Blood of the King kj-1

by Bruce Blake

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again, struggling to make his limbs carry him forward to rescue his friends, but they’d have nothing of it. Fear paralyzed him, froze him to the ground with his face in the dirt like the snake it made him feel.

  He cursed his stubborn muscles. Both Elyea and Ghaul gave up everything to aid him on a journey not their own, risking their lives for him, yet here he lay, unable to propel himself to rescue them. Disgust and self-loathing coiled in his belly. Hadn’t enough people died because of him, because of his fear? He wouldn’t be able to live knowing these two perished because of his cowardice.

  He was gathering his strength, focusing on one limb at a time, when the giant pulled his spear from the fire and gazed at the glowing tip. A homely grin twisted the giant’s lips as it looked from spear to prisoners, a low chuckle rolling through its yellow-brown teeth. The creature extended the weapon, the glowing tip leaving a ribbon of gray smoke trailing behind, until it hovered a few inches from Elyea’s cheek.

  The heat brought her from her daze, wrenching her mind back from wherever it had gone to escape. She raised her head, eyes widening when she saw the glowing spear head-leaf-shaped and the length of a short sword-pressing close to her flesh. She leaned away, feet scrabbling against the forest floor sending dirt and decayed evergreen needles spraying away, but Ghaul’s limp form lashed to her back held her from moving. The giant laughed at the high-pitched squeaks of fear escaping her throat and flicked the tip toward her. She flinched and the beast laughed louder.

  Khirro’s teeth clenched watching the giant play his game over and over: threaten her, watch her cringe, laugh aloud. Not until the orange glow faded did the giant lose interest. Khirro let out his breath as the creature drew the weapon away. Tears ran down Elyea’s face leaving clean tracks on her dirty cheeks.

  The giant thrust the spear once more; Elyea dodged but the point continued past her ear and brushed Ghaul’s cheek-Khirro heard the sizzle of hot metal on flesh. Ghaul’s head jerked up; he yelped with pain and twisted away, his weight shifting enough to tumble them on their sides. Elyea struggled against the rope and freed one hand-she must have been working the knot while she feigned unconsciousness. The giant grunted a curse and slammed his spear to the ground in disgust.

  As Ghaul writhed on the ground beside her struggling to loose himself, Elyea freed her other hand. The giant reached for her but she avoided his clutch. The huge man ignored her as she scrambled away, concerning himself with the most dangerous threat first. He sat Ghaul up like a child playing with a doll and hit him open-handed across the face, knocking him unconscious. Khirro tensed. This was the time to act, but he did nothing as the giant closed the distance to Elyea in two strides, wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her from the ground. The creature laughed as he brought her back to his seat by the fire. He pulled her face close to his, his tongue snaking from his mouth and up Elyea’s cheek. She cringed, struggling to pull away, her face screwed up in disgust.

  From above, a shriek rang through the night-Shyn had waited long enough. The gray bird swooped from the dark, talons raking the giant’s head. The creature bellowed, swung its free arm wildly, but Shyn avoided the blow. Athryn jumped to his feet and pulled his sword. Khirro didn’t take the time to consider his options, leaping up alongside the magician, thankful his limbs did as he asked. He drew the Mourning Sword, vaguely noticing the blade looked blacker, the red runes glowing fiercely in the firelight.

  Shyn swooped again as Elyea fought the giant’s grip, but there was no element of surprise this time. His fist looped at Shyn; the falcon dodged, but the blow caught him mid-wing, spinning him away. In the moment of distraction, Athryn rushed the giant, sword raised to strike.

  The giant saw him at the last second and brought his arm down to block the sweep of Athryn’s sword; his blade separated the giant’s meaty finger from his hand. The monster howled in pain and rage, nearly deafening them, but reacted immediately catching Athryn’s hip with its hair-covered foot. The magician spun away and fell to the ground beside Ghaul. Khirro stepped up in the magician’s place, the Mourning Sword raised above his head.

