The Kinshield Legacy (53 page)

Gavin’s heart pounded so furiously, he had a fleeting thought that he would die of heart tremors right there at the table. His gaze locked onto Daia’s ice blue eyes. Ronor Kinshield’s words could have been Gavin’s; they’d both rested their hopes on a savior, someone else to claim the King’s Blood-stone and ascend to the throne.

As Daia read the letter, it all started to make sense. He still believed there was no destiny, yet neither did he truly have free choice in this matter; he was there because of Ronor’s failed vow. No. He could no longer blame his failings on a long dead ancestor.

It was my own vow.

The thought startled him and he shoved it from his mind. Ronor Kinshield had spent years ignoring his vow to the king, wishing for a scholar to take his place, and now Gavin was repeating the mistake. But Gavin’s mistake was not limited to one vow; he’d been making promises in every aspect of his life and failing to keep them.

I swear,
the voice from his dream whispered in his mind. More than a voice -- a feeling. A hand gripping his arm. The sight of azure eyes boring into his own. The image started to fade. Gavin clutched for it, felt it slip away.

“Daia,” he whispered.

She knew what he wanted, for he felt her presence take hold of him, anchoring him while he rappelled into a swirl of forms and sounds inside his mind, a memory he’d always known he had, but could never find.

In the span of a single heartbeat, two hundred fourteen years disappeared like the wisp of smoke from a candle being extinguished. Gavin saw walls stretching to a high-domed ceiling, musty volumes scattered desperately across the white marble floor. He pictured a familiar figure bent over a huge round table as clearly as though it was happening all over again.

Ronor burst into the library, ready to announce the completion of his task. When he saw the king, hunched over the wide oak table before him, he held his tongue.

Sweat soaked the rounded collar of King Arek’s tan tunic. His hands shook as he chiseled a rune into the surface of a stone tablet; four gems had been embedded into its surface with four runes etched beside them. King Arek blew the dust from the tablet, and placed a green and red-speckled bloodstone into the last remaining hole. With a shaking hand, he began to chisel another rune into the stone beside it, chanting softly as he worked.

Ronor paced to calm his anxiety and impatience. What the tablet was for, he did not know. King Arek had not mentioned it before. The time required to set the gems and carve the runes was time they should have been using to prepare for the demon’s arrival. But if King Arek thought it important enough to do now, Ronor would not argue. His inclination was to urge the king to hurry, but to infuse magic into the carved symbols, King Arek needed to concentrate. Ronor supposed his footsteps echoing on the marble floor did not help, and he went to the window to look out.

From his vantage point in the palace, he saw most of Tern. The streets were deserted except for a few foolish individuals scurrying to their destinations. They had been warned; they knew the danger. Ronor’s hand went reflexively to the hilt of his sword.

Ordinarily, he did not worry about the occasional madman threatening to usurp the throne. They heard such ramblings from time to time. What danger he could not vanquish with his sword, King Arek eradicated with magic. But Crigoth Sevae had been more determined than mad. If only Ronor had killed him before the mage had summoned the demon. Now, with the life force of so many armsmen and countless civilians, the demon Ritol was more than a match for King Arek. Soon the demon would seek out the king here, hungry for King Arek’s magic.

“Finished,” King Arek said at last. “Did you place all six rune stones?” His shoulders slumped and he reached for the glass of water on the table with a quivering hand.

“Yes, my liege, as you instructed,” Ronor said, going to his king. “You need rest.”

“We haven’t time to rest,” King Arek said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Ronor, if the demon kills me and gets my magic, it will become Wayfarer and have free access to all of the realms in existence, not just our own.”

Ronor nodded with a questioning scowl. Why was King Arek telling him what he already knew?

“It is my magic, not my life, that you must protect now,” King Arek continued. “This tablet is like a key. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to argue with you. I’ve bound my magic to the gems within it. When I die--”

“My lord, no,” Ronor said. “You won’t die. I will protect--”

“Ronor, listen to me. When I die, my magic will fill these gems and the realms will be safe. For a time. You must take the tablet beyond the boundary of the palace. When you do, the runes you placed around the grounds will form a barrier, giving me time to reach the vortex and enter the demon’s realm.”

