The Wayfarer King (17 page)

Golam neighed loudly as he reared and struck the beyonder brutally with his front hooves, mouth open and trying to bite. His dark-gray nose was bloody, his gray face spattered with blood. The horse fought with the spirit of a true warrior.

Gavin sank into his fighting stance as the beyonder bore down on him once more. A huge paw came at him. Aldras Gar sliced cleanly through it, severing it. The creature wailed, sending a sharp pain through Gavin’s skull. Vile-smelling, black sludge pumped out the open wound until a new paw grew from it. He brought the sword around again and chopped down. On a man, it would have been a killing blow, slicing through from shoulder to waist. On the beyonder, the sword stopped about a third of the way through as though he’d struck stone. Then the monster sealed itself as though it had never been cut.

“Cut off its head,” Daia shouted. “It’s the only way to kill it.”

Gavin spun, aiming Aldras Gar at the neck, and missed. Its newly grown paw slammed into his back, sending him flailing into the dirt. He rolled, glimpsing Daia, still mounted, charging at his beyonder with sword poised. Her sword sliced deeply into the neck, but not enough to sever the head. She circled back.

Golam was kicking his opponent with rear legs. Gavin left the third one to Daia and charged the beast his horse was fighting alone. He didn’t have a good angle to swing at its head, so he speared it in the back to get its attention. Behind him, Daia slew the third beyonder. He wanted to kill one at least.

The monster turned and roared. It came at him with both paws raised. He couldn’t get its head off like that. He swung hard, twisting at the waist, aiming at its lower torso. The blade sliced into it. He felt the stress in his shoulders as Aldras Gar met the resistance. It cut through the creature’s flesh and bone, then the blade was free again. The monster lay in two pieces, squirming and screaming. Its legs sprawled motionless on the ground, but the top half was still trying to fight.

Golam ran in, stomping with his forelegs. “Golam, no. Get back,” Gavin said, waving his free arm to warn the horse away. Daia leapt off her mount and chopped with her sword, severing the thing’s head. He heaved a sigh. She had slain four, Gavin none. "Shit. I would’ve had it." He consoled himself by knowing he’d chosen the right battler as his champion.

She looked him over quickly. “Are you hurt?” Her chest heaved from the exertion of battle. Sweat plastered a few loose hairs to her face.

“No, you?”

She eyed her shoulder and left arm. Fine brown hairs poked her skin. “Stings like a mother’s slight.”

“Let’s see if I can heal you.”

“Tend your horse first,” she said. “He’s hurt.”

Golam tossed his head, prancing uneasily. Blood streamed from his nose into the weeds. The sight of his injured horse squeezed Gavin’s heart. He approached slowly, careful not to spook him. “Aww, mule. Look at you. Calm yourself. It’s awright.” Gavin placed one hand on Golam’s muzzle above his nose, and the other under his jaw. He focused on the white fluttering sensation he felt when King Arek’s healing magic was at work. With the help of Daia’s conduit, the heat built up quickly in his hands and the fluttering flowed through them and into Golam. Soon the blood stopped flowing and the cuts sealed with pink skin. “Better now? Let’s get these needles out o’you.” He began pulling the beyonder’s fine brown hairs from the tender flesh of the horse’s nose. He inspected one, amazed at how the rigid tip was so sharp like a needle. “You did well by yourself. Maybe you ain’t as dumb as you look, huh?” When he was finished, he tousled the white forelock. “I need a rag to wipe the blood off you.” Golam nickered and nuzzled him, wiping his wet, bloody nose across Gavin’s neck and the top of his cuirass. “Aww, Golam.”

He turned to show Daia what his horse had done and found her collapsed on the ground.

Aw, hell.
He ran to her side and fell to his knees. Her eyes were closed, face relaxed. “You ain’t playing a game are you?” he asked as he placed his hands on her bare skin, one on her wrist, the other on her neck.

