Blood of the King kj-1

by Bruce Blake

  Athryn said nothing as they stared. His piercing blue eyes glowed, gauging their reactions. Khirro felt he should say something, but nothing came to mind. Elyea finally broke the tense silence.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Dragonfire.”

  Khirro saw Ghaul’s expression shift again, this time to disbelief. “Dragonfire? If you speak the truth, prove it.”

  The illusionist said nothing as Khirro looked questioningly at Ghaul. The warrior folded his arms across his chest.

  “A man who survives the touch of dragonfire retains a portion of the dragon’s magic. If Athryn speaks the truth, he should be able to show us more than hiding coins on the back of his hand or making a woman disappear through a trap door.”

  “I didn’t-” Elyea protested, but Athryn held up his hand to stop her.

  “Let him show us,” Khirro said, curiosity making him forget his bout of vertigo.

  Athryn nodded. From the corner of his eye, Khirro saw Maes lay his quill and bark aside. The illusionist closed his eyes, head bowed. His lips moved whispering words Khirro had never heard before. A chill crawled up his spine.

  The air in the chamber stirred and a gentle draft touched Khirro’s skin as though a door was left ajar. He ignored it, but as Athryn’s words continued, the draft became a breeze. Khirro looked around the room. The door remained closed, the tapestry didn’t move. Overhead, the branches stretching across the hole in the ceiling didn’t sway.

  How…?

  A movement drew Khirro’s gaze away from the illusionist. Maes had stood, a dagger in his hand. Khirro’s heart jumped.

  Ghaul was right.

  He wanted to warn the others but couldn’t find his tongue. The breeze intensified, concentrating in front of Athryn at the center of the room, swirling into a whirlwind, flapping his cloak about his body. The temperature dropped and the illusionist’s breath became visible as his whispers continued, words drowned by the howling wind. The whirlwind became a tornado, spinning in place, intensifying until it became opaque. Khirro looked from Athryn to Maes-the small man had made no move toward him or his companions.

  The wind stopped abruptly and Athryn’s cloak fell back to his sides, yet the tornado remained. Khirro squinted.

  No, not a tornado.

  Something solid had replaced the tornado, spinning in place like a coin set on edge. Khirro gaped. As the revolutions slowed, it resolved into the shape of a shield. Ghaul stretched out his hand but pulled away like a man who’d touched fire when his fingers brushed it. The disturbance set it wobbling and it clattered to the floor. Tentatively, Ghaul reached out again, but this time didn’t draw away when he touched it.

  “It’s real.” His fingers touched bands of hammered copper and bronze criss-crossing the surface of the oval shield. “Did you create this?”

  “No.” Athryn’s eyes were open. He pulled the cloth mask back into place as he answered. “I brought it here, but I did not create it.”

  “How?” Khirro managed to ask.

  “I cannot explain, but it should quell your concerns.” He picked the shield up from the floor. “This is for you, Khirro.”

  When Khirro could only stare at the offering, Maes took it from the magician and brought it to him. The small man no longer held the jeweled dagger; a trickle of blood flowed down his arm from a cut on his left bicep.

  “What happened to you, Maes?”

  Elyea pulled a cloth from her bodice and dabbed the cut on Maes’ arm as Khirro accepted the shield, but the jester didn’t respond. The shield was real-heavy and solid. It held no warmth or vibration, nothing to make him believe it a magic shield.

  “It is necessary,” Athryn answered on his behalf.

  “What do you mean?” Ghaul shifted to look at the wound on Maes’ arm.

  “Magic requires payment. Energy drawn requires energy paid.”

  Khirro looked from the little man’s bloody arm to Athryn, the blood draining from his face. All those rumors and stories dismissed as flights of fancy instantly became true, shifting his life into another dimension. A life of potatoes and beans sounded less complicated than one where wizards and dragons existed, but now it felt so far away.

  “All is ready.” The troubadour parted the tapestry and entered the room. “Shall I be coming with you to sing a traveling song?” He eyed Elyea and smiled.

  “Not this time,” Athryn said. “We leave immediately.”

  Khirro looked at him, his head spinning. This display, this new reality, left him with no words to speak, no idea what to do. He glanced at Ghaul.

  “Why do you wish to accompany us?” the soldier asked.

  “I dreamed a future without the king and it is not one I desire to live.”

  “But Braymon outlawed magic,” Ghaul pointed out. “Why would you want him back if it means living a lie?”

  “His law was a facade to placate the people and discourage show-offs. The cult of magic exists everywhere, meeting secretly, but Braymon knew and let it be thus.” Athryn adjusted his mask and brushed wind-thrown dirt from his cloak. “In Kanos, Healers, Shamans and Sorcerers not in the employ of the Archon are hunted down and drowned like rats. An Erechania ruled by the Kanosee becomes a dangerous place for the likes of me.”

  Khirro nodded. Ghaul shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  “It sounds like you’ll be joining us,” the warrior said begrudgingly. Khirro wondered why. “We should go.”

  “Yes.” Athryn moved toward the oaken door; Maes followed, leaving his writing implements scattered on the floor. Khirro glanced at them and saw the letters he’d scrawled on the light brown bark resembled the ones covering Athryn’s arms. “We have a great distance to travel.”

  “I have a bad feeling,” Ghaul said when the performers had left the room. “I’ve never trusted magicians.”

