Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (14 page)

“Can you read them?”

Kerri’s voice coming out of the darkness didn’t startle me. The part of my mind still standing guard had heard her rise from her place by the fire behind me.

“No,” I replied, not looking up. “Can you?”

She seated herself comfortably on the ground near me. I noted she, too, chose to sit with her back to the small fire so the light would not impair her night vision. She had, perhaps, done this sort of thing before.

“No, I can’t,” she said. “But then, it’s not my sword.”

“That makes a difference?” I bent over the blade, busy with the stone.

“It makes all the difference. No one can read the runes on another’s blade.” She watched me for a while as I ran the stone along the blade, honing it to a keener edge. We sat in silence for several minutes and she watched me care for the sword. Finally, she said, “Is it true, then? That story of how you came by the Blade?”

I made an exasperated noise. It was all the answer the silly question deserved. I pulled an oiled cloth from the pouch on my belt and wiped the sword blade carefully before I thrust it home in the scabbard. Then, still ignoring her, I stood and stretched like a cat. She muttered something under her breath I didn’t catch. I turned to see her looking up at me. There wasn’t enough light to read her expression, but her taut posture spoke louder than words. I heard her take a deep breath, let it out in a gust.

“Kian, I have to know how you come to have that sword,” she said, her voice under tight control. “I
have
to know.”

“I told you how I came by it,” I said. “If you choose to disbelieve me, there’s not much I can do about it, is there now?”

“But it’s a Celae Rune Blade—”

“For the last time, I took it from the man who owned it when he tried to take me back to a slave-owner.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. A Rune Blade won’t fight in a hand it wasn’t made for. It won’t accept the hand of a usurper.”

I smiled wryly. “It accepted the hand of the man I took it from.”

“No,” she said. “It let you kill him. Unarmed as you were, it let you take it from him and kill him with it.”

Exasperation welled up and exploded. “Swords don’t do that,
sheyala
. A sword is just a sword. A length of tempered steel. It’s not alive—”

“It’s not? You felt nothing when Whisperer met your blade?”

I shivered. I couldn’t forget that eerie thrumming singing through my body from the blade in my hands. “It’s not alive—”

“No, not alive,” she said softly. “But tuned like a harp to respond to a certain touch.”

“Tcha.” I turned away in disgust. No sense in arguing with her. She never listened.

“And there’s another thing about a Celae Rune Blade,” she said. “It finds the one it was made for. It may take a long time, but it will find the one who was born to wield it.”

“Like that bounty hunter?” I asked.

“The bounty hunter brought it to you,” she said. “And you can see the runes.” She shook her head. “Can you read, Kian?”

“A little,” I said. “A girl I once knew taught me how to read Falian.”  For the first time in years, I thought of Rossah. Again, I saw her crouching behind the stable, drawing letters in the dust with a twig. I hadn’t thought of her for a long time. A house slave, she had been taught to read and write to assist Mendor’s scribe. The pain of loss had faded over time to a mild ache when I called her to mind. “And my
ti’vata
taught me Tyran.” I grinned. “She said a Clan Laird’s grandson should not be thought of as being completely ignorant, in spite of what opinion a Celae swordswoman might have on the subject.”

She leaped to her feet. “You certainly gave every indication of being stupid and ignorant,” she snapped. “You’ve more than your share of arrogance, even for a Tyran clansman. I could have handled all three of those mercenaries.”

I laughed. “You woke me up with all the racket you were making,” I said. “I couldn’t think of a faster way to quiet things down. Next time, pick a better place to prove how talented you are.”

She ignored the jibe. “You call Cullin
ti’vati
,” she said. “Father?”

I shrugged. “Foster-father. He officially adopted me when I was eighteen.”

She jerked as if I had hit her and stared at me. “Then you’re not Tyran?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “Cullin is my uncle. My father was his elder brother. Both my parents died when I was seven. I’m Tyran.” And I was. Thoroughly Tyran.