Again, the healing magic flowed through him and into her. Pressure built in his head. Without her conduit, it took longer and more effort, despite the gems in his sword and coin pouch. Unconscious, she couldn’t connect with him, but maybe he could connect with her. He unfocused his eyes, found the swirling orange tendril in the center of her egg-shaped haze, and took hold of it with his own. He felt the magic power within him strengthen, and he went back to work healing the effects of the poison that coursed through her veins.

After a few minutes, her eyelids fluttered. She looked up into his face and flinched. “What happened?”

“Poison.” Gavin shifted back, squatting on his haunches, and helped her sit upright. He began pulling the beyonder’s hairs out of her arm.

“Ouch.” Daia started pulling them out as well. “You didn’t get hit with these?”

“No, but Golam had a snout-full. Nasty pricks.” He chuckled at his jest.

“You’re not going to faint after healing us, are you?”

“No, I’m not going to faint,” Gavin drawled. “I used your conduit.”

“While I was knocked out?” From the way her brow knitted, he could tell she shared his thought.

Unconscious, she was vulnerable.

Chapter 23

After a three-day ride to Ambryce, Daia followed slightly behind Gavin, scanning the city streets for danger with her hand on the hilt of her sword. Despite the increased frequency of beyonder attacks in populated areas, the likelihood was still higher that a citizen would be attacked by miscreants. She cast a glance at the king and smiled to herself. Nobody right of mind would attack such a man, jeweled sword or not.

The city was not one of her favorites. It was dusty and worn, victim to a succession of corrupt lordovers over the last three decades. Only in the last few years had a son taken over who made an effort to use the taxes he collected to improve the city. It had a long way to go before even the most affluent section would resemble the middle-class area of her home city of Tern.

“Do you want to stop at the Stronghammers’ to ask Risan to put the other gems in your sword?” she asked to his back.

Gavin tossed her a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. After we talk to the curator. After we find out where to go next.”

The museum looked like it had once been the home of a well-to-do family. Its entrance was decorated with portraits of long-dead nobles and the work of once-renowned painters. The hostess, a middle-aged woman with a scrawny neck, hurried to greet them, curtsying with a flirtatious smile at Gavin. Daia was amused by Gavin’s playful return. If the woman had known he was king, she might have literally swooned into his arms. She waved her hand toward the staircase, reminding Gavin that he knew where to find the curator’s office.

In the room at the end of the hall sat a man about the same size as Daia’s younger sister, eating a bowl of stew. His eyes flew wide at the sight of Gavin, and he stood quickly, jarring the bowl and slopping the contents over one edge and onto the wood beneath. He beckoned them in and gestured to the two chairs before his desk. “Gavin, how good to see you. Do you have the pendant?” he asked as he mopped up the spill.

“No, I delivered it to the Institute for Scholarly Studies.” Gavin removed his scabbard from his back and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the curator’s desk, then laid the weapon across his lap. Daia stood slightly behind him, hands clasped.

The curator’s brow lifted. “And you received Ronor Kinshield’s letter in return?”

“Yeh.”

Laemyr blinked a few times and licked his lips. “You will share it with me, won’t you? After all, I paid you four dyclen to bring me the pendant.”

“And you sent me into a trap without warning,” Gavin replied.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have anticipated, I’m sure. After all, I hired the most experienced warrant knight I could find — and the most honorable. We had an agreement.”

“I can’t give you the letter. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons. I’m here because I need a favor.”

Laemyr smiled and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Gavin, you know this dance. I twirl, you dip. You swing, I pivot.”

Gavin looked at Daia with an impatient expression. “See? I told you he wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Why don’t you show him your sword,” Daia suggested. Though only three of the gems were embedded in the hilt, Gavin had the remaining two in his pocket.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gavin said.

Laemyr put up his hands, palms out. “Now, now. There’s no need for violence.”

She motioned with her head for him to consult with her privately in the hall, and she followed him out. “It’ll convince him to help us, and we need his help.”

“But he’ll know, and he’ll start blabbing around town about it.”

“Even if we swear him to secrecy?”

After a moment’s contemplation, Gavin sighed. “Maybe not.” They returned to the office. He presented Aldras Gar to the wide-eyed curator hilt first. “Take a look at this.”

