Blood of the King kj-1

by Bruce Blake

  “How did he-” Elyea began.

  “Good ears,” Shyn answered before she finished. They moved to him, Ghaul gripping the hilt of his sword. Maes remained behind drawing shapes in the dirt.

  “What manner of trick is this?” Ghaul asked. “Are you also a man of magic?”

  Shyn laughed. “No, not a magician. Ask Athryn, he’ll tell you.”

  “I would know a practitioner. He is not.”

  “What I am is a man of unusual qualities who could aid in your journey, as Khirro says.”

  “Why should we trust you?” Elyea asked, arms crossed.

  Ghaul looked as though he’d say something as well, but Maes pushed his way between them, interrupting. He approached Shyn, looked him in the eyes for a moment, then sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. The little man had done nothing like this before; in fact, Khirro couldn’t remember Maes interacting with the soldier at all. Athryn didn’t retrieve his brother from Shyn’s side.

  “Don’t trust me,” Shyn said glancing at Maes then back at the rest of them. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Not yet.” He shifted his position, attempting to find a more comfortable spot. Ghaul tensed at the movement, pulling an inch of steel from his scabbard. Maes didn’t flinch. “Do any of you know where to find the closest Vendarian town?”

  “No,” Khirro said. Elyea shook her head. Ghaul looked like he wouldn’t admit to shitting in the forest.

  “Neither do I,” Shyn confessed. “Release me. I’ll locate it and return to you with horses. If I do this, you’ll know I can be trusted.”

  Ghaul shook his head. “If he’s a Vendarian spy, he’ll bring a company to slaughter us.”

  “No,” Khirro said searching deep in Shyn’s gaze. “The border guard knew him. They didn’t like him, but they accepted his word.”

  “No matter why we let him go-to prove his trustworthiness or to rid ourselves of him-he could bring soldiers,” Elyea said.

  “Then we should kill him and take no chances,” Ghaul said.

  “We kill no one,” Athryn said. He looked at Maes sitting comfortably beside the man. “He has done nothing to warrant his death.”

  “You’ve nothing to lose,” Shyn said without any note of pleading or desperation. “If I don’t come back, you lose nothing-you’re already lost and traveling by foot-and you’d be rid of me.”

  “Not lost,” Khirro mumbled feeling embarrassed. The Shaman put a path in his head, but he hadn’t recognized anything since they crossed the border. He had no idea where they were but couldn’t admit it to the others.

  Shyn looked at them, waiting. His eyes held Ghaul’s first, fearless despite the soldier’s grip on his sword. After a few seconds, as they remained silent, his gaze fell on Athryn, then Elyea, and finally Khirro.

  Athryn broke the silence. “Maes?”

  The small man stood and went to his brother, extending his hand. Athryn took the collection of items offered-to Khirro’s eye it looked to be an assortment of pebbles and small sticks, perhaps a bug as well-random items he’d picked off the ground. With the items delivered, Maes wandered away to pick berries from a nearby bush. The magician peered at the items, then tossed them to the ground and brushed dirt from his hands.

  “It is as he speaks,” Athryn said. “If he returns with horses, I will gladly welcome them, and him.”

  “No,” Ghaul protested. “He can’t be trusted.”

  Khirro looked at Ghaul. There was no reason for him to be disagreeable at letting Shyn go, it had been their plan from the start. If he returned with horses, all the better. What was it that-

  He never planned to release him. He always intended to kill him.

  “Let him go.” Khirro’s voice came out flat as he stared hard at Ghaul; the warrior looked back, unwavering.

  “Do as you will.” Ghaul slammed his sword back into the scabbard. “But if next I see him without horses for us, his head will be mine.”

  He stalked away kicking decayed needles from his path as he went. Khirro went to Shyn and untied his hands.

  “Get his weapons, Elyea,” he called over his shoulder then turned back to the border guard. “We’ve seen no sign of civilization since we crossed the border. How will you know where to go?”

  “I don’t know where to go.” He rubbed the rope burns on his wrists. Elyea lay Shyn’s sword belt and dagger on the ground beside Khirro, then stepped away.

