Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,56
awkward legs of dreams, heat pressing at his back. He cried out—in anguish, in fear, for help, for anything—and the tyger appeared, loping easily along beside him.
“Beware the man with one eye,” it said in his head as they ran. “Fear not the fire.”
Somewhere above, a bird of prey cried out, its shriek drowning the snap and crackle of the conflagration.
Khirro woke with cold sweat streaming from his forehead and his hand clutched to his chest. He pushed himself to his elbows, breathed deeply to keep shivers from rattling his spine. Nearby, Shyn sat with his back against the trunk of a fir tree, hands bound behind him. Their eyes met, but neither spoke. Khirro lowered himself, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again. When sleep reclaimed him, he dreamed of a giant gray falcon rescuing him from the fire, soaring above the flames, through the smoke, to safety and freedom.
A much better dream.
Chapter Nineteen
Shyn leaned his head back against the rough tree bark and cast his eyes skyward. Khirro had seen him do this a number of times during their hushed conversations of the last three days, each time a wistfulness seemed to cloud the border guard’s eyes.
“I’d seen but thirteen summers when I left my home,” he said looking at Khirro again.
“Why did you leave?”
“I no longer wanted to be there. And they no longer wanted me there. I spent a year wandering, fending for myself, before joining the King’s army.”
“At fourteen.”
“Big for my age.”
Shyn shifted, the rope holding his hands creaked with the movement. Khirro wished he could loosen the knots but knew Ghaul wouldn’t hear of it. He’d grown to like the big border guard, learning much about him in hushed discussions they shared as Khirro sat watch with Shyn lashed to a tree.
“The army was good to me at first. I felt things I hadn’t felt at home: accepted, needed. But it was short-lived. Eventually, people turn on you when you’re different. When they did, I was sent to the border like a broken tool discarded at the back of the barn.”
“Different? Because of your size?”
Shyn shook his head and looked toward the blue sky again. Khirro shared some of his own upbringing, even telling Shyn about his father’s accident and a much-edited version of what happened with Emeline and how he came to be a soldier, then felt guilty he hadn’t shared completely. The similarity in their circumstances made Khirro feel a kinship toward this man.
“One day, I’ll get back to Emeline. When all this is done. When the fighting is finished. And then I’ll—”
“Enough. It’s time.”
Ghaul’s words startled Khirro. While talking with Shyn, he hadn’t noticed him cross the glade toward them. Khirro stood.
“Time for what?”
“We agreed to bring him far enough from the border he’d be no threat to us, then let him go. I only agreed because you have no stomach for killing, farmer. Gods help us.”
“I trust him. We’ve spoken and I think he can aid us.”
Ghaul barked a derisive laugh. “What’s wrong with your head? It’s a spy’s job to earn your trust.”
Khirro glanced at Shyn and felt a twinge that the man should be party to this conversation, so he led Ghaul to where Elyea sat with Maes and Athryn, far enough away the border guard wouldn’t hear. Elyea rose from her seat and laid a hand on Ghaul’s arm to calm him, but he shook it off. Athryn watched in silence, his expressionless mask hiding his thoughts.
Why does he wear it when it’s just us? It’s only a scar. What else is he hiding?
“Why do you think he should join us?” Elyea asked.
Khirro looked at her, his heart palpitating as it always did when his eyes met hers. “I’m not sure.” His latest dream of the tyger came to mind, but a dream of a beast advising him to trust his heart wouldn’t convince the others. More likely the opposite. “He protected me when he could have turned us in. We treat him like a prisoner yet he holds us no ill. Having another sword arm wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“Depends on who the sword ends up buried in,”‘ Ghaul said.
“If he intended to harm us, it would have been simpler for us to be taken to the gallows in Tasgarad.”
“True,” Athryn said. Maes crouched beside his brother, moving dirt with a stick, disinterested in the conversation. “But perhaps he has a different agenda.”