Blood of the King

by Bruce Blake

  The mask didn’t hide the way Athryn’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Black with red? These are the markings of Sheyndust, Shaman of the Kanosee. I did not think Sheyndust capable of such an act. It would take much more power than I have, or Bale had.”

  Ghaul snorted. “Either someone has learned a new trick, or we ride into the grasp of our enemy.”

  “Animating the dead is the act of someone striving toward necromancy. This does not bode well for the kingdom.”

  Maes returned to his brother’s side, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the sky. Athryn nodded.

  “It is time to continue.” He rose and brushed bread crumbs from his breeches. “Night will be upon us soon.”

  Khirro saddled his horse, stomach churning. If Darestat was swelling the Kanosee ranks with soldiers of the dead, they’d be riding to their deaths, no doubt of that. But what did it mean if Sheyndust possessed the ability to bring forth the dead? He swung into the saddle and allowed his horse to follow the others. Thoughts of Emeline sprang to his mind, and of his farm, but the image appeared vague, unclear, like a child’s drawing left in the sun too long, the lines had faded.

  Will they eventually disappear?

  A hand on his arm roused him and he turned to Elyea riding beside him.

  “All will turn out.” The small action settled his gut a bit; Emeline disappeared from his thoughts. “Have faith. Athryn knows what he’s doing. Besides, the Gods smile on people like you.”

  He smiled thinly. “And what of people like you?”

  “Some of us have to take care of ourselves.”

  They concealed themselves in the thin brush at the edge of the swath of cleared land separating the two kingdoms. The bare tract stood five hundred meters wide and stretched the length of the border, the trees cut down centuries before to provide wood to build the guard towers dotting the frontier. Originally built to discourage bandits and refugees, the kingdoms maintained the non-barrier more out of habit than need. During wartime, however, no doubt the border guards would be more wary.

  A fingernail moon cast sparse light as they watched torches flicker in tower windows and a foot patrol pass between the towers at irregular intervals. After an hour’s observation, a whispered discussion between Athryn and Ghaul decided they’d attempt the crossing one by one. They’d already let the horses go knowing they couldn’t sneak them across the border.

  Ghaul glanced at the sky and Khirro followed his gaze: clear, as it had been for a month. No wisp of cloud hid the moon. Ghaul looked at the others, then nodded silently. They tightened straps and secured loose items then, without a word, Ghaul broke cover, moving swiftly across the field, crouched low and halting at the slightest hint of movement. Khirro reminded himself to breathe as he watched Ghaul zig-zag over the bare expanse, choosing a path which took him farthest from the towers. After a few minutes, Athryn sent Elyea and Maes.

  A finger of fear prodded Khirro’s heart, shaking him. It didn’t matter who they were or why they were here, any soldier manning the outposts wouldn’t ask questions before launching an arrow or swinging a sword. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction they’d come, wondered how difficult it would be to find one of the horses and make his way home.

  That’s why Athryn will send me next: they don’t trust me.

  A burst of anger flared but quickly disappeared.

  I thought of leaving. They shouldn’t trust me.

  Elyea and Maes stopped suddenly and dove to the ground. Khirro’s breath caught in his throat, anger and fear forgotten. He squinted into the night but saw no sentry, darkness and distance obscuring all save outlines and shapes. A tense moment passed. Ghaul’s form had disappeared long ago and he assumed he’d reached the forest on the other side—the forest of Vendaria. Beside Khirro, Athryn’s lips moved, forming a wordless whisper of breath. As if in answer, Maes rose, helped Elyea to her feet, and they continued, darkness swallowing them after another minute.

  Khirro jumped when Athryn touched his shoulder.

  “It is time,” he whispered. His black cloth mask and the cowl of his black cloak covering his blond hair concealed all but the scant glint of moonlight in his eyes; Khirro might not have noticed him crouched beside him.