“But the sword—”

I shrugged. “Mayhap it’s using me to take it to the proper hand,” I said and laughed. “If what you say about it is true. Now go and get some sleep,
sheyala
. It’s late.”

“What is that word you called me?
Sheyala
?”

“It’s Falian. It means Outlander.” I didn’t tell her, since all Falians considered non-Falians to be coarse, uncouth and completely uncivilized, it also meant barbarian. Mayhap she’d find out for herself. When she did, I’d have to be prepared to defend myself. Until then, it was a mild enough joke. “Go and get some rest.”

***

In the morning, Cullin appeared in no hurry to continue our journey. There were no signs of pursuit behind us, and the road stretched long and empty ahead of us. We broke our fast on the left-overs from our meal of the previous evening.

“Before we continue this,” he said to Kerri, “I wish to know what it is you expect from us for that generous purse you gave me yesterday.”

Kerri looked at him. “To help me find Prince Kyffen’s grandson,” she said.

“A tall order,
sheyala
,” I murmured. “Help you find a man you canna name, you canna describe and might not recognize if you saw. It’s like trying to find a single grain of wheat in a winter granary.”

“I’ll know him,” she said with conviction. She gave me an unreadable glance. “I’m sure of it.”

“How did it happen in the first place?” Cullin asked. “It’s unlike the Prince of Skai to misplace a daughter and a grandson, I would think.”

Kerri’s mouth straightened and tightened at the amusement in Cullin’s voice, but she made no comment on it. “A long story,” she said.

Cullin smiled. “We have five days’ journey to Trevellin,” he said. “Time enough for the longest story.”

She busied herself bundling her bedroll and tying it into a neat roll while she collected her thoughts. When she had it put together to her satisfaction, she made herself comfortable by the dying fire. “I’ll try to start at the beginning,” she said.

“A suitable place,” I said, smiling politely.

She shot me a withering glance. I smiled again.

“Prince Kyffen had two children,” she said, ignoring me now. “A son Llan, and a daughter Ytwydda, two years younger. Llan, of course, was the heir. Kyffen arranged with the Duke of Dorian for a marriage between Ytwydda and the Duke’s son Tebor when Ytwydda became fifteen. Kyffen and Duke Balan were close friends, and they hoped the marriage would secure the relationship between their two provinces.”

Cullin laughed. “Marriages arranged for political reasons sometimes dinna work out for the best,” he said. “I take it this one didna, either.”

“It never took place,” she said. “Ytwydda and Tebor seemed to get on well enough the few times they saw each other before she came of age. Tebor was ten years older than she. It was likely they hadn’t much in common when she was young. I’m told Tebor treated her as a little sister he was fond of.”

“How did she feel?” I asked. I wondered if anyone had ever asked Cullin’s wife Gwynna how she felt about being married off to someone when she had no say in the matter. I knew how a man felt about it. I was suddenly curious to know how a woman might feel. Again, I saw Nennia as I had seen her for the first time a little more than four years ago, the day we were wed, shy and nervous as a fawn, and regretted that we had no real chance to get to know one another before she died in childbirth.

Kerri shrugged. “I don’t know. My father was her second cousin, you know. They were together a lot as children, and great friends. She never said much about Tebor. But she was a quiet child, he says, and always kept her thoughts to herself for the most part. At least, she did about Tebor.”

“What happened when she turned fifteen?” Cullin asked.

“Kyffen and Balan made all the arrangements for the wedding to take place a fortnight after Beltane,” she said. “But on the morning that Tebor’s envoy came to take her to Dorian for the wedding and they discovered she was gone. One of her ladies was also gone.”

“And neither has been seen since?” I asked.

Kerri shook her head. “That’s the odd part. The lady—her name was Moriana—was found some years later, living in Gwachir on the south coast. In Mercia. She was married to a merchant there, and had been, apparently, for three years when they found her. She told Kyffen Ytwydda had run off with a young man she met at the Beltane Fire three days before they disappeared together. She said she had stayed with them until they got to Gwachir, then they got on a ship, and she met the merchant.”

