Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (44 page)

With most of the abductees returned to their home countries in the blue realm, Gavin let the dizziness, exhaustion, and dread drag him to his knees. Only four groups remained. He tugged the scabbard strap off over his head and collapsed onto his back in the grassy field. Clouds floated beneath a purple and pink sky. The sun gleamed weakly through the trees to his right. To his left lay his wife’s dead body and his son in her womb. Looking at her felt like a knife in his heart, so he avoided even a glance in that direction. There would be a funeral to honor her, and a burial to lay her to rest, but until then, he needed to focus on getting them all home.

Restoring Daia, the fight with the Clout and Callers, the healing he’d done to Tennara, and constant use of magic to open the portals had used up quite a bit of his essence. He needed a couple months’ rest to recover it all, though he knew that by then, he wouldn’t be the same. The image of Jennalia’s gray hair and wrinkled skin reminded him that he was shortening his life. Would he be gray-haired and slumped over by winter, too frail to wield Aldras Gar as a battler? Would he look like an old man at the age of twenty-seven?

“You should rest, Gavin,” Calinor said. “You look like hell, and by that, I mean even worse than usual.”

Gavin looked up without raising his head, unable to dredge up even a half-hearted smile.

“We can sleep here,” Edan said, squatting beside him. “I’ve got three arrows left, and I’ve seen deer scat. A deer will be more than enough for several meals for the rest of us.”

“If you’re going to sit there doing nothing,” the Baron Hexx said, “send me home. I’ve got better things to do than to wait here with you people.”

Gavin still had people to take home. Gripping Calinor’s arm, Gavin hauled himself back to his feet. “Where’s Tokpah?”

Edan made an annoyed face. “Kaoque and Tokpah have left.”

He must have gone to look for Kaoque. “Awright, you three,” he said, waving a weak hand at three bucks with shaved heads and full blond beards. “You’re next.”

“King Gavin,” said a short man with a goatee. He bowed and smiled and beckoned with his hand. “We wanted to pay our respects. Please. This way.” He led Gavin in the direction of Feanna’s body.

Dread built in his heart with every step. Someone had lain flowers over his wife’s heart. Why did they have to do this now? Gavin gazed down at his wife’s face. His chest felt tight and his legs weak. He picked up the yellow flower that lay atop her breast and sniffed its sweet scent.

“That’s kind o’you—” Then he scowled. Something wasn’t right. He’d killed enough people, seen enough die, to know what the body did after death. Feanna hadn’t evacuated. He looked again at her haze, but again, he saw nothing. He licked the inside of his wrist and held it under her nose, but he felt no breath on his skin.

“She’s alive,” the short fellow said.

Shaking his head to refuse the hope that tried to build in his heart, Gavin put his hand over hers. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cool, either. At least, not as cool as he’d expected. He picked up her wrist and watched her hand flop down. The stiffness of death hadn’t set in. He put two fingers to the side of her neck, but his own thundering heart made it difficult to sense any pulse.

Then he felt two light taps against his fingers.

His thoughts raced. The Callers had drained her. She had no haze left. It was his mind tricking him.

Edan squatted beside him. “Are you sure? Let me feel.” He put two fingers to her neck where Gavin had. No one made a sound. “By the sword of King Arek! She’s alive.”

Gavin’s hand darted out to grab hold of Edan.
Alive?

Edan put his arm around Gavin’s shoulders and shook him. “Her pulse is slow, but she’s alive.”

Gavin bent his head and pressed his ear to her chest. He plugged the other ear with a finger and listened.

Thump-thump.

A sob escaped his throat, and he lay his forehead against her.
She’s alive. She’s alive.
He wiped the wetness from his cheeks and looked up. “I interrupted the last Caller, but I thought I was too late. I thought he finished her.” He looked again for her haze, and though he still saw no trace of it, that didn’t dampen the hope that was becoming certainty. Her heart was beating, and if her heart still beat, he could save her. He first had to replenish her essence—and his son’s—from his own.

“Exactly so, Emtor,” the Guardians said. “Her haze is drained almost to the point of death, but you successfully interrupted the Caller before he finished.”

He didn’t know that the baby was still alive—he had no way to check—but he refused to let that hope die. He rolled Feanna onto her side, facing him. “Someone bring my sword. Pick it up by the scabbard—don’t touch the hilt.” An older buck brought Aldras Gar, holding it gingerly by the scabbard strap. Gavin laid it on the ground in front of her, and then lay beside her, facing her as he’d done with Daia.

“I might faint,” he said. “Don’t move me. Don’t touch me. Just let me lay right here.”

“What are you doing?” Edan asked.

“I’m going to save my wife and son.”

“Emtor, you mustn’t,” the Guardians said. “Your essence is already depleted from your heavy use of magic. You have none to spare.”

Then he would have to do the best he could.

Chapter 59

Aldras Gar.

Gavin jerked to wakefulness and struggled to sit up. The sky was dark now, and his companions were gathered around a fire, talking quietly.

“Something wrong, Gavin?” Calinor asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Aldras Gar.

Everyone fell quiet, all looking towards a glow of firelight in the trees to the east. Gavin summoned the last of his strength to stand up, taking his sword in hand.

“Someone’s coming,” Calinor said.

“Maybe Kaoque is returning,” said Edan.

“No, that’s too many torches,” someone else said.

They were right. As the torches neared, marching footsteps through the forest grew louder but were far too many to count. Gavin made out the shapes of Cyprindian warriors approaching. He assessed his own numbers: he had two able-bodied battlers, one without the use of her sword arm, and himself. The others looked like farmers or merchants or servants. They had a half dozen swords between them, and Edan had only two arrows left. There was no use trying to arm everyone. They wouldn’t stand a chance against so many Cyprindian warriors.

