eyes deepened with his smile.

The second man, younger with dark hair and moustache, laughed too loudly at the joke, reminding Gavin of a stray dog wagging its tail in the hope of finding a friend.

“Domach,” Gavin said, shaking his hand. He pulled out a chair and sat to Calinor’s right. “Got your warrant tag yet?”

“Gavin.” Domach signaled the barmaid to bring more ale. “I don’t need a tag. I find plenty of work without one.”

A third man sitting with them offered his hand, a blond with a thin beard lining his jaw. He dressed more like a nobleman than a battler in a blue waistcoat and a white linen shirt with long puffy sleeves. “Toren Meobryn,” he said.

Gavin clasped his hand. “What? No chosen name?” he asked.

“My family name’s good enough for me,” Toren replied. “Isn’t yours?”

“Sure,” Gavin said. He tried to think of something to say to change the subject before this one went off-path.

Domach snorted. “Gavin’s family name is the envy of every battler in the realm. Neither did he take an epithet.”

“Shut up, Demonshredder,” Gavin grumbled.

Toren raised his brows. “Is that so? What name would that be?”

All fell silent at the table as they turned to Gavin, waiting for him to speak it. “Kinshield,” he said quietly. Here it comes.

“A descendant of the famous Ronor?” Toren asked.

Gavin jerked a brow in response: a nod equal to the respect he held for the man who had passed down the family name. But Kinshield had also been Gavin’s father’s name, and that alone was reason enough not to abandon it for an epithet.

The barmaid brought four dented pewter tankards and set them down. Ale sloshed over their rims and onto the table. “Eight pielars,” she said, holding out her wet hand.

Domach waved everyone to put away their coin purses and paid for the drinks.

“Say,” the serving wench began as she pocketed the coins, directing her gaze at Gavin, “you find that diamond you was lookin' for?”

Everyone turned to him. “Yeh, thanks.”

“What's this now?” Calinor asked. Each of the men picked up a tankard.

Gavin waited until the barmaid was out of earshot. “It's Calewen's Pendant,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh yeh? I heard it was stolen from her shrine,” Calinor replied.

“Yeh. I'm taking it to the museum in Ambryce.”

“And restoring the integrity of our lost heritage,” Domach said. “To hero’s blood.” He raised his ale in toast.

The two other men followed suit. Gavin glared at Domach. “Leave off with the hero crap, will you?” he said in a low voice, then raised the tankard to his lips and took a long draw.

“You headed directly to Ambryce, then, Gavin?” Calinor asked.

“Yeh.” Once he delivered the necklace to the museum and read Ronor Kinshield’s letter, he would retrieve his new sword and be on his way. Maybe he’d see what kind of work he could find in Keayes. No, he reminded himself. He would return to Rogan's and teach Jaesh to ride Golam as he promised. “Where're you headed?” Gavin asked Calinor.

“I’m goin’ to Calsojourn, and Toren’s goin’ to Saliria.”

“What about you?” Gavin asked Domach.

“Sohan,” he replied. “I’m supposed to meet a couple bucks here and get a package, but they’re late. Probably got their foolish selves killed.” Toren shot Domach a glare that should have set his eyelashes aflame.

“What package?” Gavin asked.

Domach lifted one side of his mouth in a wry smile. “I have a new employer in Sohan. Can’t complain about the wage, but he likes his secrets.”

“Watch it,” Gavin said. “Sometimes you pay dearest for the jobs that pay best.” Domach was young and naïve. He had a lot to learn.

“How profound,” Domach muttered into his tankard.

Calinor stroked his graying beard. “Them’s wise words, Demonshredder. Pay ‘em heed.” He clapped Gavin’s shoulder and gave him an understanding nod. The elder swordsman tipped many a mug with Gavin about five years earlier and had a way of providing just enough silence and just enough laughter to help a man through some troubling times.

“You care to make a wager?” Domach asked, rapping his knuckle on Gavin’s forearm.

“Don’t you ever learn?” Gavin asked with a chuckle. “I beat you the last time, and the time before that. Why don’t you just give me a kion and save us both the effort?”

Domach grinned. “I’ve been practicing. You don’t stand a chance this time.”

Gavin sighed and drew his knife.

“A kion says Gavin makes mincemeat of him,” Calinor said to Toren. He slapped a small silver coin on the table.

Toren tossed a coin down as well. “My money’s on the man with the hungry eyes.”

Gavin and Domach went to the painted wooden board on the far wall of the tavern, away from the huddle of tables and chairs, and measured five paces. "How much are you looking to lose this time, Demonshredder?"

"I can feel Arek smiling tonight. Shall we say a kion?"

Gavin shrugged. "Suit yourself. High score of five." He threw a coin onto a nearby table to match his opponent's wager.

A small crowd gathered. "Mind if we jump in on your wager?" one man asked.

"This is between him and me," Gavin said, "but you can bet with each other on the outcome if you want."

Once the betting activity quieted, Gavin gestured for Domach to take the first throw. He stepped back, arms crossed, while Domach aimed and threw his knife at the board. It stuck solidly in the circle closest to the center spot, the fifteen-point area. A few of his supporters applauded.

"Not bad for a beginner," Gavin said as Domach retrieved his knife from the board. He aligned his feet, took aim and threw, matching Domach's score. Without prompting from Gavin, his supporters clapped more loudly than Domach's had.

They threw twice more, and each time, Domach waved his arms to encourage his supporters to cheer more loudly, even when he hit the five-point area.

"Tough luck, Demonshredder." Gavin stepped up to take his fourth throw. Just as he hurled the knife forward, someone stumbled into him from behind. The knife went wild, struck the wall of the tavern three feet shy of the painted board, and skittered across the floor under some chairs. Gavin whipped around and grabbed the man, twisting his fist into the man's shirt and hauling him up close.

"Sorry," the man croaked. "Somebody pushed me. I'm rootin' for you, Scar." A few onlookers snickered.

It's only a game, Gavin reminded himself. He let the man go and went to retrieve his knife. The score was fifty to forty five, with Domach leading.

"Hah!" Domach said. "That throw counted. Looks like I'll take this match."

"There's always a first time," Gavin said. "But this ain't it." All he needed to do was hit the center circle, worth twenty-five points.

"If you're so confident, double the wager." Domach pulled a kion from his purse and tossed it onto the table, smiling with superiority.

Gavin snorted and slapped another small silver coin on the table. "Throw."

Domach took his position. With a deep breath, he sighted down his knife blade toward the board. Carefully, slowly, he bent his arm back then forward again, practicing the throw. Then, he let loose his knife. It came to a vibrating stop with its point buried just shy of the center spot. "Fifteen points," Domach sang, retrieving his knife. He stepped back out of the path and crossed his arms. "You've got to hit the center spot if you don't want me to call you The Loser Kinshield."

Several of the men whispered, "Kinshield! Did you hear? Scar's a Kinshield."

"Wait. Up the wager," a man said.

Coins rained onto the table. Gavin sighed, shaking his head. Fools.

"All right, quiet down now," someone said. "Step back, give the man some room to breathe." A hush settled over the tavern. Even people in the pit quieted.

Gavin stepped up to the line, sighted the board, and threw. Time seemed to slow as he watched the knife spin. It sailed so slowly, he thought he could walk over and snatch it before it reached the board. Then the shaft of the knife was quivering with the shock of its strike, its blade buried in the center circle.

The crowd around him erupted in cheers. Hands patted his back and shoulders.

Gavin plucked his knife out of the board, sheathed it and picked up his winnings. "Let's do it again some time." The look on Domach's face was picture-worthy. Gavin chuckled as he returned to their table. Settling back into his chair, he raised his tankard to the other two men. "All in a day's work."

Domach sat down, shaking his head. “Lucky bastard.”

“It ain’t luck,” Calinor said, pocketing his winnings. “I seen Gavin put his knife in a man’s eye at 30 yards. Wisdom don’t bet against that.”

Gavin snorted and let his eyes wander the tavern, pausing on each of the women. The tall redhead whose father owned the tavern nodded and smiled at him from the pit. Gavin nodded in return.

“So, what are you doing in Calsojourn?” Toren asked Calinor.

“The spring festival. My cousin and nephew's in the joustin' competition. I like goin' to cheer them on.”

A woman with shiny dark hair and almond-shaped eyes caught Gavin's eye from across the room. She lifted her tankard with a smile, then tugged the top of her blouse down to reveal a shadow of cleavage.

“Jousting?” Gavin asked, holding eye contact with the woman across the room. “Didn't know folks did that anymore.” He smiled and lifted his tankard to her. She stood and walked toward him like a cat, her eyes locked to his.

“What?! Calsojourn's the joustin' capitol of Thendylath,” Calinor proclaimed. “They even got a school to teach young bucks how to do it. When I was a few years younger, I jousted against a man who...”

Gavin stopped listening as she neared. He held his breath. Would she find his scars repulsive and stop?

She slowed her approach as a look of concern crossed her face. She glanced at Toren, but he was listening to Calinor's story. Gavin beckoned with a finger and a smile and she continued toward him, wariness darkening her eyes. He held his hand out for hers and although she hesitated, she did give it to him. He pulled her into his lap and loosely wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I won’t bite,” he said, “hard.” His gaze lingered on her lips, then slid down to her soft golden throat and to the swell of her breasts above her low green neckline.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “In that case, buy me another ale and tell me: if your bite ain’t hard, what is?” She glanced at Toren again, but Gavin just smiled and pulled her closer. She sat on his lap, not Toren’s.

“That I’d have to show you,” he murmured against her skin. He kissed the line of her jaw, tracing a path to her ear, then down the side of her neck, settling there.

“Watch out for her angry husband, Gavin,” Calinor said.

The others laughed.

Gavin barely heard the conversation at his table. Once he and his new lady friend finished their ales, he led her by the hand to his room.

He kicked the door shut and threw the bolt while she untied the drawstring in the neck of her blouse and let the fabric fall. His eyes dropped to her breasts spilling over the top of her corset, and he trembled with longing. Gavin bent down, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bent toward him to breathe into his ear. Her tongue darted inside, sending a shiver of pleasure down his neck.

“You’ve been to a healer?” he asked. As eager as he was for her sort of recreation, he'd take no chance of siring bastard children. If that meant not having her in the traditional sense, so be it. He set her down again.

“The spells the healers cast don't work too good. I got three children as proof of that. I use serragan powder. It works better.”

“Serragan powder?” he asked. “Never heard of that.”

“I’ll show you.” While she fumbled in her pocket, Gavin stripped off his shirt. Her eyes went to his chest and flew wide. She backed away. “I-I didn't know you was a warrant knight.”

“You don't play with warrant knights?”

“No, it ain't that, just...” The woman looked away and swallowed.

He’d sworn never to remove the tag hanging around his neck, but to alleviate her concern, he took hold of it and flung it over his shoulder. It circled his neck and lay against his back, out of sight. “There. What’s your name?”

She had a pretty smile despite crooked teeth. “What name would you like to call me?”

Talisha! He would have given anything to make love to his wife one more time. But no. She was not Talisha. Calling her by his wife’s name would be disrespectful to them both. “I want to call you by your name.”

“You’re sweeter than you look. It’s Dalli.” She drew a small pouch from her pocket and pulled open its drawstring neck. Dipping two fingers into the bag, she brought out a pinch of white powder. “Ready?”

Gavin scowled in confusion. Ready for what?

With a deep breath, she blew it into his face.

Intense dizziness overwhelmed him. He fell to the floor. He tried to reach for the bed to haul himself up, but the room spun too violently for him to get his bearings. Dalli dug into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse. He grabbed at her hand and missed.

She checked the contents, then darted from the room, pulling up her blouse and slamming the door behind her as she fled.

Bloody hell! Calewen’s Pendant was in the purse. “Come back here,” he tried to say, but his tongue flopped uselessly in his mouth, garbling his words beyond recognition. Gavin tried crawling to the door after her. The motion made his stomach spin. Unable to judge his direction, he ran his shoulder into the wall and fell onto his chest. He tried to stand and fell over, crashing against the table. He pushed himself up once again, using the wall to guide him, and stumbled against the bed. He tripped and fell to the floor. This wasn’t doing him any good. Maybe he could use his new healing powers to defeat the powder’s effect.

He lay on his side, taking in steady, even breaths, and concentrated on slowing the spinning room. At first, nothing happened, but after a time, he felt less queasy. When he chanced raising his head, the feeling returned and the room spun faster. Damn it! She was getting away. No. Calm down. Take it bit at a time.

Then he was clawing his way out of a heavy slumber. His head felt like Golam had trampled it flat. He found he could stand, though unsteadily. Light streamed into the room from the window, announcing a new day.

He flung the door wide, then stumbled down the hall, hitting first one wall, then the other with his shoulders. The inn lobby was coming alive with travelers preparing for their journeys. He looked around, but saw no sign of her. “You seen a short woman? Brown hair?” he asked no one in particular. And no one answered. No one appeared to have heard him. “People, listen,” he shouted. The lobby went suddenly quiet as the inn’s patrons turned and stared at him. “Have you seen a woman? Wearing a shirt and skirt... uh... green--”

“No,” the man at the desk said. “I’ve been here for an hour already. Haven’t seen her.”

“Hell,” Gavin muttered. He ran, barefoot and bare-chested, outside and into the dirt road. “Dalli,” he yelled, looking around. Travelers mounted and departed, and stable hands saddled and hitched horses. He questioned them, but the boys all shook their heads.

“Damn it!” Gavin shouted. His voice carried across the quiet village and heads turned in his direction. He looked around frantically. If the stable hands hadn’t saddled her horse or hitched her carriage, she might have left on foot. He ran out through the gate and onto the main road, ignoring the rocks and sticks that jabbed the soles of his feet. A few people had already set out, but in the distance, Gavin saw only men, and women too plump, too tall or too fair-haired to be his lady thief. He could go after her, but the Lucky Inn sat at a crossroad, giving him only a one in four chance of guessing her path correctly.

Then he remembered his drinking companions were each going in a different direction. If they hadn’t left yet, he could ask them to look for her and retrieve his stolen purse.

Toren had already left, but Gavin found Calinor at the stable preparing his mount to leave, and Domach standing idle, chatting with him. “You remember that woman I met last night?” Gavin asked.

“Got lucky, eh?” Calinor said with a wink.

“Yeh, she did. She stole my purse.”

Calinor whistled. “Stealin' from a warrant knight? Hard to believe.”

“Damn,” Domach said, shaking his head. “She has a bigger pair than I do.”

“She took Calewen's Pendant.”

“No,” Domach breathed.

“I got to get it to the Gwanry Museum in Ambryce.”

“If I see her,” Calinor said, “I’ll get the pendant back and take it to the museum myself. I'll brand her for you, too.” He traced the initials GK on his forearm with his index finger.

Gavin nodded. “Good. Thanks.” Calinor was an honorable man; Gavin trusted him.

“As will I,” Domach agreed. “Though I won’t be leaving for a few days yet. In case my package arrives.” Domach held no warrant and, therefore, had no right to brand a criminal, but under the circumstances, Gavin would forgive him the deed this once.

That narrowed down the routes to two: Ambryce and Saliria. He had to go to Ambryce for his new sword anyway. With luck on his side, he’d find the woman on his way, get the pendant back, and all would be well. Otherwise, he’d have to head back toward Saliria and see if he could catch up to her. He’d found the pendant once before; he could do it again. He just wished he didn’t have to. And now, without money, he would have to hunt for his food and sleep on the ground.

Chapter 18

This is it, Daia thought as she looked up at the wooden sign swinging gently over the shop’s door. Stronghammer Blades. In just a moment, she would meet the next king of Thendylath.

Although she'd grown up among the wealthiest families in Thendylath, with her father the most powerful among them, Daia felt a lump rising in her throat. Her stomach churned, and her hands felt clammy. Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s just a blacksmith.

Soon to be a king.

She took a steadying breath and went inside. A bell jingled as it knocked against the door.

Two long display racks took up most of the space in the shop, and a small, scratched-up desk stood in a corner, scraps of leather littering its top. Old swords, knives, axes and halberds graced the walls, all scarred and stained from use. Edged weapons of all kinds filled the wooden display racks. A dagger caught Daia’s eye and she ran her finger along the flat of the shiny blade. She could not resist picking it up, feeling the balance, the solid weight of it in her hand. Its hilt bore a symbol she recognized, the Farthan symbol for strength, artfully yet subtly executed more as a declaration than a decoration. Daia wished she had enough money of her own to buy it as a replacement for her lost knife. She would get a new one from the Sisterhood's armory, but this was a weapon to covet.

A Farthan woman entered from the rear door wearing a sunny smile. “Good day, Lady Sister of Virago. What I can do for you today?” she asked in a charmingly thick accent. She rolled her Rs and pronounced a V instead of W.

“I’m looking for Risan Stronghammer. Is this his shop?” Daia asked. She put the knife back in its place.

“It is,” the shopkeeper replied. “He is my husband. I am Arlet. I mind store. If you are looking for nice dagger, you will find none better than ours.”

Daia smiled and imagined what Arlet would look like in silk clothes, wearing a crown atop her head. Her nose was flat on a wide face with prominent cheekbones and full lips. Not much over four feet tall, she had a slim, dainty build. Daia felt like a Behemoth next to this woman.

“You are vusar, yes? Condit?” Arlet asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

Arlet gave her a secretive smile. “Never mind. How I can help you?”

A little eccentric. “I wonder if I could speak with Lord Stronghammer for a moment, if he’s not too busy.”

“Lord Stronghammer,” Arlet said with a laugh, slapping the top of the display case. “Better to call him Risan or he will soap your neck. If you need weapon made, I can take your order.”

“Actually, my lady, it’s in regard to the Viragon Sisterhood.”

Arlet smiled broadly. “Ah. The Sisterhood want weapons made for your lady battlers? Risan would love to hear it. Take look at his beautiful style,” she said, gesturing to the display of weapons. “There is not any better in all Thendylath.”

“Yes, I admire the quality of your knives. But that's not exactly why I'm here,” Daia replied. “Might I speak with him for a moment?”

“He is in forge. He spent too much time on one weapon, and now he is trying to catch up to his work. I will see if he can take rest for talking.” Arlet left through the rear door.

While she waited for Risan, Daia cleared her throat a few times and practiced in her head what she would say. My lord, what an honor it is to meet you. No, that sounds too patronizing. My lord, I have come in the spirit of--

Arlet came back into the shop shaking her head. “He told me he cannot talk now, but if you come early tomorrow morning before he will start to work, you can speak to him. At daybreak is best.”

Daia was far too eager to learn the truth about the Rune Stones to wait until morning, but she could not bring herself to argue with the future queen. She supposed one more day was not too long to wait. “My thanks, Lady Stronghammer.” She turned to go, but stopped. If she found out now whether the story was true or not, it might save her some time. “If I may ask you just one question?”

“Of course. And call me Arlet.”

“I heard a story. I wonder whether it’s true.”

Arlet’s brow dipped. “What story?”

“About who is solving the King’s Runes.”

Arlet slammed her fist on the table top. “That man has two mile tongue,” she spat. “I knew he would tell. Pour ale into his head and only Yrys knows what will spill out his mouth.”

“So it’s true? Risan has the Rune Stones?” Daia asked. She felt light-headed. Risan Stronghammer would be king, and this red-faced, pinch-lipped woman would be the queen. Daia put her hand on the weapons display rack to steady herself.

“It is true,” Arlet said with a sigh. “But please do not tell others. Risan promised he would not tell about that. It would not be good if more people find out. Not yet.”

Daia reached hesitantly and covered the future queen’s dainty hand with her own massive paw. “You can trust me. I wish only to offer my service,” she said dipping one knee, “on behalf of the Viragon Sisterhood.” If only she had a way to get word back to Aminda. Perhaps she could find another Sister in Ambryce to ride right away with the news.

“Have you, perchance, seen a Nilmarion man recently?” she asked Arlet. “Long black hair? He may have been wearing a black shirt and trousers.”

“Not in last few days. Why do you ask?”

No need to alarm the queen. "It's nothing. Good day to you, my lady." Daia started toward the door. Perhaps she should stand guard outside the shop. No. Her presence there would tell the Nilmarion the truth. She would think of some way to keep the Stronghammers safe until they were situated in the palace, or at least recognized as Thendylath's new rulers. Would Farthans be allowed to rule? Would the people accept foreigners on the throne?

“Wait. What is your name?” Arlet asked.

“I’m sorry, my lady, it’s Daia. Daia Saberheart.”

Arlet smiled. “Good evening, Daia. We will see you in morning.”

* * * * *

Risan rose well before dawn, unable to sleep. Not wanting to annoy Arlet with his constant turning in the bed, he lit a lamp and went to his foundry. Gavin would arrive any day now to collect his prize. Risan unlocked the storage cabinet, retrieved the sword, and turned it in the golden lamplight. He admired the way the light reflected off the blade's scale-like surface. The snakes that made up the hilt had a curious false-movement effect. When he glimpsed them from the corner of his eye, the snakes seemed to slither and wind around one another, but when he snapped his eyes back to look at them directly, they lay frozen in an eternal embrace.

Aldras Gar, the sword whispered, enticing him to speak its name and forever bind it to him.

Risan imagined taking it into the wilds and slaying evildoers and Underworld monsters. But that would not be right. This was Gavin's sword. The king's sword. Besides, Risan’s slaying days were long over.

He set Aldras Gar down on his workbench, but found it back in his hand only moments later. It begged to be wielded; a warrior could not resist its call.

Never had Risan made so exquisite a weapon. He longed to take it to show his friends, to hear their exclamations of awe when they felt the power of the weapon surging in their hands. But that would be a big risk. If the sword whispered to one of them, he could claim it as his own simply by speaking its name, and then Gavin's sword would belong to another.

A knock shook him from his reverie. Arlet must have awoken, perhaps started the woodstove for some hot tea. Of course, he had been awake for some time. He could have started it for her and had the tea brewing by the time she opened her eyes. Instead, he had come to admire his handiwork. Risan cursed himself. He was so self-absorbed these days that he could not think to do small things like start the stove. No, not so much self-absorbed as consumed. Consumed with excitement and anticipation over Gavin Kinshield and the sword. And who wouldn't be? The realm would soon have a new king. A king wielding a sword made by Risan's own hand.

The knock came again, louder now. It did not come from within the house but from the shop. Who would come to the market so long before sunrise? The swordswoman. Aiy! He had nearly forgotten about their meeting. He had told her to come early, but this was ridiculous. It was still the middle of the night. He started to set the sword down, and then thought better of it; he didn't know what she wanted yet.

Risan went into the shop through the back door and saw her shadowy form peering through the window with hands cupped beside her eyes. “I am coming,” he muttered. He shuffled through the shop around the display cabinets, then set the lamp on a table and continued to the door. “You are quite early.” He drew back the bolt and opened the door.

She rushed in, shoving him, and Risan stumbled back to keep his footing. In the glow of the lamp light, he saw that a black cloth covered her face, not even a pair of slits to see through. A hood covered her head, concealing her hair. A black sash belted her black tunic at the waist accentuated her form -- a distinctly unfeminine form. Wait. This wasn't a swordswoman. It wasn't a woman at all.

Risan started to raise Aldras Gar. A puff of dust blew into his face. He shut his eyes and turned his head, but too late. Instantly the room began to spin and he staggered. As he groped for something solid to steady himself, his fingers relaxed their grip on the sword and it clattered to the floor. Risan went to his knees, and with one palm flat against the floor, reached dizzily toward Aldras Gar again. With the shop whirling this way, he couldn't judge the distance or the direction. His hand went wide and missed.

The man kicked him in the ribs. Pain exploded in Risan's side, and he drew his legs up. The figure in black spun as quickly as the shop did. Time seemed to slow as the intruder pulled his hood down to reveal jet black hair tied behind his head. The cloth fell from his face.

From the swirling dark lines around his eyes, nose and mouth, Risan knew him to be a Nilmarion, olive-skinned and wiry with narrow eyes. The intruder bent down and picked up Aldras Gar. Risan wanted to leap to his feet and wrestle the weapon from him, but this profound dizziness kept him meekly on the floor. Please, Risan begged the weapon. Stay quiet. He pushed himself back upright, but kept his hands on the wooden floor for balance.

“My,” the Nilmarion said, “what a beautiful sword.” He spoke quietly and with a pleasant, lilting accent. “And with the Rune Stones embedded in it. So the story was true. Come, Risan Stronghammer. We have much to discuss.”

* * * * *

Daia spent at least two hours pacing in her room at the Princess Inn before the sun started to lighten the sky. Come early, Arlet had said. Was it too early?

Already dressed and with her sword strapped to her waist, she decided to go to Stronghammer's shop anyway. If he hadn’t awoken yet, perhaps she could get a cup of tea in the market and wait.

Her heart thudded as she walked through the quiet, dusty streets of Ambryce, and her thumbs, jittering rhythmically, tapped her thighs as her hands swung past.

He's not the king yet. He's just a blacksmith. A blacksmith who needs the support of the Sisterhood, like any other citizen might. As long as the story of his rune-solving activities did not continue to spread, he was probably not in so much danger. But when it came to protecting the king, she could not be too cautious.

When she arrived at the shop, the Closed sign still hung in the window. Inside the shop, a lamp sat sputtering on a table. She knocked hard on the door, hoping someone was within earshot.

After a few minutes and a few more knocks, Arlet entered the shop through the rear, wrapped in a brown robe too big for her, and shuffled to the door. As Arlet passed the lamp, she gave it a second glance and a scowl. As she opened the door, she started to speak, and then paused, a curious expression on her face. “I am sorry, I slept overmuch this morning. Risan should heard you from foundry. I will see what he is doing.”

“Is something wrong?” Daia asked. “You look surprised. Did you forget I was coming?”

“No, I did not forget. I also did not forget to bolt door last night. But now it was unbolted. Maybe Risan went out earlier.” She turned her head and bellowed, “Risan,” toward the rear shop entrance, her voice surprisingly loud for her tiny stature.

The answering silence made the hair on Daia's neck bristle.

“I will check,” Arlet said. “He is probably outside tending to jackass.”

After Arlet slipped out of the shop to see whether Risan was tending the donkey, Daia once again admired the weapons the Stronghammers had for sale. She picked up the knife she had seen in the display case the day before and turned it over in her hands. What balance. What smooth lines. She flipped it into the air intending to catch it in a reverse grip, but misjudged its spin. The knife clattered to the floor. Daia cringed, hoping Arlet had not heard it. She glanced toward the door at the rear of the shop, and then squatted to retrieve the knife.

The floor was dusted with specks of fine white powder. Not the entire floor, just a small area near the door. She touched her finger to the powder and raised it to her nose for a sniff.

The room spun. Daia reached for the cabinet to steady herself until the sensation passed. Serragan powder. She'd heard of its strange dizzying effect, as well as rumors of its growing use by robbers and rapists.

"He is not outside and his coat is still--," Arlet said as she came through the door. "Miss Daia?"

Daia stood, still clutching the display case. "I'm here." She slipped the knife back into the cabinet. "Do you use serragan powder for anything?"

Arlet wrinkled her brow. "What is serragan powder?"

"It's made from a plant that grows in the hills of-" Nilmaria. Daia glanced at the door. Arlet had said it was unbolted. Hell's bones! The Nilmarion had come. Wait. Could there be another reason for the powder on the floor or the door being unbolted? She did not want to alarm Arlet needlessly, but she could not imagine another explanation plausible enough to sell. "Lady Arlet, did you hear anything unusual during the night?"

"No, just Risan bang around. What is wrong?"

"This powder on the floor - when inhaled it makes you dizzy and disoriented. Do you have any use for the powder that might explain its presence here?"

"No, I never heard of powder before. You think someone..." Arlet's eyes widened. "Risan? Someone stole Risan? Oh no, no!" She began to cry.

Daia put her hands on Arlet's shoulders. "Now, we don't know for certain that's what happened. Remember I asked if you'd seen a Nilmarion man?"

"Yes, but I did not see him." Arlet wrung her hands. "Why? Why someone would kidnap Risan? He is simple blacksmith."

Daia pressed her lips together. "Listen, Arlet. I don't think anyone would hurt him. If he has been abducted -- and we don't know yet if he has or not -- his kidnapper might simply want him to solve the remaining runes. Perhaps this person wants to claim the King's Blood-stone for himself."

"Solve runes? Risan is not--" Arlet tucked her lips between her teeth and looked away.

"Risan is not what? What is it, Arlet?"

"He is not kind of man to tell kidnapper answers to runes."

"Do you think he already knows the meanings of the remaining runes?"

"No, he does not, but even if he knows, he would not tell. Not on purpose."

"Is anything missing?" Daia asked, looking around. The display case had no empty spots to suggest a burglary, but theft was worth hoping for in light of the alternative. "Perhaps you've only been robbed and Risan is in pursuit of the thief."

Arlet snatched the lamp from the table and ran from the room with a whimper. Daia followed her into the foundry.

The workshop was clean and orderly. The forge in the middle of the room was cool, its weight-powered bellows still. Three anvils of different sizes sat on a low workbench, and eight hammers hung from nail-pegs on the wall above it. Various sets of tongs and pokers lined the wall beside the hammers, arranged by size. Arlet opened and slammed the doors of the three wardrobes standing against one wall.

"What are you looking for?" Daia asked.

"Sword." Arlet stopped her search and faced Daia. She looked pasty. "Sword Risan made -- it is gone." She buried her face in her hands and wept.

"Perhaps he simply went into the wilds to test it? Could that be why he isn't here?"

Arlet shook her head firmly, and said through her sobs, "No. He does not do that. He would not take this sword - this is special sword. It has-- it has special enchantment."

"All right, a sword is missing," Daia said, "anything else?"

"Nothing important. Thief could take every weapon in shop and I do not care, if only he leaves this one."

Daia studied the Farthan woman. She seemed as upset about the missing sword as her missing husband.

"This sword is very important," Arlet explained. "Kidnapper also stole sword. This is terrible, terrible."

Daia took a deep breath. "Tell me about the sword, then. What sort of enchantment did it have?"

"I do not know. It is ancient Farthan enchantment. Mage put it."

An enchanted sword of some significance, but Arlet didn't know what magic possessed it? Or perhaps she knew but wouldn't say. Why was she so concerned about the bloody sword? "Where can I find the mage?" Daia asked. "I'd like to know what interest the sword might hold for its thief."

"Her name is Jennalia. You can find her south-east of here on Mill Road. Brown house with yellow window shutters. Miss Daia, please help us. Please find Risan, will you?" Arlet took Daia's hand. "Please."

"Of course I will, Arlet." Daia reached tentatively and stroked the future queen's black hair. It felt like strands of silk. "I will find him."

"And sword?"

"I will do my best."

"I know someone can help you," Arlet said. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the voluminous sleeve of her robe. "Warrant knight name of Gavin Kinshield. Find him. Sword belongs to him. He will want it back."

"How do you know he doesn't already have it?"

Arlet cocked her head. "I do not understand what is you are asking. Risan made it for Gavin. Gavin promised to come get it after one week passed and that is one week ago. He should be here soon, but I did not see him yet."

Daia wondered how well Arlet knew this Gavin fellow. The surname of Kinshield came with no guarantee of integrity. "Is it possible that Gavin Kinshield came during the night?"

"And kidnap Risan? No. Gavin is not like that. He is good man - very good man."

"Tell me about the sword. Why is it so important to you?"

Arlet chewed her lip for a moment. "Risan made it for Gavin because he saved my life. It is fël - repayment like valour-gild, but more. If Risan does not give sword to Gavin, he would be dishonor."

Daia straightened. The tale she'd heard said that Risan had saved a child from drowning -- and Arlet was about the size of a child. "Did Kinshield save you from drowning?"

"No," Arlet said, glancing away. "From, ah... robber on street. He had knife. Gavin saved me. Lots of people witnessed - you can ask townsfolks in market. Ask them. They will tell you how brave he is."

Daia suspected Arlet wasn't being entirely truthful about Kinshield. "Where can I find him?"

Arlet shrugged. "I do not know where he lives. Mayhap townsfolks at inns or taverns knows him. He is big warrant knight with scars here." Arlet ran two fingers down the side of her face. "He will come back soon for his sword -- I will tell him to find you."

Daia thought it best if she found Kinshield first. She put her hand on the future queen's shoulder. "I'll find Risan. Try not to worry overmuch. If I must, I'll have the entire Viragon Sisterhood looking for him." She turned to leave.

"Miss Daia?" Arlet asked to her back. Daia turned around. Arlet took the dagger Daia had been admiring from the display case. "For helping Risan." She walked forward, the knife across her open palms, offering it to Daia.

Daia hesitated. She hadn't done anything to deserve it, only what any good citizen would do: promise to help the king.

"Please," Arlet said softly. "A fël cannot be refused."

With a nod, Daia took the knife, certain she was violating some code for accepting valour-gild before having earned it or for coveting a blade that had not been hers. Now she couldn't fail.

* * * * *

The house with yellow shutters, like its neighbors, sat four paces from the road. At the door, Daia paused to scrape the dirt from the soles of her boots on the edge of the stoop. The door swung open just as she raised her fist to knock.

"Vusar," the woman said with a mostly-toothless smile.

Some sort of Farthan greeting, Daia supposed. "Good evening. I came to--"

"Come in, please," the woman said, stepping back. Her filmy eyes were wide, but Daia got the impression by the way they were directed at her ear that the woman was blind.

The home had one room with a narrow bed in a corner behind a curtain not quite fully drawn. The scent of simmering herbs lingered in the air of the tidy home, reminding Daia of her mother's garden and prompting a pang of sadness that she pushed aside with a practiced effort. Without a lamp, the house grew dimmer by the moment as the dusk deepened. "I'm Daia Saberheart of the Viragon Sis--"

"No need for speaking. I find out what I need this way." The elderly Farthan closed the door, took Daia by the hands, and smiled as she rocked forward and back. Her hands felt warm and her skin dry. Her threadbare gray dress barely reached the tops of her ankles above straw slippers on her dainty feet.

Daia waited a few moments, but the woman said nothing. She continued to rock back and forth, holding Daia's hands in hers and grinning. Daia cleared her throat and said, "I came to ask you about--"

"Stay with me. I am searching for you long time. Long time."

This woman was mad, Daia decided. She must be at the wrong house.

"My name is Jennalia. You seek answers, I seek you, Vusar."

Daia was wasting her time. She just wanted to know what enchantment the mage had put on the sword. She shook off the old woman's hands and turned to leave. "I've made a mistake. I beg your pardon." Daia felt a wash of light prickles in her gut. So, the Farthan was a shadow-reader.

"You have questions about sword," Jennalia said, “but you also seek Risan Stronghammer.” Her eyelids fluttered over those clouded, staring eyes.

Daia stopped. "What? How do you know that?"

"I am not so blind. I see your intent in shadow," Jennalia said, moving her hands as if shaping a bubble around Daia's body. "Same way I see intent in Risan when he come with sword."

"What can you tell me about the sword? What enchantment did you put on it?"

The mage smiled, showing her five brown teeth. "Risan owes debt to man of sword. And he needs help from you."

If only the mage would tell her something she didn't already know. "Do you know where Risan is? Can you help me find him?”

"I do not know yet, same as you. But you are vusar. Will you stay and help me?"

"Stay? I must find Risan," Daia replied. "What do you need of me?"

"You are vusar."

Daia sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you are saying."

"Come. Sit. I show you." Jennalia went to a chair and patted its back. When Daia sat down, the old woman shuffled to a dresser and took something from a ceramic jar. She went to another chair and sat. She placed a pyramid-shaped stone on the table and set a ball of dried leaves, bound with thread, upon it. Waving her hand over the ball, she whispered a few words. The ball burst into light. It glowed like a miniature sun, brightening the room considerably. "For you. Now, I touch Risan. I try find him by his shadow." She gripped a gem in her fist and rocked in the chair. "I cannot see him. Will you help me?"

Daia realized what the woman was asking. "Yes, I'll try." She pushed outward with her mind and reached for Jennalia with her Gift. At once, she felt a fluttering sensation in her gut and knew the mage had taken the connection.

Daia felt as though part of her sailed through the air at unimaginable speed. She expected to feel wind on her face. The grip on her tightened like a python encircling her throat. Daia felt trapped, unable to breathe. She tried to pull back, but she could not get away. She struggled against the hold on her. Let... me... go! Suddenly, she rocked back in her chair, free.

"No need be frighten," Jennalia said. "I need draw your strength to see farther. You are powerful. Vusar is Farthan word means this ability you have. Most adept Farthan mystics meditate for whole lifetimes to try master this skill. You have without need of training. Very rare and special, but also dangerous for you. If mystic with bad intent joins to you, it will feel sticky like tar, like blackness. If you feel that, you must push all your strength against it. Do you understand?"

Daia shuddered. That feeling as she had left Sohan -- it had felt tacky, like... yes, like tar. Someone had tried to reach for her. Someone dark. "Yes, I think so."

The mage groped across the table and found Daia's hand, gripping it. "Stay, let me teach you. You can be most powerful like Farthan mystic if you learn how harness your gift - and protect it, too."

"I can't stay. I need to find Risan. Can you tell me where to look?"

Jennalia sighed and leaned back in her chair with a dim smile. "He not is in Ambryce anymore. Go north. I lost sight him past bridge. He is riding, but not on horseback - in carriage or wagon. After you help Risan, you need help knight. Then come see me and I will teach you."

"Knight? Do you mean Gavin Kinshield?" What would the mage know about Kinshield beyond enchanting his sword? "What can you tell me about him?"

Jennalia smiled and cocked her head, rocking back and forth. "If you keep open your eyes and your mind," she said, tapping her head, "you will see. You will see."

Chapter 19

Brawna took a deep breath before raising her fist and knocking on the guild mistress's door. She had never been summoned here before. Was she in trouble for something? Maybe Lilalian had second thoughts about promoting her to green sash.

"Come in," a voice called.

Lilalian sat behind Aminda's desk -- her desk now - shuffling through a stack of documents. Her wide smile looked forced, like a grimace. Bloodshot eyes twitched under a lowered brow. "Hail, Brawna."

Brawna bowed. The shock and sorrow over Aminda's unexpected death had affected all the women, but Lilalian seemed in distress. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the deepening lines on her face, and her disheveled appearance concerned Brawna. Lilalian didn't usually let herself become so weary. "How are you faring, m'lady?"

"How the hell do you think?" Lilalian snapped. She put a hand to her brow and rubbed it. "Sorry. I've not been resting well, and the nightmares... Never mind. I have a mission for you. Are you up for it?"

Brawna brightened. "Yes, m'lady. Thank you, m'lady."

"Don't thank me yet. It's not a glamorous assignment. Our black sashes are all out on other missions at the moment, so I'm sending you out with a brown sash. She's nearly ready for her final trial anyway."

"I understand, m'lady," Brawna replied. A brown sash. Lilalian must have had a lot of confidence in her to send her with a brown sash; mission rules mandated that green sashes may only accompany black sashes, and could never venture into the wilds alone.

"I've already explained the assignment to Enamaeria, so she's expecting you. I'll let her give you the details on your travels. While it doesn't promise much in the way of excitement, it's important, Brawna."

"I won't disappoint, m'lady." Brawna smiled broadly. Her first mission -- and with a brown sash, no less. She'd better sharpen her sword, maybe request an extra dagger from the armory. Oh, and the throwing axe her brother had given her when she told him she was joining the Viragon Sisterhood - she should put it in her knapsack. Maybe she'd finally have a chance to try it out on a real foe.

Lilalian watched her, smiling. Brawna felt blood rush to her face. Had the guild mistress said something? Was she waiting for a reply?

"I beg your pardon, m'lady," Brawna whispered.

"Remember the feeling. It quickly fades." Lilalian bent back to her papers.

Was she dismissed? Should she bow? Curtsey? No, that was stupid. Battlers didn't curtsey. Then Brawna noticed the chain around Lilalian's neck, disappearing under her tunic. A necklace? Battlers of the Viragon Sisterhood did not wear jewelry. What about the guild's philosophy of rejecting vanity? Had Lilalian always worn the necklace and Brawna just now noticed? No, she'd have seen it before now. Lilalian had definitely started wearing it since Aminda's death.

"You may go," Lilalian said without looking up.

"Yes, m'lady. Thank you again."

As Brawna reached for the doorknob, the door burst open. Cirang pushed past her, red-faced and sweaty. "Where's Aminda?" she asked. "Something terrible has happened."

Brawna waited to hear Cirang's news.

"Shut the door on your way out," Lilalian told her.

Brawna did as she was told, but paused outside the closed door. She would be harshly punished if she were caught listening, but she couldn't help herself. Cirang had been on a mission with Daia, and as Daia's friend, Brawna considered it her duty to find out if Daia had been injured.

"Beyonders attacked us," Cirang's muffled voice explained behind the door. "I must tell Aminda--"

"Aminda's not here, Cirang. Tell me what happened."

"Daia disobeyed my order during the battle. She ran off after one beyonder when signs indicated that more were nearby. JNese and I fought them as best we could, but they far outnumbered us. We called for Daia, screamed for her to stay. When she finally returned and saw the others, she tried to kill one of them with a throw of her knife, but she missed. JNese is dead, m'lady. Daia killed her."

Brawna gasped and then slapped a hand over her mouth. This could not be. Daia was a skilled battler, probably the best in the guild. She wouldn't miss and hit a fellow Sister.

"Are you certain?" Lilalian asked. "Where is Daia now? I want to hear her telling of the story."

"I don't know. I hoped she'd have returned by now. The Lordover Tern wouldn't grant us an audience, so JNese and I caught up with her to journey back to Sohan together. After the incident with the beyonders, she panicked and ran off. I yelled for her to come back, told her it was an accident and she wouldn't be charged, but she didn't return. She still has the merchant's payment and the money Tennara had collected."

Brawna narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. This was a lie. Daia would never behave so dishonorably. Why would Cirang say such things? How could Lilalian believe such a ludicrous tale? To paint Daia as a murderer and a thief - how could she? How dare she?

"Cirang, I don't know what to think of all this. I need to hear from Daia. Did you bring JNese's body?"

"I could not, m'lady. Her horse died in the attack, and I barely escaped with my own life. I know where she is. We can return with a wagon for her."

A clatter followed.

"I pulled it from JNese's chest. It's Daia's, m'lady."

Brawna cocked her head. Daia's knife? No. This couldn't be. Daia wouldn't have done this. Cirang was a two-faced, lying whore.

"Gather a team to retrieve our fallen Sister. But first, Cirang, there's something I must tell you about Aminda."

Brawna took the opportunity to sneak down the stairs. All right, think about this a minute. There must be some explanation for it. JNese was dead and Daia faulted. What was happening to the Sisterhood? First Aminda died, now this.

Brawna walked to the garrison with her head down. Going on her first mission was not as exciting as it should have been. A part of her wished she could stay and await Daia's return. She would come back. She had to come back.

Chapter 20

The carriage rattled and creaked as it headed north. On the rear-facing seat, Risan swayed with its movement. He looked out the window, watching the scenery pass and grow distant behind the carriage.

He tried to ignore his captor, who slapped the curving blade of a knife repeatedly against his open palm. If Risan could get his hands on Aldras Gar, lying across the Nilmarion's lap, he might stand a chance of defeating his abductor. He did not dare speak the weapon's name without having it firmly in hand, lest it bind itself to the man who had called himself Sithral Tyr.

"I'm sorry I had to spell you with the serragan powder," Tyr said, "but I could not take the chance you'd call out an alarm. It's important we have a chance to talk."

The dizziness had subsided considerably, but not completely. With a quick turn of his head, the world around him tilted and spun, and Risan did not trust his judgment enough to attempt to overpower his captor. Not yet.

"Now then," Tyr said, "why don't you tell me about how you solved the King's Runes?"

Risan blinked. He realized that his mouth had fallen open and snapped it shut. So, Tyr wanted Gavin. But how did he find out...? Risan cringed mentally. His big mouth had brought this upon his head. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"Don't shit on my spoon, Risan Stronghammer." Tyr patted the sword lovingly. "The Rune Stones are in this fine sword of yours -- beg pardon -- of mine."

Risan would sooner die before he revealed Gavin's name. If Tyr wanted the answer to the remaining runes, Risan would let him think he was the right man. Once Tyr discovered the truth, he wouldn't risk having Risan live to tell his tale.

"Tell me how you solved the runes, or learn the limit of your tolerance for pain." The Nilmarion's accent had a way of making everything he said sound like the song of a bard, even a threat such at that.

"I meditate," Risan said. "Ancient Farthan way of explore inner realm."

"And you will meditate the solution to the fourth rune for me.”

Risan shrugged. "Answer comes when answer comes. One cannot force it."

"Well, you had better hope it comes soon."

"Traveler approaching," the coachman called out.

Tyr slid the window open and leaned his head out, then closed it again and moved to sit on Risan's right. "You'd be wise not to utter a sound as he passes."

Risan peered out first one window then the next, eager to catch a glimpse of the traveler. If he were to grab the door handle, fling it open, and dive out before his captor had a chance to react, the traveler could aid his escape.

A deep voice called out, "Hail and good day." It sounded vaguely familiar.

Risan's hands grew moist and his muscles tensed. Wait... wait...

"Good day to you, sir," the coachman responded.

The traveler passed the window on Risan's right: a dark-haired man wearing a sword on his back and riding atop a large gray horse. Is that--? Gavin! It is! It is Gavin Kinshield.

Risan opened his mouth to call out, flinching as he started to stand and grab for the handle of the carriage door.

A blade pressed at his throat.

He pulled back slowly, trying to escape the sharp tip of the knife.

"You don't want to do that," Tyr said quietly.

Risan watched through the carriage window as Gavin rode past. Turn around, Gavin. Look at me. Please, look at me.

"There now, that wasn't so bad." Tyr moved back to his seat and smiled, warping the tattoos around his mouth.

With a heavy heart, Risan watched out the rear window of the carriage as Gavin and his warhorse grew smaller in the distance.

* * * * *

For two days, Risan sat with his hands and ankles tied as the carriage made its way slowly northward. At night the Nilmarion blew more powder into his face and gagged him with a length of burlap while they slept alongside the road. On the third day of travel, the carriage slowed and stopped, but Tyr made no move to exit. He leaned over to look out the window, then settled back in his seat and continued to stare at Risan.

"You're late," a voice from outside called out.

Risan looked out the side window to see a battler lead a saddled warhorse to the rear of the carriage. He considered calling to the battler for help, but quickly realized the man would offer Risan no assistance. After a minute, the carriage door opened and the battler climbed in.

A blond with a thin beard lining his jaw, he sat beside Risan on the rear-facing seat and looked him over. He was dressed in a blue waistcoat, uncharacteristically elegant for a battler. "So you're the one." The carriage started moving again.

"Do you have my prize?" Tyr asked him.

In reply, the blond reached into a pocket and withdrew a black velvet pouch. "You should be aware," he said as he handed the pouch to Tyr, "that someone is looking for you: a Viragon Sister by the name of Daia Saberheart."

Risan's ears perked. Daia? The swordswoman who'd wanted to talk to him? He fought back a grin. Surely she was aware by now that Risan was missing. Perhaps in time, she would track them to... wherever they were going.

From the pouch, Sithral Tyr withdrew a necklace. A diamond pendant dangled from the gold chain, throwing sparks of color in every direction. "Toren, you have outdone yourself," Tyr breathed. He gave the pendant a gentle flick to send the diamond spinning.

"We are upscores, then?"

"Not quite," Tyr said with a smile. He put the necklace into the pouch and pocketed it. "With the help of our friend, here, your debt will soon be paid, as will mine. Take a look at this." Tyr handed Aldras Gar to the battler.

Toren whistled. "This is quite the sword. Did you make this?" he asked Risan.

Risan said nothing. Please be silent, he begged the weapon.

Toren cocked his head. "What's that...?" He looked at Risan and furrowed his brow. "What heathen magic is this? It must be enchanted. It's trying to tell me something. Is this some kind of trick?”

Risan pretended to try to hide a smile. Let the stupid battler believe it was a trick. If he feared speaking the weapon's name, Risan would have time to get it and kill him with it.

"Enchanted?" Tyr asked. "The sword said nothing to me. Perhaps it speaks only to the weak-minded."

Toren narrowed his eyes and put on a disgusted expression. "Take the cursed thing. It's an offense to Asti-nayas and makes my skin creep to touch it."

Tyr shrugged and took back the sword. "Tell me about this swordswoman. What does she want with me?"

"She didn't say. She approached me at the Lucky Inn the evening you were there, asking about you."

"By name?"

Toren shook his head. "By description."

Tyr smiled. "I believe I know who you mean. Attractive young lady. It is a trifling matter. She won't find us -- unless Domach made a blunder and told her where to look."

"Apparently she did not think to ask him.”

Chapter 21

When Warrick came into the library, stomping and cursing and frothing like a mad beyonder, Brodas put his book down and gestured to the guest chair.

"Tell me what is wrong," Brodas said in a soothing voice.

"Red. I gave him a simple task. 'Just go to the gemsmith's and get a few magic-grade gems,' I told him. 'Bargain for the best price, and be aggressive about it.' So what does the idiot do? He kills the gemsmith and runs out with a chest full of the highest quality gems in the shop."

"Did anyone follow him here?" Brodas asked, leaning forward. He felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch.

"He says no."

"So, you're upset because?" Brodas relaxed again, smiling. An entire chestful.

"The chest has some kind of lock on it. Red killed the gemsmith before he opened the chest."

Warrick didn't normally let such an insignificant thing as a lock frustrate him this way. "Why the concern over a mere lock? Break it off with an axe. Break the chest if you must."

"I can't. That's what is so maddening. It's no ordinary lock, Brodas. It's a carved wooden creature - a gargoyle judging by its hideous appearance - with onyxes for eyes."

Onyxes? "This I must see. Show me."

Warrick stormed through the manor and out the back door, muttering to himself. Brodas followed, shaking his head with amused resignation.

The box sat on the back step, with Red standing before it, holding an axe and scratching his head. It looked like an ordinary rectangular wooden chest roughly a foot in length and a half-foot high and deep. Its hinges were invisible, and it had a simple silver clasp on the front, tarnished but otherwise in good repair.