“My liege, that was not our plan. I’m going with you.”

“I’ve come to realize that our plan is flawed,” King Arek said, shaking his head. “If we don’t seal the rift, our efforts will be for naught.”

“My lord, we’ve discussed this a dozen times. My presence there will buy you time to cross back.”

“You can’t know what your willingness to sacrifice yourself means to me. But the risk is too great. What if your presence there does not seal the rift? What if the demon kills us both? We must ensure the tablet’s safety above all else, for the sake of the other realms and the innocent beings who inhabit them. This is the only way. Now, go. Take the tablet to the stronghold. Calewen should be there by now.” King Arek paused and his eyes softened. “Do you think she’s safe?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ronor replied with certainty. “She has Galomand and the rest of the men to protect her, plus the barrier spell on the cave entrance.” He had to believe the queen was safe. The alternative was too dire to speculate about, for she carried the king’s heir in her womb. The time for doubt had long passed.

“I have been proud to call you a friend, Ronor.”

Sunlight gleaming through the tall windows lit up King Arek’s azure eyes, and at last, Ronor understood; King Arek knew he would not be returning.

“As have I, my liege,” Ronor replied. His voice grated through his constricted throat.

The king made a quick movement, then offered his hand. Ronor shook it, feeling something pressed into his palm.

“Give this to Calewen,” King Arek said. “For my son.”

Ronor looked down at King Arek’s signet ring in his palm. He curled his fingers around it and clenched his jaw. Perhaps the king had accepted his fate, but Ronor refused to do the same. King Arek would return to claim his ring. “You will be back, my liege.”

“We’ve taken every precaution to protect Calewen, but nothing in life is certain. Should you survive us all, promise me you won’t leave the country without a ruler.”

Ronor jerked back as though he had been slapped. “My lord! No!”

“You mustn’t let Thendylath fall into chaos. You have been at my side for thirteen years. Promise me you’ll pick up where I left off, if it comes to that.”

“Your majesty, we won’t fail. We will prevail—”

King Arek gripped Ronor’s arm. “Swear it. Swear it on your immortal soul!”

Ronor searched King Arek’s eyes, burning with apprehension. It was a moot point, but the king needed reassurance. “I swear.”

King Arek held his gaze for a moment, and Ronor felt a chill sweep over him.

In the distance, a scream pierced the silence. Ronor rushed to the window. A dark hunched form raced through the streets of Tern. “It’s coming! My lord, we must hurry.” He drew the leather gauntlet from his rear pocket and put it on his sword hand. He stood no chance of surviving a battle with the demon, but he wanted to be ready.

King Arek tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him. “I can’t. I haven’t the strength.” He looked up at Ronor, and in his eyes, the initial horror of his peril was replaced by a knowing acceptance. “Ronor, take the tablet. Run!”

Ronor tried to pull Arek to his feet. “Yes, my lord, but first you must get to the vortex. I will seal you inside the palace.”

“There’s no time, Ronor. You must keep the tablet safe.”

“No, my liege, I have sworn to protect you.”

“You have sworn to obey. Take the tablet and go. Now!” King Arek leaned against the table, his legs quivering.

The wide double doors in the great hall slammed open. The noise echoed ominously through the corridors.

“You’ll be trapped,” Ronor argued. “Trapped inside the palace with it.”

“GO!” King Arek shouted.

In one quick movement, Ronor ducked his head, wrapped an arm around King Arek’s thighs and hoisted the king over his shoulder. He would disobey his king and suffer the consequence of it later rather than leave him to die.

“Ronor, no,” King Arek said. “It’ll kill us both. You must get the tablet to safety.”

