Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,35
the right, once to the middle, once to the left—then exited through the center of the curtain at the rear of the stage.
Khirro looked at Ghaul, a concerned question forming on his lips, but it never left his mouth. The pitchman from the entrance leaned in and whispered something to Ghaul who nodded and rose. Khirro scrambled after them, pushing by the still clapping crowd as the man led them from the tent, past the dissipating mob that had crowded the doorway when they arrived, and around to the back. He lifted a flap and ushered them inside but didn’t follow.
The backstage area was small and only slightly cooler than the front. Ornate rugs covered the ground; the only piece of furniture was a cushioned divan upon which Elyea lay, eyes closed and face pale. Khirro’s heart jumped in his chest when he saw her and he moved forward, but the troubadour stepped in blocking his way.
“You must be Elyea’s friends, yes? I am Alicando.” He doffed his hat and bowed, the great purple feather sweeping against the ground. “Welcome.”
With the man standing so close, Khirro felt anything but welcome.
“Let them through, Alicando.”
The illusionist crouched at Elyea’s side swabbing her brow with a damp cloth, his cape splayed on the floor beneath him. Beside them, the little jester sat cross-legged as the juggler wrapped a bandage around his forearm. A trickle of blood ran from under the cloth, snaking down his wrist and between his fingers. The singer stepped out of their path, his dainty lips turned up in a grin. Ghaul glared at him as they moved past, but the smile didn’t falter.
“Is she all right?”
The illusionist’s sleeves were still rolled up and Khirro clearly saw the tattoos twisting across his flesh, disappearing beneath his shirt, and for a second he thought he saw them slither like snakes. The illusion quickly passed. These were no colorful decorations but flowing black letters and words in unrecognizable languages. The illusionist looked at him, the reflection in his mask distorting Khirro’s face into something both comical and hideous. He looked into the man’s blue eyes but found his gaze slipping back to examine his own twisted features.
“Yes. She only needs to rest. It is a simple bit of entertainment, but an exhausting one.”
Elyea’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of voices. She looked first at Khirro, then over his shoulder at Ghaul.
“Not a bad trick, eh?”
Khirro grasped her hand in both of his. “Are you hurt?”
“No, only tired.”
“How did you do it?” Ghaul asked.
The illusionist stood and faced the warrior leaving Khirro relieved he was no longer tempted to look upon the misshapen version of himself. He felt as though the mask showed him a piece of his soul he didn’t want to know existed.
“A craftsman does not reveal his secrets,” Athryn said moving to the exit, cape swirling with his movements. “Take care of the lady and get some rest yourselves. We will meet on the morrow.”
Ghaul went to follow him out, but the troubadour blocked his way.
“It is always best to do as Athryn says, yes?”
Ghaul glowered but didn’t challenge him further.
“We’ll be meeting with no one tomorrow,” he growled returning to his companions.
The jester and the juggler rose and followed the illusionist out leaving only the troubadour standing watch. Elyea sat up on the divan and took her hand from Khirro’s.
“Alicando is right. We should listen to what Athryn has to say. He may be of more help than you know, Ghaul.” She rose uncertainly, steadying herself with a hand on Khirro’s shoulder. “I have friends outside town we can stay with. We’ll be safe and they’ll give us supplies and a place to sleep.”
She led them past the troubadour, who smiled broadly as Ghaul bumped him on the way out. For a moment, Khirro thought they might come to blows, but the singer continued grinning as Elyea pulled the soldier away.
Who is this Athryn and what does he want with us?
Elyea led them toward the outskirts of Inehsul to collect their armor and weapons. Khirro looked at his feet as they walked and sighed deeply. He’d soon find out if telling Elyea the truth had been the right decision or not.
Chapter Thirteen
To Khirro’s discomfort, but not his surprise, the place outside town turned out to be Inehsul’s version of a brothel. Three women shared the thatched-roof cottage, each of them employed in the art of satisfying men. Aryann, the youngest, was a pretty blonde with small hands and close-set