On the lid of the box sat a wooden gargoyle, slightly lighter in color than its perch and about three inches tall. Indeed, tiny onyxes were set into its eye sockets, but despite their size, Brodas knew with his first glance that they were fine quality gems.

"What happens when you try to open it?" Brodas asked.

"It burns, m'lord," Red said. He pointed at the gargoyle with the axe handle. "You can touch the box without a problem, but soon as you try to lift the lid, snap! It gets you."

"You've tried to dislodge the gargoyle?"

"Yeh. I tried chopping it off. That spark ran up the axe handle. The thing flew right out of my hand."

Brodas sat on the step beside it and turned it to get a good look at the gems. "Did you try prying the onyxes out of it?"

"Gouging its eyes out?" Red asked with a snort. "No, didn't try that."

"Warrick, give that a try.”

Warrick gave the box a wary look, then handed his dagger to Brodas. "Be my guest."

Warrick's reluctance gave Brodas pause. He handed the knife to Red.

Red chewed his lip and reached hesitantly to take the knife. "I don't think this'll work either, m'lord."

"You won't know until you try it." Brodas rose to his feet and stepped back onto the dying grass covering the courtyard.

Red slapped the blade against his palm a few times, perhaps to gather his courage, and stepped up to the chest. Holding the knife handle with three fingers, he poked the blade half-heartedly at the gargoyle's right eye. The moment the tip of the knife touched the onyx, a blue flash charged up the length of the blade to the hilt. A spark crackled where Red held the grip, and he jerked back with a hiss. The knife fell to the ground.

"Damn," Red said, shaking his hand.

"Interesting," Brodas mused. If he created a protective barrier, Red could withstand the shock long enough to get the gems out of the gargoyle. "Wait here." He hurried to his library and grabbed a pair of his few remaining gems. That would leave only three, but if it worked, he would have the entire chestful to work with.

When he returned, Red stepped back as though anticipating what was to come.

"I'm going to put a protective spell on you," Brodas said. "This will keep you from suffering the pain of the gargoyle. Get your knife."

Red bent for the knife with a sigh. Brodas glanced at Warrick and rolled his eyes, prompting a chuckle from his cousin.

"I suppose you want me to pry the eyes out?"

"Exactly. Ready?"

At Red's reluctant nod, Brodas opened his palm and focused on the gems, then pushed the spell of protection toward the battler. The gems in his hand cracked into bits. "Now!"

Red grabbed the back of the gargoyle's head with one hand and plunged the knife into its right eye. He twisted the blade, digging the tip into the socket. A growl gurgled up from his throat through gritted teeth. With a yip, he yanked the knife away and threw it on the ground. "Damn it." He shook his hand, sucking in his breath.

"Why did you stop? You were doing well."

"M'lord, the thing wasn't budging. Even with your spell, it hurt like a bitch."

Brodas sighed. "All right. Let me study it for a while and see if I can find a way to defeat it."

"Maybe we can find the gargoyle's maker," Warrick said. "Ask him how to get it off."

"Good idea. Why don't you both ask around in the market. And don't kill anyone. I don't need the lordover's armsmen coming around asking questions."

Chapter 22

On arriving in Ambryce, Gavin led Golam to the Good Knight Inn, took his satchel, and handed the reins to the stable hand. Stepping over the broken step leading to the porch, he lifted the door and shoved it hard enough to squeeze through the opening.

"Trayev, you here?" he called out as he set his bag on the floor.

The innkeeper swept aside the curtain and walked in. "Gavin, what a surprise."

"I said I'd be back in a week."

"You also said you'd fix the door."

Gavin sighed. "I know. I'll fix it tomorrow."

"You promise, right?" Trayev said with a sardonic grin.

Gavin glared at Trayev. He did not find it humorous. "I'll fix it tomorrow." He took his leather bag and headed to his usual room.

After stripping off his shirt, rinsing it in the small wash pan and hanging it to dry, Gavin took a sniff under his arms and then wiped himself down with soapy water. He put on one of the new tunics Liera had sewn for him and headed toward the museum, his steps heavy on the pavement. He did not relish the task of telling the curator he'd lost Calewen's Pendant, but if he got it over with now, he could spend the rest of the evening in the tavern without it weighing on his mind.

* * * * *

The Gwanry Museum of History appeared to have been a house at one time, with what had probably been a sitting room, music room, dining hall and kitchen on the ground floor, and some unknown number of rooms upstairs. Now, each of the rooms downstairs contained rows of shelves on which various artifacts were neatly arranged. One room was dedicated to the reign of King Arek, displaying letters he and the queen had written, gifts they had given to others, items they had once touched, worn or owned. Gavin was unfamiliar with the other rooms; he'd never visited them.

When he stepped into the foyer, a smartly dressed woman rounded the corner. "May I help-- Gavin." She smiled broadly and curtsied.

Gavin took her delicate hand in his calloused one and bowed over it. "M'lady Tolia, always a pleasure." He planted a kiss on its back.

Tolia giggled and patted her gray-streaked brown hair as though to tuck up a stray lock. "May I bring you some tea?"

"Got any ale?" he asked with a grin.

She laughed and patted his arm. "I'm afraid we're out of ale today. Feel free to browse the exhibit. Stay as long as you'd like. Oh. We have something new you'd be interested in seeing. Come, let me show you." She waved him to follow her into the next room and stopped at the back wall. They stood side by side and looked up at a portrait on the wall.

Gavin did not recognize the child's face, but the golden brown eyes looked right through him, piercing his heart. "Who is she?"

"Ronor Kinshield's daughter. She was just four years old when she died. Dagaz. Isn't that an odd name for a girl?"

Gavin felt his knees weaken. That was the name he called Caevyan in his recurring dream. No. It couldn't be. Surely he had misheard.

"Her death was so tragic. Apparently, Ronor's suicide followed not long after, but you can't really blame him. His inability to protect the king and queen must have been devastating, and when the Lordover Tern declared him a hero for saving the Rune Tablet, his guilt must have gotten the better of him. It's no wonder he became a drunkard. But then to watch his own daughter get impaled on-"

"Stop," Gavin choked. "Please. Stop."

"I'm sorry, Gavin. Did I say something wrong?"

He tore his eyes from the painting and looked down at Tolia. A sympathetic line creased her brow. "Actually I'm in a hurry," he said. "I've got to talk to the overseer."

"Mr. Surraent? Oh yes, come to think of it, he did mention you would be by. I'll show you to his office."

"No need. I can find it," Gavin said. He had to get away from that painting. Those eyes.

"Upstairs and to the left. It's the room at the end of the hall."

Gavin gave her a nod and as much of a smile as he could manage, then cast one last look at the portrait. He took the wooden steps two at a time while he chewed on what he'd learned.

Dagaz had been Ronor's daughter. But it was Caevyan in Gavin's dream, not a stranger. Gavin understood why Ronor had fallen into the drink. He'd done it himself after Talisha and Caevyan were killed, and often wondered how he'd managed to survive it.

Plush red carpeting muffled his footsteps as he walked down the hall past four closed doors. The one at the far end stood open.

Inside his office, the curator sat hunched over a wide desk littered with books and papers. Shelves loaded with papers in haphazard piles lined the wall, and on their tops sat broken pieces of pottery and sculptures. Gavin rapped on the door. Laemyr flinched and knocked over a glass, spilling its contents onto the desk.

Laemyr's left eye was swollen and black. His bent spectacles sat crookedly upon his nose. "Oh. Gavin, you're back. You startled me." He gestured to the pair of wooden chairs in front of the desk. "Please have a seat while I clean up this mess." Laemyr moved the books and papers to one side and dabbed at the spilt water with a handkerchief.

"What the hell happened to you?" Gavin pulled the scabbard from his back and leaned the sword against the desk. The chair creaked when he sat down.

"Oh, I'm just clumsy. It's of no consequence."

Judging from the way Laemyr had flinched when Gavin knocked, he was frightened, not clumsy. "I've got some bad news," Gavin started.

"You didn't find the pendant?"

"Oh, I found it. It has some writing on it, did you know that?"

Laemyr cocked his head. "I did not. What does it say?"

"'A promise to transcend death. Forever yours.' Do you know what it means?"

"It sounds familiar." The curator reached for a thick tome and began to flip pages. "Arek was fond of proverbs, so it's likely a reference to one of them... Hmmm. Sorry," he said looking up. "It's not here, but I'll try to find it for you. Do you have the pendant? May I see it?"

"That's the bad news. On my way back to Ambryce someone stole it."

Laemyr pushed his spectacles farther up his nose. "But you will go after it again, won't you?"

Gavin had expected a different reaction: anger, annoyance, concern, surprise. But Laemyr's face looked eager, hopeful. Strange that he wasn't upset about it. "Of course. It'll take some time though."

"That man sure is a wily one."

"What man?"

Laemyr gaped at him for a moment, then forced a nervous laugh. "How silly of me to think a man could ever wrest it from your powerful grasp. Why, you'd sooner kill him than let him take it from you - I could see it in your eyes the day we met. It had to have been a woman using seduction and trickery. That's the only way--"

"You're not answering my question." How did Laemyr know so much about it? "Who stole it?"

"I-I don't know. Perhaps she is just a petty thief with a stroke of good fortune. How could she possibly have known to target you?"

"That's what I want you to tell me," Gavin said. His voice got louder as his annoyance increased.

"I'm telling you I don't know." Laemyr's downcast eyes said otherwise.

Gavin relaxed his gaze. A shimmering haze grew outward from Laemyr's body. At the level of his head, yellowish smudges marred an otherwise blue bubble of light. Laemyr was lying.

He narrowed his focus again and met the curator's enormous blue eyes, which stared behind his spectacles like those of an opossum awoken in the daylight. "Why didn't you tell me someone else was after it?"

Laemyr stuttered for a moment while he fussed with the items on his desk. "Not someone else. Just Tyr.” He got up and shut the door, then sat in the chair beside Gavin. "Sithral Tyr did a favor for me several years ago. A big favor. Ever since then, he has asked for recompense time and again. I could not seem to repay this debt, no matter what I did.

"He is clever and well-connected. This favor-swapping is how he does his business. He finds a way to make people indebted to him, and then he exploits them. He has such associates everywhere. He does favors for anyone: battlers, scholars, merchants, bards, tavern maids, prostitutes, even a lordover. Once someone owes him a favor, they have to keep paying until he is satisfied or bad things will happen. Very bad things.

"Some time ago," Laemyr went on, "the Lordover Ambryce had asked me to care for some of the artifacts at the Grand Mausoleum and showed me how to open the lock -- a keyless lock that works by magic. Tyr found out about my work in the mausoleum and asked me to help him get into Queen Calewen's shrine. He promised that if I helped him get the pendant, my debt would be paid. I refused. The next day my sister..." Laemyr paused and took a deep breath. "...died in a bizarre carriage accident. He came to see me the morning after her funeral and repeated his request. Again I refused. That afternoon my father slipped and drowned in a watering hole," he said, his voice rising in pitch. A tear ran down his face. He took a moment to compose himself. "My point is that Tyr has ways to get to you, possibly magical ways. Anyone you met along your journey could have been watching and reporting to him. If you mentioned the pendant to anyone..."

The barmaid. In front of Gavin's drinking companions, she'd asked if he had found the diamond. Damn it. He needed to have a few words with her. Surely, his battler companions had had nothing to do with the theft. Warrant knights were an honorable lot; they lived by a code. Although Domach had no warrant tag, Gavin had known him for years. He wouldn't have been involved in such treachery.

"Tyr came to see me two days ago," Laemyr said. "He told me he had someone watching for you." He pointed to his bruised eye. "He did this. Somehow he knew I’d hired you to get the pendant back. He threatened to kill me if I didn't just drop the matter, but I can't.”

Gavin sighed. He was starting to get a headache, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know why not?"

"The pendant has part of King Arek's essence bound to it."

King Arek's spirit bound to the diamond? No wonder it had affected Gavin so profoundly.

"Tyr works for a wizard," Laemyr said. "Someone named Ravenheart or some such."

All the muscles in Gavin's body tightened at once. "Ravenkind? Brodas Ravenkind?"

"Yes, that's him. Tyr told me once that Ravenkind intends to extract Arek's essence from the pendant so he could become Wayfarer. You've got to save what's left of King Arek's spirit."

Brodas Ravenkind. Damn it. Gavin had hoped never to hear that name again. "Listen," he said. "This is serious. I need all the facts. I need to see the letter."

"What letter?"

"Don't play games with me, Surraent. Ronor Kinshield's letter."

Laemyr stood and backed away. "I-I don't actually have it, you see."

"What?" Gavin rose slowly from the chair.

"It's at the Institute of Scholarly Studies in Sohan. The sage promised me a copy of it in trade for loaning them the pendant to study. If you give me the pendant, we both get the letter."

"You lying bastard. How can I trust anything you say?"

"I know, Gavin, I'm sorry. Listen, I'll pay you the second half of your fee. Here." He dug in his coin purse and came up with two large silver coins. "And two more when you deliver the pendant."

Gavin pocketed the coins. "I hate to tell you this, but since you helped Tyr steal Calewen's Pendant, you're an accomplice." He drew his dagger. "I've got to brand you as a criminal."

"Wait, Gavin. Please, listen. I did not help him steal it. He must have had his henchman follow me to the Mausoleum, because once I opened the lock, the thief pushed me inside and blew some powder in my face. I was overcome with dizziness. I tried to stop him. You must believe me."

Gavin sighed. He believed it. Damn it. This information would have been helpful to know before he'd left on the mission. Now it looked like he would have to confront Brodas Ravenkind. The man who'd murdered his family.

Chapter 23

A sign hung by one corner from a rusted chain attached to the eve of a building, and swung gently in the breeze. The first gust from the approaching storm would surely bring it down altogether. “The Good Knight Inn,” it read, painted over several times. Rectangles of darker paint on the walls looked like the ghosts of window shutters from years past. Several large boot prints marked new pine steps.

Daia jogged up and opened the door to the lobby. A musty smell wrinkled her nose. “Is anyone here?” she asked.

Patches of plaster had fallen off the walls, baring the brick outer wall behind it. The floor creaked as she walked to the counter.

A man pushed past a brown plaid curtain, about Daia’s height with a bit of gray at his temples. His right hand and half of his forearm was missing, and he held the arm, elbow bent, against his round belly. “Help you, Lady Sister?”

"Good afternoon. I'm looking for someone. Some men at the tavern down the street thought you might know him - Gavin Kinshield?"

“Don’t know what you’d be wanting Gavin for, but if you’re here to make trouble, I’ll have none of it.”

Daia smiled. “I assure you, sir, I’ve never met the man. I merely seek his help with a quest.”

“I see. Come with me, then.” He came around the desk and started toward the door.

“By the way,” Daia asked as she followed him out, “did a Nilmarion man happen to stay the night here last night or the night before?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He went down the steps to the dirt road in front of the inn. Shielding his eyes with the flat of his hand, he looked up. “Gavin,” he shouted. Daia followed his gaze and saw the head of a man poke up over the peak of the roof. “Someone’s here to see you.”

He came over the top of the roof and down the front slope to the nearest edge. Daia caught herself staring.

Not only the look of him made her gape, but also the strength that radiated from him. This power had nothing to do with physical strength, although she could plainly see he had that in abundance. His well-muscled chest and arms rippled as he squatted at the edge of the roof. No, something was different about him. He had a commanding presence, the sort of man one could not help notice enter a room.

They looked at each other for a long moment without speaking. The intensity of his gaze might have made some people squirm, but Daia found herself drawn in by it. She was tempted to connect to him using her gift to see how he would react. There would be time for that later.

His head cocked slightly, he looked down at her from the roof while a breeze ruffled his dark mop of hair. Two or three days’ growth of stubble darkened his face, whose long scars she could plainly see from where she stood. Despite his roughened appearance, he radiated warmth and caring. Benevolence.

“Are you Gavin Kinshield?” she called. Inwardly, she cringed. Of course he is, dunce.

“I am. Who might you be?” His voice, resonant and masculine, reminded her of a spring so deep it had no bottom, a voice any bard would kill for.

“I’m Daia Saberheart of the Viragon Sisterhood.”

“What does the Sisterhood want with me?” A gap between his teeth showed when he spoke.

“I need your help with a quest. Would you come down here so that I might speak with you?”

“I’m in the middle of fixing a roof.”

“How’s it looking up there?” the innkeeper asked.

Gavin looked toward the dark clouds approaching from the north. “I expect to have it done afore the storm gets here, but the mortar won’t be fully dry. I need something to cover the patch.”

“I’ll hunt around in the shed for something. About three feet wide, do you think?” the innkeeper asked.

“That should do it. And while you’re in there, see if you can find a few nails. You got a piece of fencing behind the inn that needs righting. Might as well do it while I’m here - and afore a big gust of wind knocks it--”

“This is important, if you please,” Daia said.

“Maybe you ha’nt noticed,” Gavin said, “but a storm is coming this way. I think this is more important. As much as I’m looking forward to nuzzling that pretty neck of yours, you’ll have to wait.”

If she hadn’t needed his help, she might have reddened his ears with a string of insults. Instead, she clenched her teeth and muttered a few curse words under her breath. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all.

Gavin smiled, drawing attention to his missing right eyetooth. “I’ll be at the tavern down the road later. If you want to talk, you can come up here and help me finish this roof, or find me later for an ale.”

Without replying, she turned and headed to the tavern. This was going to be painful. An ale or two might help.

* * * * *

Gavin donned a new tunic before going to meet Daia that evening. He ran his hands down his chest trying to smooth some of the wrinkles, but realized the futility of it.

She was certainly comely, but there was something more, something intriguing about her in the way she carried herself like a woman of nobility. Yet, she wore men’s trousers and a sword on her hip. He found the glitter in her eyes as attractive as the smile lines that framed her mouth. She radiated sophistication and class, but also strength and competence.

He’d never known a Viragon Sister, though he had joined a few in battle over the years. They tended to sit amongst themselves or alone in taverns, sharing neither drinks nor tales with battler men. Their mystery and aloofness had fascinated Gavin, and now he would sit and share a drink with one of their lovelier members. Gavin found himself hoping she would like him.

He made his way to the tavern, and within a hundred feet of its doorstep, a few drops of rain tapped his head and shoulders. A low rumble of the approaching storm warned the scurrying townsfolk to find their homes.

A blonde pigtailed girl, not more than three years old, galloped across the road on a small wooden horse, its lopsided wheels rattling. Ahead, a man came out of the tavern arguing with himself in a slurred jumble of obscenities and gesturing wildly as he stumbled across the road. Gavin saw what was going to happen, but even breaking into a run, he could not reach the girl in time. The drunk caught the wooden horse with a foot. He pitched forward, yanking the toy out from under the child with a clatter. She tumbled to the ground.

Her cries brought the man’s hands to his ears. “Shut up. Shut the hell up,” he shouted while he struggled to untangle himself from the toy.

The little girl cried out, “Papa!” In that brief moment, Gavin saw a copper-haired girl, her wide eyes pleading for his help, her arms reaching for him.

Without a second thought, Gavin scooped up the child, sinking at the same time to one knee. He set her on his other leg bent in front of him like a bench. His finger was huge and rough against the perfect silk of her skin as he wiped away a tear. “There now, leave off with your hollering. You’re not killed, are you?” he asked in a soft voice.

The little girl hesitated, then shook her head, quieting her sobs to sniffles.

“Awright then, what say you? Shall I let him live, the rogue that offended Your Ladyship, or not?”

She wrinkled her brow for a moment as though giving the matter serious consideration. At last she raised her eyes to those of her knight and declared, “Let him live.”

Gavin fought to keep a straight face as he gazed into such solemn blue eyes. He nodded once. “Well, if he bothers you again just let me know. I’m at your service, m’lady.” With gentle hands, though scarred and calloused, he set her down and patted her back while he rose to his feet. When she gazed up at him with eyes now so innocent and trusting, he felt a pang of grief and joy. He would have given anything to bring the sweet look of his own little girl back into his life.

The child’s father rushed up to them with an expression that went from anger to confusion to understanding. He gave Gavin a tenuous smile and nod as he bent to tend his daughter’s scrapes.

Daia stood at the entrance of the tavern with her arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. As Gavin neared, she gifted him with a devilish grin. “Imagine that. A warrant knight possessed of a tender heart.”

“What would you say about the one who stood by and did nothing?” he asked as he stopped and stood before her.

Her gaze held his. Never had he seen eyes so light a shade of blue. Strands of her dark auburn hair escaped from their long braid and fluttered across her face. Damn, she was beautiful. He imagined what that face might look like contorted in ecstasy beneath him, the dark hair flowing across a pillow. Gavin tossed his head in the direction of the tavern, inviting her to sit with him for a drink, and went in.

“Hail Kinshield,” several of the alehouse patrons sang. They lifted their tankards.

“I see she caught up with ya, eh Gavin?” “Someone’s goin’ to get somethin’ tonight.” “Tell us about it t’morrow.” The other men hooted and whistled.

Gavin and Daia made their way through the stares and suggestive remarks to a table in the back corner. The barkeep came over, drying his hands on a dirty towel.

“Ale?” Gavin asked Daia. When she nodded, he said, “Two tankards.”

“Four pielars in advance.”

Gavin leaned back in his chair, tilting it up onto two legs while he dug into his pocket for the coins. To his surprise and delight, the swordswoman opened her purse first and gave the barkeep a kion.

“Keep them coming until this is gone,” she said. “Bring some food, too.”

Gavin smiled and inclined his head. “Awright, you got my ear. What is it you wanted?” He rocked the chair back and forth, balanced on its rear legs.

“I’m looking for a man—”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Back to my room, then. I’m all the man you’ll ever want.” He let his eyes caress her, taking note of her delicate nose and smooth complexion. Under a thin upper lip, her plump red lower lip jutted out in a perpetual pout. She wore a sleeveless dark blue tunic, showing off muscles so large and well-defined, his eyes went to her chest to be sure she really was a woman. And she was, he accepted with certainty. No man, no matter how heavy, could sport breasts so perfectly shaped. His eyes lingered there a moment too long, for she cleared her throat. He raised his eyes to meet hers and grinned.

“A kidnap victim, Kinshield.” Her voice held more than a hint of exasperation. “He was abducted from his home during the night.”

“How much is the family paying?”

“Nothing.”

“So he’s a friend of yours.”

“Actually, he’s a friend of yours.”

Gavin raised his brows. “Who?”

“Risan Stronghammer.”

The front two legs of Gavin’s chair banged on the floor. “The blacksmith?”

“That’s right. His wife told me I should find you. Do you know who might have kidnapped him?”

Gavin groaned and buried his face in his hands. Of all the rotten luck. Who indeed? And why? If he was into some illicit business... but that was unlike Risan Stronghammer. He seemed an honorable man.

“Kinshield?”

Gavin looked up. “No,” he said quietly, rubbing his palms down his stubbly face.

“The kidnapper also stole the sword Risan made for you.”

“Bloody hell,” he spat and pounded his fist on the table.

“What kind of enchantment did it have on it?”

Gavin scowled. “Enchantment? It ain’t enchanted.”

The swordswoman blinked at him. “Stronghammer had a mage put an ancient Farthan enchantment on it.”

“Why would he do a fool thing like that?”

“Something about a repayment? I understand you saved his wife from--”

“Yeh, but the sword would’ve been more than enough reward. Hell. So the Sisterhood is on this mission?” he asked. It wouldn’t matter; he would set out on his own if need be. The pendant could wait. He hoped.

“I am on this mission. Hopefully you are, too. I’ve never met Stronghammer but you have.”

If she had never met him, how did she know more about the situation than Gavin did? He wondered if she already knew about the gems in the sword and was just baiting him to see how much he would tell her.

Gavin relaxed his gaze until he saw the haze hovering around her body, egg-shaped and colorful. Most of her haze was clear blue with a yellow ring near the top. A swirling cloud of orange swept outward from her abdomen. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but his gut told him she had no ill intent.

“My, my,” she said with a grin. “A warrant knight, tender heart and a shadow reader.”

“Shhhh!” he hissed, looking around to see if anyone had overheard. No one knew about his new skills and he preferred to keep it that way. “How’d you know that?” he whispered.

Daia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not without my own talents. And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you didn’t invade my privacy by looking at me that way.”

“It isn’t shadows,” he said. “It’s hazes. And I’ll leave yours alone if you don’t bring up the subject in public.”

“Fair enough.” She smiled secretively. “I am surprised, though. You seem like such a... ‘ranter.” She wrinkled her nose as though she had smelled something foul.

Gavin felt the hairs on his neck stand up. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“You sound like a peasant.”

“I’m not ashamed of where I come from. Are you?”

She looked him over and shrugged. “Now, about this sword of yours: if I’m not mistaken, it’s rather important.”

“Sure. Important to me.”

“Important to Lady Arlet, too. She’s nearly as concerned about getting it back as she is for her husband’s safety. Why would that be?”

Gavin took a long draw of his ale while he considered his reply. If Daia didn’t already know about the gems, he’d prefer to keep it that way. After letting out a long, loud belch, he said, “I’m thinking the Farthans take their debt repayment seriously. I tried to refuse the offer and almost kissed Risan’s fists. So you’re telling me you don’t have any idea who we’re after.”

Daia leaned back in her chair and studied him a moment before answering. “I have only a description. He received the same information about Risan that I did,” Daia replied at last. “I wasn’t sure at the time that he’d try to find Lord Stronghammer, but since Stronghammer’s missing, I must list him as the principal suspect.”

“Just so we’re duelin’ with the same weapons, what information are you talkin’ --”

A crack of thunder cut him off. The pelting of the rain on the roof grew suddenly louder and harder.

“Oh, callibisters,” Daia said. “I need to question a few more innkeepers before it gets too late.” She stood and drained her ale. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. The kidnapper has already left town, heading north. Be ready at daybreak. I’ll find out what I can tonight, and at the very least we can ask around at the Lucky Inn.”

As she walked through the tavern to the door, one man reached out and patted her backside. Daia grabbed the man by the hair with one hand and yanked him backward so far that he teetered on the rear legs of his chair. She slammed her other fist into his face. The fool crashed to the floor, tumbled over backward with sprawling legs, and knocked into the table behind him, spilling ale everywhere.

“Anyone else care to try that?” she asked, looking around.

The tavern was as quiet as a tomb except for Gavin’s amused chuckle. He lifted his mug to her in a gesture of respect and agreement. He might actually enjoy this mission.

Chapter 24

Drenched to the skin, Daia trudged through the downpour from one inn to the next, describing the Nilmarion to everyone who would listen. In her palm, she carried a kion, ready to offer anyone who could give her some useful information. But no one reported seeing her quarry.

As glad as she was that Gavin would help her on this mission, she felt uneasy about traveling with him. The prospect of bearing his lecherous grin or brutish manners didn't concern her. She felt, inexplicably, that she had to protect him. That notion was absurd, of course. A one-eyed blind man could see he could fend for himself and a dozen of her. Yet there was something unusual about him. Something significant. He reminded her of quicksand: seemingly ordinary on the surface, but with a hidden depth dangerous to the unwary. Well, she wouldn't be caught off her guard. She would discover the secret Arlet tried to protect.

Pulling open the door of another inn, Daia thought she could not be any colder or wetter. The warmth of the air inside the inn’s lobby sent a shudder of pleasure through her.

Across the floor lay a beautiful plush rug of red, burgundy and gold, and she didn’t have the heart to walk across it, dripping as she was. When she stopped at its edge, she caught the thankful expression on the face of the innkeeper as he hurried over, his round belly jiggling.

“Do you need a room, Lady Sister?” he asked.

“I’m looking for someone; I hoped he’d be staying here. Nilmarion man...”

“If you’re speaking of Lord Tyr, I’m afraid he’s already left.”

“Tyr, that must be him,” Daia said. “What is his first name?”

The innkeeper regarded her with narrowed eyes. “You’re not a friend of Lord Tyr?”

“I won’t lie to you -- I don’t know him. But a serious crime has been committed, and I think he may have some information that could help me capture the perpetrator.” Not quite a lie.

“Oh, I hope he’s not in any danger,” the innkeeper said with a hand to his heart.

“No, I don’t think so. Was he traveling with a swordsman, perchance? Blond, with a thin beard?”

Daia flashed the silver coin in her hand. The innkeeper smiled as he accepted it. “None that I saw.”

“Can you describe his mount?”

“Oh, a gentleman like Sithral Tyr does not sit astride. He had a coach. Quite a lovely one too -- black with the most exquisite silver trim. Looks like ivy creeping around the edges of the coach and down the corners. Four horses, I think. Yes, four. All black.”

Good. This confirmed he was the same Nilmarion she’d seen at the Lucky Inn. “Do you have any idea where he might have been going?” Daia asked.

The innkeeper rubbed his chin. “Mmmm, no, I don’t think he mentioned it. Do you need a room for the night, Lady Sister? I’m sure you’d like to get into some dry clothes.”

Daia smiled. “Thanks, but no. I’ve made other arrangements. You have been most helpful. If you happen to remember anything else about him before morning, would you please send word to me at the Princess Inn? I’m Daia Saberheart.”

“Most assuredly. I hope you find the criminal quickly and will pray that no harm comes to Lord Tyr.”

* * * * *

What had Arlet told the swordswoman about the sword? The question ran repeatedly through Gavin’s mind as he walked, head bowed and shoulders hunched, through the rain. By the time he arrived at the Stronghammers’ home, his teeth chattered as loudly as his knuckles rapped on the door.

“Oh, Gavin, it is you,” Arlet squealed when she opened the door. “Thanks to Yrys.”

Gavin was prepared to stand on the stoop so as not to track water across her floor, but she took him by the hand and tugged on his arm.

“Come inside,” she told him. “I have much to tell you. Terrible thing happened.”

“So I heard.” Gavin stepped into the greatroom.

Arlet shut the door behind him. “You are so cold. Let me get blanket for you.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I just came to ask about Risan.”

“Miss Daia found you?”

“She found me.”

“Oh, praise Yrys,” Arlet said. She put a log on the fire and fanned it with the bellows. “I told her mayhap you would help find my husband. Miss Daia thinks someone kidnapped him. My poor, poor husband. She knew about gems, Gavin. Risan told his friends about how you rescued me in river and truth about gems slipped out. Was accident -- he would not tell them on purpose. But Miss Daia thinks Risan is one who solved runes, not you. I am sorry, Gavin. We promised we would not tell others about you and gems.”

“Did you tell her it was me?”

“No, I did not. Yrys forgive me – I let her think Risan solved runes. I think she would not try to find him if she knows he will not be king.”

Gavin did not think the swordswoman would abandon her search for Risan if she discovered the truth, but he understood Arlet’s reluctance to take the chance. “It’s all right,” he told her. “We’ll find Risan.”

A flood of tears gushed down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you so much. Thank you. I could not bear to lose him. He is only family I have now. You are good man, Gavin Kinshield.” She put her arms around his waist, seemingly unconcerned that he was wet to the skin, and hugged him tightly. “Such good man. You will tell Miss Daia about solving runes?” she asked when she stepped back.

Gavin took a deep breath. Good question. “I think I got to. What about the gems? Are they in the sword?”

“Yes. I am so sorry, Gavin. Your sword was stolen along with my husband.” Arlet wrung her hands. “I do not know what to do. You trusted to leave gems with us, and now they are gone.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find Risan and the sword.” Gavin reached with a hesitant hand and patted her shoulder. “Arlet, Daia thinks it has some kind of enchantment.”

“It was suppose to be surprise,” Arlet said with a weak smile. “We went to Farthan mage for enchantment. Very powerful ancient Farthan magic.”

“What kind o’magic was it?”

“I am still learning about such things, but it will bind to you when you claim it. Very powerful. It has spell for strength in battle, sharpness and Warrior's Wisdom. This is all I know. But Gavin,” Arlet said, her forehead wrinkling, “even I did not tell Miss Daia gems are yours, she maybe knows anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She is vusar.”

“What?” Gavin asked.

“I think in common tongue it is con-dit? Con... con-do-it? That is like pipe, yes?”

Gavin shook his head in confusion. Conduit? What did she mean?

“She can make connect with you, but I am not so clever about such things. Farthan mystics meditate and study for whole lifetime in hoping they develop vusar ability. Miss Daia has it herself, naturally. Being vusar means she can funnel strength in others, but strong vusar can do more -- know what others know, even look past boundary of time to see what is on current path in future. She will be great advantage to you, Gavin.”

Gavin already guessed that much, but wondered what being a mystical conduit had to do with finding Risan. He gave a mental shrug and turned to go. “Try not to worry overmuch. You got a friend you can stay with ‘til we bring Risan back?”

“I will be fine here. Thank you so much, Gavin. We owe you everything. May Yrys bless your every breath and footstep.”

Chapter 25

Brawna paced the length of the garrison, mentally counting off the items she would need for her journey. She had three changes of clothes, an extra pair of boots, two daggers, her throwing axe and sword, some dried meat and fruit, a small sack of dried beans, two loaves of bread and a round of cheese.

She stuffed as much of her gear as she could into her knapsack, and what didn’t fit she bundled together and wrapped in one of her tunics, which she could strap onto her horse. The extra boots would be a problem.

Enamaeria walked into the garrison, her boots thumping on the wooden floor. “Are you ready to leave?”

Brawna turned with a grin. “Yeh, I just need to get a couple of leather straps to tie this stuff to my saddle.”

Enamaeria picked up the bundle of cloth. “What’s this?”

“Just some bread and cheese and extra clothes in case it rains or—”

“Leave it,” Enamaeria said. She turned on her heel. “Grab your pack and let’s go. We don’t have the luxury of bringing our entire wardrobe. One extra tunic, your weapons and some dried food. We can hunt for whatever else we need to eat once we get there. Now come on. And take off your sash.”

Brawna untied her sash and tossed it onto her bed, then grabbed her knapsack and hurried to catch up to her companion. “Where are we going? You haven’t told me our mission yet.”

“Wait until we’re on the road and away from curious ears. Is your horse saddled?”

“Not yet—”

“Brawna, I told you to be ready to leave by the fifteenth hour. For someone going on her first mission, you’re poorly organized.”

Brawna swallowed. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to pack my things and—”

“Never mind. Just hurry up and get your horse. Meet me at the gatehouse. If you’re not there by the time I count to one hundred, I’m leaving without you.”

Brawna sprinted to the stable.

Her brown mare looked up when Brawna entered the stall. “How now, Tripsa. We’re going on our first adventure together.” She quickly readied her mare and then led the mare by the reins through the stable toward the gatehouse.

“Ninety-nine...” Enamaeria said loudly.

Brawna quickened her step. “I’m ready.”

The two women mounted and walked their horses to the eastern city gate. Neither of them spoke until they were well past the edge of town. Riding west through rolling farmlands toward the mountains, Brawna could wait no longer. “Can you tell me now?” she asked.

Enamaeria grinned. “We’re going to the Rune Cave.”

Brawna gasped. “The Rune Cave? Why?”

“We’re supposed to watch it. Watch the entrance. When we see who goes in there to solve the runes, we follow him, find out who he is and report back.”

“What if he doesn’t come? It could be weeks. Months.”

“We’re doing it in shifts. Galiveth and Vandra are there now. We’ll stay a week, and then someone else will come.”

Brawna chewed her bottom lip. “But why?”

Enamaeria tossed her a smile. “Well, think about it. If we find out who our next king is going to be, we can ally with him now -- offer our protection and defend his right to rule once he claims the King’s Blood-stone. The Sisterhood will prosper and grow, and we’ll be heroines.”

Brawna smiled broadly. “Imagine what my brother would say to that.”

It was well past dusk by the time Brawna and Enamaeria arrived at the entrance to the Rune Cave. An owl scolded them from its perch above, but the night was otherwise still and silent. Brawna blew on her hands to warm them, then put her palms across her face to warm her nose. She listened for signs of fellow Sisters nearby. “Are you sure they’re here?”

Enamaeria cupped her hands beside her mouth and mimicked the whistle of a blackbird. A moment later, the sound of another blackbird replied.

“Is that them?” Brawna asked.

Enamaeria called once more with the birdsong. “Blackbirds don’t live in this part of the country,” she said.

A dark form appeared at the top of a hill to the south and waved an arm. “Here,” a woman’s voice called.

Enamaeria turned her horse and started up the hill, and Brawna followed. When they neared, Brawna recognized the woman’s face from the compound, but didn’t know whether this was Vandra or Galiveth.

The campsite was closer than Brawna had expected, and overlooked the cave entrance. Hot coals smoldered within a circle of stones. A second Sister was squatting, warming her hands. She stood when Brawna and Enamaeria dismounted.

“Right on time,” she said as she and Enamaeria shook hands. The woman looked at Brawna. “Hail. I’m Vandra. That’s Galiveth.”

“I’m Brawna.”

“Brawna the Blade?”

Brawna grinned. “The same.”

“I thought you wore a green sash.”

“I do,” Brawna said.

Vandra looked at Enamaeria, who shrugged. “There weren’t any other browns at the compound,” Enamaeria said, “and all the blacks are either out on missions or they had students to teach.”

“Aminda would never have sent her,” Galiveth said.

The four of them fell into an awkward silence. Brawna knew that Galiveth’s comment was more about Lilalian’s governing style than Brawna’s lack of experience, but the implication hung in the air all the same.

“Well, I can’t wait to get back to Sohan,” Vandra said finally. “I need a bath in the worst way.”

Galiveth said, “The truth speaks for itself.”

They all laughed.

“Have you seen anyone since you got here?” Enamaeria asked.

“Three visitors. First was a bard. That was our second day here.”

“How did you know it was a bard?” Brawna asked.

Vandra and Galiveth chuckled. “We heard his singing from two miles away,” Galiveth said.

“All was quiet until yesterday,” Vandra said. “Then a pair of scholars arrived. We were certain one of them would solve the fourth rune, but both gems were still in place when they left.”

“I heard the Rune Solver's a battler,” Enamaeria said.

“That’s just a rumor,” Vandra said. “Probably he's a scholar.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t boring,” Brawna said.

“Three visitors in seven days?” Galiveth asked. “The rest of the time we did nothing but wait. Believe me, it’s boring. The most excitement we had was hunting for food.”

Brawna did not mind. Even if they saw no one else during their week here, she would be content. She was on a mission -- a very important mission.

Chapter 26

When Daia arrived at the inn, packed and ready for travel, Gavin was sitting on the bed, shirtless, lacing his boots. She leaned against the doorway of his room with her arms crossed. “I thought you would be ready to leave,” she said.

He replied with a grunt.

A wooden tag dangled from a leather thong around his neck and lay against his sculpted chest. Most warrant knights were heavily muscled, but this one bordered on unnatural. She found herself staring at his chest, shoulders and arms. His freakish size both revolted and intrigued her.

Scars disfigured not only his face, but his body as well, some faded nearly away, some the sort that would never fade. Each one told a story, and she hoped one day to hear some of them. He’d lived a hard life. She saw it in his eyes as much as in his scars. A life full of pain. Lots of pain.

She reached over and picked up his sword where it leaned against the wall in the corner. “I hope this isn’t your only weapon,” she said when she pulled it from the scabbard. Although the blade appeared well-cared for, tiny pits covered its surface. It should have been replaced long ago. Perhaps it had some sentimental value. “I can see why Risan would want to make you a new sword. How do you keep this blade sharp?”

He picked up his tunic and pulled it on. “It’s sharp enough.” After taking the weapon from her hands, he shoved it back into the scabbard and hung it on his back. He grabbed a leather pouch and gestured her to lead the way. “I’ve got to eat before we go.”

Daia sighed. “Of course you haven’t eaten yet.” She went outside and untied Calie’s reins from the hitching post.

“You found out where they went, then?” he asked, stepping into the sun.

“All I know is they’re headed north. We should start at the Lucky Inn. Where’s your horse? You do have a horse, don’t you?”

“Being dressed and saddled. He’ll be around shortly. How do you know this man’s the one we’re after?” He leaned against the wall while they waited for the stable hand to bring his horse. With his arms crossed, the fabric of his tunic stretched taut across his arms and shoulders, making them look even larger and more muscular.

Daia didn’t want to give him the impression she found him attractive, but found it difficult to look away. “I found the inn where he stayed. He left town right about the time Risan disappeared.”

Gavin shrugged. “Ever hear of coincidence?”

She gave him an impatient look. “Apparently there are some facts you fail to consider, Kinshield.”

“Then maybe you should tell me what they are, Saberheart.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “Shall we trade information then? I’ll answer your questions and you answer mine.”

“Awright. What makes you think this man is involved?”

“As I said, I saw him at the Lucky Inn the night I heard about Risan. He heard the same tale I did,” she replied. “Afterward, he got up and left.” At Gavin’s doubtful look, she added, “I saw his face, Kinshield. He had the look of a man with intent. My question: what’s special about the sword Risan made for you? Why would the Nilmarion take that one and no other?”

Just then, the stable hand came out leading a giant gray horse, saddled and dressed in leather armor. His every hoof-step probably made chandeliers tinkle as far away as Tern.

“How now, mule,” Gavin said, stroking the gray face.

“By Yrys, that has got to be the largest horse I’ve ever seen. You aren’t going to ride that thing, are you?”

“Yeh.” Gavin took the reins.

Suddenly the big gray reached toward Daia’s face. She jerked away, out of the animal’s reach, her arm shooting up reflexively to block its massive head.

“Golam,” Gavin said, grabbing the bridle.

“Watch it. If your horse bites me, he’ll be sorry.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not biting he wants to do,” Gavin said, grinning. “He’s fond of the ladies. Likes to take their ears between his lips.”

Great. Even his horse was lecherous. She hoped Golam’s owner had sense enough to keep to himself, since the horse obviously did not. They started walking toward the market, leading their horses by the reins.

The cobblestone streets in the market district were wide but heavily populated with merchants crying their wares and townsfolk buying their day’s food and essential goods. Red-faced children in dirty clothes ran screaming and giggling through the crowd. Daia clutched her coin purse against her hip, afraid of losing it to a thief.

“What tale did you hear about Risan?” Gavin asked.

“Wait. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I did. You asked if I was going to ride Golam, and I said yes. What tale did you hear about Risan?”

“Kinshield, that did not count as my question. I asked you about the sword.”

“You asked three questions, so the choice of which to answer is mine. Ask again when it’s your turn,” he said with a grin.

“Filthy rotten cheater,” she muttered. “I heard that Risan’s the one solving the King’s Runes. Now tell me about the damned sword.”

“It’s enchanted,” he said.

“Damn it, I know that, Kinshield. I’m the one who told y—” She stopped when she noticed his wicked grin, realizing that he was teasing her. Dolt. She lowered her voice back to normal volume. “What else is special about the sword?”

He hesitated, watching a passerby until the man was out of earshot. He leaned toward her to answer. “It has some gems embedded in the hilt,” he said, his voice so low as to be barely audible. “The thing is worth a mountain of gold. What did you want with Risan?”

Gems embedded in the hilt? The blood drained from Daia’s face. Did Risan give the Rune Stones to Kinshield? No, he couldn’t have. That was ludicrous. But if they weren’t the Rune Stones, where would Kinshield have gotten them? With his bedraggled appearance, he did not seem wealthy enough to have purchased valuable gems, nor did he have the manner of someone who cared about such things. Had he received them as payment for helping someone? Found them? Was the origin of the gems in his sword the secret Arlet tried to protect? “Where did you get them?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Ah-ah! My question. What did you want with Risan?”

“I want to rescue him from his kidnapper.” Two could play his game. “Where did you get the gems?”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked what did you want with him. Meaning afore he was kidnapped.”

Daia sighed. “Only to offer my service in the name of the Sisterhood. To form a relationship with him and offer protection when he claims the King's Blood-stone, and defend his right to rule.”

Gavin fell quiet. They stood in the market and looked around. Shops huddled along the street as patrons swarmed about. People became aware of Gavin as they passed, and gaped up at him. Daia understood why; he had a rare and powerful presence that commanded attention. He seemed not to notice their attention, or perhaps he was simply used to it.

To the east the streets widened somewhat, and the stores and inns sat slightly more distant from each other. Gavin pointed to a food vendor. “I’ll just get something there and we’ll be on our way.”

“Where did you get the gems, Kinshield?”

“I’d rather wait ‘til we’re on the road afore I answer that.”

Would he tell her the truth? Or did he just want time to concoct a credible tale? She studied him while he paid for his food. Something in his demeanor had changed. He was more somber, not so cocksure and sportive.

While they walked through the city, Gavin ate a turkey leg, smacking his lips and belching. He used his sleeve as a napkin, but only after rivulets of grease running down his chin dripped onto his shirt. Daia felt her lip curl and decided they should take their meals in turns so that she wouldn't lose her appetite watching him eat. He did not even bother to wave the flies away. “Were you raised by beyonders?” she asked.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked with his mouth full of food.

“Your manners are atrocious. I don’t care to take my meals with you. In fact, I’d rather not be seen with you while you feed.” She veered to the right to increase the distance between them, tugging on Calie’s reins.

As she met passersby, she paused to ask whether they remembered seeing a black and silver coach in the last few days. A woman propositioning everyone on a corner near the northern edge of the city said she had seen such a carriage early one morning just a day or two ago.

“He was in a awful hurry,” she said. “Headed north out o’Ambryce like the lordover’s men-at-arms was after ‘im.”

“Thanks very much.” Daia put a pielar in the woman’s palm.

“You sure you don’t want none o’ this, honey?” the woman asked, lifting her blouse. “I’ll take you an’ your battler friend there for a kion.”

Daia put her hand up and started to walk back to join Gavin. “No.”

“Twenty pielars, then,” the streetwalker said. “Awright, fifteen. Come on, Sister, let me show you an’ your man a good time.”

“He’s not my man,” Daia retorted. She glanced at Gavin and saw the sloppy grin on his face. “Don’t say it.”

“Might be fun,” he sang. He started to put an arm around her shoulders, but she knocked it away with a hard forearm parry.

“Not if you were the only man in Thendylath.”

His grin fell away. “What were you asking the townsfolk?”

Daia smiled sweetly up at him. “I believe it’s still my question. Ask me again when it’s your turn.”

When they reached the edge of the city, Gavin tossed the clean bone of the turkey leg into the bushes and wiped his hands down the legs of his trousers. There they mounted their horses. Once they crossed the newly repaired bridge over the Flint River and had a long stretch of empty road ahead of them, Gavin looked back. Daia also turned and saw no one behind them.

“All right, Kinshield. Tell me about the gems in the sword.”

He took a deep breath before answering, “They’re the Rune Stones.”

His words hit her like a low-hanging branch. “Risan gave them to you for saving his—?” A chill swept over her. She took in a sharp breath, and a breeze ruffled his hair.

His eyes darkened as he turned toward her and gazed at her. “No. He didn’t,” Gavin said, his voice raspy like autumn leaves in the wind.

Daia breathed out in a long sigh. Of course not, she thought. Because Risan Stronghammer is just a blacksmith.

Chapter 27

“Ain’t you going to ask how I got ‘em?” Gavin asked. He shouldn't have told her. Judging by the look on her face, the thought of Gavin being king disturbed her, probably as much as it did him.

Daia cleared her throat. “I believe I already know the answer to that.” She looked straight ahead while the muscles in her jaw bunched under her skin. Chewing on it like rotten meat she didn’t want to swallow.

“Your question," he said.

She turned to him with a quizzical expression. “It’s your turn. You just answered my question.”

“Then I asked if you were going to ask how I got ‘em. It’s your question.”

Daia smiled. “Are you trying to drive me mad?”

“Not trying to,” he said with a chuckle. “What were you asking the townsfolk about?”

“I asked if they’d seen a black and silver carriage in the last few days. Two of them said—”

“Wait. Fancy one driven by four black horses?” Gavin asked.

“You know it?”

“Shit, I passed it. Heading north. You saying Risan was in it?”

“Most likely.”

“Damn it to hell and back! How’d you find that out?”

“An innkeeper in Ambryce told me that’s the coach Sithral Tyr rides in.”

“Tyr?”

“Yes, the kidnapper’s name is Sithral Tyr.”

“You sure that’s our man?” Gavin asked.

“Yes, actually, I am." She related the information she had collected so far that led to her conclusion. "There was someone else,” she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “A warrant knight at the Lucky Inn got up and followed Tyr outside. When he came back in, I asked him who the Nilmarion was, but he claimed not to know.”

“Prob’ly he didn’t, then,” Gavin said. “Warrant knights live by a code of honor, you know. We don’t lie.”

“Then he was no warrant knight.”

* * * * *

Daia and Gavin arrived at the Lucky Inn late in the evening after a long and hard day's travel. They paid for a pair of rooms, set their belongings down, then agreed to question the tavern patrons about the coach. As they walked across the circular drive between the inn and the tavern, only their boots crunching the dirt broke the silence. The sooner they got their next clue, the sooner they could find their pillows, though Daia knew she would be too agitated to sleep.

This man, this peasant could not possibly be the rune solver. While she was frequently impressed with his knowledge of the land and the politics of the lordovers, he was far too crude to take seriously. A king wouldn’t hawk and spit every other sentence, wouldn’t publicly scratch himself in private places or belch without making any attempt to silence it or excuse himself. No. He couldn’t possibly be the rune solver. He had to have been playing a joke on her.

She cast a sideways look at the tall battler and chewed the inside of her cheek. Now he seemed taller, squarer of shoulder, probably trying to seem more kingly in order to lend credence to his joke. Still, Daia wondered.

He yanked open the door and gestured for her to enter before him. Inside, dozens of swordsmen, farmers, merchants, and tradesmen gathered at the tables and in the pit, talking, laughing and shouting to be heard. When they stepped into the tavern, heads turned toward them. Daia had grown used to being gawked at since joining the Sisterhood, but now the eyes were on the tall warrant knight by her side. What was it about him that drew their eyes? Did the people see something significant in him as she had?

“Why don’t you start on the right side, I’ll start on the left?” he asked.

With a nod, Daia worked her way around the tavern, asking at each table about the black coach and the Nilmarion riding within. She asked the barmaids as they scurried past. With every shake of a head, she grew more discouraged.

“‘Scuse me, Lady Sister,” said a man in a dirty waistcoat and smelling of fish. “I heard you askin’ them folks about a black coach. I seen one a couple days ago headin' north, pulled by four black horses. That the one you’re lookin’ fer?”