Ronor fumbled to lift the stone tablet with his other hand, and clutched it to his chest. The smell of sulfur wafted through the hall. He began to run down the corridor, but feared his heavy footsteps would give away their position. As quickly as he could manage, he started down the back staircase.

“King Arek,” a tritonal voice boomed behind him. “At last we meet.”

Ronor took the stairs two at a time. His own weight and that of King Arek on his shoulder threatened to break his ankles with every step. A wave of force hit him from behind. He flew forward. He and King Arek tumbled down the stairs. Ronor clutched the tablet protectively. When at last they came to a stop at the landing, Ronor crawled on his elbows to reach his king.

Blood trickled from King Arek’s nose and ears. His body was skewed awkwardly, his legs twisted beneath him. King Arek swallowed with a gurgling sound. “Run, Ronor,” he whispered.

For a second, Ronor considered trying to pick King Arek up once again. He looked into the brilliant blue eyes of the king, and he knew that this was farewell. All their years together and the powerful bond that had formed between them culminated in this final moment – with Ronor abandoning his king when he most needed protection.

The demon Ritol stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with glittering black eyes. It started down the steps.

Ronor took a small flat stone from his pocket, a rune of protection carved into its surface, and pressed it into King Arek’s hand. With the stone tablet clutched in his arms, Ronor rolled to his feet. The demon swiped at him, ripping two long furrows down his face and sending him spinning. He hit the wall and stumbled, caught himself and sprinted through the dining hall. Something crashed behind him. A door burst from its hinges and struck the opposite wall. He raced through the kitchen and out the back door, slammed it shut and rammed a bar through its two handles. The rune carved into its surface crackled as though a bolt of lightning had shot through it. From behind the door came a fearsome shriek that made the hairs on Ronor’s neck bristle. He darted across the inner courtyard and mounted his battle horse, then kicked wildly at the horse’s sides, spurring it to a gallop.

As he passed through the outer gate and over the rune he’d placed there, the gems embedded in the tablet lit up. A barrier formed around the entire palace grounds, sealing it. None would enter, none would leave, until the runes in the tablet were discharged and the gems returned to this gate. A shudder coursed through him.

He pulled the reins hard and spun his mount. Both horse and rider gasped for breath. “Let his death be quick,” Ronor whispered to the palace.

Ronor turned to the southeast and ran his horse nonstop to Saliria. There he changed horses at the lordover’s stable and continued west and then north to the cave where Queen Calewen and the men-at-arms awaited. The stronghold.

He considered how he would tell the queen of King Arek’s death. Queen Calewen was strong, intelligent and well-grounded. She knew their plan had risks and their options had been few. Yet, she was also a woman – and a wife who loved her husband. Ronor would be there for her. He would pledge his loyalty to her once again, and vow to help in every way he could to raise her child; to teach him about the runes, the gems, and his father’s magic. Where Ronor had failed to protect the king, he would succeed with Calewen and her child.

Once night had fallen, Ronor and the horse picked their way slowly through the dark forest. In the soft glow of his sputtering torchlight, he saw the markers that told him he was almost there, but he heard no voices, saw no flickering torchlight.
They’re safe inside, protected by the barrier spell,
he told himself. He climbed wearily from his horse. In the pale light of his torch, he made out the lumpy form of a body. The Rune Tablet fell to the ground with a muffled thud. “No,” he whispered, breaking into a run. Three men-at-arms and the royal mage lay still outside the cave entrance.

Inside, drenched with blood, nearly two dozen armsmen were strewn across the floor, twisted, their mouths and eyes wide in eternal agony. “No,” he said again. “NO!” Looking around, frantic, he caught sight of Queen Calewen, her neck a mass of torn and bloody tissue. A cry of despair erupted from his throat, and he went to her, falling to his knees and dropping the torch to the rocky cave floor. “My Queen,” he howled. His voice echoed off the walls of the cave. Bending low, he pressed his lips against her cold forehead and wept. “I’m sorry, my liege,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” The king, the queen – both dead. The heir…