  Before the Shaman, Khirro had never known a magician, so he didn’t share Ghaul’s sentiment. Something felt right, even comforting, about the two men joining them. The vial of blood warmed against his chest as they followed the magician and jester from the roofless chamber. The dimness of the hall didn’t quash his good feelings and, when they emerged into bright sunlight to find Athryn and Maes standing with horses readied, hope flooded Khirro. With Ghaul’s blade and Athryn’s magic on their side, perhaps they had a chance to succeed.

  Or, at the very least, survive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the week since leaving Inehsul and the strange keep in the woods, there had been no particular need for a magician or a very small man, but Khirro still felt thankful Athryn and Maes had joined them. More travelers meant shorter watches and more plentiful sleep, though the performers always took watch together. Khirro felt better for the extra rest.

  The magician knew the area, leading them along little used paths and around towns and villages to avoid attention. With a day’s ride left to the Vendarian border, one town remained between them and Erechania’s southern neighbor. The war raging in the north meant they couldn’t know what reception might await across the border, so it wouldn’t be safe to resupply in Vendaria. Neither was Tasgarad a safe haven, but it was their last opportunity before leaving the kingdom. As the headquarters of the border patrol, the town would be crawling with whatever Erechanian troops hadn’t been called to war at the Isthmus or to reinforce the Sea Wall.

  “Care will be needed,” Athryn said as Khirro readied himself for sleep the night before their arrival in Tasgarad. “We will be better off to get in and out unnoticed.”

  Khirro nodded and laid his head down, listening as Athryn and Ghaul planned the best route in and out of town and where to cross the border. He listened a minute, disappointed they didn’t seek his opinion even knowing he had nothing of value to add. What did a farmer know of such things?

  Nothing.

  He put it from his mind and turned his attention to sleep. Not so long ago, fear might have caused him to lay awake, tossing and turning the entire night, but not this night. Sleep c
laimed him and dreams usurped fear’s power.

  His dreams began as they did most nights, as he willed them to: a fall harvest, a babe in his arms and Emeline at his side. But this dream faded, replaced by one new and unfamiliar. Huge trees towered about him in an unknown forest. Night enveloped him and dense foliage deepened the darkness so he saw nothing more than limbs and trunks. He didn’t know where he was or why, only that he shouldn’t stay. Feet heavy with fear, he pushed his way through the brush. Twigs snapped under his footsteps, leaves rustled past his face, all startlingly loud in the silent dream forest, but he pushed on, less concerned with the noise than with finding a way out. The underbrush neither thinned nor became more dense; all the trees looked the same.

  Am I going anywhere?

  He stopped, took a moment to search for his bearings. The rustle of leaves continued after his movements ceased. A spear of panic lanced through his chest, so severe his sleeping body jerked with it. This was no echo or trick of the wind.

  Something in the forest followed him.

  Khirro pushed on, moving more quickly. He cast a look over his shoulder and a gnarled root sent him tumbling to the ground, his fingers sinking into earthy smelling loam. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled forward, the sound louder, closer. Limbs whipped his face and grabbed his clothes, holding him back, impeding his escape. Now he heard breathing behind him, closing in. Ahead, a sliver of light through the trees beckoned. He ran for a long time, his pursuer gaining ground as the light drew no closer. Finally, he burst from the forest, the last tangle of underbrush snagging his foot, sending him to the ground again.

  He came to rest on the rocky shore of a pristine lake. The moon reflected on its smooth surface, cutting a yellow crescent across the otherwise featureless lake. The instant he saw it, Khirro recognized his surroundings. He’d seen this lake when the Shaman gripped his hand.

  Lakesh.

  He had no time for despair as the brush shivered and shook, pulling his attention from the beautiful scene. He reached for his sword, but found an empty scabbard at his side. He scrambled away, stopping when his hand touched cool water. Breath held, he awaited his pursuer, the damp lakeshore soaking his breeches. In a dream, especially a dream taking place in Lakesh, anything could come out of the trees.

  An animal Khirro had never seen before emerged from the forest. Muscle rippled beneath black and white striped fur and a tail equal to the length of its sleek body trailed behind. Yellow eyes stared from a huge head topped by pointed ears. Here stood another creature from his mother’s stories, though this one he always dreamed to be real, living in one of the southern kingdoms he’d never visit. Before him stood a tyger: beautiful, ferocious, an eater-of-men. Khirro shifted, water lapping up the back of his hand, and wondered if the beast could swim.

  The big cat approached, its lips pulled back revealing pointed teeth designed for tearing flesh. Khirro reached for the dagger at his hip, then the dirk in his boot: neither were there. His dream had left him unarmed in the presence of a monster. It moved forward, halting a yard from Khirro, and settled on its haunches. It regarded him with eyes that might have been human, save for the color and the head holding them.

  “Fear not, Khirro.”

  The voice startled him. His eyes flitted around him, searching for the source, then flickered back to the beast. There was nothing there but the tyger, the lake, the moon, and the trees. None of them could have spoken.

  “I’ll not harm you.”

  He realized two things at once: the voice was his own, though he hadn’t spoken, and his mind heard the words, not his ears. He shook his head, attempting to shake the voice from it. A breeze sent wavelets rolling across the lake.

  “Wh… who are you?”

  “I am the reason you’re here.”

  The tyger’s intense eyes seemed to look right into him, and the feeling of it chased fear from him. He suddenly knew the beast meant no harm. He pushed himself to a sitting position, withdrawing his hand from the lake. The sitting tyger’s head stood higher than his.

  “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.”