“Take Feanna,” Gavin said, stumbling to his feet. He would’ve picked her up himself, but he could barely stand up without help. “Where’s her amulet?” It would hide her from the warriors.

“I saw a necklace on the floor in the room where you found her,” Tennara said. “With everything happening, I didn’t think to pick it up. I’m sorry.”

It was too late to return for it now. Edan and another man picked Feanna up, one under each arm, and carried her behind Gavin. The others gathered around her, and Edan made his way forward to stand behind Gavin’s right shoulder.

They waited anxiously as the battlers stepped into the clearing and formed a circle around them. Each was dressed and tattooed like Tokpah, with a single metal breastplate barely large enough to cover his heart. Each carried a pole-arm, some with what looked like axe blades on the end, others with sword-like tips, and a few with tips that resembled daggers with downward-facing barbs to do incredible damage when they were yanked from their targets. With these weapons, the Cyprindians had greater reach than a man with a sword had, though he would have to be accurate on the first strike. The wooden staff didn’t look strong enough to be used to block a blow from a sword.

“What do you want?” Gavin asked them.

A man wearing a white tunic that reached to his knees stepped forward. Beneath the tunic, he wore white trousers and sandals that had to be uncomfortable walking in the forest. Atop the man’s head was a short, round hat that was red on the bottom and black on the top. Loops of gold hung around his neck and wrists, and two gold rings pierced his lower lip. Thick, black lines were tattooed beside his eyes, unlike the swirling thin lines the Nilmarions wore.

To Gavin’s surprise, Kaoque stepped forward beside him. “Kaoque? You brought these battlers down upon us after I saved your life?”

“This is Tunktah Vopku standing for the Lord Orator of Cyprindia,” Kaoque said. “You will address him as you would the Lord Orator.”

“You’re the King of Thendylath, descendent of the Beresfard ruler known as the Demon Lord, who brought permanent death upon thousands of distinguished warriors of Cyprindia?” the fake Lord Orator asked. His voice was deep and clear, the voice of a man used to speaking before large audiences.

“What’s he talking about?” Gavin muttered to Edan.

“I can’t understand him, remember?”

Gavin cursed silently and quickly repeated what the Lord Orator’s stand-in had said.

Edan said quietly into his ear, “Samuar Beresfard was the king who started the war with Cyprindia four centuries ago. He summoned Ritol, or something like it, and fled while the demon devoured the souls of thousands of Cyprindian warriors.”

Gavin knew that couldn’t be true. Ritol didn’t eat souls. It ate essence, with a particular appetite for zhi. Those warriors hadn’t been lost, simply killed in battle no different than by a sword or lance. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said to the Cyprindian speaker. “I’m a Kinshield, not a Beresfard.”

“Actually, you are,” Edan said softly. “I meant to tell you about it, but we got distracted.”

That was neither here nor there. He didn’t start the bloody war. “We were stranded here, and we want to go home. Will you let us pass?”

“The queen volunteered herself for the Mark of Zuhlis Fahn. Will you offer her for this great honor and begin to build a peace between our nations?”

“No!” Edan said, his voice quiet but urgent. “That ceremony will kill her.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes and renewed his grip on Aldras Gar’s hilt. “No. She wasn’t in her right mind and had no authority to make any offers.”

“Then you’ll answer for the crimes of your predecessors,” the Lord Orator said.

“These people aren’t responsible for any o’that. It’s me you want. Let everyone else go.”

“Gavin, no,” Edan said. “They want retribution, not peace.”

With a nod, the Lord Orator issued the command to seize him. As several warriors stepped forward, their armor snapped open. A series of silver plates shuffled out to cover the men’s torsos. Gavin watched with fascination, though when Aldras Gar whispered its warning in his mind, he readied his sword. “Look,” he said to the Lord Orator, “I understand you have a quarrel with my distant relative, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Our ally, the High Shaman Aciralle Vide of Nilmaria, was among those taken and slain by the otherworld beings from whom you escaped. His death was the direct result of your actions and your failure to return the Nal Disi crystal to its own realm. It is clear that in four hundred years, your people have learned nothing. Drop your weapon and step forward, King.”

A flood of heat filled Gavin’s muscles when he realized they meant to execute him on the spot. There were more than a dozen abductees left, and so he couldn’t simply escape with them to the green realm without leaving at least a handful behind—people who might be slain in Gavin’s stead. He hadn’t the strength to fight off the entire battalion, but maybe they would think twice. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, he pushed hard from his gut.

A blast of wind-like power hit the Cyprindians from the front. Men flew into the men behind them, clearing the area in front of Gavin. Only the Lord Orator was unaffected, shielded from the blast by some kind of magic. At first, the warriors on the sides were shocked stiff, but then their armor opened. With a sound like a hundred geese clapping their beaks, all the bare-chested guards became armor-covered warriors.

Pain pounded the inside of Gavin’s head. Blood trickled from his nose, across his mouth, and dripped from his chin. More of it dribbled down the sides of his neck.

He hit the Cyprindians again, this time directing his blast to the east to clear an exit path. Men flew into each other and tumbled across the grass.

His skull felt like it was being crushed in a giant fist. He cried out, clutching his head. Blood poured from his nose, filling his mouth with its salty tang. Two strong arms caught him under each arm, barely keeping him from going to his knees.
That was stupid
, he told himself as he struggled to regain his feet. He was unable to stand unassisted, let alone flee. Once the warriors recovered, they would bleed him with their lances, and he had no more strength.

Aldras Gar.

“Guardians,” he croaked, “help us.”

Chapter 60