  Khirro’s heart climbed into his throat, threatening his breath; Athryn urged him forward with a gentle push. Out of the brush, Khirro felt like he’d been thrust naked into the middle of a busy marketplace, exposed and vulnerable. He crouched low, scuttled across the field. His foot struck a rock, kicking it away, and he stopped, listening, not breathing. When he heard no other sounds, he moved forward again more slowly, the weight of pack and shield on his back suddenly immense. The stillness of the night amplified every creak of his armor to ear shattering levels. In his mind, an unseen voice challenged him, the whistle of an arrow cloaked in darkness came to pierce his heart. He stopped, kneeling, pausing to catch the breath which had fled him.

  To Khirro’s right, a guard tower loomed, slivers of light leaking through shuttered windows and under closed door. He looked left and made out the next watch tower in the line a little farther away. His legs didn’t want to move but Khirro forced them to creep forward, eyes pinned to the near guard post. Each step brought more confidence and he straightened, moved more quickly expecting the guard tower door to swing inward at any second.

  Directly between the two towers, his foot caught in a clump of weeds and he pitched forward to the ground.

  Khirro turned his shoulder, took the fall on his back. The clank of shield impacting ground seemed as loud as a clap of thunder. He rolled off it, came to a halt lying on his chest, sweat cold on his forehead. Afraid to breathe, he strained listening for any sound of men but heard only crickets chirruping and an owl call out a question that went unanswered.

  No noise from the guard post, no door or window thrown open.

  Carefully, Khirro rose. A figure to his left startled him and he turned toward it but it moved with him. He moved again and it did, too. With a sigh, he chastised himself for fearing his dim shadow and started toward the forest, careful of his footing. The yards of bare ground before him seemed to stretch on forever. His pack grew heavier with each step as panic grew within him. What if he reached the trees and couldn’t find the others?

  What if this is a trap?

  When he finally reached the brush, he crouched and glanced around but didn’t see his companions.

  They’ve been discovered.

  He searched for them, the bushes rustling with his movements, desperation festering in his stomach tempting him to shout for Ghaul. He parted his lips to call out when a hand covered his mouth, pulled him to the ground. Khirro clamored for his sword, unable to reach it. He ceased thrashing when Ghaul’s face appeared before his, a finger held up to his frowning lips.

  Relief drained the tension from Khirro’s limbs and he grinned sheepishly, a smile Ghaul didn’t return. He imagined what the soldier must be thinking, but it didn’t matter, he was safe—for now. He clambered to his feet with no help from Ghaul, and scanned the darkness for Athryn crossing to join them, avoiding thoughts of the tongue lashing he’d have to endure from Ghaul later. His clumsiness had endangered them all, a trend he had to stop.

  I’ll learn from this, be more careful next time.

  Minutes passed, unease growing in Khirro as he waited. He shifted from one foot to the other, crossed his arms and uncrossed them, eyes darting, seeing nothing of the magician crossing the open land. But why did he feel so unsettled? If any of them could cross the border undetected, it was Athryn. Peering intently into the dark, Khirro ignored the growing notion something was amiss. He shifted again, careful to move noiselessly. The unease spread from his head and chest into his limbs, manifesting physically, weighing them down.

  Something was very wrong.

  As Athryn finally pushed through the brush, Khirro realized what. He slipped his hand beneath his tunic, hoping he guessed wrong, already knowing what he’d find.
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br />   Gone.

  Ghaul tapped his shoulder, signaled him to follow. Khirro shook his head and the warrior gestured again. Embarrassed and afraid, Khirro didn’t want to tell but had no other choice.

  “The vial’s gone.”

  Ghaul’s face first slackened with surprise then went stern in anger.

  “You dropped it?”

  Khirro nodded minutely. With a shake of his head, Ghaul turned to the others and told them what happened. Without waiting for them to add their accusing looks to Ghaul’s, Khirro slipped shield and pack from his back and moved quickly back onto the open ground before they could stop him or he changed his mind. The Shaman made the vial his responsibility, for better or for worse, so he’d fix this.

  After only a few paces, an out-of-place, insistent bird call caught his attention. He looked around at Ghaul motioning him back but Khirro shook his head and continued, hurrying back along his previous path as quickly as he dared. Ghaul would be angry with him for ignoring him, but he was already angry anyway. He put the thought from his mind as the guard posts loomed and he searched for the spot where he fell. He must have lost the vial when he rolled on the ground.

