The Kinshield Legacy Read online

  The Kinshield Legacy

  Book one of the Kinshield Saga

  by K.C. May

  The Kinshield Legacy

  Copyright 2010-2011 by K.C. May

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover design and layout by T.M. Roy / TERyvisions www.teryvisions.com / Wolf tag designed by T.M. Roy

  Map of Thendylath by Jared Blando / www.theredepic.com

  Chapter 1

  Any doubt Gavin Kinshield had that he was in the right place vanished the moment he dismounted. The poplars and sweetgums, the shape of the cave mouth, the dirge-like song of a lone hermit thrush echoing through the trees -- these things were as familiar as the boots on his feet. He gave Golam’s flank an absent pat, and the horse ambled away to nibble a nearby bush. The only thing missing from Gavin’s recurring dream was the ghostly figure of his daughter waving him on. Even the woodenness of his legs felt familiar as he approached the cave.

  He stopped at its mouth and peered inside. The fluttering in his gut warned him to turn back. I shouldn’t be here. I ain’t a king. He scanned the trees for movement and listened for voices and hoof-steps. Satisfied he wouldn’t be discovered, he drew a deep breath and stepped into the darkness.

  In a burst of leathery flapping, several bats darted past his ear and vanished into the daylight behind him. The stench of guano hung in the air.

  A shudder rippled through him. This is where Calewen died, Gavin thought. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked around, expecting to see the queen’s blood spattered on the floor and walls. But he saw none. Not now, two hundred years later.

  His eyes focused on the far wall, about ten paces back. On a shelf of jutting rock rested a stone tablet. It drew him, like a starving man standing before a feast, deeper into the cave. His feet grew heavier with every step. “I must be mad.” Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. The word echoed in his mind after it faded from earshot. “Damn caves.” Caves. Caves. Caves. He wiped his palms on his trousers, then rubbed his hands together as he stepped up to the tablet.

  Roughly a foot and a half in diameter and three inches thick, it sat on edge. Gavin examined the tablet top to bottom. It didn’t look two hundred years old. Didn’t even have any dust on it. In the tablet’s surface a gemstone was nestled within each of five thumbnail-sized holes. Scrapes marred the edges of the holes, as though would-be thieves had tried to work the gems free with their knives. Beside each gem, a symbol was deeply chiseled into the tablet’s flat surface: the King’s Runes.

  Gavin slid his finger to the surface of the gemstone in the outermost position of the spiral shape they formed. It felt as smooth as the surface of a still pool. In the center of the tablet sat the most prized of them all: the King’s Blood-stone.

  ‘He who claims the King’s Blood-stone shall reign as king,’ said law and legend.

  But why was the tablet in a cave? Why hadn’t someone simply walked off with the thing? It couldn’t be that heavy, maybe twenty stones or so. To test his hunch, Gavin tried to lift it from the shelf. It wouldn’t budge. He planted his feet and set his hip against the rock wall for leverage, gritting his teeth as he pulled. Still the tablet didn’t move. Hm. Maybe the same magic that locked the gems in the tablet weighted it down. There had to be more -- artifacts, letters -- something left behind from King Arek’s reign, something explaining the purpose for the gems and the tablet -- and why the palace had been sealed. Someone somewhere had an accounting of how the king had died. And Gavin would find him.

  Awright, might as well try it. No harm in that. Probably won’t work anyway.

  He cracked his knuckles and gripped the tablet in his calloused hands, flexing his fingers against the cool, rough surface. He licked his lips and wished he had a tankard of ale.

  Gavin focused on the first rune, and as he stared, its image blurred. “Faroryn,” he whispered. The symbol represented strength, dependability, a sense of purpose. He had no idea how he knew this; it had come to him as though he’d simply remembered.

  Suddenly the cave seemed to tilt. He rocked back on his heels, then forward again trying to compensate and regain his balance. He clenched the stone tablet. The cave around him twisted, its rough walls warping into the tablet with its five gems, into his arms stretched before him, into the rock floor. He fell to his hands and knees. A cottony feeling filled his mouth.

