Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,130

hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he searched the dark around them, wondering if soldiers hid in the night.

“I know your thoughts. You think Braymon’s blood is lost and you have no more need of me or our agreement.”

He gripped the hilt more tightly, shuffled his feet. “It’s not true,” he said knowing his words wouldn’t convince this woman, Archon or not. If she wasn't the Archon, why send a woman against him?

“We have an agreement. The kingship will be yours tomorrow. You must pay what you owe.”

“And if I don’t?”

He tensed as he spoke, expecting one of the hideous undead to leap out of the darkness and put a blade to his throat, but only the figure before him moved as she removed her hands from her sleeves. In the dim moonlight he could make out long nails at the end of slender fingers. She didn’t respond, instead gesturing curtly with her hands.

A signal!

Therrador spun about and pulled his sword from its scabbard, but there was no one there. He looked back toward the woman to see the air between them shimmer and move. He lowered his weapon, stared at the shifting air. Colors swirled, blurred at first, then solidifying into a sight that made Therrador’s breath catch in his throat.

A vision of Graymon floated before him, the boy sleeping under a woolen blanket, his breath shallow and easy. It was not his own canopied bed in which he lay, but a makeshift bed on a pile of straw. The wall behind him moved with an unseen wind, billowing the green material.

A tent.

“What is this?” Therrador demanded, but he already knew what it meant.

“Your son is my guest. He will not be harmed.” A figure entered the vision, a decayed face peering from under a rusted helmet. It knelt beside the sleeping boy, looked at him, then peered directly out of the vision into Therrador’s eyes. “As long as you do as you said you would.”

Therrador leaped forward, sword flashing out at the cloaked figure. The edge of the blade passed through the silhouette but touched nothing. He might have thought the woman an apparition until her fist slammed into the side of his head sending him to the ground. He rolled to his back ready to defend himself despite of his blurred vision, but the woman only looked down at him serenely.

“Do nothing stupid and you will have your boy back in time. If not, your reason for wanting to be king will die with him.”

He stared at the woman as an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness churned his gut. If anything happened to Graymon, everything would be for naught—Braymon’s death, his wife Seerna’s death, everything.

“I will do as you wish,” Therrador said, resigned.

“As we agreed,” the woman corrected.

“As we agreed.”

The air swirled again and the vision disappeared as though dispersed by an unfelt wind.

“We will meet again after the coronation. Watch for my riders a week after you take the crown.”

The silhouette wavered and disappeared leaving Therrador alone sitting on the hard ground of the salt flats, staring at the empty air where she’d been seconds before. The gentle lap of water on the shore found his ear and somewhere out over the sea, a gull cried out—lonely sounds that made him miss his son.

“I will have you back, Graymon.”

The gull cawed an answer as Therrador gained his feet and made his way back to the fortress.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The cavern glowed blue again.

Khirro blinked the rocks and distant walls into focus. He lay on his side, cheek pressed against the ground, one hand immersed in the cool water of the glowing blue puddle. Gingerly he pushed himself upright, head hurting fiercely—he must have banged it when he passed out. The light was harsh and bright to his eyes, his dry throat felt raw and hurt when he swallowed.

How much time has passed?

A dull red glow caught his eye, a warm contrast to the ubiquitous blue light. The Mourning Sword lay on the rocky ground, his gauntlet crumpled beside it. He stretched out to retrieve them, stopped by a pain shooting through his side. His bare hand came away clean when he touched the spot—no blood, only pain. He sat for a minute, shaking his head minutely, confused. Everywhere he’d been injured in his... dream? Vision? Hallucination? Every place a deadly blow struck, his flesh hurt. Perhaps more truth and reality hid within the vision than he realized.

He drew a sharp breath as he remembered the corpse