Blood of the King kj-1 Page 27

  “What’s that?” Elyea asked. “The giants?”

  “They’re too far away yet,” Shyn said.

  “There,” Athryn said, pointing between two jagged rocks.

  Khirro stood on his toes to see over the magician. He saw a flash of something wooden. The prow of a rowboat bobbed on the waves, thudding against the shore.

  Elyea eyed it, then looked at Athryn. “Did you do that?”

  He shook his head. “My spells died with Maes. I told you there is great magic in this place.”

  Khirro gulped the lump from his throat.

  Did I do that?

  Ghaul moved toward the boat, hand on sword, followed by Shyn and the others. As they neared it, the wind died completely. The waves disappeared and the boat steadied, floating in place with no rope tethering it.

  “It’s empty,” Ghaul said over his shoulder.

  Shyn prodded the side of the boat with the tip of his sword. Two oars lay at the bottom of the boat, and nothing else. White paint flaked from the boat’s surfaces, two thick boards crossed its breadth serving as seats. Khirro’s uncle had owned this boat, he realized-he’d seen it once as a boy when his uncle took him fishing.

  “It’s solid,” Shyn said poking his sword at another spot. “No rot.”

  “Then we should take advantage of this fortunate turn.” Athryn stepped toward the boat.

  “I don’t like this, magic man,” Ghaul said. “Too convenient.”

  Athryn ignored him, climbing over the side of the boat, setting it rocking precariously. Shyn sheathed his sword and grabbed the prow to steady it.

  “We have no choice,” Shyn said. “Any other route will leave us in the clutches of an angry giantess. Can you not swim, Ghaul?”

  The soldier shot an angry glance at Shyn but said nothing. There was no other sensible choice.

  Elyea boarded first, taking a seat beside Athryn at the rear. Khirro and Ghaul followed taking up position on the other seat. Finally, Shyn pushed the boat away from shore and leaped into the prow making them all grasp for safety as the boat rocked violently. When it steadied, Ghaul and Khirro wrestled the oars from the bottom of the boat and took a few minutes to get the rhythm of rowing in unison. Soon they skimmed across the surface of the water leaving both rocky shore and pursuing giants behind.

  As he pulled on the oar, Khirro wondered again how this boat appeared at the moment they needed it, at the moment he wished for one. Should they trust something unexplainable?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  They had been rowing for less than an hour when the mist descended upon them like a blanket thrown over their heads. They could see each other, but everything beyond the gunnels disappeared in the eddying fog. The shore, the lake ahead and behind, the sky above-all swallowed by the pale white curtain that left everything it touched damp.

  At least the lake is calm.

  “We should stop before we get turned around.”

  “Athryn’s right,” Shyn agreed. “Without seeing where we’re going, we may end up where we started. Or worse.”

  “Afraid of a little fog,” Ghaul muttered but pulled his oar from the water without argument. Thankful for the rest, Khirro did the same.

  Waves lapped the boat as they floated in silence. Khirro faced Athryn, their knees touching, the magician’s black mask unreadable as he stared passed Khirro, attempting to penetrate the mist, or lost in memory, or grief, or plans. Shyn shifted in the front of the boat, setting it wobbling, and Ghaul grabbed the edge for support.

  The fog grew more dense. Khirro looked over the side of the boat at the green water hiding the depths of the lake, every bit as impenetrable as the fog enveloping the world above the water.

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful and see where we are,” Ghaul said over his shoulder.

  “It wouldn’t do any good in this fog,” Shyn replied, then laughed. “Besides, you know I have to unclothe to change. Did you want my bare ass pressed against the back of your head?”

  Elyea put her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile. Sitting across from her, Ghaul’s eyes smoldered.

  “None of us need that, Shyn,” Khirro said before Ghaul spoke. “You can keep your breeches on, thanks.”

  Shyn laughed and slapped Khirro on the back. As they settled back, a wave rolled out of the fog, buffeting the boat, sending them reaching for a safe hold.

  “What was that?” Elyea asked, her smile gone.