“Yes. Hold on. Kinshield,” she shouted. The hum of conversation and whoops of excitement from the pit muted her voice. She put her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. When Gavin looked up, she waved him over.

“You seen the coach?” Gavin asked the man, joining them.

“Yeh, halfway between here and Pleasantown. I was comin’ back from fishin’ and saw the coach headin’ north. I didn’t think nothin’ ‘bout it ‘til it stopped. Right there in the road.”

“Was it under attack?” Daia asked.

“That’s what I wondered, too, so I dropped my catch and gear - ‘cept fer my knife o’ course - and started runnin’ toward it to see if they needed help. Well, from behind an old shack come a battler. He tied the reins of his horse to the back o’the coach and climbed in. Then they started off again.”

Daia and Gavin shared a look. “The battler -- what’d he look like?” Gavin asked.

“Only saw him from the back at a distance. Medium height, towheaded, wore a blue waistcoat -- fancier than I'd expect on a 'ranter.”

Gavin’s face turned red. Daia remembered that the term “‘ranter” had offended him. “They continued north, then?” Daia asked the man.

“Yeh. I seen two folks aside from the battler in the coach. One was smaller, a child, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you more’n that.”

“Thank you,” Daia said, dropping a pair of pielars into the man’s hand. “You’ve been most helpful.” She clutched Gavin’s arm and ushered him outside. “What’s wrong?”

For several minutes Gavin paced, cursing and spitting onto the ground. Every muscle seemed on the verge of ripping through his skin. His penetrating gaze burned as though he could set fire to anything simply by glaring at it.

Daia didn’t know whether to wait out his mood or try to calm him down. She decided to ignore it and try to get him to focus on the matter at hand. “His description of the battler sounds like the one who claimed not to know Tyr -- Toren Meobryn.”

“He’s also the bastard who stole the damned pendant.”

“What pendant?” she asked.

“Calewen’s Pendant. It was stolen from her shrine, and I was hired to recover it.”

“Meobryn raided the Grand Mausoleum?”

“No, he hired a woman... never mind. It’s a long story. Let’s just say I owe him a brand on his forearm. Come on. I need a drink.”

Daia followed Gavin back into the tavern, and they sat at an empty table in the back.

The barmaid brought two tankards. Daia paid for them both. Gavin was so busy brooding, he seemed not to notice the drink until she tapped his sleeve and pushed one toward him.

Gavin banged his fist on the table and sent it wobbling. Daia caught it before it toppled over. “That a warrant knight could befoul the code by involving his self in such corruption makes my sweat steam. He’s soiling the reputations of us all, shitting on the only thing I got left in the world. Can’t wait ‘til the day I catch up with that filthy whoreson. Toren Meobryn.” Gavin spat the name as a curse. “Branding a fellow warrant knight’s unheard of, but that piece of foreskin's unworthy. I’ll bet he got his tag and warrant from a forger. I hope he resists getting branded so I can kill the bastard.”

Daia nodded. He needed to vent and she was happy to be able to support him as a friend. He would be the king.

She shook the thought away. It was a joke, after all. “How do you know Meobryn has Calewen’s Pendant?”

“You said Meobryn followed Tyr but claimed he didn’t know him, right?” Gavin asked.

Daia nodded.

“I met Meobryn there, too, a few nights ago.” Gavin continued his story about the pendant’s theft and his conversation with the curator in Ambryce. “He happened to’ve left before I could ask him to watch for the pendant thief. Then, the description of the swordsman getting into Tyr’s coach was awfully damned close to Meobryn. Too close for coincidence.”

Daia was impressed not only with his memory of detail, but his deductive reasoning. The man had taken her by surprise in so many ways, she found it difficult to look at him without wondering what else she was missing. “Can you remember anything he said that might help us find him?” When the barmaid hurried by, Daia stopped her and ordered some food for Gavin.

“He said he was going to Saliria, but that was a lie, too. He knew he’d be heading north to meet his friend, the Farthan-napping sword stealer. The bastard set that whore on me to steal the pendant. What kind o’scum does that?”

“Dishonest to the bone,” Daia said.

“What kind o’parents could've raised such a twisted son of a bitch?”

“I understand your anger, but we need to focus on where we’re going and how we’re going to find Risan.”

“Maybe he was evil even as a child, and his parents couldn’t bring themselves to kill him—”

“Kinshield.”

He looked up with bloodshot eyes.

“Let it go for now. Save the anger for battle. Right now, we need to talk about how to find Risan,” she said. “The coach was heading north, possibly to Lalorian.”

He nodded and sighed. “Or Sohan or Paradise City.” Gavin drew his knife and began scratching a line into the top of the table. “Look, Tyr’s planning to give Calewen’s Pendant to a wizard named Ravenkind. Since he kidnapped Stronghammer thinking he was the Rune Solver, then I figure either Tyr or Ravenkind is after the King's Blood-stone.”

Daia raised her brows. She saw where he was going with this and, again, his reasoning impressed her.

Gavin continued carving something into the table. It looked like a symbol of some kind: an hourglass, like the one she'd seen on another table here a few nights ago. “I’m betting it’s Ravenkind," he said. "Could be he's in Sohan -- it’s the closest city to the Rune Cave.”

The barmaid set down a basket of chicken. “Seven pielars.” Gavin took out his coin purse and paid for the meal.

“What makes you think Ravenkind is after the King's Blood-stone?” Daia asked.

“I know him. He’s hungry for power and wealth, and he’s got no morals.”

Daia thought about it for a moment. If he knew Ravenkind as well as he claimed, his conclusion was plausible. “Then let's go to Sohan. I can recruit a few Sisters to help us search.”

“Good. We'll need all the help we can get. But first things out o’the way first.” Gavin set down his knife and reached for the basket of chicken. “Ain’t you going to have some of this?”

“No, thank you. I have some dried meat in my satchel.” Daia tried to avoid the sight of his eating and looked around the room at the other patrons.

While Gavin Kinshield wasn’t the most refined man she’d ever met, he was a decent sort. He had scruples, he cared about the people of Thendylath, and he took the warrant knight code of honor seriously. She looked again at the symbol he had carved on the tabletop. Was that one of the King's Runes?

She felt a tingle race across her face as reality slapped her. Gavin Kinshield would be the king, like it or not.

Hell’s bones! She hadn’t believed him. Not only that, but during their travel, she’d slung backhanded comments about his clothing, manners, habits of speech, and the disgusting way he scratched himself and spat on the ground. She’d insulted him gravely. She’d insulted the king. “Listen, Gavin,” she started.

He paused his eating with raised brows. “So, you’re calling me ‘Gavin’ now. Does this mean you’ll be sharing my room later?”

“Would you mind using a napkin?”

He picked up the hem of his shirt and wiped it across his face. “Sorry. I wasn’t raised as a noble like you were,” he said. "Who're your parents, anyway?"

Daia felt the blood rush to her face. Was it that obvious? “The Lordover Tern is my father," she said quietly.

Gavin whistled. "Lordover Tern. Guess I ain't surprised. Hey, is it true noblewomen shave their legs?"

She gave him an impatient look. "Never mind that. If you’re going to be king, you should probably try to learn some basic manners.”

“I ain’t going to be king.”

“You mean, ‘I’m not going to be king.’”

“That’s what I said.”

Daia smiled. “No, you said ‘I ain’t going to be king.’ If you’re going to be king, you should also learn to speak like one.”

“I ain’t going to be king.”

“Why do you say that?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did you or did you not solve the King’s Runes?”

Gavin gave a non-committal shrug, tossed a clean bone into the basket and picked up another piece of chicken.

“Do you know the meaning of the third rune?”

“Fourth,” he said as he resumed eating. “The third one's solved. The fourth is next.”

Daia raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t heard. She looked again at the symbol he had carved so casually. “All right. The fourth, then. Do you know the meaning?”

“No,” he said, looking away.

“Why do you keep it a secret?” she asked him. “Why not let people know it’s you?”

He said nothing. She followed his gaze to a table where a barmaid was trying to wrench her arm out of the grasp of a burly patron.

“Do you know what kind of wealth and fame you could have--”

“Stop it,” the barmaid shouted. Several patrons looked at her, then returned to their conversations.

Gavin tossed a half-eaten chicken wing into the basket and stood. “Pard’n me,” he said, wiping his face with his shirt tail. He walked over to the building commotion.

The customer had his arms around the barmaid, groping her in plain view. She slapped him, screaming, “Stop it. Let me go.” He just laughed and continued fondling her, reaching for her ear with his flicking tongue.

Gavin drew a glove from his waistband and pulled it onto his left hand. Daia couldn’t hear what he said, but the patron released the woman immediately and held up his hands. He hung his head and turned in his chair to face forward, then nodded and folded his hands on the table.

The barmaid dipped Gavin a curtsey. He pointed toward Daia, then walked back over, removing his glove and tucking it away behind him, and sat down.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” he asked before draining his ale.

Daia smiled. He was crude and scraggly, but she had to admire a man who stood up for others so readily. Perhaps with some lessons in social grace, the idea of him sitting on the throne wouldn't be so horrid.

Gavin let out a loud belch, and Daia shook her head in resignation.

* * * * *

The barmaid thanked Gavin with a full tankard, free of charge. He kept his eye on the boorish patron, partly so that the barmaids wouldn’t have to put up with the man’s intolerable behavior, and partly because Toren Meobryn's deception had put him in the mood to fight someone. Unfortunately, the obnoxious patron had been too willing to cooperate. Besides, if Gavin got into a brawl, he could impress his lovely companion with his prowess.

She intrigued him, this brawny woman sitting across the table with her unbelievably light blue eyes. The more time he spent looking into them, the more he wanted to know what was behind them. He wished the swordswoman desired him, but more than that, he wanted Daia to like him. She exuded competence and strength, but she still had a distinctly feminine quality that made her more than just a battler with tits. His sense of humor was mostly lost on her, but a few times, he’d caught her trying to hide a smile. If he could capture her interest with his personality and charm, then he would stand a better chance winning her affections later, when she accepted the fact that he wouldn't be Thendylath’s king.

All right, maybe his strengths didn’t include a charismatic personality, and he certainly didn’t have the cultivated charm she’d grown up around. But what did a man like him have to offer a woman so high-bred? Surely, she would be unimpressed with how many tankards he could down in five minutes’ time or whether he could belch nursery rhymes to amuse small children. As a battler, she had to respect a man’s fighting skill.

He wondered whether she could fight as well as a man with similar training and experience. Of course, she had some skills he hadn’t even known existed until yesterday. “Arlet said something about you that didn’t make sense,” Gavin said. “She said you’re a conduit. What does that mean?”

“Conduit. Now I understand. I’ll tell you about it if you tell me about the runes first.”

Gavin smiled and leaned toward her, resting his forearms on the table. “You can ask about that when it’s your turn.” They shared a long laugh. He raised his tankard to her. “To what I hope will be a lasting friendship.”

“Hear, hear,” Daia agreed. After draining her tankard and signaling the barmaid for another, she explained, “When I was a girl, I noticed that my younger sisters sang and stitched their embroidery better, my mother won more arguments with my father when I was around. Even my father, thick as he is, eventually realized that my presence benefited him in his business matters. They all drew upon something within me to achieve greater success and better concentration.

“Once I joined the Sisterhood,” she continued, “and learned to focus my spiritual center, I found I can help others at will. I just reach out with my mind – my awareness – and connect with them, giving them greater access to their own strengths.”

Conduit. Made sense. “So if I challenged that battler over there to an arm-wrestling contest, you could help me win?”

Daia nodded. “I could. Or I could help him win.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows. “You’d do that?”

“I was just making a point. Do you want to try it?”

Gavin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I don’t need your conduit help to beat him.”

Daia smiled. “Of course not.”

“What about the barmaid?” Gavin asked. “Could you help her beat me?”

“No, she doesn’t have nearly enough strength to beat you. I can’t make a scholar out of a fool. That is, I can’t give people qualities they lack, only enhance those they have to help them reach their highest potential. I can help you in other ways, too, not just with physical strength.”

“Like?”

Daia tapped the rune he’d carved into the tabletop. “The fourth rune. You don’t know what it is, right? I’ll help you figure it out.”

“No!” he barked. The answer would come sooner or later, whether he wanted it to or not, but he was in no hurry. “I don’t want to know it.”

Daia said nothing. She looked at him, not with a casual gaze, but with eyes glassy and staring as though she was deep in concentration.

An icy feeling washed over his mind, cooling his thoughts to infinite clarity.

Tayewessin!

The rune’s name came to him without bidding and without warning. It flooded his mind. No, not just the name -- the knowing of it. The intensity. The depth. If thoughts could sparkle, the knowing of the rune would have been as brilliant as a hundred suns. As its luminosity intensified, he felt increasing pain behind his eyes. He put his hands up to shield his eyes from an imagined light.

“Aaaahhh!” he cried out. He could not escape the pain searing his mind from the back of his eyes to the back of his head. Several points on his body from the top of his head to his groin lit up, burning. He had to get away.

Then, it was gone.

He felt no after effects: no residual pain, dizziness, aching or tension. The pain was just gone.

He opened his eyes and found himself on the floor of the tavern. The table and his chair had both been toppled. The lap of his trousers and shirttail were wet, he hoped with ale. Two tankards rolled to a stop, one at the wall, the other against the leg of a chair. He could have heard a mouse twitter. All eyes were on him.

Daia offered a hand, and he gripped it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded as he climbed to his feet. What the hell had just happened?

“Go back to your drinks,” she called in a loud voice. “He’s all right now.” She righted the table and tossed two copper coins on it, then escorted Gavin from the tavern through the stares and whispers.

The air outside felt cool and refreshing. He tossed his head back and gazed up at the sky, deep black pricked with millions of bright points. He flinched, as though the stars would attack him with their radiance.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he asked.

“I just thought that with you being so stubborn, you’d need an extra strong push.”

“I told you I didn’t want to know it.”

She grinned apologetically. “I’m sorry. I was curious. I wanted to see if you could know it.”

“The whole damned town prob’ly knows it now. Don’t ever do that to me again,” he snapped.

She stood watching him, her head cocked. Her pale blue eyes seemed to glow as though they were lit from behind. “So you do know?”

“Yeh. I know.”

Chapter 28

The leaves whispered of promises unkept as they shivered in the trees and tumbled across the forest floor. A copper-haired girl with tiny freckles on her nose beckoned him. She was Caevyan, yet he called out “Dagaz!” as he ran after her. His legs were wooden and unbending. The ground was soft like sand. “Papa!” she called, then ran away. Always elusive, staying ahead of him. She turned and waited, beckoning.

Her eyes were the color of the sky.

Gavin jerked himself awake and sat upright in bed. He looked around in the darkness. Not the cave. A room. An inn. The Lucky Inn. He pulled on his trousers and paced barefoot in his room, biting the insides of his cheeks raw as thoughts of little yellow chicks and gems of different colors swirled through his mind.

Tayewessin.

Something must be done about the rune. If he just solved this one, then he could go to Lalorian and speak with Edan about being king. By then maybe the meaning of the last rune would come to him and they could travel together to the cave.

No, he had to continue with Daia. Risan was in danger. And Gavin wanted his sword.

Tayewessin.

The name of the rune did not just whisper through his thoughts; it ran through his blood. Every movement of his twitching fingers, the sensation of the wood floor against his bare feet and the cloth around his waist and thighs sent shivers across the surface of his skin and ended in whispers deep within his mind.

Tayewessin.

He heard a rap on the door. More than that, he felt it sing down his spine as though it, too, whispered the rune’s secret to him. “Gavin, are you awake?” Daia’s voice tickled his ears, his skin, his soul with whispers of the rune.

Tayewessin.

“Come in. I’m awake.” He stopped pacing, but his muscles twitched with rune-knowing. He began to pace again. “Whatever you did to me is making me mad. I can’t sleep. I can’t even sit still, for Arek’s sake.”

Tayewessin.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea it would affect you so profoundly.”

“Let’s get going.” He wondered how he would keep from going raving mad while they searched for Risan. The sooner they found him, the better -- for the sake of them both.

As they readied their horses for travel, Gavin‘s hands fumbled with the girth strap, and he kept dropping one side or the other before he could hitch the buckle.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Let me help," Daia offered. He started pacing while she cinched the straps. "Are you all right?"

"Yeh. No. Hell, I don't know." He hawked and spat onto the ground. "Let's just get Tayewessin."

"Beg pardon?"

He climbed into the saddle. "Well? Hurry up. Let's go."

"Gavin," Daia said as she went to her horse and mounted, "you don't seem well. Are you sure you're up for this? I have enough clues--"

"No. I ain't letting you go against Tyr and Ravenkind alone. They'll kill you."

She shrugged and nudged her horse toward the village gate. Gavin rode beside her. "Perhaps you're simply distracted."

He exhaled heavily and nodded. Distracted was one word for it. Brainsick was probably more accurate.

"Let’s go to the Rune Cave first so you can get the rune out of your mind. Sohan's not much farther going that way."

Gavin didn't answer. The thought of putting off Risan’s rescue for his own sake did not sit well with him. True, it would take only a day longer to go that route, but that could be a day more than they had.

"Look, you're in no condition to go against a three-legged puppy, let alone a wizard. Gavin, let's go to the cave. Risan will thank you for it. And I promise I won't help you decipher the final rune." She gave him a teasing smile.

She was right. He’d be no good against Ravenkind in this condition. Gavin nodded with relief.

* * * * *

Along the road east toward Saliria, Daia rode beside Gavin silent and lost in thought. From time to time, she glanced surreptitiously at him, trying to reconcile what she saw with what she knew. To deny that this man, this unshaven, foul-mannered peasant would become the realm’s next king was futile, but she continued to try.

For most of her adult life, she’d held nobles in contempt. Far from being the respectable people they pretended, they let their wealth and snobbery distance them from the people they were supposed to serve. Yet, years of the education and grooming Daia had received as a child, intended heiress to the lordover title, had instilled in her the idea that those in power were cultured, sophisticated, educated and fastidious. Every time she looked upon the man riding beside her and imagined him sitting on the throne with a crown of jewels atop his head, the foundation of her beliefs about humanity and social structure crumbled a little more.

How could a man such as Gavin Kinshield be king? He would make a good champion to the king perhaps, or captain of the guard, but to lead a country? To reign superior over lordovers and the wealthiest, most powerful men and women in Thendylath? Would the people respect him, follow him? Did they have a choice?

He claimed he wouldn't be king. If he was solving the runes, he would eventually receive the King's Blood-stone and that would make him king whether he liked it or not. Whether the entire country liked it or not. King Arek put the gems in the tablet for a reason, and nothing Gavin did would change that. Or, for that matter, Sithral Tyr.

A horrid thought occurred to her. “You know,” Daia said, “if Risan’s still alive, it’s because Tyr thinks he’s the one solving the King’s Runes.”

“Sure,” Gavin replied. “But if the fourth rune is solved while Risan’s in Tyr’s custody, that would prove he ain’t.”

“And Tyr might kill him the minute he finds out.”

“It could be weeks afore he finds out. Besides, he has the sword,” he argued. “And it has the Rune Stones in it. That proves Risan knows who Tyr is really looking for. Risan won’t become useless to Tyr unless he gives up my name, and I ain’t pinching my little limb waiting for that to happen.”

Perhaps he spoke like a peasant, but he was no dunce. Whether he truly knew the meaning of the fourth rune remained to be seen, but Daia knew one thing: if he solved the rune and still clung to the belief that he would never be king, he would be deeply disappointed.

Chapter 29

Only the light clinking of silver on china disturbed the silence in the dining room while Brodas and Warrick took their afternoon meal. Brodas answered his cousin's attempts at conversation with a distracted hmm. The problem of having too few gems kept his mind occupied. Warrick hadn’t managed to purchase gems in the market, as the two remaining gemsmiths had closed their shops following the murder of their competitor. Word traveled fast. Warrant knights swarmed the city, undoubtedly hoping to earn valour-gild for capturing the perpetrator. This presented Brodas with few alternatives, none of which were apparent to him yet. Should Lilalian’s battlers find the Rune Solver, Brodas had no means to extract the information he needed to get the King's Blood-stone.

Red appeared in the doorway and knocked on the wall. “Sorry to disturb your meal, m’lord, but I found out who sells those gargoyle things.”

Brodas’s eyebrows shot up, and he waved Red forward while he chewed hastily and swallowed. “Come in. Tell me what you’ve discovered.”

“The merchant’s name is Yardof. He went to Tern to sell his gargoyles. His neighbors said he goes every year and returns after a few weeks. The rest of the year he spends carving and selling them from a shop here in Sohan.”

“Excellent. I need you to ride to Tern after him. Do you know what I want you to do when you find him?”

“Find out how to get the gargoyle thing off the chest.”

“I want you to find out how to open the chest,” Brodas said. “Tell him your father recently passed and as you were sorting through his belongings, you came upon the gargoyle-locked chest.”

Red nodded. “That’s a good story. I’ll tell him that.”

As the stocky swordsman turned to leave, Brodas said, “You must leave him alive in case we have more questions.”

Red spun as he walked to the door, and saluted with two fingers. “Alive he will stay.” His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“Are you sure you want to send Red?” Warrick asked. “You know how he can be. Maybe Domach is better suited for this task. He'll be back soon.”

Brodas scowled. “You assured me that Red follows orders well. Anyway, Domach is soft. I’d like to keep him nearby for a while and see just how hungry he is. See how reliable he is.”

Warrick smiled sympathetically. “Old wounds ache in stormy weather, don’t they?”

Neither could ever forget the soldier who betrayed them five years ago, or the priceless gem he stole. “They do, Warrick. They certainly do.”

Chapter 30

“It’s getting too dark to see,” Daia said. “We should stop for the night.” She disliked sleeping outdoors, but she saw no point in complaining. They dismounted and stretched. Daia looked up, trying to spot movement overhead.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Gavin asked. He began unstrapping Golam’s armor and saddle.

“Nothing. Can’t see much of the sky through the trees,” she answered, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m exhausted. How about you? We’ve pressed hard the last couple of days.” She unbuckled Calie’s saddle and pulled the blanket out from under it, flapped it out and guided its drift to the ground. Then she set the saddle on the blanket and started brushing Calie’s coat. Behind her, Gavin likewise looked after his horse.

When Daia took the last of the dried beef she had from her satchel, Gavin said, “I’m going to hunt for somethin’ to eat. You might as well save your food.”

“What can you hunt with a sword?”

“Not sword. Knife. Watch and be amazed.”

“Gavin, wait. Don’t--” leave “--forget where we’re camped.”

He snorted and walked off into the darkness.

She busied herself by gathering dried sticks and starting a fire, and tried not to dwell on what might be flying overhead.

Something fuzzy touched the side of her neck. She squealed and slapped at it with both hands as an icy shiver swept down her spine. She let out a shudder of relief at the sight of Gavin’s huge warhorse. “What are you doing, beast?” she asked with an embarrassed chuckle. She stroked the downy nose, then ran her hands across her arms to smooth the goose-flesh.

Hell Badgers she could handle. Murderers, thieves or rapists, predators of the wilds, beyonders – none of them troubled her. As a girl, she would catch harmless green snakes and chase her two sisters with them, delighting in their shrieks and tears. It never occurred to her that she could have such a reaction to anything. Not until she saw her first bat.

There are no bats here, Saberheart, she told herself. No bats. Just a quiet night in the woods. She shuddered at the thought of the furry winged creatures. Large or small, it did not matter. A dead bat on the forest floor could have her whimpering in terror. Even the word ‘bat’ whispered at night within the safety of her own room at the garrison sent a shiver down her back.

Golam reached for her ear. Daia giggled at the tickling sensation and squirmed away. Surely, a bat wouldn’t dare come close with the warhorse nearby. She hooked an arm under his jaw and patted the side of his face, hugging his head to her.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and look at you,” Gavin said, stepping out of the darkness and into the pale light of the campfire.

Relief winged through her. She made an effort to sound cheerful as she said, “Your horse is rather quirky.”

“It’s part of his charm,” Gavin said as he made his way toward the fire. “Wait’l you see him in battle. You won’t call him quirky then.”

Daia smiled. “What did you get?”

He held up two large hares. “It’s not a feast, but it’ll do.”

“I’m impressed. I was sure we’d be sharing my meager rations tonight since neither of us has a bow.” She looked up, dreading the inevitable bat sighting.

“Don’t need one.” He sat down on a bed of pine needles about a dozen feet away and swept aside a few pinecones. “Long as I got my mighty knife. There ain’t many animals I can’t kill with this.” He flipped his dagger in the air and caught it by the handle, then started skinning and gutting the rabbits.

Daia stared into the flame for several minutes, thinking over the runes, the gems, the throne of Thendylath. The closer they got to the Rune Cave, the harder she found it to deny that Gavin would be king. If this was his destiny, then he would need her help beyond finding Risan and getting his sword back. The words of the mage, Jennalia, came back to her: If you keep open your eyes and your mind, you will see. Had she meant Daia needed to accept Gavin as king? She studied him as he cleaned the rabbits. He would be king. Her king. And she knew then that she would fight for his right to rule. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Things are going to be different,” she said, blinking hard.

“Different how? For who?”

“For everyone. Gavin, once you solve the final rune, you’re going to be our king.”

“No, I ain’t. I told you that.”

Daia sighed. “So why do you pursue the gems if the throne is not your aim. What else do you get by solving the runes?”

“What do I get? Hand me your sword.” She drew and handed it to him. He skewered one of the rabbit carcasses and gave the sword back to her.

Daia held her rabbit over the fire. “Surely there is some benefit that drives you to continue doing it. If you were after riches, you would have sold the gems.”

“The benefit is getting rid of the dreams. I’ve tried staying away, but the runes’ve been calling to me since I can remember.”

“You see, that tells me fate is involved. You can't simply choose not to follow it. Scholars have been studying the runes in the tablet for two hundred years. And along you come and make child’s play of it. It’s your destiny to be king.”

Gavin snorted. “It ain’t destiny. It’s just... obsession. The damned things invade my thoughts against my will. And I got a strong will.” After he skewered the other rabbit carcass on his sword, he joined her by the fire. Squatting on his haunches, he held his meal over the flame.

“No doubt. But what makes you think that you won’t be the king after you solve all the runes?”

“The legend says whoever claims the King's Blood-stone earns the throne. I ain’t planning to claim it.”

She gaped at him. “What were you planning to do with it then?”

“Look, I know this sounds mad, but I got a friend who’d make an excellent king for Thendylath. He’ll go with me to the cave when I solve the last rune, and he’ll claim the King's Blood-stone.”

Daia’s eyes flew wide. “No. That’s absurd. You’re going to hand over control of our country to another warrant knight?”

He grinned. “Would you be relieved to know he ain’t a warrant knight?”

“That does little to reassure me,” she muttered. “Has this man agreed to sit on the throne?”

“I haven’t asked him yet, but he will.” Gavin stared into the fire and said, “If you knew him like I do, you’d agree with me. He’d make a far better king than me. He’s educated and cultured, fair-minded, and he’d give you his last pielar and bite of bread.”

“Did he solve the three King’s Runes?”

“No,” he said with a sigh.

“Did he solve even one of them? Has he ever had any interest at all in solving them?”

His lack of response was as much an answer as Daia needed. She started to press the issue, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

“Why don’t you hold off judging until you meet him?” he asked.

Daia dropped her head back with a sigh and scanned the treetops for movement. “I wish you would tell me what you’re so afraid of.”

He chuckled, looking up. “Whatever it is, it ain’t up there. You afeared of owls?”

“Of course not.” Something fluttered in her peripheral vision and a chill ran across her arms and down her back. Her heart quickened its beat. It was only a bird. "Who is this friend of yours?"

“If it ain’t owls...” he said, still looking up, “it’s bats, ain’t it? You’re afeared o’bats.”

“I am not ‘afeared’ of them. I simply... loathe them.” She looked up, unable to stop herself.

Gavin laughed. "You are. A Viragon Sister afeared o’bats."

“Do you mean to tell me you fear nothing?”

“I fear plenty,” he said, his smile fading.

“Like what?”

“I fear Risan’s going to get a punishment intended for me.”

“That's not what I meant. Everyone fears something. What do you fear?”

“Not bats.” He grinned.

She cocked her head and eyed him. With his size and strength, he did not have the look of someone who needed to fear anything. She studied him while she turned the rabbit over in the fire. Perhaps he had an irrational fear of snakes or insects, just as she feared bats. No, he seemed perfectly comfortable in the wilderness, unconcerned about what might be slithering or crawling nearby. Sometimes people feared things related to a traumatic experience. “The scars on your face. Whatever gave them to you – that’s what you fear.”

He snorted. “Of course. Who wouldn’t be afeared of an eight-foot bear?”

“Ho! Are you serious? You were attacked by a bear? You’re lucky to be alive.”

He nodded. “Yeh, I am.”

“Your scars are long-healed – it must have been some time ago. How did it happen?”

Gavin drew his rabbit from the fire and blew on it. “It’s about ready to eat. You better check yours. Overcooked rabbit ain’t much to get excited about.”

“Does that mean you're not going to tell me?” She started pulling bits of meat. It didn’t taste bad, but it would have been better with salt and spice.

“Yeh.” He set his sword against a rock so that his rabbit hung in the air over the fire, then stood and grabbed the bedroll tied to his saddle. He unrolled it and spread it on the ground.

“I have a scar, too,” she said to break the silence. “A big, ugly one, right here.” Daia pointed to her abdomen. She related an incident a couple years earlier in which she’d stopped to help a woman and her three children stranded by a broken wagon. With her guard down and her hands occupied as she helped a child down from the wagon, two men leapt out of the thick brush, slashing at her with their knives. Trying to protect the child in her arms, Daia took a cut across the midsection. “I thought, ‘Oh shit!’ as the knife came at me. And then I sank to my knees, trying to hold my guts in, and I realized that I didn’t want my last thought before I died to be ‘Oh shit.’”

Gavin began to laugh.

“It’s not a funny story, Gavin. The robbers used the woman as bait, and she ran off with them and my money, leaving me there to die, alone. I had to stitch my own wound.”

“Sorry, I ain’t laughing about that. In the face of death, many people say they do a quick review of their lives. Maybe their last thoughts are a summary of who they’ve become and what they’ve contributed to the world. And there you are, thinking about the fact that your last thought was ‘Oh shit!’” He laughed some more, and as his laughter died, added, “I guess it’s a fitting summary for someone who has to evaluate everything, figure out what it all means.”

Daia smiled. He was right.

“Obviously that wasn’t your last thought,” he said, “so you must’ve known you weren’t going to die.”

“True. I’ve always known I would die a violent death, but not yet. There’s... something I have to do first,” she said, her voice fading to a whisper. Was this it? Helping Thendylath put a king on the throne?

Gavin snorted. “I’ll prob’ly die drunk again, with a flagon in my hand.”

“Again? What do you mean?”

“Did I say ‘again?’” he asked. Daia nodded. His eyes were glassy pools under a mirk-night sky. “Well, somethin’ happened a few years ago, and I spent a lot of time swilling ale and spirits after that. I was lying on the floor thinking my life was over, and I died. I felt myself die. But then… I woke up. Puked myself inside out, too. But the damnedest thing is: I remember dying. I would swear to it.”

“It sounds like a turning point in your life. A death of the old you, perhaps. What happened that prompted your drinking?”

“It doesn't matter any more.”

"Did it have to do with how you lost the tooth?"

Gavin smiled, showing the gap in his teeth. "You'll never know."

"So many secrets. How about this: I'll tell you anything you want to know about me, and in return, you tell me something about you."

"Awright." He lay on his right side on the bedroll, propped up on an elbow. “Tell me about the first time you been with a man. Who was he?” He held the sword in his left hand and picked at the rabbit with his teeth to get the last bits of meat.

Daia felt the blood rush to her face and turned away. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re a virgin?” Gavin asked, his voice rising with incredulity.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Gavin grinned. “I seen the way you look at me when you think I ain’t paying attention.”

“You misunderstand.”

“Come on, admit you want me.”

Daia picked up a pinecone and threw it at him, hitting him in the chest. “Lout.”

He tossed it back at her, and they soon found themselves engaged in a playful volley of forest litter. When she hit him on the forehead with a clump of what turned out to be dried scat, his eyes narrowed and he started toward her on his hands and knees. Daia was laughing so hard, she couldn’t get away. He caught her by the ankle and dragged her toward him on her buttocks.

Then he was hovering over her. Daia saw the expression in his eyes change from mock anger to curiosity, desire, intent. She stopped laughing. He started to lower himself closer.

“It’s time for sleep,” she said, rolling out from under him. She got up and untied the bedroll from her saddle, and then laid it out by the dying embers opposite Gavin and sat down.

Gavin lay back down on his own bedroll and patted the ground next to him. “Why so far away? Come sleep here. I’ll protect you from the bats.” He chuckled softly.

“You are such a comedian.” Daia pulled a pair of trousers from her pack and rolled them up. “This is as close as I care to get.” She patted the make-shift pillow and laid her head down, then pulled the saddle blanket over her.

“You ain’t afeared o’me, are you?”

“No, but I’m not going to lay with you, either.”

He propped his head up on a palm. “Why not? You’ll like it, I promise.”

“Because I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Daia, come on. You can’t tell me there’s nothin’ between us. I know you feel an attraction, just as I do.”

She smiled. “I feel something. But it’s not what you think.”

“What is it then?”

Protectiveness, curiosity, fondness, perhaps a little apprehension – not so much about him as for him. And something else, a kind of familiarity that she could not explain. She sighed. “I don’t know yet. Go to sleep, Kinshield.”

“Just one kiss.”

“No.”

She heard a sigh and some rustling, and then all was quiet for the night.

Chapter 31

“We’re being watched.”

Brawna froze in mid-squat, her hands reaching out for her knapsack. Only her eyes moved as she tried to spot the spies. “Where?” she whispered.

Enamaeria chuckled. “Up. In the trees.” Moving slowly and quietly, she reached for her bow. “Think I can hit it?”

A golden-tailed hawk sat in the branches of a pine tree, watching them silently from above.

“No, don’t,” Brawna said. She stomped her foot on Enamaeria’s bow, trapping it on the ground.

“Milksop.”

“Haggard.” Brawna sighed and looked up at the bright morning sky. “Last night we had bats and now a hawk. When are we going to see some humans?”

Enamaeria pulled some dried meat from her satchel and tore off a chunk to share with Brawna. “We probably won’t. I’ll bet two pielars the rune solver comes the day after we leave. Whoever relieves us will get to be the heroines.”

“Don’t say that -- you’ll curse us.”

“Shhhhh!” Enamaeria hissed. She cocked her head while a line formed between her eyebrows. The pop and crack of horse hooves on rock announced the arrival of a visitor. “Someone’s coming.”

Brawna’s heart pounded with excitement. They were probably just the replacements. “Are you going to make the birdcall?” she whispered.

Enamaeria shook her head. “It’s too soon for our replacements to come. If they’re Sisters, they’ll make the call first. We don’t want to chance giving ourselves away.”

They hunkered down and sneaked to their lookout spot behind a burst of thick bushes, and peered down to the narrow trail below. From here, they had a good view of the cave entrance.

“Listen, I haven’t told you everything about this mission,” Enamaeria whispered. “Lilalian instructed me to tell you only if we see the Rune Solver. You must trust me, Brawna, no matter what happens, or we’ll find ourselves in the stockade.”

Stockade? “What is it?” Brawna asked. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Just do as I say. Watch the entrance while I saddle the horses,” Enamaeria whispered. “When they come out of the cave, wait for them to mount and leave, then run down there – quietly – and check the tablet. If the fourth Rune Stone is still there, move your arms like this, back and forth; if it’s gone, raise them straight up. Got it?”

Brawna turned her eyes back to the cave entrance and nodded. What could their mission be?

The approaching rider was quiet. Considering that the Rune Solver had kept himself secret all this time, it made sense that he would come alone. But as the sound of hooves grew louder, Brawna counted more than four feet. Someone spoke in a high voice. A woman. Was the rune solver a woman?

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” a man’s voice answered, deep and strong, carrying through the trees.

Two horses entered the clearing at the cave entrance. Brawna’s eyes flew wide when she recognized the figure of her fellow Sister and friend, Daia Saberheart. “Enamaeria, it’s Daia,” Brawna whispered. “If she’s with the rune Solver—”

“Daia Saberheart is a thief and a traitor,” Enamaeria shot back. “I have my orders, and you have yours. Do it.”

Brawna turned her eyes back to the cave entrance. This was all wrong. If Daia had not returned with the guild’s money as Cirang had claimed, it must have been because she had found the Rune Solver – or thought she had. Why else would she be here? Daia would probably go back to the compound and explain everything. It would turn out to be a big misunderstanding and all would be forgiven.

Chapter 32

Neither of them spoke as they dismounted and tied the reins of their horses to a tree. Daia had never been to the Rune Cave, and the anticipation of seeing the Rune Tablet thumped in her chest. She had tried to get Gavin to talk about his experiences here, but he wouldn't. He talked about his battles with beyonders, his run-ins with lordovers’ men-at-arms, his brother living near Saliria, how many times he’d been thrown out of taverns for brawling – anything but this place, this moment. She watched him intently as he hesitated before entering the cave. His face was drawn, his shoulders slumped. He did not want to be there.

She followed him in and paused while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was not a large cave; she clearly saw the tablet from where she stood.

More or less circular, it stood on edge, leaning against the cave wall from its perch on a natural stone shelf. Deeply etched into the tablet’s surface, the runes were arranged in a spiral shape. Beside three of them were round, empty holes. Near the center of the spiral two gems remained. Daia’s breath caught in her throat.

As if in a dream, she glided toward the tablet, transfixed on the gemstone in the center that King Arek had placed so long ago. She reached out and touched the King's Blood-stone, jerking back when she felt the glassy surface. It was not meant to be handled by those such as her.

Gavin stepped up beside her. “Awe-inspiring, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

The lump in her throat trapped her voice unspoken, so she nodded her agreement, vaguely aware that something in Gavin was different -- the way he held himself, the timbre of his voice. She took a step to the side to give him room, and he moved to stand before the tablet.

For several long moments, he stood there, unmoving. Was he waiting for something? She looked up at his face and he turned his gaze upon her. A gasp caught in her throat. The face was Gavin’s, but the eyes belonged to someone else. They looked darker now, if that was possible. No, not darker. Deeper. An ancient mirk-night sky long before the stars had ever sparked. Daia had an overwhelming urge to drop to one knee. He looked like a king.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” -dea, -dea, -dea, his deep voice echoed in the cave.

Daia swallowed, and hoped the tears forming in her eyes wouldn't drip down her face. Yes. No. How could she answer that? She drew a deep, shuddering breath. They had discussed it and agreed. She nodded.

He smiled at her, showing the gap in his teeth, and suddenly he looked like Gavin again – a scar-faced, foul-mouthed, over-muscled peasant with a sword. She smiled back. This had to be a dream. In what strange world could a man like him be a king?

As Gavin turned back to the tablet, his smile fell away. He cracked his knuckles, then took the tablet by its edges, flexing his big hands before settling them into place. He closed his eyes and whispered a single word: “Tayewessin.”

Nothing happened. Daia expected harps or lightning – some grand affirmation of the rune’s resolution – but the cave was quiet except for Gavin’s labored breathing.

He swayed on his feet. Before she could reach out to steady him, he dropped to his knees. “Are you all right?” she asked, bending to him. Her voice sounded strange in this place. It did not belong here. He nodded, his head bowed.

Then, the fourth gem dropped out of the tablet and clinked on the stone floor of the cave.

“Blessed Yrys,” Daia whispered.

Gavin reached for the gem and– Did it just move toward his hand? No, it couldn’t have. It must have been a glimmer of light playing tricks on her eyes.

Gavin wrapped his fist around the pale blue gem. He started to stand, and she took his arm to help him up. Her head spun. She felt as weak and pale as Gavin looked. He straightened and looked down at her, his eyes now bloodshot and his lids heavy. “Want to be the queen of Thendylath?”

Daia’s mouth dropped open before she realized he was jesting. He smiled and she returned it. “No, I most certainly do not.”

“You could help me learn the answer to the final rune, and we could take care of it here and now.”

“No,” she said again, “but if you’re ready to claim the King's Blood-stone now…”

His smile dimmed and he looked toward the cave entrance. “We should be going. Scholars could show up any time, and I don’t want to be seen here.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I trust you can keep a secret?”

Daia realized then what was different: his peasant’s speech had all but disappeared. “Of course,” she said. She would keep his secret, but only long enough to make him realize that becoming king was his destiny, not his choice.

* * * * *

North of the cave, the forest stopped abruptly at the edge of a vast, rolling hillside. To the right, the mountains continued north, and the path to Sohan curved to the west across the plain. Any chance for a private moment would be gone for the next few hours, until the travelers reached one of the farms outside of Sohan.

“I got to stop for a shit,” Gavin said.

“Gavin, don’t be crude,” Daia said with a disgusted expression.

Gavin bowed in the saddle with a graceful sweep of his arm. “I humbly beg your pardon, my lady.” He pinched his face into a mockery of sophistication and in a falsetto said, “I must pause to expel my dung.” They both laughed. “Keep going, I’ll catch up.” He turned Golam around and headed for the trees. She continued on the path at a slow walk.

He tied Golam’s reins to a tree at the edge of the wood and walked into the forest, then picked up a stick with which to dig a hole. He took the sword off his back and leaned it against a tree. While he attended to his private business, the faint sound of a horse’s hooves in the distance grew louder by the second. Finished, he laced his trousers and put his sword on his back. The horse and its rider stopped on the path, and then turned toward him.

It was a woman. A Viragon Sister.

“What the hell?” he muttered. Had Daia led him here to fall into a trap set by her guild, pretending to be his friend?

The rider started toward him at a trot, ducking under branches, but slowed as she neared. She stopped about thirty feet away and unhooked a bow from her saddle. “Come with me peacefully and you won’t get hurt.”

“Why should I?” he asked. Another horse approached. Not Daia from the west, but someone else from the south. Shit. Two of them. He’d left his glove with Golam.

The woman nudged her horse forward and nocked a slim arrow, its head a simple point. “Our leader wants to speak with you.”

“Tell your leader to go to hell.”

She drew.

As he dove for cover behind a tree, Gavin felt a sharp sting in his thigh. When he climbed back to his feet, the shaft of an arrow protruded from his left leg. Just as he reached for the knife in his hip sheath, he felt its handle slap into his palm.

The woman positioned another arrow on the rest.

Gavin aimed and threw. The knife spun through the air and stopped, its blade buried in the woman’s chest. She fell from the saddle like a rag doll, landing face-up a dozen feet from Gavin.

“Enamaeria,” cried the other rider. “No!”

The second Viragon Sister charged him. He drew his sword, readying for her attack, but she did not draw her weapon. Instead, she reined her horse hard, leapt from the saddle and ran to her friend.

“You weren’t supposed to battle him,” she said, bending to Gavin’s attacker. “We were just supposed to--” She clapped a hand over her mouth, straightened abruptly and stepped back. She looked up at Gavin with shock in her eyes. “You killed her.”

“She attacked me,” he answered.

This woman looked young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her blonde hair swung easily as she shook her head. “She wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“What the hell do you call this?” Gavin snapped, pointing at the arrow buried in his leg.

Her eyes went to his leg and her mouth fell open. “Oh, Yrys! Let me help—” she said as she started toward him.

“Stay back,” he shouted, raising his sword.

She stopped and raised her palms. “I mean you no harm. I just want to help you.”

“Drop your weapon to the ground,” he told her. She tossed her sword and dagger onto the ground several feet away.

He gritted his teeth and took hold of the arrow shaft. With a hard yank, he pulled it out, biting down on a scream. Black spots whirled before his eyes and he shot a hand out to steady himself against the tree.

The girl took a step, her hands reaching toward him. He pointed his sword at her and she stopped. “Please, let me clean and stitch your wound,” she said.

Gavin could already feel the heat building. With every passing moment the pain lessened. “Why were you following me?” He limped over to the dead swordswoman to pull his knife from her chest.

“Our guild mistress wants to talk to you, that’s all.”

“That’s the rudest invitation I ever got.” He wiped the blood from the blade with the dry tail of her shirt and sheathed the knife. This girl probably wouldn’t attack him, but he held onto his sword anyway.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to find out who you were, but when you showed up with Daia--”

“Hold on, now. What does Daia know of this?” Gavin asked, lowering his voice.

She blinked at him and swallowed. “Nothing, probably. She’s been away. They think she’s a traitor. She’ll be put in the stockade the minute she returns to the compound.”

“Why’s she a traitor? What’d she do?”

The girl stared at him. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. Finally, she whispered, “You’re the one. You’re going to be our new king.”

“Tell me about Daia. Why’s she a traitor?” he asked.

“S-She’s not. One of the black sashes said Daia killed JNese and ran off with the Sisterhood’s money, but it’s a lie. I know Daia – she’s a good person. She would never dishonor herself or the Sisterhood like that.”

Gavin pursed his lips. The Sisterhood was after the Rune Solver. Could it be the Viragon Sisters were in league with Ravenkind or Tyr and they already knew that Risan was not the Rune Solver? “What do you know of a Farthan blacksmith?”

“I know nothing of any Farthan blacksmith.”

“Is the Sisterhood allied with a Nilmarion named Sithral Tyr?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

She looked too young and naïve to be deceitful. He relaxed his gaze and sensed her haze, clear and strong. It gave him the impression she’d been telling the truth.

The Sisterhood could be allied with the Nilmarion. Maybe Daia knew exactly where Risan was. Maybe she was pretending to help rescue Risan in order to lead Gavin into this trap. No wonder Daia didn’t want him looking at her haze; she had a reason to keep her intentions secret.

“You can go back and tell your guild mistress that Daia’s no traitor.”

Chapter 33

As Daia rode slowly toward Sohan, she let her mind wander to the moment of her impending arrival at the Sisterhood complex. Her delay would be met with initial irritation, possibly anger, and she would accept the chastisement she deserved for failing to return immediately with the Sisterhood's money. In fact, that might be the least of her problems; if Cirang had already returned and poisoned Aminda's ears with her twisted version of the beyonder incident, Daia would undoubtedly receive more than a harsh word, possibly extra duties or restriction. Of course, JNese said she would stand behind Daia, so it might not be as bad as all that. When Daia arrived with the Rune Solver at her side, surely any perceived error would be instantly forgiven.

She turned in her saddle and looked back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Gavin shouldn’t have taken this long. He wouldn’t have tried to run off without her, would he? No, he wanted to rescue Risan as badly as she did. Perhaps he had run into beyonders or cutthroats. Daia turned her horse and backtracked, urging Calie to a gallop.

There he was, ahead on the trail, riding at a trot toward her. She slowed Calie to a walk. Gavin stopped in the road a short distance away and held up a hand. “Stop right there.”

She pulled the reins. “What’s going on?” She scanned the treeline behind him for signs of danger.

“Throw your weapon to the ground,” he commanded.

“What? Gavin, are you mad?”

“Do it.”

She urged Calie forward. “Gavin, what’s wrong?”

He drew his sword.

This was madness. Certain he was speaking to some new enemy, she looked behind her. They were alone.

“Throw down your damned weapon. Now.”

“All right.” She unsheathed her sword and tossed it onto the ground. “Tell me what is going on.”

“Your dagger, too.”

She threw down the knife and held up her empty hands. “Gavin, what happened back there?” Her voice rose in alarm.

He approached slowly. While he didn’t sheath his sword, at least he didn’t point it at her. His dark eyes were clouded with suspicion. “You set me up?”

“What are you talking about? Set you up how?”

“One of your friends attacked me in the woods.”

Her mouth fell open. “A Viragon Sister attacked you? That’s absurd.”

He gestured to his leg.

When Daia saw the blood on his trouser leg, her heart sank. “You’re hurt,” she said, her voice thick with concern. “Let me see. I can clean and stitch it.” She started toward him again, but Golam took a few steps backward.

Gavin held up a hand to stop her. “There were two of them. One called you by name, the other’s dead. So, the guild mistress wants to talk to me, eh? What could she want, I wonder.”

“Gavin, I have no idea what this is about. You must believe me. I would never betray you or do anything that might bring you harm. Read my haze -- I’m telling the truth. If Aminda wants to talk to you, she would simply invite you to the compound. We can go there and meet with her, and I’ll prove it.”

“I doubt they’d be very happy to see you. They think you’re a traitor. Or so the other girl said.”

“What?!” Even if Cirang had filled Aminda’s head with lies about the beyonder fight, Daia failed to see how that incident could be twisted into treason. It made no sense. “Where are they? I need to find out what in blazes is going on.” She dismounted and went to her sword. As she bent to pick it up, she looked up at him. “May I?”

His gaze deepened and Daia felt the tickling sensation of him reading her haze. Gavin nodded and sheathed his sword. “They’re back there. In the woods. You can join your Sisters, or you can come with me. Make your choice here and now.”

She retrieved her weapons and sheathed them. “Gavin, this is all some kind of horrible mistake. I don’t know who these women are, but I assure you, the guild mistress would never send someone to attack you.”

“The Viragon Sisterhood is my enemy now. Are you friend or foe?”

“It’s not true. The Sisterhood is—”

“Choose.”

It was not a hard decision to make, but she hated having to make it at all. “You have my loyalty,” she said. “My sword is yours now and forever.” She went to one knee and bowed her head.

Chapter 34

Brodas Ravenkind examined the chest on his desk. He’d long believed that any magic could be defeated, but the gargoyle lock was both ingenious and maddening.

Only three gems remained from his supply, and as he picked up each one, he kenned it, measuring it against the strength of his own magic. “Blasted rocks,” he muttered under his breath. For all but the most basic of spells, they were not nearly dense enough. Soon Lilalian’s battlers would apprehend the Rune Solver. Without a supply of magic grade gems, Brodas would have to rely on less civilized means to pry from his lips the solutions to the final two runes.

He supposed he could extract the information by laying his hands upon the Rune Solver the way he healed people. But without gems to focus through, the task would be difficult at best. He would likely faint from the exertion and pain. Losing self-control that way was unacceptable, especially in the presence of the man solving the King’s Runes. No. He needed those gems.

