Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel Read online

  As the meat sizzled over the flames, Duncan glanced up at Kiva. “Do you want to sleep in the tree for the night or in the shield?” The bird fluffed his feathers and settled in right where he was. Duncan smiled. “I don’t blame you. Did you have a good hunt?”

  He reached out with his thoughts to touch those of the great owl. His mind filled with dizzying views of the surrounding land. The connection the two of them shared was so close that Duncan enjoyed the cool slide of the wind through Kiva’s feathers. He saw the world through the stark clarity of a raptor’s vision and savored the rush of excitement when the bird dove toward his prey.

  Duncan didn’t need to experience firsthand what happened next. Kiva’s table manners were questionable, not that Duncan wasn’t grateful for his hunting skills. He also appreciated knowing the bird would stand guard while Duncan slept.

  After the meat cooled a bit, Duncan wrapped it in a cloth and tucked it in his pack to keep it safe from scavengers. His chores finished, he let the fire die down.

  “Sleep well, Kiva.”

  Anyone outside of his narrow circle of friends would think him mad for talking to a bird. But Kiva wasn’t a normal owl any more than Duncan was a normal man. He was one of the Damned, an avatar of the gods along with three other warriors and their leader, Captain Gideon. The five of them were closer than brothers.

  He missed them. How many centuries had it been since he’d last spent so much time alone and away from his four friends? Well, other than when they all slept under the river, separated from the mortal world. Even then he was still aware of their presence like a soft hum in the back of his mind. At this distance, however, he couldn’t sense them at all.

  Rather than dwell on it, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. He’d picked up one more thing from Kiva’s thoughts. There was a caravan of traders making its way toward the abbey. From what he’d been able to see, their camp was at least a day’s ride behind him.

  If he stayed where he was, they’d catch up with him. As long as he acted the part of a scholar looking for work as a scribe, they might allow him to join them for the remaining distance to the abbey. He’d prefer to arrive as part of a group.

  He weighed his options. Lost in a crowd, he’d be better able to assess the situation and then decide how best to approach the abbess. Requesting full access to the abbey’s collection of books and manuscripts would be tricky. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the sisters tried to turn him away.

  And they very well might. A lot would depend on which gods the sisters worshipped. It was almost too much to hope for that they followed the teachings of the Lord and Lady of the River, the deities Duncan served. What would the sisters think of his pale-as-death eyes? Again, since he would be arriving as one of many, perhaps it wouldn’t be as much of a problem.

  On the other hand, time—a commodity that he and his friends had precious little of—was passing. The Damned were given only so many days to accomplish the task the gods had set before them. He couldn’t afford to waste two days waiting for the caravan and even more time traveling at the slow pace of the heavily laden wagons.

  His mind whirled with possibilities; too many thoughts without direction. For some reason, that made him think of his father. The bastard had wanted a son who was the mirror image of himself, one who lived to drink, fight, and bed lusty wenches.

  Instead, Duncan had inherited a heavy measure of his mother’s love of knowledge and the gentler arts. While Duncan had a talent with weapons, at the end of the day he’d been happier in his mother’s solar, poring over some ancient text, than banging swords or drinking with his father’s men.

  When his mother died in childbirth, his father had burned her books to wean Duncan from what his father saw as his weakling scholarly ways. The plan had had the opposite effect. Duncan had taken the few texts he’d been able to salvage from the fire and ridden away without looking back.

  He’d met Gideon a short time later. Rather than berating Duncan for always carrying a load of heavy tomes with them on their campaigns, Gideon had valued Duncan’s gift for tactics and knowledge of military history. The friendship had served them both well.

  He rolled onto his side to stare at the fading dance of the flames. None of the Damned had aged a day since they’d first marched into the river to sleep, but on nights like this one, Duncan felt every year of his centuries-long life.

  Once again the image of the mysterious woman filled his thoughts. Her beauty was a far better companion as sleep claimed him than his memories. A shame she wasn’t real. But then, a man could always dream, even one who wasn’t truly human at all.

  Chapter 2

  Lavinia had finished her daily rounds through the abbey, stopping to visit with each of the sisters she encountered. It was her way of showing them all that she valued their individual contributions to the abbey. Now it was time to make her way back to her office.

  She’d put off another attempt at scrying long enough. Perhaps this time the gods would send a message with a clearer meaning, one that wouldn’t keep her awake during the long hours of the night thinking about a man.

  She could only hope so.

  In the garden, rather than immediately approach the deep green bowl, Lavinia paused to look up to the sky, holding her hands out to the side.

  “My lords and ladies, grant me the wisdom to understand what I am about to see.”

  With trembling fingers, she gently removed the black cloth she’d used to cover the bowl two days before. She intended to change the water, to offer the gods a clean slate upon which to send her a message. But as soon as her hands touched the cool glass, the water swirled and settled into a smooth surface. A series of images appeared and then disappeared, each remaining visible a few seconds after the next one was superimposed over the last.

  Some she recognized. Others were unfamiliar.