  The giant’s eyes locked on Khirro’s, fury burning in his gaze, freezing Khirro’s hand. The beast reached toward the fire, blood dripping from the stump of his finger, sizzling on the hot rocks at the fire’s edge. Elyea struggled, her strength waning as the creature’s grip tightened.

  If I don’t do something, she won’t survive his grasp.

  He took a tentative step forward as the giant’s remaining fingers closed around a log, grasping it and swinging it in one motion, spilling the fire out of its pit. Khirro ducked as a small tree engulfed in flame passed over his head close enough to singe his hair. He stumbled back, dodging the giant’s back swing, mind searching for a way to counter-strike that wouldn’t be suicide.

  How will I reach him?

  The answer came on the voice of a falcon. Shyn dove at the giant’s face, a talon raking his cheek. Khirro lunged, the Mourning Sword a black and red streak cutting the air, but the tip only grazed his foe’s stomach opening little more than a scratch. He dove away from the giant’s retaliatory blow, sprawling on the ground. In the flicker of a second he rolled across the ground, Khirro saw Ghaul had regained consciousness and Athryn was crawling toward the fray, favoring his injured hip.

  The giant brought the flaming log down in an overhead blow, its flaming end brushing the tree boughs above. Khirro rolled away as it slammed the ground, sparks exploding into the air. He caught sight of Elyea. She’d pulled a blade from her boot and was attempting to manipulate the point into the giant’s ribs. Panic rushed into Khirro’s chest-if she knifed the brute, he’d crush her for her troubles.

  “No!”

  Khirro struggled to his knees as Elyea pushed the blade with all her remaining strength. The small knife must have felt no more than a pinprick to the beast’s thickly muscled ribs, but it surprised him, sent him reeling back. When his foot came down on a smoldering chunk of wood, sending him off balance, Shyn dove in. Khirro lunged, rolling under the log as the giant flailed, and swung the Mourning Sword, a prayer on his lips-if he missed, it would be his life, and the lives of his friends.

  He didn’t.

  The Mourning Sword’s impossibly sharp edge cut the flesh at the back of the giant’s ankle, severing flesh and muscle and tendon. The moment blood touched the sword, the glowing runes spilled out, covering the blade, turning the length of the sword red.

  The beast put weight on his wounded leg and howled when he found he couldn’t, then lifted the injured foot, hopping as he raised the burning club to vanquish the foe on the ground at his feet. Khirro gritted his teeth awaiting the blow as he had lying on the dirt of the Isthmus Fortress’s courtyard an eternity ago.

  If I’d died then, everyone else would be alive.

  Before the giant struck, Shyn swooped in and buried his talons in the giant’s shoulder. The creature bellowed and Khirro swung the Mourning Sword again, its blade having returned to its normal red and black. When it contacted the back of the giant’s other ankle, it again blazed red as though the taste of blood lit a fire inside the steel.

  The beast tottered, gravity working against him, a look of astonishment replacing the rage on its face. The giant swayed, then fell like a cut tree; Elyea tumbled from his grasp as he threw out his arms to lessen the pain of the fall. Khirro scrambled out of reach.

  The ground shook as the giant crashed into the fire pit, flames melting hair and burning flesh, the smell ghastly as the creature rolled off the embers, back smoldering. Khirro stood, knowing but dreading what must happen next. In spite of the giant’s intentions, he had no stomach for killing the beast, not like this. He stepped forward and stopped, surprised to see Ghaul standing by the giant’s head, Athryn’s sword in hand.

  “Bastard,” he hissed through clenched teeth, blood trickling from his nose and ear.

  The warrior grasped the sword’s hilt with both hands, raise
d it above his head, measuring his blow. Something told Khirro nothing good would come of ending the creature’s life but he didn’t try to stop Ghaul. The giant’s eyelids fluttered, recognition flickering in its rheumy eyes, but it made no attempt to protect itself. The blade came down across its throat.

  Blood fountained from the wound, spraying as high as Ghaul’s head. He pulled the sword free and brought it down again, again, grunting with the effort of each blow. Khirro stood limply, watching, aghast at the sight, but did nothing, said nothing. With the fifth swing, the giant’s head came free from its body. Its arms twitched twice, then the once mighty beast lay still. Ghaul stood over it, lips pulled back in what might have been grin or grimace. The blood spattering his face and up the front of his clothes made his white teeth stand out against the red background.

