The Silent Shield (The Kingfountain Series Book 5) Read online

  There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, not that he could be blamed for it. Trynne, too, had heard about Gahalatine’s unique gift from the Fountain. It gave him such power of leadership that he had gathered to him a mighty host of kings who “wanted” to serve him.

  “You said you had three daughters,” Trynne said. “What of the other two?”

  King Sunilik beamed proudly. “My eldest is already married and they have a child, my granddaughter. My second is far from the oasis, studying to be a healer. I will need someone to care for me when I reach old age, so I thought it wise to invest in her learning.” He gave her a grin and a wink, but then his manner turned more serious. “It is my youngest, Sureya, who concerns me. The Fountain has whispered to me that I must send her away. I expected it would take a month for me to hear back from the queen. I wasn’t sure Chandleer would even exist as it does by then. It calms my troubled soul to see you here so soon. Will you bring Sureya to safety? I have taught her about my gifts from the Fountain and how they are replenished. She may have the aptitude for it. She is only sixteen.”

  “So am I,” Trynne whispered. King Sunilik’s concern for his daughter reminded her of her own father—despite the many demands on his time, he had always made time for her—and her heart ached. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year.

  “Then I feel better already, for you both will understand each other,” he said with his gap-toothed smile.

  “How did you know who I was?” Trynne asked him. “Did the Fountain tell you?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I have long wished to meet the legendary Owen Kiskaddon, so I learned all that I could about him. One of the things that I learned was that his eldest child, his daughter”—he said the word almost reverently—“had been attacked violently as a child. It was your expression that gave you away, dear one. The side of your face that is paralyzed.” He gestured with his own hand across his left cheek. “If I hadn’t heard the stories, I would hardly have noticed it. But my gift from the Fountain is a keen memory.” He then tapped the side of his forehead playfully. “It has even been called prodigious. I knew that fact about you, saw a small evidence of it when you smiled in wonder, and the memory surfaced. If I have offended, I apologize sincerely.”

  Trynne let herself smile despite knowing it was lopsided. Though it had mortified her as a child, she had made an uneasy peace with it. Many suitors were seeking her hand in marriage, and while some were rude and stared at her, most considered her unusual smile an insignificant matter compared with the vast size of her inheritance.

  “I’m not offended, King Sunilik,” Trynne said. “And I will gladly take Sureya with me. How long ago did you receive the threat from Gahalatine?”

  “Long enough that I’ve been dreading it more each day,” he replied, turning back to the view of the mountains. “My soldiers are hidden in the desert and have been watching for signs of his advance. We will have ample warning before they arrive. That mountain behind us provides great protection.”

  Trynne looked back at the rugged, sloping shape. The sky had grown purple overhead, and the stars were winking into view one by one. Only a strip of orange painted by the sun’s fire lit the eastern horizon. When she squinted at the mountain in the dusk, she had the queer sensation that she was being watched. Then she saw it.

  There was someone standing on the tallest peak.

  A feeling of dread blossomed in her stomach.

  “You’ve grown more pale, if that were possible,” the king said in a half-joking manner.

  “That mountain isn’t protecting you,” she said. There was no direct sunlight to glint off the leaf-shaped armor. More and more spots appeared on the mountain, rising like ants coming out of a hill. She gripped his arm in concern. “They’ll attack you tonight. Can you see them? Gahalatine is already here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lord of the Distant Isles

  The tranquility of the oasis was shattered in moments.

  Trynne was humbled by how quickly her warning had been heeded. King Sunilik had summoned his captains instantly, ordering them to bring Chandleer’s defenders rushing to the palace. Although she saw fear in Sunilik’s eyes, he did not panic; rather, he began to rearrange the defenses with a steady, confident voice.

  “And Samrao,” the king said to his servant after sending his captains off with their orders, “bring Sureya to me. These two must escape before Gahalatine arrives.”

  “It will be done,” Samrao said with a hasty bow. The palace staff moved like a hive of disturbed ants, running to and fro in confusion. Sunilik paced on the veranda, gazing at the darkening mountain as it disappeared into blackness.