The irony was not lost on Brodas. He needed the King's Blood-stone to get the answer to the rune that kept him from the King's Blood-stone. A gem of equal quality would certainly do, but such stones were all too rare in Thendylath. One of the other gems, those already claimed by the mysterious Rune Solver, would be more than adequate, but until he was captured, those gems were equally inaccessible. Besides, only a fool would carry gems as invaluable as those around with him. Even when they did locate the Rune Solver, he wouldn't likely reveal their location without prompting, and for that Brodas would need the very gems the Rune Solver would have hidden.

If Sithral Tyr’s scheme worked, and his associates managed to secure a gemsmith’s daughter to hold for ransom, a supply of magic quality gems would soon be within reach. In fact, Brodas should have received word by now that the woman was in Tyr’s custody. Annoyance creased his brow. The Nilmarion probably got carried away torturing her and lost track of time.

Brodas spent the afternoon searching his vast library for ideas on how to defeat the gargoyle lock. No such lock had been documented in any of his books, and as he set down one after another, he grew more and more irritated by his lack of progress and the futility of continuing to search.

Someone knocked on the door of his library.

“Come in,” he snapped. The unintentional volume of his voice surprised him and he relaxed his shoulders and rotated his head to ease the tension in his neck.

Brodas expected to see his cousin when he looked up, but instead he found the youthful face of his newest man-at-arms. For once, he felt glad of it. “Ah, Domach, you’ve returned. I take it our guest is comfortable?”

Domach Demonshredder bowed with more elegance than Brodas had thought him capable. “Guest, my lord?”

Brodas sighed. Not so bright, this one. “The young lady you took to Sithral Tyr’s house,” he explained patiently.

Domach’s eyes widened. “I waited at the Lucky Inn for a week, but Lord Tyr’s friends never arrived. I didn’t know I was to escort a lady, just that I would receive a package.”

Brodas scowled. “Never arrived? Did you tell this to Tyr?”

“I received my instructions from Toren Meobryn. Lord Tyr preferred it that way.”

Trying to be careful, Brodas supposed. He didn’t blame the Nilmarion, especially after nearly being caught selling orphans to the slave traders. “All right, have you told Toren, then?”

“Not exactly, my lord. He knew at the time he left the Lucky Inn that the package had not yet arrived. I stayed a few more days and still Tyr’s friends did not come.”

Brodas rubbed his brow. “All right. Why don’t you go relax for the evening and come back tomorrow? I’ll have an assignment for you then.”

Domach bowed and left.

No gemsmith’s daughter meant no gems. No gems meant no answers to runes. This would not do. He turned back to the chest with the gargoyle lock. There had to be a way to get past it.

Chapter 35

The city of Sohan sat in the distance, embraced by a tall stone wall. Farmers led their mule-drawn carts through the eastern gate and dispersed into the farms that huddled around the city.

Home. Daia looked forward to sleeping in her own bed, if only for one night.

She glanced at the dried blood on his trouser leg. "Are you sure you're not hurt?" she asked. "That's too large a blood stain for a 'mere scratch,' as you say. Just let me look at it."

Gavin shot her an impatient glower and said nothing.

Daia sighed. "Fine. I won't worry about you, then."

As they rode downhill toward Sohan, Daia grew more uneasy. If the things Gavin had said were true, she needed to find out why. Her reputation within the Sisterhood was far from her largest concern anymore. She'd pledged fealty to Gavin. She was no longer a Viragon Sister. His assertion that the Sisterhood had sent battlers to attack him weighed heavily upon her mind. She did not think he would lie to her, but found it difficult to believe. Gavin must have misunderstood what the two Sisters had told him. “I need to go to the compound and find out what’s going on,” Daia said.

“You took an oath. You saying you want to break with me already?”

“No, of course not. Gavin, the Sisterhood was my home – my family. That a Viragon Sister would attack you under orders from Aminda is disturbing. For my own peace of mind, I need to know why. I need to know whether the guild I spent six years of my life serving is corrupt at its core, or if those two battlers were renegades.”

Gavin shrugged. “If they see you as a traitor, being in Sohan’s prob’ly dangerous for you. Until that other girl returns, they won’t know who I am, but you…”

“Let me go to the compound alone, then, and talk to them. You can wait for me at a place of your choosing.”

He didn’t answer, and they rode in silence until they reached the gate just after dusk. “Meet me at the western gate at daybreak,” he said. “If you’re not there, I go on alone.”

“I’ll be there or I’ll be dead.” She bowed in the saddle and guided Calie down Music Street toward the Sisterhood compound. She owed him a favor for this.

* * * * *

Gavin watched Daia as she left, wondering at the sight of her back whether she would return. If she were a prudent battler, she would exercise caution, knowing that the guild considered her a traitor. If not, then he supposed he was better off without her. The thought was moan-worthy. He enjoyed her company if not the comfort of having her eye on his back.

He dismounted and led Golam through the streets of Sohan on foot. It wasn’t one of his favorite cities, but he knew where to find other warrant knights for ales and tales. Along the main thoroughfares, free-standing cressets had been lit, providing enough light that people needed no torches to find their way.

The clang of metal striking metal brought Gavin to a stop. That sound, familiar in a distant way, stirred a memory of something from his past. He could not quite capture it, like trying to grab a fistful of smoke. It might have had something to do with his father, but no matter how he tried, he saw in his mind’s eye only a tall ceiling and something tan.

He continued through the market, scanning for a food vendor. As he walked along, he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd: his passionate pendant thief.

He tied Golam’s reins to a post so that he could circle around and approach her from behind. He wove his way through the townsfolk bartering for late-day discounts until he stood directly beside her. The woman stood before a bread cart, squeezing loaves and tearing off small chunks from the bottoms whenever the merchant looked away. With a cool smile, he gripped her upper arm.

She gasped and tried to jerk away, looking up with an expression of shock that changed quickly to recognition and then to dread.

“You didn’t even leave me a pielar for a piece of bread.”

The woman stuttered for a moment. “I’m sorry. I’ll give it back.”

He pulled her through the crowd to stand under a lamp so he could heat his blade.

“Mama!” A trio of children swarmed them. Tiny fists rained down on Gavin’s hand, arm, back and buttocks. “Let her go! Let go-a my mother!” they cried. A dirty-faced boy with matted brown hair opened his mouth wide and set his teeth against Gavin’s forearm.

“There now, stop that,” he said, yanking his arm out of the child’s mouth. Tiny indentations formed two semi-circles in his skin. Something hit him hard in the shin. Gavin turned and saw his would-be pickpocket from Ambryce with the copper-colored hair, snarling like a rabid dog and kicking him repeatedly with her tattered boot. He took hold of the girl by the shoulder, holding her at arm’s length, out of range of her feet. “You again. This is your mother?”

“Yeh,” she said, “and you better leave her alone.” She kicked out again and missed her target by a half-foot.

“It’s awright, Fiora,” the woman said. She put an arm around her daughter and pulled her away from Gavin. “He just wants to talk to me. You and the boys go stand over there a minute.”

The children stopped their attack and glared at him while they backed away. They huddled by the wall of a shop. The girl was the tallest; the two boys couldn’t have been more than four or five years old.

“I already spent most of it,” the woman said as she pulled Gavin’s coin purse from a pocket. “But here’s what’s left. Please don’t take me to gaol -- my children’ll have nobody.”

“Where’s their father?” Gavin asked.

“Bein’ ripped asunder by beyonders, I hope. He promises to do what needs doin’, then runs away like a timid puppy -- just like his own papa. Leaves his children to suffer for his failures.” She held the purse out to him and he took it, but he didn’t have to open it to know that Calewen’s Pendant was not inside.

“The necklace – where is it?”

“Sold it,” she said, glancing away.

“Don’t lie to me. Who’d you give it to?”

She tucked her lips between her teeth. A tear dribbled from one eye and she quickly wiped it away. “The battler you was settin’ with at the tavern. He tol' me I could keep the money if I stole the necklace and gave it to 'im.”

“Which one? There were three.” He needed proof before he took his sword to the matter.

She hung her head and said, “The blond with the beard.”

To be sure, he relaxed his gaze and looked over the glow surrounding her body. She’d told him the truth. “Why’d you do it?”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I had to hire a ride to Sohan. It was too far for the young’uns to walk.”

He picked up first her right hand, then her left, pushing up her sleeves to reveal the smooth skin on her forearms. No brands yet. “Dalli, you know I got to do this,” he said softly.

She nodded without looking up.

He drew his knife and held the blade in the cresset’s flame. “Don’t jerk. It’ll hurt more if you do.” He grasped her left wrist tightly to hold her arm still. As he dragged the tip of his knife over her skin, a line of blood rose to the surface. After carving the G, he wiped her arm with his shirt tail before starting on the K. Tears streamed down her face, but she did not make a peep. When he released her arm, it fell limply to her side. She didn’t clutch it, didn’t try to wrap it in the cloth of her blouse. She stood with her eyes downcast.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Take this.” He picked up her right hand and put his coin purse in her palm.

“It never ends, does it?” she asked softly. “My children’ll grow up the way I did and raise their children the same way. Beggin’, whorin’, stealin’. It’ll never end.”

“It can end,” Gavin replied. “But you have to end it. You have to be the strong one. Find yourself a job as a washerwoman or somethin’. Teach your children how to live an honest life by your example.”

She nodded and sniffled. “I will. I got a new friend,” she said. “A wealthy friend. He said he’d help me. I just need to find him, but I’m havin’ no luck.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Lord Tyr. I tried askin’ the Lordover Sohan where he lives, but the guards wouldn’t let me up to 'is mansion.”

“Sithral Tyr? The Nilmarion?” Gavin asked.

She looked up, her face brightening. “Yeh, that’s 'im. You know 'im? You know where I could find 'im?”

Gavin glanced over at the children watching them from under the shop’s awning. “If you don’t want a brand on your other arm, you’ll stay away from Sithral Tyr. He’s the one who sent you to steal that necklace by way of the blond battler. Look what it got you.”

Dalli’s eyes widened and she looked up at him. “No,” she cried. “That ain't so. It can’t be so. He promised to help me.” She burst into tears. “No, no, it can’t be. He promised.”

Gavin looked at her more closely. This was not the calculated performance of a criminal, but the desperate plea of a mother. “Dalli, listen. Get yourself to Lalorian and find the lordover’s mansion. Ask for his son, Edan Dawnpiper. Tell him Gavin sent you.”

She snapped her head up with a gape, face streaked with tears. “Truly?”

Gavin nodded. “He’ll help you. Will you do that?”

Dalli threw her arms around him and sobbed. He held her for a moment, patting her back awkwardly, until she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you. I’ll never forget your kindness.”

With one last glance at the copper-haired girl, the girl that was not Caevyan, Gavin turned and left.

Chapter 36

The compound was still and quiet, the women probably in the dining hall sitting down at supper. Daia guided Calie up to the gate at the guardhouse.

“Hail,” she called out.

A guard stepped out: Nasharla. A friend. She looked around furtively. “Daia. What are you doing here?” she said softly.

“I’m back from a mission. Open the gate,” Daia said.

Nasharla shook her head. “You’d better stay out of sight or find your head on a pole.”

“What are you talking about?” Her heart quickened. Gavin's attackers were no renegades.

“Listen. Cirang told everyone what happened, and they’ve branded you a thief and a traitor. Lilalian wants you dead.”

Daia gasped. She looked through the iron bars at the dark windows of Aminda’s office. “How can they have blown it out of proportion like that? Is Aminda here? I need to talk to her – explain what happened.”

“Aminda’s dead. Lilalian’s in charge now, and Cirang’s her captain.”

No. Aminda could not be dead. “How?” she croaked.

“Lilalian says she choked on her food. Some of us-- some of the women don’t believe it.” The guard cast a look behind her. “Stay away, for your own sake. Something strange is happening. No one trusts anyone any more, and you’re their newest enemy. If they catch you, they’ll execute you for JNese’s murder.”

“JNese? JNese isn’t dead, only her horse. Tell me it’s only her horse.”

“They brought her body back for burial the other day. Cirang said she pulled your knife from JNese’s chest.”

Daia swallowed down the urge to vomit. Cirang had stolen her knife. “Tennara can speak for me. JNese was alive when I left them in Tern. As for the rest, here.” She pulled from her knapsack the purse of coins she had gotten from Tennara and the merchant. “This is the payment for my mission. Every pielar is there. This will prove I’m no thief.”

Nasharla held up both hands. “I can’t take that. If I give it to Lilalian, she’ll know I spoke to you, and then I’d be arrested for not detaining you. Keep it, Daia. You’re going to need it.” She looked over her shoulder. “My partner’s returning from the privy. You'd better leave now.”

Daia nodded. Nasharla took a big personal risk by talking to her. “My thanks,” she said. “I owe you.” She turned Calie about and headed for the market to catch up with Gavin.

It occurred to her that the second Sister Gavin had seen also knew they were traveling together. With her description of Gavin, the Sisterhood would be looking for them both. He would be in as much danger here as she was. Gavin would be safer if they did not search the city for Sithral Tyr together.

She rode through town and checked some of the taverns nearest the western gate where battlers gathered. In a particularly foul-smelling place, she found Gavin seated with a few battlers, one of whom she recognized from the Lucky Inn: Domach Demonshredder, Brawna’s dark-haired brother. With five battlers sitting together drinking ale, Daia would undoubtedly be made to suffer rude jokes and suggestive comments. She was in no mood for it. She took a deep breath and headed to their table.

“Well, well, little Sister,” one of them said. “Join us. There’s room here on my lap.” He patted his thigh and held a hand out to her.

“How about if I sit on your chest and pummel your face bloody?” she spat.

“Hooo! She sounds dangerous,” another said.

A third one said, “I can tame the wildcat. Five minutes in my bed and she’ll be purrin’ like a kitten.”

Daia narrowed her eyes and curled her hands into fists. She might actually like to see him try it.

Gavin looked up at her and winked, then folded his arms and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I dare you to pinch her bottom,” he said to the first man. “I’ll give you a kion if you do it.”

Daia furrowed her brows at Gavin. Perhaps he wanted to see this fellow take a beating in front of his friends.

“Somehow I get the feeling you’re trying to set me up, Kinshield,” the man said. “Don’t think I’ll try it -- for less than a dycla.”

The other men laughed. One of them fished in his coin purse and threw two kions onto the table. “I’d pay to see that,” he said. “Who else’ll put in with me?”

Domach stood up. “Daia, ignore these barbarians. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Take my seat. I’ll get another.”

“No, thank you, Domach. I can’t stay.” She turned to Gavin. “May I speak with you a moment?”

The other men hooted suggestively and cheered him on. “Tell us about it later, Gavin,” one of them said.

They were all alike. Daia walked to the door with Gavin following behind. When she reached the street, she turned to face him and glimpsed Domach’s disappointed expression watching them through the doorway as he sat back down.

“You get the answers you were looking for?” Gavin asked.

“I got answers, but now I have more questions. It’s not safe here for either of us. We should ask around about Tyr tonight, while it’s still dark. We’ll need to get a room and hope no one asks too many questions.”

“A room. I like the sound of that.”

“A pair of rooms,” she said, “if you don’t want to sleep on the floor.” She gave herself a mental slap on the head. He would soon be the king – she wouldn’t make him sleep on the floor.

Gavin chuckled. “Let me finish off my tankard. Golam’s stabled at the Lion’s Inn across the street. Why don’t you get your horse settled there and we’ll go on foot.”

“All right. I’ll meet you here. We can decide our plan then.” Daia unhitched Calie and headed toward the inn.

* * * * *

Gavin went back into the tavern and bowed at the applause coming from his table. “No woman can resist this,” he said, pointing at himself with a smile. He reached for his tankard and felt it slap into his palm. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought it moved. He picked up the tankard and started to guzzle the ale down.

“Do you know her well?” Domach asked.

Gavin eyed him over the rim. After he set the tankard back on the table, empty, and wiped the foam from his lip, he patted Domach’s shoulder. “Well enough.” He could not resist taunting Domach at every opportunity. “She just told me she wanted to get a room, so I’ll have to wish you all a good evening. Strength and courage.”

Domach followed him out of the tavern amid the hoots of encouragement. “Kinshield,” he said quietly. “Set aside our friendly competitions for a moment. Are you and she really, uh, involved?”

Domach was smitten. Gavin smiled grimly. “Naw, Demonshredder. She ain’t interested in a buck like me. Maybe you’re more to her liking.”

“But you travel with her?”

“We’re looking for a friend.”

Domach took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, Kinshield. I’ll let you win the next round of knives.”

Gavin roared with laughter. “In that case, I'll tie both my arms behind my back and throw with my teeth. That way I can brag about how I beat you.”

Domach laughed and gave Gavin a friendly slap on the arm. His gaze shifted over Gavin’s shoulder.

“Ready?” Daia asked as she approached.

“It’s a bit late to be setting out,” Domach said to Daia. “Why not sit and have a drink with us? I’ll buy.”

“We have some business to attend to,” Daia said. “But thanks for the offer. Next time we meet, I hope.”

“I’ll bid you a safe journey then,” Domach said, and started back toward the tavern.

A pensive look crossed Daia’s face. “Domach...” He turned around with a hopeful expression. “The evening I met you at the Lucky Inn – do you remember seeing a Nilmarion man wearing all black?”

Domach walked back over to join them. “Yes, why do you ask?”

“You know him?” Gavin asked.

“Sure. Sithral Tyr.”

Gavin and Daia exchanged a surprised glance. “Do you know where we can find him?” Daia asked.

Domach looked from one to the other, a scowl darkening his face. “I’d have to know what this is about,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Gavin looked around to be sure they were not within earshot of a casual eavesdropper. He tugged Domach’s sleeve to move him farther from the tavern door. “We think he kidnapped someone.”

Even in the darkness, Domach’s shocked expression was plain. “Kidnapped? Are you sure it was Tyr?”

“We’re fairly certain,” Daia replied. “If not him, perhaps he has some useful information.”

Domach put a hand to his forehead and wiped it down his face. “Damn it all to hell. I suspected something odd... Listen, Tyr uses an abandoned farmhouse for his business. My employer sent me on a mission to take a package to that house.”

“The one that never showed up?” Gavin asked. “When I saw you at the Lucky Inn, you said you were waiting for a package.”

“That’s right. When I went back to report to my employer, he asked if I had escorted his guest to Tyr’s house. I didn’t know the package was a woman. I wonder if your kidnapped friend is there.”

“Where?” Daia and Gavin asked in unison.

“Can you take us?” Daia added.

“It’s near Calsojourn. My employer gave me a map and hasn’t asked for it back. I’ll get it.” Domach did not wait for a response before jogging across the street to the inn.

“I wonder who his employer is,” Daia said.

“Ravenkind,” Gavin replied quietly. “Got to be.”

“I sure hope Risan’s at that house.”

Gavin nodded somberly. “And still alive.”

Domach returned with a folded parchment. He handed it to Gavin. “I’ll come with you. I’ve never been there, so I don’t know if the map is accurate or what we’ll find when we arrive. But we have to be careful; Toren Meobryn works for Tyr.”

“Who do you work for?” Gavin asked.

“A cleric by the name of Brodas Ravenkind. They do a lot of business together.”

Gavin spat a wad of phlegm onto the ground. “Ravenkind’s no cleric. He’s a child murdering devil. You better stay away from him, Demonshredder. He’ll kill your family like he did mine.”

Daia gaped at him.

“Ho! That was Ravenkind?” Domach asked.

Gavin supposed the story of his family’s murder was common knowledge among the battlers who knew him. “Yeh.”

“I don’t mean to disagree with you, Gavin,” Daia said, “but Domach, perhaps you should stay here and go on as though nothing is out of the ordinary. If Ravenkind or Tyr suspects that something’s amiss, we might lose our chance to save Risan.”

”Good point," Gavin agreed.

Domach nodded. “All right. Would you send word to me here when you find your friend? Then I can break with Ravenkind.”

“Will do,” Daia said. She put a hand on Domach’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Domach.”

“Hey, if anyone asks if you seen either of us, you haven’t,” Gavin said.

“Especially anyone from the Viragon Sisterhood,” Daia added.

Domach raised his brows. “What?”

“Something strange is happening there,” Daia explained. “Too much to go into right now.”

“Is my sister all right?”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

Domach offered his hand to each of them. “Strength and courage.”

As Domach walked back to the tavern, Gavin relaxed his gaze and examined Domach’s haze. While he still did not completely understand all the colors and smudges he saw there, Gavin’s impression was that Domach had no betrayal in his heart.

Daia asked, “Do you know him well? Can we trust him?”

“Yeh. He’s a decent sort. I just read his haze. He means us well. At least, he means you well.”

Daia smiled. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeh, but not nearly enough. Let’s get some food and eat in our room. No sense taking chances being spotted by your Sister friends. We can leave at first light.”

“Good idea,” Daia said. “While we eat, I’ll tell you what I found out at the Sisterhood.”

Chapter 37

The ride back to Sohan seemed longer than the ride to the Rune Cave had been. Night had fallen by the time the guards admitted Brawna through the gate at the Sisterhood compound.

“By Yrys! Is she dead?” “What happened?” the guards asked her.

“I need to talk to Lilalian,” Brawna said wearily. “Is she here?”

“Yeh,” one of them replied. “Check her office or her quarters.”

“Tell us what happened, Brawna,” the other begged.

“I have to tell Lilalian first.” Brawna nudged Tripsa forward and rode to the stable leading Enamaeria’s horse with Enamaeria draped over its back.

Women gathered around. “What happened?” “Did you run into highwaymen?” “Was it beyonders?” “Are you hurt?” Two of the women took the reins of the horses.

Brawna climbed down, her muscles stiff and sore. Without a word, she went into the main building, dimly lit by wall sconces, and climbed slowly up the stairs to Lilalian’s office to tell the guild mistress she’d failed on her first mission.

Her arm felt bricklike when she lifted it to knock. No answer. She turned to go downstairs. Lilalian entered below. Brawna waited while Lilalian jogged up the stairs, her mouth pinched tight, her gaze icy. Brawna bowed her head. “My lady.”

Lilalian opened the office door and lit a lamp. Brawna entered behind her.

“Who attacked you?” Lilalian asked, closing the door.

“We were not attacked.”

“Start from the beginning.” Lilalian went around the desk and sat, then motioned to a chair in front of it.

Brawna sat obediently, laying her hands on her thighs, and gave Lilalian an accounting of the events. “He was not a meek scholar but a battler. He killed her -- in self-defense.”

Brawna could not read Lilalian’s expression, but the look in her eyes made Brawna shudder; they were as flat and dead as Enamaeria’s.

“Did you battle him? Did you try to apprehend him?” Lilalian asked.

Brawna drew back, shocked. “No, m’lady. He’d done nothing wrong. Besides, he was with a Sister.”

Lilalian’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Which Sister?”

Brawna suddenly doubted that the Rune Solver’s traveling companion would give him any more credibility. She regretted mentioning it. “Daia,” she whispered.

“Daia is no longer a Viragon Sister. She has murdered one of our own and stolen Sisterhood funds. You should have brought the Rune Solver here, Brawna. Those were your orders.”

“What? No. My orders were to follow him,” Brawna argued. “Quietly, without being seen.”

“Don’t be naïve,” Lilalian snapped. “You were to apprehend him. Enamaeria wounded him to make his capture easier. Now he’ll be on his guard -- and with a champion, too. You didn’t by chance ask his name before you let him go happily on his way?”

Brawna hung her head. “No, m’lady.” A knock rattled the door behind her. She jumped.

“Come,” Lilalian barked.

Cirang strode into the office and looked Brawna over. “What happened to Enamaeria?” she asked.

“Daia’s little apprentice let her die while trying to carry out her orders and did nothing to stop her murderer or avenge her death.”

“What?” Brawna screeched, leaping to her feet. “No! I did nothing wrong.”

“Seer Ravenkind will be very upset,” Cirang said.

“Lock her in a storeroom for the night and take her to him in the morning. She'll answer for her actions. And get some battlers on the street to look for Daia. If we find her, we’ll likely find Enamaeria’s murderer, too.”

Brawna’s head spun. How could they blame her for something she had no control of?

Cirang grabbed Brawna’s arm and shoved her toward the door. Then Brawna noticed a gold chain around Cirang’s neck that disappeared under her tunic. A chain just like the one Lilalian wore.

Chapter 38

Brodas awoke early the next morning, continuing the methodical search through his remaining books for mention of magical gargoyles. Once the sun had risen, he opened the curtains and extinguished the reading lamp. Just as he returned to his seat with another book, Warrick burst through the door.

“Brodas, Tyr has arrived. He says he’s brought the rune solver with him.”

Brodas shot to his feet so quickly, he knocked his chair over. Without bothering to right it, he strode to the great hall with Warrick at his heel. “Is he certain?”

“Certain enough.”

When Brodas greeted Sithral Tyr in the great hall with a handshake, he caught a flash of something silver the Nilmarion was holding behind his back. “Warrick tells me you’ve brought the Rune Solver.”

Tyr gave a slight bow. “That I have, my friend.”

Toren Meobryn stepped through the door carrying the limp form of a boy over his shoulder.

“A child?” Brodas asked with a scowl.

“Not a child,” Tyr said. “A Farthan.”

Although Brodas had been working with Sithral Tyr in various business endeavors for nearly two years, he hesitated to look into the man’s eyes, for the shallow stare unnerved him. But he did look now, and there he saw confidence, satisfaction and a dark sort of lust. No doubt, Tyr expected that his debt would be paid this day. “Take him upstairs,” Brodas told Toren. “Put him in one of the guest rooms. Warrick, secure the room so that he can't escape. And have the steward clean him up and prepare a meal for us all.” He turned back to Tyr. “What proof do you have that he’s the Rune Solver?”

From behind his back, Tyr pulled a sword and extended it toward Brodas.

Brodas gasped. In the hilt were three of the most exquisite gems Brodas had ever seen. He took the sword as a mother would her newborn.

The craftsmanship astounded him. Not only was the sword artful, it looked sharp enough to slice through rock as though it were water. Brodas focused on the gem in the eye of the snake’s head at the pommel and measured its depth. It felt like putting his hand into a bucket, expecting to touch the bottom and finding nothing as far as he could reach. His heart began to race, and he checked the two others; both were as clear and deep as the first. By the sword of King Arek!

To hell with the gemsmith’s daughter. To hell with the gargoyle-locked box. Brodas had the Rune Stones and the rune solver.

* * * * *

Risan awoke in a room lit by the sun shining through a tall window. He lay upon a firm, comfortable bed covered in clean, soft linens. His head rested on a plump down pillow. He glanced around at the room, at the cheerful yellow walls, the finely crafted dressing table and matching wardrobe. The smell of bacon and fresh bread drew Risan upright.

This must be a dream. What is this place? How long have I been here? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped to the floor, landing lightly on a round blue and yellow rug. His dirty tunic and trousers were gone, and he wore a long night-shirt of soft blue cotton.

The window drew his eye, but the smell of food tempted him more. A platter of boiled eggs, bacon, ham, fruit and bread had been laid out on a tray with a glass of water and a sweating metal pitcher. He downed the water first, and while he poured another glass with one hand, he began to shovel the food into his mouth with the other, not caring that some of it fell into his beard.

The first explanation that came to mind for his new surroundings was that he had been rescued from the Nilmarion and brought here to recover. He chuckled to think that he would soon be going home to Arlet, and he looked forward to meeting his hero. Mayhap Gavin Kinshield had saved him.

His hope of having been rescued was soon shattered when he went to the door and found it locked. He rattled the door in its frame a few times and pounded on it with his fist. “Open door.”

Pressing his ear to the door, he heard neither movement nor voices. He dropped to his hands and knees and peered under it. He saw only the wooden floor stretching toward a green-painted wall. Bending the tines of the fork, he tried to fool the lock into opening. When that didn’t work, he went to the window.

About thirty feet below him stretched a courtyard overrun with weeds. Arlet would click her tongue at such an ill-kept garden. Along the back side of the courtyard stood a wall of red brick with a crooked metal gate propped open with a brick. Beyond the wall was a barn with a freshly painted door, and beyond the barn, freedom. Home.

He scanned the area and, with his forehead pressed against the glass, looked down as well as he could. He saw no one. Not a single groundskeeper, repair man or stable hand was in sight. Risan grabbed the handles on the window and tugged. It did not budge. He scanned the frame and saw four nail heads pounded flush with the surface of the wood.

Not a problem. He took the quilt from the bed and held it up to the window, tucking it as close as he could. With his elbow, he broke the glass. The quilt muffled the sound somewhat, but if anyone had been within earshot of his call, they’d have heard the window break. Risan wasted no time waiting for the sound of footsteps. He pushed the broken shards of glass out of the window frame and spread the quilt across the bottom. Sitting on the sill, he started to swing his legs over. Nightshirt. No shoes. Damn.

He quickly opened and slammed the drawers in the dresser, hunting for a pair of trousers. To his surprise and good fortune, he found his own clothes in a drawer, washed, dried, pressed and folded, and his boots in the corner beside the wardrobe. He changed hastily, then returned to the window.

The drop to the roof of a porch below him was about twenty feet. Casting a glance at the bedroom door, then back down at the roof, Risan felt like he was between a hammer and an anvil. The slope of the roof gave him no chance of a solid landing. He would probably break one or both of his ankles. But he had no reason to hope that the door would lead to a more pleasant exit. Whether his cell was a dank dungeon or a well-furnished guest room, Risan was a prisoner.

A weapon might be helpful. He picked up the fork, bent the tines straight again, and put it in his pocket. Sitting on the edge of the window, he swung his legs over the sill.

Risan took a deep breath and jumped.

* * * * *

“What a remarkable story,” Brodas said as he pushed his chair back from the dining table. “That you happened to be within earshot of those telling the tale in the tavern is further proof of my destiny to rule. Tyr, my friend, you’ve done exceedingly well.” Brodas gave him an appreciative nod. “Let’s relax in the sitting room and let our meal settle while we talk.” He gestured for Warrick and Toren to lead the way, and as he followed behind with Tyr, he turned the sword over in his hands, admiring the quality of not only the gems embedded in the hilt, but of the weapon itself. “The Rune Stones. They’re magnificent.” He looked up, unable to keep the smile from his face. “But don’t you think the sword is a bit long for a Farthan?”

Sithral Tyr smirked and took the sword from Brodas’s hands. “Obviously, it’s a decorative piece, not meant to be used for spilling blood. Look at the craftsmanship and the elegant symbols etched into the blade.”

The servant arrived with a carafe of wine, four glasses and a plate of after-dinner cookies. He set the tray on a low table in the center of the room, and began to pour wine for everyone. Toren Meobryn declined with a raised hand. The steward left his glass empty on the table, and then bowed and left.

Brodas relaxed in his favorite chair. "Ornamental or not, that is undoubtedly the finest weapon I've ever seen. Please, make yourselves comfortable." He gestured to the sofa across from him, and Tyr sat down, but Toren remained standing, positioning himself beside Tyr with his hands loosely clasped in front of him to affect a casual stance. For all that Brodas and the Nilmarion pretended to be friends, Brodas had never trusted Tyr and felt certain the feeling was mutual.

“It’s enchanted,” Toren said. “I’d caution you against trying to use its magic. The thing is shuddersome.”

Tyr chuckled. “Toren believes the sword has its own mind and speaks to him through his thoughts.”

Toren narrowed his eyes at them. “Laugh if you like. I know what I heard. I won’t touch the vile thing.”

"I didn’t sense any magic within it,” Brodas said. "Just the gems. Unless you’ve suddenly become a more powerful mage than I am, I don’t see cause for such melodrama. I’ll let my associates know that we have found the Rune Solver and they can stop looking.”

“Just be wary,” Tyr said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “He will try to escape.”

Warrick snorted. “I have little to fear from an eighty pound Farthan. Meobryn, on the other hand, must be quivering at the thought of him.”

Toren made a rude gesture at Warrick. “I’ll give you something to fear, wench.”

Brodas held up a hand. “Now, now. A determined man can be a formidable opponent, no matter his size.”

Warrick nodded, but his smile remained. “You speak truly, cousin.”

“I can keep my secret no longer,” Tyr said as he stood. “I’ve brought you not one gift, my friend, but two. The Rune Solver is now in your custody, and with Toren's help, I’ve managed to secure your prize.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a black pouch, then opened the top and pulled out a diamond necklace.

This was no ordinary diamond; it was Calewen’s Pendant. Brodas could not mistake the rosy glow of Arek’s essence. “My word,” he breathed. He took the gold chain gently and laid the gemstone across his open palm.

According to Crigoth Sevae’s journal, Brodas could use this pendant to become Wayfarer. Once he discovered how to extract King Arek’s essence, he’d have access to all seven realms. He could travel to the beyonders’ realm to find the ultimate guardian: Ritol, the warrior demon. With Ritol as his champion, nothing could harm him, and no one would dare dispute his claim to the throne.

“There is still the small matter of a token,” Tyr said as he handed Brodas the empty velvet pouch.

Brodas gave Tyr a polite smile as he returned the necklace to its pouch. He'd held Tyr's leash for so long and had enjoyed commanding the Nilmarion's repertoire of tricks, he hesitated to set the dog free. Returning Tyr's token would mean the end of their relationship.

A hideous porcelain cat figurine with some religious significance, the token kept the Nilmarion nearby and behaving well. Brodas had Tyr’s precious bauble well-hidden. Almost a year ago, he had promised to return it in exchange for Tyr's help in claiming the throne. Now it looked like he wouldn't have Tyr's services for much longer, but he wouldn't release his powerful ally a moment sooner than he had to. “You're racing the horse, my friend," he said. "Once we ascertain that the blacksmith is, indeed, the Rune Solver, I will return your token to you and your debt will be paid.”

Tyr scowled. “Stronghammer is unwilling to disclose the secrets of the King’s Runes. It could take weeks to torture them from him, and my business in Nilmaria is long overdue. I've probably lost all of my clients to competitors in my long absence.”

“Worry not. I have ways of making people say what’s on their mind.”

“Then there is no reason to delay. Perhaps I can offer you something else in exchange for my token’s immediate return.” He patted the sword lying across his knees.

Brodas looked at the sword on Tyr’s lap. "You aren't thinking to trade that sword, are you? The Rune Stones are in it -- they belong to the king, and so they are part of our agreement."

A crooked smile lifted one corner of Tyr’s thin mouth, warping the tattoo surrounding his lips. "I beg to differ," Tyr said. "I agreed to help you claim the throne. Neither these gems nor the sword itself are required to achieve your goal." He turned the sword and let his eyes slowly caress its length. "I'm sure this would fetch a good price in Nilmaria."

Brodas pinched his lips together. The weasel had him. “All right. Give me the sword -- and promise to do one more favor for me -- and I’ll give you the token.”

“We will make a simultaneous exchange.”

Brodas sighed. “I’ll be just a moment.” He hurried to the kitchen, opened the freezing box, and dug through paper-wrapped meats and vegetables until he found the container in which he had stashed Tyr's figurine.

Rust dotted the metal box. Layers of frost crusted its surface. He sent a wave of heat through his hands, causing the frost to melt and its water to drip through his fingers. With a rag, he wiped first the box, then his hands, and returned to the sitting room.

Tyr's face glowed with anticipation as he rose from his chair and came forward. Brodas set the box on a table and lifted the lid. Tyr reached for it, but Brodas shut the lid quickly and pulled the box away.

"The sword?" he asked.

Tyr thrust the weapon into Brodas's hands, not taking his eyes from the box. With a delicate touch, the Nilmarion opened the lid, reached in and lifted the cloth bundle, then carefully unwound the wrapping.

Brodas had not looked at the figurine since he had tucked it away. Once again, he was appalled at the hideousness of the thing, more despicable than he'd remembered.

The cat-shaped statuette was a dull grayish-green color, shiny with glaze, posed in a sitting position, its porcelain tail curled like a whore's tongue around its body. Its eyes were not the slitted golden, green or blue of a true cat, but round and black. Looking into them sent a shiver down Brodas’s spine. The unnatural color did not disgust him as much as the sense that they were alive.

Tyr whispered and cooed in a stream of unintelligible words, perhaps a prayer in some heathen tongue. Brodas studied him, wondering why the figurine would be so important to him. Not only was it ugly, but it repulsed Brodas to his core unlike even the vilest, most gruesome beyonder ever had. Then he realized what was wrong with it; its eyes had what Tyr’s lacked. At last, Brodas understood the reason for the dead look in Tyr’s eyes and his refusal to return to his homeland without his token: the hideous cat figurine housed Sithral Tyr’s soul. The realization initially stunned him, but when he considered it further, he found it no longer surprised him. The Nilmarion had no sense of morality.

"Now, about that final task,” Brodas said. “There's an orphan boy living among the rats in my cellar. I need him to quietly disappear."

"You want him dead?" Tyr asked.

"Heavens no. He's just a child. He could be useful to someone someday. Your slave-trader friends to the west would undoubtedly find much value in a fair-skinned, fair-haired boy. If you were to sell him, it could be quite profitable for us both."

Tyr considered this for a moment, then said, "The risk to me is great. The 'ranter Calinor is still on my heels. He nearly caught me last time."

"I would be willing to give you the larger share of the profit, say, sixty percent?"

“Might I remind you that the risk is fully mine,” Tyr said. “Sixty percent does not make up for that. The share of payment should reflect the share of risk.”

Brodas sighed. While he held the reins, Tyr’s game could be entertaining, but now he found the bartering tiresome. “Keep the entire profit for yourself, then. Just get the boy out of here.”

"I'll do it," Toren volunteered. "That way, Lord Tyr can return home without delay. Calinor wouldn't suspect me of the deed; he thinks I'm a true warrant knight."

“Perfect,” Brodas said, raising his glass to Toren.

From the back of the manor came a dull thud followed by a clatter.

Warrick shot to his feet. “What was that?” He bolted from the room.

Chapter 39

Risan landed on the roof awkwardly. He flailed his arms to gain his balance. His right foot, lower on the slope of the roof, hit on an angle. He fell down the pitch and over the edge. He landed on a pile of firewood stacked against the wall, scraping his skin and embedding what felt like dozens of splinters into it. The wooden logs rolled out from under him and brought him tumbling to the ground.

Dazed but still aware of where he was, he staggered to his feet. His ankle was on fire. He took a step and stumbled as the pain shot up his leg. Blast it. The pain he could suffer until he got to safety, but the ankle would not bear his weight. He limped as well as he could, hopping every other step, toward the gate. The closer he got to freedom, the more intense the burn in his ankle. He fell to his knees. All right, then, he would crawl.

“Hey! Stop!”

Risan hauled himself to his feet once again, desperate to make it beyond the gate. Footsteps pounded the grass behind him. He dragged his right foot and hopped on his left leg. It tired quickly. His muscles began to burn. He had to reach the gate, the first barrier to his freedom.

An arm grabbed him around the chest from behind. “No you don’t.”

Risan drew the fork from his pocket and sunk it into the man’s flesh as hard as he could. He felt it stop when it hit bone.

The man screamed, reaching for the fork.

Risan turned and jammed a thumb into his captor’s eye. There. A sword on his hip. Risan grabbed the hilt and drew.

The black-haired man jumped back, one eye bloody but still intact; the other, brilliant blue, glowed. Blood soaked his right sleeve. “Put the weapon down,” he warned from behind a thick mustache. “No one wants to hurt you.”

“Then let me be on my way,” Risan said, hopping backward toward the gate. “You turn around and go into house, and I will cause you no more pain.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You forget who is holding sword,” Risan said.

“Warrick, get back,” someone shouted.

The man backed away, then turned and ran. Risan looked up at the house. Another man with the same jet-black hair stood on the step holding a sword. Holding Aldras Gar.

Risan started to turn, intending – hoping – to get beyond the brick wall.

A light flashed. A line split the air and widened, revealing the most intense blackness Risan had ever seen. A clawed hand reached into the real world from... beyond.

He can summon beyonders. Risan staggered backward away from the emerging monster. An arm, a leg, a fiend’s bulbous gray head, and the smell of sulfur burst forth. The thing stood upright like a man, its skin gray with a film of white mucus sliding down its length. Where the clumps of mucus dripped onto the ground, ice crystals formed and spread. Wisps of frosty steam floated outward and disappeared into the air.

Gripping the sword two-handed, Risan plunged it into the creature’s belly. It screamed and flailed. White mucus splattered onto Risan's hands, so cold that it burned like cinders from a fire. The splatters turned to frost and spread, growing like vines across his hands, racing up his arms to his shoulders. He could no longer feel his hands or wrists. The sword fell to the ground. His shirt stiffened with cold. Risan tried to run toward the house to escape the creature. His foot slipped. He stumbled, went down to his knees. The numbing cold spread across his torso. It squeezed his chest and slowed his heart. He could barely breathe. Just when it started to creep up his neck, a luscious, thick warmth washed over him. He fell blissfully into darkness.

Chapter 40

Brawna spent the night in a cold, windowless room beneath the main building of the Sisterhood complex. Exploring the confines of the room blindly, she was unable to find an escape. Without a bed, she dozed sitting upright in a corner. Her aching buttocks and stiff neck were far from her biggest concerns.

It made no sense that Lilalian would twist the story and make Brawna the culprit. The same thing had happened to Daia. Lilalian had always been fair-minded before, a risk-taker, certainly, but never so vicious or unreasonable. What had changed? Who was this Ravenkind man they planned to take her to? If Aminda had still been alive, none of this would have happened. Had Ravenkind played a part in her death?

Brawna wrapped her arms around her ankles, laying her head against her knees. Domach. If she could just get word to her brother, perhaps he could save her.

A dim light glowed under the door, brightening with each passing second. A key rattled in the lock. The click of the tumbler sounded like the stroke of an executioner’s blade. When the door opened, Cirang stepped in followed by a girl wearing a yellow sash and holding a lamp. The light casting shadows from below made their faces look positively wicked.

Brawna climbed wearily to her feet.

“You’ve got a busy day ahead of you,” Cirang said with a crooked smile. “You’ll be meeting Seer Ravenkind. He’s not going to like you very much when we tell him you let the rune solver get away. The best thing you can do for yourself, Brawna, is to describe everything you saw: every pimple, every freckle, every hair on the man’s face.”

Behind her, the girl nodded. The kind of girl content to lip-shine the boots of those in power to win favors her low rank would otherwise have denied her.

Seer Ravenkind? A cleric wouldn't command an attack on the rune solver, but perhaps a wizard would. A wizard who wanted to steal the throne for himself. “What sort of foul magic is he using on you?” Brawna asked.

“It’s called loyalty, Brawna - a concept you and your friend, Daia, don’t seem to understand. Seer Ravenkind will be our new king, and those of us who are loyal to him will reap the rewards. The rest of you will pay for your treason with your lives.”

Yellow-sash nodded again.

“Like Aminda?” Brawna shot. “Is she dead because she refused to help him steal the throne from the rightful king?”

“Aminda’s death was a tragic accident, but we’re better off without her. She lacked the forward-thinking vision that will position us to receive the power we have worked so hard to earn.”

“Take off the necklace,” Brawna said, a challenge in her tone.

Cirang’s eyes darkened. “This gift from our lord is no mere necklace. It protects us from harm. He is making such amulets for all our battlers. You, however, are unworthy.”

That must be how he controlled them. “I’m better off,” Brawna said. “I’d rather die free than live as an unwitting slave to a murderer. Or should I say, 'witless?'”

Cirang slapped Brawna’s face. “Shackle her.” She held the lamp while the girl put iron shackles on Brawna’s wrists, then shoved Brawna out of the room and down the corridor. Brawna’s feet dragged as she shuffled up the stairs to meet her death.

Outside, the sunlight stabbed her eyes. She squinted as Cirang jerked her through the compound by her bound wrists. A couple dozen sneering women gathered around while Cirang led her to a waiting horse.

"Is that Brawna the Blade?" someone asked.

“Get a good look, ladies,” Cirang called to her gathering audience. “This is the face of a traitor.”

Some of the women shouted and shook their fists or sliced the air with their knives. One girl spat on Brawna as she walked past, inciting others to join her. Clumps of mucus slapped Brawna's face, hair and clothes, and trickled down her arms as she walked. Brawna felt like a dog being kicked by its master. Never had she thought that her fellow Sisters would treat another human being this way. As humiliating as it was, Brawna found the courage to raise her head and meet the gazes of her tormentors, burning into her memory their faces in the event she somehow found her way clear of this mess.

“We should call her Brawna the Dismayed,” someone shouted.

The women laughed.

“Brawna the Afraid,” another said.

“Brawna the Dumb Maid.”

“Brawna the Bloody Traitor Bitch Who Let a Sister’s Murderer Go Free.”

That started a chorus of enthusiastic agreement and a renewed rain of spittle.

Not everyone joined in. Some of them stood back and watched silently, shifting on their feet, biting their lips or crossing their arms. As Brawna looked around at her former friends, she noticed that the women who shouted and spat at her wore necklaces, and the quiet ones did not. Except for Lilalian.

The guild mistress stood silently, watching with a haggard face. Her blonde hair hung limply, uncombed and unwashed. Stress lined her face. Her eyes looked sunken and dark. Her fingers twitched, and from time to time, the muscles spasmed in her face, jerking it into the twisted visage of a madwoman. “That’s enough,” Lilalian called out. “Just get on with it.”

Brawna climbed up onto the waiting horse. Cirang mounted another and led Brawna’s horse out of the compound and through the streets of Sohan.

Brawna was on her way to die at age seventeen. She had never wanted children, nor had she been much interested in finding a husband, but she thought she might have liked to experience a man's kiss one day, perhaps lie with someone she cared for. She certainly would have preferred to die knowing she had helped people or made a difference in someone’s life. Being someone's heroine or an evil man's nemesis hadn't been too much to hope for. Had it? She would never know the thrill of defending a child against a beyonder or a woman against a rapist, or even receiving her black sash. She'd never see awe or admiration in the eyes of the young girls who looked upon her. Instead, she would be tortured for information about the king and then killed slowly, her body discarded unceremoniously with the trash.

Brawna barely heard Cirang's taunting, nor did she pay attention to where Cirang took her. The next thing she knew, they had stopped in front of a large white manor, and Cirang was yelling at her to dismount. Cirang led her by the arm to the door. Brawna paused to catch her last glimpse of the sky. She marveled at its vastness as though seeing it for the first time. She began to tremble. She didn't want to die yet. Not without saying goodbye to Domach.

An elderly man in a crisp white tunic and black trousers showed the two women through the great hall to the sitting room, brightly lit by several windows, and warmed with finely crafted furniture. Surely, Brawna wouldn't be slain in such a lovely home. Her blood wouldn't match the green and gold décor. A shrill giggle bubbled up from her throat before she could stop it. Get control of yourself, Brawna.

The steward cast a glance at her as he announced them to the men gathered in the sitting room. His detached demeanor belied the warmth in his blue eyes.

As the two women entered, the host greeted Cirang: a striking raven-haired man with big teeth and intense blue eyes. A second man, taller and with hair equally as black, stood beside him, his sensuous mouth framed by a thick mustache. He wore a patch over his left eye.

A Nilmarion man, decorated with tattoos in the customary fashion of his countrymen, sat in a high-backed upholstered chair caressing a wine glass. That must have been the Nilmarion the king had asked about. A blond battler stood beside him, hands clasped in front of him. He wore a thin beard along his jaw and a passive yet watchful expression on his face.

“Seer Ravenkind, I bring distressing news,” Cirang said. “As you asked, we have kept a constant vigil at the Rune Cave, waiting for the Rune Solver.”

“Oh, that’s no longer necessary. Mr. Tyr has brought me the Rune Solver,” Seer Ravenkind said, gesturing to the Nilmarion.

Brawna’s eyes flew wide. This Nilmarion had captured the man who killed Enamaeria?

Cirang stuttered. “Ah... Is that so? Our young Sister here tells us he solved another rune just yesterday, then murdered one of our battlers. How did you manage to apprehend him so quickly?”

Tyr lowered his head and rubbed his brow.

Ravenkind grew red in the face and turned his blazing blue eyes to Tyr. “So then who did you bring me? A blacksmith? A simple Farthan blacksmith?”

Brawna blinked. The king had asked about a Farthan blacksmith. She felt a thrill race through her and had to suppress the urge to bounce up and down in her excitement. The king knew about the Farthan and Nilmarion. Did he know about this man with the blue eyes or the one with the mustache and eye patch? Surely he would he come here looking for them – that must have been why he and Daia were going to Sohan. Once they came here, she would be saved.

The Nilmarion stood and clasped his hands together. “The blacksmith knows the identity of the true Rune Solver. He made the sword after all.”

Everyone fell quiet for a long moment. Ravenkind’s face softened and he began to chuckle. Eyepatch laughed, too, and the Nilmarion joined them. But Ravenkind’s humor disappeared when he turned his eyes once again to Brawna.

“Brawna knows who he is, too,” Cirang told Ravenkind. “She let him get away after he murdered her companion.” Cirang slapped the back of Brawna’s head.

“Brawna,” Ravenkind breathed. “Where have I heard that name before? What is your full name?”

“Brawna Beliril,” Cirang volunteered.

Ravenkind’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Eyepatch. “Warrick, did you hear that? We have Domach’s sister here.”

“I’m sure Demonshredder will do whatever he can to save her life,” Warrick replied.

“You leave him out of this,” Brawna yelled.

Ravenkind back-handed her across the face. “Never shout at me.” He turned to Warrick. “Bring me the sword, will you?”

Brawna felt her knees weaken. He was going to kill her where she stood. She considered running, but Cirang took her by the arm. With three battlers in the room, she wouldn't get far.

Warrick crossed the room and picked up a sword. As he brought it nearer, it simultaneously drew and repulsed Brawna. It was the instrument that would be her undoing, but it was a weapon unlike any other with its snakeskin-blade and snakeheads on the hilt bearing gems.

Ravenkind took the sword and held it to Brawna’s chest, the hilt just under her chin and the tip of the blade against her shin. She tried to step back, but Warrick stood behind her and gripped her arms. He held her close. On another day, under other circumstances, she might have liked the feel of his warm body pressed against her. She giggled shrilly. She was about to die, and there she stood thinking about her killer’s manly physique.