  They gazed into the fog, searching for the source of the swell, but the swirling mist disguised all. A minute passed and the ripples subsided, then they heard a splash in the distance to Khirro’s right.

  “A fish jumping,” Ghaul said, his voice lacking surety.

  “We haven’t seen any wildlife since we reached Lakesh.” Shyn stared toward the sound. “Why would there be fish if there’s nothing else?”

  Khirro leaned out over the water, straining to see something through the dense cloud, listening for something, anything. No more sounds came, no more waves. He settled back into his seat, glancing down at the surface of the lake as a shadow slid by beneath its glassy surface, disappearing under the boat.

  “There’s something in the water!”

  The words had barely left his lips when something nudged the bottom of the boat. Elyea let out a startled yelp and Ghaul lifted his feet unconsciously.

  “What is it?” Shyn called stretching to see over Khirro.

  “There.” Athryn pointed over Ghaul’s shoulder.

  They all twisted, rocking the boat again as they tried to glimpse what Athryn saw. A yard from the boat, at the edge of their limited vision, dark green skin marked with gray patches and flecked with black bulged the surface of the water, cutting through it like a knife through lard. The slick skin flashed in the mist-choked light, then it disappeared.

  “What in the name of all four Gods?” Elyea’s green eyes flickered with the same fear tightening the muscles in Khirro’s thighs.

  “I don’t know, but it’s time to put paddle to water again, Khirro.”

  Ghaul pulled his oar from the bottom of the boat and Khirro did the same, falling into rhythm with Ghaul more easily this time. The boat cut across the water, though what direction they headed, none of them knew. The water by Khirro’s oar contorted as the creature’s back broke the surface again, keeping pace.

  “It follows us,” Elyea said, her voice quiet.

  Khirro craned his neck to see, ceasing rowing and leaving the blade of his oar in the water. A thick green loop coiled around the oar, jerking it in Khirro’s hand, but he held on.

  “It’s got the oar,” he cried gripping it with both hands.

  The green spotted skin faded to sickly yellow as it curved down to the creature’s belly. Its body looked like a python’s, more than a foot across, and it had decided to make a meal of the oar, squeezing the life from it. Khirro pulled but the thing wouldn’t relinquish its grasp. It dove, wrenching the oar from Khirro’s grasp. A moment later, the paddle bobbed to the surface, floating alongside the boat.

  “You have to get it.” Ghaul jabbed his elbow painfully into Khirro’s ribs. “With one oar, we’ll only go in circles.”

  Khirro looked at him in horror. Raised his entire life on a farm, the fishing trip with his uncle and their flight across the little sea were his only exposure to deep water, and neither had contained a malicious creature lurking in its depths. But Ghaul was right: he needed to get the paddle. He couldn’t ask one of the others to get it without seeming a coward.

  Stay calm. Move slowly-don’t rock the boat. He breathed deep. It’s not so far. I can reach it.

  He reached toward the oar and the boat lurched. He pulled his hand back, clutching at the side, heart beating in his ears.

  “Get it,” Ghaul urged. “Quickly, before it returns.”

  “Be careful,” Elyea said touching his leg.

  Clenching his teeth, Khirro stretched again, ready this time for the boat to shift. The oar s
till bobbed beyond his fingertips.

  “Hold on to me.”

  Ghaul grabbed a handful of Khirro’s tunic and he leaned out farther still, but for each extra inch he stretched, the oar floated that much farther away. He rose off his seat, fingers wiggling at the tantalizingly close paddle, when a coil of the creature’s body surfaced directly under his arm, its patchy skin brushing him. Khirro cried out in surprise and fell back into the boat. Elyea yelped and held on to Athryn who grasped his seat with both hands.

  “I think I can reach it,” Shyn said shifting his position.

  Khirro shouldered him back, having the briefest second to reflect on the dangers of pride as he stood, wobbling with the movement of the boat, and drew the Mourning Sword.

  “I can get it,” he insisted. “Hold my belt, Ghaul.”

  “Khirro, no,” Elyea said, but Ghaul’s fingers were already wrapped around Khirro’s sword belt. He reached beneath his jerkin, pulling the vial from its hiding place and handed it to Athryn, regretting this ridiculous show of courage.

