Lexin's Quest (Knights of Kismera Book 2) Page 2

  “I am quite well, thank you. Have you broken your fast or shall I send for something?” Muril asked and rose, laying her mending on a small table. She smoothed the rich brown color skirt of her gown.

  “I have eaten, Mother. Please sit. I wish to speak to you on something,” Lexin said patiently.

  Muril sat again and gazed at her son, her lips thinning in displeasure. “You are being sent out again. What is it now?”

  Lexin tried to hide his amusement as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, placing one booted foot on the opposite knee. “This is true, my lady mother, and I will be gone for some time, I fear.” He chose not to mention anything about the woman, as Muril would not like the idea of Lexin involved with a human. Her ambitions for him did not include the restrictions a human mate would bring.

  “Mother, you were at Bellmore when Seaha died in childbirth, were you not?” he asked, redirecting the subject.

  Muril sat up straighter in her seat and placed her hands together in her lap. “Yes, I was. I was with her myself. Why do you ask?”

  “Are the other women who attended her still here at Bellmore?” Lexin questioned, noting the tension that had set into Muril’s posture.

  “No,” Muril replied quickly. “The healer who was midwife to Seaha has been dead many winters. She was rather old at the time of the birthing. Seaha’s personal maid was so distraught that she left Bellmore shortly after.”

  Lexin asked his mother for the name and a description of Seaha’s vanished maidservant, tucking the information away. He asked his mother a few more questions, noting how Muril’s mood was shifting.

  “Enough, Lexin. I do not understand all these questions. It will not change things.”

  “That may be true, Mother, but perhaps it will. I am being sent to find Greer, Yeager’s son, who Yeager believes to still be alive.” Muril went white, the knuckles of her hands showing tight against her skin.

  “Mother? What is wrong?” Lexin exclaimed. He pushed to his feet and went to her side.

  Muril stood abruptly. “The child is gone!” she exclaimed. “Why can you not leave it in the past?”

  He was puzzled by her choice of words. “Why did you say gone and not dead, Mother?” Lexin demanded, taking one of her hands. “What do you know?”

  Muril looked at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. She looked as if she was going to speak but her eyes rolled back and she made an odd choking noise. Lexin caught her as she collapsed and carried her to her bed in the next room. He laid her down gently and then patted her cheek. Her skin felt of ice. “Mother? Mother, please,” he pleaded.

  When she did not respond, he rushed out into the hall and called for help. A servant heard and went for Muril’s maidservant.

  Within moments, a younger woman came to attend Muril and a healer came soon after. Lexin found himself pushed into the hallway and left to wait anxiously.

  Two hours passed before Lexin was allowed back into Muril’s bedchamber. He was shocked at the sight of his mother as she lay still as death.

  At a nod from the elderly healer, he sat beside the bed and took one of Muril’s hands into his large ones. She lay as if sleeping but her breath was very shallow. Lexin looked to the healer. What has happened?” he asked quietly, a tremor of fear in his voice.

  The healer looked at him sympathetically. “Your mother has had a seizure of her brain. There is nothing more I can do for her except to give her broth and water if she can swallow it. It is up to the gods now if she will live or die.”

  “She is not an old woman. Why would this happen?” Lexin asked.

  “I know not, my lord. It was a weakness in her head, I think, or perhaps something had terribly shocked her. We have no sorcerer here now to help us with a healing spell. Only time will tell the outcome. I am truly sorry.”

  Lexin bowed his head over his mother’s hand. He knew what had happened to the last magic user from Bellmore. He had been at the plains of Hopa and knew who had killed the man and why. The magic user had traded alliance and joined an invading force. Vashti of Ferndale, a very powerful elven sorceress, sent him into the Abyss of the Damned.

  “We will leave you with her for awhile, my lord. If there is need, call for us. I will be in the great hall,” the woman informed him and with a motion of her hand to the other woman to follow, left the chambers.

  Night fell. The sun was rising again when Lexin jerked from a doze. The healer and maidservant had been in several times during the night to care for Muril, but now he was alone with her.

