Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,42

resembled the ones covering Athryn’s arms. “We have a great distance to travel.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Ghaul said when the performers had left the room. “I’ve never trusted magicians.”

Before the Shaman, Khirro had never known a magician, so he didn’t share Ghaul’s sentiment. Something felt right, even comforting, about the two men joining them. The vial of blood warmed against his chest as they followed the magician and jester from the roofless chamber. The dimness of the hall didn’t quash his good feelings and, when they emerged into bright sunlight to find Athryn and Maes standing with horses readied, hope flooded Khirro. With Ghaul’s blade and Athryn’s magic on their side, perhaps they had a chance to succeed.

Or, at the very least, survive.

Chapter Fifteen

In the week since leaving Inehsul and the strange keep in the woods, there had been no particular need for a magician or a very small man, but Khirro still felt thankful Athryn and Maes had joined them. More travelers meant shorter watches and more plentiful sleep, though the performers always took watch together. Khirro felt better for the extra rest.

The magician knew the area, leading them along little used paths and around towns and villages to avoid attention. With a day’s ride left to the Vendarian border, one town remained between them and Erechania’s southern neighbor. The war raging in the north meant they couldn’t know what reception might await across the border, so it wouldn’t be safe to resupply in Vendaria. Neither was Tasgarad a safe haven, but it was their last opportunity before leaving the kingdom. As the headquarters of the border patrol, the town would be crawling with whatever Erechanian troops hadn’t been called to war at the Isthmus or to reinforce the Sea Wall.

“Care will be needed,” Athryn said as Khirro readied himself for sleep the night before their arrival in Tasgarad. “We will be better off to get in and out unnoticed.”

Khirro nodded and laid his head down, listening as Athryn and Ghaul planned the best route in and out of town and where to cross the border. He listened a minute, disappointed they didn’t seek his opinion even knowing he had nothing of value to add. What did a farmer know of such things?

Nothing.

He put it from his mind and turned his attention to sleep. Not so long ago, fear might have caused him to lay awake, tossing and turning the entire night, but not this night. Sleep claimed him and dreams usurped fear’s power.

His dreams began as they did most nights, as he willed them to: a fall harvest, a babe in his arms and Emeline at his side. But this dream faded, replaced by one new and unfamiliar. Huge trees towered about him in an unknown forest. Night enveloped him and dense foliage deepened the darkness so he saw nothing more than limbs and trunks. He didn’t know where he was or why, only that he shouldn’t stay. Feet heavy with fear, he pushed his way through the brush. Twigs snapped under his footsteps, leaves rustled past his face, all startlingly loud in the silent dream forest, but he pushed on, less concerned with the noise than with finding a way out. The underbrush neither thinned nor became more dense; all the trees looked the same.

Am I going anywhere?

He stopped, took a moment to search for his bearings. The rustle of leaves continued after his movements ceased. A spear of panic lanced through his chest, so severe his sleeping body jerked with it. This was no echo or trick of the wind.

Something in the forest followed him.

Khirro pushed on, moving more quickly. He cast a look over his shoulder and a gnarled root sent him tumbling to the ground, his fingers sinking into earthy smelling loam. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled forward, the sound louder, closer. Limbs whipped his face and grabbed his clothes, holding him back, impeding his escape. Now he heard breathing behind him, closing in. Ahead, a sliver of light through the trees beckoned. He ran for a long time, his pursuer gaining ground as the light drew no closer. Finally, he burst from the forest, the last tangle of underbrush snagging his foot, sending him to the ground again.

He came to rest on the rocky shore of a pristine lake. The moon reflected on its smooth surface, cutting a yellow crescent across the otherwise featureless lake. The instant he saw it, Khirro recognized his surroundings. He’d seen this lake when the Shaman