  The first one was Trader Musar and his wife, Ava, sitting on the front of their colorfully painted wagon, their faces looking pinched and tired. That worried her. The trader was normally an outgoing, cheerful man, one who took joy in driving a hard but fair bargain. His wife, a tiny wisp of a woman, was always quick with a smile and a laugh.

  Their faces faded, replaced by the outer wall of a large city, Agathia itself. Despite the bright sunshine, the white stone looked tarnished, as if a miasma of sickness had settled over the city. Lavinia’s heart ached for those who lived in the shadow of Duke Keirthan. It had been a long time since she’d left the city behind, but she missed it still.

  Next a large bird swooped and soared through the sky. Too big for a hawk and the wrong shape for an eagle, it had to be an owl, then, but one far bigger than those that inhabited the valley surrounding the abbey. She leaned down closer to study the image, sensing there was something different about the raptor other than its size. Before she could decide what it was, the image blurred and shifted again.

  A group of men on horseback appeared, all heavily armed and watching the horizon for any possible threat. Since they were riding alongside a long line of wagons, each painted more brightly than the next, they had to be the guards who protected Musar’s caravan from raiders. If she could see their faces, she might even recognize them by name. Most of Musar’s guards had been accompanying him for years.

  Aside from the grim look on Musar’s face, there was nothing in the vision that was worrisome.

  Lavinia was about to offer her prayer of thanks when once again the image changed abruptly. She’d caught only a glimpse of him twice before, but it was definitely the same man who’d been sitting at the campfire two days earlier.

  His surroundings were familiar to her this time. In a matter of hours, he would enter the valley below. She had no doubt the abbey was his destination. The gods wouldn’t have warned of his coming if he were merely passing through.

  While she watched, he pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a stop as he looked around. Lavinia started to back away from the image in the water in case he looked up as
he had two days ago. But then curiosity mixed with a healthy dose of stubbornness had her holding her ground.

  She stared down at the small image, wondering about the odd connection she felt with a total stranger. As with the owl, there was something more to this man. Soon he would arrive at the door of the abbey. Rather than greet him herself, she would wait and watch. Eventually the gods would reveal his purpose to her, and her path would be clear.

  She prayed it would be so.

  * * *

  The final approach to the abbey proved to be a switchback trail that led up the steep side of a narrow valley. If Duncan hadn’t been looking for the passage, he might have ridden right past it. The abbey had been constructed out of the native stone, making it difficult to pick out much detail about the structure from the road that wandered along the valley floor below.

  Before starting up, he stopped at a small stream to let his mare drink her fill. He was tempted to bathe and change clothes in order to make a good impression upon the sisters, but reconsidered. Several days of trail dust and dirt would help his story of needing both a job and a hot meal sound more convincing.

  He took time to enjoy a cold drink of water and to finish off the last bit of roasted meat he had in his pack. After picking the bones clean, he tossed them as far as he could throw them. It was time to cease delaying, although it was hard not to worry about what the next hour would bring. What if the sisters did turn him away? Surely the gods guiding his steps wouldn’t let that happen.

  He had just mounted up when he caught the sound of a rider approaching at speed. Duncan checked the slide of his sword in its scabbard and waited to see if the newcomer came in peace. To Duncan’s surprise, the man looked relieved when he spotted Duncan and reined in his horse.

  Both man and beast had worked up a sweat, a testament to a long, hard day of riding. The first words out of the stranger’s mouth came as a complete shock.

  “There you are. I thought I would never find you in time.”

  Duncan checked to see who else the man could be speaking to, but they were alone on the road. “You were looking for me? Why? Who sent you?”

  It wouldn’t have been Gideon. He’d have sent his gyrfalcon, Scim, if he’d wanted to get a message to Duncan, or even one of Averel’s misfit dogs. Certainly he wouldn’t have sent a stranger.

  The man dismounted. “I apologize. I should have explained first. My name is Rubar, and I am the captain of the guards for a caravan headed this way. The master trader is named Musar, and his wife is called Ava.”

  The weary man paused to catch his breath. He was wrong if he thought the introduction cleared up the confusion. Duncan tightened his grip on the sword.

  “Their names mean nothing to me.”

  Rubar shrugged. “No reason they should. You haven’t met them yet, but you will. One of the wagons broke a wheel, so the caravan had to stop for repairs.”

  Duncan wished he’d get to the point. “Which still has nothing to do with me.”

  The man dismounted and led his horse over to the stream. “Well, yes, it does. Ava is a seer. Do you believe in such gifts from the gods?”

  More so than Rubar would ever know. Duncan jerked his head in a quick nod.

  “She had a vision about you three . . . no, four nights ago. She said I’d recognize you by the odd color of your eyes and the owl on your shield.”

  A shiver of dread snaked through Duncan’s chest. If the man was to be believed, the woman had the vision right before Duncan had left Merewen’s keep. What had her gods told her?

  He asked Rubar that question.

  “She said the sisters would likely turn you away from your quest unless someone vouched for you. If the wagon hadn’t broken down, we would’ve met you along the way and gotten to know you before arriving at the abbey.”

  He stared up at the stone building perched on the ridge above. “She said that the honor of our clan rests in your hands.”

  Then Rubar smiled and held up a hand. “And before you ask what she meant by that, I don’t know. I’m not sure she did.”