  “Just in case,” he said; the magician took it. Khirro wished for him to try to talk him out of reaching for the oar, but he didn’t. Only Elyea protested.

  “Ready,” Ghaul said.

  Khirro inhaled deeply through his nose, smelled the lake’s dirty odor, and leaned over the side, stretching the Mourning Sword toward the paddle. The boat listed with his weight and Athryn and Shyn shifted to compensate. The tip of the sword nudged the oar.

  “Come on,” Khirro muttered through gritted teeth. “Come on.”

  He extended farther, pushing the tip of the sword beyond his goal. He brought his weapon down on it, coaxing it closer.

  “Farther,” he called to Ghaul over his shoulder.

  The soldier slid over in the seat, bracing his feet against the side of the boat. The belt dug uncomfortably into Khirro’s mid-section, but he ignored it; the oar floated close enough for him to reach. As the blade of the sword touched the oar, Khirro heard something thump hard against wood.

  He hit the water, the coldness of it threatening to steal his breath. It surrounded him, sucking him down and away from the wan light of the surface. He thrashed and swung the Mourning Sword as though he could cut his way free. The silty water stung his eyes as the weight of armor and weapons pulled him down. He stopped moving when the creature slid by in front of him close enough to touch.

  Khirro swam for the surface, the sword in his hand making his arm impossibly long for swimming. He considered dropping it, but it would be his only defense if the serpent came for him. He kicked his feet and stroked with his left arm, holding the sword straight out above him.

  I’ve come too far to drown.

  With no sun shining, he couldn’t tell how deep he’d gone or see the boat above in the murky water. Weeds brushed against his face before his flailing arm sent them swirling away. Then his arm wouldn’t move. He jerked his head, expecting to see the serpent’s mouth wrapped around his forearm, but instead a mass of weeds twisted around it, holding him. He pulled but they tightened like a living thing loathe to let him go. His breath burned in his lungs, screaming to be replaced with fresh air.

  Khirro drew the Mourning Sword’s sharp edge through the tangle and the weeds released his arm. He stroked for the surface but the serpent reemerged from the murk, struck his chest forcing precious breath from his lungs.

  It swam a tight circle and came at him again. For the first time he saw its head: tapered to a flat snout designed for swimming, two black eyes faced forward. Its mouth opened revealing needle-sharp teeth. A surprising calm descended over Khirro, quelling his distressed lungs as he watched the serpent rush in for the kill.

  This is not my time to die. He didn’t know from where the thought came. The Gods have important things for me to do.

  He swung the Mourning Sword around, brought its tip to bear on the serpent and noticed how the runes glowed even in the turbid water. The creature spasmed to change its course, but too late.

  The tip of the sword entered through the roof of the serpent’s mouth and exited the top of its head. It convulsed on the end of the blade, thrashing to free itself, but Khirro maintained his grip, twisted the blade. A dark cloud spread through the water and the struggle ended.

  Khirro put his foot on the serpent’s snout and wrenched the glowing red blade free then stroked desperately for the surface. His arms turned to rock, each stroke requiring every bit of energy he could find. His legs faltered.

  This is not my time to die.

  When his head finally broke the surface, he gasped a ragged breath. Never had air tasted so good. He grabbed the oar floating nearby, thankful for its aid in keeping him afloat, and kicked for the boat, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Hands grabbed him, helped him over the side.

  He lay in the bottom of the boat catching his breath and staring at the blue sky for several minutes before he realized the fog had dissipated. The sun shone bright, drying his soaking clothes.

  Chapter Forty

  Time slid by with the water beneath the boat’s hull but they made little progress toward shore. Shyn and Athryn pulled on the oars, sweat running off their chins, dripping from the ends of their noses as the sun beat down relentlessly, reflected and intensified by the lake’s glassy surface. Khirro’s clothes-long since dried under the sun’s heat-lay in a heap at the bottom of the boat with everyone else’s. They all wore only enough to keep their skin from frying and rowed in no more than ten minute shifts for fear of passing out.