Brawna felt a pulling sensation in her head. It felt as though her brain was being sucked out through her mouth. She looked into Ravenkind’s blue eyes. He focused intently on the gem in the eye of the snake at her chin. A vein bulged on his forehead.

Brawna had an intense desire to blurt out everything. The longer she held her tongue, the harder the description of the rune solver was to keep secret. It would feel so good to tell them. After all, he had killed Enamaeria and he was the reason she was in this mess now. But he would be King. She wouldn’t betray the king. No, no, no, no. She wouldn't tell them. Not ever.

Pressure in her forehead began to build. She felt like a dam trying to hold back a flood, and one by one Ravenkind pulled out the logs. Brawna curled her hands into fists and held on. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“A tall man,” she heard herself say. She could not stop herself. The words just tumbled out. “With dark hair. A tall battler with a scar on his face and missing a tooth.”

“What is his name?” Brodas asked. The tugging sensation grew stronger.

“I didn’t ask his name. He was with Daia. The two of them went to the cave together and when they left, the fourth gem was gone. He wore his sword on his back and rode a big gray horse. He had a deep voice and wore a leather thong around his neck. I think he's a warrant knight.”

The sensation stopped. Brawna opened her eyes. Ravenkind was flushed, his face covered with sweat. “That’s it? That’s all you know?”

Brawna hung her head. She had betrayed the king. She deserved to die as a traitor. Her tears began to fall onto the wooden floor between her feet, and she wept silently.

Ravenkind sighed. “Why did you bring her to me like this?” he asked. “She has… spittle in her hair.”

“We were just amusing ourselves with her,” Cirang said. “No harm done.”

“Don’t ever bring someone into my home like this again, do you hear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Cirang replied.

“I honestly don’t understand why Lilalian chose you as her captain. If you’re the best of the lot, I might have to rethink the wisdom of our alliance. Toren, do one more favor for me. Take the girl, just don’t kill her yet. We may need her.”

"I can take the girl or the orphan boy, but not both," Toren said.

"Fine," Brodas said with a sigh. “Come back for the boy later.”

"Lord Tyr, would you mind?" Toren said.

"My pleasure." Tyr stepped up to Brawna and drew a black cloth from his pocket. When he unfolded it, she saw that it was a hood or mask of some kind. Just before he pulled it over his head, she met his cool gaze. She gasped and jerked reflexively away from him. His eyes -- they were lifeless, like Enamaeria's. Brawna shuddered and averted her gaze, worried that staring into the Nilmarion's eyes might drive her mad. Or worse. Then his face was covered. What was he doing? He took a pouch from his shoulder bag and dipped a couple fingers into it. The others stepped back. He blew a pinch of dust into her face.

Intense dizziness overcame Brawna. She dropped to the ground and clutched her head as she tucked into a ball. The room spun. She shut her eyes, but that only made it worse.

"Take her," someone said.

She tried to concentrate on calming the wild spinning sensation while the blond battler pulled her up and over his shoulder. Dangling head down with her chest against his back, she thought she would vomit. The ground spun upside down as he carried her. She could not get her bearings. She had a vague sense that he was putting her into a tiny room. A coach. The blond and the Nilmarion climbed in with her. When the coach lurched ahead, she fell off the seat and onto the narrow floor between the seats.

“Get up,” someone snapped.

A pair of hands grabbed her under the arms and lifted her. She was on the seat again, leaning into the blond battler and trying to stay upright. She tried to look around. As scenery raced past the window, her stomach turned somersaults and she gagged. Then, thousands of tiny black dots obscured her vision.

Chapter 41

On the road leading west from Sohan, Gavin and Daia stopped, their horses standing side-by-side. Gavin held the map while he and Daia studied it.

“Is this north?” Daia asked, pointing at one edge.

Gavin turned the map around. “I can’t tell. Who drew this damned thing, anyway?”

“Someone who didn’t want a curious warrant knight to find the place.” Daia gave him a resigned smile. “I think that’s north. This might be the road to Calsojourn here.”

“Or this one,” Gavin pointed out. “The only way to know for sure is to start at the crossroad and try them both.” They nudged their horses forward.

“All right, you’re the k—”

“Don’t say it,” Gavin said.

“You have to explain it to me, Gavin. Why do you think you can shrug off your responsibilities onto someone else’s shoulders?”

He shot her a dark glare. “Let’s just say I ain’t fit to wear the crown.”

She cocked her head. “Then who is?”

“A nobleman, for one thing. Someone who’s educated, well-mannered, well-spoken, caring, responsible, someone that others can look to as a leader. All the things I ain’t.”

“You are those things. Except for well-spoken,” Daia said with a wink.

“I ain’t a noble,” he countered. “Or educated or well-mannered. Hell, you won’t even take a meal with me.”

“Education and manners can be changed. Actually, now that I think of it, so can habits of speech. I noticed that you dropped the peasant-speak back there.”

“Huh? What’re you talking about?”

“When we were in the Rune Cave, you spoke differently, like someone well brought-up, not your usual ‘ain’ts’ and ‘got tos.’ Are you unaware you were doing it?”

Gavin shrugged. “Maybe that's what you heard 'cause that's what you wanted to hear. You wish a nobleman was solving the runes.”

“Gavin, nothing could be further from the truth. A noble man is defined by noble deeds – saving a drowning stranger, helping a child in the street, standing up for a tavern wench – that’s the sort of man people want sitting on the throne. A man of character.”

“Define character,” Gavin said.

Daia pursed her lips. “It’s the way a man approaches life, the values he stands for.”

“And how do you know what he stands for?” he asked. “Some people make their living by lies and deceit.”

“Exactly, Gavin. The way a man behaves reflects his character,” Daia said. "You behave like an honorable man. People will respect your character."

“People see me as a warrant knight. A "'ranter." They ain’t going to accept a man like me as their king. I ha’nt got a kingly air.”

“A ‘kingly air’ can be learned in the course of being a king. Do you honestly think a nobleman on the throne is inarguably better? People will accept the true Rune Solver before they accept some stingy, uptight highbrow who thinks he’s better than everyone else. They’ll accept a leader who understands the daily struggles and challenges that common people face. A man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to help someone. A man who knows his own limits, hungers more for justice than for power, and doesn’t try to fool people into believing he’s someone he’s not.”

Gavin chuckled. “You trying to convince me, or you trying to convince yourself?”

Daia sighed. What a stubborn cad. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it."

Gavin shrugged. “I still ain’t goin’ to be king.”

“If it’s your destiny, there’s no avoiding it.”

“Is there such a thing as destiny?” he asked her. “What if I choose not to follow it? That means it ain’t my destiny, then. Maybe choosing not to follow my destiny is my destiny.” He started to chuckle. “But then I couldn’t reject my destiny if my destiny was to reject my destiny.” He slapped his knee while he laughed at his own silliness.

“You’re assuming you have the choice whether to follow a path,” she said, “but how do you know you’re choosing it? Perhaps it’s your destiny to follow it.”

“Everything I do is what I choose to do. I haven’t been held back from making my choices yet, so I guess that must mean there’s no such thing as destiny.”

“Freedom of choice is an illusion. Just because you believe you have free choice doesn’t mean there’s no such thing as destiny.”

“And just because you believe in destiny doesn’t mean I have no free choice,” he countered. “You choose to believe in destiny. I choose not to. And I choose not to be the king.”

She looked at him and chewed the inside of her cheek. He had a good point. If the choice was truly his to make, what did he owe to Thendylath that would compel him to accept a position he clearly did not want? Was her own situation any different? Had she not refused a life that was decided for her in favor of one of her own choosing? Had she been destined to leave Tern and join the Sisterhood? Or had she rejected her so-called destiny in order to follow her chosen path? Was it even possible to reject destiny?

Her head spun. She really did not want to think about this right now. They had other pressing concerns, and to debate philosophy with – the king – an uncultured battler was not how she cared to spend this ride. Once they found Tyr’s house and rescued Risan, they could all sit and drink and contemplate such ideas as destiny and freedom of choice.

From behind them came a scream. Before Daia had a chance to react, Golam spun around and was off in a thunderous gallop with Gavin pounding his sides.

Chapter 42

Brawna crawled her way through a heavy darkness toward the voices. Toward the real and the tangible. Her mouth felt dry, her lips caked.

“How much of that shit did you blow on her?” someone asked.

“Not so much as to cause this reaction. She’s overly sensitive.”

“She’s a woman, what do you expect?”

Brawna wished she had her faculties so that she could punch whoever said that.

A hand grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. Her stomach flipped and she opened her eyes. They were on a road surrounded by forest. The black coach waited nearby, its door open. The driver watched from his seat.

“Get in,” said someone behind her. He shoved her toward the coach and pushed her inside and onto the rear-facing seat. The blond battler climbed in and sat beside her, and the Nilmarion sat opposite. Tyr pulled the door shut and latched it, and the blond slapped the front wall of the coach. It jerked forward.

“Now that you’re recovered,” Tyr said, “what can you tell me about the Rune Solver that you did not tell Ravenkind?”

Brawna did not answer. She wouldn't tell them anything more, and they could not pull the information from her mouth with magic.

She felt the steel of a knife slice into her shoulder, and she screamed. Warm wetness washed over her skin. The battler held a blade wet with blood and wiped it off on her thigh.

“Answer my question,” Tyr said.

Brawna said nothing. She would rather die than betray the king.

“You need to cooperate, Miss Brawna,” Tyr said. His accent was like the lilting of a bard, the timbre of his voice soft and pleasant. “Toren, urge her to cooperate.”

She licked her lips. She was going to die here, and they would dump her body in the forest. It could be years before Domach found out.

Toren buried about two inches of the blade into her gut. A gasp escaped her lips.

The pain! Oh Yrys, it hurts. She huffed quickly, trying to concentrate on willing the pain to stop. Find your center, Brawna, Daia’s voice in her head reminded her. She was so thirsty. Oh please Yrys make it stop please make it stop.

“You know more about the man solving the runes?” Tyr asked her.

She shook her head, huffing still.

“Something you want to share with me that you didn’t share with Ravenkind?”

Again, she shook her head. She clenched her eyes shut and breathed through her teeth. Calm the pain. Slow the bleeding. Relax. Slow. Slooooow.

The knife bit into her thigh. Brawna cried out, “No! No. I don’t know any more. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“There’s something else you know,” Tyr said. “Some vital clue. Maybe you don’t think it’s meaningful. Tell me everything you left out.”

“No. Nothing.”

The knife cut into her other thigh, deeper this time.

Brawna screamed. “Yrys, no. Please, no more. There’s nothing, I swear it. I told him everything.”

“Let me see if you forgot something. What color was his hair?”

“Brown! I told him that.” If he was going to kill her, she wished he would hurry up.

“What color were his eyes?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him that—” Pain exploded in her upper right arm. “No! No! I swear I don’t – brown! They were brown. Brown eyes, brown hair.”

“Now we’re making progress,” Tyr said. “Very good. Would you like some water?”

She nodded, opening her eyes. A water skin hung around his neck.

Tyr pulled the strap over his head and uncorked the flask. “What was he wearing?” he asked.

Brawna started to cry. She couldn’t help it. She hurt so badly, and she didn’t remember what he was wearing, and Toren was going to hurt her anyway.

“What color shirt?” Tyr asked again, his voice soft and soothing. He tilted her chin up with a finger and held the water skin close to her mouth, but not close enough that she could drink.

“I don’t know.” She licked her lips. “I don’t remember.”

“Concentrate. You want this water, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What color was his shirt?”

Tan. It was tan. “I can’t remember. Please. Just one sip.”

“Shhhh!” He pulled the skin away and cocked his head, listening.

The sound of hooves thundered closer. “Stop,” a man’s voice yelled. “Stop the coach.”

Please let it be a warrant knight.

“Who is it?” Tyr asked.

Toren leaned out the window. “Damn it. It’s Kinshield and that Viragon Sister, Saberheart.” Toren's eyes went wide and he looked at Brawna. "It was Kinshield? "

"Daia," Brawna cried. She looked to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her fellow Sister. A man rode past the coach in the opposite direction, and a moment later he rode up along side it at a gallop, yelling at the driver to stop. It was him – the Rune Solver. “Help--” Brawna started.

Toren plunged the knife deep into her belly. The world slowed down. She heard more shouting, felt herself falling. Then everything went black.

Chapter 43

“Get Tyr,” Gavin shouted to Daia. “Meobryn’s mine.” He rode up beside the coach on the right and yelled at the driver to stop.

Gavin reined Golam to a trot, then a walk as the coachman slowed his team and stopped. Inside the coach sat two men.

Toren Meobryn stepped out, shutting the door quickly behind him. “Gavin Kinshield,” he said. “Or should I say, Your Highness? Ah, but you’re not the king yet. Perhaps ‘Your Rune Solver-ness’ is more appropriate.”

What the hell? How would he have known that unless... Risan. Gavin hoped to hell the blacksmith was still alive.

“I must say I’m surprised,” Toren continued. “You don’t strike me as a man capable of stringing two thoughts together, let alone understanding something as profound and complex as the King’s Runes.”

“Been talking to the blacksmith, eh?” Gavin took the glove from under his saddle. “Is he in there? I heard a scream.”

“A scream? Oh, that. I apologize for alarming you. My companion has been shrieking with laughter.”

“Where’s Stronghammer?” Gavin started pulling the leather glove onto his left hand.

“That hardly matters now, does it? But that sword he made for you is unnatural. If you were going to live long enough to see it, I would advise you to throw it into the sea like you did Ravenkind’s precious bauble.” At Gavin's raised brow, Toren smiled. "Yes, Kinshield. I know quite a bit about you."

“Speaking of baubles,” Gavin said, “I’ll take Calewen’s Pendant back now.”

Toren raised his brows. “You lost it? That’s a shame. What makes you think I have it?”

“You sent the wench to steal it from me.”

Toren laughed. “Gavin, really. If I’d wanted to take it from you, I could have just put a sword through your chest. But I’m like you — a warrant knight, not a thief.”

“You’re nothing like me,” Gavin spat. “I branded her in Sohan. She told me all about it.”

“She’s a whore and a thief. Of course she’d lie and blame someone else. If not me, then Domach or Calinor.”

Gavin relaxed his gaze and watched Toren’s dull gray haze. The colors were starting to make more sense. Ill intent. That’s what the gray means. “Are you telling me you never seen it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

A murky cloud grew on Toren’s haze at the level of his forehead. It hovered for a moment and faded away.

Gavin climbed down from Golam’s back. “One benefit of solving the runes, Meobryn — I can tell you’re lying. Tell me where Stronghammer is.”

Toren smiled patiently and shook his head. "My client pays for my discretion as well as for protection. You'll have to ask him."

“Throw your weapons to the ground and take a brand for the—”

“I had nothing to do with Stronghammer’s abduction,” Toren said, raising his palms.

“The brand is for the theft of Calewen’s Pendant.”

Toren stiffened. “You can’t brand me. I hold a warrant from the Lordover—”

“I was hoping you’d refuse.” Gavin drew his sword.

* * * * *

Daia pulled her mount to the left side of the black coach and stopped. “Sithral Tyr, step out of the coach.”

The Nilmarion squeezed out of the coach, closing the door behind him. As before, he wore black head to toe, but now a pair of scabbards hung at his hip. He held his hands up. “What have I done?” he asked, his empty eyes wide with mock innocence, his accent lyrical, charming.

“Where is Risan Stronghammer?”

“Who? I’m sorry, I don’t know that name. I recognize you, though. You’re the young lady I sat next to at the Lucky Inn a week or so ago. If I remember correctly, you... oh. Yes, I remember now where I heard that name. The tale about a Farthan blacksmith solving the King’s Runes. Don’t tell me you believed that ludicrous tale.” He laughed.

Daia climbed down from her horse and drew her sword. “Where is he?”

Tyr gestured to the empty coach. “As you can see, he is not here. You’ve made a mistake.”

She had heard someone call her name. “Who’s in there?”

“No one is in there,” Tyr said. “Now, if all your questions are asked and answered, I’d like to be on my way.”

“Open the door. Let me ascertain that all is well, and I’ll let you proceed.”

“Be my guest,” Tyr said, gesturing toward the door. He stepped away from the coach and held his palms up.

When Daia reached for the door handle, she heard a ring. From the corner of her eye, the flash of steel glinted in the sunlight. She turned, angling her blade toward him. He held in his hands not one sword but two.

* * * * *

Toren drew his short sword and stepped into a defensive stance. While Gavin’s blade was longer, it was also heavier. Against an equally matched opponent, he would tire sooner. Gavin lowered his sword to his favored mid-guard position and flexed his gloved hand around the grip.

“You’re making a mistake, Kinshield. You'll lose your warrant for this.”

“Killing you’ll be worth it.” He beckoned with his right hand for Toren to come.

Toren jabbed lightly with his sword, like a poke with his finger against Gavin’s chest an insult to provoke an attack. Gavin flicked the tip of his sword, deflecting Toren’s blade to the outside. His ears rang with the shriek of steel kissing steel. Toren parried hard, yanking Gavin up close. Toren’s breath smelled like a fly-swarming slop bucket. Gavin threw a right hooking blow to Toren’s jaw. Two battlers pushed back to sword distance.

“Damn, Meobryn. Ever hear of a teethbrush?” Gavin asked.

Toren swung, his blade aimed at Gavin’s throat. Silver flashed and clanged and screeched as their blades met and swept against each other. Toren was stronger than Gavin had given him credit for. This fight wouldn't end quickly. Gavin blocked Toren’s overhead swing with a hanging guard. He swept the blade around his head for a strong slice to Toren’s face. Their blades clashed, shrieked, clashed again. The battlers’ labored breathing grew louder. Gavin’s muscles began to burn. Toren swung a downward blow at Gavin’s chest. Gavin parried it aside and swung at Toren’s arms. Toren parried, then lunged at Gavin’s chest. Gavin blocked, thrust at Toren’s face. Both men grew sluggish, their breathing ragged. As they danced and swung, parried, jabbed, their free fists and feet struck out, along with a hissed breath, a grunt, a snarl of anger.

Toren stepped away and held up a hand. “We have time... to kill each other... No hurry... Let’s pause... for a minute.”

Gavin made no move to lower his blade.

“Kinshield,” Toren huffed, “allow me... one honorable trait. I am no coward.”

Gavin tipped his blade back to rest on his shoulder. He wouldn’t have asked for a respite, but he was glad to have one. Toren bent over, propping his left hand against his thigh, and looked past Gavin.

Steel rang against steel behind Gavin from the left. Daia and Tyr. The weapons clanged again and again, the tempo furious. Damn, how could she keep up that pace?

Toren’s eyes went wide and he grimaced as though in sympathy. Gavin turned to look, unable to resist.

Tyr slashed at Daia with two blades. She was so busy parrying his attacks, she could not offer an offensive strike of her own, but her speed and skill were impressive. Gavin heard her grunts of exertion and knew she was tiring. He had to hurry and get to her.

“Awright, Meobryn, let’s--” He turned in time to see Toren’s foot swing up. Dirt and sand flew into Gavin’s face. His eyes blazed. He shut them and backpedaled away, moving his blade to guard. Through his closed lids, he sensed Toren’s haze closing the distance. “Cowardly cur.” He could not sense the blade in Toren’s hand, nor the hand that held it, just an egg-shaped mist. Gavin pivoted on his heel, holding his sword in front of him, as blind to the fight as though he could see no haze at all. The cloud before him flashed and he jerked back. Toren’s blade whistled past his chin. He thrust his sword at the haze, felt it parried to the side.

And then a violent agony seared his chest.

Chapter 44

Daia whipped around in time to parry the sword-edge that whistled toward her. In his right hand, Tyr held a scimitar, and in his left a short sword.

Daia backpedaled as Tyr chased her, his swords glinting as they sliced at her. She parried like she had never done before. The Nilmarion, lithe and quick, centered his eyes on her chest as he came after her. His dual swords whistled as they sliced the air. At first, Daia thought she was out-matched by his two blades, but she quickly noticed a pattern. His strikes were slicing, never thrusts, and evenly spaced. He swung the short sword more as a shield than a weapon, giving him time to whip the scimitar back again. She might take a cut, but she could get in with one strong thrust and be done.

She counted his strikes, learned his pattern. With every slice, she was better able to predict where the next would strike. Her blade blocked it, her rhythm matching his. But she began to tire and Tyr showed no sign of slowing his pace.

Someone cried out. Gavin’s voice. With a glance, Daia saw him take Toren’s sword in the chest. GAVIN!

Suddenly nothing mattered but getting to him. She timed Tyr’s strikes. As he pulled back with the scimitar, she started to lunge with a thrust to the heart. That’s what he’s waiting for. She dropped to a crouch instead. As though anticipating the lunge, Tyr pivoted to his right. Her sword would have sailed by him, exposing her back as she stumbled past. But she was not where she should be. She spun toward him on her haunches. With all her strength behind it, Daia drove her sword upward. The blade lagged as it cut into his side and slid up under his ribcage. Without waiting for him to die, she yanked her sword free and turned, looking for Gavin.

* * * * *

The blade scorched Gavin’s insides like it was being forged in his chest. He crumbled to one knee. The sword ravaged him once again as it slid out. Gavin coughed a spray of blood, tasting its bitter tang. He stuck his right hand between the fasteners of his cuirass and pressed against the wound, hot and wet. He pushed back to his feet and staggered. The sword fell from his hand and landed with a whisper in the weeds by his side. The ground rose up and hit his knees. Black spots whirled before his closed lids.

“Sorry it had to end this way, Kinshield,” Toren said. “The King's Blood-stone will probably stay in the tablet for another couple hundred years, but it wasn’t going to be you anyway. The throne belongs to someone... else.” He laughed. “Anyone else would suit me fine. Anyone but an ignorant peasant.”

Gavin hung his head, gritting his teeth against the burning in his chest. He took in shallow breaths. “Stupid... bastard,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Toren was a fool for standing there taunting his opponent rather than finishing the fight. The burning began to lessen. Gavin bent down and groped for his sword.

“You’re a stubborn clodpate, aren’t you?” Toren asked. “Don’t make me—”

Daia growled. Gavin heard quick footsteps in the grass, a grunt of effort, a soft clink of metal on metal. He had to see. Gavin forced his eyes open. His eyes watered, the grit burned. He blinked rapidly. When his vision cleared he saw Daia standing nose to nose with Toren, looking up into his eyes, her face contorted in a grimace.

No! Daia!

She jerked once. And then Toren slumped to the ground, the hilt of a sword flush against his mailed chest.

Chapter 45

Brodas waited while Warrick unlocked the bedroom door. “Watch it,” he said. “We don’t want a repeat of the courtyard incident.”

“Trust me, Brodas,” Warrick said dryly, pointing at his bruised and bloodshot eye. “I’m on my guard.”

“Why don’t you let me heal it?” Brodas asked. “You don’t need to prove your toughness.”

Warrick snorted. “The pain reminds me to be more careful.”

Brodas shrugged and followed Warrick into the room, now dark except for a few slivers of light that gleamed through the cracks between the boards covering the window.

“Good morning, Risan. I trust you slept well,” Brodas said.

Risan sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the side.

“I’m Brodas Ravenkind. I apologize for having to be rough with you. We mean you no harm. In fact, I healed your broken ankle as a gesture of good will. Warrick and I simply want a little information, and then we will send you on your way back home to your lovely wife. Arlet, is it?”

Risan said nothing, nor did he struggle against the iron shackles that bound his wrists.

“I must say, this sword…” Brodas turned it over in his hands. “…is an exquisite piece of workmanship. I commend you on the design. I suppose these symbols etched into the blade here are for luck? Courage? Something to that effect?”

Risan said nothing, but gave Brodas a fierce glare.

“Interesting,” Brodas continued. “But what interests me more are these gems. What depth. The only gems like these I’ve ever seen were in a cave not far from here.”

Risan continued to glare, his mouth pinched tightly shut.

“Who did you make the sword for, Risan? I know you’re not the Rune Solver, but this leads me to believe you know who is. Tell me his name and you will be free to leave.”

The little man was obstinate. And stupid.

Brodas turned to Warrick. “Get behind him and hold him tightly.”

Warrick pulled the Farthan to his feet and locked his arms around Risan’s shoulders, holding him in place. Risan tried to pull his head back as Brodas leaned the sword against his chest. The pommel came to his chin.

“Just relax, this won’t hurt. I just want you to tell me who you made this sword for.” Brodas closed his eyes and drew from his spiritual center. When he opened his eyes, he focused on the gem in the pommel, the snake’s eye. Sola Spekken.

A sharp flash of steel pierced his mind. Brodas shrieked. He reeled, his arms flailing to catch himself. The sword clattered to the floor. He hit the wardrobe with a loud crash, and barely caught himself before he fell to the floor. “Damn that treacherous thing,” he yelled.

“By the gods,” Warrick said. “What happened?”

Brodas righted himself and tugged sharply on his tunic to straighten it. “The bloody sword attacked me.”

Risan let out a triumphant hoot. Warrick kneed him in the small of the back, and he fell to the floor, grimacing, but with a sparkle still in his eye.

Remembering Toren's warning, Brodas narrowed his eyes at the Farthan. “The symbols are an enchantment, aren’t they? Some sort of heathen magic?”

Risan smiled broadly and climbed to his feet.

“Tell me who you made it for, Risan Stronghammer. You don’t want Arlet to suffer for your obstinacy, do you?” Risan’s smile fell away and found its way to Brodas’s face. “Yes. I think you understand me now. Tell me who you made the sword for.” Risan said nothing, but the set of his jaw and the hardness in his eyes told Brodas that the blacksmith would do anything to prevent any harm from befalling his wife. “I’ll send someone to retrieve your wife. Then we’ll see how cooperative you can be.”

Risan growled and launched himself at Brodas. Warrick caught the Farthan and threw him hard against the wall. Risan crumpled to the floor. Warrick stood ready to intercept another attack. But the blacksmith did not hasten to rise to his feet.

“Not smart,” Warrick said. “I don’t mind hurting you. Call it repayment.”

Brodas snatched the sword and left. Warrick backed out of the room and locked the door behind him. Their eyes met in the hall and both men looked down at the sword. Brodas ran a hand through his hair. The weapon actually protected its maker. Brodas realized then that had he attempted to use the gems in the sword to injure the escaping blacksmith in the courtyard, the results could have been disastrous. “Have Lilalian send one of her battlers to Ambryce. Perhaps the lady Stronghammer knows who we’re looking for.”

“Even if she’s as stubborn as her husband is, he’ll talk if he’s made to watch her suffer.”

“Warrick, you snatched the words off my tongue.”

As they jogged down the stairs to the great hall, the manservant opened the front door and admitted Domach Demonshredder.

“Domach, what excellent timing you have," Brodas said. "I have a task for you.” He clapped the swordsman’s shoulder. “Upstairs in the guest room is a blacksmith. He made this sword for someone, and I want to know who. Go and find out.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Warrick handed Domach the key to the room.

“Come to my library when you have the name,” Brodas said. “And be on your guard. The blacksmith is prone to violent outbursts.”

“Yes, my lord,” Domach replied as he started up the stairs.

* * * * *

Risan watched the battler pace for several minutes. Neither of them spoke. If Risan hadn’t already decided that anyone working for Ravenkind was, himself, evil, he might have thought the man wrestled with the task assigned him. The lack of a tag around his neck proved he was no warrant knight. Risan wondered whether such a battler, hiring his blade to whoever paid the most money, possessed a conscience.

“If you think you will get hidegild,” Risan said, "you are mistook. I have no coin."

“Why don’t you tell him what he wants to know?” the battler asked finally. “Where’s the harm in that?”

Risan sighed. “Because I am not kind of man to betray someone I owe debt just for sparing my own handsome face.”

“Why not tell me, then? You’ve no reason to keep the name from me.”

“Aside from you will tell Ravenkind? Aside from you work for thief?”

“Listen,” the battler said in a low voice, “tell me the name and I'll withhold the information from Seer Ravenkind until you're well on your way.”

“You do not understand,” Risan replied. “I am not giving away my friend to your lord. And even if I do, I am not enough fool to think he will let me walk out from here and straight to Lordover Sohan to tell my tale of kidnap and theft. I am alive only as long Ravenkind does not get what he wants from me.”

“You were kidnapped?” The battler stopped pacing and looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s Gavin Kinshield, isn’t it?” he asked in a whisper.

Risan drew back. How did he know that? To lie would be too obvious. To remain silent would be an admission. “I will not say who it is to you or to Ravenkind.”

“Listen,” the battler whispered. “Kinshield and a Viragon Sister named Daia are looking for a kidnapped friend. I sent them to Sithral Tyr’s farmhouse near Calsojourn, thinking they might find him there. It’s you they’re looking for, isn’t it?”

Praise Yrys. When Gavin discovered that Risan was not at Tyr’s house, he might come back. This battler would be able to lead Gavin here – if he knew that Risan was, indeed, the friend Gavin sought. Oh, he hoped he could trust this man. Did he have any choice?

“Are you the friend they’re looking for?” the battler asked again, his voice low. “I swear I won't tell Ravenkind. I’ll tell him you refused to talk.”

Risan nodded. “Yes. It is Gavin. You swore oath. To betray him would be most terrible of crimes against Thendylath because of he will become king.”

The battler gaped. “King? Gavin Kinshield?”

Risan nodded. “Gems in sword Ravenkind has – they are Rune Stones. Gavin solved King’s Runes and gave me gems for putting into sword.”

The battler drew a deep breath and puffed it out, then nodded once. “You can trust me. I’m a friend of his.”

* * * * *

“Ah, Domach. You’re finished,” Brodas said, looking up from his book. “What is the man's name?”

“He wouldn't tell me,” Domach replied.

“Let me see your hands,” Brodas said as he stood. Domach held out his hands, palms up. Brodas turned them over. The knuckles were clean and white. No blood, no bruises. “Did you kill him?” he asked with alarm.

“No, my lord. I didn’t touch him.”

“Domach, I thought I made myself clear.” Brodas maintained an even tone despite his annoyance. Demonshredder was soft. It would take some time to harden the man to a point where he might actually be worth what he was paid. “Go back up there and get the name of the man he made this sword for. Don’t come down again until you get it.”

“Are you saying you want me to hit him?”

Brodas took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of his patience. He used the tone normally reserved for slow children. “Again and again. If he falls to the floor, kick him -- until he begs you to stop.”

Domach’s jaw dropped. “My lord, I can't. I don’t have the stomach for such tactics.”

“Domach, Domach, Domach.” Brodas put a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder and turned him toward the door. “You assured me when you signed on that I could trust you. Don't disappoint me.”

“No, Lord Ravenkind. I am not the man for the job. I must resign from your employ.” He started to leave.

“I suggest that you reconsider,” Brodas said to his back, “for the sake of your sister.”

Domach stopped.

“Brawna has been a tremendous disappointment to me. She is alive only because I’m willing to give you a chance to buy back her life.”

Domach spun and faced Brodas. His eyes shone and his fists clenched. A muscle in his jaw worked.

“I think we understand each other better, do we not?” Brodas asked. He folded his hands in his lap and leaned against his desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “When you’re finished upstairs, I want you to gather your belongings and come right back. You’ll sleep in Red’s bunk. I want you to stay on the grounds until I have no further need of your services. Then we can discuss your sister’s freedom.”

Domach turned and walked out. Brodas waited, listening. When he heard footsteps stomping up the stairs, he smiled. The man was not so stupid after all.

* * * * *

Risan knew by the look on the battler’s face that Ravenkind had not accepted his excuse. “What is your name?” he asked softly.

“Domach. Demonshredder.” The battler rolled up the sleeves of his tunic neatly, taking his time.

“I see he convinced you this is right thing to do. I thought I saw bit of decency in your eyes, but seems I was mistook.”

“I haven’t got a choice.”

“We do not see things same way. Your loyalty is to wicked mage, mine is to honorable man.”

“He’ll see I made the effort, but he still won’t have the answer he’s looking for. I’m sorry to do this. Believe me, my loyalty is not to him.”

“Then why you are doing his evil deed?”

Domach hung his head. “He has my sister.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Risan did not answer. What could he say? He stood up tall and straight, and nodded, signaling he was ready.

Domach closed his hand into a tight fist. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his lips, then took a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he stepped forward, cocked his arm, then let fly at Risan’s face. “No,” he said under his breath.

Pain exploded in Risan’s nose. He tumbled back against the wall. Blood streamed across his mouth and into his beard.

Domach stepped toward him. “No,” he said again, as his fist slammed into Risan’s face. “No, no, no.” His words punctuated every blow as it landed.

With every strike, Risan bounced against the wall behind him and stumbled forward, only to be driven back with the next blow. His left eye began to swell. His cheeks, his eyes, his nose and mouth burned with pain as Domach’s fist hammered him again and again. The skin above his right eye burst open and bled rivulets down his face.

“No,” Domach repeated with every slam of his fist. “No, no, no, no.”

Risan made no sound aside from the involuntary grunt when Domach's blows knocked him into the wall. He took the beating stoically, straightening with steadfast determination after each staggering punch. He would never give in.

Now his left eye was swollen shut, his lips numb, and his mouth filled with the acrid tang of blood. A front tooth broke free, and he spat it out onto the floor.

Domach paused and bent over. His dark hair hung like a curtain, obscuring his face. He stumbled to the corner of the room, then puked onto the floor. After wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, he turned back with a white face and moist eyes, and continued to pummel Risan, saying, “No,” again and again.

Risan began to swoon. The room closed in, filled with a million grains of black sand. He held up a hand to beg for a pause while he bent down to clear his head. Domach waited. When Risan nodded that he was ready, still swaying on his feet, the pounding resumed.

“No, no, no.”

The sand returned, but before Risan could signal for a pause, the room went completely black.

Chapter 46

The pain in Gavin’s chest had lessened considerably, and he chanced a deeper breath. He coughed, wincing. Almost. He climbed to his feet.

“You're hurt,” Daia said as she came to him, her voice thick and low. “Let me see your wound.” She reached for his cuirass and started to pull it off, but he pushed her hands away.

“It's a scratch,” he croaked. He looked her over. “You awright?” While Gavin had been stabbed and would probably develop several bruises from his fight, Daia had not a mark on her. Hm.

“Gavin, I saw you take his sword in the chest. Let me see. I can help—”

“If it was as bad as it looked,” he said in a raspy voice, “would I be standing here arguing about it? You should’ve let me kill Meobryn. I had him where I wanted him.” He could stand up straight now, and took a deeper breath. The pain was nearly gone. He looked down at his chest. The cuirass had a neat two-inch slice in it and a trickle of blood thickened in place on the front. He passed his cuff over it, wiping it away.

“Sorry,” she said with a wry grin. “I didn’t realize.”

“I owed him,” Gavin muttered. He looked down at his hand covered with blood. His blood. He wiped it on his shirttail. So much for this shirt.

“Hey,” Gavin said as he approached the coach driver. “Did Tyr have a Farthan man with him?”

"Yes, m'lord. He took a Farthan from Ambryce to the home of Seer Ravenkind in Sohan. That's where Lord Tyr received the young lady."

"Young...?" Gavin went to the door of the coach and yanked it open. A girl lay crumpled on the floor between the two seats -- the young battler he’d met in the woods near the cave. He put a finger to her neck. “She’s alive. Let’s get her out of here and lay her down.” He tossed his sword and scabbard to the ground while Daia went around to the other side of the coach and opened the door.

“Brawna,” she gasped.

Daia worked the latches to open the shackles binding Brawna's hands while Gavin eased the knife from the girl's belly, uncorking a slow stream of blood. He slid his hands under Brawna's shoulders. Daia climbed into the coach and took her by the knees. They carried her to the side of the road and set her down in the tall grass.

Gavin ripped apart the bottom of the girl’s tunic and assessed her injuries. Blood flowed slowly, but at least it still flowed. It wouldn’t for long if he didn’t hurry.

“I have a needle and sutures in my pack.” Daia stood and ran to her horse.

Gavin put one hand over each of the wounds on Brawna's abdomen. Instantly his hands burned hot. Clenching his teeth, Gavin closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the fluttery sensation he had felt before.

It started at the top of his head and intensified there as it crept to his forehead, the base of his throat, his chest, solar plexus, belly and down to his groin. He saw nothing but whiteness, growing ever brighter to the point that it was blinding in his mind. The warm whiteness fluttered while a current flowed through his body, his hands, and into the girl. The longer he held his hands on the girl’s wounds, the harder it became. He felt trapped under water and could not breathe, yet the feeling was in his gut rather than his chest.

Finally, his hands cooled and the whiteness dimmed. He opened his eyes, gasped for breath, and rocked back. Black spots rained upon his vision. He felt himself falling.

A warm hand stroked his face, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Something soft pillowed his head, but the rest of him lay on a hard surface. Gavin opened his eyes.

Daia’s lovely face smiled down at him. “It’s just one surprise after another with you, isn’t it?”

“Tell me I didn’t puke on myself.” He pushed himself upright. Happily, his cuirass was dry.

“No. You just fainted.” She turned toward the girl. “Brawna’s sleeping peacefully now, her wounds all but scars. You should have let me help you heal her,” Daia said. “I’m a conduit, remember?”

“I remember the last time you helped me,” he grumbled. He licked his dry lips and, as if on cue, she handed him a flask. He drained it at once.

“I amplify the skills you have, that's all.” She grinned at him. “You read hazes, you heal wounds – including your own. You did take Meobryn’s sword in the chest, Gavin. I peeked under your cuirass. What else do you have in your haversack, Mage Kinshield?”

He moved objects with just his will. “Stop. I ain’t a wizard.”

“Then you have another explanation?”

He shrugged and looked around. "Where’s the coach?"

"He left after you fainted."

"You didn't go after him?"

Daia gave him an impatient look. "I had to choose between following him or tending to you and Brawna. We know where Risan is; we didn't need him further."

Gavin grunted. She was right, but he would have liked to ask the driver a few more questions.

He crawled over to Brawna. Moving aside the tattered pieces of her blood-stained clothing, he checked the wounds. Even those he had not focused on healing were closed. “She bled overmuch. She’ll be weak for a while.” Brawna lay still, but she breathed deeply and steadily. Gavin went to the Nilmarion's body, squatted and began to search the pockets.

"You're looking for spoils at a time like this?” Daia asked.

“No, I’m lookin’ for…” Tyr’s pockets were empty. “Damn it. He ha’nt got it.”

“What?”

“Calewen’s Pendant.”

“What do you want with it?” she asked.

“I got to take it to the Institute of Scholarly Studies in Sohan. If I give them the pendant, they’ll give me a copy of Kinshield’s letter.” He searched Toren's body, too. “DAMN IT!”

“Kinshield’s letter? You mean Ronor Kinshield?” she asked. “That letter burned in a fire over a hundred years ago.”

Gavin stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the bodies. Tyr should have had the pendant. Where could it be? “’Parently not,” he explained absently. “They found it, or a copy of it.” Bloody hell. Tyr had already given it to Brodas Ravenkind. That had to be it.

"What about these two?" Daia asked, toeing Tyr's corpse.

Gavin bent to Toren's body again and cut the thong around his neck, then inspected the tag. "The Lordover Tern issued this."

"Let me see that," Daia said. Gavin offered it to her to examine. "Forged. My father has his tags scored on the edge in a particular fashion. These are wrong."

"I'd better take this to him, let him know. Can you get me an audience with him?"

Daia stiffened. "I think the gem in your pocket would get you one faster, and a more agreeable one at that."

"Hm. Let's move these two off the road. Leave them to their own kind to feed on."

As Daia dragged Sithral Tyr's body to the side of the road, a small wad of beige cloth fell out of his waistcoat. "Gavin, look at this." She bent to pick it up.

“You lookin’ for spoils?”

She unwrapped the cloth. “Ugh! I wouldn’t call this ‘spoils.’ It’s hideous. Look at the eyes. They give me gooseflesh.” She held a greenish gray cat sculpture. “It’s heavier than it looks, like something’s inside.”

“Smash it. See what it is.”

Daia started toward her horse. “I think I’d like to ask around about it first. There’ll be plenty of time for smashing later.” She put it in her pack. “What about Brawna? We can’t take her back to Sohan. She’s obviously fallen out of favor with the Sisterhood. I wonder what happened.”

“She’s the one I saw in the woods. Prob’ly taking the blame for her companion’s death and my escape.”

"She's the one you saw?" Daia asked, her voice rising with incredulity.

"Yeh. I got a friend in Lalorian who’ll look after her.” The time to speak with Edan about the King's Blood-stone drew near. "He'll also help us rescue Risan."

“We know where he is, Gavin. We don’t have time to go to Lalorian. Let’s leave Brawna in the care of a family outside the city. You and I can rescue Risan.”

“No. We can’t battle Ravenkind alone,” he answered. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Domach can help us.”

“Demonshredder’s good, but he ain’t enough. Trust me on this.”

He reached for Brawna’s arm, intending to draw her up over his shoulders. Brawna stirred and whimpered. “Wha—What’s happening?” she asked as she struggled to sit up.

Gavin squatted beside her. “Here, drink.” He held a flask to her lips.

She took it without hesitation and guzzled the water. After a moment, she wiped her mouth and looked up at him. "Thank--" An expression of confusion crossed her face, then widened to a gape. “You!” Her eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, my liege,” she whispered.

Daia squatted beside them, smiling. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Daia! What happened? How did you find me?”

“Your brother.” Daia gave her a short summary of the events from their conversation with Domach to the fight. In return, Brawna told them what she knew about Ravenkind and the Sisterhood's alliance with him.

“Cirang thinks he’s going to become king.” Brawna looked up at Gavin. “Didn't you say you were looking for a Farthan blacksmith?”

“Did you see him?” Gavin asked.

“No, but Ravenkind talked about a Farthan blacksmith that the Nilmarion brought to him. They thought he was the Rune Solver until Cirang told them that I'd seen you at the cave. I think he’s at Ravenkind’s house. Ravenkind has a sword with some jewels in the hilt.” She trembled. “He used it... Oh, my lord. He--” Brawna turned away and retched.

"What's wrong?" Daia asked, her hand on Brawna's back. "What did he do?"

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry," Brawna whimpered. "He used magic and the sword to make me describe you. He’s the one who wants to find you so he can steal the King's Blood-stone. I'm so sorry. I tried to resist him, but I couldn’t.”

“I know," Gavin said. "It's not your fault. Don't punish yourself. Ravenkind's more demon than human." He turned to Daia. "Let’s get goin’. She needs food and rest.” He stood and whistled. Golam trotted over with his head high, dragging his reins in the dirt. Gavin mounted and offered Brawna a hand up. “You can ride with me.”

Chapter 47

Risan cracked his right eye open. Narrow shafts of light shone down through the crevices between the boards above him, illuminating particles of dust in the air. Thinking it too realistic to be a dream, he pushed himself upright on the stone floor. He should be used to waking up in a new place by now. But he wouldn't complain; at least he had woken up.

Risan’s left cheek throbbed and his head pounded. He licked his swollen lips and tasted dried blood. The gum where his tooth had been was tender when he touched it with his tongue. His left eye was swollen shut, the right nearly so. He tried running his fingers through his beard, and found dried blood caked there. Squinting to see in the dim light, he looked around.

Rats skittered into their hiding places, their nails scratching the floor. The cellar stank of urine and rotting food. Some old furniture lay heaped in one corner, and he stood to rummage through it, realizing then that his wrist shackles had been removed. His heart sank; no shackles meant he might starve before he escaped. Mayhap he could fashion a weapon or tool from the broken pieces of wood. He caught sight of a small blond boy, huddled on top of an old wardrobe, watching him.

“How now, young fellow,” he said, wincing at the pain in his mouth. He made an effort to sound jovial. “How do you find yourself in this cave?”

“It’s a cellar,” the boy replied quietly.

Risan looked around him with exaggerated motions. “Why, so it is. Are you prisoner here? Kidnapped like me?”

He shook his head.

“Do not tell me that wizard is your papa,” Risan said.

“No,” the boy shot back. He huddled further back on the wardrobe.

“Glad to know it. I am Risan. Who you might be?”

The boy bit his lip. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“I am not stranger,” Risan countered. “I am Risan Stronghammer of Stronghammer Blades, maker of finest bladed weapons in all Ambryce, and husband to Arlet, loveliest woman you ever put eyes on. If I was stranger, you would not know so much about me, would you?”

The boy shook his head again, and a small smile brightened his face. “Dwaeth.”

Risan stood on the chair beside the wardrobe and offered his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, young Dwaeth." The boy put his small, soft hand in Risan's. "Do not mind my new face. I am sure it is not as handsome as one I came here wearing. This one is compliments of our host, Mr. Ravenkind. Is he friend of yours?”

“He said he’s my uncle,” Dwaeth whispered. “He sent my mother away and he won’t tell me where she is.” He began to cry.

“Now, now,” Risan said. He crawled up onto the wardrobe with the boy, not much smaller than he was, and put his arm around Dwaeth’s shoulders. “When I figure out way to get out of here, I will help you find your mother.”

* * * * *

The boy slept fitfully in Risan's arms. It was all Risan could do to sit still, so sore was his bottom from sitting for hours atop the wardrobe. He was all this child had now, and a few moments of discomfort would do an old Farthan no harm. He licked his swollen, scab-covered lips and drained the last drop of water from his dented tin cup.

A rattling sound from the top of the stairs announced a visitor. The door opened, and a pair of footsteps descended the top few stairs.

“Dwaeth.” Ravenkind’s voice. “Come upstairs.”

Dwaeth jerked to wakefulness and blinked.

“Come upstairs. I have a surprise for you, Dwaeth.”

“Mama?” the boy asked, sitting taller. He looked to Risan as if for confirmation.

“Do not hope for too much. Go. You do not want to anger Lord Ravenkind. I will help you down.” He climbed down from the wardrobe and opened his arms to the young boy. He lifted Dwaeth and set him gently on the floor.

“Dwaeth, don't keep me waiting,” Brodas called.

Dwaeth took a few steps and turned, looking back at Risan with a quivering chin. “I don't want to. I want to stay here with you.”

Risan knew the boy would be better off going upstairs than witnessing whatever cruelty or execution Ravenkind had in store for Risan. “You will be fine,” he said. “Just do what he tells you.”

“But what about you?”

“Crusty old Farthan like me cannot be hurt so easy. You do not worry about Risan.” He gave the boy a hug. “Be brave.”

He watched Dwaeth go to the stairs and climb slowly up. With every footstep, Risan felt his heart breaking a little more.

His own son had not been much older than this boy, taken by the plague that had swept through the province twelve years earlier. Risan and Arlet had prayed to Yrys night and day, sacrificed everything but the clothes on their backs, but none of it had helped. If you are listening now, Yrys, please keep Dwaeth safe.

Warrick came down first, armed with his sword. Risan made no move to attack. Warrick motioned with his hand. Another set of footsteps started down the stairs.

“Now, then,” Brodas said. “Since the sword won't let me use its gems against you directly, we have to do this the old fashioned way.” The cold look in Brodas's eyes made Risan shudder.

Warrick handed his sword and the knife at his hip to Brodas, and then advanced on Risan.

Risan feinted one way and dived the opposite. Warrick lunged after him. Risan tried to slip the battler's grasp, but his tunic was caught in a powerful vice.

Warrick shoved Risan to the table, wrestled his left arm behind his back and forced his right hand onto the table. He held it there by the wrist. Brodas swept the crumbs aside and splayed Risan's fingers on the table.

A black eye would fade. Even a lost tooth was not so terrible. But now the monster was going to dismember him. Risan started to tremble.

“It would be a shame for you to lose your livelihood over something so easy to prevent,” Brodas said. “Tell me who you made the sword for.”

Risan's heart pounded. He feared the pain, yes he did, but more than that, he feared this man becoming king. “Go to hell.”

Brodas lay the blade of Warrick's knife against the little finger on Risan's right hand. With one swift motion, he lifted the knife handle and rocked the blade down. It severed Risan's finger where it joined his hand.

“Aaaagh!” The pain was searing at first, but it faded quickly leaving a sharp numbness behind. Brodas healed the wound instantly.

“We don't want you to bleed to death.”

Risan shut his eyes and concentrated on slowing his heart and calming the ache.

“Who did you make the sword for?”

Risan opened his mouth to answer, then paused. It would be so easy to believe that with just two words he would be on his way home to Arlet: Gavin Kinshield. Brodas leaned closer to hear the name. “Yrys smite you,” Risan whispered.

“I imagine a blacksmith can still make weapons with one finger missing or even two, but at what point does a hand become useless?” Brodas asked. “When is a hand not truly a hand?”

The knife came down again, severing his ring finger.

The pain was greater this time. Risan's mouth watered and his head swam. His legs crumbled beneath him.

Chapter 48

As dusk deepened into night and Gavin, Daia and Brawna made their way toward Lalorian, Gavin saw Daia glance repeatedly skyward. He grinned, but he wouldn't tease her in front of Brawna. He had enough on his mind anyway, knowing that the time to face Brodas drew near. Even with a squad of experienced warriors, Gavin didn’t hold much hope of surviving the fight, but he would rather be killed in battle trying to keep Brodas off the throne than to live under the wizard's rule.

Brawna’s arms started to relax around his waist, and she leaned into his back. He clutched her wrists in his hand to keep her from tumbling off Golam's back in sleep.

"Why wouldn't Ravenkind have killed her?" Daia asked quietly.

"He prob'ly thinks she knows somethin' useful. Or he wants to use her as leverage against someone."

Daia gasped. "Domach. Brawna is Domach’s sister.”

“Oh, damn. Hidegild. Only it isn’t his own hide Demonshredder has to pay for."

"You said Ravenkind killed your family. Tell me about him."

Gavin should have kept his damned mouth shut. But he supposed he had to tell her sooner or later. He took a deep breath. "After I got my warrant tag, work was hard to find. Employers who wanted to pay cheap hired battlers without a warrant. The ones who wanted experience didn’t hire the newly warranted. I was barely earning enough to feed my family, and Talisha -- my wife -- was pregnant with our second child. Ravenkind promised a great reward for the recovery of the Star Fire Gem. Gemsmiths said it would give a wizard unimaginable power."

