Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,49
until the blood flows.
“A woman,” the mercenary said, “a whore like you. She passed this way with two men—strangers.”
“There has been no one here,” the old one said but the gasp from the blonde confirmed what he already knew. The pudgy woman wriggled against his grip. He pulled her close against him, pressing the bulge in his breeches against her pillowy ass.
“Lies. The young one knows. Where did they go?”
He pushed against the dark-haired one’s back, ushering her closer to her friends, stopped her a few feet from them.
“Tell me or the fat one dies.”
“It’s okay,” the young one said stepping from behind the other. Tears streaked her smooth cheeks, her voice quaked as she spoke. “Everything will be all right, Leigha.”
The old one moved to keep the blonde behind her, protected, and Suath saw what he needed to do. He drew the blade across Leigha’s throat sending a fountain of blood splashing across her friends. While they gaped in horror, he grabbed the blonde’s wrist, pulled her to him. The old one tried to fight him; he punched her in the face and she stumbled back.
“Where?” he asked, the calmness gone from his voice.
Impatience tingled his limbs. He wanted to be done with this before the pudgy one’s body grew cold. At his feet, she gurgled through a mouthful of blood. The blonde sobbed and shook in his grasp.
“South,” the old one shouted, blood streaming from her nose, her composure finally broken. “She took them to the entertainers.”
“How many?”
“Just the three of them.”
“Horses?”
The old one’s eyes dropped to the dark-haired woman on the floor. Blood still pulsed from the slash in her throat but she no longer moved.
“Horses?” he asked again, more insistent. The pudgy one’s eyes were going glassy. The grandmother shook her head. “Where are these entertainers?”
She shook her head, crying now. “Don’t hurt my Aryann.”
“Where are the entertainers?”
“South—outside of town. I don’t know where.”
“And then?”
She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head. Suath waited until she opened her eyes again, then dragged the point of his dagger down the blonde’s cheek. She screamed.
“Tasgarad,” the old one squealed. “They’re going to Tasgarad.”
Suath nodded.
He lunged, burying his dagger to the hilt in the old one’s eye, then spun the blonde around and slid his blade into her belly, drawing it upward to her breast bone. She gasped and coughed, spattering his breastplate with blood, then slumped to the floor between the other whores as he withdrew the knife. Suath bent over and wiped the blade on her dress then put his hand on the pudgy one's leg.
“Warm enough.”
He pulled her dress up above her waist. As he removed his sword belt, he saw the blonde looking at him, tears still running from her eyes. He smiled at her as he removed his breastplate and the shirt beneath. Uncountable white scars criss-crossed his chest. He searched across the ridged landscape of scars with his fingers until he found a clear spot, then brought the tip of his dagger to it and made four new incisions.
“One for each of you,” he told the blonde, “and one for the fat one’s lover.”
He set his blade purposely on the floor just out of the blonde’s reach, removed his breeches and knelt between the dark-haired one’s legs.
“It’s okay,” he said, though he doubted the pretty one heard him anymore. “You can watch.”
Sitting on the edge of the well, Suath used the cloth the dark-haired one had used to clean herself to wipe blood from his boots, then cleaned his dagger, sheathed it, and tossed the blood-soaked cloth down to the dark water below. Gray smoke snaked its way from the thatched roof of the whores’ house, but he didn’t hurry. A few of the men from town would want to rush to extinguish a fire in this particular hut, but their women wouldn’t let them. He snickered at the thought of those self-righteous town’s people putting less value on the lives of whores because of how they earned their living. Didn’t they know all their lives were worthless?
Suath rose and walked into the woods, leaving behind his thoughts of the town and the dark-haired whore. His quarry had three days head start, but he had a horse. If he hurried, he might catch them before they reached the border.
The vial would be in his hands soon.
Chapter Eighteen
The rough land of low scrub through which they rode from Tasgarad became new-growth forest littered with brush, slowing their progress. A fire had ravaged this area