Blood of the King kj-1 Read online

  “What happened?” Shyn demanded as he and Ghaul skidded to a halt beside Khirro.

  “The one-eyed man. He took the blood of the king.”

  The two soldiers dove into the trees, leaving Khirro with hand outstretched, intending to warn them how dangerous the man was, but they were gone. He pushed himself to his knees, reaching for his sword belt, his gut burning as he determined to follow them, to get the vial back. Then his eyes fell on Athryn. Elyea and Maes already knelt at his side, the little man cradling the magician’s head on his lap while Elyea hurriedly opened his shirt. Khirro abandoned all thought of pursuit and crawled to her side to help peel the blood soaked clothes from the magician’s torso. As they pulled it away, a thick gray coil slid from his abdomen. Khirro caught it before it touched the sand and slid it back in, his gorge rising in the back of his throat. Memory of his father’s arm twitching on the ground, blood spurting from his shoulder came to mind, the helpless feeling he had then returning with it. Athryn groaned, a low, weak sound that squeezed Khirro’s chest and made him feel sick to his stomach.

  “What do we do?”

  He looked at Elyea. She looked back with tear-rimmed eyes and shook her head, then turned to gaze into Athryn’s mask-less face.

  A pained, indistinct moan from Maes startled Khirro-the first sound he’d heard the little man make. They looked at him, expecting tears and dismay, but the noise was made to draw their attention. He motioned for Elyea to switch places with him and she complied, Athryn’s long hair spreading across her thighs as she stroked his scarred cheek. Maes moved beside Khirro, nudging him aside, and bent over Athryn’s wound, examining it closely.

  “What can I do?” Khirro asked, voice choked with emotion.

  Maes shook his head, moonlight reflecting on the tears running down his stubbled cheeks. He rocked on his knees like a child come to the end of a fit of rage. Then his lips began to move. An indistinguishable, garbled chant whispered between them. Khirro stared, hypnotized by the rhythm of his rocking which coincided with the chant, and his words which weren’t incomprehensible foreign words, but incoherent mumblings of a man with no tongue.

  He was trying to cast a spell.

  Is this possible?

  Khirro looked at Elyea stroking Athryn’s face. Her lips moved, too, but he understood what she said: “It’s okay. Everything will be all right.”

  She didn’t look at Maes, as though she knew what would come next. Tears stained her freckled cheeks and, when she looked at Khirro, he saw anguish in her eyes. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her; she looked away. This time, she looked at Maes and gasped. Khirro pulled his gaze away and looked to the little man.

  Maes held his left hand extended above his brother’s wound, a knife pressed against his wrist. Panic jumped into Khirro’s throat.

  What does he think he’s doing?

  Khirro grabbed the little man’s arm to wrestle the dagger from him, but Maes didn’t interrupt his chant as he pushed Khirro away with strength greater than expected. Khirro tumbled onto his back, a half-buried rock knocking the wind from him.

  “No!” Elyea cried as Khirro found his equilibrium and righted himself in time to see Maes open the artery in his wrist.

  He directed the fountaining blood into Athryn’s wound. Khirro reached for his arm again, but the point of Maes’ dagger came to rest against his throat. The little man never stopped chanting, his rocking didn’t slow, yet the tip of his dirk caressed the vein in Khirro’s neck, telling him to leave him be. Elyea drew a sharp breath.

  “Leave him,” she said, the anguish as plain in her voice as on her face. “I don’t need you dead as well.”

  Khirro filled his lungs with salty air then stood. Maes lowered his blade as Khirro went to Elyea’s side, sank to his knees and put his arm around her doing his awkward best to comfort her despite of the knot of fear and dread clogging his chest. He looked into Athryn’s face, pink scar shining faintly under the moon, eyes closed, his features slack.

  “Is he-?”

  “He breathes.” Her hair brushed Khirro’s cheek as she shook her head.

  Maes continued to chant, quieter now; his rocking slowed, losing rhythm. The flow of blood from his slashed wrist became a trickle.

  Khirro leaned closer to Elyea. “If I can stop the bleeding, we might save him.”

