The Kinshield Legacy (22 page)

Risan opened his mouth to call out, flinching as he started to stand and grab for the handle of the carriage door.

A blade pressed at his throat.

He pulled back slowly, trying to escape the sharp tip of the knife.

“You don’t want to do that,” Tyr said quietly.

Risan watched through the carriage window as Gavin rode past.
Turn around, Gavin. Look at me. Please, look at me.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad.” Tyr moved back to his seat and smiled, warping the tattoos around his mouth.

With a heavy heart, Risan watched out the rear window of the carriage as Gavin and his warhorse grew smaller in the distance.

For two days, Risan sat with his hands and ankles tied as the carriage made its way slowly northward. At night the Nilmarion blew more powder into his face and gagged him with a length of burlap while they slept alongside the road. On the third day of travel, the carriage slowed and stopped, but Tyr made no move to exit. He leaned over to look out the window, then settled back in his seat and continued to stare at Risan.

“You’re late,” a voice from outside called out.

Risan looked out the side window to see a battler lead a saddled warhorse to the rear of the carriage. He considered calling to the battler for help, but quickly realized the man would offer Risan no assistance. After a minute, the carriage door opened and the battler climbed in.

A blond with a thin beard lining his jaw, he sat beside Risan on the rear-facing seat and looked him over. He was dressed in a blue waistcoat, uncharacteristically elegant for a battler. “So you’re the one.” The carriage started moving again.

“Do you have my prize?” Tyr asked him.

In reply, the blond reached into a pocket and withdrew a black velvet pouch. “You should be aware,” he said as he handed the pouch to Tyr, “that someone’s looking for you: a Viragon Sister by the name of Daia Saberheart.”

Risan’s ears perked. Daia? The swordswoman who’d wanted to talk to him? He fought back a grin. Surely she was aware by now that Risan was missing. Perhaps in time, she would track them to... wherever they were going.

From the pouch, Sithral Tyr withdrew a necklace. A diamond pendant dangled from the gold chain, throwing sparks of color in every direction. “Toren, you have outdone yourself,” Tyr breathed. He gave the pendant a gentle flick to send the diamond spinning.

“We are upscores, then?”

“Not quite,” Tyr said. He put the necklace into the pouch and pocketed it. “With the help of our friend, here, your debt will soon be paid, as will mine. Take a look at this.” Tyr handed Aldras Gar to the battler.

Toren whistled. “This is quite the sword. Did you make this?” he asked Risan.

Risan said nothing.
Please be silent,
he begged the weapon.

Toren cocked his head. “What’s that...?” He looked at Risan and furrowed his brow. “What heathen magic is this? It must be enchanted. It’s trying to tell me something. Is this some kind of trick?”

Risan pretended to try to hide a smile. Let the stupid battler believe it was a trick. If he feared speaking the weapon’s name, Risan would have time to get it and kill him with it.

“Enchanted?” Tyr asked. “The sword said nothing to me. Perhaps it speaks only to the weak-minded.”

Toren narrowed his eyes and put on a disgusted expression. “Take the cursed thing. It’s an offense to Asti-nayas and makes my skin creep to touch it.”

Tyr shrugged and took back the sword. “Tell me about this swordswoman. What does she want with me?”

“She didn’t say. She approached me at the Lucky Inn the evening you were there, asking about you.”

“By name?”

Toren shook his head. “By description.”

Tyr smiled. “I believe I know who you mean. Attractive young lady. It’s a trifling matter. She won’t find us -- unless Domach made a blunder and told her where to look.”

“Apparently she did not think to ask him.”

Chapter 21

When Warrick came into the library, stomping and cursing and frothing like a mad beyonder, Brodas put his book down and gestured to the guest chair.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Brodas said in a soothing voice.

“Red. I gave him a simple task. ‘Just go to the gemsmith’s and get a few magic-grade gems,’ I told him. ‘Bargain for the best price, and be aggressive about it.’ So what does the idiot do? He kills the gemsmith and runs out with a chest full of the highest quality gems in the shop.”

“Did anyone follow him here?” Brodas asked, leaning forward. He felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch.

“He says no.”

“So, you’re upset because?” Brodas relaxed again, smiling. An entire chestful. 

“The chest has some kind of lock on it. Red killed the gemsmith before he opened the chest.”

Warrick didn’t normally let such an insignificant thing as a lock frustrate him this way. “Why the concern over a mere lock? Break it off with an axe. Break the chest if you must.”

“I can’t. That’s what’s so maddening. It’s no ordinary lock, Brodas. It’s a carved wooden creature - a gargoyle judging by its hideous appearance - with onyxes for eyes.”

