Blood of the King

by Bruce Blake

  “Why are we here?”

  “So you know you are not alone.”

  The tyger tilted its head, long whiskers quivering, its eyes never wavering from Khirro’s. The breeze stirring the lake ceased, the water calmed. Somewhere in the distance a cricket sang, the first sound Khirro heard in the dream not created by himself or the tyger.

  “Will you help me?” he asked.

  “When I am needed, I will be there.”

  The tyger rose and turned toward the forest, its tail brushing Khirro’s face. He marveled at the size of the creature—it must have measured more than six meters from tip of nose to end of tail. It sauntered to the edge of the trees, hips swaying and tail flicking, then crouched and sprang gracefully away, swallowed by the forest. The urge to follow tugged at Khirro and he stood, took a step toward the trees. No sound followed the tyger’s passing, leaving only the lonely cricket song to disturb the silent night. He wanted to follow, but a certainty that the big cat wasn’t the only creature lurking amongst the trees stayed his step.

  Khirro sat back down and leaned back, his head in the water sending ripples racing across its smooth surface. He stared up at the slivered moon and the clear black sky. Stars he didn’t recognize winked and shimmered as he slowly exhaled and closed his eyes. Immediately, visions of Emeline returned, but she was different, her hair red instead of brown, her face freckled. When she spoke, he couldn’t hear her words but knew the voice didn’t belong to her, either. Elyea’s voice, Elyea’s hair, Elyea’s face. Khirro opened his eyes.

  The moon and lake were gone, disappeared like the tyger, as had the cricket’s ballad. Instead, branches hung over him, sunlight streaming through the foliage. The smell of mossy earth was strong in his nostrils.

  “Are you all right?”

  He blinked and looked at Elyea knowing he no longer dreamed. Her hair hung down, framing her face, the morning sun shining behind creating the illusion she glowed.

  “You called out in your sleep,” she said. “You were dreaming.”

  “Yes,” he replied, but said no more for fear of losing the peaceful feeling sating his spirit.

  “It’s time to go. Maes made food to break our fast. You can eat in the saddle.”

  Khirro smiled at her, still not speaking.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” he said again. “Thank you.”

  She gave him an odd look, then turned and walked to her horse, leaving him to collect himself. He watched as she went, thinking of the white tyger and its words, of the pristine lake and of how Emeline’s face became Elyea’s. The empty ache of loneliness so often permeating his heart upon waking was absent this morning. He slipped his hand beneath his tunic and touched the vial hidden by his heart, its warmth flowing into his fingers. He pushed himself to his feet, rested and fortified, ready for whatever the day might bring.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A low haze of dust hung over Tasgarad’s streets, kicked up by people, horses and wagons hurrying all directions. Stone buildings stood beside waddle and daub huts lining the streets, giving the town a feel of being caught between village and burgeoning city. Tents abutted the town’s perimeter, most housing traveling merchants or entertainers, many of them from Vendaria and other points further south, here to sell their wares.

  The group rode down the main street together, keeping their horses to a walk, Khirro and Ghaul wearing cloaks over their armor. Athryn had suggested leaving their leather and mail hidden rather than wear it, but Ghaul would have none of it. With soldiers about, he was unwilling to disarm. Athryn conceded but warned they’d have to be careful if they wanted to make it through Tasgarad without attracting attention. He hoped to make the border by nightfall, slip past the guard posts in the dark, and be well into Vendaria by morning light.

  “Take Khirro and Ghaul, Elyea. Purchase as much food as you can carry.” Athryn pulled a leather pouch from beneath his cape and handed it to her. “Maes and I have other matters to attend to. We will meet you on the south side of town at midday.”

  Khirro waved as Athryn turned the horse the two men shared down a side street, leaving them to stock their supplies at the market. Ghaul grunted as they left, his way of saying he mistrusted the pair.

  “How long have you known Athryn, Elyea?” Khirro asked hoping for an answer to quell his companion’s misgiving.

  “Many years. When I was concubine of the king, he’d come to me in secret and distract me from my pain with sleight-of-hand. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he likely used magic to heal my wounds at the same time.”

