Ovir watched the young woman sitting across from him, and the distress she radiated was palpable, almost a third presence in the room.
“I don’t have the answer you seek. I wish I did. All I can say is that I have faith events will unfold as they should. You’re free of the world Kalinor and his ilk have created, and I personally feel you should learn to enjoy life again. Who knows what you may find if you do?”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how to enjoy life again.” Kiri took a deep breath and shook herself. “Thank you, Ovir. I appreciate your time today and hope I have not imposed on you too much.”
“Not at all, child. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Chapter 13
Kiri didn’t say a word as she left the temple at Gavin’s side. Gavin wanted to ask if she’d found the answers she sought, but Kiri seemed so focused on her thoughts that he didn’t feel he should intrude.
In truth, Gavin struggled with his own thoughts. The library at the Temple felt small, but it was well-stocked. In a book that seemed to lay forgotten on a back shelf, Gavin found one piece of information he wanted: the meaning of the glyph at the center of his medallion.
House Kirloth. Now, Gavin understood all the weird looks from the people in town and the nervous fear he provoked in the Temple’s greeter. The book Gavin read insisted House Kirloth died out eighty-two years after the Godswar. And yet, Marcus had said the medallion Gavin now wore had been intended for his daughter. What did that mean? Was the historian wrong? Was Marcus lying to him? If Gavin truly was House Kirloth, what relation was Marcus?
“Gavin…”
The tone of Kiri’s voice pulled him from his thoughts more than his name. He looked to her and saw she stared ahead of them, her olive skin pale. Gavin looked ahead and saw five people, two men and three women, blocking their way. They wore a mish-mash of leather armor that looked old and ill-used, and each bore a number of sheathed blades.
Soft footfalls behind drew Gavin’s attention, and he saw four more people similar in garb move to block the way they’d come.
“We have no interest in you, girl,” the man standing at the center of the line in front said. “Our interest is with him alone. Be on your way.”
“What is he to you?” Kiri said, and Gavin blinked at the steel in her voice.
“That’s none of your concern, slave,” a woman to the first speaker’s left said.
Gavin sighed, saying, “Somehow, I don’t think you’re inviting me over for tea and biscuits.”
The man who’d spoken first smirked. “If you don’t fight us, we’ll make it quick.”
“Let’s make it quick anyway,” Gavin said, giving the man his own smirk.
Gavin focused on the five in front and the four behind as he drew on the roiling, seething power deep inside him. Every part of his body started to tingle, and Gavin pushed all of that into the Word he’d used against the slavers, “Thraxys.”
The invocation slammed into Gavin and swept the breath from his lungs, driving him to his knees. His body felt like it was melting, but he did not lose consciousness. He watched the five in front collapse like puppets whose strings were cut.
“Gavin, run!” Kiri said, her voice almost a shout, but Gavin couldn’t.
Invoking the Word of Power, even though it didn’t knock him unconscious like the first time, drained Gavin. His awareness felt spongy, and his limbs moved as if mired in molasses.
Kiri grabbed Gavin’s arm and helped him stand, but Gavin’s vision spun, and he collapsed back to his knees.
A man stepped into sight from an alleyway behind them and drew a blade unlike any Gavin had ever seen before. It was black. Not glossy black like obsidian or enameled metal, but a flat, matte black that seemed to draw in all light and color near it.
Kiri put herself between Gavin and the man, but it was a futile gesture. The man knocked her aside with a backhand blow, sending her to the ground.
The man grabbed Gavin by his hair and drew back his head, exposing Gavin’s throat as he lifted his black blade.
“And so do I protect my master,” the man whispered.
Something whistled by Gavin’s head and struck the man with a wet thud. Two more objects whistled by Gavin to strike home in less than a heartbeat, and the grip on Gavin’s hair weakened.
Gavin looked up, still a bit dazed himself, and saw three arrows sticking out of the man’s chest. He looked down the street and saw a hooded woman with a bow and thigh quiver. Curly, blond hair escaped the hood, and she winked at Gavin before disappearing into the chaos of the street behind her.
Movement to his right attracted Gavin’s attention as bodies landed on the street around him, jumping down from nearby rooftops. Hot pain erupted in Gavin’s arm as he watched the strange blade rake the length of his right forearm in a wavy line, and just as quick as it erupted, the pain ended. The world around him faded to nothing.
Chapter 14
It was not the first time Iosen of House Sivas stood at the gates of the royal palace in Tel Mivar. In fact, he and the king were old friends. The guards didn’t even stop him for a pass as Iosen approached the main doors of the palace and hastened to open the doors for him. Iosen would normally have at least nodded his thanks, but it was most unlike Leuwyn to summon him so soon after one of their visits.
Iosen threaded his way through the palace until he found himself standing before the doors to the royal apartments. The guards standing at these doors recognized him as well, but unlike the men at the palace doors, these soldiers nodded their acknowledgement of Iosen and gestured for him to stop. The guard on Iosen’s right rapped on the door with his knuckles before disappearing inside to announce Iosen’s arrival. The guard soon opened the door wide and bade Iosen to enter, closing the door behind him as he left.
The royal apartments were decorated with only the most exquisite finery; tapestries, rugs, furniture…even the tea service would bring more than most families made in a year if it were sold. Iosen soon found his friend. The man was in his study, of all places. Calling Leuwyn, King of Tel, a scholar was about as honest as calling a career sailor a landsman.
Leuwyn’s sandy hair topped a frame that would’ve been an average build, did it not look so emaciated. Iosen knew the palace staff kept him well-fed, or at least tried to do so, but in all the years Iosen had known him, Leuwyn always looked half-starved.
Leuwyn turned and gave Iosen a weak smile. “Ah, there you are, old friend. There is someone here who would meet you.”
Iosen started to call out to his friend as he entered the study, but something held him back. He glanced off to his right and froze. A figure draped in a black, hooded robe stood by the window, seeming to gaze out over the city. The figure was so tall and broad-shouldered, the frame had to belong to a man; he held his hands behind him, his right hand gripping his left wrist, and Iosen saw no runes on the sleeves. The color drained from Iosen’s face as the hair on the back of his neck stood on edge.