  “I have little hope in this affair,” the king confided to Trynne. “No other ruler has withstood the Lord of the Distant Isles, save one.” He gave her a knowing look. “Your king.”

  Trynne shook her head. “We did not withstand him well,” she answered. “The greater part of our army was wounded or slain. If you could have seen the field—” She stopped herself abruptly, not wanting to say more.

  He looked at her from beneath lowered brows. “You speak as if you were there, my lady.”

  It had been an unintentional slip. Only her queen knew that she was the Painted Knight, the soldier who had joined Kingfountain’s army in the Battle of Guilme to help protect the king. She did not wish to lie to King Sunilik, but she did not feel ready to impart the full truth either.

  His eyes narrowed more and then he nodded. “Say no more, my lady. I will not pry secrets from you.”

  A tall man wearing a bronze breastplate and gripping a curved broadsword strode up to King Sunilik. The man, who was not quite middle-aged, towered over the king. “Master, I’ve left but a small force guarding the fountain before the palace. You wish for the rear gardens to be defended?”

  “Indeed,” Sunilik said. “See that your men are positioned along the upper and lower gardens.” Then he turned to Trynne. “What would you advise?”

  Once again, his deference startled her. “When we were attacked by Gahalatine, we were startled to discover that his warriors could . . . fly. Perhaps that’s not the right word, but they could leap like insects and nearly hover in the air. Walls are not a protection.”

  Sunilik’s eyes widened. “The Bhikhu. Then we have even less time than I feared.”

  “The what?” Trynne asked.

  Sunilik clenched his fists and started to pace. “I had heard rumors of his alliance with the Bhikhu. They have the power you speak of. When he was driven from Imperial City as a young man, they say he sought refuge among the Bhikhu. That he became the ruler of their distant isle. You must away, Lady Tryneowy. You cannot be found here. Where is Samrao?”

  Trynne felt her anxiety increase. She had never heard of the Bhikhu before, but she’d seen Gahalatine’s men soar through the air. As she gazed back at the lights shining in the waters of the fountains, she noticed more of those strange tall trees again.

  “My lord?” she asked, her eyes following one of the long trunks up into the sky. “Can your soldiers climb those trees?”

  He turned and looked at her, then shot his captain a look. “Captain Ashok?”

  The tall commander frowned. “Everyone can. We’ve all climbed the palm trees since we were children.”

  Sunilik smiled broadly. “Indeed. You are suggesting we hide soldiers amidst the fronds—”

  “With bows or something else so they can strike from a distance,” Trynne finished for him.

  “Captain Ashok, see it done,” Sunilik said.

  Moments later, Samrao appeared in the doorway with a young woman dressed in the wrapped skirts and gauzy veils Trynne had seen the females in the palace wearing. This girl was dark skinned and dark haired, and elegant tattoos twined around her hands and forearms.

  “Piya!” the girl cried out, rushing up to Sunilik and embracing him.

  He clutched his daughter tightly, his brow furrowing into wrinkles of worry. “Sureya, this is Tryn
eowy Kiskaddon. You must go with her. Gahalatine is coming this very night.”

  “But how can I leave you, Piya?” the girl said with raw emotion. “I will stand with you. What happens to you will happen to me!”

  Sunilik looked to be in great pain. He cupped his daughter’s cheek, half-hidden by the veil. “I will bear what happens to Chandleer much better if I know you are safe. We must hurry, my daughter.”

  The girl was distraught, but Trynne could tell she was mustering her courage. She pulled away from her father, stood silently for a moment, and then nodded. “I will obey you, Piya. Though I would rather stay.”

  “You must go, child,” Sunilik said. “Samrao, let us go to the fountain. Captain Ashok—see to the defenses.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  They walked briskly through the doors into the palace. Servants were hurrying from room to room, and soldiers wearing turbans and carrying shields on their backs jogged through the visitors’ hall in columns from the front of the palace. The squawks of strange, colorful birds added to the confusion. Trynne was anxious to be gone.

  “Have your king’s spies had any success in locating your father?” Sunilik asked her as they marched through the palace.