  “That doesn’t mean I should trust him,” Ghaul snarled.

  “No, I suppose not, but I do.”

  She guided her horse around a throng of soldiers crooning a discordant song as they staggered across the street outside a public house. One of them eyed the three riders, but quickly rejoined his comrades in their bawdy ballad.

  “And what of that damned pet midget of his? Why does the boy not speak?”

  “Don’t jest about him,” Elyea warned, her voice serious. “Maes was also forced to serve in the king’s court. The king was no less cruel with entertainers than with his concubines. Maes doesn’t speak because the king took his tongue.”

  “Gods.” Khirro had assumed the little man born unable to speak. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Athryn won’t speak of it. One day, before Braymon fought to free the kingdom, Athryn ceased coming to my chambers. It wasn’t until years later we crossed paths again. That Maes’ tongue had been removed was all he would tell me then, and he has told me no more since.”

  A watchman’s eyes followed them as they rode past the guard house at the market entrance. If he noticed the bulkiness of their clothes or wondered at the shield lashed to Khirro’s saddle, he didn’t stop them. The lanes ahead, clogged by merchants and shoppers, were too narrow for horses so they guided their steeds to a nearby tree to picket them. A boy of no more than eight summers sat nearby, idly tossing pebbles at a stump. Elyea knelt before him, said something Khirro didn’t hear, then took a copper from the pouch Athryn had given her. The boy nodded excitedly and took the coin, a broad smile on his tanned face.

  “The horses will be safe,” Elyea said as she returned. They took their packs from the horses and strode into the churning throng of market-goers.

  Color and sound nearly overwhelmed Khirro as they waded into the marketplace, easily three times the size of Inehsul’s, which had been much bigger than the one in his own town. Khirro stared in awe at tents of green, purple or blue, some striped with white, all crowded so closely they left only enough room between for a line of customers to file past. The people bustling amongst them jostled for the best pick of produce or examined a merchant’s offerings. Each time Khirro moved, someone else bumped against the sword hidden beneath his cloak or his leather chest piece. Every person seemed a threat to their journey and he found himself wishing they’d taken Athryn’s advice.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” Ghaul said, his words diverting Khirro’s attention from the worries brought by the spectacle around him. “Why does Athryn have so much concern for this midget? Would the world be a worse place if there were one fewer?”

  “Would it be worse for one fewer smart mouthed fighting man?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Elyea shook her head, sighed. “Maes is Athryn’s twin brother.”

  “Twin?”

  “Yes. Maes is the older of the two, but only by a few moments.”

  “If this Athryn is so good and compassionate, why does he make his brother injure himself for the sake of a little trickery?”

  Khirro interrupted their conversation to have Elyea pay for a package of salt pork. She took a coin from the pouch, then returned to speaking with Ghaul as Khirro stored the purchase in his pack.

  “There is much I don’t know about these two,” she said. “But I don’t believe Athryn makes Maes do anything.”
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  “There’s much you don’t know, and yet you trust them,” Ghaul scoffed.

  Elyea stopped, the tide of people flowing past as she turned to Ghaul, her face grave. “I trust them with my life. I’d be dead if not for them.”

  “Hmph. If you trust them such, I guess we have no choice. But I’ll keep my eyes on them nonetheless. A magician is never to be trusted.”

  “We should get potatoes and corn,” Khirro said changing the subject. “It’s their season, the flavor will be excellent.”

  Fruits and vegetables lay displayed on stand after stand, some varieties even Khirro hadn’t seen before. As they wandered the stalls, Khirro explained to Elyea how different vegetables were planted and harvested, what time of year was best for which ones, and how to tell where melons were grown by the tint of their rind. His concern dissipated, eased by these familiar things and by Elyea’s appreciation of his knowledge.