"I heard a story about that. Didn't someone throw it into the sea?"

Gavin nodded. "Yeh. I hunted it down, and as I was going to his house to deliver it, I glimpsed the gem's power. Even someone like me, with no magic ability, could use it to... ride along with another person. See through his eyes, hear what he hears. And I heard Ravenkind tell his cousin Warrick how he planned to use it against the Lordover Lalorian to seize control of the city. So I took it to the Bay of Hope and threw it as far as I could."

"How did Ravenkind find out?"

Gavin snorted. "I told him," he said. "Too immature and cocksure to think anyone could best me in battle. What could he do, send his puppet-cousin after me? Then, I learned that his idea of revenge is hurting people you love." He hoped Daia could imagine the rest and he wouldn't have to relive the nightmare through its retelling.

"What happened?" she asked in a low voice.

* * * * *

Gavin sat at the kitchen table with Caevyan on his lap. He reached around her to lace and tie her shoe.

"Papa, can we go to the market for a sugar nut?" Her little hand touched his face, turning it toward hers.

Someone knocked at the front door. "I'll answer it," Talisha called from the bedroom.

"Let's see if Mama wants to come, too," Gavin said. He kissed his daughter's nose and pressed his prickly cheek against her neck. She laughed her cherubic music and pushed at his face. He pretended to nibble on her neck and ear. "Mmm! Who needs sugar nuts?"

"Gavin?" Talisha called, her voice thick with urgency.

He stood and sat Caevyan on the chair. "Stay here," he said, pointing a parental finger.

Brodas Ravenkind stood in the great room, an artificial smile on his face.

Unarmed, Gavin lunged forward leading with a punch, pushing Talisha behind him. Brodas darted to the side. Gavin's fist hit the door, blowing it apart with a thunderous boom.

Talisha screamed.

"Papa?" Caevyan called behind him.

"Take her! Run!" Gavin yelled at his wife. She turned obediently and waddled toward their daughter.

Gavin swung a hook and connected with the wizard's temple. A chilly sensation shot up his arm and down his body. The feeling of pins pricking his body raced after it, enveloping him. The floor rose to meet him, flattening him with a thud.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms flopped uselessly against the wood floor. The unseen pins engulfed him, tingling where his face pressed against the floor.

He watched in horror as Brodas strolled into the kitchen. Something slammed into the cupboard, followed by the crash of dishes breaking. “No! Please, no!" Talisha cried. Gavin could not see what was happening. He tried again to get up, but couldn't feel his arms or legs.

Caevyan screamed. "Mama!"

Brodas returned with a knife in one hand and Talisha’s hair in the other. She walked bent over alongside him. Caevyan followed behind, her red face scrunched in a silent wail.

Gavin pushed with all his strength against the force that kept him on the floor. His arm shifted forward barely an inch.

Brodas let go of Talisha. She dropped to her knees. Caevyan ran into her arms, and they clung to each other, sobbing. “Gavin, please,” Talisha wailed.

Gavin looked into his wife’s moist blue eyes, begging her to see what lay behind his own, to see that he wasn’t able to come to her aid. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a slur of alien sounds. I love you. I will kill him.

Brodas grabbed Gavin by the shirt collar and hauled him upright to sit against the wall, propped up lazily. “You’ll want to watch this,” he said. He turned back to Gavin’s wife and daughter. “What a beautiful family you had,” he said softly. With a casual flick, he ripped the knife against Talisha’s throat.

Blood sprayed out in a pulsing arc, drenching Talisha, Caevyan and the floor around her.

No! Gavin screamed in his mind. You bastard! No!

A few drops of blood landed on the toe of Gavin’s boot. Talisha clutched her neck and held Gavin’s gaze, her eyes wide.

Caevyan pulled back and looked up at her mother. A river of blood wound a path down the front of Talisha’s dress, across her bosom and swollen belly. It drenched Caevyan's copper-colored hair, her arms, her dress. Talisha fell back and lay still.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Gavin looked up to see Brodas watching him, a smug smile on his face.

Caevyan turned around and looked at Gavin. “Papa?” she asked, her voice squeaky.

“Run to Papa,” Brodas said softly. His eyes were on Gavin rather than the child.

Caevyan pushed herself to her feet and turned toward Gavin. No! NO! Brodas brought the knife down in an underhanded arc, plunging it into Caevyan’s back.

She stumbled toward Gavin, her arms outstretched. Blood soaked her yellow dress. “Papa!”

Come to Papa, Baby Girl. Papa's here. He tried to reach for her, but only one finger twitched.

Her legs gave way and she fell, her outstretched hand landing inches from Gavin’s limp one. She reached toward him. One little finger, wet with blood, grazed his palm and went still.

No. My little girl. Caevyan, wait. I'm here, Baby. Papa's here.

“Would you like to see what your wife would have given you?” Brodas asked.

Gavin tore his eyes away from the lifeless stare of his daughter and looked upon the monster standing over his wife's corpse. Please don't. Please. He hoped Brodas would see the pain and defeat in Gavin's eyes and leave now, triumphant, his revenge complete.

Brodas squatted down beside Talisha’s body and plunged the knife into the top of her abdomen, then slit her belly open, working the knife back and forth. With a hard stab, he speared the tiny infant and lifted it from Talisha’s womb.

Gavin’s stomach heaved. Vomit spewed from his mouth and ran down his chin and neck.

“Congratulations, Kinshield. You would have had a son.” After tossing the impaled corpse of Gavin's son onto Talisha's still form, he walked up to Gavin and squatted. "Cross me again and I'll kill every Kinshield in Thendylath and deliver their heads to you."

* * * * *

"By Yrys," Daia whispered. "I don't know what to say."

He shrugged in the darkness and cleared his throat to ease the tightness. Brawna sniffled and tightened her arms around him.

"I'd understand if you want to do unspeakable things to Ravenkind when we catch up to him," Daia said.

"Kill him,” Gavin replied, his voice hoarse. “That's the best we can hope for. Kill him afore he kills us."

Chapter 49

They arrived in Lalorian late into the night, welcomed by a constant chorus of cricket song. Daia followed Gavin to a large estate on several acres of land. Wide lawns rolled lazily across it, dotted with several large trees. At the front of the property, a statue of a bowing servant welcomed them.

“Gavin,” Daia said, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat. “This is the lordover’s mansion.”

“Yeh. I know.”

She rubbed her moist palms on her trouser legs. What if she saw the lordover's son? What would she say?

The guard at the gatehouse came out at their approach. "Halt and identify– Cap'n? That you?" He laughed, extending his hand. "How the hell are you?"

Gavin reached down to shake his hand. "Adrilith. Well met. You staying a step ahead of ‘em?"

"As always," Adrilith nodded at Brawna and Daia. "Lady Sisters,” he said. “I believe everyone has retired for the night, but Lord Edan will be happy to see you at any hour."

Lord Edan? Gavin’s friend was the lordover’s son. Daia felt lightheaded.

"Go on up," Adrilith said. "Knock hard. Saecan will admit you. I'll see to your horses." Adrilith reached for Golam's bridle and gave the horse’s thick neck a pat. “Golam, you still flirting with the ladies?”

“Yeh, the mule’s hopeless,” Gavin said,  dismounting. He caught Brawna as she climbed down. Daia dismounted and ducked under Brawna’s other arm, as much to steady herself as to support Brawna.

"Why did he call you ‘Captain’?” Daia asked as they walked toward the manor.

"I used to work in service to the lordover. I was Captain of the Guard when I resigned. The Lordover Lalorian issued my warrant."

"And that's how you know his son," Daia guessed.

"No, we met long afore that."

At the front door, Gavin lifted the knocker and banged it several times. The metallic clang echoed in the brisk night air.

“You should have mentioned your friend was the lordover’s son,” Daia whispered. Her heart was pounding now. She didn't get so nervous when confronted by lordovers or brigands or beyonders. Of course, she had not been promised to any of those.

“Does it matter?”

Moments later the door cracked open and a squinting eye appeared below a bushy gray brow. “Saecan,” Gavin said with a nod.

With a sigh, the steward opened the door and stepped back. “Could you not have come at a more reasonable hour, Master Kinshield?” he asked as the three of them stepped into the entry. His addressing Gavin as a young boy led Daia to believe that he had known Gavin for quite some time. The steward wore a long nightshirt and a pair of leather slippers, and carried a lamp in his left hand. He squinted at the trio through his spectacles and hmphed. “Wait here, if you please,” he said with another sigh. The steward set the lamp on a table and scuffled away into the darkness.

“Let’s sit you down,” Daia said. She guided Brawna into the receiving room to the right of the entry hall and let her sink into a plush chair. Gavin used the lamp to light two wall sconces, brightening the entry hall and receiving room considerably.

A small castle, the manor had high domed ceilings decorated with exquisitely carved figures of fairy-tale elven cherubs and mythical sorcerers. The furnishings came from the shops of the land’s finest craftsmen. Beneath them, a luxurious carpet of rich, thick wool stretched from one wall to the other. Daia hadn’t been inside a lordover's manor in some time, and the immaculate luxury seemed strange to her, as though she had stepped into a familiar dream.

"How long have you known Lord Edan?" she asked.

"Let me think... Twelve years now. He's a nice buck. Gentlemanly. You'll like him."

Like him. Daia snorted.

Barefoot and dressed in gray trousers and a wrinkled white tunic, Edan Dawnpiper came directly, a broad smile on his face. "Gav!" he said, extending his hand. "Where the hell have you been, you old cur?"

He looked exactly as she remembered him: wiry build, with light brown hair and a mustache draped above an amazing smile. But now he was even more a man, and far more dashing.

Gavin gripped his friend's hand and pulled Edan into a brotherly embrace. "Got more scars and fewer coins, but staying alive. How've you been?"

“Better than well, with so many blessings I've lost count. I see you've brought friends—” Edan’s eyes flew wide. “Dashielle?” he asked coming toward her.

“How now, Edan,” she replied. Her heart beat like a hundred wild horses in her chest. She cleared her throat. “It’s Daia now. Daia Saberheart.”

“What?” Gavin asked.

Edan offered his hand, warm and gentle, but rougher than most noblemen's. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, while his deep blue eyes held hers. The hair above his lip tickled her skin. His lips were warm and moist. Daia remembered how soft they felt pressed against her own. Her knees weakened. She realized she was smiling, and her teeth were drying out. She licked her lips.

“What a genuinely pleasant surprise, my lady. I’m glad to see you fare well.” He turned to Gavin. “You didn’t tell me you knew Dash-- sorry, Daia.”

Gavin’s eyes flew wide. "You're Dashielle Célond." He ran his hand through his hair. "Shit," he muttered. "Wish you'd told me that sooner."

To Edan Daia said, “We have an injured friend and wondered if she could rest here until she regains her strength.”

"Of course." Edan went to Brawna. “Forgive me. I’m Edan Dawnpiper,” he said, offering his hand.

She shook it limply. “Well met, my lord. I'm Brawna Beliril.”

“She’s known at the Sisterhood as Brawna the Blade,” Daia said, winking at Brawna.

“Somehow I don’t doubt it. Well met, Brawna. You’ll be safe here.” Edan looked up at Gavin. “Why don't you two take Brawna to the dining room while I rouse the cook and have him warm something up for you.”

Edan started down the corridor, and paused, turning. He looked directly into Daia's eyes. “Have I mentioned how wonderful it is to see you again?”

“Why, thank you, Edan,” Gavin said. "It's wonderful to see you, too."

Daia pinched the back of Gavin's arm. “Likewise,” she told Edan.

“So,” Gavin said with his gap-toothed smile. “You were promised to Edan.”

He knew. Daia averted her eyes. “Let’s just go eat.” She helped Brawna stand.

Gavin grinned at her as they walked, but said nothing more about it. When they reached a wide hall near the bottom of a curving staircase, he stopped. "This is it. Let me get the door," he said as he reached for the knob.

Just as they started to enter, a booming voice called down from above, "Is that Gavin Kinshield I hear?" Daia recognized the tall, sturdy form of the Lordover Lalorian as he made his way down the stairs dressed in a blue robe and brown leather slippers. Although slightly grayer, he looked just as she remembered him: a handsome man with a square jaw and thinning light brown hair.

"My lord," Gavin said with a slight bow. “I’m glad to see you fare well.”

When he reached the landing, the lordover shook Gavin's hand, gripping the knight's elbow with his free hand. "Good of you to stop by. We haven’t seen you in a few months. You're always welcome here. You know that, don't you, son?"

"Yes, my lord. Your hospitality is always appreciated. May I ask for your aid for our injured friend?"

Daia shot a startled glance at Gavin. Not only did he have the ability to turn the peasant speak on and off at will, it seemed he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the protocol of nobility, either -- although he hadn’t yet managed an introduction.

The lordover turned his gray eyes to Daia and Brawna. "Viragon Sisters." His gaze fell to Brawna's blood-stained clothing. "Of course. Let her rest here, Gavin. We'll have a healer look after her. Has Edan offered you something to eat?"

"Yes, my lord," Edan said as he joined them in the hall. "I just had to rouse the cook. May I introduce Daia Saberheart and Brawna Beliril of the Viragon Sisterhood."

"Well met, my lord," Daia and Brawna said together. Daia cast her eyes down as she bowed.

"Have we met before?" the lordover asked Daia. "You look familiar."

"Briefly, my lord, a few years ago." She studied the lordover for a sign of recognition. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gavin and Edan watching her. She hoped neither of them would give away her identity.

"Ah yes," the lordover said, nodding. "Please allow my son to see to your needs in my stead. If you require anything, don't hesitate to ask."

He was nicer than Daia remembered. Then again, her most vivid memory of him was in the ballroom of her father's manor, shaking hands with the Lordover Tern, and then smiling up at her as she came down the stairs. A deal struck between two men for Daia's future as if she were a milk cow at auction. "Thank you, my lord," Daia said.

She glanced at Edan as he showed them into the dining hall. Handsome, sweet Edan. She had not objected to him, but to the notion that she had no say in the matter of her own life. In fact, she might have chosen him had she been given the opportunity.

Chapter 50

Risan turned his hand over and back again and again. It looked so strange with the two fingers gone. The skin was new and pink, sensitive but healed. He moved the last two fingers on his left hand, then tried to do the same on his right. If they’d been there, they would have moved. He could not stop looking at his hand. It looked alien, like the claw of a beyonder. Would Arlet be disgusted by him now, without all of his fingers? Would she pull away from his touch?

He leaned his head back against the wall as he sat on top of the wardrobe. Thank Yrys the bastard had not cut off the fingers of his left hand. He could probably continue making weapons with his weaker hand crippled, but not his dominant hand.

The telltale clatter of the lock being unbolted was followed by the creak of the opening door. “Go on,” a voice said.

Risan heard a small whimper, then light footsteps descending. “Risan?” a little voice called out.

He climbed down from the wardrobe. “I am here, young Dwaeth. Do not be afraid.” The boy hurried down the stairs and peered around the corner. Risan smiled, and Dwaeth ran to him, his arms outstretched. Risan swept him up into his arms, only several inches higher from the ground than the boy stood already. Dwaeth clamped his legs around Risan’s thighs and sobbed.

“There now,” Risan said, patting Dwaeth’s back. “What this is about?”

For several minutes, the boy did not speak. He hugged Risan around the neck so tightly that the blacksmith had to slip his three remaining fingers around the boy’s elbow and tug to loosen his grip. Dwaeth cried and cried. At last, his sobs quieted and he lay still, his cheek against Risan’s wet shoulder.

“We climb up and sit for bit, yes?” Risan asked. “You can tell me what is wrong.”

Dwaeth climbed onto the wardrobe first. Risan followed him, then put an arm around Dwaeth’s shoulders and held him close while the boy hiccupped and sniffled.

“My mother’s dead,” Dwaeth whispered at last. “Lord Brodas said her fever came back and she died.”

Risan believed it to be a lie -- Brodas had undoubtedly murdered the woman long before now -- but he would not voice his suspicions to the boy. “I am sorry,” he said. “I know terrible sadness you must feel now. I wish I had wise words to say that make your heart feel not so heavy, but I have none. I have only my friendship to give.”

Dwaeth nodded and snuggled closer. “I’m an orphan now,” he said quietly. “I have to live on the street and beg for my food.”

“No, that is not true, Dwaeth,” Risan said. “You have friend right here who will never let harm come to you. You do not worry. I will take care of you.” He laid his cheek against the top of Dwaeth’s head. “I will take care of you,” he whispered.

If he survived.

Chapter 51

The velvet-smooth mahogany dining table was long enough to seat thirty, but the three weary travelers and their host clustered together at the end closest to the serving door. Gavin sat to Edan’s right, Daia to his left, and Brawna beside her. While they ate, Gavin told Edan about the kidnapped blacksmith and stolen sword. He saw Daia's eyes flick toward him when he skipped the part about the rune stones being in the sword. But then her eyes grew round and she looked at Edan, no doubt realizing that he was the friend Gavin had spoken of - the man who would claim the King's Blood-stone.

When their meal was finished and the plates cleared away, Daia scooted her chair away from the table and stood. “It’s time we found our beds and rested up for what’s to come tomorrow,” Daia said. “Thank you for the meal, Edan.”

When Gavin saw the telling sparkle in her gaze, he felt a tightening in his chest. It figured she would be attracted to a noble rather than a gritty man such as himself.

Brawna started to stand as well. Edan slipped behind Daia to pull Brawna’s chair out, and helped her rise. He picked up a bell on the table and gave it a jingle. “Saecan will show you to your rooms.” To Brawna, he said, "And find you something to wear. Let me know if you need anything at all.”

Gavin realized he was the only one still sitting and shot to his feet as the two women followed the steward out. Once they were gone, he and Edan took their seats again and Gavin leaned on the table. “So, she’s the Lordover Tern’s daughter. The one you were supposed to wed?”

"Yes, and gladly," Edan replied. "She didn't see things the same way."

"She fancies you," Gavin said. "I can see it in her eyes."

"That I never doubted. I think it was the process she objected to: the fact that her father had made the choice, and not her."

Gavin nodded. "Yeh, I can understand that. Life is hard enough without someone else choosing it for us. Say, that reminds me. Can I ask your help for someone?"

Edan smiled. "Is he sporting your brand?" He had never objected to giving aid to the people Gavin sent, especially since a few, through their own determination and hard work, had become indispensable members of the lordover's guard. One had even earned himself a warrant tag.

"Yeh," Gavin answered, "but this one's a woman with three children." He gave Edan the woman's sad story.

"Of course," Edan said. "You don't have to ask, you know. Just tell them to mention your name when they come knocking. So tell me what you've been up to, Gav." He slapped Gavin's shoulder. "You need to come by more often. It's been ages since we've adventured together."

“Here, I’ll show you.” Gavin reached into his pocket. It was as good a time as any to bring it up, and he may not get another chance to talk to Edan alone. He withdrew the light blue gem. "What do you make of this, Edan?" he asked, setting the gem on the table.

“Ho!” Edan rocked back in his chair. "What in the name of bloody hell, Gavin? Do you know what this is?"

"Tell me," Gavin replied. With Edan's sharp mind and background as a gemsmith, it wouldn't take him long to work out the whole story.

Edan ran his hands through his hair while he stared at the stone with an incredulous gape. "Blue Moonstone, some people call it. Very rare." He picked it up and held it close to his face. "Wait... a... minute. I need--" Edan shot to his feet and ran from the room, returning after barely a minute and holding a loupe between his thumb and forefinger. When he sat back down, he examined the gem through the eyepiece. "The quality of this gem is remarkable. Without a more thorough examination under better light, I can’t be sure, but I’m willing to bet this is the highest magic-grade gem of its kind." He set the gem down, slipped the loupe into his pocket and looked up at Gavin. "This would bring you several thousand large gold pieces – if you could find someone wealthy enough to buy it." A worried crease appeared between his brows. “Gavin, I’d expect to find a gem like this in the Rune Tablet.”

Gavin watched Edan, waiting.

Edan studied him with a cocked head. Then he smiled and started to chuckle. The chuckle became laughter, infectious laughter, and Gavin began to laugh as well. Soon the two of them guffawed until they gasped for breath, red faced and clutching their sides.

"Well, I'll be a mongrel dog," Edan said, wiping tears from his eyes. "My old friend, Gavin Kinshield. You never cease to surprise and amaze me."

Gavin shrugged, the smile fading from his face. If the uneducated, unrefined cad solving the land’s greatest mysteries were not him, he’d still be laughing.

"You're going to be our king," Edan whispered. He, too, was no longer smiling.

"See, that's what I need to talk to you about," Gavin began. "You know as well as I do that I ha’nt got the upbringing to be a king. Forget for a minute that I don't want the damned job, the people would never accept me."

"So why are you solving the runes if you don't want the throne?" Edan asked.

Gavin put a hand to his brow and rubbed it. "I don't know. That's the hell of it. The damned runes – they talk to me in my sleep. It's a bloody curse."

“Well, there are only two left. If you don't want the job, now is a good time to ask Asti-nayas for a miracle.”

Gavin gave him a sardonic smile. “One left.”

Edan’s eyes went wide. “This--? You just solved the fourth rune?”

Gavin nodded slowly. “A couple days ago. The King's Blood-stone is all that’s left.”

Edan leaned back in his chair and exhaled audibly. “I have one piece of advice to offer, Gavin, and that is: you’d better forget about that last rune or get used to me calling you ‘Your Majesty.’”

Gavin cringed. He’d hoped this would go a little more smoothly. “Look, Edan. There’s someone who would make a better king than me. He’s noble born, fair-minded, generous, caring, trustworthy -- and he’s always given me the most level-headed advice when I found myself--”

“Hold a minute there, Kinshield,” Edan said with his palms raised. “You don’t for a minute think that…” He paused, searching Gavin's face. His eyes widened. “By the sword of King Arek! You do.”

Gavin raised his brows hopefully. “Edan, think about it. I’m a warrant knight, better equipped to be your champion--”

“No,” Edan said flatly.

“You have the upbringing--”

“No.”

The two of them sat in silence studying each other. If only Gavin could make Edan see how much sense it made.

“Edan, I truly think--”

“No,” Edan repeated.

Gavin sighed. “I ain’t going to convince you, am I?”

“No,” Edan said with a smile. He reached over and gripped Gavin’s shoulder. “Be of good cheer, Gavin. Everything will work out as it should.”

“How can that be?” he grumbled.

“Since his heir didn’t survive, King Arek probably would have wanted Ronor Kinshield to take the throne. You’re the closest thing we have. Hell, you are Ronor Kinshield, a couple hundred years later.”

"That ain't funny, Edan."

"I'm only half-teasing. As Ronor’s descendent, you’re the obvious choice."

Gavin rubbed his brow. He loathed what he was about to do, and he wouldn't do it if he weren't desperate. "I hate to bring it up," he said with a deep sigh, "but twelve years ago, you told me that you'd do anything for me. I need you to do this, Edan."

"Gavin, I owe you more than I could ever hope to repay. I would gladly do anything for you," Edan said. "Anything. You are more like a brother to me than even a blood-born brother would be. But what you're asking me to do is not for you. It's for all of Thendylath. The man solving the runes is destined to lead our country. If that's you, then I’ll be beside you for every step you take, lending my shoulder for you to lean on when you're weary. But I can't walk your path for you."

Gavin sat solemnly, Edan’s words weighing heavily upon his heart. His friend spoke the truth, and some small part of him had come to hear it. The larger part denied it vehemently. “I can’t, Edan. I can’t do it.” He couldn't keep baby chickens alive, couldn’t keep his family safe; how could he possibly be responsible for the well-being of hundreds of thousands of people?

Edan leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "So if you can't bring yourself to do it, then don't. The choice is yours, after all. Isn’t that what you’ve always believed?"

Gavin scowled. "But it ain't as simple as that. The gems contained King Arek’s magic. When I got the gems, I got the magic, too. Brawna was close to death when we found her this afternoon. I healed her wounds by touch. I can see hazes, too -- tell if people are sick or lying or what not. Who knows what other powers I haven't figured out yet.”

“I’ll be damned,” Edan said. “Where are the other gems?”

Gavin leaned forward. “You know the blacksmith we told you about? The sword he made was for me. The others gems are in it. The man who’s holding him also ordered Brawna's torture because she saw my face. He's after the King's Blood-stone."

"So if you claim the King's Blood-stone, he won't have reason to hold Stronghammer."

Gavin regarded him for a moment. "It's Brodas Ravenkind."

Edan blanched.

"He won't stop until he gets what he wants. I have to kill him," Gavin said. "I should have done it five years ago."

Edan said, "I'm coming with you," as Daia walked in.

She looked from one to the other. "You told him about Ravenkind." Gavin nodded. "Forgive me for being blunt, Edan," Daia said as she returned to her seat, "but I doubt we can negotiate with him."

Gavin and Edan shared a smile. "Edan’s a champion archer," Gavin explained. "He's saved my hide with that bow of his more times than I can count."

"You know, every scar I have I got from saving you," Edan said, grinning.

"Not every scar," Gavin reminded him.

Edan touched his hand to his head. "All right, not every scar."

They traded tales of adventure and mishap until their yawns started replacing their laughs.

"We'd better get some rest," Daia said. "Morning will be upon us soon."

Chapter 52

The following morning, Brodas rose after a fitful sleep and paced in his library. The Rune Solver was still at large, and Brodas had only an obstinate blacksmith and a handsome sword.

Surely the Rune Solver wanted his sword, if he was, indeed, a 'ranter. But what did he know about Brodas? He knew that the Sisterhood was looking for him, but only Lilalian and her officers knew anything of Brodas's alliance with the Sisterhood. The only person who might present any danger to Brodas was Domach's sister. However slim the chance was that the battler would find his way to her, she knew Brodas's name and face. She knew where he lived. Perhaps instructing Toren not to kill her hadn't been the wisest course.

And what of her brother, Domach Demonshredder? While he carried out his instructions under the threat of harm to his sister, he would turn on Brodas at his first opportunity. Of that, Brodas had no doubt.

A horrible thought crossed his mind: Domach had a map to Tyr’s farmhouse. He might have gone there to rescue his sister. Brodas reached over and rang the bell to summon his manservant. “Is Domach here? Have you seen him?”

“Yes, my lord. He is at the stable.”

Getting ready to leave, no doubt. Brodas pushed past the servant and hurried through the kitchen and out the rear door. The day was chillier than recent days, and a smattering of clouds, some gray, some white, cast floating shadows on the ground. He hurried through the courtyard to the gate as a breeze billowed his shirt. Domach stood beside the stable, knife in hand, aiming at the wall.

Brodas felt a warm flood of relief. He started to call out, but hesitated, deciding it was better to wait until the battler was unarmed. Domach threw the knife, then cursed himself.

“Domach, come here.” Brodas waited while the swordsman jogged over.

Domach's eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and the corners of his mouth were pinched. His entire body seemed stretched and on the verge of breaking.

“Let's go inside. I have something to discuss with you,” Brodas said, clapping his shoulder. Domach leaned away from his touch. Once they were inside, Brodas motioned for Domach to lead the way. To turn his back on the man could prove a fatal mistake. "To my library, if you please."

Once inside his library, Brodas gestured to a chair. “Now then,” he said, shutting the door, "I must admit I’m surprised you’re still here." He sat next to Domach and crossed his ankles.

"Where would I go? You hold my sister’s life in your hands.”

“You still have the map to Tyr’s farmhouse near Calsojourn. Did you not consider that she might be there, waiting for your gallant rescue?”

Except for the tiniest tic under his right eye, Domach's expression did not change. “I had not considered that,” he said. His voice was strained, uneasy.

“Well, give the map to me, then.”

Domach cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it has been lost.”

“Lost?” Brodas asked, feigning surprise. “How could that have happened?”

Domach shrugged.

The man was too honest for his own good. Brodas reached for the blacksmith’s sword. “Let’s see if we can find out where it went.”

Domach shifted forward as if to stand.

“Stay there,” Brodas said in a patient voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax. I want to know what happened to that map.” He focused on the gem in the sword's pommel. Sola Spekken.

Domach gritted his teeth. A growl erupted from his throat and smoothed into words. “Ghaaaii... I gave it— No!”

“Tell me,” Brodas prompted in a soft voice. He pushed harder toward the gem. When he expected his temples to ache, he felt the cool depth of the gems in the sword inviting him to unleash still more of his power. Oh, this was delicious.

Domach’s hands, balled into fists, trembled. “Gavin Kinshield,” he said in a quivering voice.

Kinshield! Brodas narrowed his eyes. He thought that stupid bastard had learned his lesson years ago. “I told you not to leave the grounds,” Brodas said. “When did you give it to him?”

Domach shook for a moment, clenching his teeth. “Two… evenings… ago.”

Now, this was an interesting turn of events. Domach had given the map to Gavin before he knew that Brodas was holding his sister. He must have thought someone else was there. Could Gavin be looking for Risan?

Brodas gasped. Could it be? Gavin solving the...? No. The notion was absurd. Gavin Kinshield was a bloody boor. Then Brodas remembered the girl’s description of the rune solver: a tall dark-haired battler with a scar, traveling with the Lordover Tern's estranged daughter. By the gods!

Of course, Brawna had not actually witnessed Kinshield solving the rune. The swordswoman could have solved them. She was high-born, educated, cultured. The fact that she had run away from her life as the lordover's heiress to join the Viragon Sisterhood proved that not only did she have quite a strong rebellious streak, she was capable of independent thought. And she, too, would have an interest in a new sword. Still, he didn't think a woman could possess the intellect required to understand the Runes of Carthis.

"Was he alone?" Brodas asked. He heard the desperation in his voice and ignored it, pushing harder toward the gem.

Domach cried out. "No! He was... with a... swordswoman. Daia Saberheart," he said through gritted teeth.

“I see,” Brodas said with a nod. That confirmed it. Saberheart must have found the Rune Solver and was helping him search for Stronghammer and the sword. Brodas relaxed his hold over Domach and turned around to set the sword back on his desk.

Kinshield and Saberheart probably considered Domach an ally. If they found out that he had given away their secret, he would no longer be of much use to them -- or to Brodas. Brodas considered making an ally out of Domach as he had with Lilalian and instructing him to mislead Kinshield, but decided against it. If Domach seemed insincere in his desire to help Kinshield and Saberheart, they might be alerted to the influence of magic. Brodas needed Domach’s help without Domach’s knowledge. And he knew just how he would get it.

“You gave your friends the map and asked them to rescue your sister, didn’t you?” Brodas asked in an accusatory tone as he turned around.

Domach snapped his eyes up with a confused expression.

Take the bait, Domach.

Domach lifted his chin and set his mouth. “Yes, I did. Daia told me what happened to Brawna and I knew you would send her there. Brawna is safe from you by now.”

Good. Domach’s loyalty extended to Kinshield and Saberheart. “Well, it’s a moot point now," Brodas said, waving his hand. "What I brought you here to tell you, Domach, was that you could go and retrieve your sister. But since she’s already safe from me, as you say, you’re free to leave.”

Domach blinked. His jaw dropped. “You aren’t serious.”

“Of course. Despite what you might think of me, I did not intend to harm her. I just needed her to ensure your cooperation for a time. But I have what I want now, so I have no further need of your services. You are released from your obligation to me.”

Domach rose to his feet. “But... you don’t know who Stronghammer made the sword for.”

“That no longer matters. As I'm sure you've guessed by now, the gems in this sword are the Rune Stones. The man solving the runes has been keeping his identity secret for a reason: he's unfit to rule as king and he knows it. It has been my hope that once we met, he would recognize how well-suited I am for being king, and willingly reveal the secret of the final rune to me. But with the spiritual guidance of Asti-nayas..." Brodas paused to make a subservient gesture. "...and Crigoth Sevae’s journal, I’ve discovered how to remove the King's Blood-stone from the tablet using the power of the gems in this sword. So, I no longer need the Rune Solver. As soon as Warrick returns from Calsojourn, we will travel to the cave, and I will claim the King's Blood-stone and my rightful place on the throne of Thendylath.” He hoped Warrick wouldn't waltz into the room right then. Domach would need some time to warn his friends once they returned from Tyr's farmhouse. And if all went well, Tyr and Toren would be dead, unable to speak out against Brodas or present evidence of his involvement in any of their illicit activities.

Domach backed toward the door. “You don’t need the blacksmith further. Let me take him home.”

Brodas picked up the sword and turned it in his hands. He did not intend to free Stronghammer. The blacksmith was his insurance, at least until he had the King's Blood-stone in hand. “You are free to leave, but Risan has placed an enchantment on this sword, and I need to learn what it is. You need not be concerned for him, Domach. Once I have the King's Blood-stone, he’ll tell me what I want to know, and I will send him home to his wife.”

Domach turned and ran. Brodas cringed when the back door slammed, but he smiled in spite of his annoyance. If Domach was the sort of man Brodas thought he was, he would go straight to his friends with this concocted story.

Brodas went into the corridor and called for Warrick. After a moment, he heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs, and his cousin came around the corner.

“What is it?” Warrick asked. Another pair of footsteps padded down the steps, lighter.

“I need you to keep an eye on Demonshredder. Secretly. He believes you to be in Calsojourn, so don't let him see you.”

Lilalian came up behind Warrick, tucking her hair back into her braid.

“Brodas, now is not a good time,” Warrick said.

“There will be plenty of time for celebration later,” Brodas said. He tried not to sound too annoyed. He did not care what Warrick did to Lilalian or any other woman, but Warrick shouldn't waste time satisfying his base desires while the King's Blood-stone was still in the tablet. “Lilalian, I need you to send some of your women to the cave and have them to wait there, hidden from eyes and ears.”

“How many do you need?” she asked.

“A dozen, perhaps two. In fact, send them on foot so their horses don't give them away.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lilalian replied. “I will select and lead them myself.”

“Brodas, what’s going on?” Warrick asked.

“Domach knows who our mysterious rune solver is.”

“Where is the cur?” Warrick demanded. “I’ll get the name out of him.”

“Calm yourself, Warrick,” Brodas said with a chuckle. “I’ve released him from our employ. He's at the stable saddling his horse now.”

“You’ve done what? Brodas have you gone mad?”

“Do I not always get what I want?”

Warrick’s shoulders began to relax as a smile spread over his face. “You never fail.”

“Keep a constant watch on Demonshredder. When he meets Gavin Kinshield—"

"Kinshield," Warrick said. "You can't be serious."

"Warrick, listen to me. When you see Domach meet with Kinshield, follow them until they leave town. Then come and get me. Kinshield and his companions will be off to the cave to solve the final rune. We’ll time our arrival perfectly.”

Chapter 53

“I want to come with you,” Brawna said late the next morning. She had slept well past sunrise and expected Daia and Gavin to have already left, but they, too, had only just arisen. The four of them sat at the dining table to break their fast. “I’ve rested, I’ve eaten and I’m healed. I can’t do any good staying here.” She chewed her lip and looked around the dining table at her companions, hoping to find an ally among them.

“You lost a lot of blood yesterday,” Daia said, pushing her plate away. “You need to rest and recover. Take another helping of meat.”

“I’m not a child, and I’m not a delicate noble girl who faints at the sight of…” Brawna stopped, feeling her cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, Daia. I didn’t mean--”

“Forget it. Look, Brawna, you have no mount, no weapon, and I don’t see how Gavin could battle effectively with you hanging onto his waist.”

Brawna hung her head. It was true. Her horse was at the Sisterhood, and besides, Tripsa was no longer her horse. Brawna had nothing but the clothes she was wearing, and they weren’t even hers.

“I think I saw an extra horse in the stable,” Edan said. “And you can use one of my swords. I prefer a bow anyway.”

Brawna snapped her eyes up to his. “Do you mean it?”

“The way I see it is,” Edan said, “we’re going into the lair of a powerful foe. With a nickname like Brawna the Blade, we can’t afford to leave you behind.”

She broke into a wide smile and bounced in her chair. Her first mission hadn't given her a chance to test her skills. This was why she'd joined the Sisterhood.

“Yeh,” Gavin said. “I agree.”

Brawna looked at him. He flashed her a smile. Her heart fluttered, and she smiled back.

“She’s too weak and inexperienced,” Daia said. “She’ll die.”

“If we go against Ravenkind, we’ll prob'ly all die,” Gavin said, his smile fading.

“He killed Aminda and has Lilalian and Cirang under his control,” Brawna said. “You need every sword you can get.”

“He’s the one who killed Aminda?” Daia asked. “How do you know that?”

“Lilalian went with Aminda to his home for supper, but only Lilalian came back alive. She said Aminda had choked to death, but some of us didn’t believe it. I saw them as they were leaving. When Lilalian returned with Aminda’s body later that evening, both of them were wearing different clothes and Aminda's hair was damp, like they'd washed it. Then I noticed that Lilalian had started wearing a necklace.”

Daia drew back, gaping. “Jewelry?”

“Yes. And now Cirang wears one, too, and so do some of the other girls — the ones that Lilalian and Cirang consider the most loyal. Cirang said Ravenkind is giving them to all the Sisters.”

Daia regarded Brawna under a deep scowl. She turned to Gavin. “We should go after Ravenkind. We can avenge Aminda and pry his hand from the throat of the Sisterhood.”

His eyes bore into Daia. Brawna squirmed in her chair, thankful that dark gaze wasn’t directed at her. “I told you what he did to my family. Do you think I’d risk more lives to satisfy your lust for vengeance? It's risky enough just trying to save Risan.”

“You were just one man,” Daia said. “We have four.”

Four. Brawna smiled. Daia shot her a glance and winked.

“And he has the entire Viragon Sisterhood standing afore him,” Gavin said. "When we strike one down, he’ll heal her and set her on us again."

“We have only two options,” Daia said. “We can try to save Risan, and probably have to confront Ravenkind, or we can go to the cave, remove the reasons for him to hold Risan, and hope that's enough.”

Gavin cast his eyes down. Brawna had the sudden urge to reach out and stroke his hair. He looked so sad. So defeated.

Well, he needn't feel alone in this. She would be there beside him, battling to the death if need be. Fighting for the king.

* * * * *

They timed their arrival in Sohan for evening to give them a cover of darkness. About a mile west of the city, they stopped to work out their plan.

“Edan and I’ll ride into town from the west and try to find Demonshredder,” Gavin said. “He might know if Risan's still alive and where Ravenkind's holding him. None of the Sisters know our faces. We’re safe, but you two ain’t. Circle around the city and enter from the east. Get us some rooms at the inn closest to the city gate. We need to rest. We can go to the cave in the morning, hopefully with a better understanding of things.”

Daia nodded. “All right. The Harper Lodge is the one we want.”

“We’ll find you there. Then we can decide our next step.”

Daia and Brawna started away. Edan held out a hand, and as Daia passed him, she took it. As their horses drew them apart, they reached toward each other, holding contact for as long as they could. Gavin shivered, feeling suddenly chilled.

“Hey,” Edan said.

Gavin turned his gaze from Daia’s back and in the glow of the moon, found understanding in his friend’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Gavin shrugged. “She makes her own choices.” He nudged Golam to a trot.

The dust on the streets had settled into place for the night. Cressets burned along the main thoroughfares, now quiet and empty.

Gavin and Edan dismounted and led their horses by the reins, working the stiffness from their legs and backs. “That tavern up ahead – that’s the one.”

“Can we trust him?” Edan asked.

Gavin nodded. “He ain’t a bad buck. Gave us the map to find Stronghammer, only we found Brawna instead. Brawna’s his sister. When he finds out what Ravenkind and Tyr did to her, he’ll be with us.”

They tethered their horses to the hitching post and went inside.

The interior of the tavern was full of men hoisting tankards, belching, laughing and telling tales. The only women were the harried bar maids staggering under trays loaded with food and drink. The smell of sweat and hops welcomed them. Gavin stood in the doorway and scanned the room, checking every face. He looked for Domach, but also for Brodas’s cousin.

Domach stood and started toward him. His face was drawn, worried.

Gavin turned and went outside. The three men stood in the street, away from buildings where eavesdroppers might hide.

“Did you find Brawna?” Domach asked.

“We did. Tyr was using her as a practice dummy, but she's awright now,” Gavin said. “You knew he had her?”

“I found out yesterday. After I gave you the map, I went to Ravenkind’s like you told me to. A blacksmith was there – a Farthan by the name of Stronghammer.” Domach hung his head. “Ravenkind made me…” His voice trailed off and Gavin couldn't hear what he’d said.

“What?” Gavin asked.

“Is he alive?” Edan asked.

Domach nodded. “He’s alive. For now. Ravenkind wanted to know who Stronghammer made the sword for, but the blacksmith wouldn't say. Ravenkind made me beat it out of him, but Stronghammer's a stubborn fool. He held his tongue.” Domach looked at Gavin and ducked his head in a slight bow. “Knowing that you were looking for a kidnapped friend, I reasoned it out -- my liege.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gavin spat.

“Sorry. Listen, Ravenkind says he no longer cares who solved the runes. He says he can get the King's Blood-stone without you.”

“What?” Gavin shouted. His hands closed into fists.

“With the gems in the sword Stronghammer made, he can get the King's Blood-stone out of the tablet. He has Crigoth Sevae’s journal.”

“Damn it,” Gavin said, he spun around, unsure what to do. They had to go now. Tonight. They had to get the King's Blood-stone before Brodas did. He started toward the horses. “Is he on his way to the cave?”

“He hasn’t left yet,” Domach said as he and Edan joined Gavin. “He’s waiting for Warrick to return from Calsojourn.”

“Ah, hell,” Gavin clenched his teeth and fists. They had a good chance to get to the cave first. But without Warrick, Brodas would be more vulnerable to an attack. “Say, what about sneaking into Ravenkind's house?” he asked. “Kill him while he sleeps?”

Domach put on a doubtful expression. “He's keeping a troop of Viragon Sisters around him. We'd have to kill them first. The noise would wake him.”

“Damn,” Gavin muttered. “Get your horse and gear, Demonshredder, and meet us at the Harper Lodge.”

Edan offered his hand to Domach. “Edan Dawnpiper,” he said.

“Domach Demonshredder. I’ve got your back.”

“Never mind my back. Watch his,” Edan said, nodding at Gavin. “He's our new king.”

* * * * *

As Daia and Brawna rode around the periphery of the city, they kept eyes and ears open to any sign indicating they'd been recognized. Any Sister they spotted had to be considered an enemy.

When they reached the eastern gate of the city, they rode at a trot toward the Harper Lodge. A trio of swordswomen walked through the street ahead. Daia put her hand out, calling silently for Brawna to stop. The women walked on, apparently not seeing the two former Sisters.

Daia and Brawna found the Harper Lodge, a small building with termite-eaten eaves, and gave the stable hand two pielars each to tend their horses.

“How come you ain't stayin' at the Sisterhood fort,” he asked them.

“Our mission is secret,” Daia said. She handed him two more copper coins. “We'd like it to stay that way.”

“Awright,” he said. “I won't tell nobody.”

Daia led the way to the main building with Brawna following puppy-like.

“Viragon Sisters,” the ruddy-faced woman behind the desk said when they walked in. “Why aren't you staying at the complex?”

“We arrived too late,” Daia said. “We need four rooms.”

“Four?”

“The rest of our party will be along shortly: two men.”

“Oh, I see now,” the innkeeper replied with a wink. “Twenty pielars. But you’ve no need for four rooms, do you?”

Daia smiled as she handed her a kion. When the innkeeper handed her the change, Daia closed the woman's fingers around the coins. “And we'd appreciate your discretion.”

The innkeeper giggled, pocketing the five copper coins. “I always thought you ladies lived too strict. Even a Viragon Sister needs to kick up her heels now and then.”

Footsteps tromped up the steps behind Daia. She reached for her sword, certain the Sisters she'd seen on the street had followed them here. Daia and Brawna turned as one, their swords ringing as they drew.

The innkeeper put her hands to her head. "Oh, no!"

Gavin whipped the sword from the scabbard on his back so quickly, his movement was a blur.

“Relax. Everyone relax,” Edan said with a calming gesture. “It’s just us.”

"Sorry.” Daia sheathed her weapon, and Brawna and Gavin did the same. "We were spotted earlier. I thought you were Sisters."

“Domach,” Brawna cried when the dark-haired battler entered behind them. She ran to her brother and jumped. He caught her and stumbled back against the wall. They both laughed while he spun her around.

“Pinky,” he said. “Thank the gods you're all right.”

She slapped his chest and glanced at the others. “Don't call me that,” she said. “My new nickname is--”

“Brawna the Blade. Tales of your exploits have reached far and wide.” He set his sister on her feet and winked at Daia.

“You said four rooms,” the innkeeper said. “I count five.”

“Another room, then,” Daia said, pulling her coin purse out once more.

“Four's all we have, sorry. Two of you will need to share room one. The bed is big enough for two.”

Daia glanced at Edan before she realized she was doing it. “Brawna and I will share a bed. You three take the other rooms.”

Gavin said, “I'd be happy to share--”

“Save your breath, Kinshield,” she said to him as she passed.

* * * * *

Warrick burst into Brodas’s library, red-faced, his hair wet with sweat. “They’re here,” he said, gasping. “Kinshield and another man met Demonshredder at a tavern, then went to an inn near the east city gate. Saberheart wasn't with him, but I heard female voices coming from inside the inn's lobby.”

“Excellent work, Warrick,” Brodas said, closing the journal. He set the fragile tome gently on his desk and gave the cover a loving pat. “Presumably they will set out first thing in the morning. Get the horses ready and have my company prepare to ride at a moment's notice.” The time was drawing near. The excitement literally buzzed in Brodas’s ears, and it was all he could do to sit still. In a matter of hours, he would have the King's Blood-stone in his hands.

“Warrick, I need you to watch the inn,” he said. “I know you need sleep, but to be honest, I can’t trust anyone but you and Lilalian, and she's already at the cave.”

Warrick scrunched his mouth. “What about Cirang? She can watch the inn.”

“Lilalian is not afraid of risk, but she has good judgment. Her captain is wound a bit too tightly. She might confront them before they leave the city. Red isn’t back from Tern yet, but honestly I'd trust Cirang before I would Red.” Brodas put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “You have never let me down. Just suffer this one inconvenience, and I promise you will be rewarded a million times over. We both will.”

Warrick nodded. “I know. It’s all right, I’ll do it.”

“Come and get me when they leave, and we will follow behind at a safe distance.”

Chapter 54

The room with its wood-paneled walls and lacy curtains over the window, smelled of cinnamon, reminding Gavin of his grandmother’s house long ago. He would sleep well here. After removing his armor and weapons, he sat on the bed to unlace his boots and became distracted by its comfortable firmness. Lying back to sample it, his feet still on the floor, he fell asleep.

He lay that way for some time, unmoving. Eventually the grumbling of his stomach woke him. He stumbled to his feet and patted his coin purse. Satisfied that the light jingle meant he had enough to buy a meal, he shuffled out to the dark corridor. As he turned to lock his room, the door to Edan's room opened quietly and from it emerged Daia.

"Well, well," Gavin said in a low voice. "So that's what all the moaning and screaming was about."

Daia gave him a sour look as she went past him to her room. "You heard nothing of the kind. Where are you going?"

Edan stepped out of his room and looked at the two of them with raised brows.

Gavin chuckled to hide his envy and disappointment that she had given herself to Edan. “I need to get something’ to eat.”

Edan clapped his shoulder. “I'll go with you.”

“You'd better get some rest, Gavin,” Daia said. "Morning will be upon us too soon."

Once she'd gone into her room and closed the door behind her, Gavin grinned at Edan. "So. You finally bedded her, eh? What was she like?"

Edan scowled at him as they walked to the door at the end of the corridor. "You misunderstand."

"Come on, I been dying to know. Does she drink from the spigot?"

"Another word, Gavin, and we'll go to blows," Edan said with a raised finger.

Gavin had never heard such a threatening tone from Edan. Must have been truly smitten to object so strongly to a joke. "Sorry, Edan," Gavin said. "I forgot myself."

As they walked to the alehouse across from the inn, Gavin looked at his friend curiously. What was it about him that had drawn Daia? Edan was strong, but not terribly muscular and barely taller than she was. Was it his handsomeness? Could it be that his hands were not so rough and calloused? Hopefully it wasn’t simply that he lacked facial scars or that he had all of his teeth.

They sat down, and for several minutes, neither of them spoke. The barmaid brought reheated salted pork and ale. While Gavin ate, he remembered Daia’s complaints about his speech and manners. Maybe she liked a man who was well-spoken. If that was all there was to it, Gavin could fix that easily enough. Spending time with Edan had taught him much.

“I know what you're thinking, Gav, and you needn't worry,” Edan said. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” he asked.

Edan smiled at Gavin and then raised his tankard to his lips. "She cares for you."

Gavin raised his own tankard to hide his smile, and took a long draw. “After all these years, you're reunited with her. I could tell she was a noble from the moment I met her, and she told me she was the Lordover Tern's daughter, but I didn't put it together until we got to your house.”

Edan nodded. “She’s not just his daughter. She’s his heiress. Rather, she was. She hated her life. I only spent a few hours with her the night we met, but,” he paused and glanced toward the door. “I fell for her that night.”

“I remember well. You wouldn’t shut up about her for months.”

“Not months,” Edan argued.

“Months. Years, maybe. You caught her eye once before. You could do it again.”

Edan exhaled loudly. “She ran away shortly after we met. Later I heard that she'd joined the Sisterhood. I don’t think it’s a husband she wants.” He averted his gaze, picking at the nail of one hand. “I know this is a sensitive matter for you, Gav, but it’s something you need to face: you’ll need to remarry.”

Gavin nodded, hanging his head. “I know.”

They sat silently for a while, drinking their ale. A wife. The thought of it made Gavin's stomach churn. The idea of replacing Talisha with another felt wrong. She was his wife; she would always be his wife, no matter if she were alive or dead.

He had loved being married, and he had chosen the most beautiful, the warmest, kindest, most entertaining woman ever born. No man had ever been luckier or more happily married than Gavin was. She was perfectly matched to him, and it was as though they shared a single mind and heart. His hope of finding another mate for his soul was dim. Yet, there was one he would consider.

