The Kinshield Legacy (19 page)

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 GwanryMuseum 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 couldn’t 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, 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 couldn’t 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’s 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. “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’s 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 wouldn’t 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 couldn’t 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’d 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’d come to admire his handiwork. Risan cursed himself. He was so self-absorbed these days that he couldn’t 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? Thendylath 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’d 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.”