  When the cave righted itself, Gavin lifted his head to look upon the tablet once again. The first gemstone dropped to the ground, clinking as it struck the rock and bounced to land under his nose. He blinked hard to be sure he saw what he thought he saw: one of the Rune Stones. His destiny.

  No. It couldn’t be. Deciphering one rune meant nothing. Anyone could have done it. Anyone but a peasant who could barely read. Gavin snorted a half-laugh and shoved the notion from his mind. He didn’t believe in fate or ghosts or any other superstitious crap. He’d come here by choice, after all. And now, he chose to take what he’d earned.

  As he wrapped his hand around the gem, the image of a man sparked in his mind: King Arek -- the last man who had ever held that gem in his hand.

  An icy feeling of dread swept through Gavin’s body. He’d just made the biggest mistake of his life; the throne would soon be his.

  “It’s about time,” a voice said.

  Gavin shot to his feet and whirled about.

  “It’s not so far from Sohan,” another said. It came from outside.

  “I’m not accustomed to traveling astride, Sage Marckys. My backside is utterly chafed.”

  Scholars. Damn it. Gavin looked around but saw no place to hide. He shoved the gem into his pocket and ran.

  “Mark my words. Once you feast your eyes upon the magnificence of the King’s Blood-stone, you’ll forget all about your—”

  Blinded by the brilliance of daylight, Gavin stumbled onto the trail. Through squinting eyes, he saw two men dressed in long, colorful robes standing beside a pair of horses.

  “Goodness me! Who are you?” asked one of the scholars.

  “Check the tablet,” said the other.

  Gavin spotted his mount waiting in the trees. With a running leap, he pulled himself up and into the saddle. He pounded the gray’s sides with his heels.

  “The first gem is gone,” a scholar cried.

  “He’ll be the king. Wait, my lord, come back!” The voices faded into the growing distance behind him.

  Plagued by recurring dreams and images of the King’s Runes, Gavin returned to the cave twice more over the next nine months. Each time, he hoped the nonsensical word whispering through his mind portended madness. Each time, the word instead unlocked the rune, whose gem fell to the cave floor with a delicate clink. And with each gem, Gavin took another hesitant step closer to the throne of Thendylath.

  After arriving in Ambryce, the third gem newly added to his coin purse, Gavin bartered his labor for a room at the Good Knight Inn and went to find a drink and meal. He stepped into a tavern and paused at the door while his eyes adapted. A couple dozen men, clustered around rickety tables
, talked and laughed and hoisted mugs of foaming ale. The barmaid waved a finger at him as she carried a tray overhead, and he lifted a hand in return.

  “Kinshield!” someone shouted.

  Nearly every face turned toward him, which made finding his pals, Tonn and Vonn, much easier. Gavin had never learned to tell the twins apart. They shared a long, angular face and stringy, dark blond hair with a single eyebrow snaking from temple to temple. To Gavin’s eye, they looked like the same man. He had to rely on some distinguishing characteristic such as a shaving cut or bruise to help him identify which was which. Today, one wore a gray shirt and the other white. That would make conversation a lot easier once one brother named the other. He made his way to their table, greeted them with a handshake and some good-natured heckling, and sat. After his long ride, he wanted nothing more than a tankard of ale and warm food, though he would have preferred to sit alone to sort out his thoughts.

  The barmaid bumped her hip against him. “Where’ve y’been, love?” she asked.

  The Rune Cave, where else? “Killing and maiming as usual,” he replied. “How ‘bout a full tankard and some stew?”

  “Sure, but you got to pay first.” At Gavin’s scowl, she jerked her chin toward the barkeep, who held up eight fingers. “His rules, not mine. I’d give you anything you wanted, no charge.”

  “Hooo, Gavin,” Gray Shirt said. “You ain’t goin’ to pass that up, are you?”

