The Wayfarer King (34 page)

“I wish there were another way,” Gavin said, his head hung.

Arek put a reassuring hand on Gavin’s arm. “Listen. I have an idea. I can’t do it now since I’m planning to venture into Ritol’s realm and summon...” He waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you would know about that. You’re Ronor. You helped me devise the plan. When I’m done with my rune, I could leave it for you, hidden so no one would happen upon it, but somewhere you’ll know to look. Come back in a week or two and we’ll agree on a hiding place.”

Gavin felt the black hand of guilt squeeze his heart. He didn’t want to let Arek know he’d be dead in two days, and to object to this plan might suggest the king’s imminent demise. “Awright then. I’ll come back.” He met Arek’s intelligent blue gaze and wondered if Arek already knew.

“I’m not meant to know the future, but can you tell me who or what you mean to summon?”

Gavin remembered Arek’s warning, but he didn’t think this information would necessarily change the course of history. “Ritol,” he intended to say. His voice didn’t make it out of his mouth before it was whisked from the air. His ears never heard it. The room spun, and without warning he felt himself falling backward. His arms flailed. He landed on his arse, surrounded by darkness. His hands hit dirt. The smell of lake water and horseshit assaulted his nose. A dull ache squeezed his head.

He was under the bridge. A few yards away, Daia climbed to her feet and approached, leading the two horses.

“Welcome back. I felt you connect with me a few minutes ago and figured you’d return soon.” She offered her hand and helped him rise.

“I was right there, talking to him and suddenly I was here. Damn it!”

“Talking to Ronor?”

“No, talking to King Arek,” Gavin said. Despite the increasing pain in his head, he couldn’t help but show the excitement in his voice. “I was sitting in the library, talking to him in front of the hearth like in the old days. It was so real and normal, like none of it had ever happened. And I killed him. I let him die!” He grabbed his head in both hands and bent over, unable to take the pain now stabbing him behind the eyes.

“Gavin, what’s wrong?” She took his arm and tried to help him stand upright.

“Give me a minute.”

After a while, the pain faded enough that he could stand. He wiped the drip from his nose. In the moonlight, he saw it was dark. Blood.

“By Yrys, you’re bleeding. What’s happening?”

He felt light-headed. “I don’t know. Let’s get back to the inn afore I faint.”

Chapter 43

Brodas paced the length of the floor, his footsteps echoing on the brick walls of the cellar below. The stress in his shoulders was becoming unbearable. Perhaps he would have Cirang massage the knots out. He rummaged in the pantry for a large bucket, filled it with water from the well down the street, and struggled to carry it back without sloshing its contents all over himself. A long soak in a hot bath would have provided temporarily relief, but without a large enough tub or a serving girl to fill it for him, he would settle for a sponge bath.

“Let me get that for you, my liege,” Cirang said, rushing to help him. It embarrassed him to let a woman carry something he found heavy and awkward, but her muscles bulged and rippled beneath her cotton tunic, a woman as strong as most men, if not stronger.

“Thank you,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot, scented soaking bath.”

“I would prepare it if you asked it of me, my liege,” she said over her shoulder as she carried the bucket inside.

From behind came the thunderous beat of a galloping horse. Red rode around the corner at speed, waving. “He’s here,” the swordsman said breathlessly, pulling his mount to a stop. “Big buck with a scarred face arrived at the inn with a dark-haired swordswoman.” The horse pranced anxiously from its spirited run.

A thrill ran through Brodas. The wait was over. He could begin negotiating for the release of his throne.

“They were escorted by two of the lordover’s soldiers,” Red continued. “The armsmen saw them to the inn and left.”

Why would the Lordover Tern send an escort for Gavin unless he thought Kinshield was king?
Damn that bloody usurper!
Of course he would start to spread news to the lordovers that he’d deciphered the runes so he could convincingly claim the throne. For a peasant to think he could lead the people was the height of arrogance. The anger boiled in Brodas’s veins and heated his face. Although part of him reveled in exacting revenge, he needed to show Gavin that Brodas was in charge, that Brodas held the power.

He spent the night considering how best to accomplish this. Cirang tried to convince him that trading Gavin’s brother’s life for the gems in his sword would be the more prudent course. Although Brodas recognized there was some wisdom in that, it was a weak approach. What he needed to do was show Gavin he would not back down. He would have what was his by rights. Obviously, the death of a cousin hadn’t made that point strongly enough. He rose with the sun, the decision cemented by his dreams.

“Let’s get Rogan up here,” he told Red and Cirang. He removed the gargoyle figurine that had locked the hatch securely during the night.

Rogan climbed the ladder at the threat of Red’s sword. Cirang drew her weapon as well. “What now?” Red asked.

The cries of the wife and children were obnoxiously loud. Brodas shut the cellar then set the gargoyle carving back on the hatch. “Let’s continue outside.”

As it rose, the sun cast an ominous red glow across the sky as if it knew what was about to happen.

