The Wayfarer King (11 page)

Gavin reached inside and took hold of the bundle, feeling the cold through the cloth. Rogan flipped the box over, and Gavin set the bundle on the overturned box, then began to pull away the cloth.

His stomach lurched the moment he saw dark hair. Ravenkind. That filthy, evil son of a thrice-damned whore. “Seven hells!” He shut his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. If the wizard had been there now, Gavin would have ripped the bastard’s cold heart out with his bare hands. He considered wrapping it back up before Rogan could see, but Gavin had to know who had suffered for his actions.

“What’s wrong?” Rogan said. “What is it?”

With a shaking hand, Gavin pulled the cloth away to reveal a severed head.

Rogan cried out and stepped back as he threw an arm across Gavin’s chest in a protective gesture. “Seven hells!”

The face, spattered with blood, was frozen in a look of surprise with its brown eyes wide and mouth dropped open. A small gem teetered on the lip. Frosty air swirled around it, radiating cold.

Rogan stumbled to a corner and retched. He stood bent over in the corner for a few moments, then made his way back to the bench with heavy steps. “What kind o’sick monster would do somethin’ like this?”

Gavin studied the face. He recognized the family resemblance in her deeply set dark eyes and wavy, brown hair, but he couldn’t place her. “Who was she?” he croaked.

With an expression of mixed horror and disgust, Rogan ventured a closer look. “Looks kind o’like Uncle Corrick’s daughter Winna. But I ha’n’t seen her in ten years at least.”

“She lived in Calsojourn, didn’t she?”

“Last I heard. Why, Little Brother? Why would someone do this to her and send her... her head here? To you?”

Now Gavin was certain Ravenkind was hiding in the farmhouse near Calsojourn. He hoped to get a report from the Sisterhood that he’d been slain. He draped the cloth back over his cousin’s face. “Rogan, you got to take Liera and the boys away from here. I have a place in Tern where you’ll be safe until—”

“Oh, hell. This is Ravenkind’s doin’, ain’t it? What’d you do to him this time?” He clenched Gavin’s shirt in his fists and hauled his brother up close. “What the hell did you do?”

Gavin looked steadily into Rogan’s eyes, knowing his brother didn’t want to hear what he had to say any more than he wanted to say it. “I kept him from claiming the King’s Blood-stone.”

Rogan’s expression changed from anger to shock. He released Gavin’s shirt and staggered backward until he hit the wall. “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me you’re the king?”

Footsteps announced someone entering the barn, and Daia stepped into the tack room. “What’s going on?”

“Are you tellin’ me you’re the bloody king?” Rogan shouted.

“Shhhh! Yes, now keep your voice down.”

Rogan stumbled to a stool and sat heavily on it. He buried his head in his hands.

Gavin showed Daia the severed head. After her initial shock and disgust, she looked at him with a lowered brow. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”

“Remember when I told you Ravenkind murdered my family?”

Daia nodded.

“Last thing he said to me was, ‘Cross me again and I’ll kill every Kinshield in Thendylath and deliver their heads to you.’” To his brother, Gavin said, “He knows where you live. You aren’t safe here.”

“To hell with him!” Rogan hollered. “I won’t be intimidated by that bastard. I dare him to try—”

“Rogan,” Gavin said firmly. “What makes you think you can protect your family better than I could mine? I knew the son of a bitch too. You don’t.”

“Gavin’s right, Rogan,” Daia said. “He can easily render even the strongest fighter useless with magic then kill your wife and children at his leisure while you watch. Let us protect your family until we can find him and kill him.”

“You’re goin’ after him then?” Rogan asked.

Gavin and Daia looked at each other. “Not right away,” Gavin replied. “But yeh. We got to. We got to stop him.”

“Well, I’ll be goin’ with you, then,” Rogan said.

“Rogan, no,” Gavin said. “I couldn’t do to your sons what I did to—” He stopped, realizing he was about to reveal the secret he’d kept from Rogan for fourteen years.

“What you did to who?”

Gavin needed to tell his brother. He should have done it years ago. Rogan deserved to know the truth. “What I did to you and me. Papa’s death. It was my fault.”

“Little Brother, I know you been full o’guilt over it for half your life, but lay it to rest. Papa was killed by a bear. You got bigger problems now.”

“Shut up, Rogan. I got to tell you this. It’s been on my shoulders since I was twelve. You need to know the truth as much as I need to tell you.” He couldn’t look his brother in the eye. As he began to tell the tale, the memory of it was as clear as though it had happened the day before.

The arrow hit the tree stump squarely in the center of the rag nailed to it and quivered with the shock. Gavin turned to Papa, excited. “I hit it!”

Papa laughed and patted Gavin’s shoulder as he readied another arrow. “Hell, Gavin! I couldn’t’ve done as well myself. You’ve a fine eye. Remember to focus on your bow arm. Loosen your fingers a bit. There you go.”

Gavin released and watched the arrow strike the rag again. He couldn’t have wiped the smile from his face if he’d had a knife to his throat.

“Well done, son. You’ve a natural talent.”

He’d practice all day if he could, but there were more chores to be done now that Rogan had taken a wife and left home. It also meant that Papa would bring Gavin along on his hunting trips, rather than make him stay at home. With the two of them hunting, Papa would have more skins to tan and that would mean more money coming in.

“Why don’t you keep practicin’,” Papa said. “I’m goin’ to take a nap. Wake me when the sun dips below that branch there, will you? Then we’ll get us a couple o’squirrels for supper.”

“Awright.”

