The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)

“That’s true,” Trynne said, walking more briskly. Would that the maps had come from them. “How far is it?”

“See that treasure ship?” he said, pointing. “He was found near it. It’s almost exactly where a whale was trapped on the beach when your mother was a child.”

The massive ship with the shattered hull hulked before them. There were carpenters at work dismantling it, and the commotion of their hammers and saws could be heard against the rush and hiss of the waves. A group of knights wearing the Raven stood in a circle, and it was toward these men that Thierry took her.

As she approached the group, she recognized Marshal Soeur among the gathered men. He had the Wizr’s sword scabbard in one hand and his brass cylinder in the other. He offered them both to Trynne.

“My lady, we took these from him. He’s unconscious, not dead.”

The soldiers parted and Trynne saw the crumpled Wizr resting on the sand, his chest rising and falling. His long hair was bedraggled and his fancy clothes were ruined. One arm was draped across the stomach of the dead woman. A fly came and touched down on the lashes of her open eyes. They didn’t blink. Her skin was pale. She’d been a beauty in life, her hair dark and luxurious.

Trynne approached the Wizr and knelt by his side. He wore a medallion similar to the one Gahalatine did, the circle with the sunrays coming from it. Gahalatine had looked at her through that circle.

“Take off the medallion,” she said, nodding to one of the soldiers. She summoned her magic, what little she had left, and felt it flicker to life. When she reached out to Rucrius, her suspicions were confirmed. His reservoir was completely empty. He must have passed out using the last of it. From the way his arm draped across the woman, even in sleep, she deduced the answer well enough. Rucrius loved this woman and had tried to save her from drowning. After finding her, he’d probably tried to bring her back to life by using the word of power even though it was against the Fountain’s will.

The soldier lifted Rucrius’s head, pulled free the medallion, and handed it to her. Accessing the dregs of her Fountain magic, she held the circle up to her eye. When she looked through the circle, she saw the weblike ley lines that stretched all around them. They were like strands of spider silk crisscrossing in the air. People walked through them, unseeing, as they worked on the rescue effort. The strongest of the ley lines stretched all the way from the island sanctuary of Our Lady at Toussan to the castle on the nearby ridge. It was awe-inspiring to physically see something that she’d only seen written on a map. This device was one of the ways the Wizrs traveled the ley lines. And by taking it from Rucrius, she was depriving him of an easy escape.

“He’s rousing,” Marshal Soeur said blackly.

Trynne gripped the medallion in her hand, staring at Rucrius as he rolled slowly onto his back. His energy was completely wasted. “I hear you,” he said in a guttural tone.

Trynne knew through her magic, which had probed him, that he’d struck his head on a timber and swallowed too much seawater. He was injured enough to not be a threat to them. Yet. She wondered how he regained his power. Was it through games of strategy, skill with the staff, or some other habit he possessed that was unknown to them?

“We saved as many as we could, Rucrius,” Trynne said.

He opened his eyes and stared at her with eyes full of loathing. “You. Won.”

Trynne felt a shiver of fear, even knowing he was helpless. “Well, if this is but a game of Wizr, then your piece comes off the board, I suppose. One of your fellows escaped. The other you killed with your staff while trying to strike me. You are our prisoner, Rucrius.”

He turned his chin away from her and his head lolled to the side. He blinked, staring at the dead woman lying beside him.

“I will have my revenge for this,” he whispered thickly, his cheeks quivering with grief.



It wasn’t until later that day, after Trynne had some time to rest, that she decided to face Rucrius again. Her mind still felt as thick and tangled as fleece from lack of sleep. The tide was starting to come in again, bringing with it more debris from the wreckages. The navy of Brythonica was on full alert, for some Genevese ships had arrived that day with news that Legault had been conquered and a squadron of treasure ships and support ships were anchored in the harbor there. The victory at Ploemeur had not ended Gahalatine’s threat. Trynne dispatched ships and riders to Kingfountain immediately with the news.

The palace had no murky dungeon full of torture equipment. Though infrequently used, the cells were clean and well kept by the palace staff. Trynne had never considered it before, but they were positioned away from the ley lines that ran through the palace.

As she walked to the place where prisoners were kept, she fingered the brass cylinder. She remembered Rucrius had called it a Tay al-Ard and she surmised from his words that it worked without the help of ley lines. It was a piece of curious workmanship, very similar to the type of looking glasses sea captains used on their vessels to spy distances. But instead of curved glass at the end, there were brass fittings bedecked with gems. The cylinder contained Fountain magic. She knew how to break the bindings of the device, but while it could be unmade very easily, she had no idea how to recreate it. The talents of the Wizrs of the East were clearly superior. Stuffing the cylinder into her girdle, she nodded to the guardsmen at the door and they opened it for her.

Inside, there was a corridor lined with cells. None were occupied except for Rucrius’s. After claiming the armor and weapons of Gahalatine’s army and bringing them to the palace, she had made sure that each survivor was assigned a place to stay. She had entrusted the leaders to the noble families in Ploemeur, who would keep them separated but treat them with courtesy and respect. But Rucrius was an enemy who needed to be kept nearby.

As she approached, she found him pacing in his cell, hands clasped behind his back. There was a stack of folded clothes on a chair, a new tunic and pants in the Brythonican fashion, but Rucrius still wore his ruined vestments. His jewelry and weapons had all been taken away. She summoned her magic and reached out to him, trying to sense his stores.

He noticed her prodding immediately and rushed up to the bars, gripping them with his hands.

“You dare test me?” he growled, his face contorted with anger.

Trynne was grateful he was in a cage. He had no weapon, but her instincts told her that he was dangerous.