  The man’s right hand flashed up, dagger pointing at Khirro again. Khirro didn’t move.

  The brothers’ blood combined to flow down the magician’s sides, a thick river soaking everything it touched, turning the sand black in the moonlight. Khirro didn’t think he’d ever seen so much blood, not when the sheep gave birth, not even when his father lost his arm. His stomach moved into his throat and he fought it back. What kind of warrior couldn’t keep his stomach at the sight of blood? And, like it or not, he was nothing if not a warrior now.

  The trickle from Maes’ wrist had slowed to drops when he slumped forward across Athryn’s midsection. Khirro moved to help, but Elyea stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Leave him. He’s beyond help. His blood is gone and there’s no one to give him more.”

  “What of Athryn?”

  She put a hand first to his brow, then under his nose.

  “He lives for now. Only time will tell if we’ll dig one grave or two.”

  Khirro hung his head, settling back on his knees. Could they make it to the Necromancer without the help of the magician? He chastised himself silently for the thought. At least one man who’d come to support and aid him lay dead, his life forfeit for nothing with the vial gone.

  How could I let him take it? I should have done something. Something other than get Athryn killed.

  Minutes passed. Elyea continued to stroke Athryn’s face as Khirro brooded over yet another mistake with a high price.

  That’s what started this whole thing…my mistakes.

  When he heard someone approaching from the nearby forest, Khirro was vaguely aware he should pull his sword but found no strength in his limbs to do so. He breathed a relieved sigh when Ghaul emerged, Shyn following closely behind.

  “He escaped,” Ghaul said as he crossed the beach to them. “Wake the midget, we have to go after him now.”

  “He’s not sleeping,” Elyea grated, her voice low and tinged with anger. “He’s dead.”

  “What happened?” Shyn asked.

  Elyea lowered her eyes, shoulders trembling as she sobbed quietly. Khirro pushed himself awkwardly to his feet, legs wobbling beneath him as pins and needles crawled up his calves. He guided the other men away, recounting the details of Athryn’s wound and his brother’s attempt to revive him.

  Shyn shook his head. “Maes did that? But Athryn is the magician.”

  “Never mind that,” Ghaul snapped impatiently. “Did it work? Did the midget succeed?”

  Khirro sighed. “Athryn lives, but whether he’s saved or simply hasn’t expired from his wound yet, we don’t know.”

  The muscles in Ghaul’s jaw tightened. He turned and strode purposefully to Elyea kneeling beside the brothers, the little man’s body lying across Athryn’s midsection, hiding the wound. Ghaul grabbed the back of Maes’ tunic.

  “What are you doing?” Elyea glared at him. Ghaul stopped and looked at her, his fingers curled grasping the cloth.

  “We can’t wait here until the magician gets up and dances a jig. The blood of the king gets farther from us every second we delay pursuing the one-eyed man.”

  She looked away. “Be gentle with him.”

  Ghaul rolled Maes aside. The dagger tumbled from the little man’s limp fingers to the blood soaked sand. Khirro and Shyn moved closer, but blood covered everything, concealing wounds and flesh.

  “Water,” Ghaul commanded.

  Khirro retrieved the water skin from his pack, nearly tripping on the stiletto buried in the sand as he did. He retrieved the blade and returned with the water for Ghaul. The warrior yanked the cork and splashed Athryn’s belly, the water turning pink as it
rolled down his sides. It took three washings to expose clean flesh. Instead of hanging innards, a long scar stretched across his stomach.

  “It worked,” Elyea whispered. She looked into Athryn’s face, a smile tugging the corner of her lips, then she looked to Maes and the smile disappeared.

  “It seems there was magic in the little one, too-tongue or no,” Shyn said.

  Ghaul harrumphed and handed the water skin back to Khirro. “I’m glad one of them lives,” he said, the sentiment not reflected in his tone. “But we have a thief to catch.”

  “We can’t leave yet.” Khirro stared at the spot on Athryn’s belly where he’d replaced his intestines not long ago. “We have to give him a chance to recover.”