  His grin broadened. “Sometimes the gods are pretty vague with their warnings. Not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

  He wasn’t telling Duncan anything he didn’t already know. “So do we wait for the caravan?”

  Duncan knew he could ill afford to waste time sitting down here in the valley when what he needed was housed in the stone building at the top of the ridge. Besides, he had no idea if the trader’s woman really had the gift of sight. Yet, if she didn’t, how would she have known where to send her man to find him? Circles within circles and none of it making much sense.

  “No need to wait, but I’d like to rest my gelding a bit before tackling the trail up to the abbey.”

  Duncan nodded and dismounted again. While his mare grazed on the side of the road, he studied the guard, liking what he saw. The man’s clothing was in good condition, obviously designed for the rough life on the road. He looked comfortable with the knives he wore strapped to his waist, and while Rubar might act relaxed, he also kept a careful eye on their surroundings.

  A man didn’t survive long as a guard by being careless. When both rider and horse had cooled down, Rubar spoke again. “You seem to be taking it well, especially when I don’t even know your name. I was afraid you’d think I was moon touched and have nothing to do with me.”

  Duncan laughed. “The name is Duncan. I’m here because the abbey is one of the few places that might offer me a post as a scribe. If you can ease my way past the front door, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “A scribe?” Rubar’s smile faded a bit as his eyes took in Duncan’s own array of weapons and the shield tied on his saddle. “Well, a man sometimes works at many jobs.”

  “True enough.” Scribe, scholar, warrior, avatar of the gods.

  “Shall we ride?”

  “Yes.” Rubar was already reaching for the reins. “And the gods are with us, because we’re arriving in plenty of time for dinner. I’ve been looking forward to Sister Margaret’s cooking for weeks.”

  * * *

  A short time later, Duncan sat back in the saddle and stared at the building looming up ahead, his destination finally in sight. As his mare picked her way up the last stretch of the steep trail, he wondered what the traders’ gods had in mind for him, and how his own would react if it was at cross-purposes to their plans.

  Rubar dropped back to ride even with Duncan. He pointed toward the back of the abbey. “That building in the back has guest quarters. The traders prefer to stay in their wagons, but my men and I appreciate the chance to sleep in a real bed when we’re not on duty. The sisters don’t charge for the rooms, but they do accept donations, or you can do chores for them if you have no coin to offer.”

  “Good to know. A comfortable bed will be a welcome change.”

  Anything was better than the rocky ground, although gods knew he wasn’t picky after sleeping under several feet of cold water for years at a time.

  The trail widened out at the top of the slope. They dismounted and unsaddled their horses. Duncan gave his mare a quick brushing and checked her feet before turning her loose in the pasture. Rubar showed him where to stow his saddle and tack in the stable.

  Tired and hungry, Duncan gathered up his packs and followed the guard around to the side door of a low building that jutted out from the main structure of the abbey. Rubar rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden door and stepped back as it swung open almost immediately. An older woman wearing robes and a bright smile stepped into sight.

  Rubar nodded in respect. “Sister Joetta, we are hoping that you have room for us in the guest quarters.”

  “I always have room for favorite visitors. I didn’t know Musar’s caravan had arrived. Please come in.”

  Rubar filed in past the sister. The warm smile she’d offered the guard faded when it came Duncan’s time to enter the guest quarters.

  She stepped in front of him. “I don
’t believe we have met before.”

  He dropped his gaze in an attempt to look nonthreatening. “This is my first visit to the abbey, Sister. My name is Duncan.”

  “Have you been with Trader Musar long?”

  Perhaps the woman was just being friendly, but Duncan’s acute hearing picked up the thrum of tension in her voice. Was she always suspicious of strangers, or was it a reaction to him specifically?

  Rubar interceded on his behalf. “The caravan had to stop for repairs, Sister Joetta, but it should be here in a matter of hours. Duncan has yet to meet Musar and Ava, but they sent me ahead to help him get settled here. Ava asked that he be allowed to stay until she arrives. Duncan should prove useful around here, though. He tells me he is seeking work as a scribe.”

  That clearly surprised her. She glanced at Duncan’s shield and sword, her suspicion clear now. Scholars didn’t often carry such weapons. After a brief hesitation and despite her obvious misgivings, she finally let him pass. “I will relay Ava’s message to the abbess. Whether you are allowed to remain will be her decision, but for now, welcome to the abbey. Our evening meal is several hours away. If you’re hungry, I’m sure Sister Margaret can provide something to hold you until dinner. Otherwise, Rubar will show you where everything is.”

  She then barred the door behind him, preventing anyone else from entering the guest quarters without knocking first. For an abbey with a reputation for its hospitality, her caution seemed extreme. He was willing to bet that they were reacting to the effects of Duke Keirthan’s brutal rule of Agathia. No one felt safe, not when people were disappearing with no explanation.

  First things first. The two of them picked a room at random and stowed their gear before availing themselves of the opportunity to clean up. Duncan sighed with pleasure as he sank down into the shallow hot spring pool set aside for male visitors to use. The heat soaked into his weary body, easing his aches and pains.