The Kinshield Legacy (8 page)

“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 eaves 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?” JiNese 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’d 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’d 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,” JiNese 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?” JiNese 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!” JiNese 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 couldn’t 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’s 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’ve 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’d 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’ll 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 couldn’t 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’s 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’s 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’ll 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.