Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,109

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