The boy recovered his health, mostly, but never a clear memory of his long illness. In fact he did not think once of his great-aunt until, in March, his father called to say that Julita had been found on the shoulder of the Annapolis turnpike, frozen stiff. The Buick was half a mile behind her in a marbled sheath of ice. It was the latest winter storm on the Maryland register.
Even then he was not inclined to linger on, far less share, her story. It had nothing to do with him, and he didn’t want to be known for melodrama.
But what happened to Kylac?
That was the question that dogged me more than any other upon the completion of my Legend of Asahiel trilogy. My editor asked it, my readers asked it—heck, I’d have asked it, if I didn’t already know the answer. I had plans, you see, and all would be revealed in due time.
While I assured my editor that the continuation of the Asahiel story would shed light on the fate of a certain rogue assassin, she urged me to address the more immediate concern regarding one Kylac Kronus and his whereabouts following events in The Crimson Sword. Relenting, I realized that to do so meant giving Kylac his own spin-off series—less epic in tone and style than the Asahiel books, but an interesting challenge in itself. The larger world story could wait, I decided. In the meantime, it would be all about Kylac.
As I delved into the new project, however, it became clear to me that even these Kylac-centric books were not going to fully answer questions pertaining to his mysterious origins. His is not the sort of backstory that lends itself to hearthside anecdote, and he is not the sort of person to reveal it if it did. Some things we simply keep to ourselves.
Then Shawn invited me to contribute to Unfettered, and the proverbial light bulb flashed in my brain. Here it was, an exclusive location in which to tell an origin story, if you will, for this character. A tale to address the themes of courage and perseverance that seemed to me paramount in honoring Shawn as a second-time cancer survivor. I already knew most of the story and, given a place to put it, I required very little time to flesh out the rest.
For any who may enjoy it, thank Shawn for making it happen. My personal hope is that it will shed a measure of light on Kylac’s attitudes and actions, and maybe even tide readers over while I strive to finish answering that persistent question…
But what happened to Kylac?
— Eldon Thompson
UNBOWED
Eldon Thompson
The wooden rapier clattered against the sanded stones of the arena floor, its hilt coming to rest near Brie’s hand. She ceased her scrubbing to consider the weapon, hunched as she was on hands and knees, then turned her head to consider him. Her expression accused him of madness.
“Would you see me flogged?” she hissed.
“My father has an audience with the king, and won’t return before nightfall.” Kylac grinned. “Call it a birthday gift.”
A flush stole across Brie’s freckled cheeks. He’d remembered. Just as swiftly, her familiar pout returned. “And a celebration it’d be, to see your father beat you bloody.” Her gaze swept the edges of the chamber, as if expecting to find someone spying from the shadows. “Go on. I’ve work to finish.”
With emphasis, she dipped her sponge in her bucket of dirty water and resumed her scrubbing. Kylac felt his smile slip. Mayhap her flush owed solely to her exertions. Or frustration at being interrupted. Or alarm at his proposal. Whatever, he felt suddenly foolish, having woefully misjudged her imagined reaction.
“I just thought…” He watched her reach her sponge blindly for her bucket, pointedly ignoring him. “I mean, you’ve always said—”
He stopped as the bucket tipped, bending reflexively to catch it before it spilled. She spun toward him as he did so, releasing her sponge to take up the wooden rapier by its hilt. Kylac just barely managed to slide his leg clear of its whipping arc, while righting the bucket, before sliding back a pace. By then, Brie was lunging to her feet, pressing him back farther. A skip, slide, and duck enabled him to avoid any stinging bruises, and on her fifth strike, his own practice weapon came to hand—with a sound block and swift counter that she deftly avoided, but that finally forced her to pause.
“Why, did I just catch the masterful Kylac off guard?” she taunted. Her eyes sparkled now with that fierce fire, her puffy cheeks set high and wide in a proud grimace.
“Open your stance. And straighten your toes.”
“My toes are fine. You’re just embarrassed that I nearly took yours.”
“Your front foot is pointed toward the side wall, when your enemy is in front of you.” He jabbed. She parried, realigning her footwork. “The bucket was a nice touch.”
“You underestimated me.” She lunged, choosing a simple combination that compensated with execution for what it lacked in creativity. “You always underestimate me.”
“I’m better than you.” Kylac blocked her advance, then fed her the same combination in reverse. “There’s a difference.”