Gavin sighed and put his hand to his brow. No. She wouldn’t marry him; she’d made it plain she had no interest in Gavin romantically. Edan was right. The epithet she had chosen was evidence that her heart was in soldiering and not in housewifery. In truth, Gavin could not see her hanging up her sword to don a dress and apron, nor would he want her to. He liked her exactly the way she was.

* * * * *

Daia pulled off the stiff corset she wore under her tunic, then pulled her shirt back on and strapped on her short sword. She leaned over Brawna's sleeping form. Brawna breathed slowly and deeply. Her mouth dropped open, and she snored softly.

Satisfied, Daia went to the door and pressed her ear to it. Once she was sure Edan and Gavin were out of earshot, she turned the knob slowly, quietly, and opened the door just enough to see out. The hall was dark and silent. She crept to the outer door and down the two steps to the street. The city was asleep.

She kept to the shadows and between the buildings as she made her way toward the Sisterhood compound to the southwest. Gavin would kill her if he knew what she was up to, but she had some unsettled business there. Cirang had murdered JNese and must be brought to justice.

At the northern-most end of the compound, a bit of the fencing had broken. She had slipped detention this way during her less than fine moments as a trainee looking for excitement. In fact, it was likely a continued practice among the trainees. Never had Daia considered she would be sneaking into the compound as an outcast.

She crept across the dewy grass to the east wing of the garrison where the officers’ quarters were. The guild mistress and her captain were not required to share a room as the other women were. Hopefully Cirang did not have an overnight guest.

Daia's mind drifted to her talk with Edan. For years, she had wondered what had become of him. Had he married? Had he forgotten her altogether? Part of her was glad he had done neither.

Focus, Saberheart.

She sneaked around behind what she guessed would be Cirang’s room. Surely, Lilalian had taken Aminda’s larger room and let Cirang have her old room. Daia side-stepped along the wall of the barrack and peeked around the corner. No one there. A cluster of barracks to the south hid her from view from the gatehouse. As she reached toward the door handle of Cirang’s room, she held her breath. It did not budge.

Damn it. She went around to the rear of the building. The window would have been large enough to crawl through if she'd been unconcerned about being heard, but she needed to get in without alerting Cirang. Peering through the glass, she saw Cirang's dark hair against the white pillow.

A voice in her head warned her to abort this ridiculous plan now while she still could. No. Cirang had all but buried Daia when she stole her knife and drove it into JNese’s back. Daia would have her vengeance and justice for JNese, too. She stooped to gather a handful of pebbles and acorns, and put them in her pocket.

She planted her boot in the crook of the tree’s lower branches and pulled herself up. She stepped up twice more and stretched her torso across the widest branch that hung over the roof of Cirang’s barrack. Pushing with her feet and pulling with her arms, she scooted across the branch. Wrapping her feet around it, she let her hip roll off to the side. She swung down and lowered herself silently to the roof, then crept to the edge just above the window.

Daia tossed a pebble. It clinked against the window and fell into the grass. She tossed a few more.

Clink. Clink. Clink-clink.

She heard stirring below her. “What the hell?” Cirang asked, her voice muffled through the roof.

Clink.

The latch on the door clicked. Daia scrambled over the roof to the front of the building. Below her, Cirang's dark head appeared, turned first right then left. It bobbed as she went past Lilalian’s room to the corner of the building and around toward the back window.

Daia put one hand on the roof and jumped down to the ground, landing in a squat to silence her drop. She slipped into Cirang’s room and flattened herself against the inner wall. Her heart pounded.

“All right, who's playing games? Keep it up if you want detention,” Cirang called. Daia saw her through the window, her form silhouetted against the glow of the nearly full moon.

Daia hunkered down and went to the bundle of clothing draped over a chair. The strap of Cirang’s sword hung over the chair back, and her knife lay atop the wadded clothes. She took the weapons and backed to the wall again, enjoying the idea of killing Cirang with her own blade.

The voice in her mind warned, I have no proof it was murder. Daia paused, suddenly unsure of her decision. What if JNese was killed by beyonders, and Cirang put my knife in her back to make me look responsible?

No, Cirang had killed JNese. But she needed to have proof before she put her knife to Cirang's throat. Damn it. She had to find another way; she wouldn't chance committing murder. Besides, Gavin needed her. Once he was king, she could bring Cirang before him for justice.

How was she going to get out of here unseen? Cirang’s footsteps crunched through the grass and gravel on the side of the barrack. She was coming.

Daia took another couple of pebbles and tossed them at the window.

Clink. Clink.

One of them bounced off the window, landed on the pillow and rolled down onto the bed sheet. Shit!

The footsteps stopped, then turned. Cirang hurried back around to the window. “Who the hell is there, damn it?”

Daia slipped from the room and went left, down to the other end of the barrack and around the corner. She waited, her chest heaving, her back pressed flat against the wall. She held Cirang’s sword in the crook of her left arm and the knife in her right hand.

You are mad, Saberheart. Mad. What if she were caught? Gavin would be on his own. No, she wouldn't be discovered. Cirang had not heard her.

At last, the footsteps crunched through the gravel once again and the door creaked shut. The latch clicked into place.

Daia shut her eyes and thanked Yrys for His watchful eye. She waited for a moment to see if Cirang would notice her weapons missing or the pebble on her bed and call out an alarm. Get moving, Saberheart. Don’t wait to be caught. She hunched down and started across the grass.

She heard shouting in the growing distance behind her, undoubtedly from Cirang's discovery of the pebble. But Daia was beyond the fencing and moving quickly in the shadows. The exhilaration of success raced through her veins. She giggled to herself the entire way back to the Harper Lodge, and her muscles jerked with unused energy.

When she reached the inn, she pressed her back to the wall and focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself so as not to make any noise when she went inside. She raised her eyes to the sky, to the brilliance of the stars and the shapes they formed, the stories they told. This was one story she wouldn't tell. Not yet. Not for many years to come.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a deep voice behind her.

She whirled around, raising Cirang’s sword in reflex.

With a thick, dark mustache and handsome face, the man looked familiar. He held up his empty hands in a calming gesture. “No need for that,” he said, his voice low.

“Be on your way, ‘ranter,” she said. “I’m on official business of the Viragon Sisterhood.”

“Is that so? Did Cirang send you?”

Cirang? How did he know--? Daia remembered where she’d seen his face; he had come to see Aminda the day before Daia, Cirang and JNese had left for Tern. “What do you know of it?” she demanded in a hushed voice.

“I’ve got the inn covered.”

Daia’s heart thudded so hard, she was afraid he would hear it. This had to be Ravenkind’s cousin. “Look, a renegade Sister was seen entering this inn. I’ve got orders--”

“I know,” he said with an impatient tone. “I will handle it. You get back to the complex and tell Cirang to keep her nose out of my business.”

“You know? Who in blazes are you?”

He sighed. “I’m Lilalian's ally, Warrick Darktalon.”

Warrick. That was him.

“Now go back to the complex like I told you, or I’m going to have to—“

Daia lunged at him with Cirang's sword. His reflex was quick and he parried with his left hand. The blade cut deeply into his palm, nearly severing his index finger, but he avoided a mortal wound. He drew his sword with a ring, holding his useless hand against his chest. Blood gushed down his wrist and forearm.

“You’ve made a big mistake,” he said through gritted teeth. “Put down the weapon and I won’t kill you.”

“You’re already dead,” she spat. “Just like your idiot cousin.”

Warrick let out a growl and lunged. Daia parried, but his blade glanced off hers, skipped over the guard and sliced into her arm. Her hand was suddenly too weak to grip the sword. The weapon fell to the cobblestones at her feet. Before he could swing again, she dropped to a crouch and whipped the knife in her left hand up alongside his groin, slicing through the artery. Spinning away, she rose again and stepped back into a defensive stance.

He dropped his weapon and clutched himself. Going first to one knee, he slumped to the ground as the blood soaked his trousers. His eyes rose to hers and pleaded for help before freezing in a glassy stare. He fell onto his face.

With her left hand, Daia dragged Warrick by the arm further into the alley so casual passersby wouldn't see him from the street. She gathered up all the weapons. As she started to wipe his blood off Cirang’s knife, a wicked grin crept over her face. If Brodas thought the Sisterhood was his ally, then leaving Cirang’s knife covered with Warrick's blood would be the perfect revenge for JNese’s murder.

Chapter 55

The leaves whispered of promises unkept as they shivered in the trees and tumbled across the forest floor. A copper-haired girl with tiny freckles on her nose beckoned him. She was Caevyan, yet he called out “Dagaz!” as he ran after her. His legs were wooden and unbending. The ground was soft like sand. “Papa!” she called, then ran away. Always elusive, staying ahead of him. She turned and waited, beckoning.

Her eyes were the color of blood.

A sharp noise jerked Gavin out of the dream. He looked around, trying to identify its source.

Tak-tak-tak.

The door. Papa was coming to tell him he'd forgotten to light the heater in the chicken coop. Coming to tell him the baby chicks were dead.

“Gavin,” someone whispered loudly.

No, not Papa. Coming more fully awake, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on his trousers and picked up his dagger. In the darkness, he made his way to the door, holding the knife between his teeth while he laced his trousers. Through the crack between the door and its frame came the sound of heavy breathing. Gavin took the knife in hand, drawing it from its sheath.

“Gavin, it's me. Wake up. Gavin?” Daia's voice.

Tak-tak-tak.

He unbolted and opened the door, but the hall was darker than his room. He squinted, trying to fit the image before his eyes into the context of Daia Saberheart. She had an armful of weapons. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She squeezed past him into his room. “I've just killed someone.”

“Who? How?”

“Warrick Darktalon. He was lurking in the alley outside. Watching us, no doubt.”

Gavin shut the door and rubbed his eyes. “Did you say you killed Warrick? Brodas Ravenkind's cousin, Warrick?”

“Yes. Gavin, they know we’re here.”

“Hell, tell me what happened,” he said.

“I was out... for a walk, and as I was coming back, he snuck up behind me.”

“He attacked you?”

“No, he thought I was an ally, sent by Cirang to watch the inn. He knew we were here, so the Sisterhood must know, too. When he told me who he was, I killed him.”

Gavin used the night candle to light the oil lamp. The sight of blood on her sleeve twisted his gut. “You’re injured. Let me see,” he said, setting down the knife.

“It’s a scratch,” she said. “Gavin, I’m not sure we can trust Domach. He told you Warrick was in Calsojourn.”

“We can trust him. I read hazes, remember? Let me see your arm,” Gavin insisted. “Take your shirt off so I can look at it.”

“Gavin,” Daia warned.

“I need to see how badly you’re injured. You ain’t-- you're not going to be able to battle if you’re hurt. It'll take just a minute to heal you.”

Daia set the weapons she was carrying on the bed and took hold of the bottom of her tunic with her left hand. “Turn around.”

Gavin turned and waited, wondering how angry she would be if he peeked. He heard the rustle of cloth behind him. It occurred to him that he didn’t truly need her to remove her shirt, but he was certainly not going to stop her now. “What were you doing wandering about in the mirk-night, anyway?”

Several heartbeats of silence passed. “Feeling restless. All right, I'm ready. Let's get this over with.”

When Gavin turned around, she was holding her tunic against her chest, but her arms, shoulders and back were fully exposed, and a little bit of her stomach. If he’d been at leisure to admire her naked torso, the taut skin and smooth muscle underneath, he’d have fallen to his knees, begging her to let him touch her. But the cut needed his attention; blood flowed freely down her arm.

He picked up the shirt he'd left wadded on the floor and blotted the blood from her wound. The cut went deep into the muscle tissue. “How'd you manage to grip your sword?”

“I didn't, but I had a knife in my left hand.”

Gavin stepped up behind her and put his right hand over the gash, instantly feeling the heat build. He put his other hand on her left shoulder. Her back was to him, her body warm so close to his. Gavin felt a familiar stirring in his groin. This ain’t the time for that, he reminded himself.

“Do you need help?” she whispered.

“No.” He closed his eyes and concentrated. The white fluttering came easier this time, more quickly, and after a few moments, his hand cooled. He wasn’t sure he had succeeded until he lifted his hand away and saw that the wound was sealed with new pink skin. He waited for the black spots to cloud his vision, but they didn’t come. “Hm! It worked.”

She checked her arm, lifted it to the side a couple times, then stepped away, smiling up at him. “My thanks, Kinshield. Do you feel all right?”

He paused for dramatic effect, then pretended to swoon, opening his arms to her.

She pushed him away, still clutching her shirt to her chest. “Nice try. Turn around and let me dress.”

Gavin sighed and turned around. While he rinsed her blood from his hand in the wash basin, he said, “Well, for killing Warrick you deserve a medal. That’s going to anger Brodas beyond measure. If he finds out who did it, he’ll slay your whole family.” He wiped his wet hand on his trouser leg and turned around to face her, hoping for the need to apologize. But she had finished dressing.

“Don’t worry. He won't know it was me,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Look, I’m betting Ravenkind told Demonshredder the story about being able to get the King's Blood-stone to lure us to the cave. He sends Warrick to watch us, waiting for us to leave...”

“Warrick runs back and tells Ravenkind,” Daia added, nodding. “They come after us, arriving just in time to see you solve the rune. They’ll probably arrive with a whole regiment of Viragon Sisters and try to take the King's Blood-stone by force.”

“Yeh, or could be a regiment's already there.”

“Choose your battleground,” Daia said pensively.

“What?”

“Of two equal forces, which has the advantage in battle?”

Gavin nodded with a grin. “Yeh. The one who chooses the battleground. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“He's probably asleep, waiting for Warrick to come and rouse him with word that we're on our way to the cave. If we go to Ravenkind's house--”

“--we could rescue Risan and get out afore Ravenkind’s even awake,” Gavin finished. “And go to the cave at our leisure.”

“If he's after the King's Blood-stone, we'll have to face him sooner or later. But if we go to the cave directly, we take the risk that Risan won't be alive by the time we get around to saving him. And as you said, a couple dozen Sisters are probably already there, waiting.”

“We’d have surprise on our side by showing up at his house. But Ravenkind's home ain't— isn't exactly the battleground of choice. We've never been there; we don't know what to expect.”

“Domach does,” Daia said. “And without Warrick, Ravenkind will be more vulnerable.”

They regarded each other for a moment, a silent agreement reached.

“It was Edan, wasn't it?” she asked softly. “You asked Edan to claim the King's Blood-stone.”

“Yeh.” Gavin lifted his chin toward the knife and two swords she had set on the bed. “You get those off of Warrick?”

“Mostly,” she said. “He said no, didn't he?”

Gavin nodded, his head hung.

She put a warm, gentle hand on his arm, sending a tingle through his heart and straight to his groin. He raised his eyes to hers. “It'll be all right.”

The look in her pale blue eyes, so full of trust and faith and caring, filled him with an urgent desire to take her into his arms and make long, tender love to her. She was so beautiful. So strong. “I can’t do it alone,” he said.

“You won’t have to.” She smiled. “Come on. Let’s wake the others.”

Was she saying she would consider a proposal? He took a breath. There would be time for that later. “Yeh. The sooner we get moving, the better our chances of living through the night.”

Chapter 56

Shortly before dawn, the five battlers crept up behind the barn at Brodas’s manor, single file, and huddled there. Edan, Daia, Brawna and Domach turned to Gavin with expectant faces. “Awright Demonshredder,” he said softly, “how do we get in?”

“On the other side of that brick wall,” Domach said, “is a courtyard, and beyond that, the back door to the manor. That would be the safest way in.” His breath was white against the darkness of the morning.

Gavin looked around at the others; Edan’s brow was drawn, Brawna chewed her lip, and Daia had a gleam in her eye. “Awright. I’ll see how many guards.” He shifted forward but Daia stayed him with a firm grip on his arm.

"No, I'll go. It’s too risky."

“Now ain’t the time to argue about this,” he said. He had all the confidence in the world in Daia, but he resisted allowing her to lead him into danger. He should go first.

"Gavin," she whispered, "I know you feel responsible for us all, but I have to keep you alive at least until we know the King's Blood-stone is safe. Just bite on this one, all right?"

He drew in a breath. She had a good point, but he still didn’t like it. "Take Edan with you, then," he insisted.

Daia looked at Edan and jerked her head toward the manor.

Gavin scanned for patrolling guards while the two of them crept around the barn and made their way, crouched, to the five-foot stone wall that defined the boundary of the courtyard. Gavin should be doing that instead. If either of them were injured, he would never forgive himself.

Daia poked her head around the corner of the opening, where a gate hung crookedly from one hinge. She held up one finger and leaned to whisper into Edan's ear. Edan nodded and they traded places. He nocked an arrow. With one motion, admirably fluid, he pulled the string, leaned around the corner, and fired with a soft thoop. He waved Gavin and the others forward.

Gavin, Domach and Brawna crept over to join Daia and Edan. “Good job, One-Shot,” Gavin said. “There are prob'ly more around front.”

“We can probably avoid them,” Edan said.

“If someone sees us and sounds an alarm, we’ll wish we’d killed them,” Daia replied.

Gavin nodded. “Yeh. Edan, you and Daia go around front and down any guards you see. Demonshredder, where’s Ravenkind keeping Risan?”

“In the cellar. The entrance is in the kitchen, just inside the back door.”

“We might be able to rescue Risan and get out without Ravenkind knowing,” Edan said.

“Let’s hope. But the bastard has my sword,” Gavin said, looking up at the manor with narrowed eyes.

“He keeps it in the library,” Domach whispered. “I suggest you go down and get Risan and I’ll get your sword.”

Gavin nodded. “Good plan.”

“What should I do?” Brawna asked.

Gavin looked around at the others for suggestions, but everyone looked to him for his command. “I need you at my back. Come to the house with us. Stand watch. Take down anyone who happens by. Everyone clear on your jobs?” he asked.

They all nodded.

“You two come to the back door when you’ve taken care of the guards in front,” he said to Daia and Edan. With a beckoning wave of his arm, Gavin started into the courtyard. The body of the slain guard lay in the grass, and he made his way to it. Domach tapped Gavin's shoulder and motioned him to go on to the house. Domach picked up the guard’s arm, pulled the body over his shoulder, and started back toward the stable. Gavin motioned to Brawna to follow him, and they crept to the back door of the manor.

Expecting to find it locked, Gavin turned the knob slowly. The latch clicked open.

* * * * *

Brawna followed Gavin through the back door and into a small covered porch. Mops, brooms and dustpans, crates of rags lined the walls. Beyond the threshold was the kitchen, immaculately kept. To the right, on the adjacent wall, was an open door and beyond it, a narrow hallway. Ahead, a large wooden freezing box sat against one wall with a door on each side of it. One had a heavy padlock. Probably the cellar. Brawna scanned the walls and found a key hanging from a nail. She tapped Gavin’s shoulder, holding the key between her finger and thumb. Gavin grinned as he took it, and unlocked and opened the door.

The cellar was completely dark. Gavin beckoned Brawna with a finger.

“Look around for a lamp,” he whispered into her ear.

The feeling of his prickly cheek and warm breath against her ear sent a thrill through her. Such a man he is. She'd seen the way he looked at Daia. If Brawna could impress him somehow, he might look at her that way, too.

She ducked through the door on the right and started down a long hallway. On the right were three closed doors and on the left a staircase leading up. She went to the first door and eased it open. It was a tiny closet full of junk, but she saw no lamp. She closed the door and went to the next.

As she reached for the knob, it turned suddenly and swung inward. A white-haired man on the other side gasped and jerked. She ran her blade to the guard into his chest. He let out a groan and fell to the floor with a thud.

By Yrys, I killed him. Her knees went weak and she stumbled, catching herself with her free hand on the doorframe. The feel of her sword as it slid out of his body unnerved her. Her mouth watered and her stomach lurched. Beyonders she had no trouble with, but she had never thought she would kill an unarmed grandfatherly gent. Then she recognized the sympathetic face of Brodas's steward, now slack and expressionless. The longer she stared at his dead face, the more horrible the sight of it became. His blood was on her sword, on her hand and sleeve, on her soul. Yrys no, please, take it back. A gagging sound escaped her throat.

She had to get control of herself. Gavin was counting on her. The king was counting on her. She could worry over the loss of life later. Brawna took a deep, steadying breath and stepped into the bedroom. Taking the man by the arms, she dragged him back away from the door, looking aside so that she wouldn't have to see the face of the person she had slain. A lamp sat on the night table. She grabbed it, shut the door behind her, and returned to the kitchen.

“What was the noise?” Gavin asked into her ear.

“I happened upon the manservant,” she whispered back.

Domach came into the kitchen and nodded to them both. He pointed to the sword on his hip, then to Gavin, and tiptoed down the hall Brawna had come from.

“He's dead?” Gavin asked her.

She nodded and stifled another gag.

“You awright?”

She swallowed hard and nodded again, although she didn't feel all right. She had killed an innocent human being, a man that someone had loved. Someone’s brother, father, uncle and friend.

He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. While she held the lamp in her quaking hands, he struck a piece of flint with his knife and lit it. Then he pulled the glove from his waistband and drew it onto his left hand. With his sword in the gloved hand and the lamp in the other, he went through the door.

Should she go with the king to protect him? No, he had killed Enamaeria easily enough. Brawna could offer him no protection except by guarding the door. She watched, holding her breath and trembling still, while he started down the stairs.

Chapter 57

The cellar started to brighten, not from the daylight falling down between the boards above, but from the staircase. A few of the stairs creaked as heavy footsteps descended.

Risan sat up, waking Dwaeth with his movement. He cupped a hand gently over the boy's mouth, then whispered, "Stay quiet," into his ear. He eased himself down from atop the wardrobe, picked up the broken leg of a chair, and held it ready.

"Risan," someone said quietly. "Are you here?"

Could it be Domach come to help? Risan would take any help he could get -- even from the man who had beaten him unconscious. But neither would he take chances. If it meant getting out of the cellar alive, he'd take down anyone who stood between him and the door. He flexed his fingers around the makeshift club.

A giant of a man stepped around the corner. In his right hand, he held a lamp, in his left a sword. Not Domach. Risan stepped forward, ready to let loose with a mighty blow. Then recognition bloomed. Gavin Kinshield.

Risan released the club and it clattered to the floor. "Gavin, praise Yrys, it is you." Risan held out his hand, and Gavin set the lamp on the table and grasped it. Risan felt Gavin's fingers slip over his fingerless knuckles and loosen, but he gripped Gavin's hand more firmly and took the warrant knight’s massive forearm with his other hand, pumping madly. "Damn, I am so glad to see you."

"Good to see you're awright," Gavin said softly. He raised his eyes to Dwaeth sitting on the wardrobe.

"Ravenkind?" Risan whispered.

Gavin pointed up. "Asleep."

Risan turned and beckoned Dwaeth with a wave of his hand. The boy climbed down and came over. Risan put an arm around Dwaeth’s shoulders and pulled him close. "Dwaeth, this is my friend, Gavin," he whispered. "Let’s go upstairs."

Dwaeth eyed Gavin warily.

Gavin sheathed his sword and squatted down on his haunches. "You look like a strapping boy about the size of my youngest nephew. What are you, about six? Seven?"

Dwaeth nodded. "Six," he whispered. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Gavin is not stranger," Risan said quietly. "He is hero who saved my lovely wife from drowning, and now he is here to help us. Gavin is real warrant knight, strongest swordsman in all Thendylath. His horse, Golam, is big as mountain. If he was stranger, you would not know so much about him, would you?"

Dwaeth smiled and shook his head. He put one hand in Risan's and reached for Gavin's with the other.

Together, they ascended into the approaching daylight.

* * * * *

As Gavin neared the top of the cellar stairs, he saw Brawna look toward the door and tense. Gavin drew his sword and stepped into the kitchen in time to see the door swing open. Domach stepped in. A woman’s body hung over his right shoulder and in his left hand, he carried a pair of swords, one bloody. He took the dead guard to the porch and set her down just outside the back door.

“That man works for Ravenkind,” Risan told Gavin, keeping his eyes on Domach.

Domach put his arm around Brawna’s shoulders. “This is my sister. She’s alive because of Gavin. She’s alive because you trusted me.”

Risan nodded and offered Domach his hand. “Then you proved to be honorable man. You kept your promise.” He turned to Gavin. “But I did not. Ravenkind has sword I made for you. I am sorry.”

“It’s not in the library,” Domach said. “He must have it with him.”

Damn. Gavin needed that sword. All right, he wanted the sword. If Brodas could get the King's Blood-stone using the gems in the sword, Gavin had to get it back. Provided the wizard was still here.

Daia and Edan came into the kitchen from the back door. Daia smiled at Risan. “Good to finally meet you,” she said quietly, offering her hand. “I’m Daia.”

“I owe you debt of gratitude,” Risan whispered as he shook it.

“We should leave now,” Edan said in a hushed voice. “Get to the cave before Ravenkind awakens.”

“He has sword I made for Gavin as fël. I will not leave without get it back,” Risan said.

Gavin’s companions turned to him for a decision. “Awright,” Gavin said. “We go upstairs and end it now.” He looked around for agreement and each of them nodded.

"His room is at the end of the hall," Domach said.

Dwaeth tugged on Gavin’s shirttail. “One of the stairs creaks,” he whispered.

Gavin squatted. “If I count stairs as I go up, do you know which number it would be?” he asked Dwaeth.

“Twelve?” Dwaeth said with a one-shouldered shrug. His little brow furrowed. “I can’t remember,” he said.

“That’s awright. Twelve’s a good enough guess.” Gavin ruffled his hair and stood. “I’ll go up first.” Daia pressed her lips together and shook her head, but Gavin ignored the gesture. “Once I identify the step, I’ll lay my scabbard across it and everyone else can step over it.” He looked at Risan. "Risan, take the boy and get to safety."

"I can battle with you, Gavin," Risan said. He glanced at the weapons Domach had collected from the guards. "Give me sword. Let me help. I have debt to pay Ravenkind," he said, holding up his three-fingered hand.

Gavin would have suggested Brawna take the child, but he thought Brawna might be better to have with them in a battle than Risan. The Farthan was familiar with weapons, certainly, but was he trained for combat?

“I was man-at-arms first in Farthan regular army, then in Farthan Imperial Guard,” Risan said as though guessing Gavin’s concern. “First Master of Blade Arms and Third Master of Pole Arms.”

"Brawna, would you take the boy?" Gavin asked.

She nodded.

Gavin thought he saw relief in her face. "Stay close but hidden. We may need you."

"No," Dwaeth said too loudly as he shied from Brawna’s outstretched hand. "I want to stay with Risan."

“Shhhh,” Risan said, bending down to him. "Dwaeth, do you remember what thing I promised? We have to take care something first. Stay with Miss Brawna for short time, and I will come for you. I promise on my life."

Dwaeth nodded and hung his head. Brawna took his hand and led him to the porch. She turned back to them and whispered, “Strength and courage.”

Chapter 58

Brodas awoke as the sky had begun to lighten. Dawn was here and Warrick had not returned. He'd better not have fallen asleep or there would be hell to pay. Brodas pulled the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had slept in his clothes, not wanting to waste time changing when Warrick sounded the alert. He would have preferred everything to be perfect the day he claimed the King's Blood-stone, including wearing pressed clothing to the cave, but such things were unimportant in his larger plan. After pulling on and lacing his boots, he picked up the sword lying on the floor alongside his bed.

He admired the workmanship again and wished he knew the nature of the enchantment Risan had put on it. Once he had the King's Blood-stone, the blacksmith would tell him. The sword wouldn't be able to protect its maker from Brodas's magic then.

He went to the door and opened it. "Bring me some--" The hall was empty, his guard absent from her post. A chill swept across the back of Brodas's neck. Perhaps she was simply taking care of her private business. The stair creaked, but he did not hear the rhythmic fall of boots on the steps. Something was wrong. He went to investigate.

As Brodas reached the top landing, the sight of five people ascending the stairs utterly confused him. The last of them fired an arrow. Brodas barely had time to block it with a spell, and its sharp tip cut through his tunic and stung him in the chest just before it exploded into splinters. The rest of the intruders charged him with swords drawn. Among them was one whose face was far too familiar.

"Kinshield," Brodas hissed. He held up the sword and focused on the gem in the snake's eye.

* * * * *

A wave of force slammed into them. Daia fell back against Gavin and he fell into Domach behind him. Together they tumbled backward down the stairs. Finally, they came to a stop and disentangled themselves. The pain barely registered as Daia rolled to her feet at the bottom landing. She snatched up her sword and started back up the steps, two at a time. Someone else charged up behind her.

Daia thrust with her sword. Brodas did not raise the jeweled sword to defend himself. Her blade should have penetrated his flesh, but it stopped as though she had stabbed a wall. A white ring of mist shot down the length of her blade, spilt over the guard to her hand and washed over her body. Enveloped in a sharp tingling sensation, she collapsed like a rag doll onto the stairs, bumping down a few before sliding to a stop on her belly. Then she felt nothing, but she heard and saw all.

* * * * *

"Daia, no," Gavin yelled. It was too late. He recognized the look of helplessness in her eyes as she lay immobile on the stairs. Gavin started up the stairs behind Domach with Risan beside him. Brodas hit them with another wave of force. It lifted Gavin from his feet and slammed him onto his back on the floor. Risan hit the wall along the staircase and tumbled down the stairs. Domach spun and hit the banister with his hip, flipping over it. Gavin rolled to his knees and climbed to his feet. The burning in his shoulder was excruciating at first, but the pain faded quickly.

A spark appeared in the air, and opened into a line of darkness. The line widened, splitting like a demon's grin into a smile.

Gavin reeled. How could a door from the demon's realm open here? He looked up. There Brodas stood, his hand outstretched as if he controlled it. A gray-green hand reached through, each of its four fingers ending in a long, curved claw. A fur-covered arm followed, and a head like a bear, accompanied by the stench of sulfur. It stood a head taller than Gavin as it stepped fully through, and the opening snapped shut behind it.

Thoop! An arrow flew past him and sank into the creature's chest. It roared, the sound of it making the hair on Gavin's neck stand up. He sliced with his sword and jumped back as a claw swiped at him. He stepped in with a lunge, drove his blade half-way into the grayish fur of its gut. He yanked it out and ducked its claws.

Gavin saw another spark down the hall beside the staircase. Arrows flew past him, some burrowing into the beyonder, some batted harmlessly away by a massive paw. Gavin chopped at the thing's neck, hoping to behead it. Then, he was flying through the air. He heard an oof as he slammed into Edan. They hit the wall so hard, Gavin thought he heard every bone in his body break. His neck, head, chest and back lit up with tingling fire as he fell with a thud to the floor.

The pain felt like being burned alive on a spit. At least, he thought it was pain, but the searing heat died down to uncomfortable warmth. His power -- King Arek’s power. He tried to climb to his feet, but he could not feel his legs. The creature advanced upon Gavin and Edan, lying in a heap. Gavin tried to move, to let Edan get away, but he could not.

Just as the creature was bending to deal a death blow to Gavin, it screamed and turned. Behind it, Risan plunged his sword again and again into the monster's leg. It turned and batted at him, but he ducked under its paw and continued hacking. Grayish liquid began to squirt from its wounds, flooding the floor. Its struggles weakened, and it staggered.

A wave of force swept down the stairs. Risan and the monster slammed against the wall. Gavin rolled off of Edan, who slid backward across the floor.

The beyonder twisted around, clawing at Risan.

The pain in Gavin's back started to lessen and the feeling returned to his legs. He climbed to his knees and whipped the dagger from his hip sheath. He stabbed the thing in the back, and it slumped, tried to turn toward him. Edan rolled to his feet and drew his own knife, and together they stabbed again and again as the beyonder collapsed to the floor.

Risan got up and started running up the stairs. Gavin saw he had a clear line of sight over Risan's head, but wouldn't for long. He threw. The knife spun in the air, sailing toward its target.

* * * * *

Brodas nearly laughed aloud at the futility of their efforts. The five of them together could not hope to best him, but they were too dim-witted to realize it. With barely a thought, he sent Gavin’s knife spinning away. It sank into Risan's thigh and laid him flat on a stair, writhing and screaming. Brodas turned the archer’s arrows to toothpicks. And Domach was nowhere to be seen, no doubt slain by whatever beyonder had come through the second portal he'd opened.

If only Gavin would come up the stairs and try to stab him as Daia had, Brodas would be ready to render him helpless, kill his friends and be done with it. Getting the huge swordsman to the cave would be Brodas's greatest challenge. Once Warrick arrived, all would be well. And with the Lordover Tern’s daughter as Brodas’s bride, all would be better than well.

In fact, with that magnificent gift of hers, Brodas might not need to make contact at all. Perhaps he could strike Gavin with paralysis and kill his friends with a little help from Miss Daia. He turned his attention to her lovely light blue eyes.

* * * * *

Daia lay alert but unable to move. Time and again, she watched her companions try to attack Brodas on the stairs only to be tossed back down like the unwanted toys of a spoilt toddler. If they could get close enough to hurt the wizard, she could help ensure his death. But first, they needed to get him off the stairs. He could not defend against four attackers at once.

Something vile reached for her mind, tacky, tar-like. Brodas was trying to connect with her. No. She pushed hard against him, and he pushed back. She felt like she was trying to shut a door against the force of a dozen men pushing it open. NO! Squeezing her eyes shut, she dove into her center and focused only on keeping him out. Little by little, she felt herself slipping, unable to push against the power that violated her. She felt him reach as though with the tip of a finger, stretching toward the source of her gift. Closer. Closer...

* * * * *

With a growl of effort, Gavin pushed himself to his feet and looked around. Daia lay unable to move on the stairs. In front of him, Risan yanked Gavin's knife from his leg and started pulling himself up the stairs. Domach crawled down the hall like a wounded fish, his bloody left arm clutched to his body, his right leg flopping against the floor. Blood streamed from his ears and from a gash in his forehead. He clutched his sword in his right hand.

Behind a corner, Edan stood beside the wall, his right arm hanging limply. His teeth were clenched tight and with a hard twist from the waist, he slammed his shoulder against the wall, muting a scream.

Gavin looked up at Brodas. He was glaring at Daia. Doing something to her. Her eyes were clenched shut. Some war was raging between them.

Gavin realized then that he and his companions were losing the battle. Once again, he had underestimated Brodas Ravenkind, and people would die because of it. His friends would die. Brodas used the gems in Gavin's own sword to attack them and defend himself against their efforts. If only Gavin could get-- Wait, he thought. Hadn't he felt his knife meet his hand before it should have?

The moonstone. Maybe he could use this new magic to get the sword away from Brodas.

He pulled the blue moonstone from his pocket. Focusing on the blue gem in his palm, he lifted his left hand toward the sword in Brodas's hand, reaching for it. Wanting it, intending to take it as though it were close enough to grasp. He reached as hard as he could, commanded it to come to him.

The sword wiggled, but Brodas held it tightly. The intensity of Brodas's glare grew, and he gritted his teeth.

“Daia, help me,” Gavin yelled. He wasn’t sure she could, with whatever Brodas was doing to her, but if she could hear him, if she could reach for him... He pulled harder. Harder.

Domach drew his knife. He let loose a throw and struck his target in the shoulder.

Brodas screamed. He turned his blazing eyes to Domach.

A warm presence reached for Gavin, taking hold of his entire inner being. Suddenly he felt a renewed strength. Daia! He pulled at the sword in Brodas's hand.

The sword wrenched itself free of Brodas's grasp just as another wave of force shot down the stairs. Domach caught the brunt of the spell squarely in the chest and tumbled backward, but still Gavin slammed into the wall behind him and fell. The moonstone flew from his hand. His new sword skidded across the marble floor.

Gavin crawled to the sword. His hand closed around the hilt.

Al...as...ar.

* * * * *

Brodas felt the sword tear itself from his grasp. How in the seven realms…? Kinshield. There he'd stood, his hand outstretched. Just as Brodas had let loose the last blast, the sword went to him. It went to him.

Without the gems in the sword, Brodas would have to make physical contact with his enemies to harm them by magic. And that meant he was vulnerable.

Risan was closest, crawling up the stairs toward him. Brodas stepped down beside Daia and bent, reaching toward the Farthan's head to scramble his mind. Risan shot out a hand, grabbed his wrist and pulled. Brodas pitched forward.

He tumbled down the stairs. He felt his right wrist break, but his healing magic started working like an instinct, mending it before he hit the landing. When he tumbled to a stop face down on the floor, an amazing sight greeted him; a perfect blue moonstone lay just inches from his nose.

* * * * *

Ald...as...ar.

Gavin watched Brodas fall headlong down the stairs, and his hope was rekindled. Risan struggled to his feet. Domach crawled toward Gavin’s old sword.

Ald...as Gar.

To Gavin's horror, the moonstone was right in front of Brodas. Domach was closest. "The gem. Domach, get the gem," Gavin yelled. He focused on the gems in the hilt of his sword to pull the moonstone.

From the middle of the staircase, Risan leapt at Brodas, his sword outstretched.

Aldras Gar.

Risan’s blade came down on Brodas's outstretched hand, severing the last two fingers and cutting deeply into the third. Blood sprayed forth. Brodas screamed. Before Gavin’s eyes, the stumps where Brodas’s fingers had been healed instantly. Just as the moonstone started to slide across the floor toward Gavin, along with Brodas’s two severed fingers, Brodas snatched up the blue gem with his three-fingered hand.

Risan rolled to the side. "Gavin, say it," he shouted.

Gavin shot to his feet. What? Say what...?

“Get down,” someone yelled.

Gavin turned just as Brodas released a blue ball of tiny lightning bolts. Something flew at Gavin from the left, knocking him out of the path of the blue light. Gavin landed hard on the floor with Domach on top of him.

Thoop! Thoop! Thoop! Arrowhead fragments, feathers and splinters of wood flew through the air.

Aldras Gar.

Gavin pushed Domach’s limp form off of him and rolled up onto his feet again. What was that annoying whispering? Was it...?

Aldras Gar!

...the sword. Whispering to him.

ALDRAS GAR!

"Say sword's name," Risan called.

Gavin gripped the hilt with both hands. "Aldras Gar!"

A wave of power shuddered down the length of the weapon from tip to pommel. A hum vibrated it gently in his hands. Gavin felt he had a tenuous grip on it, as though it would leap from his hands at any moment.

A flame burst forth from Brodas's outstretched hand. Gavin had no time to react but to squeeze his eyes shut. Mild heat stroked his face. He opened his eyes. Brodas's clothes were ablaze and his blackened face was contorted in fear and shock, his hair singed, eyebrows seared completely off. Gavin swung Aldras Gar. Brodas jumped back. The tip of the blade barely sliced across his chest. Sparks flew from the blade as it drew his blood. Sparks!

Holy mother of Yrys! What the hell kind of enchantment was this?

Brodas bolted down the hall, patting furiously at the flames clinging to his clothing.

“Edan, with me,” Gavin shouted. He raced down the hall and through the kitchen after Brodas. Gone. Gavin rushed outside. Edan appeared beside him on the back stoop, an arrow nocked.

“Where?” Edan yelled.

Gavin ran across the courtyard, then stopped and turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleeing wizard. A horse, saddled but unmanned, emerged from the stable. Edan fired an arrow. It flew through the air and suddenly halted its forward course, hovering over the horse as it galloped through the trees.

Chapter 59

Edan came to Daia and sat on a step beside her. He brushed the hair from her face, then gently turned her onto her back and pulled her to a sitting position between his thighs. He held her to him with his arms around her, her back against him. Her chin lay against her chest. “I've got you,” he whispered.

Never in her life had Daia felt so helpless. She'd watched from the corner of her eye as her friends battled Brodas while she lay immobile. Useless. Gavin had taken a hard beating; Risan and Edan were both injured. On the blood-smeared white marble floor below her, Domach lay unmoving. Risan knelt beside him and pressed his ear against Domach’s chest. Daia held her breath.

Gavin came back down the hall. “Is he alive?”

“No,” Risan said.

Gavin squatted beside him. “Sorry about the knife,” he said.

Risan smiled dimly. “It would hit mark if Ravenkind did not knock it away.”

Gavin put a hand on Risan’s thigh. “Don’t worry, I ain’t getting amorous,” he said with a crooked grin. He shut his eyes for a moment, and Daia watched Risan’s grimace change into a gape.

“You can heal,” Risan said when Gavin pulled his hand away. “That is amazing. Did you see that?” Risan asked Daia and Edan. “He healed my leg with just touching.”

Gavin put a hand on Domach’s chest. A vein bulged on his temple, and his arm quivered. After a long moment, he relaxed and sat with his head in his hands.

“Where is Ravenkind? Dead?” Risan asked.

“He fled,” Gavin said, “but Edan got an arrow into him. Likely he's still alive. I got to go tell Brawna about Demonshredder.” He looked up at Daia. “You awright?”

In answer, Daia rolled her eyes. If she were all right, she wouldn’t be sprawled on the stairs, limp as a corpse.

He grinned. “One blink for yes, two for no.”

She blinked twice. No.

“Are you injured?”

No.

“He used that spell on me when... It’ll fade in a few hours, but maybe I can speed it along. Want to try?”

Yes.

He climbed the stairs. Edan started to stand, but Gavin motioned him to stay there. He hooked his hands under Daia's thighs and lifted, bending her knees so that the soles of her boots lay flat on a step. Then he pushed her knees apart and knelt on the step between them. With a lecherous smile and wagging eyebrows, he said, “And you told me I'd never get between your legs.”

“Gavin,” Edan said in a disapproving tone.

If Daia could have smiled, she would have. She didn't doubt Gavin Kinshield would make a crude joke with his final breath.

He took her head in his hands and closed his eyes. His hands, so huge and rough, were surprisingly gentle. She did not know how to ask him if she should help with this at all, but decided that if he wanted help, he would say so. Almost immediately, she felt numbness in her fingers and toes and found she could wiggle them. The tingling sensation traveled up her arms and legs little by little and soon reached her torso, neck and face. Daia moved her hands and feet. It was working.

He opened his eyes. Those deep brown orbs were mesmerizing in their intensity. A feathery touch grazed her mind: the feeling of someone reaching for a connection. Not the blind groping of someone in trouble, but an intentional brush, soft and warm like a lover's gentle caress. She took hold of it and felt the surge of earth energy flowing through her and into Gavin.

A porthole opened in the inky depths of his eyes. She glimpsed what lay beyond his rough facade, his pain, his life. No, more than that: his lives – as a husband, a father, a battler, a friend. Curious, she looked still deeper.

The connection intensified. She felt drawn in as though a gale sucked at her. In her mind, she saw an image of Gavin as king standing tall and strong, achieving all the greatness for which he had potential. She saw him as the embodiment of vigilance, equity, self-mastery and strength. In this image, she saw hope for the future of Thendylath.

Then the image began to tear apart. A seam ripped open and widened to reveal blackness so profound that it touched all the senses. She saw Gavin entombed by a vast hunger where he lay like a battered animal washed ashore after a storm. His voice echoed in her mind as he called to her one last time before the light in his eyes dimmed and blinked out.

no, no, No, No, NO, NO! NO! A shudder convulsed her entire being. The connection weakened as he pushed her away. She was not supposed to have seen that last image. It must have been his fear of claiming the throne, of not measuring up, of being unable to meet the needs of a country two hundred years without a king. Perhaps he feared he would lose a part of himself by living among the nobility, like dying alone in an alien world. But he wouldn't be alone. Surely he knew that. She would be there, beside him. Edan would be there. Risan. Brawna. You have friends, Gavin, she thought. Friends who trust you. Friends who believe in you. I believe in you. She bore her gaze more deeply into his as she thought this last, willing him to hear her thoughts, to take comfort in her friendship and her loyalty.

She searched his deep, dark eyes for recognition and acknowledgement of her faith, but she saw something else. Something she could not explain. As impossible as it seemed, she sensed that he was more than just Gavin Kinshield.

The numbness faded, and she felt Edan’s arms loosen around her. The connection between Gavin and herself ended. His face, the stairs, the manor pulled into view, grounding her once again in the real world. The intensity left Gavin’s eyes, and he smiled his gap-tooth smile. Then, he was just Gavin once again.

“It’s getting easier,” he said. “Must be the gems in the sword.”

Daia smiled back. Her cheeks were streaked with wetness. He looked at her with brow scrunched, a silent question in his eyes. Did he not know what had just happened?

“You awright?” he asked softly.

She was tempted to kiss his cheek, but doing so would only encourage his misbehavior. “My thanks, Kinshield,” she whispered. For what, she could not begin to articulate.

“No, my thanks to you. You helped me get my sword from Ravenkind. Without you, we’d prob’ly all be dead.” Gavin stood and offered his hand to help her up.

She put her hand in his, almost expecting some sort of shock. It was warm and dry and strong. He pulled her to her feet. Daia took a deep breath and, with Edan, followed him down the stairs.

They stood around Domach, looking down at his still form. “Actually,” Daia said, “Domach's knife saved us all. Ravenkind nearly had me.” She squatted beside Domach and looked into his face, slack and empty. A lump rose in her throat. He’d been a nice fellow. She should have at least shared a drink with him. That was all he’d wanted. Just one lousy drink.

“Let’s get him to the sofa,” Edan said.

Daia and Gavin lifted Domach and carried him into the sitting room, setting him gently on a plush crimson sofa. Edan picked up Domach's head and put a pillow beneath it.

“Daia, Edan, why don’t you search the library,” Gavin said. “Risan, you check the rooms upstairs. Look for anything that might help us find Ravenkind. I'll go give Brawna the news.”

“Gavin,” Daia said, putting a hand on his arm. “I'll tell her.” Brawna was like a sister to her. It was only right that she be the one to deliver the news about Domach.

“No,” Gavin said. “It's my responsibility. Her brother's dead because of me. I'll tell her. I owe her that much.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, knowing he wouldn't be swayed. “Then we'll need to hurry and get to the cave,” Daia said. “Ravenkind’s probably heading there now.”

“But he doesn’t have the sword,” Edan noted. “If what he told Domach is true, he won’t be able to get the King's Blood-stone anyway.”

Gavin groaned. “Damn it. He has the blue gem.”

Risan bent down, picked something up, and smiled. He held the blue moonstone between his thumb and forefinger. “This blue gem?”

* * * * *

“What if that was Risan?” Dwaeth whined. “Maybe Lord Ravenkind killed everyone and Risan was trying to escape, and he left us here.”

“Shhhh,” Brawna said. She moved away from the back wall of the barn and squatted beside the boy sitting cross-legged on the ground. “Risan wouldn't have run off like that. It was probably Ravenkind, fleeing in defeat.”

A large form appeared in the corner of her eye. She shot to her feet, her sword coming up reflexively. “Gavin. Thank Yrys. Is it over?” she asked. “Someone ran into the stable. Was it...?” She paused and studied him. His face was drawn, his eyes crinkled as though he was in pain. “What's wrong? Are you all right?”

He came to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Domach,” he said gently.

No. He wasn't saying Domach was... No. She shook her head, but she felt her chin start to quiver anyway. “No,” she said. “My brother's not dead. He's not.” Her eyes began to well.

“I'm sorry, Brawna,” Gavin said. “He saved our lives. All of us. He fought bravely and well, and died a hero.”

Suddenly Brawna could not see. The world was a blur, and a pitiful wail echoed through the trees like the cry of a wounded animal. She felt warm, strong arms around her, and her face pressed against a hard cloth surface.

Domach. Her brother, her friend, her idol. Gone. This wasn't supposed to happen. How could he be gone? She'd barely had a chance to talk to him, to tell him all that had happened to her in the last year or hear his tales of adventures. How could it have gone so wrong? Why did Domach have to be the one who died? Why couldn't it have been her?

Brawna realized she was sobbing, and Gavin was holding her close, rocking gently and patting her back. Her arms were tight around his waist, his shirt clenched in her fists as she clung to him. Another hand patted her back, too, a smaller hand, and she opened her eyes to find Dwaeth standing with her and Gavin, tears streaming down his face.

“It'll be all right, Miss Brawna,” Dwaeth said.

She drew back and hastily wiped her face, embarrassed at her emotional display in front of the king and the child. She was supposed to be protecting them, and there she was blubbering like a girl. Some warrior she was.

Gavin looked at her, a sympathetic expression on his face. “You want to see him?”

Not trusting her voice just yet, she nodded and started to gather the leather packs that held their gear. Gavin bent down and picked up three of them, slinging their straps over his shoulder, leaving her with two. They walked in silence back to the manor, Gavin’s huge hand warm and gentle on her shoulder, Dwaeth’s small one soft in hers.

Chapter 60

Daia and Edan explored the main floor of the house until they found the library. Tall shelves, full of books, lined one entire wall near the door. A beautiful, well-oiled desk and matching chair stood under an ornate leaded-glass window positioned high on the far wall.

“A lot of books on sorcery,” Daia said as she scanned the shelves. “And some journals, too.” She started pulling books off the shelves and flipping their pages.

Behind her, Edan opened drawers of the desk and rifled through them. He fell silent, then exclaimed, “My word! Daia, look at this.”

Daia turned around. A diamond pendant, encased in a gold setting, dangled by its gold chain from Edan's finger. It might have been the largest diamond she'd ever seen, and she'd seen quite a few.

“Is that what I think it is?” Daia asked. She moved closer to get a better look.

“I can’t be sure, but it might be Calewen’s Pendant,” Edan said. “I heard it was stolen from her shrine a few weeks back.”

“Gavin has been after this. He’ll be thrilled to finally have it back.”

Edan put the necklace into a black velvet pouch. “My father has always said that Gavin was destined for something big. He used to tease Gav, asking if he’d saved the world that day.”

Daia chuckled and turned back to the bookshelf. “Your father must be a fortune teller.” But not a very good one, she thought; he hadn't foreseen Daia running away or joining the Sisterhood.

“Hm. What have we here? Owww!” Edan said, shaking his hand. “This box just stung me.”

On Brodas's desk sat a small chest with a wooden gargoyle on its closed lid. Daia went to it, but Edan held out his arm to stop her.

“It's protected by a magic spell,” he said. “Don't touch it.”

“The gargoyle -- I know what that is,” she said. “We can use it to find out whether Ravenkind is alive or not. I'll be right back.” She started to the door.

“Wait, take this,” Edan said. “Give Gavin something to smile about.” He handed her the black pouch.