  Elyea plunged her hand through the skim of green foam covering the water to cool herself then pulled it out quickly, a surprised look on her face.

  “It’s hot,” she said wiping scum off her hand.

  Khirro peered over the side of the boat, tempted to test the temperature himself, but he resisted. It would be a long time before he’d go in the water for anything other than bathing. In the distance, tendrils of vapor curled up from the lake, snaking toward the sky, disappearing before they became mist.

  The sun takes the lake. If we survive long enough, we might be able to walk ashore.

  Athryn stopped rowing, leaned over his oar to rest. In the heat, he had removed his mask and the scar on his face shone with sweat. Shyn stopped, too, and put his hand on Athryn’s shoulder.

  “We should make for the closest shore,” he said, voice rasping in his parched throat.

  The magician shook his head. “No. We are being tested. If we give up, we will never reach the Necromancer.”

  “To hell with the Necromancer,” Ghaul said from the front of the boat. “No matter how much we row, we go nowhere. If we don’t have rest and water soon, we’ll die.” He shifted to face them. “Why should he test us? How could he know we’re here?”

  “Darestat knows all,” Athryn replied through cracked lips, each word a struggle to find breath. “He does not want to be found. If any man could reach him, he would never have peace from those who want of him. Or those who want him dead.”

  They fell silent as the boat floated without drifting. Khirro hung his head, sweat trickling down his back. For the first time in his life he felt like he had a purpose, but he’d fail, boiled to death like a breakfast egg. His mind floated like the boat, drifting back through the line of failures marking his life: the slaughter of the Shaman and the others; the death of King Braymon; his laughable training as a soldier; his banishment by his parents; the disaster with Emeline; the accident that took his father’s arm, and on and on. A life of failure and disappointment. This was his last opportunity to redeem himself. He took the vial from the pocket of his tunic.

  “Give me the oar, Athryn,” he demanded, standing. The swaying boat sent ripples racing away to be swallowed up in the lake’s stillness. “Shyn, do you have anything left?”

  “I do,” Shyn replied despite the sweat soaking his thin cotton shirt.

  Khirro traded spots with Athryn, his knees brushing Elyea’s as he sat. He looked at her hair plastered to her forehead, at the way
her sweat soaked shirt clung to her chest, outlining her breasts. She smiled weakly and brushed the stray strands of hair from her face. A warmth unrelated to the sun’s heat filled Khirro’s chest and, in that moment, he knew he loved her. He may never be able to tell her, or show her, but he was clear he did.

  Let’s go.” He pried his gaze from hers and turned to Shyn. “If you tire, trade with Ghaul.”

  They dipped their oars into the water and pulled. The vial pulsed against Khirro’s leg, throbbing in rhythm with their strokes. Water splashed and jumped from the blades each time they broke the surface, the ripples spreading farther and farther until a wake spread from the stern of the boat.

  “We’re moving,” Ghaul cried over his shoulder.

  They moved slowly at first, the trees on the bank crawling by, but their speed increased. The motion created a slight breeze that dried the sweat on their brows. The more Khirro rowed, the more energy flowed through his limbs. Shyn stroked beside him to the pace set by the blood of the king.

  The air grew cool-cooler than should be caused by the boat’s movement. Khirro watched Athryn and Elyea pull on clothes they’d removed in the heat. The hair on Khirro’s forearms prickled, but he welcomed the feel of a little goose flesh after the searing heat.

  Minutes later, Elyea breathed out a cloud of mist. High above, billowy white clouds painted gray on their flat bottoms gathered, blotting out the sun, throwing a shadow across the lake. The welcome goose flesh on Khirro’s arm became an unwelcome chill. They stopped rowing a moment so he and Shyn could reclothe. Less than ten minutes later, Elyea let out a surprised gasp as the first flake of snow landed on her nose.

  “How is this possible?” she asked turning to Athryn.

  The magician shrugged. “I told you: Darestat does not want to be found.”

  Snow fell steadily. Elyea moved closer to Athryn, using their combined bodies to create warmth. Khirro ignored the twinge of jealousy poking his ribs and felt thankful to be rowing, creating his own heat.