All traces of anger had fled from Rogan’s features, replaced with fear and sadness. “Please let my family go. They ain’t done anythin’ to you. Your quarrel is with my brother, and I accept that I got to pay for it. My wife and sons are innocent.”

“Have you said your goodbyes?” Brodas asked.

Rogan looked at Red with his red-rimmed eyes. “Let them go,” he whispered. “Please. On your honor as a swordsman, see them set free.”

Red snorted. “A worthy effort.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Kinshield,” Brodas said. “Their lives are already forfeit.”

Rogan turned to Cirang next. “As a Viragon Sister, you dedicated your life to helpin’ others and protectin’ the innocent.” He went to his knees. “I beg you. Please. Protect them from harm.”

Judging from Cirang’s drawn brow, he was stirring feelings of compassion within her. If she knew what was good for her, she would abandon any notion of heroics and betrayal and do her job. “Shut him up and be done with it,” Brodas said. He went inside to find a crate. In the second bedroom, he found one stuffed with clothing. After dumping the contents onto the floor, he picked up a few abandoned articles for packing material and went back outside.

Rogan was still on his knees, but now instead of blubbering, he was trying to hold his guts in with both hands while blood seeped through his fingers. Red lifted his sword for a decapitating strike.

“Wait.” Cirang sheathed her weapon and stepped back. “My liege, any mercy you show him now will elevate you in the hearts and minds of your subjects later.”

Red paused, waiting for Brodas’s response.

“You cannot rule a country with mercy, Cirang. You do it by instilling fear. Fear commands respect. Above all, a king must keep his word.” He nodded at Red. “Do it.”

At one time, Brodas might have looked away, but since Gavin had first betrayed him, he’d developed a stronger stomach for blood. He watched with satisfaction as Red’s blade severed Rogan Kinshield’s head from his body. Blood sprayed outward. Cirang jumped back to avoid it, but a few drops landed on her boots and the hem of her trousers. The head rolled down the incline to the street, while the body fell forward onto the dirt with a thump. A few drops of blood seeped out of the neck wound. Red went over and picked up the head by its hair. The eyes were still partly open in the slack face, and Brodas left them that way. He didn’t want to touch it to close its eyes.

Cirang went around the side of the cottage out of sight. The sound of her retching made him roll his eyes. “Wrap it in this,” Brodas said, offering a shirt. Red bound the head in the cloth then set it into the crate. Brodas stuffed the other cloth around it. “See if you can find a lid while I pen a message.”

As he sat at the table with his quill and ink, smoothing a leaf of paper he’d torn from the back of his journal, he noted that he hadn’t felt as gratified as he’d thought he would. Gavin would be more distraught over his brother’s death than his cousin’s, but Brodas wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing the pain in his face when he opened the box. Strategically, it had been the right action, for he knew that sometimes a leader must do distasteful things for the greater good.

“There’s something else, sire,” Red said as he entered the cottage with the sealed crate. He looked at Cirang, who entered behind him. “Do you want to tell him about the woman, or should I?”

Cirang narrowed her eyes at Red resentfully before turning to Brodas. “Someone else is staying at the Elegance Inn, my liege. A woman and four children.”

Brodas scowled, partly from learning she’d withheld information from him and partly in confusion. “What woman? What children?” He didn’t think Gavin had remarried, but he supposed it was possible.

“Her name’s Feanna. The children are orphans she’s taken in. She says Gavin’s courting her.”

“Well, well,” Brodas said with a grin. “This is interesting news, indeed. Bring her to me.”

Chapter 44

A disturbance in the hallway woke Feanna from very pleasant dreams. At first, she turned over to fall back to sleep, as it was still dark outside. Then she came more fully awake when she heard Daia say, “Don’t drop him. We’re almost there.”

“He’s even heavier than he looks,” another woman said.

Feanna tiptoed to the door and opened it to see what was going on. Three Viragon Sisters were carrying Gavin up the stairs. Daia shuffled backward clutching one of Gavin’s arms across her shoulders. Tennara had his other arm, and another Sister, whom Feanna didn’t know, was between his legs, one knee in each hand. Her heart sputtered. “Oh, heavens! Is he hurt?”

“He’s not injured,” Daia said, glancing over her shoulder. “He only fainted.”

“Has he been drinking?”

Daia snorted. “No, he’s been traveling. Let’s get him onto the bed and I’ll explain.”

Feanna opened the door to Gavin’s room and grabbed the lamp from inside. She used the lantern in the corridor to light it, then scooted past the women as they shuffled along the hallway with Gavin’s limp body between them. At last they managed to get him onto the bed.

Then Feanna saw the blood. It had been streaming from his nose, wetting the front of his shirt. “My goodness!” She poured some fresh water into the washbasin on the dressing table, wet a cloth and began to wash his face. “What’s happened to him?”

Daia wiped sweat from her forehead. “Sometimes when he uses his magic abilities, he faints.”

“Does he always bleed like this?” Feanna rinsed the bloody cloth in the water and continued to wipe up his face and neck.

“Not usually, no. He has an amazing ability to heal himself, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. I’m sure he’ll be fine with a few hours’ sleep.”