Athryn nodded. “Yes, the Shaman. We were friends once, fellow students, but our paths diverged.”
“How do you know all this, devil?” Ghaul grasped the hilt of his sword.
“There is no reason to fear, Ghaul. I am a friend.” His eyes narrowed as he watched for further movement from the warrior but Ghaul neither released his sword nor drew it. Athryn turned his attention back to Khirro. “Let me see the vial.”
A corner of Khirro’s mind told him he should fear this man, but his heart wouldn’t allow it, though he didn’t know why. A pulse of warmth touched his chest, as though the king’s blood in the vial hidden there spoke to him, giving permission to reveal it to this man. He looked at Elyea, who nodded softly, then at Ghaul whose eyes didn’t shift from the illusionist. Athryn waited patiently, the long sleeves of his shirt hiding the tattoos slithering up his arms as the mask hid his face. Everything about the man was enigmatic, mysterious, yet Khirro still reached beneath his jerkin and pulled forth the vial, holding it out for the illusionist. Athryn made no move to take it.
“Maes,” he called.
The jester abandoned his writings and rose from the rug. He didn’t trip or stumble as he walked to the illusionist’s side and Khirro felt silly this surprised him-of course he wasn’t a clumsy oaf, but a performer, like Athryn. Maes held out his hand. Khirro looked down into kind, dark eyes and a face framed by thick black hair. The day before, the patchwork costume had overshadowed the man’s features. As Khirro handed him the vial, he realized he hadn’t noticed the labyrinth of scars on his forearm, either.
What happened to him?
“No,” Ghaul said. “We don’t know if we can trust them.”
He loosened his sword in its scabbard and this time Athryn’s body tensed, but Khirro saw no weapons on either him or Maes.
“It’s all right,” Khirro said.
He heard Elyea suck breath in through her teeth as the little man rolled the vial through his fingers. Khirro saw scars marring his hands; two of his fingers were without nails. Maes held the vial up and peered through the translucent fluid for a few seconds, then replaced it in Khirro’s hand, nodded to Athryn and returned to his spot on the rug. With the vial back in Khirro’s possession, Ghaul released his sword. Tension drained from Athryn and Elyea released her held breath.
“It is true, then,” Athryn said as Khirro replaced the phial in its hiding place. “You carry the fate of the kingdom at your breast.”
“What’s your interest in all this?” Ghaul growled, but Khirro barely heard.
The fate of the kingdom.
Here, in this room with a hole in the ceiling, the enormity, the importance of the task with which he was cursed struck full force. The weight of the sky pressed down upon him and the room wavered before his eyes. His companions, the gray walls and scattered furnishings were replaced by a crowd of people dressed in tattered clothing; a tide of soldiers clad in black mail splashed with blood and red paint swept through them, slashing and chopping; fields and villages burned in the background as women and children were put to the sword. Among them: his parents, Emeline, and a child he would never know.
He carried their fates in a vial pressed against his heart.
Through a fog he heard Ghaul and Athryn exchange words but they meant nothing to him. The room dimmed, he swayed on weakened legs. For a moment he expected everything to disappear and hoped for darkness. If it did, perhaps he’d wake in his own bed at his own farm and find this all a bad dream. A hand at his elbow dashed his hopes and brought him back to the room with the hole in the ceiling. More words, this time Elyea’s voice.
“What?”
“I asked if you’re all right.”
Khirro closed his eyes and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. It came away damp with sweat. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes to find a distressed look on Elyea’s face. Her concern warmed his heart.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll sit a moment, though.”
Elyea glanced at Athryn and, with his nodded consent, led Khirro to the settee behind Maes.
“What’s the matter, Khirro?” Ghaul asked.
“I… I felt a little light headed. I’m fine now.”
“Keep an eye on our guest, Maes,” Athryn said. The little man nodded, his shirt shifting with the movement, and Khirro noted more scars-fine white lines on his neck, disappearing beneath the cloth. Khirro shuddered.
No one spoke. Elyea stood at Khirro’s side, her hand resting on his shoulder making him feel both comforted and uncomfortable at the same time. He fidgeted beneath her touch. It seemed natural for her to lay her hand upon a man, but it was anything but to him. Athryn clapped his hands sharply, startling Khirro from Maes' scars and Elyea’s touch. A man appeared from behind a tapestry that Khirro wouldn’t have guessed hid a doorway.
“Prepare horses for everyone,” Athryn said to the juggler when he entered the room, his long dark hair loose about his shoulders. “And food. We leave within the hour.”
The illusionist’s words didn’t surprise Khirro. The thought of Athryn joining them caused peace in him instead of the trepidation he felt at revealing their intent to Elyea, though he didn’t know why. Safety in numbers, perhaps. Or maybe because of the illusionist’s connection to the Shaman. No matter the reason, Ghaul didn’t share his ease.
“We appreciate the use of your horses,” Ghaul said, the forced restraint in his voice too obvious to fool anyone. “But our party has already swollen to one more than it should be. We have no room for a performer of parlor tricks.”
“I am no mere illusionist, and you will be joined by two of us. I go nowhere without Maes.” The little man halted scribbling and looked up.
The muscles in Ghaul’s jaw knotted, his fingers curled into fists. “You don’t even know where we go, prestidigitator.”
“Lakesh. You seek Darestat to raise the king and deliver Erechania.”
Ghaul glanced at Elyea, eyes smoldering. Her gaze held steady, neither confirming nor denying his thought.
“She did not tell me, nor did Khirro.”
“Cease your trickery and lies, illusionist. We have no need of your company, or that of a clumsy midget.”
The warrior’s words finally affected Athryn and he threw back his cape, exposing the sword hidden beneath. Ghaul’s hand went to his weapon and he freed an inch of steel from the scabbard. The air in the room suddenly grew heavier and Khirro worried he might lose touch again.
“Wait,” Elyea said. “There’s no reason for this.”
“Sit down, harlot,” Ghaul growled.
“Enough, Ghaul,” Khirro said taking offense at his words even if Elyea didn’t. He leaned forward on the couch. “This journey is mine, and I say they can join us.”
The warrior’s eyes flickered from Athryn to Khirro and back. “It may be your journey, but it is my life. And look at you: you’re not well.”
“I’m fine. My strength has returned.”
“But what of him?” Ghaul gestured toward Athryn with his free hand. “Do you expect me to trust a man who doesn’t reveal his face in the privacy of his own residence?”
Khirro pushed himself up on shaky legs, looked at Ghaul and Athryn, then Elyea and Maes, hoping someone would do or say something because he didn’t know what to do next. Athryn must have seen the desperation in his eyes.
He raised his hand, gripped the white cloth mask and pulled it slowly from his face with a performer’s dramatic flair. Elyea sucked in a surprised breath; Ghaul’s stern look softened; Khirro felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach. Only Maes didn’t react as Athryn revealed that he didn’t wear the mask to disguise his identity but to hide the pink scar covering most of his features. The flesh around his left eye was all that remained untouched, the single eyebrow the only hair on his face, as the smooth, shiny skin stopped short of the blond hair he wore in a ponytail as he had the day before.
Athryn said nothing as they stared. His piercing blue eyes glowed, gauging their reactions. Khirro felt he should say something, but nothing came to mind. Elyea finally broke the tense silence.