  Khirro thought if he ever saw a demon from the hells, this would surely be how it looked.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The few snatches of sleep Khirro managed that night were brief, full of nightmares.

  They’d argued about staying the night at the giant’s encampment or moving on. Ghaul insisted they go because there might be more of the beasts but, when Shyn found a cache of meat, they finally agreed to stay. Despite not knowing what kind of meat it was, Khirro’s growling stomach convinced him to eat.

  Athryn lay near the fire, the vial of king’s blood pressed against his injured hip. As Khirro tossed and turned searching for a comfortable position, he thought the absence of the vial against his chest might be what kept him from sleep. He’d gotten used to it being there, drew comfort from it. When he rolled to his other side, he saw Ghaul keeping watch. He’d offered the vial to him, too, but he refused. A real warrior didn’t need magic to heal, he said. Shyn kept watch from the branches above.

  “Thank you.”

  Elyea’s words startled Khirro; lost in pondering Ghaul’s attitude and searching for sleep, he hadn’t noticed her come to squat beside him. He propped himself on his elbows and looked into her freckled face. She’d used water from one of the skins to wash the tear stains from her cheeks.

  “No need.”

  She stretched out on the ground beside him, face to face, close enough he felt her warmth.

  “If not for you, that thing would have squeezed me in half.” She nodded toward the giant’s body still lying opposite Athryn. They weren’t strong enough to move it, even with all of them helping.

  “Not just me.” Khirro felt blood filling his cheeks, adding to his warmth. “Shyn, Athryn and Ghaul are as much responsible.”

  “It was you,” she whispered wriggling closer, breath touching his face.

  Her eyelids fluttered and she leaned forward until her lips brushed his, the touch making his limbs tingle. He looked at her closed eyes as she kissed him. It had been so long. It felt so good. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, and a flood of memories surprised him: Emeline’s face, his parents, his brother; how he and Ghaul found Elyea in the forest, what she did for a living. He pulled his lips away.

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.”

  She shifted her hips forward so their bodies came together. He moved away to keep the hardness creeping into his breeches from encouraging her, but she pressed insistently.

  “Please,” he said, breathing the word. “Emeline…”

  “Enough games, Khirro. You may never see this Emeline again, even if we survive.”

  Khirro’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”

  “When you’re asked to leave, people don’t want you to come back.”

  Her tone wasn’t spiteful, but the words stung. He saw she was trying to make him understand the truth, and he knew she was right, but it didn’t make the revelation any less painful.

  “But she… I… I have to make things right again.”

  The tingle of desire disappeared, replaced by hurt and disappointment.

  “I see your longing and sadness when you talk about her. I understand your feelings, but when she became pregnant, they forced you into the king’s army. Did your parents or hers banish you?”

  Khirro averted his eyes. “Both.”

  She stroked his cheek tenderly.

  “What happened isn’t your fault.”

  She leaned in again, pressed her lips against his, but he didn’t reciprocate. Pulling back, she looked at him, the tenderness gone from her face. Khirro shook his head.

  “I can’t.” He wanted to, Gods knew how much he did. That night with Emeline had been the only time-and alcohol kept him from remembering it-but this didn’t feel right. Not here, not now. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” An edge crept into her voice. She stood and wiped the dirt and fir needles from her clothes. “One day you’ll have to stop fucking your dream and try a real woman.”

  Khirro watched her walk away, part of him wanting to call her back, but he repressed the urge, buried it beneath a layer of guilt too thick to let anything else in.

  Elyea sat beside Ghaul and a twinge of jealousy surprised Khirro when she leaned over and kissed the warrior. Someone would fulfill her need tonight. Ghaul returned her affection without compunction or conversation. Angry with himself, Khirro watched until Ghaul reached out to remove Elyea’s shirt, then he turned his back on them. When sleep finally claimed him, it did so to the sounds of their love making.