  “None at all,” Trynne answered worriedly. It brought back a memory she would as soon forget. It was she who had found her father’s severed hand in the grove in the woods outside of Ploemeur.

  It had still been wearing the invisible ring that had marked him as the protector of Brythonica, Trynne’s mother’s duchy. That ring now graced the hand of Captain Staeli, whom her father had chosen as the new protector before his disappearance. The captain was also the man Trynne had put in charge of training the Oath Maidens in Averanche.

  Despite the murmurs about his strange disappearance, the world believed Owen Kiskaddon had been abducted at the Battle of Guilme. Only Trynne and a few others knew the truth, that someone had summoned him to the grove by magic and then violently attacked him. The Fountain-blessed hunter they had brought to the grove to track him had found no trail.

  “It is a shame, truly. Thank you for coming to see my daughter to safety. I owe Kingfountain a debt I cannot easily repay.” He added in a melancholy tone, “I will miss this oasis,” gazing back at the great hall of the palace. “It has been in my family for several generations. But what the Fountain gives us, it can then take away.”

  Samrao, who had preceded them out the door, came rushing back to them, his eyes wide with panic, his chin quivering with fear. “Master!” he choked out. “He’s here!”

  They all stopped in their tracks. Samrao pointed, his arm trembling violently, to the front door. “He’s at the fountain!”

  “Who? Gahalatine?” the king demanded.

  Samrao nodded in abject terror.

  Trynne felt Fountain magic surge through her. Someone had uttered “ekluo,” the word of power that disarmed other magics. Distance limited the word’s power, but she felt she was near the epicenter of its scope. The glowing stones in the palace dimmed, and shrieks of terror began to fill the air.

  Trynne watched as the main doors of the palace were wrenched open. Her heart was beating violently in her chest, but the magic of the word of power had bypassed her. One of her own gifts from the Fountain, one that her father shared, made it impossible for other magics to affect her or those who stood near her.

  “I need a veil,” Trynne whispered to Sunilik. Large beads of sweat had popped up on his furrowed brow. He made a quick gesture to Sureya, who removed her own veil and hastily covered Trynne with it. Though Trynne could sense the invisible ley line just beyond the door, running east to west, she was not close enough to invoke its power to take them away. It was too late to get any closer.

  Gahalatine entered the palace.

  Sureya cowered behind Trynne as the Overking of Chandigarl strode into the hall. Trynne hadn’t expected to encounter him on this visit, and it made her knees tremble with fear. She recognized his size and bearing, having witnessed his meeting with King Drew after the disastrous Battle of Guilme. He was not wearing battle armor this time, but a fancy knee-length tunic that was more suitable for Chandleer than her own garb. The collar was open, revealing the three leather straps around his neck. Just as she remembered, one was strung with a claw or fang, another with a circular metal device, and the last with a ring. Gahalatine was nicked with scars from a multitude of battles, and his dark hair looked almost like quills. His beard was trimmed close. He was remarkably handsome.

  There was a huge, cavernous supply of Fountain magic inside him that radiated from him with intensity. He was flanked by a Wizr, not Rucrius—the Wizr who had visited King Drew’s council in Kingfountain and almost drowned the city by diverting the river—but another man with a sallow face and a pointed beard and darkened pockmarks across his cheekbones.

  The Wizr pointed his staff at Sunilik and murmured something to Gahalatine.

  Nodding in acknowledgment, Gahalatine marched up to Sunilik boldly. There were no guards with him, but he didn’t look the least bit concerned about his safety.

  “Lord Sunilik,” Gahalatine said in a wary tone. He offered a polite bow of his head. When Trynne had last heard him speak, his voice had boomed like thunder. He was much taller than the ruler he faced and only half his age, but he had the presence and bearing of a man accustomed to being respected and obeyed. Trynne felt Gahalatine’s magic begin to creep into the room, spilling out of him like slow syrup. She was standing near enough that she felt it too, but it split around her like a wave around a rock, not able to come near.

  “Welcome to Chandleer Oasis,” Sunilik said in a husky but controlled tone. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Would you care for a drink? I have a keg of Atabyrion uskebeaghe I bought from a Genevese merchant for special occasions.”

