Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,133

like a hare before a fox. The harsh white glow lit yards ahead bringing Khirro comfort, as did the feel of the hilt in his hands. What would happen to the light if he used the Mourning Sword as weapon rather than torch? And could he make it stop, or would the sword glow for the rest of eternity? He considered asking Athryn but decided against it until they were safe.

If we’re ever safe again.

The tunnel differed from the one they’d followed into the glowing blue cavern, angling upward slightly as water trickled down its walls here and there. The rivulets reminded Khirro of the thirst raking his throat but, though they didn’t glow blue, he dared not touch the water to his lips. He wouldn’t trust anything as long as they remained in this cursed place, not even himself.

As they moved down the passage, patches of moss appeared on the walls, sparse at first but growing thicker and more frequent the farther they went. The air changed, too, becoming fresher, less cloying. Khirro occasionally thought he felt it shift. Somewhere ahead, there must be an air shaft or an opening to the outside.

Outside.

The word sounded good. It would be a relief if they didn’t have to retrace their steps through the cavern, past the dragon, to regain their freedom.

Will it be day or night when we reach the surface again? Summer or winter? He sighed as he walked. If we reach the surface.

Time had lost meaning since they descended the twisting wooden staircase...how long ago? Lakesh made its own rules.

Khirro walked on, parting the darkness as he went, finally feeling like they drew closer to their goal. But it also felt like they no longer traveled alone. His companions trudged along behind him.

Do they feel it, too?

On the tunnel floor at the edge of the sword’s light, a glint caught Khirro’s eye. He halted and his companions stopped beside him.

“There’s something ahead,” he whispered, pointing with the tip of the Mourning Sword. Ghaul stepped forward, but Athryn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“We go together,” the magician said.

Khirro stared ahead as they crept forward shoulder to shoulder, but he knew the others held weapons in hand. He’d heard the gentle stretching of Ghaul’s bowstring and the scrape of steel against leather as Athryn and Elyea drew sword and dagger. Khirro breathed slowly through his nose, felt no sense of foreboding, no fear, only emptiness.

Step by step they advanced, the light of the Mourning Sword reflecting on what Khirro quickly recognized as the blade of a sword. He resisted the urge to stop, inspect it and draw conclusions from afar. A few more steps and the circle of light cast before them fell on a booted foot. He stopped. The others did, too.

“Is it a man?” Elyea whispered.

No one answered. Ghaul stepped forward, motioning for them to follow. They moved again, taking small, cautious steps, the edge of the light crawling farther ahead with each footstep.

The leather boot led to a leg clothed in rough spun breeches. An empty scabbard hung on one side of a wide belt encircling the person’s waist, a dagger at the other. The glow passed the waist, casting light on a dirty red tunic and reflecting on glimpses of mail hidden beneath. Nothing indicated it to be anything other than a man prone on the tunnel floor before them. The sense of emptiness grew in Khirro, becoming a feeling of loss. The clothes looked familiar, the armor recognizable. He knew what the sword-light would reveal and dreaded taking the last few steps before the glow fell across the man’s face.

“Shyn,” Elyea cried putting words to what Khirro already realized, perhaps known from the moment the light reflected on the sword.

They hurried forward, forgetting caution as they rushed to their fallen comrade’s side. Elyea kneeled beside him, searching for signs of life, but Shyn’s eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, the Mourning Sword’s light gleaming dully on their glassy surface. Gray feathers poked in places from his head and neck, showed under the collar and sleeves of his tunic. A shiver ran up Khirro’s spine as he gazed upon Shyn’s face looking dead and half-transformed as it had in his vision.

What does it mean?

“How did he get here?” Athryn asked. He turned to Ghaul. “You were not gone long enough to have traveled so far.”

Ghaul mumbled something Khirro didn’t hear as he concentrated on remembering his vision, but it was no use. Instead, he