Blood of the King

by Bruce Blake

  Grinning though he didn’t find the prospect funny, Khirro moved to a large rock on the bank of the stream where he sat and flexed his leg.

  “It feels good.”

  “Numb from walking.”

  Ghaul unwound the bandage from Khirro’s thigh with a surprisingly gentle touch for a battle-hardened warrior. Dried blood stuck the strip of cloth to itself and Khirro thought of his father. He’d watched him scream and curse as mother changed the bandage where his arm had been. ‘You’re no son of mine,’ he screamed as the gauze pulled painfully away.

  Khirro shook his head and concentrated on Ghaul removing the dressing.

  The warrior pulled the last of the bandage away from his leg, then scooped water from the stream with cupped hands. He splashed it on Khirro’s leg, washing away much of the dried blood. No fresh blood flowed to replace it.

  “How badly does it hurt?”

  “Not at all.”

  Ghaul shook his head. “Something’s wrong. It should still be bleeding.”

  “It feels fine.”

  “Bleeding clears impurities. I better have a look.”

  Khirro stood, removed the Shaman’s sword belt and set it aside on the rock, then dropped his breeches to his knees. Ghaul examined his leg.

  “Gods. How can this be?”

  “What? What is it?”

  Ghaul stepped away, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What manner of man are you?”

  Concerned, Khirro hobbled to the stream and dropped to his knees. He splashed water across his thigh, washing away the last of the dried blood and saw a puckered pink scar where the wound should have been. He brushed it with his fingertips, first lightly, then pushed on it more firmly. No pain.

  “I’m no manner of man,” he said looking up at Ghaul and remembered the warmth in his thigh when he held the vial of the king’s blood. “I mean, I think I know how this happened.”

  He stood and tied his breeches. Ghaul watched, wary as Khirro reached into his jerkin and pulled out the vial. The glass was cool to the touch and he doubted his memory.

  “What are you doing?”

  Khirro didn’t answer. Instead, he raised the vial and touched it to the scratch on his cheek. It warmed immediately. A tingling spread across his face, uncomfortable like an itch he couldn’t find when he went to scratch it, and chased his doubt before it. Ghaul watched, eyebrows slanted in unvoiced question. When the warmth faded, Khirro lowered the vial.

  “Well?”

  Ghaul’s expression lost its edge, shifting to something like wonder. He stepped closer to Khirro, reaching out tentatively. His fingertips brushed his cheek then drew away.

  “Gone,” he whispered.

  “It’s the Shaman’s spell. Whatever he did to keep the king’s blood alive, to sustain it, must spill from the vial.”

  “Let me see it.”

  An instant of panic flashed through Khirro’s mind, then temptation.

  I could give it to him and leave. I could return to the farm. To Emeline.

  He extended his hand, visions of home dancing before his eyes. Ghaul took the vial, holding it between two fingers.

  “It looks like a vial of blood, nothing more.”

  Sweat broke on Khirro’s brow. The thoughts of home, Emeline, and the farm, disappeared. His gut churned.

  The Shaman’s curse won’t let me.

  “Give it back,” he croaked, his throat suddenly dry.

  Ghaul hesitated, looked like he’d refuse. Khirro’s eyes flickered to his sword belt lying on the rock, then back to the warrior. He couldn’t reach it fast enough. Ghaul closed his fingers around the vial, holding it in his fist. Then he laughed.

  “I don’t want your vial, Khirro,” he said tossing it back nonchalantly. Khirro bobbled it but kept it from dropping. “I don’t know how to find the Necromancer.”

  Relief calmed Khirro’s gut, but sadness tempered it. Maybe he’d never be able to return home. He tucked the vial back into its spot.

  “Sorry.” He retrieved his sword belt from the rock.

  Ghaul shrugged. “No need to be. But next time you eye your weapon, you will be.”

  Chapter Ten

  They ate hard cheese and dark bread from Ghaul’s pack, but didn’t sleep. Khirro begged for rest, but Ghaul insisted they push on while they had a chance to increase their lead.

  “The glade is too open,” Ghaul said as they followed the stream south west. “We’ll find somewhere less obvious to rest soon.”