“Who was this mysterious young man?” Cullin asked.

“Nobody knew. Moriana couldn’t even describe him. She said he had worn a cloak and hood all the time they were travelling. She never once saw his face clearly.”

“Very astute of him,” Cullin commented. He frowned thoughtfully. “It occurs to me that the present Prince of Dorian is not old enough to have a son of age to be the jilted bridegroom. Nor is his name Tebor.”

“Tebor was killed,” Kerri said shortly. “His younger brother Blais is Duke in Dorian now. Tebor wanted more than just Dorian. He made a pact with the Saesnesi to sell Ytwydda to them as a hostage if they would help him overthrow his father, and provide him with warriors so he could take over Mercia and Skai, too.”

Cullin raised his eyebrows. “How did this come to light?”

“Prince Kyffen received a letter outlining the plot,” she said. “It wasn’t signed, but it contained too many correct details to be dismissed as the work of someone merely trying to discredit Tebor. Kyffen passed it onto Balan, and Balan investigated very quietly. It didn’t take much to discover one of Tebor’s conspirators and make him talk. Tebor tried to rise against his father, but without the Saesnesi, he failed. He was killed in the fighting.”

“And nobody found out who wrote the letter?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Might it have been the same mysterious stranger who made off with the Prince’s daughter?” I asked.

“It might explain why the lady Ytwydda took herself out of Tebor’s way,” Cullin said thoughtfully. “The lady sounds no fool.”

She glanced at Cullin, then at me. “That was considered,” she said. “It might have been, but nobody knows for sure.”

“If Llan was Kyffen’s heir, why is the son of this princess so important?” I asked.

“Llan is dead,” Kerri said, her expression bleak and an infinite sadness in her eyes. “He was killed nine years ago fighting the Saesnesi who were raiding again. He left no children. Ytwydda’s son is now the only blood heir to the throne of Skai.” She looked down at her hands. “Llan was like an uncle to me, you understand. I loved him almost as much as I love my father. There was a special bond between us.”

Cullin frowned. “And this grandson you seek,” he said. “How does Kyffen know Ytwydda had a son?”

“You know about Tyadda Seers?” she asked.

Cullin nodded.

“Kyffen’s seer is Liam ap Wendal,” she said. “Shortly after Llan died, he saw Ytwydda in the glass. He said she was playing with a small boy, and the boy was her son by the man she had run off with. He—he said he saw her all dressed in black. That meant she was dead. But the boy lived. He told my father the boy would be around eighteen or nineteen, grown to a man. That was why we came to the Continent back then. We had come looking for him.”

“Why did you come alone this time?” I asked.

“My father is ill,” she said. “We thought if I could find Cullin, he might be able to help. He had helped us before, when we were taken by those Maeduni mercenaries, and my father liked him.” She turned a steady gaze to Cullin. “He sent me to you because you have a reputation for honesty, and you know the whole of the Continent well. If you were willing, you might even be able to say where the best place to begin looking might be.”

“Is the search for this grandson so urgent now?” Cullin asked.

She nodded. “Kyffen is well over sixty, closer to seventy, now,” she said. “He’s still fairly strong and active, but he knows he’s aging. The only heir is a nephew, and Kyffen says he’d not make a good prince. Aldan is a bard, and a very good one. He’s a good man, but he’s not a soldier, nor is he a leader of men, and he knows that. Kyffen’s pinned all his hopes on finding his grandson. My father and I promised him we’d try to find him. Or I’d try.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “You set a difficult task,” I said. “There’s precious little to base a search on there.”

“Perhaps more than you might think,” she said quietly. “Ytwydda was strong in Tyadda magic. Liam believes her son is, too. A man with strong magic couldn’t be that difficult to find.”