  A small coughing noise brought him to her side.

  “Mother?” he said softly. “Mother, I am here.”

  Muril’s eyes fluttered open and she turned her head slightly in his direction. A lock of her golden hair lay softly against skin that looked opaque and terribly fragile.

  Lexin took her hand carefully in his. “Mother?”

  Muril weakly pulled her hand away and Lexin released it. She moved to place it on his cheek. “You are a man grown, my son,” she said feebly. “I sometimes forget that.”

  Lexin sniffed, glad he was alone with his mother as tears formed. One escaped, snaking down his cheek. As much as she frustrated him, she was still his mother and he did love her. “Mother, please, you must rest so that you will recover quickly.”

  “No, my son. I have been summoned to Arahtok’s halls for justice. I have wronged you and many others so that I might further you and myself in the eyes of the King,” she whispered. A tear slid from her own eye. “Go and check the hall to see that we are alone, Lexin, for I have things I must tell you.”

  “Do not speak like that, Mother,” Lexin said, feeling a chill of dread run down his spine. “It will be alright.”

  “No, Lexin. Now do as I ask, for I do not have much time. I feel the strength leaving me.”

  Lexin rose and checked to ensure Muril’s privacy. He sat back down and leaned over to listen as his mother began to speak in a weak voice.

  The healer looked up from her mug of coffee in surprise when Lexin walked into the hall and stopped next to her chair, a stricken look on his face. “My lord?”

  “The Lady Muril is dead,” he said bluntly. “She woke and spoke to me, and then she took one last breath….”

  The healer stood and placed a hand gently on his arm. “I am truly sorry, my lord,” she began, noting the tension in his body.

  “Please, prepare her—I…I must leave. I cannot…,” he fumbled over his words. “I do not know when I will return. It may be some time….”

  The woman noted the lines of grief on his face, as well as something else: Anger. She pulled her hand back quickly. “Of course, my lord.” At a loss of what else to say, she summoned Muril’s maidservant who had been hovering close by.

  Ignoring the surprised murmurs of others in the great hall, Lexin nodded once and turned on his heel, leaving them to attend his mother. He went to his quarters and rapidly packed his things. Then he dressed in his mail shirt and donned his sword belt and dagger. He took one last look around the room, retrieved his long bow from a corner, and left.

  Lexin arrived at the stables and went down to where his big bay stallion, Marlhowh, was stalled. Marlhowh meant ugly in the Werren tongue. The horse had been named for his temperament, not his appearance, and showed it as Lexin entered the stall to saddle the horse. The stallion pinned its ears and tried to bite Lexin. He received a hard swat on the nose for his efforts and then stood still, but threatening, as Lexin bridled and saddled him.

  When finished, Lexin led the stallion from its stall and out of the stable. He mounted his horse and walked it to the practice field. Several men were already on the field, training with long swords and shields. Lexin spotted the man he sought and motioned him over to where he had stopped. His stallion moved restlessly under him, tossing its head.

  Gair, a warrior of stocky build and nearly as tall as Lexin came to stand just out of the reach of Marlhowh’s teeth. Lexin s
tudied the man for a moment. Gair had blonde hair of a darker shade and pale gold eyes. Intelligence and patience showed in his features.

  “My lord, Lexin,” Gair greeted with a polite nod. He was used to Lexin leaving by himself at odd times and thought nothing strange of Lexin’s appearance.

  “Gair,” Lexin said, his voice emotionless. “I have come to tell you I must leave for sometime at Yeager’s orders. I name you war chief in my absence for I trust your judgment and abilities.”

  Gair was not surprised by the comment, and responded obediently, “My lord.” Done with practice for now, he returned his sword to its sheath.

  “Walk with me to the gate,” Lexin requested and turned his warhorse.

  Gair walked next to Lexin’s stirrup as they headed for the massive gateway. Lexin halted just out of hearing of the guards at the gate.