  He looked at each of his companions.

  Ghaul gritted his teeth. “The one-eyed man took the king’s blood,” he said gesturing toward the forest. “Have you forgotten why we came to this God-forsaken land? Without it we are merely a group of fools waiting to die for no reason.”

  “We’ll find him,” Shyn said.

  Ghaul shook his head. “This man is no farmer. He knows the ways of both hunter and prey and won’t be easy to track.” He looked at the others and Khirro refrained from showing his offense at the warrior’s choice of words. “We’ll leave Khirro and Elyea here to tend the magician while we find the one-eyed man.”

  “No,” Khirro said. “We shouldn’t separate. To do so in the haunted land would mean death to us all.”

  “He’s right,” Shyn said. “We’ll have better luck tracking him come daylight, anyway.”

  The muscles in Ghaul’s jaw visibly clenched and released, clenched and released. He crossed his arms, his brow furrowed.

  “Every moment we spend here costs us.”

  Shyn put his hand on Ghaul’s shoulder. “Worry not. I’ll find him.”

  “Oh, the great tracker honors us again.” Ghaul shrugged away from Shyn’s touch. “Perhaps we should wait for winter. It will be easier to follow his tracks in the snow.”

  Shyn’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardened.

  “Did I not bring horses when I promised?” Both men’s hands fell to their swords. “Was it not I who warned you the one-eyed man pursued us?”

  Ghaul eyed him warily, fingers tightening on the hilt.

  “Yes, tell us how you knew of the one-eyed man? He followed from a different direction than you came with the horses. How do you explain that?”

  “Stop it,” Elyea said. “Both of you stop it.”

  “No, he’s right.” Shyn’s voice sounded different, almost relieved. Khirro gaped. Had he been wrong about the man? “I owe an explanation.”

  The border guard released his grip on his sword and stepped away. His gaze slipped from theirs, finding instead the ground and the pool of moonlight casting his shadow there.

  At first, Khirro thought what he saw a trick of the light. Shadows crawled across Shyn’s face like a cloud across the sky, distorting and discoloring it. Shyn looked up at them, eyes glowing with yellow light, then he cried out, doubled over in pain. Khirro took a step toward him but Ghaul blocked his way.

  “No,” he said. “Let’s see what happens.”

  Shyn dropped to his knees, hands covering his face as he cried out again. Khirro stared, concern and curiosity locking his gaze firmly on his companion. The night’s trickery continued, making it seem as though Shyn became smaller, but Khirro soon saw this was no illusion-the border guard’s mail shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, his hands disappeared up the sleeves of his tunic. When he looked up, he no longer looked like the man who’d accompanied them from the border: his nose grew longer, his eyes pulled to the sides of his head. Dull gray feathers covered his face.

  Elyea gasped. Ghaul’s arm fell away from Khirro’s chest but he no longer attempted to go to Shyn. He had to remind himself to breathe.

  Half-a-minute later, the man they called Shyn was gone. His clothing lay in a pile on the sand as though discarded by someone gone for a midnight swim. A gray falcon with liquid-gold eyes stood upon the clothes. The huge bird squatted back, spread wings with a span as wide as Shyn was tall and, with a mighty leap and powerful downstroke, took to the night air. It swooped into the sky, momentarily blotting out the moon, and left them open-mouthed on the beach.

  Khirro stared after the falcon until it disappeared into the night sky. His head spun, dizzying him, and he sank to the sand, sitting beside Elyea. Her eyes flickered toward his, but he didn’t return her gaze.

  Maes was dead. Shyn had left. The king’s blood was gone.

  Khirro buried his face in his hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  They moved Athryn to the shade of a tree before the sun rose too high in the sky. What to do with his brother’s corpse was not so easy a subject.

  “We should burn him,” Ghaul said. “Bury him at least.” Khirro might have agreed if he thought he meant to set the little man’s spirit free from its earthly ties, but Ghaul was more practical than that. “If we leave him, he’ll attract animals. Or worse.”