Laemyr barely glanced at it. “Very nice, but I know little about weapons.”

“Look at the gems.”

Laemyr looked at it more carefully but said nothing.

“Remember when you saw me carving the fourth king’s rune into the table at the tavern?”

Laemyr’s eyes flew open. “Oh, my lord. Oh, my!” He stuttered for a moment, wringing his hands. “You’re the one deciphering the king’s runes? You’re our… our new king?”

Gavin’s silence was probably answer enough, but Daia nodded to make certain the curator understood who he was dealing with.

Laemyr came around to the front of his desk, then dropped to one knee at Gavin’s feet, head bowed. “My life for your service, my king.”

“So about that favor,” Gavin said. He grasped a handful of Laemyr’s tunic and urged him to stand. “Ronor Kinshield had King Arek’s signet ring, and I need it. Do you know where it is?”

Laemyr cleared his throat. “To my knowledge, the ring has not surfaced since King Arek’s demise. I fear it’s lost forever, unless perhaps one of your relatives has it.”

Gavin drew his brow pensively. “I would’ve remembered seeing it if my father’d had it.”

A terrible thought occurred to Daia. “Might your cousin have had it?”

Gavin’s face reflected her thought. “If Ravenkind knew about the signet ring, he might have sought her out.”

“Presenting King Arek’s signet ring would give him a good deal of credibility in the absence of the King’s Blood-stone.”

“What about the Lordover Tern?” Gavin asked. “A lot o’Ronor’s belongings were given to the lordover.”

“And burned in a fire,” Daia reminded him.

“Not everything. His letter survived in spite o’rumors it perished.”

“If you’d like,” Laemyr said, “I can inquire. I recently bought a painting from the Lordover Tern, and I’m interested in buying another.”

Daia and Gavin both nodded. They would rather not cross paths with Celónd again so soon.

“Yeh,” Gavin said. “Go ahead, but don’t mention us.”

At Laemyr’s questioning look, Daia said, “He’d be less than cooperative if he knew who was asking. He doesn’t yet know that Gavin’s our king.”

“Duly noted,” the curator said. He went around his desk and scribbled a note. “If there’s no reason in particular you require that specific ring, might I suggest you have a jeweler craft a new one?”

Daia and Gavin shared a look. Risan Stronghammer. He was no jeweler, but with his blacksmithing skill he could make a temporary ring.

Laemyr went to his bookcase. “I have a sketch of what the seal looked like. You could have it duplicated, at least until you find the original ring.” He withdrew a book, opened it, and pulled out a loose page. “Is there anything else I can help with, my liege?” he asked as he handed it to Gavin.

“We’re looking for information about King Arek’s travels between the realms,” Gavin said. “Can you tell us anything about how he did it?”

“Why, yes. I’ve been researching it for some time. In fact, that’s the subject of the painting I’d hoped to acquire. It depicts a man stepping through a vortex from nothingness into the world. Remarkable. Simply—”

“The Wayfarer King?” Daia asked. She’d grown up admiring the painting from where it hung in her father’s library on the occasions he wasn’t around to shoo her away.

The curator shot her a startled look, reminding Daia that as much as her familial ties were part of her, others couldn’t see them. “Yes, that’s it. It was reportedly painted by a woman who’d seen King Arek returning from one of his otherworldly jaunts. Over the last twelve years, I’ve hunted through every book, every letter, every diary to find information on the portals and how they worked.” He went to a bookcase and pulled a tome from a shelf. “I compiled the information into this encyclopaedia. It lists everything I could find about the realms King Arek and the kings before him visited and what they brought back or reported. It seems that some of them are more dangerous than others.” He patted the book gently and caressed its front cover.

“What do you know about the realm o’beyonders?” Gavin asked.

“The basest realm. King Arek only went there once that I know of, and what he reported would raise the hair on your neck. Well, perhaps not on your neck, seeing as you’re a warrant knight— or you were one — and much braver than the average—”