Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,81

veins along with my own, kept alive until we reach the Necromancer. You reminded me of that.”

Khirro tried to smile along with his friend, but a chill of dread crawled down his spine. Taking life from a glass container was one thing, but from a living person? Would Athryn survive, or were the brothers destined to spend the rest of their days trading life for life?

They trudged silently up the beach, four of them when there had been six. In addition to his own pack, Shyn’s hung from Khirro’s shoulder while somewhere ahead, a falcon cut through the night sky, ranging north and east to pick up the one-eyed man’s trail. Behind them, the funeral pyre still burned, flames licking toward the night sky like the tongue of a snake—or a dragon, Khirro supposed.

They’d watched the fire until Athryn was satisfied his brother’s soul had been released to the heavens on swirling gray smoke. As it burned, the magician who might no longer be called magician said nothing: no words of tribute, no words of mourning, no good-bye. Since telling Khirro his thoughts, he’d spoke not at tall. When Shyn talked of Maes’ bravery, he only smiled sadly. When Elyea offered heartfelt condolences, he nodded. When Ghaul suggested it time to leave, he followed without complaint. The others attributed it to grief that Athryn would get over with time, but Khirro knew differently. It was hope staying Athryn’s tongue. Khirro wondered how far he’d go to protect the blood he carried within. Could they count on him to do what was needed when the time came to raise the king?

They followed the sand, staying clear of the forest. The thief had a day’s head start, but their future would hold enough nights spent in unknown forests, so they decided to stay out of it as long as possible. Shyn tracked their quarry from the air, so he’d guide them to the best place to finally enter the trees.

Without the vial, Khirro’s wounds ached and itched. He flexed his shoulder and rubbed his thigh. Athryn strode beside him silently, the black cloth mask he wore at night covering his face, hiding his thoughts and feelings. Khirro’s own thoughts weighed on him, questions bouncing around in his head uncontrolled. Who was the one-eyed man? How did he know about the vial? How did he find them?

None of the possible answers pleased Khirro; most of them frightened him more.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Morning sun peeked over the treetops as the forest ended abruptly, opening on a vast field of yellow grass standing higher than the top of a tall man’s helm. An unfelt breeze swayed the grass, sending waves across it like the surface of a soft, yellow lake. Suath strained to see over but found himself unable to determine how far the grassland stretched.

He stopped on the short patch of dirt and rock dividing the forest from the field and pulled some salt pork from his pack. For more than twenty-four hours he’d pushed on, uncaring of the tales of the haunted land Lakesh. He’d been here before and nothing happened to prove a hex hung over the land, as nothing happened this time. Companions had lost their lives here, but he saw that as a self-fulfilling prophecy—if one came to a place thinking it evil and dangerous, it would prove so. If you chose not to believe old wives' tales, as Suath chose, this was simply another foreign land of grass and trees and soil oblivious and uncaring of the comings and goings of man.

Suath chewed the tough meat and wondered at the strip of bare earth stretching away both directions, a natural border between forest and field. No plants grew on the dry, brown earth scattered with rocks of all sizes; the width of the border looked uniform, almost man-made.

Strange.

Suath swigged from his water skin, wishing it contained wine, then hung it back on his belt and touched the pouch hanging beside it to feel the hard outline of the vial hidden within. Therrador wouldn’t be pleased if he knew the bearer yet lived, but he’d never find out. If the cursed country didn’t kill them, he’d find them himself. Either way, he’d collect the entire reward; Therrador need not know if he swung the sword himself.

If he ever saw Therrador again.

Suath hadn’t cared what the vial contained when offered the reward, but he wasn’t a stupid man. He saw the blood, he overheard from whom it came. Others might pay more