Daia went into the foyer and found Gavin standing against a wall, head bowed. Dwaeth stood beside him, his hand lost in Gavin’s. In the sitting room, Brawna was on her knees by the sofa, stroking Domach’s hair. Gavin looked at Daia. His face was arranged in an impassive expression, but he could not hide the pain in his eyes. She pressed her lips together in sympathy. This was harder on him than he let on.

Their gear lay on the floor by his feet. She squatted and rummaged through her pack until she found the gargoyle she’d purchased from Yardof. She stood, picked up Gavin’s free hand, and uncurled his fist. In his palm was a ring with a black gem inset -- the ring that had been on Brodas's finger. She laid the velvet pouch on his palm beside it. When she saw his eyes widen, she gave him a wink, then stroked Dwaeth's hair before returning to the library.

When she walked in, Edan was reading one of the books, and a scowl darkened his face. He looked up. “By the seven realms! This is Ravenkind's journal,” he said, his voice barely audible. “It has a detailed account... Do you know what happened to Gavin’s family?”

Daia nodded solemnly. She stood beside him and looked at the page he was reading. The neatly-written entry described the execution of Gavin’s family. “By Yrys, it sounds gleeful. Gads! Put that somewhere Gavin won’t see it,” Daia said. “We’ll burn it first chance we get.”

“I knew the man was vicious,” Edan said, shaking his head, “but this is twisted. How could he get so much pleasure out of it?” He slammed the book shut and put it in one of the desk drawers, burying it under some papers there. “What do you have there?”

She held up the wooden gargoyle. “The merchant said that if the person who places the gargoyle on the box is dead, placing another gargoyle on the box will enable us to open it.” She set her gargoyle on top of the box and watched it blend with the chest. “Tap your nose for luck.” She and Edan both touched their noses with their forefingers. Daia reached gingerly for the lid of the chest, certain she would receive a shock.

It opened with a quiet squeak.

Daia leapt into Edan's arms with a whoop, and he spun her around twice before setting her down. "Gavin," he called.

Gavin appeared in the doorway, with Brawna and Dwaeth on his heel. “What is it?” Gavin asked. Risan appeared beside him, and they all crowded into the library.

“Ravenkind's dead," Daia said. "He did it. Edan killed him.”

“What makes you so sure?” Gavin asked.

Daia explained how the gargoyles worked.

“Assuming Ravenkind's the one who put the gargoyle on this chest,” Gavin said.

“It's full of magic grade gems,” Edan said, picking up a handful of the smooth gems. “With a box of them sitting on his desk, why would you think otherwise?”

“You're prob'ly right. Thinking he's dead makes me uneasy.” Gavin shook his head slowly. “Why would he flee instead of grabbing some of these to use against us? Until I see a body I can actually piss on, I'll wait to do my cheering.”

“Then let's go find it,” Edan said. “I trust your instinct too well.”

“In the interest of caution,” Daia said, “let's go directly to the cave. We can assemble an army and hunt for his corpse later.”

“There’s no hurry,” Gavin grumbled. "We need to take care of Domach. Besides, there'll prob'ly be Viragon Sisters to contend with, remember?"

"Delaying won’t solve that problem," Daia replied. "You have your sword now -- your enchanted sword. The fight's already over. We just need to go tell them." She grinned and clapped Gavin's shoulder.

“What about the chest?” Edan asked. “It has all these gems in it, not to mention his books and notes. If Ravenkind is alive, we need to keep him away from this.”

“We can take the chest with us,” Gavin said.

“No need,” Daia said. “We’ll use my gargoyle to lock the library door. It’ll keep him out until we can return with a wagon to haul everything away. That way, we deny him access to his books, too. If he's still alive.”

Chapter 61

With Brodas having fled and Risan rescued, Daia was as eager to get to the cave as Gavin was to avoid it, but in the end, she and the others agreed to bury Domach and start out the following morning. After a thorough soak in a hot tub at an inn owned by Edan’s uncle, and a long night’s sleep, Gavin arose at dawn and dressed. He slipped out of the inn before everyone else awoke.

The Institute for Scholarly Studies was locked up tight when he arrived, but he pounded relentlessly on the door. “Open up,” he yelled. “Open the door.”

Down the street, a window flew open and a man stuck his head out. “Shut up! People’s tryin’ to sleep.”

Gavin continued to beat the door with his fist. “Scholars, open the door.”

At last, a light came on in one of the windows and floated from one to the next, until it hovered behind the curtain of the window closest to the door. The curtains parted and an eye peered out at him.

“Who is there?” a voice called behind the glass.

“Gavin Kinshield. I got somethin' you want, and you got somethin' I want.”

“What is it?” the man yelled.

“Calewen’s Pendant.”

The eye disappeared and the curtain fell back to hang straight. Gavin heard a bolt slide across, and the door creaked opened a hand’s width. The eye appeared once again and looked him up and down.

“You have Queen Calewen’s Pendant?” the scholar asked.

“I do,” Gavin said. “Laemyr Surraent in Ambryce hired me to retrieve it from a thief. He said you have Ronor Kinshield’s letter. I’m here to make a trade.”

The door opened wide enough to admit him. Gavin stepped into the dimly lit great hall.

The scholar shut the door, stepped back, and held the lamp up. “My! Big fellow, aren’t you?” he asked. Beneath a sparse tuft of gray hair, a single eyebrow stretched across his wrinkled forehead. A pair of spectacles slid from the end of his narrow nose to the bridge as he peered up at Gavin. “You’re a warrant knight, no doubt. I’m Sage Wikham Marckys,” he said. “You look familiar. Have you been here before?”

Gavin shook his head. The name sounded familiar, but he didn’t recognize the face. “Do you have Kinshield’s letter or not?”

“We have what appears to be a copy of Ronor Kinshield’s letter to the Lordover Tern, if that's what you mean,” Sage Marckys said. “But I can't give it to you. It's a piece of history and must be studied. Validated.”

“Then make a copy of it,” Gavin said. “I only need to know what it says.”

The scholar studied him for a moment, then beckoned him. “Come with me.” Gavin followed him down a narrow hallway to a modest dining room. “Please, sit. I will bring tea.” Sage Marckys set the lamp on the table and waddled from the room.

Gavin didn't have time to socialize. He stood behind a chair and waited. When Sage Marckys returned carrying a pair of tea cups, Gavin said, “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m in a hurry. I need the letter. If you’ll copy it for me, I’ll give you the pendant and be on my way.”

Sage Marckys peered up at him, squinting through his spectacles. “Let me explain,” he said as he set the cups down. “The letter Ronor Kinshield wrote was intended for the lordovers, not for the public. It contains disturbing information about King Arek’s death. If this information were to... get out," he said with a wave of his hand, "it would cause our citizens undue distress. It would be best if the letter stayed lost.”

Gavin hated what he was about to do, but it seemed the only way. “I understand,” he said, “but there’s somethin' you should know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue moonstone, keeping it hidden in his fist. “You said I look familiar. Maybe you have seen me before.” He set the gem on the table, and watched the scholar’s face.

Sage Marckys’s eyebrows shot up. “Remarkable. This looks like the fourth...” He raised his eyes to Gavin’s, his mouth dropping open.

Gavin pulled the scabbard off his back and tilted the hilt of his sword toward the scholar to show him the three gems embedded there.

Sage Marckys stumbled and gripped a chair back. “Oh glory be to the seven realms,” he breathed. “I believe I understand now, my lord.” He went to one knee and bowed his head.

Gavin felt the blood rush to his face. What man was so ignoble to genuflect to a warrant knight? He touched the scholar’s shoulder. “Please don’t do that.”

When Sage Marckys raised his eyes to Gavin’s, he stammered an apology as he rose to his feet. “I should have recognized you from the cave the day the first rune was solved. Forgive me, my lord.”

“Never mind that,” Gavin said. Having people socially superior to him suddenly treat him with reverence disturbed him. He removed the black velvet pouch from his pocket and pulled apart the drawstring top. Careful not to touch the diamond, he withdrew Calewen’s Pendant and let it dangle from its chain in front of Sage Marckys’s face.

The scholar gasped. His eyes followed the diamond’s gentle swing until Gavin laid the pendant on the table.

“The letter?” Gavin asked.

“Of course, my lord. Our regular scribe is away, but if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll copy it myself.”

* * * * *

Daia paced the length of the dining room, her stomach knotted, her hands flexing and unflexing. Brawna sat quietly, and Edan babbled some nonsense about Gavin’s ability to fend for himself. Daia barely heard him. Gavin could be dead, lying in an alley somewhere, or unconscious and bound, being whisked away to Ravenkind’s hideaway to be tortured. When the door opened and Gavin walked in, she let out a cry of relief. “Where the hell have you been? You can’t just sneak out while everyone’s asleep.”

Gavin’s brow dipped. “You're hollering at me for sneaking out, after the stunt you pulled with Cirang’s knife?”

“My life isn’t as valuable as yours is. All it takes-- wait. How did you know about that?”

Gavin grinned. “That connection you made with me? On the stairs? Went both ways.”

Daia felt her cheeks tingle. What else had he gleaned from poking around in her mind? “Gavin, all it takes is one hot-handed brigand with a death wish to do you in, and there goes another two hundred years of our history.” She paced around the table. “We’ve waited a long time for this. The people deserve a king. I am not about to let you go wandering off unescorted into Yrys-knows-what dangers without a defender at your back. You owe it to Thendylath to exercise caution.”

She expected an angry retort, but he sat down quietly at the table with a smile on his face and reached for a piece of bread.

“I want to go with you,” she continued, “no matter how benign the situation appears to be. Brodas Ravenkind is still at large. If I can’t accompany you for whatever reason, take Edan or Brawna.”

Gavin chuckled.

His humor ignited her fury. He obviously didn't take the situation -- or her concern -- seriously. “What do you find so amusing, Kinshield?” she hollered. “The fact that you worried us all with your inexplicable disappearance, or that you could’ve been killed?”

“No. I’m just trying to imagine the scholars at the institute trying to slay me with their mighty quills.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew a scroll. Edan, Daia and Brawna watched him silently as he unrolled it. He handed it to Daia. “Read this.”

Daia took it, holding Gavin’s gaze. Was this what she thought it was? She scanned it, reading silently. It was. The letter to the Lordover Tern from Ronor Kinshield -- a copy, judging from the clean parchment and fresh smell of ink. Had he read it yet? Could he read?

“Out loud,” Gavin said.

Risan walked in. "Dwaeth is still asleep." He looked around the table. "I am interrupting?"

"Risan, take a seat," Gavin said. "You should hear this, too."

Casting her eyes back down at the page, Daia began to read the letter aloud.

* * * * *

To Portulus Celònd, Lordover Tern

From Ronor Kinshield, Champion to King Arek of Thendylath

This fifteenth day of Nevebria in the second year, fourth decade, fifteenth century of the Sacrifice

It is with a heavy heart and head hanged in shame that I take pen in hand to give an accounting of the events that transpired at the palace on a day that shall forever be mourned as one of ultimate defeat. I ask you to please relay the information to the other lordovers of Thendylath. On the matter of how widely to distribute this knowledge, I leave to your better judgment.

The wizard Crigoth Sevae, in his foul attempt to usurp the throne, has unleashed upon the world a monster horrific in appearance and so vastly powerful that three thousand of the king’s men-at-arms joined in a single force could not defeat it. This monster is called Ritol and it feeds on the life force of the dying. Not only has it acquired an insatiable lust for the human spirit, but it acquires the spirit-bound attributes of those it consumes. It has thusly gained immense magical powers in the few days since it crossed into this realm. It was at the claws of this wretched beast that the queen has perished.

My most solemn vow was to protect King Arek, with my own life if need be. I left his side in order to ensure the safety of the queen and the unborn heir, and in doing so, I failed that vow. Had I known she was already deceased with the heir lying still within her womb, I would have disobeyed King Arek's final command and delivered him safely from the palace at all costs.

Yet, on the brink of King Arek’s death, even as I was about to surrender him to the monster Ritol, I made another vow. I swore that in the event of Queen Calewen’s death and that of their child, I would not leave the kingdom without a ruler. King Arek entreated me to speak the names of the five runes he had carved into the tablet, claim the gems they protected and his magic contained therein, and rule Thendylath. With this new vow fresh upon my lips, I abandoned our king to a torturous death at the claws of the demon Ritol. King Arek’s demise, and the manner of it, sits heavily upon my shoulders.

Alas, I cannot fulfill my vow. I have neither the strength of will nor the clarity of conscience to do so.

Responsibility for the king's death is mine. I fully expect that my punishment for disobedience and regicide will be death, and I would welcome it as a reprieve from the shame in which I now live. My greatest fear is that I will live on in the Afterlife to face my king and be required to answer for my failed vows. My only salvation would be by the grace of an enlightened man who would meditate upon the runes and learn their names, thus claiming the throne in my stead. Yet, it is not within my right to tutor such a man in order to relieve me of my burden, and so I live on, ever hopeful that my savior will present himself.

To him I would offer this counsel: beware Ritol. Find a way to vanquish the demon imprisoned within the palace. On passing through the gate with all five gems in your possession, you will open the demon’s prison and make vulnerable to its horrors every man, woman and child of Thendylath and, verily, the world. It is now up to you to seal the rift and end the onslaught of beyonders from the underworld, but save yourself at all costs, lest the power of Wayfarer become Ritol’s.

Finally, should you miraculously survive this challenge, I implore you to find King Arek’s bones entombed within the palace and give him the burial he deserves.

Yours,

Ronor Kinshield

Chapter 62

Gavin’s heart pounded so furiously, he had a fleeting thought that he would die of heart tremors right there at the table. His gaze locked onto Daia’s ice blue eyes. Ronor Kinshield’s words could have been Gavin’s; they’d both rested their hopes on a savior, someone else to claim the King's Blood-stone and ascend to the throne.

As Daia read the letter, it all started to make sense. He still believed there was no destiny, yet neither did he truly have free choice in this matter; he was there because of Ronor’s failed vow. No. He could no longer blame his failings on a long dead ancestor.

It was my own vow.

The thought startled him and he shoved it from his mind. Ronor Kinshield had spent years ignoring his vow to the king, wishing for a scholar to take his place, and now Gavin was repeating the mistake. But Gavin’s mistake was not limited to one vow; he had been making promises in every aspect of his life and failing to keep them.

I swear, the voice from his dream whispered in his mind. More than a voice -- a feeling. A hand gripping his arm. The sight of azure eyes boring into his own. The image started to fade. Gavin clutched for it, felt it slip away.

"Daia," he whispered.

She knew what he wanted, for he felt her presence take hold of him, anchoring him while he rappelled into a swirl of forms and sounds inside his mind, a memory he'd always known he had, but could never find.

In the span of a single heartbeat, two hundred fourteen years disappeared like the wisp of smoke from a candle being extinguished. Gavin saw walls stretching to a high-domed ceiling, musty volumes scattered desperately across the white marble floor. He pictured a familiar figure bent over a huge round table as clearly as though it was happening all over again.

* * * * *

Ronor burst into the library, ready to announce the completion of his task. When he saw the king, hunched over the wide oak table before him, he held his tongue.

Sweat soaked the rounded collar of King Arek’s tan tunic. His hands shook as he chiseled a rune into the surface of a stone tablet; four gems had been embedded into its surface with four runes etched beside them. King Arek blew the dust from the tablet, and placed a green and red-speckled bloodstone into the last remaining hole. With a shaking hand, he began to chisel another rune into the stone beside it, chanting softly as he worked.

Ronor paced to calm his anxiety and impatience. What the tablet was for, he did not know. King Arek had not mentioned it before. The time required to set the gems and carve the runes was time they should have been using to prepare for the demon’s arrival. But if King Arek thought it important enough to do now, Ronor would not argue. His inclination was to urge the king to hurry, but to infuse magic into the carved symbols, King Arek needed to concentrate. Ronor supposed his footsteps echoing on the marble floor did not help, and he went to the window to look out.

From his vantage point in the palace, he saw most of Tern. The streets were deserted except for a few foolish individuals scurrying to their destinations. They had been warned; they knew the danger. Ronor’s hand went reflexively to the hilt of his sword.

Ordinarily, he did not worry about the occasional madman threatening to usurp the throne. They heard such ramblings from time to time. What danger he could not vanquish with his sword, King Arek eradicated with magic. But Crigoth Sevae had been more determined than mad. If only Ronor had killed him before the mage had summoned the demon. Now, with the life force of so many armsmen and countless civilians, the demon Ritol was more than a match for King Arek. Soon the demon would seek out the king here, hungry for King Arek’s magic.

“Finished,” King Arek said at last. “Did you place all six rune stones?” His shoulders slumped and he reached for the glass of water on the table with a quivering hand.

“Yes, my liege, as you instructed,” Ronor said, going to his king. “You need rest.”

“We haven’t time to rest,” King Arek said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Ronor, if the demon kills me and gets my magic, it will become Wayfarer and have free access to all of the realms in existence, not just our own.”

Ronor nodded with a questioning scowl. Why was King Arek telling him what he already knew?

“It is my magic, not my life, that you must protect now,” King Arek continued. “This tablet is like a key. I didn’t mention it before because I didn't want to argue with you. I’ve bound my magic to the gems within it. When I die--”

“My lord, no,” Ronor said. “You won't die. I will protect--”

“Ronor, listen to me. When I die, my magic will fill these gems and the realms will be safe. For a time. You must take the tablet beyond the boundary of the palace. When you do, the runes you placed around the grounds will form a barrier, giving me time to reach the vortex and enter the demon’s realm.”

“My liege, that was not our plan. I’m going with you.”

“I’ve come to realize that our plan is flawed,” King Arek said, shaking his head. “If we don't seal the rift, our efforts will be for naught.”

“My lord, we’ve discussed this a dozen times. My presence there will buy you time to cross back.”

“You can’t know what your willingness to sacrifice yourself means to me. But the risk is too great. What if your presence there does not seal the rift? What if the demon kills us both? We must ensure the tablet's safety above all else, for the sake of the other realms and the innocent beings who inhabit them. This is the only way. Now, go. Take the tablet to the stronghold. Calewen should be there by now.” King Arek paused and his eyes softened. “Do you think she’s safe?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ronor replied with certainty. “She has Galomand and the rest of the men to protect her, plus the barrier spell on the cave entrance.” He had to believe the queen was safe. The alternative was too dire to speculate about, for she carried the king’s heir in her womb. The time for doubt had long passed.

“I have been proud to call you a friend, Ronor.”

Sunlight gleaming through the tall windows lit up King Arek’s azure eyes, and at last, Ronor understood; King Arek knew he would not be returning.

"As have I, my liege," Ronor replied. His voice grated through his constricted throat.

The king made a quick movement, then offered his hand. Ronor shook it, feeling something pressed into his palm.

“Give this to Calewen,” King Arek said. “For my son.”

Ronor looked down at King Arek’s signet ring in his palm. He curled his fingers around it and clenched his jaw. Perhaps the king had accepted his fate, but Ronor refused to do the same. King Arek would return to claim his ring. "You will be back, my liege."

“We’ve taken every precaution to protect Calewen, but nothing in life is certain. Should you survive us all, promise me you won't leave the country without a ruler.”

Ronor jerked back as though he had been slapped. “My lord! No!”

“You mustn’t let Thendylath fall into chaos. You have been at my side for thirteen years. Promise me you’ll pick up where I left off, if it comes to that.”

“Your majesty, we won't fail. We will prevail—”

King Arek gripped Ronor’s arm. “Swear it. Swear it on your immortal soul!”

Ronor searched King Arek’s eyes, burning with apprehension. It was a moot point, but the king needed reassurance. “I swear.”

King Arek held his gaze for a moment, and Ronor felt a chill sweep over him.

In the distance, a scream pierced the silence. Ronor rushed to the window. A dark hunched form raced through the streets of Tern. “It’s coming! My lord, we must hurry.” He drew the leather gauntlet from his rear pocket and put it on his sword hand. He stood no chance of surviving a battle with the demon, but he wanted to be ready.

King Arek tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him. “I can't. I haven’t the strength.” He looked up at Ronor, and in his eyes, the initial horror of his peril was replaced by a knowing acceptance. “Ronor, take the tablet. Run!”

Ronor tried to pull Arek to his feet. “Yes, my lord, but first you must get to the vortex. I will seal you inside the palace.”

“There’s no time, Ronor. You must keep the tablet safe.”

“No, my liege, I have sworn to protect you.”

“You have sworn to obey. Take the tablet and go. Now!” King Arek leaned against the table, his legs quivering.

The wide double doors in the great hall slammed open. The noise echoed ominously through the corridors.

“You’ll be trapped,” Ronor argued. “Trapped inside the palace with it.”

“GO!” King Arek shouted.

In one quick movement, Ronor ducked his head, wrapped an arm around King Arek’s thighs and hoisted the king over his shoulder. He would disobey his king and suffer the consequence of it later rather than leave him to die.

“Ronor, no,” King Arek said. “It’ll kill us both. You must get the tablet to safety.”

Ronor fumbled to lift the stone tablet with his other hand, and clutched it to his chest. The smell of sulfur wafted through the hall. He began to run down the corridor, but feared his heavy footsteps would give away their position. As quickly as he could manage, he started down the back staircase.

“King Arek,” a tri-tonal voice boomed behind him. “At last we meet.”

Ronor took the stairs two at a time. His own weight and that of King Arek on his shoulder threatened to break his ankles with every step. A wave of force hit him from behind. He flew forward. He and King Arek tumbled down the stairs. Ronor clutched the tablet protectively. When at last they came to a stop at the landing, Ronor crawled on his elbows to reach his king.

Blood trickled from King Arek’s nose and ears. His body was skewed awkwardly, his legs twisted beneath him. King Arek swallowed with a gurgling sound. “Run, Ronor,” he whispered.

For a second, Ronor considered trying to pick King Arek up once again. He looked into the brilliant blue eyes of the king, and he knew that this was farewell. All their years together and the powerful bond that had formed between them culminated in this final moment – with Ronor abandoning his king when he most needed protection.

The demon Ritol stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with glittering black eyes. It started down the steps.

Ronor took a small flat stone from his pocket, a rune of protection carved into its surface, and pressed it into King Arek’s hand. With the stone tablet clutched in his arms, Ronor rolled to his feet. The demon swiped at him, ripping two long furrows down his face and sending him spinning. He hit the wall and stumbled, caught himself and sprinted through the dining hall. Something crashed behind him. A door burst from its hinges and struck the opposite wall. He raced through the kitchen and out the back door, slammed it shut and rammed a bar through its two handles. The rune carved into its surface crackled as though a bolt of lightning had shot through it. From behind the door came a fearsome shriek that made the hairs on Ronor’s neck bristle. He darted across the inner courtyard and mounted his battle horse, then kicked wildly at the horse’s sides, spurring it to a gallop.

As he passed through the outer gate and over the rune he'd placed there, the gems embedded in the tablet lit up. A barrier formed around the entire palace grounds, sealing it. None would enter, none would leave, until the runes in the tablet were discharged and the gems returned to this gate. A shudder coursed through him.

He pulled the reins hard and spun his mount. Both horse and rider gasped for breath. “Let his death be quick,” Ronor whispered to the palace.

Ronor turned to the southeast and ran his horse nonstop to Saliria. There he changed horses at the lordover’s stable and continued west and then north to the cave where Queen Calewen and the men-at-arms awaited. The stronghold.

He considered how he would tell the queen of King Arek’s death. Queen Calewen was strong, intelligent and well-grounded. She knew their plan had risks and their options had been few. Yet, she was also a woman – and a wife who loved her husband. Ronor would be there for her. He would pledge his loyalty to her once again, and vow to help in every way he could to raise her child; to teach him about the runes, the gems, and his father’s magic. Where Ronor had failed to protect the king, he would succeed with Calewen and her child.

Once night had fallen, Ronor and the horse picked their way slowly through the dark forest. In the soft glow of his sputtering torchlight, he saw the markers that told him he was almost there, but he heard no voices, saw no flickering torchlight. They're safe inside, protected by the barrier spell, he told himself. He climbed wearily from his horse. In the pale light of his torch, he made out the lumpy form of a body. The Rune Tablet fell to the ground with a muffled thud. “No,” he whispered, breaking into a run. Three men-at-arms and the royal mage lay still outside the cave entrance.

Inside, drenched with blood, nearly two dozen armsmen were strewn across the floor, twisted, their mouths and eyes wide in eternal agony. “No,” he said again. “NO!” Looking around, frantic, he caught sight of Queen Calewen, her neck a mass of torn and bloody tissue. A cry of despair erupted from his throat, and he went to her, falling to his knees and dropping the torch to the rocky cave floor. “My Queen,” he howled. His voice echoed off the walls of the cave. Bending low, he pressed his lips against her cold forehead and wept. “I’m sorry, my liege,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” The king, the queen – both dead. The heir…

He shuffled sideways on his knees and laid his hand flat against the curve of her belly, hoping to feel the child move. Please, he thought. All was still. With his dagger, he cut a slit in the front of Calewen’s blood-soaked gown to reveal the smooth skin of her stomach. He leaned down and pressed his ear against her, listening. The only sounds were those of his own labored breath and the moans coming unbidden from his throat. Even had she been close to her time, Calewen had been dead too long for Ronor to save the baby.

Ronor staggered to his feet and stumbled from the cave. He groped for the mountain wall to steady himself while his stomach lurched. He bent over and vomited again and again, wrenching his gut until he heaved nothing but air.

* * * * *

“Gavin!” Daia sounded alarmed. Her hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. “Say something, damn it.”

Gavin pulled his gaze into focus, realizing he had been staring into Daia’s eyes. He looked around the table, blinking. All eyes were on him. His heart pounded, his skin felt clammy. He began to shiver.

“Are you all right?” Edan asked.

Bile rose in Gavin’s throat. He reached for a glass of water and guzzled it down. What the hell had just happened? He’d had a vision -- a vision of events as seen through the eyes of a man nearly two hundred years in his grave.

Her throat. By the gods! The queen’s throat – ripped apart by a demon just as Talisha’s had been slit by a devil. No. This couldn’t be. Ronor’s face -– slashed. King Arek -– left to die by the claws of a fiend exactly as Gavin’s father...

Gavin pushed away from the table, shot to his feet, and spun, searching for a way out of this madness. He started toward the door.

“It is Farthan proverb living true,” Risan said quietly. “‘Promise made to king shall transcend death.’”

Gavin stopped and turned. Transcend death? Then it struck him like a slap from the gods; Ronor’s vow would haunt him for eternity until it was fulfilled.

Swear it on your immortal soul!

Gavin’s stomach lurched and he stumbled back to the table, collapsing into a chair. “By the seven realms,” he whispered. How many lives had been sacrificed because of Ronor Kinshield’s unwillingness to keep the promise he’d made to the king? Ronor’s failing had become Gavin’s failing. The vow would not go unanswered. As Ronor’s descendant, it was up to him. It was the only way to break the cycle so that Gavin’s nephews, sons or grandsons wouldn't have to suffer what he was facing now. His own words to the pendant thief came back to him. “I have to be the strong one,” he said. “It has to end. Now. With me.”

“End?” Daia asked. “It can’t just end. What about the legend? What about the King's Blood-stone?”

“Ronor Kinshield made a mistake and I'm the only one who can put it right.”

Chapter 63

They rode by pairs east to the mountains, then south through the Vigilant Forest toward the Rune Cave. Brawna rode atop Domach's horse with Edan beside her. Daia and Gavin followed, and Risan and Dwaeth took up the rear. A Hermit Thrush serenaded them as they rode, the vibrancy of its song matching the anticipation that raced through Daia’s veins.  This is it, she thought. The day we get our new king. She turned to regard the man riding beside her.

He looked different to her now than he did when they met just a week ago. While he was still unshaven with an unruly mop of dark hair, gap-toothed and his face disfigured by a pair of jagged scars, those features were less offensive now. They defined Gavin Kinshield. They defined the king.

"Will you need help getting the answer?" she asked.

He turned to her, his eyes rimmed with dark circles and crinkled with weariness. "No."

He sat straight in the saddle high atop his huge horse, looking as much a king as a king should look. A breeze ruffled his hair.

Putting a king on the throne was only the first step. Gavin would need to marry. The sooner he took a wife and begot an heir, the better. Daia imagined the crowds of women who would start throwing themselves at him, hoping to be chosen as his bride and queen -- the same women who would have screamed for the lordover’s men-at-arms at the mere insinuation of his affections were it not for the Rune Stones in his possession. And what of Gavin? Did he have the sense to choose wisely, when his choices would include Thendylath's most beautiful women? Under normal circumstances, Daia would have imagined him with the sort of wench who frequently gave herself up to men in exchange for a few ales.

Perhaps that was unfair. Judging from the way his voice had wavered, the tale he’d told her of losing his wife and child had come from deep within his heart. The short glimpses at his soul that he’d allowed her had shown the depth of feeling of which he was capable. No, she was in no position to judge him.

He cast a glance at her as they rode. “What?”

Daia supposed he must be well aware of his need to marry. That he was attracted to her she had no doubt. By Yrys. What if he set his eye upon her? She gulped and turned her head away from him. No, he wouldn't. Her place was at his side, not as his wife but as his guard. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Surely he would agree with her. He'd asked for her pledge, and she'd given it gladly as a soldier and subject of his kingdom. He knew how she felt. Didn't he? Nonetheless, she would watch for signs of an impending proposal. In the event they found themselves alone together, she would find a way to gently guide him from that path should he start to venture down it.

They arrived at the cave in the late afternoon. Daia searched the woods for signs of movement, listened for the rustle of footsteps across the forest floor. Although she neither saw nor heard signs of human presence, the lack of chipmunks and squirrels gave her pause. Brodas's army of Viragon Sisters was here. Somewhere.

Brawna pointed up at the top of the hill that rose opposite the cave entrance. “That’s where we hid.”

Quietly, everyone dismounted and tethered their horses. If Viragon Sisters waited nearby, surely they were alert to the party’s presence, but they would remain hidden until Gavin came out. Until after the final rune was solved.

The mood was somber with an undercurrent of excitement as they all looked to Gavin and followed him into the cave.

* * * * *

For the last time, Gavin shuffled up to the rock shelf, each step heavier than the last. He had spent his entire life avoiding this very moment, and all he had done was postpone the inevitable at the cost of his father’s, wife’s and daughter’s lives. No more people would suffer for his failures. The time had come.

The tablet looked bare. Only one gem remained in the center of the spiral shape formed by the runes and the holes that once held the other Rune Stones. With a deep breath, Gavin flexed his hands on the jagged edges of the stone tablet. He already knew the name of this final rune. He'd known it all his life. The image of his daughter’s face flashed in his mind as he whispered, "Caevyan."

All at once, the King's Blood-stone seemed to shatter. Millions of shards of brilliant red and green twinkled like stars in a pitch black sky. He stumbled, then fell forward into the rain of glass.

A sound escaped his throat, a hissed HUUMPH as though the wind had been knocked from his lungs by a mighty blow. Awareness of everything around him faded. No sounds reached his ears, no sight spanned before him save that of the King's Blood-stone. Falling, falling, into the red brilliance he fell, his arms flailing wildly to catch himself.

When he was sure he would fall forever into the endless depths of the King's Blood-stone, its brilliance exploded, knocking him backward. He somersaulted through a vast space, seemingly empty yet alive with images, sounds, smells, textures. Images of things he had never seen, yet oddly familiar raced through his mind like a swarm of bees flying to a bouquet. He felt the essence, the power of King Arek, draining from the stone and into his mind, his body, his soul.

A voice spoke in his mind: Ronor Kinshield.

Gavin knew this voice, a voice he had not heard in many lifetimes, a voice that wrenched his heart by its absence from his life. “I am not Ronor, my liege,” he replied. He imagined himself going to one knee, his head bent in reverence.

You have his spirit and his blood. Three times re-embodied, you have rejected my call. This ribbon must be burned.

“You mean, this is my destiny?”

Not destiny, choice. It was the vow you took. You must finish the task, Ronor. You have an advantage now that I did not have. You can defeat the evil.

“Ravenkind?” Gavin asked.

The element you call Brodas Ravenkind is embodied as you are and, therefore, mortal. You must vanquish that which is without a soul. Two hundred years it has waited. Take the key to the gate, enter the palace of the demon and summon it back to its own world. Seal the rift between the realms and end the constant onslaught of beyonders into your own. This task only you can do. You are Wayfarer now.

“Shouldn’t I kill it?”

Ritol cannot be killed, Ronor. Traveling with you is a spring from which you can draw your greatest strength. Use her to find your way home, use the runes to stay alive. Waste no more time.

The drifting feeling began to slow, and he rocked forward, slowly settling back to the present. Back to the cave where the Rune Tablet lay, where his friends gathered and watched him with wonderment. He felt himself melt back into his physical body, still standing by the grace of a strong hand clutching his shoulder. The hand of Daia Saberheart.

“Gavin, are you all right?” someone asked. A voice he knew, a voice he trusted. Edan’s voice.

He bent over, then fell to his knees and hands, weary yet emotionally energized. Questions he had held in his heart all his life had finally been answered. At last, he understood.

The green and red-speckled stone fell from the rune tablet and clinked on the hard rock floor of the cave, bouncing once to land directly under Gavin’s eyes. Several gasps broke the silence in the cave. He hesitated, then reached for it, picked it up. The King's Blood-stone.

“No,” he whispered, feeling a power within him lurch once more. He staggered to his feet and ran, stumbling, from the cave. The sunlight was a thousand daggers in his eyes. He stopped, clutching the gem in one hand and reaching blindly for the mountain wall with the other. His stomach lurched again, again. He bent over, spilling the enormity of his task onto the ground and leaving a sickening taste in his mouth. Again it came, wrenching his gut until he could only choke and gag. He wiped his mouth, now terribly dry, with the back of his hand.

Then someone uncorked a flask and shoved it into Gavin’s hand. He drank deeply and long until the flask was dry. He shook it above his open mouth to get the last few drops. A hand patted his back, voices hummed in his ear. Dozens of footsteps approached, crinkling the leaves on the forest floor behind him. He turned, squinted his burning eyes. Forming a wall around the cave entrance were women warriors, at least two dozen of them, all armed, drawn and ready to attack.

Risan, Brawna and Daia drew their swords. Edan had an arrow nocked before their swords were clear of their scabbards. The boy, Dwaeth, scurried behind Risan and clutched his right hand.

“Daia,” said a haggard-looking blonde with an authoritative air. “And Brawna. What a surprise to find you still alive. And how convenient that you’re here together.”

“Lilalian,” Daia said, “what has become of you that you would sacrifice the guild and the honor of these battlers? To murder Aminda for your own gain?”

“It’s the necklaces,” Brawna said. “Ravenkind controlled them with the necklaces somehow.”

“And I control them still,” Brodas called out as he rode up on a white horse. Dark crimson stained the side of his tunic under his ribcage, but he appeared otherwise none the worse for it. Cirang accompanied him, her sword drawn. When he pressed his horse through the parting swordswomen, she did as well and stopped her mount beside him. “I claim the King’s Blood-stone," Brodas said from atop his horse. "Give it to me, and I’ll command my warriors to spare your lives.”

Gavin drew from his pocket the ring he'd removed from Brodas's severed finger. It must have been the gem, binding their will to his. He focused on it and concentrated. A spell was embedded within the gem -- that much he sensed -- but the harder he tried to see it, to smash it with his will, the more illusory it became.

“I’ll have my ring back, too,” Brodas said. “And the sword. Give them to me, Kinshield, or my army will cut you down.”

“Gavin is our rightful king,” Daia said. "He solved the runes; the King's Blood-stone and all that goes with it are his."

Hazes, Gavin thought. Gems had hazes like people did. Gavin relaxed his eyes and began to sense a series of cords, wrapped around the gem. A thread, as fine as spider silk, stretched from the gem in the ring to the one that lay against the blonde battler's chest. He saw them all -- dozens of threads -- some stretching toward the women standing with the blonde, others disappearing into the trees toward Sohan. One stretched southwest, toward Ambryce.

“Kill them,” Brodas commanded. "Kill them all."

Imagining his will as a blade, Gavin severed the threads with a hard slice.

Lilalian's sword was in motion, but when it reached the top of its arc, Lilalian stopped and pulled it back. One moment her brow was low, her teeth gritted in the fury of battle, and the next, her eyes were wide under arched brows, her mouth open in a gape. She darted a hand out to catch herself on the shoulder of the warrior beside her. “Oh, blessed Yrys.”

“What are you doing?” Brodas shouted. “Kill them.”

Some of the women gasped; others scowled, blinking and looking around as if they didn’t remember how they’d gotten there.

“You're free to choose your own path now,” Gavin said.

“Don’t listen to him,” Brodas said. “He’s a bloody peasant. I am your true king, and I’ve given you a command. Kill them!”

Lilalian’s face, though full of weariness, grew hard. Her eyes flitted between Brodas and Gavin.

Gavin reached for his sword, hoping that whatever enchantment it contained would work as well against steel as it did against magic. Twenty five to five was hardly a fair fight.

“You killed Aminda,” Lilalian said. Her eyes glowed, and her face reddened. “You killed her right in front of me.” She ripped the necklace off, threw it to the ground and spat on it. One by one, the other women followed suit, stomping on their necklaces and grinding them into the dirt under their heels.

“He killed my mother, too,” young Dwaeth cried. He picked up a rock and threw. Brodas deflected it easily away.

Cirang looked from Brodas to Lilalian and back, a scowl darkening her face.

Gavin seized the moment. “Brodas Ravenkind,” Gavin said, raising his sword, “for the murders you’ve committed, your sentence is death.”

The rest of the swordswomen turned to Brodas. Lips curled, fists tightened around hilts. “Allow me,” said a short redhead. She took a step forward, prompting several of the women to start toward him. Someone reached for his horse’s halter, and another grabbed for his leg as though to pull him from his saddle.

Brodas hauled back on the reins, and his mount’s head snapped up. The horse, wide-eyed, began to prance and neigh, and its front legs lifted in a shallow rear. The swordswomen fell back to avoid the agitated animal.

“Get back, traitors,” Cirang said. She slashed her blade at her fellow Sisters, and a wildness twisted her face. Brodas pulled the left rein. His horse spun. Then, he and Cirang whipped their horses to a gallop.

"Archers," Lilalian shouted.

Gavin focused on the gems in the hilt of his new sword, unsure what to do to stop Brodas’s escape, but wanting, needing to try. Justice for his family's murder was finally within reach.

Thoop! Thoop! Thoop! Thoop! Two arrows narrowly missed their mark, one hit the horse, the other struck Brodas between the shoulder blades. Brodas cried out. His horse screamed and stumbled.

"My king!" Cirang cried. She reached for him from her horse.

Edan and three of the Sisters whipped another arrow from their quivers.

Gavin felt pressure building in his chest, which turned quickly to heat. He imagined it as an arrow and released it toward Brodas. A formless shimmer sliced through the air toward him. Too late. Cirang pulled Brodas from his horse onto hers, out of the spell’s path. It struck a tree, snapping its ten-inch trunk as though it were a dry reed.

A few of the swordswomen made to go after them, but Lilalian called, “Stop. You can't catch them on foot. We'll hunt them down later.”

An archer loosed her arrow, a last effort to take down the escaping wizard. Everyone watched the arrow dive harmlessly into the loamy forest floor.

Then, all eyes turned to Gavin, and a hush settled over the group.

Brawna went to one knee, holding her sword before her, its point on the ground and its hilt level with her heart. “Hail, King Gavin!” she declared, her voice strong and clear.

Lilalian dropped to one knee, and the other swordswomen followed her lead. “Hail, King Gavin,” they cried in a single voice. Edan, Risan and Dwaeth joined them.

Daia smiled knowingly, her eyes welled with tears, and then she, too, went to her knee. “Hail, King Gavin,” she said with the rest of them, her voice ringing out more loudly than the others.

* * * * *

After Gavin had shaken hands with Risan and Dwaeth and waved as they left toward Ambryce on Domach’s horse, he rode on to Tern with Daia, Edan, and a small contingent of swordswomen. At Daia’s insistence, Brawna had returned to the Sisterhood compound to continue her training with Gavin’s promise that she would have a place at his side when she was ready.

As they traveled, heavy clouds darkened road and mood. Gavin’s neck and shoulders ached under the weight of the unseen crown upon his head. He hoped, wished that this was all a horrible nightmare from which he would awaken with a scream, bathed in sweat. What he would have given for such a dream.

"We can build another palace," Edan said. "There's no reason we have to get into the old one. We could leave the demon trapped inside forever."

Thunder rumbled across the valley, warning them away from this dangerous notion.

"Except to give King Arek a proper burial,” Gavin said. "Except to seal the rift between the worlds and end the invasion of beyonders. Sooner or later, someone’ll have to breach the barrier and face the demon. That someone is me." Gavin looked at Daia. "And I have what I need."

“We don’t have to do it now,” Edan said. “We have time to study the runes, learn about this demon and enter when we’re ready.”

“Is it still alive?” Daia asked. “It’s been in the palace for over two hundred years. If it’s alive at all, it must be weak. Weaker than it was when King Arek and his men-at-arms faced it.”

Gavin nodded. “Yeh, it’s alive, but maybe that’s our advantage. If we can send it back afore it gains its strength, we might stand a chance.”

“Send it back?” Daia asked, incredulous. “No, no, no. We have to kill it. We gather as many Sisters and warrant knights as we can, recruit some battlers from the lordovers' garrisons, then storm the palace.”

“We can’t kill it,” Gavin said in a quiet voice. “It’s immortal. We have to send it back to its own realm.”

They all stared at him with gaping expressions. “How?” Edan asked.

Gavin looked up. The dark clouds above took the shape of a demon, shifting like a predator about to strike, and then growled. “I have to go into the realm of the beyonders and summon it there.”

Epilogue

Gavin was in Tern with all five gems, defenders at his back and his new sword firmly in hand, its magic bound to him. Why, then, did Risan feel uneasy? He was going home. He should have been excited – and he was excited about seeing Arlet again. Remembering the words of the Farthan mage, he couldn’t help but think he should be with Gavin, lending aid.

"He has a terrible burden to bear, far greater than the promise he made."

The rushing sound of the Flint River grew louder. Risan reined in his mount as they crossed the bridge, and climbed down from the saddle. He looked over the rail into the water sweeping past below him. This was where it had all started. He looked down at his three-fingered hand. His claw. Had Gavin not saved Arlet, this would never have happened. Two fingers was a small price to pay.

“Risan?”

He turned and looked up at the blond boy still sitting atop the horse, biting his lower lip. Risan smiled at the boy who was becoming his son. “You are ready to meet her?”

Dwaeth nodded, but he didn’t look quite certain about it.

Risan reached up and patted his ankle. “Arlet will love you. No need to worry.” He flung the reins over the horse’s ears and led the animal through Ambryce on foot. People stared at him as he passed, many smiling and nodding. Risan realized he was smiling, too. He had lost a tooth and a couple of fingers, but look at what he had gained – a son, a king, and one hell of a story to tell his friends at the Red Eye.

* * * * *

A fire crackled in the vast fireplace of the inn’s lobby. Daia was curled up in a large, stuffed chair staring, entranced, into the flame. She and her companions had taken possession of the Elegance Inn as a temporary palace, paying the innkeeper for all of his rooms and his silence with what money they had between them, and a messenger dispatched to the Lordover Lalorian with a request for more. Despite its name, it was not the most comfortable lodge in Tern, but it was more than acceptable to Gavin. He wanted the news of his claim to the throne kept as secret as possible until they could work out a plan for dealing with the demon Ritol.

The task weighed heavily on her mind. If King Arek and his vast army could not vanquish it, what chance did they have? Gavin, Daia, Edan – they did not have the knowledge that Arek and Ronor had. They knew nothing about this demon, or even about the runes, aside from what was in Ronor Kinshield’s letter. She could not decide whether the letter was more of a help or a hindrance. On one hand, it warned them about what they would face when they entered the palace, and that knowledge was invaluable. On the other, it raised more questions than it answered.

“Can’t sleep?”

She craned her neck and saw Gavin, barefoot and bare-chested, coming down the stairs. Daia shook her head. “Too much on my mind.”

“Me, too,” he said. He pulled one of the velvet-covered chairs up beside her and sat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I need to talk to you about something that has nothing to do with the letter or the demon.”

Daia swallowed. She hesitated to ask what it could be, fearing she already knew the answer.

“Now that you got your problems ironed out with the Sisterhood, I’m guessing you’ll want to return to the compound and continue your life as before.”

She scowled at him. “No, Gavin, I made a vow to you, and I intend to honor it.”

He nodded. “I know, but I’m just saying if that’s what you prefer to do, I’d release you with no hard feelings.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” she said. She turned so she could look directly into his eyes without straining her neck. “I told you that you won’t have to do this alone. If you don’t want my help, you’ll have to send me away. I won’t leave voluntarily.”

His dark eyes deepened, and she felt his gentle touch with her mind. She took the connection firmly, intently, such that he wouldn’t doubt whether she would help him with whatever he asked, whenever he asked.

“Good,” he said, pulling back his mental brush. “'Cause I need you. Not just your conduit gift, Daia. You. Your sword, your strength, your insight, your faith in me – you helped me find the courage to confront Ravenkind. Now I need you by my side to face what’s to come.” He took a deep breath. “Ever since I realized that being king is... something I got to do, I’ve wanted to ask you something. I’m not sure what the protocol is, so I’m just going to ask.”

Oh crap, she thought. Here it comes. Her heart began to tick madly. “Gavin, wait. Before you say anything more, I have to tell you: I’m not well-suited for this. I gave up the opulence and ostentatiousness of nobility so that I could help people. And I want to help you, just not in that way.”

He cocked his head. “What are you saying?”

She rested a hand on his forearm, feeling the soft hair and the warmth of his skin. “I’m saying I’m not the right choice to be your wife and queen.”

A smile crept over his face. He covered her hand with his own. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to marry me.”

She jerked in surprise. “You’re not?” Her face tingled with embarrassment.

His smile fell away as he shook his head slowly. He picked up her hand and gripped it as he would in a handshake. “Daia, I’m asking you to be my champion.”

The end.

* * * * *

Look for the conclusion of Gavin Kinshield's adventure in The Wayfarer King, Book two of the Kinshield Saga, coming in 2011.

About the author

I grew up in the mid-western USA and in Hawaii, and earned a B.A. in Russian from Florida State University (go ‘Noles!). After a year in Taiwan teaching English and studying Mandarin Chinese, I lived in the Arizona desert where I founded a Rottweiler rescue organization, studied karate, went backpacking, tried sky-diving, did some downhill skiing, got a couple motorcycles, wrote software, and spent time on the shooting range. In 2010, I retreated to cooler, greener Georgia. I earn my living as a full-time writer.

As an independent author, I don’t have a team of publicists and marketing specialists to spread the word about this book. I’m just a writer sitting at my keyboard searching for readers like you. If you enjoyed the story, please tell a friend! If you are so inclined, reviews or ratings on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, Shelfari, LibraryThing, etc. would also be greatly appreciated.

If you’d like to contact me, visit my web site at http://www.kcmay.com/. I welcome your emailed comments!

Dedication

For my mom with love and gratitude.

Acknowledgements

From start to finish, I had a great deal of help and encouragement from my “local” friends and family, and from the friends I've made in the online writing community. My special thanks go to my brother, Kirk Hudson, who offered me his impressions and insights on the early drafts as well as the later, to Carol Scarr, who critiqued my novel not once but twice, to my writer buddies Connie Weidel, Jo Van De Walle, Susan Hopewell, and Tony Valiulis, and to my esteemed teacher, Carol Davis Luce who is also an amazing writer.

Sole Sacrifice

Have you wondered how Sithral Tyr became the cold-blooded killer he is? My novella, Sole Sacrifice, tells the story of his journey from father and husband to soulless killer.

Sithral Tyr watched helplessly while three of his children died of a strange illness. When his last remaining son falls ill, he gives up on his clan's shaman and, amid protests from the clan chief and his neighbors, Tyr sets out to find a cure for his son. His journey takes him to a land of danger and debauchery where he's forced to make the ultimate sacrifice in the hopes of saving not just his son but his entire clan.

Visit my web site for information on how to get a copy of this novella free, or buy now from Amazon.com.

The Venom of Vipers

If you enjoy science fiction, you might also enjoy The Venom of Vipers. Buy now from Amazon.com.

Read what people have written about it:

"In all, I had a very, very good time with The Venom of Vipers. It’s a poignant and fast-paced melding of science fiction, drama, and mystery. KC May solidifies herself as a writer to look out for in the future. She has something to say, she’s not afraid to say it, and she’s damn good at telling her story."

Author Robert Duperre on his blog The Journal of Always

"When I started reading K.C. May’s The Venom of Vipers, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The book does not fit neatly into a specific genre. It has a little science fiction, a little mystery, and a little thriller aspects to it. May neatly combines elements of those genres to develop her story that stands out in its own right."

Greg Arnett on his blog Kindle Books Reviewed

"K.C. May offers readers a fast paced plot. The plot flows smoothly with never a glitch. ... The characters are likable and well developed. ... This is a fascinating book that will please fans of sci-fi and fantasy."

Readers Favorite

"K. C. May has spun another captivating tale. With this second novel, she once again proves that she knows how to string a story to maintain reader interest. The story flows along cleanly, and the transitions are smooth and do much to carry the reader along. The storyline itself is quite engaging. The idea that a virus could be slowly killing off the entire human population is not too out of the realm of possibility, and some of the ideas the author introduces in this tale are quite amazing, yet believable. It was a compelling read that was able to sweep me away."

Grace Krispy on her blog Motherlode

"The Venom of Vipers is a fast paced read with an interesting kick, exciting characters, and a unique story. I really enjoyed the pace and the believability of a future time and place in our possible history. In addition to being a futuristic thriller with a bizarre twist, the book is a great read that will keep you turning the pages and following the characters."

Blog Critic

"I was delighted at how seamlessly The Venom of Vipers tied the real science in with the science fiction. You could almost even call it science future since the theory behind the concept is real (transgenic organisms). I was also thrilled with how the author incorporated the science content- the conversations were believable and the science was explained well enough that someone without a science background wouldn't be lost."

Goodreads reviewer MG