  “Keep a close eye to our Liege Yeager. I think perhaps sometimes he will have need of you as a friend as well as a warrior. You already know what borders to watch and how to handle the other warriors under you, but choose your second carefully.”

  Gair looked up at Lexin, squinting against the bright sunlight. “Do you wish for me to watch over the Lady Muril while you are away, my lord?”

  “There will be no need,” Lexin said, his voice turning harsh. “My lady mother is dead. May Arahtok watch over you.”

  He gave a slight nod to Gair as a salute and then touched his spurs to his stallion’s sides. Marlhowh bared his teeth, shook his head and then galloped out, leaving Gair and the two guards at the gate staring after them.

  Chapter Three

  Cerise MacKinnon arched her back in a stretch, unkinking tired muscles. She relaxed back into a regular sitting position and rubbed a hand over her thick, long braid of reddish blonde hair. She reread the figures and notes in front of her on a sheet of parchment. With a frustrated sigh she wiped ink from the tip of the goose quill pen and laid it down.

  Having a natural flair for numbers and investments, she looked over her notes for a moneymaking idea she had been working on. She had hoped to present the idea to Lady Ki Lionblade MacKinnon that evening, however, one set of figures was just not compiling correctly.

  With another sigh, she put her paper and pen away along with the small slate and piece of chalk she used to do her sums. She thought back to when she had been able to do her figuring on a calculator or her computer, but those were things of the past. Cerise snorted with amusement—things of the future might be more correct.

  No, that wasn’t exactly right either. Cerise and her nephew, Drace MacKinnon, had traveled from their home in Charlottesville, Virginia to another plane of existence—an entirely new world. Drace had been here before, and circumstances had sent him home, but not before he had met and married the woman who had captured his heart.

  When return to Oralia was found to be possible, Cerise insisted on coming with Drace. Now she had a place in Lady Ki’s realm, working in trading. At the ripe old age of thirty, she was also now a great aunt, coinciding with the birth of Drace and Ki’s beautiful son, Brann.

  Cerise loved it here at Oralia, a major stronghold in the land of Kismera, held for generations by the Clan Lionblade. This place was similar to medieval civilizations and warrior societies consisting of a capable group of fighters who were not dependent on automatic weapons. They were skilled in use of finely crafted armaments and Cerise herself had even received instruction in the use of a short sword and a dagger.

  Her thoughts of weapons turned to the man who was supposed to have been her instructor before being summoned to another stronghold by the High King himself. Just when Cerise had become aware of the man as more than a friend—she’d had thoughts of taking him as a lover—he was gone. He’d been gone for months.

  Depressed at her train of thought, Cerise stood and smoothed the skirt of her rose-colored dress and returned to her own chamber. Needing to get out and clear her head, she changed into soft buff colored breeches, a linen shirt in a sky blue color that matched her eyes and tall boots of brown leather. She armed herself as she had been taught: a knife in the top of her boot, another in her belt and a short sword on her left side. Sometimes she felt absurd wearing such weapons, but Drace insisted she be armed if she left the castle grounds. He also asked that she not ride out alone, but today she needed solitude so she ignored the request. Thoughts of Lexin always left her feeling sad and lonely.

  As she made her way to the stable to saddle her big gray horse, Mitch, she continued her reflections. She knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find a volunteer to ride out with her. Werren males, especially the younger ones, found her as a human female especially interesting. Because of her rank within her new family, none approached her in a manner considered out-of-line, but their interest was clear in their looks and actions. Lately, thinking Lexin would not be returning, at least not anytime soon, Cerise found herself looking back.

  Leading Mitch outside, she had one of the stable lads help her mount and headed out the gates of Oralia toward the large village of Furistass at the foot of the high hill. Once through the village, she asked Mitch to canter and then let him gallop. Cerise asked him over two fences. The horse jumped high and clear. Laughter bubbled inside her as they cleared the last one. She let Mitch canter for another mile and then pulled him to a halt, letting the big gelding catch his breath.

