Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,38

tales of renegade practitioners hiding their talents from the law as they performed evil acts against the innocent.

“Yet, here we stand.” Ghaul pulled him by the arm. “Let’s go. You’re the one who said it couldn’t hurt to come.”

Khirro resisted, thinking of the things little boys had been turned into in his mother’s stories: frogs, lizards, goblins, stone. They were fanciful tales and myths but, in his heart, he believed a little. Bushes rustled a few yards from them, startling Khirro. He tensed, expecting a wyvern to take flight, or an ogre to charge them, but it was a partridge breaking cover, making for the blue sky. He took a couple of hurried steps to catch up to his companions.

Pitted by time and blackened by flame, the huge oak door set in the center of the wall hung on brass hinges showing a patina of verdigris. Khirro clenched his teeth, jaw muscles knotting. The door wasn’t there a moment ago.

How can a door appear out of thin air? The small part of him that believed his mother’s stories stirred.

The strange appearance didn’t give Elyea a moment’s hesitation as she stepped up to the door, placed her hand on a stone to the right of it, and closed her eyes. Birds chirped, the air stirred. Nothing happened for ten seconds, then wood grated against stone and ancient hinges creaked. The door swung inward onto a dark hall where there stood no one to pull it open.

“How did you...?” Khirro began.

“I’m no magician, Khirro. I asked the door-keeper for entrance and he granted it.” She patted the rock upon which her hand still lay. “We are old friends, he and I.”

“But there’s no one here.” Khirro rubbed his temple, his fingers finding a droplet of sweat.

Elyea stepped through the doorway. “There is, but he’s not what you’re used to. Imlip has been door-keeper so well for so long, he has become one with the stone. He gave his life to protect this sanctuary.”

She held her hand out, beckoning. Ghaul stepped across the threshold, but Khirro hesitated.

“Come, farmer. There’s nothing to fear but your own thoughts.”

Not long ago, being called ‘farmer’ had made him proud, but the word felt different now, made him bristle with feelings of inadequacy. Had he changed so quickly? Or was it because the words came from her?

He stepped up to the doorway, staring hard at the stone to the right. It was gray and coarse and unmoving like every other stone in every other wall. As he moved through the door, he brushed his fingertips against the spot where Elyea had laid her hand. His fingers found the surface fleshy and soft but firm, and it was warm—not like it had been warmed by the sun but as though heat radiated from within. He pulled away with a gasp and stepped through the doorway to retreat from this Imlip. The old hinges creaked shut, trapping them in the dimly lit hall.

Chapter Fourteen

Elyea led them down the hall and through another oaken door into a sparsely furnished room lit by an opening in the ceiling forty feet overhead. Shadows crouched in the corners where the sun didn’t reach, making Khirro uneasy.

They moved to the sunlit center of the room where the illusionist lounged on an overstuffed couch, a white cloth with holes cut for eyes and mouth covering his face instead of the silvered mask he wore during his performance the previous day.

Why doesn’t he want anyone to know who he is?

The little man sat on a wool rug at the illusionist’s feet, quill in hand and a pot of ink at his side as he scribbled on a piece of bark. He wore doeskin breeches and a loose cotton shirt instead of a jester’s motley; he didn’t interrupt his task to look up at them.

“I am Athryn. The little one is Maes,” the illusionist said rising from the sofa and crossing the room to Elyea, embracing her. “You were wonderful yesterday, little bird. As always.”

“It was fun.” Elyea smiled and stepped aside, moving like she’d introduce her companions, but Athryn spoke before she could.

“Let me see it, Khirro.”

“How do you know me?” Khirro stepped back, hand moving unconsciously to his chest.

“I have known of you since you made company with Bale. And I know what you carry.”

“Bale.” Khirro spoke the word as though it was foreign. A vision of the Shaman’s blood-spattered, ashen face flashed through his mind. “The Shaman.”

Athryn nodded. “Yes, the Shaman. We were friends once,