The Kinshield Legacy (16 page)

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’s more beautiful than words can say. You did a fine job. Gavin will be overjoyed. The hilt’s finished, gems are set, blade’s sharpened and polished. It’s ready.”

Risan couldn’t 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’s for our new king.”

“King or not, she will say no. And she will feel insulted if I ask.”

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. She laid out 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 couldn’t 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.

They looked at each other. Arlet’s 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’s 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’s 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’s 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.