  “No,” Elyea said as she bathed Athryn’s brow with a cloth soaked in cool sea water. “He’s Athryn’s brother. The magician would want to see him.”

  Ghaul shook his head, frustrated. “What if it’s weeks before he recovers? I’ve seen men sleep for months after serious injuries, or never wake at all. Are we to live with the stench of the midget, risking disease and animal attack?”

  Elyea nodded. “Yes.”

  “Argh, woman. Help me, Khirro.”

  Khirro looked at Athryn, his head resting in Elyea’s lap much as the night before, then glanced toward the copse of trees twenty yards away, hiding Maes’ blanket-covered body.

  “I think it should be the magician’s decision.”

  Ghaul cursed and strode angrily to Khirro, who shrank from him when they came face-to-face.

  “Soon you’ll have to leave the farmer behind and become a warrior, or it will cost you your life. And possibly mine.”

  He stalked away, ignoring Shyn as he passed; he’d not said a word to the border guard since he revealed his secret. Shyn approached Khirro.

  “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “You’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

  I haven’t yet.

  Khirro nodded silent thanks as Shyn turned and went into the forest where he would become the falcon and spend the day adrift on the winds, searching for the one-eyed man.

  Khirro watched Elyea swab Athryn’s forehead, pausing occasionally to dip the cloth in the water-filled helm at her knee. The muscles in her forearm rippled beneath her smooth skin as she wrung out the excess, dripping some of it onto the magician’s tattooed chest.

  “What do you think about Shyn?” she asked without looking up.

  “Unusual, to be sure.” When she leaned forward to wet the cloth again, her loose shirt hung away from her chest and Khirro had to avert his eyes so she wouldn’t catch him staring at her cleavage. “Ghaul is more convinced we shouldn’t trust him.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “He’s done us no wrong. What about you?”

  “He scares me somewhat, but it’s as you say. Ghaul thinks he’s in league with the one-eyed man but, if so, why wouldn’t they have revealed themselves before we got to Lakesh?”

  “No one in their right mind would come here.”

  Wind stirred the trees about them and dried the sheen of sweat on Khirro’s brow. A checker board of sunlight fell across the mossy ground. Nearby, Ghaul drew the edge of his dagger down his cheek, taking a week’s worth of stubble off with each pass.

  This isn’t so bad. There’s beauty here.

  He looked back to Elyea to find her hand idle and her eyes upon him.

  “Tell me about your wife.”

  He swallowed hard and turned his gaze from hers. “Emeline is not my wife.”

  “No?” Her tone told him her smile had disappeared. “Doesn’t she carry your child?”

  “There’
s no honor in my story.”

  Cloth rustled as Elyea moved from Athryn to squat in front of Khirro. She lifted his chin with one slim finger. “Remember to whom you speak, Khirro. You’ve heard my story. How could I judge you?”

  Khirro’s chest loosened. Since leaving his village, conscripted to the king’s army, he had told no one, save for hints to Shyn. Perhaps the time had come.

  “She’s not my wife, not even my woman. She’s the daughter of our nearest neighbor. I admired Emeline from afar as we grew up and one night not so long ago, we shared too much ale. Two months later, her moon time didn’t come.” He sighed, paused. Elyea said nothing to prompt him to continue, but he saw in her eyes she wanted him to. “She does not bear my child out of love, Elyea. That’s part of the reason I’m a soldier now.”

  Elyea giggled, but stopped when he shot her an angered look. “I’m sorry, Khirro, I mean no offense. How does she know it’s yours?”

  “She was a maiden before that night.”

  She stifled another giggle. “You spilled her maiden blood? Good for you!”

  He shook his head, unable to share her mirth.

  “When they discovered she was with child, her parents wanted my head. Had it been up to my father, he’d have given it to them himself, but my mother kept them from me. When the Conscriptors came, father made her give me up to them; to him, I had disgraced the family. Again.”

  Memories filled his mind. His mother cried a little the day he left, but his father remained stern and strong, his empty sleeve hanging at his side as a reminder why.

  Elyea touched his cheek, startling him. “I’m sorry, Khirro. But what of Emeline through all this?”