  A smile twisted the corners of Gahalatine’s mouth. “You choose an interesting language to speak, Lord Sunilik. I had expected to address you in Hunjab.”

  “We can if you prefer, of course,” Sunilik said offhandedly. “I speak it equally well. Have you come to enjoy the bathing pools, then?”

  Trynne was impressed by the king’s coolheaded response, which earned him another smile from Gahalatine. “I came seeking a glimpse of your daughter, Sureya. I hear she is quite beautiful. I also understand that you are Fountain-blessed. Did any of your three daughters inherit the gift?”

  As he asked the question, Trynne sensed the subtle press of his will. He was testing Sunilik’s power, measuring him, prodding him. Trynne noticed that Sunilik’s fingers, still clasped behind his back, were digging into his own skin as if to repel the intrusive act.

  “Alas, none of my three daughters have demonstrated aptitude as yet. My wife, Anupa, is not Fountain-blessed, and as you know, it does not always pass to the children.”

  “Where is Sureya?” Gahalatine asked, forcing another flex of his will on Sunilik. But because Trynne was standing nearby, it could not affect him.

  “Well, to come to that point directly,” Sunilik said, rocking on his heels a bit. “Since receiving your esteemed emissary”—he nodded to the Wizr standing at Gahalatine’s shoulder—“I made arrangements to send my daughter to the court of Kingfountain.”

  Trynne was impressed by his bluff. He hadn’t lied—he’d simply chosen not to reveal that his daughter was still standing there in the room.

  A strange look crossed Gahalatine’s face. There was anger there, certainly, but it was mixed with admiration. “You sent her to Kingfountain?” he repeated. He let out his breath in a chuff. “The one place I cannot follow her,” he added in a low voice. He looked shrewdly at Sunilik. “Is Sureya Fountain-blessed?” he asked in a commanding voice. The power behind the words sent a pulse through Trynne’s mind and she almost wanted to confess that she, herself, was Fountain-blessed. But the magic could not make her, nor could it affect Sunilik in her presence.

  “As I said,” Sunilik responded simply, inclining his head, “she has not, as yet, shown the a
ptitude. We are a small kingdom, my lord, well beneath the dignity of your esteemed presence.”

  Gahalatine’s expression grew impatient. “I had hoped she would be,” he said matter-of-factly. “I cannot always trust my advisors”—he gave a scolding look to his Wizr—“to be completely candid with me, and I often verify their reports with my own eyes. Well, if Sureya is visiting Kingfountain, I will have the honor of meeting her soon enough. I will give her your fatherly regards. She may not be what I came here to find, but you, sir, have more than impressed me. You’ve run your kingdom in a capable and compassionate manner. You have a reputation for integrity and honor. But I have greater use for your abilities in Chandigarl. I will leave a capable man to rule the oasis in your place. But your wife will be brought to you, and you will live together in luxury you cannot imagine.” He flashed Sunilik a cunning smile before turning to his Wizr. “Take him to the Forbidden Court.”

  “As you command, my lord,” the Wizr said. He withdrew a cylindrical object, something like a capped scroll case, from his belt and then reached out and touched Sunilik’s arm. The two of them instantly vanished, as if blotted out of existence. They were not standing on the ley line at all.

  There were gasps from the assembled witnesses. Worried voices began to titter in the semidarkened hall as Gahalatine stood there, brooding, gazing at the spot where the two men had stood. She felt his magic begin to seep out of him again as he turned and faced the large hall. She almost didn’t dare to breathe, wondering how she had escaped his notice thus far. Slowly, she reached back and squeezed Sureya’s hand.

  “Please, do not fear for your lives,” Gahalatine said, holding up his hand. “I do not seek vengeance on this place. Go about your work. Obey your masters. When I come to a defeated kingdom, I normally find the people in squalor.” He turned as he spoke, his back now to Trynne and Sureya. If she were a poisoner, this would have been her opportunity to assassinate him. The temptation struck her suddenly, keenly, but she shoved it back.