  Athryn and Shyn spoke occasionally while the others kept mostly to themselves, speaking only to answer questions as they prepared to leave the giant’s camp. Whenever Khirro looked at Elyea, she diverted her eyes. He wanted to tell her it was all right, he understood that she had a need he couldn’t fill, but he didn’t. It wasn’t true. Every time he looked at Ghaul, the soldier smiled broadly, like a child who stole a treat and got away with it.

  They searched the camp but found nothing of use, and Khirro was surprised to find himself mildly disappointed that they didn’t find any bones split lengthwise and sucked free of marrow. Many of his mother's fables had already proven to have basis in reality, he half-expected this journey to prove them all true. He glanced at the giant’s headless body and his disappointment fled. How could he so quickly forget how close they came to finding out first hand?

  Athryn approached Khirro, only a slight limp impeding his normal grace, and held the vial out. Khirro took it from him.

  “Thank you,” the magician said, then went back to finish storing his gear.

  In those two short words, Khirro sensed the man’s great sadness. No wonder after losing his brother, but surely he still hoped the Necromancer would bring him back as he would Braymon. No, he’d lost something else, too, and holding the vial, feeling the magic swirling within, reminded him.

  It will always be there. Every time there’s magic, he’ll want to have it back.

  He wondered how Athryn felt-like a soldier losing his sword arm, or a singer his voice. Already this journey had produced such sadness.

  And there would be more.

  Khirro took a chunk of salt pork from his pack before fastening the flap. He chewed the tough meat and pondered the story of the Mourning Sword Athryn had told. A fantastic story, but the detail which stood out to Khirro was that Darestat had been there a thousand years ago, when the sword earned its name. Old beyond reason, an acolyte of Monos himself, betrayer, and possibly in league with the enemy. The thought of the Necromancer chilled his spine. Why would this man resurrect the king? Because they asked? Khirro’s head sagged. Every time he put his mind to the task cursed upon him, it became so much more than simply reaching Darestat’s keep.

  A noise jarred Khirro from his thoughts. He cocked his head, listening. None of the others heard. Athryn and Shyn chatted about where to find water to fill their skins while Ghaul and Elyea finished packing.

  Again.

  This time Shyn looked up. Something moved through the forest, something big but distant and uncaring of the noise it made. Shyn signaled the others as Khirro crossed the clearing to join them. Ghaul gestured for
them to be quiet and pointed toward the hill at the south end of the encampment; they freed their weapons. Khirro looked at the Mourning Sword, realizing he had been a poor soldier and forgotten to wipe the blood from it, yet the black blade shone clean. He turned it in his hand and the runes pulsed red once then faded. When he looked up, he’d fallen behind the others; the noise was closer at his back. He hurried to catch up.

  At the top of the grade, they hid behind the sparse cover of some thorny berry bushes and waited. A few minutes passed before the forest parted and a giant stepped into the glade.

  Giantess, Khirro corrected himself.

  She stood three feet shorter than the slain giant when a head sat on his shoulders; matted tresses hung to her waist as did the massive teats sprinkled with coarse black hairs. If not for the sagging mammaries, Khirro might have mistaken her for a shorter twin to the first giant, with only slightly fewer whiskers.

  The companions froze as the giantess entered the camp, the carcass of a deer slung over her shoulder, though not any deer Khirro had ever seen-dark brown with white spots and a single three-pronged horn protruding from between its eyes. She hummed to herself, a guttural sound not as deep as the giant’s voice. When she lifted her eyes and saw the campsite, the humming stopped.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened. Khirro and his companions stood at the top of the hill, breath held, tensed to attack if necessary. The giantess stared.

  Has she seen us? Smelled us?

  Impatience got the better of Ghaul and he took a step toward the creature, but Athryn stopped him with a hand on his chest and a shake of his head.

  The deer carcass tumbled to the ground as the beast’s arms fell limp. She took a step, a whimper sounding deep in her throat. She cried out what might have been a name and stumbled toward the corpse, gaze fixed on the body of her slain friend, or brother, or husband.