The Kinshield Legacy (36 page)

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’ll 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’ve 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’s 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 from the compound and through the streets of Sohan.

Brawna was on her way to die at age seventeen. She’d 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’d 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’ve 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 Enamaria?

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 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’s 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 hilt near 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’d killed Enamaria 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 couldn’t stop herself. The words just tumbled out. “With dark hair. A tall battler with a scar on his face and missing a tooth.”

“What’s 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’d 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. “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 Enamaria’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 couldn’t 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.