Onyxes? “This I must see. Show me.”

Warrick stormed through the manor and out the back door, muttering to himself. Brodas followed, shaking his head with amused resignation.

The box sat on the back step, with Red standing before it, holding an axe and scratching his head. It looked like an ordinary rectangular wooden chest roughly a foot in length and a half-foot high and deep. Its hinges were invisible, and it had a simple silver clasp on the front, tarnished but otherwise in good repair.

On the lid of the box sat a wooden gargoyle, slightly lighter in color than its perch and about three inches tall. Indeed, tiny onyxes were set into its eye sockets, but despite their size, Brodas knew with his first glance that they were fine quality gems.

“What happens when you try to open it?” Brodas asked.

“It burns, m’lord,” Red said. He pointed at the gargoyle with the axe handle. “You can touch the box without a problem, but soon as you try to lift the lid, snap! It gets you.”

“You’ve tried to dislodge the gargoyle?”

“Yeh. I tried chopping it off. That spark ran up the axe handle. The thing flew right out of my hand.”

Brodas sat on the step beside it and turned it to get a good look at the gems. “Did you try prying the onyxes out of it?”

“Gouging its eyes out?” Red asked with a snort. “No, didn’t try that.”

“Warrick, give that a try.”

Warrick gave the box a wary look, then handed his dagger to Brodas. “Be my guest.”

Warrick’s reluctance gave Brodas pause. He handed the knife to Red.

Red chewed his lip and reached hesitantly to take the knife. “I don’t think this’ll work either, m’lord.”

“You won’t know until you try it.” Brodas rose and stepped back onto the dying grass covering the courtyard.

Red slapped the blade against his palm a few times, perhaps to gather his courage, and stepped up to the chest. Holding the knife handle with three fingers, he poked the blade half-heartedly at the gargoyle’s right eye. The moment the tip of the knife touched the onyx, a blue flash charged up the length of the blade to the hilt. A spark crackled where Red held the grip, and he jerked back with a hiss. The knife fell to the ground.

“Damn,” Red said, shaking his hand.

“Interesting,” Brodas mused. If he created a protective barrier, Red could withstand the shock long enough to get the gems out of the gargoyle. “Wait here.” He hurried to his library and grabbed a pair of his few remaining gems. That would leave only three, but if it worked, he would have the entire chestful to work with.

When he returned, Red stepped back as though anticipating what was to come.

“I’m going to put a protective spell on you,” Brodas said. “This will keep you from suffering the pain of the gargoyle. Get your knife.”

Red bent for the knife with a sigh. Brodas glanced at Warrick and rolled his eyes, prompting a chuckle from his cousin.

“I suppose you want me to pry the eyes out?”

“Exactly. Ready?”

At Red’s reluctant nod, Brodas opened his palm and focused on the gems, then pushed the spell of protection toward the battler. The gems in his hand cracked into bits. “Now!”

Red grabbed the back of the gargoyle’s head with one hand and plunged the knife into its right eye. He twisted the blade, digging the tip into the socket. A growl gurgled up from his throat through gritted teeth. With a yip, he yanked the knife away and threw it on the ground. “Damn it.” He shook his hand, sucking in his breath.

“Why did you stop? You were doing well.”

“M’lord, the thing wasn’t budging. Even with your spell, it hurt like a bitch.”

Brodas sighed. “All right. Let me study it for a while and see if I can find a way to defeat it.”

“Maybe we can find the gargoyle’s maker,” Warrick said. “Ask him how to get it off.”

“Good idea. Why don’t you both ask around in the market. And don’t kill anyone. I don’t need the lordover’s armsmen coming around asking questions.”

Chapter 22

On arriving in Ambryce, Gavin led Golam to the Good Knight Inn, took his satchel, and handed the reins to the stable hand. Stepping over the broken step leading to the porch, he lifted the door and shoved it hard enough to squeeze through the opening.

“Trayev, you here?” he called out as he set his bag on the floor.

The innkeeper swept aside the curtain and walked in. “Gavin, what a surprise.”

“I said I’d be back in a week.”

“You also said you’d fix the door.”

Gavin sighed. “I know. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“You promise, right?” Trayev said with a sardonic grin.

Gavin glared at Trayev, unamused. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” He took his leather bag and headed to his usual room.

After stripping off his shirt, rinsing it in the small wash pan and hanging it to dry, Gavin took a sniff under his arms and then wiped himself down with soapy water. He put on one of the new tunics Liera had sewn for him and headed toward the museum, his steps heavy on the pavement. He did not relish the task of telling the curator he’d lost Calewen’s Pendant, but if he got it over with now, he could spend the rest of the evening in the tavern without it weighing on his mind.