  Soon turned out to be more than three hours later. The sky had lightened to bright morning blue, the sun promising another hot day when it peeked through the branches overhead. They stopped at a huge fallen tree, charred by fire and hollowed by time. A perfect place to sleep unnoticed. Khirro surprised himself by offering to take the first watch. He felt good. A bit of food and a splash of water had done wonders to refresh him.

  Ghaul had been sleeping for an hour when a black bear lumbered by, two cubs cantering along behind. Khirro watched in awe and fear as they passed; Mama bear sniffed the air once and glanced his direction but otherwise ignored him. He’d never seen a bear before. Cows and goats, pigs and chickens were as close as he came to wildlife. He told Ghaul excitedly about his sighting when he woke an hour later. The warrior seemed less than impressed.

  When Ghaul woke Khirro, the sun was hidden above the trees, so he couldn’t tell how long he’d slept. His companion’s expression told him immediately he wasn’t waking him because the time had come to move on.

  “Wha—?” he began, but Ghaul silenced him with a gesture. More gestures followed, but Khirro’s sleep fogged head couldn’t immediately grasp their meaning. It took a moment to realize Ghaul had heard something.

  Birds chirped, insects buzzed; Khirro heard no other sounds as they listened. Minutes passed. Could Ghaul have been mistaken? A smile tugged at Khirro’s lips at the thought.

  Mighty warrior hearing things.

  Then there was a noise, small and far off. It wasn’t the sounds he’d been afraid to hear—no clanking armor, neighing horses, or men shouting that they’d discovered the trail.

  It was a woman’s voice.

  Tension released from Khirro’s shoulders; Ghaul looked at him, shaking his head. He signaled the direction the sound came from and moved from beneath the hollow tree, presumably expecting Khirro to follow. After collecting the items he’d removed for sleep, he did. They picked their way through the brush quickly and carefully, striving for silence, a task Ghaul accomplished much better than Khirro.

  As they drew nearer the sound’s source, other voices joined the woman’s. Khirro heard at least two, perhaps three, all of them men. The woman’s tone suggested anger, though the tangle of trees and shrubs muffled her words as surely as they hid the group from view. Ghaul took the bow from his shoulder and plucked an arrow from the quiver; Khirro drew the black and red blade. When Ghaul saw the sword, his forehead creased and he glanced a questioning look at Khirro but quickly turned his attention back to the sounds before them.

  At the top of a short rise, the trees thinned and the ground dropped away in a gentle slope. A clearing spread out beyond the edge of the forest, not unlike the one at which they’d stopped. Three men laughed and cat-called the naked woman standing in the middle of their rough circle. She seemed unconcerned by her nudity.

  Ghaul motioned Khirro to take cover behind a fallen cedar claimed by moss. Khirro crouched and stole a glance over the top of the log. The woman stood almost as tall as the men surrounding her, red hair spilling down her bare back. He averted his eyes from her nakedness, feeling a hot blush rise in his cheeks, but looked again when she shouted.

  “Give me my money.” She wagged a finger at the biggest of the men, a stocky fellow with thick black beard and powerful arms. Her breasts jiggled with the movement. “Nothing’s free. Pay me what you owe me.”

  The man laughed, caught her by the arm and pulled her into a bear hug, arms pinned at her sides. He kissed her on the lips as she strugg
led to get free, then he pushed her across the circle into the waiting arms of another, this man young with an eager look in his eyes. He repeated his fellow’s actions. Each time she pulled free, they pushed her stumbling into the arms of another man. Her curses and cries of anger rang through the forest. As she fell into the arms of the first man again, he pressed his body against hers.

  “One more for the road, I think,” he boomed, laughing, but his laughter turned quickly to a cry of pain. He pushed the woman away and looked down at his own dagger sticking from his thigh, a dark patch of red spreading down his breeches.

  “You bitch.”

  He grabbed the knife hilt in his right hand and jerked the blade free as his free hand flashed out and caught the woman across the face. She tumbled to the ground, but when she looked up brushing hair from her face, she smiled defiantly showing teeth red with blood.

