Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,53

with him. He moved again and it did, too. With a sigh, he chastised himself for fearing his dim shadow and started toward the forest, careful of his footing. The yards of bare ground before him seemed to stretch on forever. His pack grew heavier with each step as panic grew within him. What if he reached the trees and couldn’t find the others?

What if this is a trap?

When he finally reached the brush, he crouched and glanced around but didn’t see his companions.

They’ve been discovered.

He searched for them, the bushes rustling with his movements, desperation festering in his stomach tempting him to shout for Ghaul. He parted his lips to call out when a hand covered his mouth, pulled him to the ground. Khirro clamored for his sword, unable to reach it. He ceased thrashing when Ghaul’s face appeared before his, a finger held up to his frowning lips.

Relief drained the tension from Khirro’s limbs and he grinned sheepishly, a smile Ghaul didn’t return. He imagined what the soldier must be thinking, but it didn’t matter, he was safe—for now. He clambered to his feet with no help from Ghaul, and scanned the darkness for Athryn crossing to join them, avoiding thoughts of the tongue lashing he’d have to endure from Ghaul later. His clumsiness had endangered them all, a trend he had to stop.

I’ll learn from this, be more careful next time.

Minutes passed, unease growing in Khirro as he waited. He shifted from one foot to the other, crossed his arms and uncrossed them, eyes darting, seeing nothing of the magician crossing the open land. But why did he feel so unsettled? If any of them could cross the border undetected, it was Athryn. Peering intently into the dark, Khirro ignored the growing notion something was amiss. He shifted again, careful to move noiselessly. The unease spread from his head and chest into his limbs, manifesting physically, weighing them down.

Something was very wrong.

As Athryn finally pushed through the brush, Khirro realized what. He slipped his hand beneath his tunic, hoping he guessed wrong, already knowing what he’d find.

Gone.

Ghaul tapped his shoulder, signaled him to follow. Khirro shook his head and the warrior gestured again. Embarrassed and afraid, Khirro didn’t want to tell but had no other choice.

“The vial’s gone.”

Ghaul’s face first slackened with surprise then went stern in anger.

“You dropped it?”

Khirro nodded minutely. With a shake of his head, Ghaul turned to the others and told them what happened. Without waiting for them to add their accusing looks to Ghaul’s, Khirro slipped shield and pack from his back and moved quickly back onto the open ground before they could stop him or he changed his mind. The Shaman made the vial his responsibility, for better or for worse, so he’d fix this.

After only a few paces, an out-of-place, insistent bird call caught his attention. He looked around at Ghaul motioning him back but Khirro shook his head and continued, hurrying back along his previous path as quickly as he dared. Ghaul would be angry with him for ignoring him, but he was already angry anyway. He put the thought from his mind as the guard posts loomed and he searched for the spot where he fell. He must have lost the vial when he rolled on the ground.

What if I broke it?

The thought startled Khirro and he touched his chest: no damp spot on his tunic. Gods be with him, the vial had only come free. He fell to hands and knees, scanning the dirt and brittle grass, picking up scraps of wood and rocks and tossing them aside.

The sound of wood scraping against wood froze him in his spot—it was the sound of a bar withdrawn from its place on a door. Khirro flattened, pressing his belly to the dirt. The door opened, torchlight flooded onto the brown scrub grass. A figure stood framed in the doorway, pole arm in hand.

“Who goes there?”

The man sounded stern and threatening but Khirro thought he heard a slur in the words, the result of one too many drinks. He held his breath, body tensed. A reflection of the torchlight off something lying on the ground a few yards away caught his eye.

The vial.

“I said ‘who’s there’?”

The guard stepped forward from the doorway, brandishing his weapon. Stretched upon the ground, Khirro couldn’t reach his sword, though it would be suicide if he did. The guard took another step.

“It is I, Shyn,” another voice said, surprising both Khirro and the border guard.