  “We’ll supply you with some food, but we can’t spare much. Your trek may be a long one.”

  “Keep your food, I’m an excellent hunter.” Shyn rose, took the sword belt Khirro offered and buckled it around his waist. He stretched his back and wiped dirt from the seat of his pants. “I’m also swift. I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

  “You saved me once. We’re even now.” Khirro offered his hand and Shyn shook it. “I’ll understand if you don’t come back, you have no reason to. But don’t return with soldiers or without horses. I can’t stop Ghaul from fulfilling his promise.”

  “I’ll return as promised. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m meant to join your journey.” He shook his head minutely. “Gods know why.”

  Shyn bent at the waist, tucked his fingers into the top of his boot and retrieved a thin-bladed stiletto from some secret compartment within.

  “Take this,” he said offering it to Khirro. “Hide it somewhere near the vial. Just in case.”

  Khirro took the small knife and slid it into his breast pocket beside the vial, the steel clinking quietly against the glass, then Shyn went into the forest, picking his way deftly through the underbrush. After a minute, he disappeared into the dense brush.

  “Fear not, Khirro.” Athryn’s voice was a whisper meant only for them. “Maes says he can be trusted.”

  Khirro looked at the magician and the confusion his words caused must have been plain on his face because Athryn answered the question running through his mind before he asked it.

  “Maes may not speak, but he knows people. Worry not.”

  Athryn left to help his brother pick berries, leaving Khirro staring after Shyn. Behind him, Elyea joined Ghaul in breaking camp. After a minute, he went to help and everything was soon packed.

  They walked through the forest, the scrape of boots on ground, the clink of armor and weapons and the rustle of brush the only sound to mark their passing. Maes popped red berries into his mouth as he walked, occasionally offering them to his companions. Khirro accepted and found the berries juicy and sour with an unfamiliar but satisfying flavor. He wiped a line of juice from his chin as his mind wandered. He thought about Athryn and Maes and the nature of their relationship: brothers, but somehow more. Concern for Ghaul’s propensity for violence came to mind. He had been a soldier his entire life, Khirro reasoned, so he supposed it was simply a matter of training, but it went against Khirro’s way.

  Perhaps that’s why we’ve been brought together.

  They tempered one another-he made Ghaul more humane and Ghaul made him see things from a soldier’s point of view; a good team despite and because of their differences. Without Ghaul, he wouldn’t have made it even this far.

  He glanced at Elyea walking ahead, hips swaying pleasingly. So beautiful, so confident. Embarrassed, Khirro quickly put the encroaching thoughts from his head and thought of Shyn instead, wondering if they should trust him, if he would return as promised. The memory of the dream tyger’s words made him feel only slightly more comfortable.

  Am I insane to take comfort from the words of a dream?

  He didn’t think so, but wouldn’t tell the others, anyway. As he pondered the most recent dream, the screech of a bird overhead caught his attention. Through the tree branches, he glimpsed a gray falcon soaring high above. It circled over them, giving Khirro an opportunity to marvel at its size. His lips parted to tell the others, but it streaked off north-west at an incredible speed. His mouth remained open as he watched it disappear in the distance. It was the bird of prey from his dream.

  A shiver ran do
wn Khirro’s spine.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rain began the day after they released Shyn.

  When clouds first gathered, they praised the Gods. As the first droplets fell-gentle to start, then gaining in tempo and force-they raised their faces skyward and let the rain wash weeks of sticky heat from their skin. Athryn removed his white cloth mask to feel the refreshing moisture pelt his scarred face. Elyea stole away into the forest on her own. When more than a few minutes passed, Khirro followed, worried for her safety, and came upon her dancing naked in a glade, water streaming from her strawberry hair in rivulets down her back and between her breasts. He watched for a while, enraptured, feeling something more than the embarrassment he’d felt when he first saw her unclothed. This time, when their eyes met, he didn’t avert his gaze and she didn’t attempt to hide herself. He enjoyed her beauty a moment before he left. She emerged from the forest ten minutes later, wet but clothed, and they exchanged looks and smiles, but nothing else: a secret for them to share.

  Two days later, no one danced or tilted their faces to the heavens. They cursed the Gods instead of praising them.