  Ghaul signaled to Khirro and rose from his crouch, began to move away.

  He wants to leave. We can’t leave her to these animals.

  Khirro grabbed his shoulder.

  “We have to do something,” he whispered.

  The bearded man stood over the woman, hands clenched into fists as the others chided him on. Ghaul’s expression told Khirro they didn’t have time for this foolishness, that a search party was after their heads, but Khirro held his gaze without wavering. After a few seconds, Ghaul gave in.

  “Go over there, quickly. Shout and throw rocks when you see my first arrow fly. Make it sound like you’re more than one man. Go. Hurry.”

  Khirro stole from tree to tree, stooping to pick up rocks on the way. His movement was far from silent but he doubted the men would notice anything but the naked woman.

  “It’s time you got that payment you deserve, whore.”

  Khirro heard the bearded man’s words as he found cover behind a fir tree within throwing range. The man sheathed his dagger and drew his sword, raising it skyward. The woman kicked him in the groin; he howled and stumbled back a step, his compatriots’ laughter adding to his ire. Anger contorting his face, the bearded man growled and raised his sword again. The woman scrambled to get away, but the other men blocked her path.

  When the arrow pierced his shoulder, the bearded man’s expression changed from fury to surprise. His sword hit the ground and he fell to his knees. Khirro took the cue, yelling and launching rocks toward the group, not worrying about aiming but still trying not to hit the woman. Caught off guard, the men panicked.

  When Ghaul skewered the second man through the thigh, they’d had enough of their unseen enemy.

  The uninjured man collected his companions and ran toward their whinnying and prancing horses picketed at the far end of the clearing. Khirro caught the bearded man in the back of the head with a good-sized stone and smiled, satisfied. The man with the arrow in his thigh fell screaming in agony as he attempted to mount his spooked steed. His fellows didn’t stop to help as they crashed into the forest without looking back. The man dragged himself to his horse, struggled into the saddle, and took off hanging from his horse at a dangerous angle. Khirro smiled, an unfamiliar feeling of triumph tingling his arms and legs with a flood of adrenaline.

  So this is what it feels like to be a real soldier.

  He rushed into the clearing, hooting and hollering after them. Ghaul did the same and they came together to watch the men disappear into the trees.

  “They’re afraid of us and the rest of our company,” Ghaul said sweeping his arm across the empty meadow. “They won’t be back anytime soon.”

  The woman stared at them, suspicion burning in her eyes as they approached. She pulled herself to a sitting position, knees hugged to her chest, blood running down her chin from her split lip. She watched them but said nothing.

  “Are you all right?” Khirro asked when they were a few yards from her.

  “Take what you will of me,” she said, neither fear nor resignation in her voice.

  Ghaul laughed. “There is naught we want of you, my lady, except perhaps your thanks and direction to the nearest village.”

  Her brow wrinkled beneath the red hair spilling across her forehead as though she didn’t understand what he’d said. Or didn’t believe it.

  “Thank you,” she said hesitantly.

  In spite of her unkempt hair and the blood on her chin, Khirro found her beautiful. Freckles peppered her cheeks and shoulders. She searched their faces with eyes shining green like the ocean and almost as deep.

  Ghaul offered her his hand and something twinged in Khirro’s belly—Ghaul hadn’t wanted to stop yet now proffered aid. The woman placed her hand in his without reservation, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She stretched while Ghaul appraised her appreciatively. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care as she made no attempt to cover herself. Embarrassment spread across Khirro’s cheeks.

  “I’m Ghaul. My companion his Khirro.”

  “Elyea.” Her gaze darted back and forth between them. She’s looking at our armor. “Why would two men be hiding in the forest? Are you deserters? I’ve had enough of deserters today.”

  “Oh no, my lady,” Khirro said. “Not deserters. We’re—”

  “Misplaced wanderers in need of clothing and supplies,” Ghaul interrupted. “This is why we need your help. Could you direct us to the nearest village?”

  She nodded. “I’ll take you.”

  “But where are your clothes, my lady?” Khirro asked.

  He attempted to keep his eyes from the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts, the patch of red hair between her legs, but found it difficult. She smiled.