  What if I broke it?

  The thought startled Khirro and he touched his chest: no damp spot on his tunic. Gods be with him, the vial had only come free. He fell to hands and knees, scanning the dirt and brittle grass, picking up scraps of wood and rocks and tossing them aside.

  The sound of wood scraping against wood froze him in his spot—it was the sound of a bar withdrawn from its place on a door. Khirro flattened, pressing his belly to the dirt. The door opened, torchlight flooded onto the brown scrub grass. A figure stood framed in the doorway, pole arm in hand.

  “Who goes there?”

  The man sounded stern and threatening but Khirro thought he heard a slur in the words, the result of one too many drinks. He held his breath, body tensed. A reflection of the torchlight off something lying on the ground a few yards away caught his eye.

  The vial.

  “I said ‘who’s there’?”

  The guard stepped forward from the doorway, brandishing his weapon. Stretched upon the ground, Khirro couldn’t reach his sword, though it would be suicide if he did. The guard took another step.

  “It is I, Shyn,” another voice said, surprising both Khirro and the border guard. A tall man clad in Erechanian leathers stepped into the light cast by the guard’s torch. His hand didn’t linger near the sword hanging at his side.

  “What are you doing here?” the border guard asked derisively, his threatening stance relaxing at the sight of the other man.

  “Patrol,” the second man replied. “Go back to your merry-making. I’ll protect the border for you.”

  The man’s foot came to rest inches from the vial. Another step and he might shatter it. Part of Khirro hoped he did.

  “Go back where you belong, Shyn. The border is no place for the likes of you.” The guard spit in the dirt, a line of saliva trailing down his chin. “Go back to Tasgarad and concern yourself with drunks and thieves and whores. Leave the soldiering to real soldiers.” He retreated, slamming the door behind him, giving the other man no opportunity to reply.

  Shyn stood his ground, fists clenched, fierce gaze burning into the closed door. To Khirro it felt a long time he lay on his belly unmoving, breath shallow as he waited for the man’s next action. After a time he crouched, wrapped his fingers around the vial and stood again. Khirro’s heart jumped into his throat. The man strode to where Khirro lay struggling not to squirm at his approach.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Khirro looked up at the man, blinking. No anger or threat showed on his face, his hand held no weapon. Still, Khirro neither moved nor spoke. Shyn knelt before him, offering him the vessel.

  If he knew I was here, why didn’t he give me away?

  “I don’t know what this contains, but it must be important for five of you to risk your lives like this.”

  Khirro took the vial from the man’s big hand. Calm flowed into him, down his arm and into his chest. He wanted to thank the man, but fear and confusion kept him from speaking.

  “Where are your friends?”

  Khirro gestured toward the forest with his chin. The soldier nodded without looking.

  “I’ll take you to them. Stay behind me and no one will see you.”

  He offered Khirro his hand, helping him to his feet. The man stood a head taller than Khirro, making it easy to hide behind him. Carefully matching stride, they passed the tower without challenge but, when they reached the tree line, Ghaul stepped from behind a high bush, an arrow aimed at Shyn.

  “Let him go,” he ordered, voice low and dripping with threat. Ghaul wouldn’t hesitate to kill his rescuer.

  “I’m not his captive.” Khirro put himself between the two men

  “Move, Khirro. Don’t get between my bow and an enemy. You’ll not like the outcome.”

  “He saved me when I was sure to be discovered.”

  Ghaul pulled the arrow back further, the bowstring creaking. Athryn emerged from cover and rested his hand on Ghaul’s shoulder.

  “Come,” he whispered gesturing for them to follow.

  Khirro led Shyn warily past Ghaul who stepped away to keep his arrow trained on the big man. Athryn led them deeper into the forest, Maes and Elyea hand-in-hand behind the others as they picked their way through fallen trees and tangled brush in the dim moonlight. Ghaul’s bow didn’t waver from Shyn’s back. With the magician satisfied they had put enough distance between themselves and the guard post, he spoke again.

  “Who are you? Why did you save Khirro?”

  Shyn looked from Athryn to Ghaul. “Tell him to lower his bow. I’ll harm no one. You can have my sword as proof, if you like.”

