Well of the Damned (24 page)

The
Lucky Inn sat at a crossroads in a village Gavin never learned the
name of, with the road to Ambryce leading south, Lalorian north and
Tern east. Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed an
evening drinking ale and relaxing with his friends, but with a
dangerous fugitive on the road, his only thought was to take a meal
and keep riding. They had another couple hours of travel ahead, but
his growling stomach insisted they stop.

“We’ll
stop to eat,” he said, “and ride on for a couple more
hours.”

“Agreed,”
Daia said. “Cirang’s probably expecting us to stop riding
for the night. It’ll let us close the distance.”

After
passing through the gates, they were met by an enthusiastic pair of
stable hands with little enough to do. When the boys took the names
of their newest arrivals to ensure the right horses were returned to
them later, their eyes went round.

“Gavin
Kinshield the k-king?” the older one asked.

“The
same. See that Golam gets a handful o’alfalfa and no more, will
you? He’ll want more, but too much will make him sick.”

“Yes,
my lord— um, I mean, Your Majesty. O’course. He’ll
receive the best o’care, Your Majesty. Right away, Your
Majesty.”

The
other, meanwhile, had fled towards the inn, yelling, “Papa!
Papa! Come quick!” The innkeeper, almost as tall as Gavin but
slimmer than Brawna, came out, being dragged by the hand by the
younger boy. “It’s King Gavin. See? I told you!”

Gavin
knew him by sight, having stayed at the inn countless times, but had
never learned the man’s name. In fact, he might owe for unpaid
visits. He held out a hand, which the innkeeper shook heartily.

“Welcome
back, Your Majesty,” he said. “It’s always a
pleasure to have you stay with us.”

That
was doubtful. Gavin had gotten stumbling drunk here on more than on
occasion. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me. I
might owe you a few coins.”

“Think
nothing of it, my liege,” the innkeeper said, bowing. “I’ll
have our best room prepared for you, though had I known you were
comin’—”

“We’re
not staying the night, just stopping for a meal.”

“Oh!
It’s quite dark for ridin’.”

“We’ll
manage.”

The
innkeeper gestured towards the dining and betting hall, unusually
quiet that evening. “In that case, let’s waste no more
time seeing you and your companions fed. It would be my great
pleasure to provide your meals and drinks free of charge. Won’t
you follow me?” At Gavin’s nod, he led the way through
the double doors of the dining hall.

Gavin
was surprised by the sight before him as he entered. The pit was
empty. The usual crowd of eager gamblers, standing before the table
waving their coins in the air, was gone. On the deck circling the
pit, dozens of empty tables stood like gravestones. Fewer than a
dozen people sat in the usually loud and raucous hall. There was a
family of five, whose children played with wooden figurines on the
table while they ate, three nuns from the Temple of Asti-nayas, whose
white, hooded robes obscured their hair and breasts from immodest
glances, and three battlers who were just as boisterous as battlers
normally were when gathered together to share tales.

The
innkeeper asked them to sit wherever they would like, and then
scurried into the kitchen, barking orders.

The
room went quiet. Gavin nodded to the nuns, who stared at him with
mouths agape. “Domi,” he said, using their titles out of
respect. He also smiled and nodded at the family and wished them a
good evening.

A
chair scraped loudly on the floor as a tall, scraggly-bearded warrant
knight stood. “Well, well.” Calinor’s beard was a
little grayer, the lines framing his eyes a little deeper, but his
smile was wider than Gavin had ever seen it as he approached.

Gavin
offered his hand, but Calinor pulled him into a tight, brotherly
embrace instead.

“Gavin, damn it’s good
to see you’re still alive,” Calinor said as he pulled
back, laughter shining in his eyes, along with something else.
Something akin to pride. “Someone’s angry husband ha’nt
caught up to you yet?”

“No,
but if he comes here looking for me,“ Gavin started with a
grin.

“I
ha’nt seen you,” Calinor finished. It was an old joke
they repeated on every meeting. “Would you look at you, all
cleaned up and shiny, and with a new sword, too.”

“Yeh,
though sometimes I think it’s more than just a sword.”
Gavin pulled it from its scabbard to show to his friend.

The
blacksmith had used a unique pattern welding technique that gave the
blade the appearance of scales. Two intertwined snakes formed the
hilt, with the head of one snake as the pommel, and the head of the
other at the junction of guard and blade. Four of the five gems he’d
received from deciphering the King’s Runes made the snakes’
eyes. It was more than a weapon; it was a work of art.