  “Does my body cause you discomfort, brave rescuer?” She canted her hips, her smile spreading from her lips to her eyes.

  “No,” Khirro replied, fire burning in his cheeks. “I thought you’d be more comfortable clothed.” He looked at his feet.

  “I’m comfortable either way, but I see you’re not.”

  She strode to where her frock hung on the low branch of a tree, her steps slow, purposeful and full of grace. Khirro raised his eyes to watch her heart shaped buttocks swing side to side as she went. Ghaul made an ‘mmm’ sound in the back of his throat.

  “One thing we need to get straight if I’m to help you: my name is Elyea. No more ‘my lady’ shite. I am no man’s lady.”

  She pulled the dress unhurriedly over her head, the shapeless shift disguising her curves as she stood erect and elegant, wiping the blood from her chin with it. She returned at the same deliberate pace, curtseying as she reached them.

  “Is that better?”

  “Better for my friend,” Ghaul said continuing to eye her. “He’s shy.”

  “I’m not shy. I... I’m married,” Khirro bumbled.

  Elyea moved to him, put her hand on his chest; it brushed the vial hidden beneath. She smiled—most of the blood was gone from her teeth. “You’re not the first married man to see me unclothed.”

  The redness rushed back to his cheeks, sweat jumped to his brow and he took a step away. Ghaul laughed.

  “Why were those men treating you that way?” Khirro asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “When I completed the work they contracted me for, they refused to pay.”

  “But what of your clothes? Did they rape you?” The word prodded a cold finger into Khirro’s heart.

  “No, Khirro. I told you: I completed the work for which I was hired.”

  Ghaul chuckled again. “Don’t you see, Khirro? Our lady friend is a harlot.”

  “I prefer the term ‘courtesan’. I guess your friend hasn’t met a woman such as I, Ghaul.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Khirro wanted to ask her why a woman like her would sell her body for pocket change, but he held his tongue. He didn’t know her; it wasn’t his place to question her.

  “Those men would have killed you,” he said instead.

  Elyea shrugged. “Hazards of the job. A girl has to put food in the pantry. Now, do you or don’t you need someone to tak
e you to the village?”

  Ghaul bowed, gesturing toward the forest with a sweep of his arm. “Lead on, my lady.”

  “Elyea,” she insisted, then started toward the south end of the clearing, her white dress swaying. Sun shone through the thin material, outlining the shape of her legs beneath.

  “But what of those men?” Khirro asked keeping pace a couple of steps behind. “What if they come back?”

  “They won’t come back,” Ghaul said, eyes tracking the sway of the woman’s hips.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Men like them are cowards,” Elyea said over her shoulder. “And two of them are in need of a good surgeon, thanks to you.”

  “Not just us,” Ghaul said. “You did some cutting yourself, my lady.”

  “Elyea.”

  Ghaul smiled as she quickened her pace.

  “Quite a woman,” Ghaul said to Khirro in a hushed voice. “But be wary. I’m loathe to trust a harlot.”

  “We saved her life. She wouldn’t do anything to harm us.”

  Ghaul grunted noncommittally.

  They were correct—Khirro had never met a harlot, or a courtesan, or a whore. His village was too small to support such trade, though some told rumors that the widow Breadmaker sold more than bannock to passing merchants and wanderers. Khirro didn’t know if the stories were true—she’d only offered him bread. The differences between Elyea and the widow Breadmaker were like comparing a destrier to a used up donkey.

  Elyea had gotten farther ahead, so she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

  “Are you two coming or are you going to spend your day looking at my ass?”

  They followed the gurgling stream as it twisted and turned, mimicking Khirro’s thoughts.

  Trust her, don’t trust her?

  They wouldn’t reach their destination without supplies, so they had little choice. Ghaul and Elyea walked together, talking and laughing, leaving him trailing behind to ponder his thoughts and wish he could talk to a woman like her as easily. He watched the courtesan pick her way across rocks and through underbrush with lithe grace despite the loose sandals snapping against her heel. From time to time, Ghaul or Elyea would cast a question or comment over their shoulder to which he replied with a smile or nod—as few words as possible—then return to his ruminations.