The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)

She couldn’t let it happen.

As he was uttering the word of power that would launch him through the ley lines, she joined her mind to his. Dropping one of her swords, she gripped his tunic, and suddenly it felt as if she’d stepped into a rushing waterfall. She clung to the Wizr, feeling his thoughts buck and weave as he panicked. He kept changing destinations, trying to shake her loose. Images of fountains flickered through her mind, the noise of babbling waters of an endless variety mixed with the rush and roar of mighty waterfalls. They were passing swiftly, zigzagging across the continents, her insides wrenching with spasms, but still she held on to him. She sensed his weakness, his mounting desperation to survive. His magic was beginning to fail, and he was forced to carry her weight as well, which was only tiring him faster.

They finally appeared in a small alcove in a damp-smelling chapel. It was well past midnight and the waters of the fountain had been stilled. Trynne fell to her knees with exhaustion, her fingers still digging into Rucrius’s robes. He fell as well, dropping his sword in the water with a loud splash and catching himself on his staff. His legs trembled violently. It was a familiar chapel—one she had been to recently. On her last visit, the twisting snakes carved into the walls had been illuminated by the orange light of torches. She recognized the old smell, a mildewy scent of waterways and damp corners. This was the poisoner school in Pisan, the same fountain she and Morwenna had traveled to before going to Chandigarl.

“Don’t,” Rucrius said, his voice quavering. “Don’t!”

It was considered the height of sacrilege to murder someone in a fountain. But she felt the murmur of the Fountain’s voice.

Slay him.

Rucrius’s eyes widened, as if he too had heard the command. His face twisted with grief and fear. Trynne slowly rose to her feet, her limbs feeling weak, her stomach roiling with nausea.

She had sworn an oath to obey the Fountain. She didn’t have the desire to kill him. The idea repulsed her. But the Fountain demanded it of her, and she had sworn an oath to do its bidding.

“Please,” Rucrius babbled. “I will tell you where your father is. I will serve you and no other. All that I have, all my wealth and power will be—”

She blocked out his words, grabbed a fistful of his tawny mane, and fulfilled the Fountain’s will while standing inside the fountain.



Trynne knelt next to the fountain, her shoulders heaving as she cried softly. The tears kept coming for a mixture of reasons. She had killed before but had never executed someone. She did not feel guilt—no, it was more a feeling of relief. But it anguished her to think her father might truly die because of what she had done. If Rucrius had left orders for his murder, she might have unwittingly sentenced him to death. That thought was unbearable to her, but she trusted the Fountain. She knew her father did as well. And perhaps the Fountain had seen to his protection somehow.

A noise coming from the outside corridor roused her moments later.

The light from a lamp appeared in the corridor, and she heard two men speaking in the language of Pisan. There was no need to utter the word of power that allowed her to understand all languages; she was familiar with this one from the merchants she had met in Ploemeur.

“I know I heard something. It came from the chapel.”

“I heard nothing,” muttered an angry voice.

Their footsteps drew nearer and Trynne rose, stifling the tears that were still fresh in her eyes. She stared down at the fountain water, expecting it to be clouded with blood, but the water was strangely clear. Rucrius’s body was still and silent; all evidence of his magic and power had been snuffed out.

Then Trynne sensed something. It was an awareness, like the presence of another Fountain-blessed trying to remain concealed.

“What did it sound like?”

“I heard splashing.”

There was a grunt of anger. “Maybe someone was taking a bath!”

“It’s the middle of the night,” hissed the other man. “Do you hear anyone now? No, I know what I heard. This way.”

The light drew closer. Trynne knew it was time to return to Dundrennan. She couldn’t be found there, and she did not want to leave the king so vulnerable.

Rucrius had brought her many places, rejecting each one, trying to break free of her grip. Of all the choices he could have made, he had brought her to the poisoner school of Pisan. The school where Morwenna had studied.

How long had Rucrius been involved in the affairs of the kingdoms? Had he played a role in keeping Ceredigion and Occitania and Brugia fighting each other? Was there more subtlety to the poisoner school than she or anyone had imagined?

But there would be time to explore her suspicions later. For now, she needed to return to the fight at Dundrennan. She straightened and invoked the word of power.



Trynne emerged from the fountain in the midst of the castle and quickly invoked the magic of the ring, concealing the armor and streaks of woad on her face, looking just as she had before. The sound of fighting echoed in the stone hall. Trynne rushed out of the chapel and found the corridor filled with bodies, some wearing the tunic of the Pierced Lion, some the armor of Gahalatine. The corridors were lit by flickering torchlight.

“Gather near me!” she heard Captain Staeli bark. “Hold the doors. Do not let any of the wretches past!”

Trynne rounded the corner and saw a wall of soldiers facing off against Staeli and six Oath Maidens. They were outnumbered but defiant. The warriors of Chandigarl pressed forward and the Oath Maidens rushed to meet them, swinging blades and kicking out with booted feet. Trynne watched one of the girls fall. Then another, but for each one who fell, five or six of the enemy was killed.

She rushed to attack the Chandigarli from behind—the enemy soldiers were boxed in, and they seemed to panic when they realized it.

“That does it!” Staeli crooned, slashing at their foes with both hands. In moments, the rest of the attackers had fallen.

“Lady Trynne!” one of the girls said, seeing her.

Captain Staeli looked at her with surprise. “By the shroud, lass! Look at you!”

“It’s Trynne!” said another girl. She had a cut on her cheek but looked hale otherwise.

“I told you she’d be well,” Staeli grunted. She wanted to hug him, but there was too much going on.

“What is happening?” she asked.