Calinor
whistled his admiration. “Never seen anything like that. You
get it dirty yet?”

“Plenty.
You’re looking good, Calinor. How’ve you been?”

“Spent
the summer in Calsojourn helpin’ my nephew train for the
joustin’ tournament, but it’s time to get back to work.
How the hell are you, my friend?”

“The
work is tough, but I ain’t hungry anymore.” Gavin laughed
and patted his belly and then realized he’d lapsed into his old
speech habits. Daia rolled her eyes at him, but she said nothing.

“I’m
glad to know you’ve taken a wife. I hear she makes a good
queen.”

“The
best,” Gavin replied with a smile. “Come to Tern and I’ll
introduce you.” He introduced his companions to his friend.
Calinor was the first warrant knight Gavin had ever befriended, as
honorable and loyal as they came. They’d traveled, fought and
shared many a meal together as warrant knights. It was a lifestyle
that suited Gavin and one he often pined for of late.

The
others at Calinor’s table had approached as well, and Gavin
greeted them with a handshake. “Kesse, good to see you.”
Mikesse had started balding young, while at the same time sprouting
hair everywhere else, and a lot of it. When he was shirtless, Mikesse
looked like a blond bear. He was a good man and a fine battler, but
he was known best for botching every joke he tried to tell.

“And
you. Let me buy you a drink,” Mikesse said with a grip so tight
it was nearly painful. He’d originally been warranted years ago
by the corrupt Lordover Ambryce, but when the old lordover died and
his son inherited the title, all the former lordover’s existing
warrants were rescinded. Mikesse was distraught, having served his
warrant lord with integrity for years. Gavin brought him before the
Lordover Lalorian to speak on his behalf. Mikesse received a new
warrant, and had been buying Gavin ales ever since.

Finally,
Gavin offered his hand to Fyncent, a short buck with unruly, black
hair and an eye for tough women.

“Good
to see you again, Gavin. Guess I should call you King Gavin now.”
Though Fyncent spoke to Gavin, his eyes darted to Daia.

“I’m
in the company of friends. Call me what you always have.”

“It’s
a good thing, Barto ain’t here,” Mikesse said. “Your
champion would cut him down for callin’ you what he always
has.”

The
men laughed, looking appreciatively at Daia.

“Who’s
Barto?” she asked.

Fyncent
snorted. “Prob’ly the ugliest, most ill-tempered and
foul-mouthed buck who ever lived. I can’t say what he calls
Gavin without blushin’.” He winked at her.

“Mind
if we join you?” Gavin asked, gesturing to the table where
they’d been sitting.

Calinor
grabbed two chairs from a nearby table. “We’d be insulted
if you didn’t.”

Before
Gavin could take his seat, Daia held him back with a grip on his arm.
“Do you trust these bucks?” she asked quietly.

“I
do. I’ve known them for years.”

“And
their hazes don’t tell you something’s amiss?”

He studied her for a moment,
wondering whether she had a reason to be uneasy. He unfocused his
eyes and scanned them, but nothing in their hazes gave him pause.
“No. Is something wrong?”

“No.
Just being cautious with my king’s well-being.” She took
a seat beside Gavin, and Fyncent sat so close beside Daia, his thigh
brushed hers. She shot him a scowl and scooted her chair a couple
inches farther from him.

As
Gavin settled into his chair, he noticed the nuns and the family
staring at him, whispering amongst themselves. He thought about
inviting them to join him, but for one evening, he just wanted to
relax with friends and be himself instead of having to act like a
king.

“Listen,”
Daia said, “we’re pursuing an escaped criminal — a
former Sister. We could use your swords, if you’re willing.”

Calinor
nodded definitively. “My sword’s yours, Gavin.”

“A
Viragon Sister,” Fyncent said, rubbing his chin with a
lascivious grin. “Sounds like good sport, but I’ve
committed to accompanying those nuns over there to Delam.”

“She
nearly killed Vandra and would’ve killed the rest of us,”
Daia said. “This is a skilled and dangerous battler, not
sport.”

“I’d
go too,” Mikesse said, “but I’m seeing that family
to Sohan. Don’t expect to run into any beyonders, though,
thanks to you. Now that you’re the king, shouldn’t you be
sittin’ on your arse, drinkin’ wine and admirin’
the gold rings on all your fingers?”