  Ghaul vetoed most of his selections because there would be edible vegetation in the forest, therefore no reason to waste space in their packs. Khirro deferred to his experience and they spent Athryn’s coin on dried meats, hard cheese, dark bread, and a quiver of arrows. When the money was spent and their packs full, they made their way back to the horses. Khirro pondered their journey as they walked. He’d never been this far south and knew little of Vendaria. He’d met merchants from the country, and knew they spoke their own language, but beyond that, all was a mystery. One couldn’t tell a Vendarian from an Erechanian except for their language and accent when speaking the common tongue—much like it was impossible to tell a Kanosee from either of them.

  They reached the horses and found the lad still pitching stones at the stump. He jumped up when he saw them and gestured excitedly toward their horses and gear, showing them how well he’d done the job. Elyea took the last copper from Athryn’s pouch and flipped it to him. The boy caught it and ran off without a word of thanks, disappearing into the market to spend his new found wealth. Elyea laughed, delighted by the boy’s enthusiasm as they removed their packs and secured them to their steeds.

  “Oy,” a voice boomed behind them. “I know you, wench.”

  Startled, Khirro spun around. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ghaul’s hand go to the hilt of his sword.

  A man built like a barrel approached them on thick legs protruding from his massive body. Khirro found it hard to believe the border guard found a hauberk large enough to fit the man, yet he wore their colors. Elyea glanced at Ghaul and Khirro then back at the man, his mane of black hair and dense beard all but obscuring his features.

  “I don’t think you do, good soldier.”

  “Yeah, I does.” The man snorted and spat on the ground in front of Elyea; she took a step back. The odor of stale beer wafted from him. “You’re the whore from Inehsul.”

  “You’re mistaken. Move along.” Ghaul stepped between them, but the man pushed him aside as though only a child.

  “We have unfinished business, we does.” He grabbed Elyea’s arm. “I passed out before we was done, but you took your payment from me while I slept.”

  He yanked her arm, dragging her toward the guard house. Elyea dug her heels into the ground, shaking her head and protesting, but the mountainous man ignored her. Khirro took a step after them then stopped, not sure what he could do.

  “No,” Elyea protested trying to free her arm. The man pulled her along, her feet digging furrows in the ground.

  “You need to be taught a lesson, whore. You can’t treat a man that way. You can’t—”

  He stopped, body stiffening. Elyea pulled away as his grip slackened, the crowd pushing by as he swayed on his legs. The big man looked down; Khirro followed his gaze to the hilt of Ghaul’s dagger protruding from his side. The soldier slumped as Ghaul wrenched the blade free, catching him about the waist and guiding him to where the horses were tethered. A woman looked at them questioningly as she passed.

  “My friend had too much drink, I’m afraid,” Ghaul explained with a smile.

  The woman gave him a scornful look—barely after noon and this man was too inebriated to stand on his own. She continued on her way without noticing the bloody blade in Ghaul’s hand.

  “What did you—?” Khirro began.

  “Help me, he’s heavy.”

  Reluctantly, Khirro grabbed the man’s arm and directed him to a spot under the chestnut tree by the horses. Blood bubbled at his lips as he moaned, his head sagged forward.

  “On the horses, quick,” Elyea urged loosing the reins.

  Khirro watched the man’s life drain out onto the ground, mesmerized and appalled he was watching yet another man die.

  How did this happen?

  One moment they were purchasing supplies, the next a man’s life was ending.

  “Now, Khirro,” Ghaul commanded. “Calmly. Don’t attract attention.”

  His trance broken, Khirro slipped a foot into a stirrup and glanced again at the bulky soldier with the thick black beard, his eyes now closed. If not for the dark patch spreading on the ground beside him, the man may have fallen asleep under a tree on a hot summer day.

  Death can look so peaceful.

  Khirro pulled himself into the saddle.

  They guided their steeds back toward the market gate at a forced pace, faster than they’d entered but not reckless enough to garner attention. Khirro felt eyes following as they departed, accusing them. He shifted in the saddle, looked over his shoulder at people as they passed and wondered if they knew what happened. Ghaul rode ahead, the bloody knife hidden beneath his cloak. As they rode through the gate, Ghaul nodded to the guard, and then they were in the less crowded street beyond.

