Well of the Damned

Chapter 22





Gavin’s team consisted of Vandra, Brawna and Daia, each dressed in the blue tunic and trousers uniform of the First Royal Guard, mail shirt with blue and gold ribbons woven into the elbow-length sleeves, a new sword, a dagger strapped to her calf, and an oiled, full-length leather cloak to keep the rain off. Daia’s mail was further distinguished by a round, flat medallion, stamped with a wolf’s paw in the center of the chest.

Also dressed in mail, Gavin had Aldras Gar in its customary scabbard on his back which stuck out from under his cloak through a slit. Though a few drops of rain found their way down his back, he preferred getting wet to wearing the sword on his hip.

“Can you make a magical rainshade?” Vandra asked as they started across the bridge. “I saw a mage using one the other day.”

It was a good idea. After a couple of tries, Gavin constructed a large, clear canopy that hovered a few feet over their heads like a giant rainshade. Though gusts of wind blew the rain sideways and sprinkled them, the canopy kept most of the rain off the riders and their horses. Satisfied, he stored the spell in one of the gems in Aldras Gar’s hilt so he wouldn’t need to constantly think about keeping the canopy up.

Equipped with knapsacks and satchels of dried food, waterskins, bedrolls and tarps, they stopped at the Lordover Tern’s gaol to get Cirang. Because Gavin hadn’t sent prior word they were coming, the warden refused to release her to Vandra and Brawna, even dressed in the mail of the First Royal Guard, and so Gavin had to go inside the gaol’s office himself.

“What’s the problem?” he asked. The last time he was here, he’d beaten Jophet, his new Supreme Councilor of the Militia, unconscious.

The gaol warden, a pudgy buck with a thick, black beard, broke into a sweat. “Oh! There’s no problem, sire. No problem at all.” He fumbled with the keyring, dropped it, hit his head on the edge of the desk when he bent to pick it up, and staggered into the wall. “Sorry, sire. Sorry. I’ll bring her right out.”

Gavin and his battlers followed him, taking note of the stench, the dirty faces ogling him from the cells, the water leaking onto the floor. Prisoners begged to be fed, to have a bath, to plead their case to him and win back their freedom. While some wardens believed prisoners should receive minimal comfort and care while in gaol, these conditions were worse than any he’d seen. Maybe Gavin needed to establish some formal requirements all the gaol wardens would have to adhere to.

“Clean up this gaol and feed these people,” he told the warden. “I’ll be back to inspect it in a week. I don’t want to smell this stench or see dirty faces looking back at me. You hear?”

“Yes, sire. O’course. I just— o’course, sire.” The warden stumbled over his own feet, caught himself, and then fiddled with a few keys before opening one of the cell doors.

Cirang smiled when she saw Gavin. “Well, well, Your Royal Highness. What a surprise. I guess you couldn’t refuse my offer after all.”

Vandra put a set of shackles on Cirang’s wrists and shoved her down the corridor. The other prisoners watched with envy from the little window in the door of their cell, and Cirang looked at each of them as she walked past, a superior smirk on her face. “I know your faces,” she told them. “Don’t forget the debt you owe me. I’ll be calling on you to repay it someday.”

“We’ll be waitin’,” one prisoner said. He flicked his tongue at her and cackled, and the other men hooted and jeered.

After draping a cloak over Cirang’s shoulders and pulling the hood up over her head, Vandra put Cirang on a mule, facing backwards. Its reins were tied to Vandra’s saddle, and Brawna took up the rear. It occurred to Gavin he was the only male in the party, and he was the one being protected rather than doing the protecting. How different his life had become from only a few months earlier.

Outside Tern, the road sloped gradually downhill. Although wet, it was made of well packed dirt and rocks and repelled much of the rainwater, which ran along the sides of the road, forming rivulets in the weeds.

Though they stayed mostly dry beneath the canopy, the constant ping of rain hitting it was unpleasant. Lack of conversation made the ride even drearier. As a warrant knight, he’d spent too many days riding alone and passed the time by talking or singing to Golam. He didn’t necessarily want to do the talking, but someone should. For a while, Vandra and Brawna made fun of Cirang and the rude and audacious things she’d gotten away with while she was a Viragon Sister, but soon they ran out of stories to tell.

“Tell me one thing about yourself I didn’t know,” Gavin said, “and then tell me one thing about the person before you. Daia you start.”

“Me? All right. You probably didn’t know I refused to wear a dress until I was eight years old. My father’s men-at-arms thought I was a boy with a funny name.”

Amidst the chuckles, Cirang said, “And then she lifted her skirt for every one of them.”

“Shut up, Cirang,” Daia spat.