“Don’t go nowhere, Gavin.”

“I won’t.” Gavin eyed his target. With a fluid motion, he lifted the bow, pulled the string, sighted down the arrow and released. The bow string snapped his right forearm, reddening his skin, and the arrow sailed past the tree stump. “Ow.”

Rubbing his arm, he trudged after it and pulled his other three arrows from the trunk to try again. Papa had settled against a tree behind him, pulled his hat over his eyes, and crossed his arms.

Of the next twenty shots, Gavin only missed the rag twice. He was damned good at this. His natural talent made up for his inexperience. He checked the position of the sun and estimated he had time to go into the woods a little ways, perhaps kill a couple of squirrels himself. Papa would be proud of him for getting supper by himself.

He checked to be sure Papa was still asleep, made sure their horses were tied up good, then tiptoed off. Plenty of squirrels and chipmunks darted everywhere at the sound of his approach, but they always wound their way up a tree, never straight up. He had no time to aim and release before they were out of sight, only to come around, much farther up, a few seconds later.

The sound of something rustling to his left made him stop and listen. It moved slowly, whatever it was, without making much noise. It was too early in the day to be a raccoon, too big to be a rabbit. He crept forward with an arrow nocked, peering through the trees and underbrush. There, behind a thicket, was something dark and shiny. It made a sound like... a turkey! Gavin’s heart fluttered. A turkey would make a fine supper, and the feathers could be sold for arrows or quills. He raised the bow, pulled, sighted, and released.

A terrible squeal echoed through the trees. A hit! He bounded after it, nocking another arrow in case he’d only nicked it. It was running away. He gave chase. Then horror gripped him when he got a good look at what he’d shot.

A bear cub.

The brown cub limped though the woods, screeching in pain and fear. A deep grumble answered.

Shit!
Gavin turned and ran as fast as he could toward camp. “Papa!” he shouted, needing to wake his father before the bear sow gave chase. “Papa!”

Through the trees, he saw his father leap up and look around. “Gavin?”

“Papa,” Gavin cried breathlessly. “A bear.”

A roar echoed through the woods with the snapping of branches and four feet pounding toward him. He felt every one of its thundering steps in his spine. Gavin had an early lead, but the bear was faster. Sticks and roots and plants caught his feet and slowed him.

Papa began to untie the horses. “Gavin, run!”

Behind him, the sow roared. He would swear he felt its breath on his neck. He wasn’t going to make it to the horses.

“The tree,” Papa shouted. “Climb.”

Ahead, he saw a tree with a trunk split low and ran to it. He put his foot in the split and hauled himself up.

He’d made it four feet up when the bear’s claws raked across his face, knocking his grip loose. He fell to the ground.

“Yah!” Papa shouted. He stabbed the bear in the back with his knife. It roared and swiped him. He went tumbling.

Gavin scrambled to his feet and ran to the next tree. He climbed as fast as he could. His feet scrabbled for purchase, slipped, and caught. Eight feet up... Ten feet up... Bear claws raked bark from the tree only inches below his foot. Twelve feet... Fifteen... He stopped about twenty feet above the ground.

The bear sow, unable to reach him, turned on Papa, who was limping toward a tree. “Papa, run!” Gavin shouted.

Papa was injured, clutching his arm to his body. He reached a tree and started to climb. The bear gave chase. Then it was upon him with teeth and claws. Papa screamed. Blood sprayed everywhere.

No, no, no, no.
Gavin squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the tree as if by thinking hard enough he could stop what was happening. He would wake up. This was just a dream. It wasn’t real.

At last Papa’s screams stopped, and all Gavin heard was the bear’s angry growls. He couldn’t bring himself to look. Let Papa be knocked out. Gavin stood on the branch for what felt like hours, waiting for the bear to leave. When he realized the sound he heard was the flapping of scavenger wings, he dared to open his eyes. What he saw would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life — a red blanket of forest litter and body parts strewn across it like a devil’s picnic.

Gavin’s voice was quiet, stripped bare like his soul laid out for Rogan and Daia to see.

“I don’t need to know the rest,” Rogan said. “You got him home. I can imagine what you went through to do it. You were a boy. No child should ever have to see what you saw or do what you did.”

“Don’t you see, Rogan?” Gavin said. “I killed Papa as surely as that bear did.”

Rogan shook his head slowly. “I see. I also got a son the same age you were then, and I know the foolishness of boys and the trouble it can cause. Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough for it?”

“But—”

“No,” Rogan said. “If it helps any, I forgive you. Now focus on the things you can do and the problems you can solve. Find the whoreson who done this.” Rogan pointed to the crate. “And kill him. Kill Ravenkind afore he can do more damage.”

“Gavin,” Daia said, “if you and Rogan list all the Kinshields you can think of, I’ll dispatch a request to send Viragon Sisters to guard their homes. We may not be able to protect them all, but if Ravenkind tries something like this again, at least we’ll have a chance at stopping him.”

Rogan put his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Whatever you need me to do, just ask.”

“For now, keep it quiet,” Gavin said. “Don’t tell anyone who the king is. Anyone.”

“Don’t you think your family deserves to know?” Rogan asked, scowling. “Don’t you think you ought to tell that lady out there whose life you’re thinkin’ o’turnin’ upside down?”

Gavin blinked at his brother. He felt an unfamiliar heat fill his face.

“Don’t try to convince yourself nobody sees it. She’s a fine lady and a friend o’mine and Liera’s. You owe her the truth, Little Brother. Before you capture her heart, not after.”

Chapter 16