  “Stay calm.” Elyea pulled her mount even with Khirro’s. “Go right at the next lane and we’ll be out of sight.”

  He nodded and prompted his steed on. With a few yards left between them and the corner, a woman’s scream made Khirro twist in the saddle, straining to see. A guard rushed from the guardhouse, pushing through the crowd toward a woman standing by the dead man. She lifted her head and pointed toward them. Other soldiers broke from the crowd and ran to their horses.

  “Go!”

  Ghaul’s horse sprang forward as he dug his heels into its sides. Elyea followed, her mount kicking up a veil of dust from the parched ground. Khirro had time to see several soldiers urge their horses down the street before his own mount surged forward. People dove out of their way as they thundered along the boulevard and around the corner onto the narrower lane. He kept his eyes on Elyea ahead, not knowing where they’d go, how they’d escape.

  “Follow me,” she cried over her shoulder, the beating hooves all but drowning her out.

  People cowered against the rough walls of buildings as they raced past. Khirro choked the reins, each powerful stride shifting him in his seat. Elyea slowed rounding another corner and Khirro glanced back. Their pursuers were past the first corner, closing ground.

  The deserted street they veered on to was narrower than the last. Hoof beats clattered on the cobble stones, echoed from the close walls, multiplying their trio into a platoon on the run.

  A figure appeared in the lane ahead.

  Khirro stretched, nearly sacrificing his seat to see past Elyea and Ghaul. Maes stood in the middle of the avenue, signaling them into an alley. They reined in their horses and followed his direction, crowding into the tight space where Athryn waited.

  “Stop. Be silent.”

  The magician looked to Maes as he entered behind them; the little man nodded, drew his dirk, then pulled up the leg of his breeches and pressed the blade against the flesh of his calf. Athryn began a whispered chant as Maes cut his leg. Khirro cringed at the sight of fresh blood.

  A sere breath of wind coughed down the alley, standing the hairs at the back of Khirro’s neck on end. The air grew hazy, like distant heat shimmering on a sweltering day. The opacity swirled about them, concentrating at the mouth of the alley, first solidifying, then changing color to match the walls ar
ound it. Athryn’s incantation continued, the only sound other than the panting of the horses.

  Hoof beats broke the calm. Khirro held his breath and stroked his horse’s mane to calm him as the sound grew louder. A rider passed, oblivious to them hidden behind the illusory wall. Another went by, then another. A cloud of dust wafted into the alley. Finally, two more riders galloped past and the sounds receded. Athryn chanted until the noise of pursuit disappeared, then his whispers ceased and the conjured barrier disappeared. The magician rushed to his brother’s side, pulled a bandage from the pouch on his belt.

  “They will soon realize they have been deceived,” he said as he wound gauze around Maes’ leg. “We must make for the forest to the south. Stay close to me and we should be safe.”

  He boosted Maes into the saddle and swung himself up. Khirro’s heart raced, keeping time with the pounding hooves as they spurred their horses down the street in the direction their pursuers had gone. No one spoke as they rode from the alley, soon turning toward the southern town limits and the forest. Beyond lay the Vendarian border with its line of guard towers. After that, a potentially hostile country, and then the cursed land.

  As he bounced along in the saddle trying to keep from falling, Khirro wondered if he’d ever feel safe again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Colorful dresses and frilled undergarments hung limply from the line strung between two trees with no wind to make them flutter. Suath watched, his patience honed through years spent lying in wait for the enemy. In this case, the variety of clothing on the line told him the enemy was three women. Gathering information from one person could be difficult but, with more than one, the job should be easy.

  One of them would tell him what he wanted to know.

  A young blonde emerged from the waddle and daub cottage to check the laundry, her hair pinned up in a tussled nest at the back of her head. The mercenary didn’t move. He needed to know where they all were, choose the right time before showing himself, otherwise it could be dangerous and messy. He hadn’t survived this long by making things dangerous and messy. He watched as she ran her hand down the fronts of the dresses; finding them still damp, she left them hanging and returned to the hut’s shaded interior.