  “There’s water in my boots,” Khirro grumbled as they trudged across a muddy patch of ground. “My tunic is glued to my back.”

  “Stop whining,” Elyea said. “You complain a lot for a man who made his living on a farm.”

  “We didn’t farm in the rain. Never did I harvest a potato with water running into my eyes.”

  Ahead, Khirro saw Maes pull on the dripping sleeve of Athryn’s shirt. The magician stopped and looked toward his brother.

  “Hold.”

  They stopped, waiting for the magician to speak. He cocked his head, listening. Khirro did the same but heard nothing but the patter of rain drops on his soaked clothes and soon began to lose patience. He wiped water from his eyes, about to complain again when Athryn spoke.

  “Horses. Someone is coming.”

  “I don’t hear any-” Khirro began, but the others were already moving to find cover. He followed, pushing his way through a dense bush, the wet foliage dumping rain water on his head.

  Ghaul pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow as he crouched, gesturing for Khirro to draw his sword. He did and, with the black blade free, he noticed Maes staring at it instead of in the direction Athryn had indicated.

  For a minute, Khirro heard only the plunk of rain impacting the leaves around him. They stared through the brush, waiting, Elyea with a dagger in hand, poised to strike as any fighter would. Athryn drew his sword while Maes stared at Khirro’s weapon. Above, a leaf that had been collecting water for some time overflowed, spilling its contents down the back of Khirro’s neck. He shivered, shaking the brush around him and drawing a glare from Ghaul.

  Hoof beats soon became noticeable above the rain’s patter. Khirro held his breath, listening closer. He was no tracker, but he could tell more than one rider approached, though how many, he didn’t know. The sounds grew nearer and their pace slowed.

  They’re following our trail. His grip on his sword tightened.

  A breeze parted the leaves briefly, blowing rain against Khirro’s cheek, revealing a swatch of chestnut fur as a rider halted directly in front of them. Ghaul drew back on his bowstring as the muscles in Khirro’s thighs tensed, readying to spring.

  The chestnut moved out of sight and a palomino came into view, followed by a horse of deep black. This time, he saw the rider’s leg and realized he hadn’t seen the same on the other horses. No riders sat them. It could only mean one thing.

  “I know you’re there,” the rider called out.

  Khirro looked at Ghaul and lowered his sword.

  “It’s Shyn,” he whispered, but the soldier’s face remained set, his bow drawn.

  “He might have brought soldiers.”

  “I can hear you,” Shyn said.

  Khirro cursed himself, recalling how Shyn had heard them from a distance before. Ghaul could be right.

  “I’m alone. I’ve brought horses and supplies. If you still covet my head, Ghaul, you’ll have to wait for another day.”

  Khirro burst forward excitedly. After two steps, something struck him, threw him forward, pain exploding in his shoulder. He pitched through the foliage, stumbling first to his knees, then falling face first on the muddy ground at the foot of Shyn’s horse. The border guard jumped from his steed, sword drawn protectively as he knelt at Khirro’s side.

  “What happened?” Shyn surveyed the area as the others emerged from their hiding places. Athryn and Elyea joined him at Khirro’s side while Ghaul stood back, empty bow dangling. Khirro writhed on the ground, blood seeping around the arrow in his right shoulder.

  Twice. His mind reeled with pain, grasping for something to hold on to. I’ve been skewered by arrows twice. Who’d have thought it possible?

  Shyn acted quickly, drawing his dagger and shaving the arrowhead from the shaft. Khirro bellowed in agony as the arrow slid from his flesh, drawing a gout of blood with it.

  “Maes,” Athryn called.

  The little man pushed his way through the brush, small dirk in hand. Tears blurred Khirro’s vision as he watched the little man approach, squat by his masked brother, and roll up his sleeve.

  “No,” Khirro said through the pain as he rolled onto his back. He wouldn’t let Maes cut himself, not when it wasn’t necessary. “Bandage it.”

  “You are bleeding, Khirro,” Athryn told him. “We can stop it, make it heal more quickly.”

  “No.”

