Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,108

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 still 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