“So tell us one thing about King Gavin,” Vandra said. She had a lisp when she spoke due to the absence of two front teeth, but it didn’t seem to make her self-conscious, despite Cirang’s mockery.

Gavin was glad Edan hadn’t come. He knew nearly all of Gavin’s secrets, but he could be trusted not to give any away that Gavin wouldn’t want told. Chances were good his companions would want to know how he’d lost his eyetooth, and that was a story he’d never tell again. “Daia doesn’t know my secrets.”

“King Gavin has a tender heart,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I saw him comfort a little girl who’d been knocked down in the street by a drunk.”

As if on cue, everyone answered with a drawn out, “Aw.”

Cirang followed it with, “What a milksop.”

Gavin tried harder to resist Cirang’s taunts, knowing she was only doing it to goad him into acting from the kho side of himself. “How ’bout you, Vandra?”

“Where to start? My life has been one enigma and misadventure after the next.”

“Tell us how you came to join the Sisterhood,” Brawna suggested.

Vandra exhaled loudly. “I’d been training as a dancer and had hopes of dancing in the Sohan Theatre Company. One day when I was sixteen, I had an audition that went so well, they hired me right then. I ran home with the news, full of excitement, and walked in on my mama being ravished. I don’t know what came over me, but my vision was painted with red. I flew at the man in a rage. He had a knife and fought back. It’s how I got the scar in my upper lip and lost my front teeth, but I managed to take it from him, and then I, um, castrated him with it.”

Gavin cringed. Of all the ways to die... He shuddered and gave in to the urge to cover his private parts with one hand. “He bled to death?”

“No,” Vandra said, “not exactly. He, um, choked to death.”

“Seemly,” Cirang said gleefully.

Daia hissed in a breath. “I think we get the idea. So you joined the Sisterhood after that?”

“Yeh. I got such a thrill out of saving my mama from this buck, I decided I’d rather save people and mete out justice than dance.”

“I can’t say he didn’t deserve what he got,” Gavin said, “but damn! I’m going to have nightmares now.”

She paused to let the laughter die down. “The only thing I can tell you about Daia that you might not know is she sings like an angel.”

Daia gaped at her and flushed.

Vandra smiled sweetly. “I heard her once in the stable when she thought she was alone with the horses.”

“Oh lord, here it comes,” Cirang said. “The pristine high-born shows us all how perfect she is.”

“You told me you can’t sing,” Gavin said, ignoring Cirang’s comment.

“I never said that.”

“Sing us a song.”

“No,” Daia said.

“Thank King Arek’s ghost,” Cirang breathed.

“Awright, Brawna, you’re next.” The young battler blushed, warming Gavin’s heart. She was so pure and good, as he imagined a younger sister would be. Ever since her brother, Domach, died defending Gavin, he felt a need to look after her, even though she was a decent fighter, from what he’d observed in the training yard.

“Well, um, I still have the doll my brother made for me after our parents were killed.”

Everyone was respectfully quiet, knowing how Domach had died. Everyone except Cirang. “Aw, that’s so sweet it makes me want to vomit.”

“If you don’t shut up,” Daia said, “I’m going to gag you.”

“I kept it under my pillow,” Brawna said. “I’m lucky Cirang didn’t find it after she named me a traitor. It was still there when I returned to the Sisterhood.”

“Tell us something about Vandra,” Gavin said.

“She has a memory unlike anyone else I’ve ever known. She never forgets a face, and she can recite a book from memory weeks after she reads it.”

“What a handy skill,” Gavin said. “Wish I could do that.”

“Don’t we all?” Daia asked.

“But on payday,” Cirang said, “she can’t remember who she borrowed money from.”

“I paid you back every pielar, and you know it,” Vandra said.

Cirang snickered. “My turn.”

“No one wants to hear about you, mutton breath.”

“King Gavin does, don’t you? He wants to know who’s been forging warrant tags and using them to swindle people.”

“Your friend Toren Meobryn was wearing one of them,” Daia said, “so we already know who was at the heart of it.”

Cirang’s eyes widened innocently. “Oh, it wasn’t me. I’ve been in gaol, remember, and dead before that, but I know which one of King Gavin’s longtime friends it is.”

“Who?” Gavin asked.

Cirang smirked. “If I tell you, you’ll have to give me something in return. Something to be named at a later date.”

Gavin was well aware of Sithral Tyr’s habit of changing the terms of negotiations, and he wouldn’t fall victim to a practiced manipulator. “Tell me, and I’ll execute you quickly when your time comes.”

“When my time comes to die, Gavin Kinshield, you’ll be cold in your grave.”