Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,126

the scattered fragments of ceiling and wall fallen upon it untold years or centuries ago. To his right, water droplets plummeted from high overhead, ending their journey of hundreds of feet with a plunk in a shallow puddle. Khirro went to it, skirting rocks the size of a man’s head, and knelt beside the pool, watched the rivulet of liquid snake away to disappear in a crack in the floor. The water took on the glow of the cavern, intensifying it to the brightest blue in a world of blue.

Or perhaps it is the water which lights the cavern.

He lay the Mourning Sword aside and pulled his gauntlet from his right hand. The air cooled his sweaty palm as he tossed the glove to the ground beside his weapon. He stretched his hand open and held it over the puddle to catch the next drop like a child awaiting a snowflake. A droplet fell, missed his hand, and sent tiny waves across the puddle’s surface reminding him of the lake. He shuddered and adjusted his position.

The next drop spattered in the center of his palm, its coolness refreshing his warm skin. Another drop splashed on his hand, then another. The shallow bowl of his palm filled with water, glowing and shimmering against his pink flesh. Its wetness awakened him to the dryness in his throat, hidden from him like his hunger and by his hunger. He brought his hand to his lips and sucked the fluid greedily onto his tongue.

It tasted fresh and clean, with a vague flavor Khirro couldn’t place, not earthy or dirty like so much of the water he’d consumed in the past months. Sipping it didn’t slake his thirst but made him more aware of it. He bent forward and put his lips into the puddle, slurped it like a man in a desert come upon an oasis. Drops rained on the back of his neck, slipped under his tunic, cooled his hot flesh.

Khirro sucked and slurped, drank his fill until the hungry growl in his belly stopped. He pulled away from the puddle and leaned back, eyes closed. His belly felt full yet his throat and tongue remained unquenched. He dipped his hand into the water, splashed it across his face and rubbed his stubbly cheeks and chin. Breathing deeply through his nose, he opened his eyes.

An angry red glow had replaced the luminescent blue light. It flickered around him, licking the walls like flames burning without heat. Khirro raised an eyebrow, ignoring the fear poking its way into his belly.

A trick, that’s all.

His sword and gauntlet were gone. He searched the ground and noted differences from what he’d seen before: no rocks or debris scattered around him, the floor rippled and sloped, no longer smooth and flat. The cavern had shrunk until the walls and ceiling were close enough he could stretch out and touch them.

Khirro stood, knees quivering. As he straightened, the ground heaved. He pitched forward, chest slamming into the hard ground, and he lay there, nose inches from the floor, waiting to see if the earth would quake again. Under him, he saw the floor was no longer made of stone, but was translucent. Trough it, he saw a wooden stair winding away into darkness.

The fear successfully quelled a moment before bubbled through, tingling his arms and fingers, clenching his groin and halting his breath. He rolled onto his back observing every detail. The light flickered red, orange and yellow as though he lay in the midst of a fire without flames or heat. He turned his gaze to the walls, squinting, straining to see. Shapes showed through it, ghosts in red.

Trees covered in snow?

Khirro jumped to his feet, knees bent and arms extended to keep his balance should the earth revolt against his movement. A shape above and to his left caught his attention and he turned his head to see. Hanging there, appearing suspended in mid-air, a giant ruby expanded and contracted rhythmically. He reached for it, stretching his arm, wiggling his fingers only inches from it.

The ground shifted again sending Khirro skittering backward. On the other side of the translucent wall, a figure appeared. He squinted and moved toward it, forgetting caution. The man wore armor and a helm, an unmarked shield strapped to one arm, a blade in the other hand. A black blade.

Recognition dawned. The color, the man’s position. Khirro understood where he was.

A gust of wind swirled about his limbs, pushed him against the wall.