  Sudden tears burned her eyes. She felt old, and as if her life was slipping away. She watched Drace with Ki and saw a love that spanned more than just this world. It was a love that was strong, intense and rare. Now they had a son. Thirty was not old, Cerise knew that, but she had a birthday in a few days and no man in her life. Part of her problem was hormones, she reasoned. She’d had a few affairs in her past life but had been celibate since arriving in Kismera.

  That’s what I need to do, she figured as she sat her horse in the middle of the road, dashing a stray tear away with the back of her hand. I need to have a hot session between the sheets with one of the handsome young men who’ve been giving me the eye. She reasoned with herself that might solve an immediate need, she also wondered about love and a family. She now realized nesting was becoming more of what she wanted.

  Cerise uttered a very unladylike word and wiped her eyes with a corner of her shirt’s hem.

  Mitch’s head jerked up, taking Cerise by surprise, and she looked in the same direction as the horse. The gelding neighed loudly, calling to another horse, and Cerise realized then that she was possibly in deep trouble. She was several miles away from the village, alone. Only a couple of people had even seen her leave.

  Oh crap, she thought and looked hard down the road. She heard a faint neigh answer, but as yet couldn’t see anything. “Sorry Mitch, but we’ve got to go. You can visit later if they come to the castle,” she whispered to her horse, as he flicked his ears back briefly to listen to her.

  Cerise turned Mitch around and asked for a gallop, trying to manage a pace the horse could keep all the way to the village.

  Before the visitor arrived, Cerise had enough time to sponge water over Mitch to wash him down and then walk him until he was cool and mostly dry.

  Cerise was just returning Mitch to his stall when she heard a voice by the stable. Wanting to see who it was, Cerise peeked out the doorway.

  A very tired horse stood in front of the stable, its master untying saddlebags from the back of the saddle. The man’s clothes were dusty from travel and he moved about the horse with a limp in his gait. His hair was in a braid down his back, just past his shoulder blades. Sunlight glinted off his chainmail as he turned around to lead the horse inside.

  Hearing a gasp from the doorway of the stable, Lexin looked up. Cerise stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight.

  Lexin stopped so quickly his stallion bumped his head into Lexin’s back. The horse snorted with displeasure but was too tired to show anything more.

  “My Lord Lexin,” Cerise greeted, walking slowly up to him. She hadn’t seen hi
m in months and was torn between the urge to fly into his arms and a shyness she hadn’t felt since adolescence. She waited for a sign from him.

  “Lady Cerise,” he said quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. “It is good to see you again.” The corners of his mouth pulled down as he frowned. “I see you have received some instruction in weaponry.”

  The accent and manner of speech of the Werre people had always intrigued Cerise, but when it was Lexin speaking to her, his deep voice had a tendency to make her blood hot.

  “Yes, some. Cearan taught me. He said I should be able to surprise you when you returned.” She briefly touched the hilt of the dagger in her belt. “I’m waiting for you to teach me what I need to know to become an expert with this. I’m still not very good with the sword either.”

  His eyes held hers for a pregnant moment and then he switched the reins to his right hand and readjusted the saddlebags on his shoulder. Lexin held up his maimed left hand, splaying his finger wide. “I do not think I would be the best of instructors now.”

  Lexin dropped his hand before she could react and led his stallion into the stables, limping heavily on his right leg.

  Cerise spun around to walk beside him. “Were you wounded in the leg too?” she asked him.

  “Yes, but that has healed. This misbegotten son of a Zakara kicked me this morning,” Lexin snarled the last part of his statement is his horse’s direction. “I should geld him if not just slit his throat.”

  Cerise laughed softly at the frustration in his tone. She gave him a moment to get his horse settled with his instructions to a stable boy on the horse’s care.

  He gathered his saddlebags and bow and then stood silent in the barn aisle for a moment while his eyes searched Cerise’s face.

  Cerise returned his gaze. Something had happened while he was gone, leaving the once laughing, happy young man quiet and distracted. She reached up and brushed a lock of blond hair off his face, barely touching his cheek.