Gavin
burst out laughing so suddenly, he spurted a mouthful of ale across
the table.

Daia
jerked away, her face a mask of disgust. “Ugh, Gavin. Please!”

“Sorry,”
he said through his laughter, “but can you imagine it?”

Fyncent
used his hand to wipe off the table in front of Daia, then wiped his
hand on his trousers. “Kesse’s got a point. How’s
it the four o’you are huntin’ a fugitive? Shouldn’t
you be in Tern while your...” He eyed Daia lustily.
“...battlers track her down?”

Out
of the corner of his eye, Gavin could see her stiffen, but she said
nothing. On another day, he’d have encouraged Fyncent to
misbehave just for the amusement of seeing her teach him a lesson.

“She
was taking me to get something she had hidden and attacked Vandra
during the night. She hasn’t a shred o’decency in her. If
she dies afore we get her back to gaol, it’d save me having to
hang her.”

“We
leave at first light, then?” Calinor asked.

“No,”
Gavin said. “We just stopped for the meal. We’ll ride
another couple hours afore we camp for the night. Appreciate the
help.”

“Then
we need to drink fast,” Mikesse said. “A toast to our new
king.”

While
they waited for their food, they plied him with ale and begged for
stories about his ascendancy and the battle against the demon Ritol
in its own realm. He exaggerated a little, as all battlers did, but
he gave due credit to Daia and Feanna for keeping him alive.

“How’d
you two meet, anyway?” Fyncent asked, wagging his finger
between Gavin and Daia. “There’s a lot o’red
battlers walkin’ around, thinkin’ you should’ve
chosen a man as your champion.”

Daia
and Gavin looked at each other. He’d thought about the backlash
he might get for appointing a woman, but no one had said anything
directly to him about it. “Anyone who has a problem with it
should talk to me,” he said.

“Or
me,” Vandra said.

Brawna
nodded her agreement.

Daia
crossed her arms and leaned confidently back in her chair. “I’ll
duel anyone who thinks I’m not the right horse for the race,
starting with any of you.”

“Oh,
I never said that,” Fyncent said, holding up his palms. “Just
heard it from bucks who wouldn’t’ve got the job anyway.”
He chuckled. “But I’ll arm wrestle you for a quick tumble
afore you ride.”

“That
will never happen.”

“You
then?” Fyncent asked Brawna.

The younger girl blushed. She was
all of seventeen years old and possibly had never been tumbled.

“Don’t
mind him,” Gavin told her. “He favors strong, tough
women, but he’s harmless.”

“He
could show a little more respect,” Vandra said. “If he
makes the mistake of putting his hands where they don’t belong,
he’ll find himself without one.”

Fyncent
elbowed Mikesse. “See what I mean? Don’t that kind o’talk
get you hot?”

Mikesse
crooked an eyebrow at him and shook his head.

Calinor
set his tankard down and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me
more about this former Sister you’re huntin’. What was
her crime?”

Two
barmaids arrived with plates of meat, fruit and vegetables and set
them onto the table. Gavin grabbed a leg of chicken before he even
had a plate in front of him, and set his teeth into it.

“Murder,
to start with,” he said. “She also helped Ravenkind
escape justice and kidnapped my family.”

“And
that’s just half of it,” Daia said. She took a piece of
chicken and started to eat ravenously, forgetting her dainty manners.
Gavin smiled, proud of her.

Fyncent
asked, “There’s more?”

Gavin
nodded. “You won’t believe it, but she’s actually
two people after a fashion.” He and Daia took turns telling the
story of Sithral Tyr and the broken soulcele token.

“Sithral
Tyr?” Calinor asked, throwing a chicken bone onto his wooden
plate in disgust. “I’ve been lookin’ for that
whoreson for six years. You’re tellin’ me he’s
dead?”

“He
was dead,” Daia said. “I killed him, but his spirit was
released from the soulcele token and now lives in Cirang’s
body.”

“That’s
the strangest thing I ever heard,” Mikesse said, crossing his
arms.

Calinor
nodded. “I’m ready to leave when you are. If that’s
Sithral Tyr, I want to see him die. Gavin, if you’d give me the
pleasure o’runnin’ my blade through that bastard’s
black heart, I’d be grateful.”