  Khirro struggled to a sitting position, grimacing at the pain of his shredded muscle as he reached beneath his tunic and brought out the vial, showing it to everyone.

  “Bandage it and this will do the rest.”

  Elyea looked at him questioningly, but Athryn simply nodded and tended the wound. Relieved, Khirro remembered the uncomfortable feeling when Bale healed him with magic. The healing power of the king’s blood was more comfortable. Shyn approached Ghaul, leaving the others to care for Khirro.

  “How did this happen?” He held his sword by his side; Ghaul didn’t reach for his weapon.

  “He crossed in front of my bow,” Ghaul said, one side of his mouth curling in a smug smile. “The rain made my fingers slick and my hold on the arrow slipped. An accident.”

  Elyea paused in bandaging Khirro’s shoulder.

  “What kind of soldier can’t keep hold of his arrow?” she demanded.

  Ghaul only shrugged in answer. Shyn looked at Khirro then back at Ghaul.

  “Had he not stepped in front of you, that arrow would likely be embedded in my chest.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Shyn moved a step closer and Ghaul reached for his own sword, but the border guard moved quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close so they stood chest to chest. Taller than Ghaul by almost six inches, Shyn looked down into his eyes.

  “Were we not being followed, we would settle this right now.”

  They looked at the tall soldier in surprise, except Maes who busied himself wiping the dirt from Khirro’s face.

  “What?” Khirro asked pushing the little man’s hand away.

  “Followed by whom?” Athryn added.

  “A one-eyed man follows, a half-day’s ride behind. There are soldiers another day or so behind him.” Shyn turned his back on Ghaul and mounted the black horse. “We must make haste or he’ll be upon us.”

  “How do you know this?” Ghaul asked, suspicion plain in his voice.

  “I saw him. He wears the armor of a moneysword. If it’s who I think, we’re better not to meet him.”

  “Suath,” Athryn said under his breath as he finished with Khirro’s wound. “There could be none more dangerous on our trail.”

  They moved quickly, fixing their supplies to the mounts. Khirro helped, though his wound made it difficult. It would feel better soon, he knew, but would be a day or more before he could use his arm. The second time his pack slipped from his grasp, Ghaul caught it and helped him.


  “I didn’t intend the arrow for you,” he said in a voice quiet enough only the two of them could hear.

  Khirro looked into his eyes, discerning nothing from them. Was this his apology? Did he mean the rain caused his grip to slip? No matter who he pierced with the arrow, it was inexcusable if done on purpose-they’d agreed not to kill Shyn if he returned in good faith. Unsure of Ghaul’s meaning and motives, Khirro only nodded in response. This man had kept him alive when he wouldn’t have survived on his own, for that he owed him the benefit of the doubt. Ghaul offered his hand and helped Khirro climb onto the chestnut horse.

  “Who is this Suath?” Elyea asked as they set out.

  “A murderer of women and children,” Shyn said gravely. “A wretch. A devil disguised in the skin of a man.”

  “Why would he follow us?” Khirro’s voice was breathy and weak with pain. He held the reins delicately with his right hand and held the vial against his wound with the other.

  “Men like Suath do nothing without payment in gold,” Shyn said. “Someone’s paid him to follow us.”

  “But who?”

  “Take your pick,” Ghaul said.

  They formed a rough line with Shyn leading the way and Ghaul at the rear, undoubtedly to keep an eye on Shyn. Khirro sat in the middle, with Athryn and Maes ahead and Elyea behind.

  “The soldiers following Suath are Erechanian,” Shyn said over his shoulder. “He may be scouting for them.”

  “Or they could be chasing him,” Athryn added without conviction.

  Ghaul laughed. “I think it best we don’t find out.”

  “Ghaul’s right. Our best chance is to be asea before we’re caught.” Shyn pointed ahead of them. “We are only a few days ride from the port of Sheldive. If we reach it and get a boat before he finds us, we should be fine.”

  “How do you know we need to get asea?” Ghaul asked. “Khirro?”

  He’d revealed their journey during one of his watches while Shyn was bound to a tree, but now he remained silent, feigning exhaustion from his wound. Ghaul let the subject go, though Khirro was sure it would come up another time.