  She winked and held out her hand. “Thirteen pielars.”

  “Thirteen?!” Gavin asked.

  “The boss says you owe eight from time-ago.”

  “Oh.” Gavin gave her an embarrassed grin and dug into his coin purse, fishing past the three Rune Stones that shared the pouch with his meager funds. He counted the copper coins into her palm. She blew him a kiss before spinning around and wiggling her way to the kitchen.

  “Say, you bucks know Domach Demonshredder, don’t you?” Gray Shirt asked. Gavin and White Shirt both nodded. “He thinks he saw the rune solver.”

  Gavin raised his brows. “Is that so?” He sure hoped not.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw movement near his hip. He turned to look. Nothing there.

  White Shirt chuckled. “I’ll bet five pielars he’s lip-shinin’ the man’s boots right now.”

  “He says it’s a woman,” Gray Shirt said, chuckling.

  “Well, some people say it’s a battler. Maybe it’s a Viragon Sister,” White Shirt said. The brothers guffawed.

  Gavin didn’t share most men’s disdain of the women battlers, nor did he see any reason why a woman couldn’t solve the runes. His wife had been cleverer and more perceptive than he. “Well, whoever it is might surprise you.” And it certainly wasn’t a woman.

  He felt a tug on his trouser leg. He shot his hand down and caught a small wrist, his coin purse clutched in the little hand. “No you don’t,” he said, taking the pouch back. He massaged the bag quickly, hunting for the three gemstones. Still there. Thank Arek.

  He pulled the hand up and around him, dragging with it a girl with copper-colored hair.

  Caevyan!

  For an instant, he saw only his daughter, her blue eyes wide with terror and pain, her copper-colored hair and yellow dress drenched in blood. He watched again, as he had in so many nightmares over the last five years, while she stumbled toward him, arms outstretched and reaching for the safety and comfort of his arms. “Papa!” Her voice rang in his ears and echoed in the cavernous hole in his heart.

  Gavin swallowed hard and looked at the pickpocket’s face. Golden brown eyes, not blue. Two front teeth were missing from her smile. Not Caevyan’s cherubic smile, but the sly smile of a thief. Not Caevyan, he told himself. Caevyan’s dead.

  “Get out o’here afore I brand you as a criminal,” he snarled.

  “I’m awful hungry,” she said.

  “See this?” Gavin pointed to the gap between his teeth. “Broke it while biting off the hands of a thief. Go on now afore I bite yours.”

  The twins snickered.

  “Please, just one pielar?” She met his eyes without recoiling, holding out a grimy palm.

  Gavin found himself annoyingly charmed by her spunk. “Aww, hell,” he muttered. “Where’s your pa?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno, but my mama’ll fumble ya for ten pielars.”

  “You hear the mouth on that dirty waif?” White Shirt murmured to his brother.

  Gavin scowled. “How old are you?”

  “Seven.”

  Caevyan would’ve been seven now. “And where’d you learn to talk like that?”

  “That’s what Mama tol’ me to say. She’s outside settin’ on the corner if ya want to—”

  “You go tell your mama…” Gavin sighed and took a small silver coin from his purse. “Tell her to buy you somethin’ to eat.” He pressed the kion into the girl’s hand and watched as she bolted from the tavern.

  His life would have been different now had he been a better father, a better husband, had he thought about the consequences of his actions and broken promises. His wife and his little girl would still be alive. And Dasurien. His son’s name would have been Dasurien, had he lived long enough to be born.

  “I’d’ve branded her for certain,” Gray Shirt said. “Teach the guttersnipe a lesson.”

  “Someone should’ve helped her. I was there,” Gavin muttered.

  White Shirt smirked. “Well, ain’t you the noble one?”

  “Let her papa feed her,” Gray Shirt said. “She ain’t your responsibility.”