  “Don’t trust him,” Ghaul said through gritted teeth.

  Athryn ignored him and nodded to Maes. The small man went to their captive and took his sword. Shyn looked a giant beside the jester.

  “Lower your bow,” Athryn said. Ghaul acquiesced reluctantly. “Who are you?”

  “Shyn,” he replied with a short bow. “A soldier of King Braymon’s army.”

  “But why did you help Khirro?” Elyea asked. “Doesn’t the border guard keep people from crossing without permission?”

  “Aye, but the guard has been turned into a collection of fools and jackasses of late, with all the officers and good soldiers taken north to bolster the Isthmus.”

  “That explains why you’re still here,” Ghaul grunted. Shyn didn’t react.

  “It doesn’t explain why you helped Khirro.” Elyea shot Ghaul an angry look.

  “I saw what happened in Tasgarad.” He glanced from one companion to the next, his eyes shining an unusual shade of yellow, his complexion ashen in the wan light. “I would be no servant of the king if I let a magician, two fighters, a woman and a midget go on their way without finding out what they were doing.”

  “See? He means to turn us in,” Ghaul barked, half-raising his bow. Athryn lifted his hand, stilling him.

  “I just passed up the perfect opportunity for that, didn’t I?”

  Ghaul frowned, jaw muscles bulging, but said nothing. Khirro glanced from one to the other, wondering who would come out on top should it come to a fight. He’d seen how savage Ghaul could be, but Shyn was taller, bigger and must have great skill to have followed them so far, so closely, without notice. He hoped they wouldn’t find out.

  “But why?” Khirro asked.

  “An unregistered magician wouldn’t perform magic in public without just cause. No soldiers of Erechania would be associated with a sorcerer not of royal decree. I can see no explanation for the woman and the little one. You’re either up to great evil or great good.”

  “The difference is likely a matter of perception, Shyn,” Athryn said. “But either way, you are correct.”

  “Never mind that,” Ghaul snapped. “We can’t trust him. We should kill him.”


  The vial at Khirro’s breast blazed suddenly, startling him.

  “No,” he exclaimed before he knew what he was saying. “There’s much bloodshed to come. Let’s not kill for the sake of killing.”

  “If we let him go, he’ll reveal us,” Ghaul argued. “Speak some sense to the farmer, Athryn.”

  There’s that word again.

  Khirro ground his teeth. What would it take to show Ghaul he wasn’t the farmer he met two weeks ago? It wasn’t his fault the vial came free when he fell, it might have happened to any of them.

  “We can bring him with us, see if he can be trusted,” Khirro said looking to Athryn. The magician glanced from Khirro to Shyn, then to Ghaul, but didn’t speak. “If he proves trustworthy, we can use his sword. If not, we can let him go when we’re too far from here for it to matter.”

  “We’re at war, Khirro. No one can be trusted.”

  “Khirro speaks sense, Ghaul,” Athryn said finally, then turned to Shyn; Khirro wondered what the border guard thought of this masked man. “You will accompany us. I will keep your weapons and you will be bound, but you will be alive. We will decide your final fate when we are safely away from the border.”

  “This is a mistake,” Ghaul grated.

  “No.” Khirro’s tone betrayed more of his anger than he intended. “This man had me at his mercy, now he deserves ours.”

  He looked at the border guard but his face revealed neither relief nor fear, he simply nodded his thanks.

  No lush forest or serene lake surrounded him in the dream this time, no slivered moon, no rocky shore. Khirro lay face down in dry grass, silence and darkness weighing on him, pinning him. Somewhere, somebody was searching for him; he knew this though he saw nothing but the grass before his eyes and heard naught but the wind bending its long blades. He wanted to stand and search out his pursuer, but knew it could mean his life. He lay there alone, afraid, staring at the ground.

  “You chose your path well.”

  The voice didn’t surprise Khirro. He craned his neck to see the tyger stretched out beside him, belly pressed to the ground in the same manner as his own. Its black and white striped body dwarfed his, its hot breath warmed his face and stirred the short whiskers grown on his cheeks in the past weeks.