  Not his responsibility. Gavin snorted. Everyone in the entire country was his responsibility, or would be soon. Only two more runes stood between Gavin and the throne. If the people knew what kind of king they were getting, they wouldn’t be so excited about it. Who the hell was he fooling? He couldn’t keep his own family safe, let alone an entire country. But how was he going to avoid it? The question had started wearing a groove in his mind, and he was no closer to an answer now than nine months ago.

  “Maybe Gavin’s the rune solver,” White Shirt said. The twins laughed identical laughs.

  The barmaid came and set down a pewter tankard, bowl of steaming stew and a fist-sized chunk of bread. “Are you the rune solver, Gavin?” she asked with a grin. He scrunched the scarred side of his face as an admonition for being saucy. “Let me know if there’s somethin’ else you want,” she said, winding a lock of hair around a finger. She set her teeth over her bottom lip and smiled before wagging off to see to her other customers.

  “My brother thinks the rune solver’s a noble,” White Shirt said. “I think he’s a scholar. What do you think?”

  Couldn’t they find something else to talk about? “If it’s not a nobleman, it should be.”

  “Why’d you say that? Someone clever enough to solve the runes is clever enough to be king,” White Shirt said.

  Gavin lifted his tankard for a long draw. Arguing with these two was pointless. It wouldn’t change anything. He was a commoner who could barely read. What business did he have becoming king?

  “Nobles are learned -- and well-spoken,” Gray Shirt said. “What about land holdin’s and rents and such? A king’s got to know all that crap.”

  Gavin belched loudly and said, “And he should have good manners.”

  He tongued the gap where his right eyetooth used to be. Gray Shirt was right. Gavin considered simply not solving any more runes. So what if they taunted him, whispering in his head all day and night? Eventually he would learn to ignore them and be done with it. But he was fooling himself if he thought the problem would simply go away. For most of his life, he’d resisted the allure of the cave, ignored the call to duty that haunted his dreams. The runes had troubled him since he was a boy. No longer could a day go by without the damned things ruling his thoughts.

  Besides, Thendylath needed a king. Highwaymen and monsters made the lands between the cities unsafe for anyone unescorted by a hired sword. Last week, a beyonder entered the realm of men in
plain view -- in the middle of the market.

  And the people. In every city he’d visited, townsfolk gathered and gossiped and wondered about the rune solver. They wanted a king. Soon, news that the third rune had been solved would spread like blush across a virgin’s face. Gavin couldn’t take that away from them.

  But even if he took the throne, he didn’t have a king’s elegance or air of authority. He knew nothing about taxes or land holdings or negotiating with dignitaries. Hell, he’d never even eaten with a fork. The king needed to be someone like... He took in a sharp breath. “Edan!” He snapped his fingers. Yes! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  “Who’s Edan?” Gray Shirt asked. Both men watched him curiously.

  “Uh, just a friend,” he muttered. Just a friend who happened to be the Lordover Lalorian’s son. Edan had the upbringing and the noble bloodline a king needed. Good, kind person, generous nature, dashing and all that. Edan Dawnpiper would make an excellent king for Thendylath. The people would rejoice. Yes, Edan should be the king.

  “’Just a friend’ he says,” White Shirt said with a laugh. “Judgin’ from that smile on your face, I’m thinkin’ she’s more than a friend.”

  “Hey, Gavin. Invite the barmaid and have both at the same time,” Gray Shirt suggested.

  Gavin relaxed in his chair, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. Now he just needed to decide how to approach his friend about claiming the King’s Blood-stone. About becoming Thendylath’s new king.

  He should leave for Lalorian at first light. Edan would be shocked to learn that Gavin was the rune solver, but by the time Gavin figured out the answers to the fourth and fifth runes, Edan would have had time to chew on the idea. Intelligent and practical, he would see the wisdom of it. Gavin imagined them traveling to the Rune Cave together so that Edan could emerge, King’s Blood-stone in hand, and claim his right to rule. And Gavin would serve the new king as his champion.

  Just like Ronor Kinshield served King Arek.

  He shook the thought away. He was nothing like Ronor Kinshield.